Ok, class~ Lesson time

(*Disclaimer: This is a loooong one, so you might want to make sure that baby has the whole box of cheerios to keep busy, and give your coffee a reheat...I'll wait....)

Just like you are totally obsessed with my blog (chuckle, snort), I too, am an avid blog stalker of a few witty blog mommas.

Tonight, as I was having my quiet time (yes, 3 year olds aren't the only ones allowed quiet time...the only difference is she throws a fit to let her out, and I throw a fit to let me in.)...I clicked on of my regular stalkees (that is a word...don't look it up), and the words screaming at me in bold font at the top of her page were, "Show Me Your Kitchen!"

Uhhh, come again?

Why in God's green earth would you want to see my kitchen? Oh, you're not really talking to me. You're talking to the other 2.5 million readers who have Martha Stewart and Ty Pennington personally come an accessorize their cooking spaces...ok, in that case, yeah...I wanna see those too. Oh, and you'll go first? You are too kind.

I had to laugh at the "I'm really interested in your kitchen" cover to show off my own beautiful things to you post.

Ok, now before you jump down my throat for being all judgmental, or maybe just mental, I have a point. And you might still like me after I make it, so just hang in there.

*************

Just over 7 years ago, an amazingly smart, bright, handsome and compassionate man asked me to be his wife. After I reminded Will Smith he was already married...baa hahaha...just kidding, King Daddy G was, and still is this fabulous man...and in agreeing to the good, bad and ugly with him, I was fully aware...I really WAS getting the ugly...not him you goobers, but his 1980 silver Buick. Hmm, silver sounds too distinguished...grey, it was grey. This car was as big as a motor home. Don't believe me? I still have 3 outstanding tickets from parallel parking too far out from the curb. No joke. I'd like to see that cop try to do a better job with what I'd been given! This car has plush bench seats...back AND front. Oh yeah, it'd be a swell make out car. But we were married...and we all know married people don't do those things. (**angel halo**) I was apparently a grown up now, since I was sporting double rings on that all-telling finger. And I felt like I needed a grown up car to match my new title and position. The Buick...was not it. So the moaning began.

Day and night, woah is me, who's lot in life is to crouch down as low as I can when I drive to avoid being seen by any cop who I owe parking ticket money to. I'm so embarrassed. This is so not me. When will our day come? Woah...woah is MEEEEEE.

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....you get it.

And guess what? Nothing changed. A shiny new Beamer didn't just show up in my driveway one morning because I had reached the magic number of complaints to get the "New Car" angels to step up some action on my behalf. Apparently, whiners get nothing. (A motto, now very commonly heard, from my lips to my children's ears on a daily basis.)

My old...ahem...wise in years and very knowledgeable husband made an off the cuff comment one day as he was heading out the door that has stuck with me to this day. He simply said, "You know...you are going to be driving that Buick until the day you decide to be thankful for it."
Rewind. Huh? Thankful...Buick...parlez vous anglais? Don't quite comprehend.

I thought to myself...would God...you know...my loving Father who wants to give me all good things... REALLY withhold that sleek sports car just to teach me a lesson? Nah. That can't be right. Right? Guys? Awww, crap. I feel a lesson coming on. I hate lessons. Unless I'm the one giving them. Which is why I opted to become a teacher. Just to make sure I was on the giving end of lessons as much as possible...I know...control freak. And I know. In a class of 30 five year olds, I am the one who usually goes home having been taught something new. Vicious.

Back to the Buick. Ok...if being thankful is the key to my new Lexus, then I better stick on my best "company's here" courtesy smile and be...choke, gag, thankful, for this great car...mumble mumble. Ok, I'm thankful...going to sleep now...car fairies, I am asleeeep...go ahead now and put those fun new keys under my pillow....

...nothing.

So it appears that God knows when you're faking. Not a great quality, when you know...you're faking. How in the world am I going to pull this off. To actually BE thankful for this horrifying eyesore that gets us from A to B.

**3:30 am~ phone rings**

Friend of a friend is in trouble. No one can pick her up. No one has a car. YOU have a car. Can YOU pick her up? Yes I can, here I come. I am thankful, I have car. WHA?? I am thankful! For this car! Call the presses!

