Go For Crackers

Remember that time the world shut down and we were all stuck at home? Target started selling clothes that looked like we were all heading back in time, to start our own homesteads. The memories of that random time you and your buddies decided to toilet paper someone’s house brought you an actual anxiety attack at the thought of the wastefulness of that precious toilet paper? Facebook was a platform for all of your friends and acquaintances that had quickly acquired a medical degree. And suddenly everyone was a home chef and baker? Yah I’m trying to forget too.

One day while I was scrolling Facebook, trying to forget my bought of rage over my potty training toddler using a half a roll of toilet paper, clogging my toilet and putting our extremely limited supply in the critical category, I came across a nice neighbor that I had never met saying she had lots of sourdough starter to give away. This was a hard moment for me. One, ew. I don’t know who this is, where she’s been, if she had been exposed. Two, I’ve never made bread in my life. Three, I messaged her anyway.

It felt like a drug deal. Not that I have ever engaged in such depravity. So I guess I really don’t know what I’m talking about. I showed up to her home, my engine still running. I’m standing back from her door in a mask and hoodie and pajama pants because it’s cold and I haven’t been in public in ages. She gently sets the glass pickle jar down filled with the precious starter and some instructions taped to the side. She gives me a nod and shuts the door. Long story short I named my starter Amy Farrah Flour… wait for it… I know right?! And we’ve made lots of magic over the past couple years.

Which takes us to the present. One of the drawbacks of keeping this starter alive is you have to feed it like all the time. It’s like another person moved in. At least she doesn’t complain about my cooking and doesn’t require any extra laundry. And it feels so wasteful because I have to discard a bunch of it before I feed her. So I’ve been on the hunt for good recipes to use for the discard. Which leads us to today and this hysterical encounter with my daughter. This morning I found a great recipe to make crackers. My five year old daughter M is my little buddy in the kitchen. She loves to cook and especially likes to bake.

“Hey M, wanna make some crackers with me today?”, I ask.

“What?! That sounds like so much fun Mama! Are these going to be like graham crackers?”, she asks excitedly.

“Well no..”, I interject.

“We can make a house like we did at Christmas!”, she shouts excitedly.

“Baby, these are going to be sourdough crackers. So not sweet, more savory.”, I say with a grin.

She contemplates this for a moment. “Mommy we can still make a house out of the crackers! A cracker house! But we can call it a crack house for short!! This is gonna be the best crack house ever!”, she says with a crazy big smile.

Holding back fits of laughter, I agree with her. “It will be the best crack house in Texas babe!”

Noodle Nose

This morning over coffee I asked my husband who his favorite kid was. He looked at me all disgusted. “C’mon we all have one.” I coaxed. He paused.

Pointing my finger in the air, “Ha! I knew it!”, I smiled and took a long sip of my 2 hour old cold coffee.

“Well, I don’t have a favorite. They all have their moments.” he retorted.

“Way to play it safe.” I smiled and winked at his uncomfortable handsome face.

“Okay, who is your favorite?”, he asked, trying to be sly.

“Excuse me, I’m not a monster that’s just mean. Anyway they all cause me about the same amount of grief.” I said.

All joking aside, I agree with him. I don’t have a favorite, but they each have their own moments that are super fun. It’s an understatement when I say it’s been an adventure watching them grow. Seeing how each of their extremely different personalities are developing and witnessing which fighting style they prefer right before bed is humorous. Or as my husband and I lovingly refer to bedtime as the longest, most insane, worst 4 weeks of our day.

Speaking on how they each have their moments, this is all about our 4 year old M. She is straight up hilarious. Like seriously one of the funniest and happiest people I know. I want to be like her when I grow up. She is also very intelligent, but she does have more than a few “bless your heart” moments in a day. Hey I’m not being mean, I have those a lot too… bless my heart.

The other night at dinner, surprise surprise, it was spaghetti. Okay, it was really just egg noodles with butter and cheese, because my children are weird and only eat like three things. My husband and I were discussing the next school year and weighing the pros and cons of sending M to Kindergarten. Out of the blue M says in her sweet little voice, “The seven continents of the world are: North America, South America, Europe, Australia, Asia, Africa and Antarctica.” Rick and I just sat there with our mouths agape. I’m pretty sure a noodle slide out. Stunned, words finally found their way to my lips, “Yes. Yes, those are the seven continents M. Great job!”

