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!”

I’m Fine.. Everything is Fine!

Day 3,210 of quarantine. How is everyone doing? I’m going to be honest. I’m struggling a bit. I’m out of my favorite coffee creamer and my sarcasm is reaching a whole new level. However, my play dough skills have dramatically improved as well as my Southern Style Old Fashioneds. Trying to find a new normal has been nothing short of a challenge. Back in the beginning of March when I found out school was going to be out an additional two weeks, I panicked a bit. But I put my teacher hat on and made a daily schedule. I ordered all the necessary supplies, I was ready to rock. I was like, I’m going to home school the crap out of these kids! They are going to go back to school ahead of the curve and I’m going to potty train the youngest and they are going to be like wow Traci, how’d ya do it? And I would act all humble and say something like, “Ya know, just doing what I can during these uncertain times.”

I made a makeshift classroom in my living room. I had desks, seats for circle time. A chalk board with all my circle time stuff. Lesson plans from the basic Math/Reading/Writing to How to be a Lady/ Etiquette class. We even FacedTimed with a good friend of mine, to learn sign language and learned a bible verse! Look at me molding the minds of little geniuses! After the two weeks were up and my hair was a lot grayer, they extended the break another two weeks, and then another two weeks…. Shit got real, real quick. The baby is still not potty trained. I gave up on my awesome daily schedule and just do the basics. I’ve painted all my kids bedrooms, two bathrooms and have gotten rid of 8 boxes of toys. Please please don’t send us any more puzzles or stuffed animals. Thank you.

My husband is working from home now, which we are extremely grateful that he is able to do so. Even though he now has three very demanding and inconsiderate new co-workers, he seems to be handling the transition well. Having adult interaction during my day is awesome! Except for the part where he has to actually focus and do his job. I’m trying to keep a steady daily routine and some sense of normalcy for the kids as well. I have about 40 minutes to myself during the day. That’s the part where I make the kids go upstairs and play while I get a workout in. I crave this part of the day. Some days I’m really into it, other days I’m just yelling go back upstairs as I’m laying on my yoga mat in front of the fan pretending I’m at the ocean. If this ever happens again, God forbid, I’m thinking ahead about my quarantine location.

This day in particular as I’m really trying to work out, my oldest comes running down the stairs.

“Mom! MOM! It’s an emergency!”, screams O.

When my kids play they seem to yell help a lot, so our word for a real problem is emergency. I drop my weights and sprint up the stairs. When I get to the top I hear it. This thud thud thud… and muffled “MOMMY HELP ME!”.

“What is going on?!”, I demanded. I follow the muffled scream into O’s room. There on a heap of princess dresses and play clothes is my youngest C. With a look of pure delight on her face. O points to the big red trunk where we keep the playclothes. “She’s in there.” O says trying to force back a sinister smile.

“Why is your sister locked in the trunk?!” I shrieked. Pretty sure my dog downstairs heard me and hid and am quite certain my husbands’ conference call could hear the whole debacle as well.

“I don’t know mom, maybe she locked herself in there?”, O said cooley as if stating an obvious reason. Que more thud thud thud. “Let me out!” yelled M from the depths of the trunk.

“Where is the key?!” I said.

“That’s the emergency.” said O. “I don’t know…”

Seriously?! Her room looked like a prom from the 80’s had blown up. Or the rapture had occurred and only took the Disney Princesses. Or the cast of Downton Abbey had an after party. You get the visual.

“Well look!” I yelled. It’s a good thing that I am a child of the 80’s and watched my fair share of Double Dare. I always dreamed that I would get chosen for that show. Hurtling through that crazy messy house trying to find all those red flags, was a dream! Who knew I’d be living that someday. Okay I guess my house isn’t normally that messy, but today my daughter’s room was and my red flags were that key to the trunk! The stakes were a lot higher too. I didn’t have the fear of getting doused with green slime, I had the fear of calling the fire department, during a pandemic and major social distancing, to get my kid freed from a trunk! I can just see the headlines now. “Irresponsible Mom With Out Of Control Children, Locks Toddler In Trunk And Breaks Social Distancing Rules.”

“Ah Hah!” I found the key under a pile of tea party hats! I quickly held it up triumphantly and inserted it into the lock. The trunk popped open and M sat up rubbing her tear stained eyes. “Mommy! I found you!” said M with a sigh. She leapt out of the trunk, gave me a quick kiss and picked up her Owlette hat. She turned to her sisters, “Lets Go!” and off they went. Galavanting off to the next bedroom to blissfully destroy. Acting like the best of friends they are and having no memory of the last 10 minutes of horror.

As I’m standing there ankle deep in pink frill, with the prized key clutched in my hand, I’m reminded of a very important fact. I have perfected the Southern Style Old Fashioned. I’m fine… Everything is FINE!

The Log Ride

Tonight I made one of my favorite dishes growing up, saucy porkchops. Which also happens to be my oldest daughters favorite now too. However, trying to get everyone to sit down and eat the same meal together isn’t realistic. Because why would all of my children want to agree on something to eat? That is crazy talk! I’d have better luck finding my favorite movie in the $5 bin at Walmart.

My youngest is the pickiest eater I have ever met. So we let her eat before us and then sent her upstairs to watch her favorite movie, while we all enjoyed a peaceful dinner with less screaming. Notice I said less. After a nice, quite dinner I volunteered to do the dishes so my husband could play games with the girls. Things were a little too quite upstairs though, so we asked O to run up to check on C before we started the games. Little did I know we were all about to play a super fun game, that was uncomfortably close to Jumanji.