**one week later**

~Sunfire for sale,special deal for cheap, you interested? Um, yes? YES! I am thankful! King Daddy G and I picked up that Sunfire with hot mags and tinted windows from a town of less than 5000 people. And you better BELIEVE we cruised that one main street up and down pumping out the Shania Twain from the only radio station that gets picked up there, and showed off our new ride to every Gramdma Popoofniack taking her evening stroll.

"You are going to be driving that Buick until the day you are thankful for it." Hmm, close. Very close. Is there a principle in effect here possibly? Hmmm, quite possibly.

**fast forward 5 years**

We have 2 children. We are renting a townhouse. It is small. We are pregnant. The house just got smaller. And...go.

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....and repeat.

How can I be thankful for something that is so obviously not meeting our needs? Yeah yeah...roof over our heads Charlie Brown teacher...wah wah wah wah...what was that, can't hear you?

Moan...complain...gripe....groan...grumble...bellyache...lament...snivel....and repeat.

**1 year later**

Still in townhouse. Baby is here. 3 babes under 5 in small living quarters. Not thankful. Nothing changes. I wonder why. Walls are not painted, not decorated. Don't want to stay here, not moving in is my position. Not thankful.

Suddenly. I get a hit in the head with the memory stick. Not literally. Don't go filing charges against an abusive husband. This memory stick only contained one picture. A grey...ahem...silver Buick. Awww man. Didn't I learn this lesson? Apparently not. For, I am still here.

And now insert reading aforementioned blog post about "Show me YOUR kitchen."

My kitchen is the size of a closet. There are no stainless steel appliances. No large bay windows with a sitting area beneath. No breakfast nook with leathered bar stools. There are certainly no marble counter tops and not even a dishwasher inside the actual kitchen...did I mention small as a closet? But. I CAN do something with what I have. And I CAN be thankful for the sunlight that does come through my teeny square window that doesn't even open. And so. Today, I begin my thankful for my home journey, to open the path that will one day lead us to our new hardwood floored destination. I am thankful for my home, one window at a time. (And just for the record...kids could care less about marble counter tops and hardwood floors. Tonight, when Queen S and I were talking about Heaven, she started to tear up and said she didn't really want to go there, because she likes living in HER house. *Tear*. Precious babe. Thank you. Mommy needed that.)

I am thankful for my kitchen window.

Candies and Cullens

It reminded me of when I was six.

My mom had taken me with her on a much anticipated day of errands. (I now know that she probably wasn't as excited about this as I thought she was...or at least should be.) We lived in a SUPER small town (read: cows owned the road), and so going from one store to the next pretty much consisted of just walking straight down the one main street. After hitting up the IGA food market, the town bank, and even the barber shop (complete with blue/white & red swirlie sign out front), we were nearing the end of the street, which I knew meant we were coming to the "Pharmasave" drug store. And if there was anything I was 100% positive about as a kid, it was that Pharmasave had the GREATEST selection of rot-your-teeth-out goodies.

I just knew, that because I had been on my utmost best behaviour throughout our whole day of gallivanting, my mother would really have no choice but to reward me with something terribly and sinfully delicious.

The shopping speed seemed to slow to a snails pace once inside the Pharmasave, as my mom read every label, letter by letter, on every shampoo bottle/dish soap box/window spray. Just pick one already and let's get to the goooood stuff.

Finally, the moment came.

(This is where I want you to take this occasion to recognise the emotion that is about to be presented. Because as you begin to relate...I will show you, how it is possible to have an identical emotion, whether six year of age or thirty six. Not that I am 36. Cause that's just prehistoric.)

Back to Pharmasave....

The row of chocolate/sugary goodness was now within eyesight, and like Pavlov's dogs, I instinctively began to drool. Oh the choices. Oh the decisions. Oh the responsibility. My head became light, and suddenly, I had no rational thought in my brain whatsoever. In fact, I don't even think I could talk properly. When my mom asked me if I was ok (after noticing obscene amounts of drool cascading down my pretty flowered dress, I'm sure), all I could squeak out was, "Ab-duh-uh-bus-fan-tide." My mom just shook her head and I knew the question was imminent. Right on the threshold, stood the query, "Becky, you are he world's #1 outstanding daughter, and because you are perfect in every way.....would you like to pick a treat?"