She giggled and slurped up some more noodles. As she was basking in the admiration of good job cheers from her sisters, Rick and I looked at each other in shock.

“Wow, I mean I’ve always known she is really smart, but..” I said.

“I know, wow that is a good preschool. Maybe she really is ready for kindergarten. This is great!” my husband said.

“I know, it is a great preschool. I think that..” and before I could finish my thought or statement M interjects, “There’s a noodle in my nose!”

“Excuse me, a what?” I said.

“A noodle mommy!” M said excitedly.

I go over and look at her nose and I see literally nothing. Her nostril is as plain as this dinner. She keeps insisting there is a noodle up there. I keep insisting there isn’t. Trying to distract her from this noodle thing, I tell her to finish eating so we can go clean the bathroom, or I guess other people might call it bath time. My children splash around in the tub like deranged sea lions, so my bathroom floors are like, seriously immaculate.

Also I am comparing this noodle in the nose moment to this past Super Bowl Sunday. What happened on that day? Oh let me share. We made lots of yummy appetizers, because that’s what you do on that particular Sunday in the States. There is also a football game on tv I think. Anyway back on point, my husband gave M a little smokie on a toothpick. M ate the smokie, but magically didn’t have the toothpick. My husband then asks her where it is and she said she didn’t know. The next thing I know, I’m being dragged into the kitchen by my panicked 6 year old because M ate the toothpick and we have to go to the hospital now! M also provided theatrics by holding her throat sobbing, swaying and saying, “It hurts! It hurts!”, I still picture the Wicked Witch of the West melting and collapsing to the ground. Long story short, she didn’t eat the toothpick… it was on the table.

So now you can see why I am a little skeptical that she shoved a noodle up there.

All through dinner she keeps fiddling with her nose. I ignore it, because gross and I’m hungry. I give in and after dinner I take her to my room where I find one of those blue baby nose sucker things, that magically made it through my great baby items purge. I had her lay down and I used that sucker. I really did give it some effort and sure enough out came.. nothing. Nothing comes out! She is still upset, but I calm her down by promising her a bath with all 18 of her Barbie’s. As I’m drawing the water I hear M give the biggest sneeze. Like Texas big. Startled birds flew off the house and everything big. And sure enough this egg noodle about two inches long shoots out of her nose and lands on my super clean bathroom floor, all gooey and slimy. M with the biggest smile, squats down and holds it up to my mortified and shocked face. “See Mama! I told you there was a noodle in my nose!” she says proudly.

Well shit, there sure was.

After some debate, we have decided that we are still sending our little “Noodle Nose” to Kindergarten this fall. I’m just going to pack her lunch.

Oh and what is our bedtime fighting style you ask? Mostly Passive aggressive comments and empty threats of desperation. Then hugs and kisses of course.

The Dingaling

I love little kids. I love it when they say absurd things. Their curiosity and enthusiasm for the now mundane things is refreshing. I’m jealous that they get to have tantrums and say what they want. People frown upon that as you get older. Let’s face it watching a 40 year old woman screaming and kicking on the floor because her ice cream is too “melty” is apparently not ok…. sorry again Baskin Robbins….

I love and hate their uncensored honesty. And I especially love watching their personalities come to fruition. When my now 4 year old M was 1, my husband and I were scared that she had no personality. Which if you know her, you know how laughable that thought was. We would play peek a boo, act super silly and nothing. Nothing! And we are pretty funny people, well we like to think so anyway. It was kind of a blow to our self esteem. She just seemed unimpressed with us most of the time. Fast forward a few years and she is probably one of the funniest kids I know. And that says a lot. I like to think she was just studying us back then. I have to give her credit, this girl has the quickest wit and the best one liners.