O comes sprinting down the steps faster than a shoplifter with a giant pile of jeans. Her expression is a mix of horror and glee, but mostly horror. I mean come on we all have smiled a bit knowing our sibling was about to get it. And being the one to deliver the news to mom and dad is pretty great.

“Mommy!” she said in a panic. “Mommy, it’s everywhere! The water is on, mommy hurry, help!”.

I dropped my dinner plate and sprinted up the stairs. (I can do that now, thanks Jazzercise) With a scene that looked comparable to G.I. Jane (except I’m not nearly as cool as Demi and it didn’t look anything like G.I Jane), I was jumping over toys and a side stepping around books, kicking Barbies out of the way, until I reached the bathroom doorway and found myself looking at an unbelievable scene.

There she was. Happily sitting in the sink with the spouts on full blast. Kind of looked like the second floor girls lavatory at Hogwarts, except Moaning Myrtle wasn’t doing the flooding this time. It was my soon to be 2 year old.

“C!!” I yelped. I stepped into the bathroom, water completely covering the tops of my feet as I turned off the faucets. I picked up my sopping wet toddler out of the flooded sink and sat her down into our new “baby pool”, that was about a half hour ago, just my bathroom floor. She smiled and said “You Ok?”

“NO! No I’m not okay!” I yelled. “R!!! Help me, get up here.. like now!”

As I’m standing in my brand new aquatics center, regretting my nice quite dinner, I smell it. Ugh it’s poop again. Why is it always poop? I look down at the sink and there are nice little nuggets floating cheerfully in the water. Talk about a log ride. They were cascading down the sides of my sink onto the floor as well. I look at C and she smiles. It’s a damn good thing you are 1 and you are cute. My poor husband gets to the bathroom door and looks exasperated and horrified. I’m so angry, I can’t even process what’s happening. 1. She could’ve gotten seriously hurt and 2. My brand new @#$%^&* house!!

I hand him over the baby as he hands me a giant pile of towels. About 14 Frozen and Paw Patrol beach towels later I had successfully mopped up all the water and poop from the floor, sink and in the cabinets. Now to disinfect everything and start another huge ass pile of laundry. I guess I had been meaning to clean my floor boards anyway, so I can check that off my list now.

As I’m finishing up scrubbing the last piece of floor I feel this little hand on my shoulder? It was C. Smiling at me with that ridiculously cute smile, holding a plate with a fake cup cake on it. “You mommy!” I take the cake and the hug that came with it. After she leaves the bathroom I hear yet again another shriek and a crash coming from down stairs. So naturally I closed the door and ignored them.

R comes up later, I couldn’t even ask him what the last scream was about because he looked like he was about to scream as well. C’s little Niagara Falls fiasco had leaked into the ceiling of the garage, directly on the garage door opener, to the top of my car and down and out into the driveway.

Long story short we tucked the girls into bed super early and had a stiff drink or two. I can’t remember. I may have also called my mother and told her I quit. She is coming down now in a month. Halleluiah!

This morning as I was leaving the house trying not to remember the happenings of the previous night, my garage door opener wouldn’t work. SOB!!!! It all came flooding back. (See what I did there). Luckily the app on my phone worked to shut the door. Now if only there was an app to control my kids.

Hairy Situations with a Side of Streaking

I don’t know if this is normal for everyone else, but I have to completely prepare myself the night before for outings the next day. Going out into public with my three (O is 5, M is 3 and C is 20 months) is insane. I often feel like I’m preparing for battle. Coffee maker is ready. I have the clothes laid out, ready to go. The shoes are by the door. The diaper bag is fully stocked with the essentials and snacks of course, to help the hangry melt downs. Water bottles are ready to be filled and I have in mind what breakfast is going to be. I have them covered, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve left myself uncovered. Bra, what bra?? Damn it! But come on this is motherhood. No matter how prepared we try to be things are always chaotic. Or is that just me?

I called my mother today on my way home from the girl’s haircuts and had the discussion of, is this normal or just my circus? When we get to the salon I find a parking space right by the front door! Score, one it is a 100 degrees out and two I don’t have to dodge other cars with the kids. I get the kids inside and run into my first obstacle, the giant glass bowl of mints. O runs right up and dives her hand in.

“One! Just one!” I yelp as I’m hanging onto M by the armpit, as she decides to go limp and dump out her Daniel Tiger backpack full of ABC blocks in the elegant entryway. On the other side I have my hand tight around C’s leash. Okay, time out, don’t get high and mighty with me. C is wearing a super cute bright pink butterfly back pack, that she loves, and it just so happens to have a little leash attached on the back of it. She gets the feeling of freedom running around and I get the feeling of reassurance she won’t get hit by a car. Win win.

O gives me a furrowed brow and grabs a couple mints. “One is for M!” she justified. A nice older gentleman sees my peril and helps M put her blocks back in her bag. I sincerely thank him and make my way back outside to the court yard to my stylist suite. The one thing I have going for me, is that it’s a small courtyard with no other exits. It has a beautiful water fountain in the middle and lots of pretty plants. The other suites have big windows looking out into the yard. When we get there, the girls excitedly move into her suite. Shoes are taken off, The Grinch is starting on the IPad and snacks are being distributed. O quickly unwraps her mint and shoves it in her mouth and climbs up into the chair. Everyone is engaged and being good. So I stupidly take a relaxed breath. You know what that means.