I waited.

And waited some more.

We were standing right in front of the rows upon rows of candy mountain goodness....the question must be coming.

***********Fast forward 20-some-odd years into the future************

I had just finished reading the greatest series about love, drama and yes, vampires...but not the kind you think. For Edward, oh sweet Edward, he is not anything but glorious. Agreed? WOAH...I heard that resounding Amen! Ok, ladies, so here I am...mother of 3 magnificent babes, wife of 1 dream hubby, and suddenly...as I am driving to pick up my love-in-a-cup (aka St@rBux peppermint mocha-full fat, full whip, full pleasure!), I see it.

It's that thing that sent me back to my 6 year old self in the candy isle. At age 6, and at a few years older than 6, the same emotion of hardly being able to restrain myself took over.
Couldn't think...

couldn't speak...

could not focus...

hearing echos of everything...

And with that, I nearly drove my soccer-mom mini van- packed full of diapers, strollers, and half eaten muffins smushed into the floor- right on to the set of NEW MOON...filming in my blessed city. Right there. Before my eyes. Edward. Jacob. Bella...who cares about Bella...did I mention Edward?

Do you think it would be weird if I asked Edward to sign baby L's bottom? Hmmm, I might never again wash it though, and that could create some hygiene issues.

Just as I desperately wanted my mom to ask me if I wanted a treat from Pharmasave, (which for the record, she never did, and I stole a pack of Halls cough drops...but that's a story for another day), I just as desperately was waiting for Edward to see me, can Bella, and scream out that I was to play the new Bella because he loved me so much more. Which..um..never happened...yet...still waiting for his call...after leaving my number on the baseball I threw through his dressing room trailer window.

He'll call.

You'll see.

Click to watch New Moon teaser trailer

Window Wednesday and then some

Here are a few windows for your Wednesday, and then at the end of this post, I am demanding, er, I mean strongly encouraging you to check out my friend Julie's latest post entitled "The Wal-Mart Mom." I know that I, of course, have NO idea what she's talking about, being perfect and all, but maybe some of you can relate. I know. What am I, other than a fantastic friend, looking out for your well being??
But first, ready to be picture puked on?...No, I am serious...this is a puke like no other. It's that "I've been sick for 24 hours straight out of both ends and it just keeps comin" kind of puke...now that you have a pretty mental picture...these photos will appear much nicer than what's in your mind. See how clever I am? I know. Genius. For a low $19.99, I'll send you the book with all my sly tricks...and if you order right now, I'll throw in a magnifying glass/flashlight combo, so you can read that small print on the menu that advises you NOT to eat this restaurant food unless you want to be puking for days...and you can even use it in the dark...beside an aardvark...at the park...no I will not eat green eggs and ham...ok. I'm stopping.

Why does everyone always blame me when the chocolate goes missing? Injustice, I tell you.


Look who came to visit!! Surprise!! It's Gramma!!


AND Grampa!!




And if you know ANYTHING about Gramma's and Grampa's, they generally LOVE to spoil grandbabies with lots and lots of toys, gizmos, books, and CANDY!! Good thing Princess B had THIS appointment booked!

Oh, and whoever's bright idea to add this...was brrrrrrilliant!!

Getting rid of the sugar bugs!

"Look, I got me a pretty pink glove just like the lady. I don't think it's warm enough to play in the snow though."


Does the pompom on this hat make me look fat??


BUSTED!! Peeking on the neighbors...AND unconsciously making a demo video for the "What NOT to Wear" show! I think this consists of a dress tucked into a bathing suit, that is then tucked into the bottom of a different bathing suit, all of course piled over pink Hello Kitty tights. (Which have become the staple in EVERY outfit of my girls', and will result in HUGE crocodile tears if told the tights need to stay in the drawer today or *gasp* be WASHED for once!)


LOOOOVING this warm bubble weather!




I wonder if I can get that teeny bit left at the bottom...


Momma Bex...on the other side of the camera for a change...totally not posing...just doing what I always do..thinking of what I should quilt/knit/crochet/cook next.


