Cows, Car Repairs, and Underwear on Heads: Our Life in 2015

Highlights (some in hindsight) from 2015:

Highlight #1: Eat Mor Chikin

As always, Chick-fil-a continues to be a driving force in our lives because we crave it.  Constantly.  In July we participated in Cow Day, and ate for free the entire day.  I maybe stopped craving it for a bit after that.  Our kids look forward to this day every year as demonstrated by the below pics. 

No, seriously.  They love being forced to wear spots from head to hoof.  Okay, fine.  Maybe just Hudson.  Although, he is kind of easy going about everything . . .

My love for Chick-fil-a was fully demonstrated this year by camping out at the grand opening of a nearby Chick-fil-a for 24 hours in order to get 52 free meals.  It was cold, sleepless, and absolutely worth it.    

Dan Cathy, the CEO of Chick-fil-a (to my left) camped out with us.  Pretty amazing since he's like a bigger deal than Matt Damon and Brad Pitt combined.  Well, at least in a cow's world he is.

Highlight #2: Car Repair Adventure

 I decided it would be a fun adventure to drop my van off for repair and then sit there stranded for four hours with two 4 year olds and a 2 year old.  Yes, this was one of those fabulous ideas kind of like taking your kids with you to a dental cleaning (see May 2014 post to recount that Hallmark moment).  While we waited, we walked around in the summer humidity, tasted smoothies, strolled to the library, and feasted on pizza.  All this doesn't sound too bad.  And if my life was an episode from Caillou, it would have been glorious, and my day would have looked like this.

But instead, it looked more like this:   

I didn't take any actual pictures because I was too busy pulling screaming kids off the sidewalk, throwing away a nearly full smoothie because, come to find out, the four of us hate smoothies, yelling at my boys to stop dumping salt on their pizza, and going cross-eyed when I found out the cost of the repair. 

The real kicker is that Corbin keeps asking when we can get our car repaired again and walk around town.  Apparently, I was the only one scarred for life . . .

Highlight #3: Laughter

Maybe my kids are getting funnier in their old age or maybe they're just misbehaving more and I'm getting too worn down to keep correcting them.  Whatever the reason, it's been hard to stay too grumpy or mad around these parts in 2015, because someone's bound to grab your mascara and transform into Ozzy Osborne

or run around all afternoon with underwear on their heads (crossing my fingers it was clean underwear).

And in 2015, I found that sometimes those moments are best shared laughing rather than reprimanding. 

I also found it's easier to chuckle at your kids' innocence than to tell them the truth when they think you're the best ever because you bought them kids' meals on their birthdays instead of making them split a 12 count nugget.

Or are the craftiest mom in the world when you let them decorate a pre-built gingerbread house from Target. 

Go for the pre-built houses next year, Moms.  You know you want to!   

We're glad we've got our kids fooled.  But also glad that they've spent another year fooling us with their bright blue eyes and smiles.  It even makes a 4 hour trip to the repair shop worth it.  In much later hindsight.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from our group of crazies to yours! 

I Do!

On a hot as Hades summer day ten years ago, we said, "I do."

The ink had barely dried on our college diplomas, and neither of us had ever held a full-time job.  Our recent residences were college dorms, sketchy rental properties with roommates, and our parents' homes during the summer.  After Ben carried me over the threshold to our honeymoon suite, we decided to start our romantic evening by drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade.  I kid you not.

Yes, we were young, idealistic, and embarrassingly naïve about quality drinks.  But we were in love.

I smashed the cake first.  Just saying.

 

And we still are.   

 

 

Today we remember and reflect.  We remember our wedding: the darling old church with its two air-conditioning vents, our guests who crooned to us with their love songs, my parents doing the chicken dance, the photographer who nearly fainted from heat exhaustion, and the Chick-fil-a meal my parents surprised me with so that I didn't have to endure one bite of fancy food. 