As I’m watching O get three inches of her hair cut off, I hear a big gush of water followed by a startled tiny scream. My stylist and I both jumped and turned around to see M standing at the shampoo bowl on the chair, being pummeled with water by the hose. The stylist quickly turned off the water and I assessed the damage. M looked like she just took a causal stroll through a car wash. So I stripped her down to her pull-up and cowgirl boots, and mopped up the mess. In the meantime as I’m wiping up the floor, I notice C isn’t watching The Grinch. In fact she isn’t in the suite at all. Shit! My heart starts to race once again and before I can completely panic I see the end of the pink leash stuck in the door. I run over to the door and look out. She is leaning forward like she is flying, being supported by the entrapped leash. I grab the end and open the door. She is quite pleased with herself for escaping, well kind of, during the chaos. Sometimes I wonder if these two plan these moments.

I pick up C and set her back by the movie. Then I turn around to see a naked toddler in a pull-up and cowgirl boots run by, giggling uncontrollably. Wait, NO!!! That’s my naked cowgirl giggling toddler! I run out into the courtyard to get her and of course she thinks this is the best game ever. As I’m chasing her I can see people coming to the windows laughing really hard at this spectacle. I finally catch her and M says “Yay mommy you did it! I’m so proud of you!” Thanks M. We finally make it through the haircuts. Did I mention my stylist is a saint for putting up with us? As I’m trying to pay, C is rearranging all the product on the shelves. M is trying to climb the chair to get a cup of coffee and O is just staring in the mirror, posing with her fabulous new hair style.

We make it all the way to the entrance with no more incidents and I think we are in the home stretch, I mean I can see the car out front, when M takes off for the stairs. Did I forget to mention that M is still only wearing a pull-up and cowgirl boots during all of this? O see’s the giant glass bowl of mints and heads over to grab some more. I start after M, as I’m yelling “No more mints O!” However I forget that I have a small little person attached to me by a leash and starting dragging her along with me. The receptionist jumps up to help me out and grabs M, as I’m trying to help up poor little confused C.

“Please let me help you out to your car. I see you have your hands full.” the receptionist said kindly.

“Thank you so much and you have no idea.” I replied.

Ice Cream and Deadbolts

Ya’ll this afternoon was hot. Like you better inhale that Bomb Pop now before your face looks like a scary ass clown kind of hot. Luckily O was at camp this afternoon, so I just had M and C to cart around. It’s amazing how being one kid down feels like a mini vaca! Target was kind of a breeze. I could’ve spent an entire day and salary just looking around, but I could tell I was on a very limited time frame with the girls and we still had to go pick up the dog at the groomers. I love it when Georgia, our dog, gets groomed. One she smells way better and two she looks like a very cute shaved Ewok. When we got home from all our errands, the girls were begging to go outside and play in their ridiculously awesome playhouse. Thanks again mom and dad. By this time of day it’s in the shade so I said go ahead. I needed to get some things ready for dinner anyway and it would be nice to do so without toddlers ridding on my legs like a couple of koalas. Although my calf muscle are looking tight lately.

After a few minutes I realized that things were too quite. You know what I mean? Kind of like when all the birds stop chirping when a big storm is near. So naturally I dropped everything and sprinted outside to see what they were doing. Well M decided that the house needed a little face lift or she thought she was the next Van Goh. She colored the entire side of our brown house, including the door, with bright blue chalk. I have to admit for the time she had unsupervised she covered a lot of ground.

“Why did you color the house?” I asked.

“What?” she looked at me with giant innocent eyes and a bright blue hand.

“Chalk stays on the ground only!” I said raising my voice and trying to keep my cool.

I told her to go into the house, which she was not pleased about at all. She started to melt down and asked for her binky, for like the billionth time and of course I said no, yet again. Side note, this is day 2 of no binky. (Prayers and gin are welcomed.) She glared at me with those mischievous beautiful brown eyes and slammed the door. I drug the water hose out and sprayed the blue Smurf massacre off the house. C found all this quite amusing and cheered for me. When I was done I picked her up and smelled a very ripe diaper. Great it’s all over my arm. I go to walk into the house and run into the door, smack! It’s locked….

I knock on the door and loudly call for M, “Unlock the door please!”

So our back door is in a small hallway between our bedroom and the living room. I can see most of each room. She comes strolling casually around the corner of the living room, smiles almost as if she’s surprised to see me and shakes her head no.

“Open. The. Door. Now.” I repeat sternly.

She considers my request and tries to unlock it. After a few failed attempts she successfully unlocks the bottom lock, but to my surprise she had somehow managed to lock the dead bolt above as well. Well Crap. I finally gave up trying to point out and describe the dead bolt to her. Well mostly because she got tired and walked away from me.

So I ran over to the next door neighbors house hoping they still had a key to our house. Not home. Ran across the street to our other neighbors’ house. Not home. Shit. No literally, C had gone again. I was reaching desperation. It was 102 degrees out, I’m barefoot and this diaper can’t hold much more. Third times a charm right? Luckily it was. Our other neighbor was thankfully home and let us in to use her phone. Thank goodness I knew my husband’s phone number. Ah voicemail. Well I expected that I guess. I don’t pick up when I don’t know the number either. Now I was just praying that he listens to the voicemail and doesn’t decided to go run errands after he picks up O.

I thanked my neighbor and ran back over to the house. Out of all my kids I knew M would be the least panicked about being alone. And I was totally right.