Oldest and youngest


Aaaaand, the middle child...who is SO ready for summer!!




Bumping along in my little red wagon...


HAHA...Can you not TOTALLY sense the emotion is this picture?


After a loooooong day outside....


Even though these girls may be wearing the same dress,


...there is little similar about them. One could pose and sit pretty all day long,


And the other...who cares about pictures when there are ANTS to spy on!


CONGRATULATIONS if you made it this far!!
Now as your prize, go Julie's blog, and realize you are okay...cause everyone does it.
Oh.
Except me.
Cause I am perfect.
And have no clue what she's talking about.

A.I.A

I belong to a group called A.I.A.

It's kind of like AA, but not at all, cause I am not addicted to alcohol.

It's kind of like WW (weight watchers), but not at all, cause somehow I just can't seem to gain weight. Yes, I am that girl, hate me if you must.

And it's kind of like Santa, the Tooth Fairy and calorie -free chocolate...it really is...because it doesn't exist. (So sorry if your parent's never told you, now go eat a brownie a feel better.)

But it should exist.

And if it did, I would be the President.

And we would be called: Achievement Issues Anonymous.

We can blame the media for photo-shopping enough perfection into cover models that we feel insecure about every tiny flaw...not that I would know of course, cause I have none...

We can blame a crappy childhood due to the fact that your Daddy never bought you that pony in 5th grade, or your Mommy forced brussel sprouts down your throat. Oh the injustice.

We can blame the schoolyard bully who stole your lunch money, the English teacher who embarrassed you in front of the whole class when you misspelled baccalaureate, or the best friend who hijacked your grad dress pattern for herself...

But at the end of the day, what I am learning in my make believe A.I.A group, is that the only one putting expectations on me...is me.

If I choose to care about what that person thinks, or those people say, then I give them the power to make me insecure, which in turn makes me try even harder, which in turn completely depresses me when I fall short. And the cycle goes round and round and round...until...

I say DONE! I will no longer see myself through the eyes of others, or try to live up to who they all say I should be... as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a teacher....there is always someone who does things better, or more detailed, or more pretty than me...and I am learning to accept...that's okay. It's okay.

You wanna know why? Cause let me tell you something that my best friend did for me a while back. He made a list of things about me that are great, so in times like this, which he knew would arise, I could look at them and be reminded, I don't have to try...I can just be. These are a few things he said:

I am forgiven. (Colossians 1:13-14)

I am blessed with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms. (Ephesians 1:3)

Because of Him, I am free from guilt and condemnation. (Romans 8:1)

I am the recipient of His grace, given to me before the beginning of time. (2 Timothy 1:8-9)

I have been reconciled to God by the blood of Jesus. (Ephesians 2:13)

I have received the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

I am joyful, prayerful and thankful according to the will of God.
(1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

There's so much more, that's just a taste. So tell me why on earth I would feel like I need to strive to be a porcelain faced, fashionista when He has informed me that I am all of THIS!!

I think that's pretty great, and let's just be down right honest here...when those fashionistas go home from their photo shoot, slip off their Jimmy Choos, and place those skinny little feet up on their microsuede chez lounge...they are desperately wishing they could say the things that I can about myself!!

How backwards to think I have something that Bill Gates wants...Paris Hilton wants...Britney Spears wants...

I may not have the biggest brand names, the hottest sports cars in my 7 car garage, or 12 nannies on call...but I have something more...

I have the knowledge and experience of the love of a KING that puts all these earthly gems to shame.

Little do they know...I love to share...and so does He...and they can have His riches too.

Cookies & Pirates

It's been a humbling place, here in my heart, in the last month+.

When I am reminded of how blessed I am by stories such as Stellan's or Audrey's or April's...I find I have little want to do anything but fall on my knees and praise my heart out to the One who is covering me.

I could tell you about the cookie that Princess B hid in her panties OVERNIGHT to save for "dessert after breakfast", or that Queen S has decided that Baby L is going to be a pirate because "all he ever says is -ARG-".

But then I think...how insignificant in comparison, to a 5 month old fighting for his life. Now THAT'S something to write about.

As I was contemplating my triviality, I realized something.