 

 

We remember the previous nine anniversaries that we've celebrated. Some on the sandy, warm beaches of Florida and South Carolina.  Others accented with the historical charm of cities like Savannah and Charleston.  And others of a less magical variety where battles with morning sickness and moving trucks ruled the day.

 

 

 

We remember the years in between then and now.  Our one bedroom, one bath apartment that we lived in for four years--still the longest stretch we've ever lived in a place other than our childhood homes.  We remember the carefree newlywed days, the days of too quiet where we longed for chaos, and the days of late where we count down until 8pm, when the quiet slowly returns.



 

But we also reflect on the future.  We imagine where we'll be in the next 10, 20, or maybe even 50 years.  And if we ever are so blessed as to celebrate our 60th, we imagine that we'll gaze into each other's eyes over a bottle of Glenlivet scotch, and we'll have a conversation much like this:

 

Ben: Remember what we had for our 10th anniversary?

Lindsay: Yeah, we split a bottle of that Oak Creek wine.

Ben: Bah!  Like drinking fermented Kool-Aid! $2.87 a bottle.  Remember that?  What cheapskates we were.

Lindsay: We were frugal.  We were living on a teacher's income with three little ones.

Ben: Frugal my Depends-wearing old rear!  We could have at least sprung for the $6 bottle of Yellow Tail.  Boy, have we come a long way! 

 

So here's to memories, and here's to daydreams of what may be to come.  Cheers!   

 

 

May I Have Some Coffee With My Humble Pie?

Kids have a way of keeping us humble.  If you don't believe me, take a look at this pic:

 

And if you still don't believe me, consider this gem.

 

Enough said.

Whether it's teaching, bus driving, parenting, whatever--when you encounter kids, they have a way of putting you in your place.  My head has been hanging a little lower lately, and it's not just because I am lamenting over the ever breeding stains on my carpet. 

Prideful moment # 1: Our little Jovie is smart as a whip.

Jovie is not advanced verbally, but she understands an incredible amount of what we say and ask of her to do.  And I, of course, beam inside when other people notice her "brilliance" too.  So about a month ago after I finished changing my little Einstein's diaper, I told her to put the old one in the trash.  I then busied myself with getting the boys off to preschool.  We all returned home late that afternoon, and Hudson went to the bathroom. 

"MOM!  There's a HUGE diaper floating in the toilet!"

Have you ever seen a disposable diaper that's been sitting in a big bowl of water for six hours?!  It was like pulling an exploding brick out of our commode.  Needless to say, maybe using "brilliant" to describe Jovie was a slight exaggeration.  But toilet and trash do sound shockingly similar.  They both begin with T . . .

Jovie for President. 

Prideful moment #2: I'm teaching my children to learn from their mistakes.

If I tried to recall how many times Jovie has gotten into my dry pasta and emptied the box all over the floor, steam would start escaping from my ears.  Let's just say, it's been enough that I stopped throwing the dirtied pasta away.  I just stick it all back in the box--it's going to be boiled, right?  Maybe you should just skip spaghetti night at our house.  Anyway, a few weeks ago, Jovie got into my spaghetti box for the umpteenth time. 

"Jovie!!!  Why can't you learn that playing with pasta is not a good idea?!  This is not a fun game!"

"Not a fun game?  What planet are you on?  Of course it's fun.  I just shook a box of noodles which made a cool sound and then got to see them scatter all over the floor.  Next you squealed and squinched up your face in that ridiculous way.  And best of all, we got to pick up all the pasta and put it back in the box--a toddler's favorite game!  Hey Brainiac, I'm not even three feet tall.  Put the pasta on a higher shelf.  Until you start learning from your mistakes, game on."  (Jovie's thoughts as interpreted by her big blue eyes and impish grin.) 


At least my oh-so-wise mother has the sense to strip me down for spaghetti night.

Prideful moment #3: We need to give to those who aren't blessed with as much as we are.