I got back into the backyard with C and went up to the door. I looked in and didn’t see or hear M anywhere. So I knocked… and knocked again. Then I see her. She is sitting on the floor with a fist full of ice cream, in front of the door. A half-gallon bucket of mint chocolate chip ice cream is sitting securely between her legs.

“M!” I yelled. “Put that away now!” I like how I thought I had any control in this situation what so ever. I’m cute like that.

“No.” she retorted calmly. Then she got up calmly with the ice cream and walked into my bedroom. Then back into my bathroom, turns and faces me with a chocolaty smile and oh so sticky hands and slams the French doors to the bathroom shut.

I stand there for a moment full of rage and then I start laughing. Well at least I know she is eating the ice cream on the tile now. I embrace the moment. I know M is safe, I mean there is at least half of that container left. That will take her awhile. I strip down C to nothing and wash her off with the hose. She thinks this is all hilarious and wonderful. My kind neighbor stops by with a cold bottle of water and encouragement.

“This is a hard time in motherhood! You’re fine!” she said kindly.

Damn. She is right! So I sit myself down, crack open a nice cold water (in my head it was beer) and sat there spraying my naked baby with a hose until my husband came home.

Shenanigans & Hoarding

How many of you have jumped on board with the whole de-hoarding of your home train? Right here! Yup that’s me, now throw your hands in the air, wave em’ like you jus’ don’t care. C’mon, I know you were singing along with me in your best Run D.M.C. impersonation. Now put your hands back down before you knock something over. I just vacuumed for the 2^nd time today. Marie Kondo has an excellent system of de-cluttering. I just need to figure out how to keep little “helpful” hands, from moving things out of my piles. I have so many piles in my home right now ya’ll. There is the trash pile, give away to a friend pile, donate pile and I’m not sure what to do with this globe I like that sports countries that don’t even exist anymore pile. Hello U.S.S.R.! This chaos all started when I discovered that I owned 5 9×13 pans. Does that make me an excellent Methodist or what? I’m ready for that pot luck in a moment’s notice. But I had to ask myself, does having 5 9×13 pans bring me joy? No, it’s stressed me the hell out.

So basically my home has looked like a state of emergency, as I go through every cabinet, closet, etc.., for a couple weeks now. It reached it maximum messy point this past Friday night. After getting home from an awesome dinner with friends and surviving a nighty night battle, worthy of an Oscar nomination from our children, we were just done. My house can be messy, but my kitchen is always immaculate. I CANNOT stand a dirty kitchen. Well Friday night I sure did. I had a dishwasher waiting to be unloaded. Dirty dishes galore on my island. Shoes, socks, jackets, toys, diaper bags, purse….. Screw it, we made a cocktail and watched Jurassic World. The next morning I awake to my four year old gasping at my side with delight. “Mommy! You won’t believe this!” squealed O. Feeling completely disoriented I reach for my glasses. “What’s going on?” I ask in a yawn. “Someone was in our house!” O shrieked. “WHAT?” I ask in a more alert state. “Come let me show you!” O said as she handed me my robe and pulled me by the hand.

I speed walk out into the living room ready to drop kick the asshole who broke in, ya know, because I’m getting so strong from Jazzercise and all. There were toys, pillows, blankets galore. Okay looks the same. Kitchen … disaster, okay. Dining room table is under there somewhere, okay. My piles looked undisturbed, okay. Yup looks how I left it. Front, back and garage door all locked. “This place is a pit mom!” yelled Olive as she spun in circle. “Gee thanks.” I say sarcastically and defensively at the same time. You try to keep a house clean with three Gremlins hopped up on popsicles, I think to myself. “I know who did this!” O exclaimed. “You?” I ask. “No silly, it was the leprechaun! He must have come early! He is very mischievous and wrecked our house. I can’t believe it! Can we call my teachers at school and tell them?” asked O with wide sparkling brown eyes.

I love how O thinks that her teachers are always at school. Like they live there and just wait for her to show back up. Come to think of it, before spring break, her teachers had a naughty leprechaun come into their class room and wreak havoc making a huge mess while they were away at recess. Of course this made sense to her. “Yeah, you’re right. I bet it was that naughty leprechaun!” I said. “I guess we better clean this up.” “Na, I’m going to go look for him. Good luck with that mom!” she said as she skipped away. I didn’t have the energy to argue with her at that moment. Oh don’t you worry I made her help later. That is after she found lose change on the floor and was certain the leprechaun left her treasure. And after, she had to call my in-laws and parents and tell them how she is living in filth and squalor that was certainly created by this tiny green man. Insert face palm. I swear your grandchildren are safe! Well the tiny green trouble maker has left us alone, for now anyways. I got the first floor of my home done. Now onto the second. I’m gonna need more coffee.. or Guinness.

Lent Me Ask You a Question

I don’t know about you, but I feel like Ash Wednesday always creeps up on us. I mean, I seriously just watched my neighbors take down their Christmas tree a couple days ago. Now in their defense I think they may be snow birds to somewhere like, I don’t know.. Florida. I guess our harsh Texas winters can be too much.. (Insert Scarlett O’Hara eyebrow raise). No judgement here. I love Christmas just as much as the next person, but it is March. They were past that awkward point of you still haven’t taken it down? To wow, aren’t you a little early?

Wednesday morning as I was making my bed with O “helping” me, my mom FaceTimed. O answered the phone excitedly, “Hi Nana!”

“Good morning O!” Nana said.

“Nana, what happened to your head? Are you alright?” asked O concerned.