I have seen days when the world is black around me, and life hangs in the balance and subsequently leaves...but today...is not that day for me...This is my story. Cookies in panties is my story, on this day. Do I want my child to be fighting for his life, just so that I feel I have something worthy to write about? We all know the answer to that. How much would Mckmama give for today's largest decision to be deciding what Stellan's pirate name should be?

So, I tell you truth when I say, I am absolutely content with puke on my new shirt, a mess to sweep up under the craft table, a sadly-slightly burnt dinner, and a body that aches like it's 90 years old. Because at the end of the day, my babies are fast asleep in their own beds, with no machines beeping out their heart rate or O2 levels, with nothing but dreams of unicorns and candy mountain.

This is why my story is significant, why cookies and pirates are significant...because my precious babes are significant - to me, and to their Heavenly Father.

And that's worth writing about.

My 2 cents

As mothers, we are constantly forced to cut corners, find shortcuts, and all together just ditch some things only to fit other things in...and the cycle continues...

My 2 cents on shortcuts and what CAN be ditched if it comes to that.

Ok, first, the 5 minute dinner, that is healthy AND yummy AND leaves your tummy feeling very full AND the kids LOVE and beg for....
When in a jam for time, I always make sure I have these ingredients in my cupboards:

1. small round tortilla chips
2. pre-shredded cheese (you can buy it like this, and it usually ends up being cheaper too...cause how many people REALLY like fighting with the cheese grater only to come out with a hand covered in Dora band-aids...what's that...it's only me? Oh, ok, then. Please send me your "Cheese grating for Dummies" book once you have it published.)
   
3. beans (black, brown, green, purple, doesn't really matter.) Although, my babes prefer the brown in molasses.
4. a head of lettuce (I would say a bag of pre-done green leaf salad, but I've heard nasty stuff about that, and I do prefer my veggies fresh, and it only takes 38.4 seconds to shred it into a bowl...I know, I've timed it.)
5. salsa
6. sour cream

Stick it all on top of each other, usually in that order, and in less than 5, ok, maybe 6 minutes, you have a seriously delish taco salad that the whole fam will be asking for over and over. Of course IF and WHEN you have time, there are a bazillion and one other additions to this, including a mean seasoned hamburger, chicken, or even salmon, nuts, lentils...you name it, you can pretty much throw it in.

And now, the second way to save time...don't shower. HA! Uuuum, I'm actually kind of serious. In my oh so humble opinion, showering is a HUGE time waster, and really really over rated. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for hygiene. But there is no need to fully shower oneself daily, unless of course you are a hot steamy fireman who NEEDS to wash off all that manly sweat that was worked up saving babies from fiery infernos all day. Then, by all means, crank that water out and clean off that perfectly chiseled 6 pack...oh, sorry, sidetracked...see, waste of time, showering that is...or thinking of showering...
My point is this. Need to go out to grab a jug o milk? Have greasy hair and a splotchy complexion? That's what hats are for m'dear! Well, that and hiding a 5 year old's hair cut gone wrong, but I think we already tackled that issue here. But for real, throw a hat on, over a pony or two cute pigtails, spray a heap load of Calgon's body midst all over ya, and PRESTO! No need to waste 3 hours in the salon. But I'm sure you already knew that. In fact, the next time I see you, I am gunna whip that hat off and see if you are taking my advice.

And thirdly...stop blogging, and pay attention to the screaming baby behind you who wants to go to bed. Oh, that's mine. Ok, I better get one of my 9 nannies on it.
Love and sleep to you all.
Oh. And be thinking of my friend Miranda this week. She was due three days ago, and if any of you have been overdue before, you know how it feels to gain 10 pounds every 24 hours as the sun seems to never set. Time for this momma to POP!!

Eggcellent Wednesday

Yes! It IS in fact Wednesday still...where I live anyways.
And here are a few spegg-tacular windows into our Wednesday afternoon...

(Eggie death row. Hehe, get it, they're getting ready to...dye. BAH hahaha...blame my Dad for my lame joke skills. So sorry.)

Project Momma Runway

See my hand? It's raised. Because I have a question.



But first, to preface this query...