Like most sleep deprived beings, I like to start my morning with a cup of hot coffee. However, I never get to enjoy it hot. I swear the moment the coffee is done brewing my children can sense that I am excited about something. Maybe it’s the rich aroma of happiness wafting through the air that awakens them, who knows. This particular morning my sweet M comes down and crawls into my lap and burrows her tiny self into my body. I give her a big hug and kiss and say “Good morning love!”

“Good morning mommy.”, she replies with a big yawn and her sweet stinky morning breath. We sit a rock back and forth for a moment before she pops up and grabs my face.

“Mommy?”, she asks.

“Yes M?”, I reply as I take a sip of cold coffee.

“Can I see your dingaling?”, she asks inquisitively.

I start choking. I set my cup down, trying to swallow back my coffee as best I can without it seeping out the corners of my mouth. I finally catch my breath. “What did you say?”, I ask mortified and praying that I misheard her.

“Mommy, I want to see your dingaling!”, she asks again with an air of annoyance.

Now something told me not to react how I wanted to react. Because I’m assuming your mind is where mine was right then. Before I could form a coherent sentence M gives up on me and turns to her father.

“Daddy, let me see your dingaling!” she demands.

My husband’s face fell and froze. I could see the range of thoughts going through his head like mine.

“M, why don’t you show us your dingaling?”, I ask calmly. Trying to suppress my own horror.

“Okay!”, she says gleefully. She then proceeds to open her mouth and points laughing really hard. “See?”, she squeals. “See, it dingalings!!”

Oh my good gracious, thank you Jesus. M had discovered her uvula. So naturally my husband and I obliged and showed her our dingalings as well. She was thrilled. We are still working with her to use the proper name. And don’t worry her school has been notified as well.

Santa and Sanitizer

It’s that time of year again! I’ll be honest the day after Halloween I’m like, break out the tree! Now before you get all judgy, I haven’t put out all my Christmas stuff. My home is a beautiful mix of creepy elves, pumpkins, fall leaves and Christmas trees. It’s kinda like, pick a holiday already, but we love it. And I’m just going to say that I counted about 5 houses on our block that already have Christmas lights on at night.. (clears throat and gazes at husband longingly). I’m excited that I have 5 new neighbor friends. They don’t know it, but we are totally friends now.

My kids are delightfully confused about what’s happening here as well. We are still picking through the Halloween candy and talking about Thanksgiving food and making Christmas wish lists. Best. Time. Of. Year. Even though this year has been a total nightmare, I’ve decided that we are going to end it on an awesome note. Just praying that it doesn’t turn into a Griswold Family Christmas. Even though that would hilarious and extremely fitting for 2020.

With the bizarre circumstances of this year, we’ve had to adopt to a new way of life and thinking. Hence this awesome bedtime discussion with my daughter.

“Mom… I’ve been praying a lot for someone special.”, said O (my 6 year old).

Honestly I couldn’t be more excited. The thought of my baby actually praying on her own and thinking of doing that in the first place made my heart soar!

“Oh yeah?”, I said. “I’m so glad, there are a lot of people needing prayer right now. Whom did you pray for?”

Her eyes grew as wide as that adorable smile on her face. You could feel the excitement radiating off her. Kinda like when I enter the Coach Outlet store, with the goal of just smelling and touching all the purses I can’t afford.

“I’m praying for Santa!”, she exclaimed.

“Santa? Well that’s nice is supposed. Praying about anything in particular?”, I asked.

“Well, if you think about it, he like goes into everyone’s houses all over the world. Like EVERYONES…. That’s just really gross mom.”, she stated matter of factly.

I have to admit that is really gross if you think about it. Even if we weren’t in the midst of a global pandemic.

“Yeah I guess that is true, but I’m sure he’ll wear a mask and he already wears gloves so that’s a plus.” I said.

She sat for a moment and considered what I had said.

“Mom, what if we left out a bottle of hand sanitizer by the fireplace instead? And maybe a note that says Please wash your hands before touching anything! You can even use our sink!”, she demanded. Suppressing back a giggle, I agreed with her. “Or what if we just ask him to please leave the presents on the back porch? … But what if there is a storm…. I don’t know.” she laid down, wheels turning in her head.

“I think whatever he does, it will be safe love. Don’t worry about it.” I reassured her.