“Oh yes honey, I’m fine I just went to church early this morning. I’m sure you’ll go tonight.” said Nana.

O looked at me with big eyes. Now mind you, she has an overactive imagination like her mama. I could just see all the questions formulating in her little mind getting ready to cascade out of her mouth. Sometimes I wish I was a day drinker. Do you know the average toddler asks 288 questions a day? That means I probably tell about 200 lies a day.

I took the phone from O so my poor mother wouldn’t pass out from motion sickness trying to talk to my daughter. Most of the time when you try and FaceTime my children, it looks like you are watching the Blair Witch Project. You get great shots of their noses, sometimes with a lovely booger dangling around. You will see my ceiling or their feet as they run off with you. You may even hear a toilet flush as they try to go potty and talk to you, talk about multitasking! And if you are super lucky they will spin around in a circle with you so you can feel like you are at an amusement park for free!

I love my morning check in’s with my mom. I’m almost 40 and I think I talk to her about 9 times a day. After we hung up, O turned to me and began the interrogation.

“Her head is dirty mom! Why isn’t she washing her face? Why did church do that to her? Does she know?” asked O sternly.

“Yes love she knows, I’m not just letting Nana walk around with dirt on her face.” I said. “On Ash Wednesday Christians put ashes on our heads to help us remember that we are dust and to dust we shall return.” By the horrified look on her face I realized that was way too deep. Before we could start a theological debate I continued. “Ash Wednesday is the first day of Lent, which is when we practice self-restraint and abstention until Easter.”

She just stared at me with confused eyes. “Okay sister, basically you pick out something you want to give up. Food, a bad habit, or you can do something kind. Basically you’re doing something intentional for Jesus. What would you like to do?”

She sat thoughtful for a moment and said “How about cookies and candy?!”

Cookies and candy, huh? Well at this moment I can come clean and explain to her what she is doing or I could do to her what my father did to me at her age, which I still hold a grudge dad. I could let her think that we are having a party a church. I loved parties and one for Jesus had to be super special, so naturally I suggested cookies, cupcakes, candy, juice and pop! When we got home that evening I asked for a cookie, but instead I had a harsh “come to Jesus” moment with my dad. So do I come clean or not? To avoid long periods of screaming and crying later, because that’s frowned upon for a 37 year old, I tell her the truth.

“That’s fine, but you do realize that you are giving these things up? Meaning, no more cookies and candy until Easter.” I said.

She sat thoughtfully for a moment and had a look of regret. This look totally reminded me of the time we had lunch with my mother at Applebee’s. O loves vegetables and one particular day she decided that she wanted a side of broccoli with her meal. I had a proud mama moment, so I let her go ahead and order it. When the food came out, O looked from her plate to my mothers. My mother had a nice side of fries that caused O great remorse. O hung her head and whispered, “What have I done??!” I think I spit out my Diet Coke.

“What? Wait!! Okay.. then you can take all the fruit. I don’t want it.” Said O.

“Such a sacrifice O.” I said sarcastically

O’s smile widened and she ran out of the room. You remember that moment when your mom told you she hoped you’d have one just like you someday? Well that day is here for me, times three. I guess I can stop buying fruit and throwing it away now.

Black Diamonds & Asthma Attacks

I have to admit I completely related to Bella Swan when she said that she doesn’t like anything cold and wet. Oh come on, don’t act like you don’t know who Bella is. We all lived through the Twilight era 11 years ago. I’m sure you still passionately remember whose team you’re on. (Coughs into hand EDWARD). Okay let’s get back to the cold thing. I hate the cold, that’s one of the major reasons I live in the south now. My freshman year of college however, I chose to go to school in northern Iowa. Why you ask? I have no idea, but I’m thankful I did. I met some of my dearest friends there. Freshmen year was one of the most fun years of my life. The majority of us left after that year, but we stayed in touch. About 6 years later we all got together for a little mini reunion in Colorado at a ski resort. A few hours of that trip will forever be etched in my mind.

I don’t know whose bright idea it was to go skiing, but that’s what we decided to do. I have to admit, I wish I was the girl who looked good in cute fitting ski gear and big sunglasses. I would have sailed down the mountain effortlessly with my hair in place and slightly flushed cheeks. Saying things like “Wow Brad that was a really good run. That fresh powder is the best! Let’s go have a cocktail and talk about something relatively interesting.” However being a bigger girl, I pulled off more of the homeless man look from the 80’s. I had the frumpy bright multicolored jacket with parachute looking pants, clunky ski goggles and my hair was reminiscent of sideshow Bob. And I was saying things more like (insert screaming) “I’m gonna die!!” and “Shit!! My ski! My ski! Someone grab it before it ends up in lobby having drinks with Brad!”

When we got to the lodge we decided to break up into different groups to ski in. E and I being the least experienced out of the group, decided we would venture out on our own. Plus I wanted to talk shit about my ex and have some quality alone time with her. You know, fun girlfriend things. We put on our 40 layers of ski equipment and headed out the door. As we were approaching the ski lift area we saw that there were two lines. One line was for people who didn’t wish to pursue death (the green and some blue runs) and the other for people who laughed in the face of it (black runs). That being said, it was green all the way for us. We saw some younger kids waiting in line so we made our way over by them. The closer we got to the lift the more nervous I got. I mean ski lifts are kind of terrifying. There is really nothing but a tiny bar holding you into a rocking metal swing set 20 feet up in the air.