Today, Queen S had her first day of "kindergarten readiness" classes. These run for 2 days a week for 3 months, and introduce her to the school and the children who will be in her class in September.

I think this is a genius idea, for many reasons. Not the least of which is Mommy gets two more days of "get stuff done" time. (Yes, with only 2 babes at home it DOES make a difference, specially when baby is sleeping! The 7 loads of laundry that just got put away is proof!)

Sidetracked...moving on...So. I have no doubts whatsoever that she will fit in wonderfully, make many a new friend and maybe even learn a new skill or two before she jumps into day 1 of her 13 year school career. The question I have in fact has nothing to do with her at all.

Have you seen (insert any teen drama chick flick here) in which there is a scene with the 5 hot cheerleader type girls walking in slow motion towards the camera, sun gleaming in their wind blown hair, skirts incredibly too short, and every guy who got the call that morning to be a background extra is counting his lucky stars....yah..that part...well, no one told me that kindergarten would be like that...WITH THE MOMS!

Except it more looks like this:
Mom A walks up pushing her brand new Phil & Ted's Vibe inline eye candy stroller (http://www.philandteds.com), while talking on her cell phone and balancing her Starbux non-fat,half sweet, half soy,extra hot, half shot vanilla latte, all while sporting the new black tight mini dress by J.Lo, and matching accessories, including sunglasses, watch and 6 inch heels.

Mom B immediately up & downs Mom A, like she's a huge slab of boneless steak just discounted half price, and after the initial disgust and jealously fades, she plasters on her best fake smile and struts over, interrupting Mom A's phone call to introduce herself, with only what I can guess to be as a completely fabricated Texan drawl.

Mom C has been watching the interactions intently, and as she nervously arranges the pleats in her skirt and smooths down her son's cowlick, again, she straightens her shoulders, takes a deep breath and then, like using a shield in a protester attack, holds her son in front of her as she baby steps towards the social slaughter ring that is slowly forming. Her introductory words include a slight stutter as she states, "M-my son h-a-as the same shoes as yours, we found them at the thrift st-tore." Honest intentions, she tried. She wanted to display some common ground. She's out. You NEVER tell Hollywood wannabe, Mom A, that her son's shoes are being sold for 3 dollars at the local bargain shop.

Mom D is apprehensively biting her nails and looks as though she may just puke.

Mom E is white as a ghost, and if I am correct, which I think I am, those look like tear streaks that have lined both sides of her flushed cheeks.

There is of course the peanut gallery...the mom's who will for no reason whatsoever interact with other parents. Recipe is drop off child, turn 180 degrees, and BOLT, not making eye contact with anyone even if there is blood!

And then, there is me. I was so busy with what is my crazy life, I whipped on a pair of yoga pants that matched the tee I wore to bed that I still had on and ran out the door. Little did I know that I was to be on Top Mommy Model that morning. Who in their right mind has 5 hours to get themselves all dolled up EVERY morning just to drop off their 5 year old to school? AND have time to go through Starbux. I did overhear her saying that her two nannies had their work cut out for them now that they had to be at the house by 6. Ridiculous...
My question is this:

Will the REAL LIFE MOMMY please stand up??
How am I going to survive this primitive competition of kindergarten mothers?

Maybe next class I'll hire some Men In Black to escort Queen S in. That otta get the tongues wagging...like DON'T they know WHO I AM?? I have a BLOG dang it! I am SOMEBODY! Oh, and maybe I'll get out my old gear, and show up in this:



BBBaaaaahhhhhh HAHAHAHAHAHA.

WW for a superboy!

Shoot the dog.

It's 12:30.

I guess that means it's not Wednesday anymore. Buuuut, maybe somewhere in the Pacific ocean it's still 11:30, so since it's my blog and I can cheat if I want to, hehe, I'm going with it's still Wednesday.

So don't shoot the dog.
Or if you already did, better go buy a new one before the kids notice.

So, today for your Window Wednesday, I really only have 3 words for you. Oh, besides all the mumble jumble up there I just wrote. So really, it's almost a Wordless Wednesday. K, so not really, but like I said...my blog...I cheat. Here you go loves...word 1....

Pray.


Words 2 & 3


Thank you!

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