We finished prayers and she got all tucked in with all 33 of her favorite stuffed animals. After I shut the door I had to laugh, that was pretty funny. However, at the same time made my heart a little sad she even has to think like that. But I have to admit I’m super excited about the Christmas season approaching! We may have even put our Christmas tree already. My kids may have already been decorating it with all their stuffed animals. My husband and I may have already said about 241 times, to stop climbing in the damn tree. But it’s all good. Goodnight everyone!

Nightmare On My Street

The kid’s bedtime. You either love it or hate it. Love may be too strong of a word. Lets’ try this, you either don’t mind it or you hate it. My husband hates it. I don’t mind it. So it works for us. But I think most parents can agree that they look forward to the after bedtime part. However, our kids like to make this an event. I would compare it to the circus, but not in the ohh this is so much fun kind of way. More like the ohh this is bright shiny chaos kind of way. I mean seriously, the expectations/list is simple: Put on your pajamas. Put your water by your bed. Brush your teeth. Go potty. Get into bed. And if that goes smoothly and we have time, we can read a book before prayers. We even start this routine like an hour before bed and somehow they eat up that entire hour with these “simple” tasks. We also have a family dance party before bedtime, to get them tired. It totally works, but the moment we say “Alright it’s time for bed lets get upstairs!” This is what our kids hear:

“Alright it’s time for bed, let’s get upstairs! However, I need you to not be able to see your filled water cup by the stairs. So I need you to automatically panic and search the entire first floor of the house for said cup. Running by the cup, while blocking out everything we say to you so finding your cup, that is in the exact same spot every night, is incredibly frustrating for you. When you finally find it, you will realize it is way too heavy for you to carry up the stairs with all 32 of your favorite stuffed animals. And those stairs that we told you to go up 15 minutes ago are more than likely covered in molasses or some slow motion charm, so that it makes it near impossible for you to get up the stairs at a reasonable speed. You may need to sit down and block your sibling’s path so you can argue about who is going first. Congratulations, you’ve finally made it up the stairs!

Now it’s time to put on your pajamas. Please grab your siblings’ pajamas that are entirely too small for you and get stuck in them and then proceed to run around the living room screaming until we come to peel them off of you. Accuse us of shrinking your clothes. And remember, don’t put your cups by your bed yet. Please leave them by the top of the stairs so they can roll back down or become invisible again. Now brush your teeth. Please smear some toothpaste in your hair and on the mirror. Mommy loves that. She loves cleaning bathrooms especially. And don’t brush your teeth per se. Just chew on the bristles really hard and suck all the toothpaste off, meanwhile running the water from the faucet the entire time. Don’t forget to stir the spittel and water in the sink thoroughly with your toothbrush!

Now please go potty. Please just go potty or dance around in front of the toilet blocking your sibling who really has to go. Scream as loud as you can until they move. That’s so fun. Now sit on the potty for 20 minutes and make up a song. Then use about 30 or so squares of toilet paper, just enough to scare mommy and daddy, that you might clog the toilet. Don’t’ flush. Wash hands with just cold water and wipe your wet hands on your pajamas and then please complain that your pj’s are wet.

Now the real fun part begins. Please choose which bedroom and bed would please you most to sleep in. Then please argue amongst yourselves about it for a while. We understand sleeping in the same place is not for you and it keeps mommy and daddy on their toes not knowing where anyone is consistently. Now that is settled, run and dive into your bed. Please jump on the bed like a deranged kangaroo and nearly miss knocking your teeth out on the headboard. Please arrange all 32 of your favorite stuffies around to protect you. Then panic when your favorite lovie is missing. Yes it may change daily, how silly of us not to keep track of it. Lets go search the entire house until we find it in the refrigerator. See that was fun. Okay time to turn on the nightlight! Please tell me how much light you need and then change your mind a few times, until it suits you. Of course, please demand a book! Then act completely surprised and disappointed that we don’t have time to read a book. Tell us how rude that is, repeatedly. Now hide under all the covers in your bed. Say your prayers under there. Don’t surface for hugs and kisses. Then please scream at us when we leav,e that you don’t have your water! Then act shocked when we ask you where it is. Then repeat this every night until we die.”