The kids in front of us were next to get on the lift. Suddenly I heard our friends hollering at us from the other line. I turned to them, smiled and waved, but I was a bit confused by their concerned expressions and animated body language. Unfortunately I didn’t understand what was happening until E and I were seated on the rocking swing set from hell being hoisted 80 feet up into the air towards our awaiting doom. That’s right we had got on the wrong lift and were headed to the Black Diamond runs. I then realized two things. 1. I was going to die. 2. We followed tiny demons to our deaths.

I thought to myself, “well at least my last view of the mountain will be beautiful”. After what felt like an eternity we made it to the top. I can feel my palms start sweating as the tiny demons jump off the lift in front of us and zoom out of site. Then I realized, I didn’t remember how to get off this damn thing! It had been about seven years since I’d last done this. E and I stared at each other in horror and screamed as the lift paused for a moment and dumped us out. We slid down the ramp and found our way to a stop. At least I still remembered how to wedge.

“What the hell are we going to do?” I said shakily.

“Will they let us just ride it down again?” E asked.

Unfortunately there was nobody attending the top of the lift. And the thought of trying to jump on while people were jumping off wasn’t the brightest idea. “Let’s just get the hell off this mountain and go have drinks.” I said. “I’m in.” said E. So off we went on our little adventure. We get to the top of the run and look down. “Well, here we go!” I said. And with my awesome skiing moves I began to do the slow wedge from side to side of the slope, trying not to run into anyone. The best way to picture this is to visualize someone trying to drive a motorized cart in Target on Black Friday. Trying to go from one side of the store to the next, with a speed of approximately 2 miles an hour while making a high pitched EEEEEEEEeeeee sound. After about 20 minutes of this E and I find ourselves trying not to cry sitting in a snow bank on the side of the run. We look off to the side and see a group of four Hispanic guys looking as out of place and frantic as we felt. We make our way over to them and ask if they know a way off this death trap. “Naw man, we are lost too! We took the wrong lift and ended up here!” “Ya we know the feeling buddy.” I said solemnly.

Then I see it. A tiny little ray of hope that is! There was a flat trail for cross country skiers off to the side a little ways down. Yessss!! I felt like Dorothy when she found the yellow brick road. I can walk my ass off this mountain, you betcha! So E and I and our new friends clicked off our skis and walked for at least a mile on the crunchy flat surface. I was really enjoying our little walk until we reached the end and saw a new sign bragging this slope was a blue/black. Well at least it’s getting a little better. We parted ways with our new friends, clicked back on our skis and I began to do my signature Black Friday move when I see E wipe out and just lay sprawled out on the side of the slope. “I’m coming E!” I yell.

EEEEEEEEeeeeee…… EEEEEEEeeeeee……… EEee….. I slowly made my way over to her and threw myself down by her side. We both lay there with dazed looks and are breathing heavily. Geeze nobody really warns you about how physically intense skiing is. Well maybe someone did, but it was probably on a Taco Tuesday.

“I can’t do this, I have to get down.” E said with a wild look. “We got to hold it together, because we can’t both freak out!” I say. Next thing I know she clicks her ski’s off, places them tightly in her arms, balls up and starts sliding down the slope on her ass. What did I do next you ask? I joined my BFF of course. I held on for dear life to my ski’s, balled up and slid down after her. I really don’t know how long we did this because time really didn’t matter to me at that moment. My butt was so cold, I was afraid that it had fallen off somewhere. We made it to the bottom of the run and again just laid there. We sat up and looked at each other. “This is ridiculous.” I said. Then out of the corner of my eye I see someone sitting in what looked like a little outhouse. It was a tiny lift for one of the runs. Just then I came up with the most brilliant plan ever. This plan was going to get us off this damn mountain. “Hey you’re an asthmatic right?” I asked E. “Yeeessss.” E said cautiously. “How are you feeling?” I asked. “Fine.” E said with a look of what are you up to. “I think you are about to have a bad asthma attack and that guy is going to help us get off the mountain.” I said with a semi crazed grin. Imagine when the Grinch who stole Christmas just thought of how he was going to ruin everything for the Whos who live in Whoville. That’s what I looked like.

E was on board so we hashed out our plan right then and there. E was going to start “having an asthma attack” and I was going to go get him to call the ski patrol so they could come get us and take us down to get her inhaler. Flawless plan right? Not so much.

E started rocking back and forth making wheezing noises. I clicked my skis off and ran over to the lift operator. “Hey I need your help! My friend is having an asthma attack and we need to get down to her locker to get her inhaler!” Well there was no turning back now. Next thing I know he grabs his radio alerts the ski patrol 911 and runs out of his little outhouse over to E. Not seconds later we are surrounded by 5 ski patrol guys. Where the hell did they all come from so quickly??

“You’re going to be okay.” said an attractive ski man #1 as he crouched down beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder. E nodded and a kept wheezing. I have to admit, I was damn impressed with her performance. “Can you tell me your name?” asked #1. E’s eyes got big and I jumped in and answered his questions. Just then another snowmobile pulled up with what looked like a stretcher/surfboard attached behind. Attractive ski men #2 & #3 lifted her up and placed her on the surfboard. E looked at me with a look of shit what’s happening and relief. They then began securing her down so she wouldn’t fly off.

I’m starting to panic. I then realized there really isn’t anywhere for me to sit. “Excuse me?” I say, “Yes, where am I to sit?” The ski patrol guys start to laugh until they realized I’m serious. “Sorry we don’t have any more room, but we will take good care of your friend. I promise.” said attractive ski man #1. “Don’t worry, I’ll ski with you down the rest of the way!” said an overly excited not quite as attractive ski man #5. He kind of reminded me of Steve Urkel from Family Matters with cool ski gear. “Are you kidding me?!” I shrieked. E looked up at me and smiled as they drove off. Bitch! I say that with the most love by the way. I was just jealous. She was amazing.

“All right, get me off this mountain.” I said. He chuckled and said “Don’t worry I’ll get you down!” Well I think he was either extremely impressed or completely confused as I started doing yet again my Black Friday move down the Blue/Black slope, I really couldn’t tell. Bless his heart, he was very encouraging and kind. After what felt like hours of face plants, snow down my pants and snot dripping into my mouth, we made it to the last run. By this time I was done. I wanted off the stupid mountain. My last run was yet again, another damn Blue. Something just snapped inside of me as I looked down and I just went for it. No more wedging side to side. I crouched down, skis facing forward and I took off. It was exhilarating and terrifying. More so terrifying, because a moment after I had taken off, the clasp on my ski boot popped off and my right foot was wobbly with absolutely no control of my ski. So many many naughty words came spilling out of my mouth you would’ve thought I was from the cast of Entourage. As I was flying down I noticed there was a slight incline with a small drop coming up. Frozen with fear I just screamed as it came closer… closer… closer and then I was airborne. Not in the cool way you see Olympians, but more like Goofy. “I’m gonna dieeeeeee!” I whaled, as I flew through the beautiful blue sky. But I didn’t. My ski’s hit the ground. I remained upright and I was almost to the bottom of the hill. I could see the lodge and the crazy lift lines. I was almost there! Then I realized, no really I’m almost there, I need to stop. Like now! I don’t know how I did it, but I turned just right and skidded into a perfect stop. Spraying a beautiful rainbow of powder up into the air. I just stood there in shock. My hands were gripping my poles so tight I had no blood flow in my fingers. My legs were shaking something fierce and my mouth was completely dry from all my deranged screaming. Moments later Urkel came to an equally fancy stop next to me.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you had it in ya!”

“I really didn’t either.” I said, still in a state of shock. We took off our ski’s and headed into the lodge. He took me down a bright, oh so warm hallway to a cheerful room where I found my warm, dry and happy friend E holding a nice warm cup of Coco. “Hi.” she said with a smile trying to repress a giggle. Which I don’t blame her. I looked like I was just drug a few miles behind a snow plow. “Feeling better? I’m so so glad you are okay!” I said with a smile and a shot of sarcasm. Again all love here. We had made it safely off the mountain. With an awesome story to boot. I haven’t been skiing since, but I think I’m okay with that.