Okay it may not always be this bad… or is it? If this season in your life sounds familiar, remember you are not alone. If you’ve made it out of this season alive, you are my hero. If this isn’t even on your radar… you’ve been warned.

Shady Deliveries, A Grocery Tale

I’ve often wondered what I would look like with silver hair. Surprise! I get to see it in full effect now. See, trying to find the positives guys. I think I could totally pull it off. Day 3,216 of quarantine. I’m still out of coffee creamer. I’m starting to feel as bitter as this coffee. We don’t speak ill of the precious! I mean coffee. Anyone else developing a Gollum alter ego? The kids are full on Lord of the Flies now. I’m tired of intervening and am about ready to take bets with my husband, as to which child is going to emerge the victor.

Mommy needs a little, I mean a lot, of quiet time. To, you know, do super exciting things like cleaning, dishes, laundry, crying and online grocery shopping. But alas, I’m summoned most every night by my 5 year old in tears, because I won’t open a magical portal for her to go through, so she can go to Ladybug and Cat Noirs’ world (It’s an anime show on Netflix, no worries I could sense your confusion). I’m super honored that she thinks I have this skill set. I do consider myself a Gryffindor, so I am pretty magical. And I may from time to time turn off and on the living room and kitchen lights using a spell (or an app on my smartphone). So I can see where she gets this idea. I told her to write herself in a story with Ladybug and Cat Person and draw the pictures. She looked at me like I was crazy. Which with this quarantine, I’m pretty certain I’m becoming.

I love the internet. Like, really love it. Want a new outfit and refinance your house? Done! Want that original ET poster and some bigfoot footage? Done! And the Meme’s don’t forget about the Meme’s! I also love the tips people are giving out about how to stay protected nowadays. A friend sent me a picture of this tiny woman using her bra cup as a face mask. It was pretty and fit perfectly around her mouth and nose. I went to my drawer and pulled out one of my old bras and put my face in the cup. Like my entire face fit in my bra cup. I would be the safest person out there. Nothing would get in my mouth, nose or eyes. And as far as social distancing goes, people would just naturally get out of my way, because I’d look pretty creepy and I’m probably about to run into them. So there’s that.

My favorite thing is online grocery shopping. However, I’ve been doing this for years. I am so much better at sticking to my grocery list and budget if I do it this way. Plus there is that suspense after you check the box to allow substitutions. What will you get? I don’t know, you’ll just have to wait and see! Will they substitute a 16 ounces can of refried beans with a 3 pound can? Ohhh boy (rubs hands together with a maniacal grin)!

Now before I tell you this next part I need to clarify a few things. First of all I can’t thank all of the brave first responders enough. All the people fighting this awful virus on the front lines. And lets not forget the people that enable us to stay home safely. The personal shoppers that go out to these crazy stores to get us our food and supplies. I’m grateful. I’m also probably one of the more patient and kind people you will meet. (Except if you are driving like super slow in front of me.) But Kroger, you’re on my list now and that’s not a good place to be. That being said here is my story.

On Wednesday I started an online grocery order to be delivered, from Kroger. I put my address in, chose delivery and then filled and filled my cart in hopes to get at least half of what I picked. Because let’s be realistic here, you’re not going to get everything you ask for and that’s okay. When I was finished I hit submit only to find that they didn’t deliver to my house… Sooo why give me the option. Okay whatever, I called my friend up and asked if I could have them delivered to her house instead. She lives in town, so I knew that’d be a safe bet. See I’m being flexible guys. She said sure thing, so I selected to have them delivered to her house between 3-4 pm on Friday.

So Friday comes and we drive the half hour to her house, because now it’s a family outing. We haven’t been out of the house in weeks, and we wait for an hour in her driveway to intercept the groceries. Well they didn’t show. And they didn’t show until 11:15pm that night. Who the hell is up that late? Okay probably lot’s of people. Don’t worry I sent my family home long before this. But come on Kroger, that’s not cool. As I’m sitting in my black car in my friends driveway, I’m starting to feel really uncomfortable. She lives in a culdesac, that’s not the best lit. Or maybe it is, but there are like a million trees so it’s super dark. And I look pretty scary myself. I have a bandanna around my mouth, don’t worry I didn’t wear my bra over my face. I have on gloves. My makeup is smeared under my eyes from crying, because that’s what I do when I’m mad. Yes I wore makeup, I don’t get out much guys. And my husband’s cowboy hat is sitting in the seat next to me. Begging for me to put it on. I literally looked like I was about to rob a stagecoach. Call me Pearl Heart.