Snakes Don’t Die Until the Sun Goes Down

Working in the world of customer service never disappoints. There is an endless supply of crazy people. I have been fortunate over the years to be an observer and instigator of this lot. Most of my interactions in customer service were limited to, yet not to be underestimated, the world of retail. This time around I was working at a bank. I thought I would make more money there than at a store. That’s a myth by the way. Even though I got to touch hundreds of thousands of dollars a day, I still took home minimum wage. If I wasn’t an honest person, I would’ve made a heck of a lot more.
I would spend my down time at the bank counting my money and arranging it in perfect order. I don’t think I’m OCD, but it made me insane if my bills weren’t facing the same way. As for the change facing the same the direction? Well I wouldn’t go that far. Its change for heaven’s sake! That’s a whole other disorder.
I had just gotten engaged over Christmas. I would spend a lot of time staring at my ring. It is super sparkly and I would be obvious with my hand gestures to customers, so they would notice and compliment it. I would day dream a lot too. Yes, I would day dream about my wedding. What it would look like. How I would be the prettiest girl in the whole room. How people would swoon over how happy my fiancé and I would be. Excuse me I know, I vomited a little in my mouth too. Okay what was I saying, daydreams, but mostly I would day dream about my bank being robbed. We would get notices every day from the corporate office with fuzzy pictures of the bank robbers. Detailing where they hit and what they took. They would also provide a list of signs for potential bank robbers and what to do if you are being robbed.
Anytime someone would walk in with a baseball cap, my heart would race. I was so excited I knew this was it! Even better, was when people came in with sunglasses. I would be primping my hair because I wanted to look good for the footage on the nightly news. Who knows maybe they would even interview me. I would look right in the camera, face flushed and wide eyed, “He came in the bank wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses, I knew we were in for trouble!”.
Now what would I do if we were really robbed? I like to think I would be heroic. The robber would come up to my window and slip me a note that says “Be quite and give me all your money gorgeous.” Gorgeous? Hey it’s my day dream stay with me here. I would take the note and slip it into my pocket for evidence and lean forward. I would whisper to him a nobly, “Are you sure you want to do this, you can walk away now?” He would glare and say “No.” By this time I have hit the alarm and back flipped over the counter and have him pinned to the floor. The other bankers have run to my side and are helping me hold him down until the police arrive.
Did you know a teller can get fired if a bank robber takes more than a certain amount from their drawer? Sometimes when I would be over my limit I would look at people coming in with
their baseball caps and think to myself. Now how do I feel about losing my job, to be a hero today?
Well the day I’m going to tell you about didn’t involve any baseball caps, sunglasses or robbers even. Just a very crazy woman from a homestead in the middle of the Dallas/Fort Worth area.
It was a rainy Monday. We had just gotten through with our afternoon rush and I was at my desk arranging my money. A lady entered, wearing nothing but a long thin night dress with no bra. She had no shoes on, her giant bag of purse was thrown carelessly over her broad shoulders and her hair was disheveled falling around her pale face. Did I mention the hospital bands around her wrist? She was gazing around mumbling to herself. Jackpot, I had to help this customer, for pure self-gratification.
“Ma’am I can help you over here!” I didn’t want anyone else to get her. Curiosity was killing me, what was with this woman? I wanted to hear her story! None of the other tellers noticed her as she came shuffling up to my window. How they didn’t notice I have no idea. She looked as out of place as a trash heap in a flower bed.
“I have no idea what’s going on.” She said. Well that was obvious I thought. “How can I help you?” I asked. She really didn’t respond. “Ma’am are you alright?” I inquired.
Her glazed eyes finally met mine and she exclaimed, “I just got out of the hospital!” And cue the crazy. I couldn’t help myself. “You did? Are you okay? What happened?”
Her eyes grew wide as she, not so quietly said, “I was bitten by a snake!”
“Ohh no! That’s horrible!” I said. She considered me for a moment then leaned in closer. “You wanna see?” Oh Lord here it comes I thought to myself. “Yes.” I said. C’mon when someone as crazy as this wants to show you something you always say yes.
She started to lift her night dress and as she got up almost to her knee, I started regretting my answer. She abruptly dropped her night dress and said “Oh never mind, it’s all bandaged up.” I have to admit a wave of relief flooded over me. I still however wanted to know how she was bitten. This had to be a good story.
“So ma’am how did you get bitten by this snake?” I asked. Her eyes perked up a bit and she started to smile. Wow those teeth.
“Well I live out on a homestead…” she said. In my mind I’m thinking, homestead? We live in one of the largest metroplexes in the country. We are right in-between Dallas and Fort Worth, where on earth would a homestead be? And how on earth did you drive here in this condition?
“You see, I was outside roasting goat heads and I needed my wheel’bara to put them in so they wouldn’t burn. My wheel’bara was in my garage, next to one of them hitchin posts ya know? And I had one of em baby pools, ya know ones like you git at the Walmart, caught on top.”
I think my mouth was hanging open during this. This was a lot to process. In my head I’m like, hold the phone. Wait you were roasting goat heads? She said it as casually as I would say, “So I was in my backyard grilling hamburgers.” I maintained my composure with a smile as she continued.
“Well that there baby pool was caught on top and I’m pullin an tuggin and all of a sudden I felt this bite on my leg! I dropped the baby pool and looked down. At first I thought I got stung by a hornet. I’m a tough farm girl, I kin take it, but I saw two gashes with blood streamin down!” she cried. “An that’s when I knew!”
I found myself completely taken in with this story. I’m sure the visuals in my head were more dramatic, but I found myself leaning toward her. “You knew what?” I asked.
“I was bitten by a snake!!” She yelled. I’m fighting back fits of laughter that are building up in my chest and working its way to my shoulders. “Oh no!” I replied. “Then what happened?”
“Well I started yelling for my husband! I said hunny, hunny I got bitten by a snake!” she exclaimed, as she waived her arms in the air with crazy eyes. “Well he came runnin out with his shot gun and found that there snake and shot em. Then cut his head off…” she leans in even closer, not blinking holding my gaze and says, “Cause snakes don’t die until the sun goes down.”
I am completely captivated. This woman is completely nuts. Snakes don’t die until the sun goes down? Is this some weird Texas myth that I have never heard about. I’m speechless for the moment. I don’t want to ask her about snakes and derail the wild ride I’m on, so I just agree with her. “Yes, that’s true, they don’t.” I lie.
“So what happened next?” I ask. I can’t help it this is too fun.
“Well my husband rushed me to the hospital, and I almost died!!” she yelled.
“How did you know that you almost died?” I asked.
“I shit myself!” she exclaimed.
How I maintained a straight face at that moment I will never know. I looked around to see if anyone was witnessing this conversation. Everyone was going about their daily business. How on earth are people missing this?!
All I could muster up without laughing was “Oh my!”
“Yeah and when I git to that hospital, they had to give me all them anti-serums in the whole hospital!” she said. Her eyes are wide and she is breathing heavy at this point. Both of her hands are gripping my desk. She looked completely coo coo for coco puffs.
She is still staring at me dead pan in the face. “You wanna see it?”
Oh my goodness. No way! Please God, tell me she doesn’t have that dead snake in her purse. That is just crazy. I will scream. Probably not the best thing to do in a bank. But curiosity crept over me again. “Yeah.” I said hesitantly.
She picks her giant purse off the floor and places it on the desk. My heart is racing as she slowly unzips the top. She then reaches inside and pulls out a bunch of photocopies. Holy crap, they totally photocopied a dead snake. That is amazing.
She then begins to arrange the copies on my desk into the snake. I have to admit, it was a pretty big and scary looking.
“Wow.” I said, “That’s a big one.”
She gathered up all her papers and asked for her balance. I handed her the balance. As she reads it she says, “Oh good I gots money, good fir me.” Her eyes become unfocused again and looks off into space as she pats her own back.
“Well I’m glad you’re okay now.” I calmly said. “Did you just get out of the hospital today?”
“No.” she said “I got out a couple weeks ago.” She then grabs her purse tosses it back over her shoulder and continues to shuffle away. Murmuring again, “I have no idea what’s going on.”
I never saw that lady again. I wonder if she made it back to her homestead alright? I wonder if she ever figured out “what was going on”? But I will always remember that snakes don’t die until the sun goes down.