The delivery driver pulled up and sat there for a moment. Maybe she could see me and was scared. Maybe she was debating on making a run for it, I don’t know. I stepped out and opened my trunk giving a friendly wave. She cautiously steps out as well. Don’t worry lady I’m not going to shove you into the back of my car. Social distancing would frown on that.

“Hi!” I say as friendly as I can muster. I take off my mask because I feel ridiculous and stay a safe distance back. “Please don’t be alarmed, that is my friends house, but this is my order. Ya’ll wouldn’t deliver to my house.” She looks at me confused. I guess I didn’t think about this part because it really looks like I am trying to steal someone’s grocery order. I see that now. I guess these are desperate times. I can also see some neighbors peeking out, I guess some people are really awake at this hour.

My answer seemed to appease her and she started to load up my car. Or she just really didn’t care and wanted to get home because it’s crazy late and was thankful I wasn’t a wanna be gunslinger from the 1800’s trying to rob her. “Stick em up and gimmie all the groceries!” Yeah, I can’t pull that off. And don’t worry I didn’t say that out loud. I did say it in my head though.

I finally get home around midnight with my groceries. I haven’t been up this late on purpose in years. The morning is going to be here too soon, hopefully my kids will let me sleep in (7 a.m. woot!). I know that’s not going to happen. However, I did get some kind of coffee creamer, and did I mention a 3 pound can of refried beans?

The Peppermint 5K

I find myself sharing lots of stories about ice cream. Which is odd coming from someone who is lactose intolerant. Not only do I love it, but I grew up around ice cream. My Grandfather had a dairy and made amazing ice cream treats. Ten cents a cone, can you believe it? For that price I’d eat myself sick! One of my favorite family traditions we have, is eating banana splits on New Year’s Day. Sweet way to kick off the new year! (See what I did there lol)

As a kid I swore that when I grew up, I’d eat ice cream every night and stay up super late watching all the Saved By The Bell I could stand. Now, as we all know, there is no more Saved By The Bell. Kelly and Zach probably have like four kids by now and are trying to figure out how to get Screech to move out of their basement. Also staying up super late is a new form of torture to me. I don’t eat ice cream every night, because… well I guess I really don’t know why. Dang being an adult is lame, sorry twelve year old me!

I’ve also found that people are passionate about what brand they eat. Coming from Nebraska, it’s Blue Bunny all the way. Down here in Texas, it’s scandalous to eat anything other than Blue Bell. My husband will only eat Bryers. Then there are the people who throw all caution to the wind and buy the giant no name buckets that you need an ice pick to get a good scoop. As for me, I’ve always had a love affair with Schwan’s ice cream. Especially their peppermint stick.

It’s the last day of school and start of Christmas break. I just got everyone in the house and as I’m negotiating snack time with the kids I look up and see it. That beautiful bright yellow truck holding some of the most delicious treasures known to man. Such treasures as my beloved peppermint stick ice cream. “The Schwan Man! I’ll be right back!” My heart rate rose as I found myself running out the door. Leaving my children to fend for themselves with no snack at this point, because we are still arguing that cookies are not a food group. Even though I think they should be, but that’s neither here nor there. Let’s get back to the oblivious Schwan Man.

I slam the door behind me, leap off the front step, jump over my deflated Santa, duck under my tree filled with Christmas ball ornaments, nearly trip over my border of Christmas lights and hit the sidewalk running. And running. And running I mean this guy seriously won’t stop. I look down and see that I am still wearing my white socks tucked into my flip flops. Now cut me a break here, my feet were cold and I’m not ready to completely embrace winter. I mean it’s December and I’m running after ice cream. And yes, I know that this is a giant fashion no no. I would totally make fun of me if I saw me too. My jeans are kindly getting loose and falling around my hips. Pretty sure I have a plumber bum right now too. Anyways, as I am galloping down the sidewalk, looking like a deranged camel, flapping my arms in the wind, I start to lose hope. At this point I’m really far from home, my kids have probably started to eat each other by now and I look completely crazy. Then an angel in a silver SUV sees me. She bursts out laughing and then realizes that I’m chasing the Schwan Man. She pulls the guy over for me, smiles, waves and drives off laughing. I finally made it up to his window and he smiles and rolls it down. “Hi..” I say breathlessly. “Do you have any peppermint stick ice cream?”

“Why yes I do.” He said with a grin.

“Great!” Then I pat my pockets. Shit. “Well I don’t have any money…”

I forgot to think that far ahead.

The nice Schwan Man got my info and was going to stop by shortly. As I triumphantly made my way back home I was pleased to find my kids still arguing in the kitchen about what snack to eat. They seriously didn’t know I had left. Which confirms my theory they don’t listen to anything I say. However in this situation, it kind of works in my favor. Ice cream? What ice cream? It’s all mine.

Mombie

I loved watching horror movies growing up. It could be that I’ve lived in a haunted house (another story for another time) and the unknown just fascinates me. Every Halloween I’d treat myself to a new horror movie to add to my collection. However, as I’ve gotten older and have had kids, I just can’t handle them like I used too. Now if I do watch them, it has to be at 10 a.m. on a Saturday. Which is a feet in itself to watch anything other than PJ Masks anymore. There is something about getting up in the middle of the night and walking around in the dark, feeling your way around towards someone who is screaming, that can be a bit unsettling. Or when you’re greeted by a tiny shadow bobbing down the dark hallway and it takes everything in you not to kick and scream “away tiny demon!”. Forget the images of a monster under your bed kids. If you want to see something equally if not more frightening, just turn the lights on as your mother is finding her way to you in the dark. Her hair going every which way like Medusa, wild crazy eyes (because you’ve woken her up, yet again), breath that would turn on Shrek, possibly a drool stain from the corner of her mouth, pillow case creases on her forehead and her robe dragging behind her because she was to damn tired to put both arms in. I’d take my chance with the monster under the bed. So I’ve had one of those weeks where I haven’t had a full nights sleep since… okay let me think… maybe it was the summer of 2014, come to think of it. Anyway rough week, but we must carry on! The food scene was becoming dire in our house so I had to make a quick trip to Walmart. My husband and I divided the kids and conquered the store as quickly as possible w/o any break downs. When we got to the check out line I stayed and he took the kids out to the car. I had a young boy, probably high school age checking me out. I said hello and started emptying my cart. He responded with hello and then began telling me how much he weighed. “I weighed 203 and now I weigh 198. I lost 5 pounds in one day.” he began. I was like oh so are we sharing random facts today. Suppressing my sarcastic comments I congratulated him on his success. He went on to tell me he decided that he is going to lose a pound a day for the next month, as mater of fact as telling me my shoe was untied. Again trying to be nice I said I hope you do. Then he dives in telling me about portion control and drinking water. I couldn’t respond anymore. Just scan my damn Eggo waffles and be done with this! I could tell he could sense my please shut the hell up vibes, which was nice that he could pick up on some social ques. So then he tells me how tired he is….. and that it was just awful that he had to wake up at 6:45 a.m.. If I could sleep that late, I would throw a party. Well a party if everyone would leave by 9 and clean up after themselves. I couldn’t help myself, “Are you really complaining to me about being tired?”. He just looked at me. “Did you see all the kids I just had in here? I haven’t slept in years. And you know what kids do to your body? They stretch it out and fat goes into new places you didn’t even know existed.” The poor kids eyes were wide and he just awkwardly stared at me. Then a thought occurred to me. Maybe moms aren’t just scary to encounter when they are sleep deprived in dark hallways. They are scary out in the wild as well. As I loaded up my cart and walked away. I was pleased to know I hadn’t scarred the poor kid for life. As the next customer said hello, he told her how much he weighed…