It's been my mantra lately. Stuff has been getting to me.  It is breeding in the same way that the carpet stains are breeding.  And the toys!  There's so many of them.  So many UNPLAYED with toys.  I told the boys to start gathering stuff to give away, including one stuffed animal each.  I was beaming with pride as they collected their piles to give to charity.  But my proud eyes suddenly turned into a scowl.  Corbin chose a stuffed killer whale to give away.  MY stuffed killer whale. 

"Corbin, that whale is mine.  It's not yours to give away."
"Well, why can't you give it away?" he asked.
"Because it's mine.  I'm letting you guys borrow it for a bit.  Isn't that nice of Mommy?  But, it's my very special Shamu-mu.  We can't give it away." 

Shamu-mu is indeed my very special whale.  What kid doesn't dream of owning a stuffed killer whale?  Although I was 17 when I got him, so calling myself a kid is a bit of a stretch.  But don't worry.  After that conversation, I totally saw my own selfishness.  Shamu-mu is now being well loved by a sweet little girl.  Whose name happens to be Jovie.  What a coincidence. 

Kids are indeed humbling.  They remind us of our own imperfections, our own stupidity, and our own absurdity.  But as much as we try to appear like we know it all and have all the answers, maybe our childlike tendencies aren't completely bad . . .



The Party that Went Viral

It was Super Bowl Sunday--America's first major break with their New Year's resolutions, when it is encouraged to indulge in chips, and brownies, and beer, and anything that hints of fat and cholesterol.  It was a Super Bowl that we weren't too excited to watch because who wants to root for a bunch of pretty boy cheaters and repeat offenders from the previous year, but still we found ourselves counting down to a fun excuse to have people over and indulge in pounds and pounds of cheese. 

But by 3:00 in the afternoon, the soon-to-be party took an unappetizing turn.  Ben realized it first. 

"We have to cancel," he groaned as the kids started to wobble half-awake out of their bedrooms from their afternoon snooze.  "I have a stomach bug."

"Are you sure?" I questioned.

He pulled a flannel quilt over him, curled up his knees, and gave me a half-hearted sarcastic look. 

It was then that I started questioning myself.  That all day fatigue, the random chills, the nausea?!  Within thirty minutes of this moment, we were laying at opposite ends of the couch, quivering under the same quilt. 

And the children ran wild.

We bought ourselves some time.  I crawled to the DVD player and hastily put in a movie before the room's air knocked me down.  The older two were amused for an hour.  But the little one.  Oh, the little one!  Why can't singing cucumbers and dancing tomatoes be of interest to you, my sweet dear!

Jovie showed us toys, she twirled, danced a little jig to the cucumber's silly songs.  But we were too cold and too miserable to give her our usual claps and cheesy delight.  So she climbed on the couch, and she stepped on our stomachs over, and over, and over, and over, vying for our attention. 

"Pack.  Play."  I gritted through my teeth.  Ben was closer.  He was stronger.  So he got up, and put her in the pack n play.  And she wailed. 

What is worse?  The shrill screams of a toddler, or her body diving into our weak stomachs?  We let her escape the prison.

At this point, our hour was up.  The credits rolled, and Hudson turned off the TV.

"Too much TV.  No more," he announced. 

We had read the Berenstain Bear's Too Much TV one too many times.  They had heard my daily mantra: "Too much TV will rot your brains!"  Why are they taking this to heart now!  They never listen to what we say!

The boys began racing monster trucks, which somehow turned into wrestling, which naturally turned into fighting.  Jovie, still mad that her Royal Cuteness was given so little attention, began jumping off the arm of the couch with a triumphant glint in her eye. 

I managed to utter my second coherent thought in an hour.  "Basement.  Now.  Play nicely.  Lots of candy.  Prize." 

The three of them stormed downstairs like barbarians.  We closed our bleary eyes, and rested our aching bodies for a minute.  Maybe two.  The screaming and fighting and pushing began.  Lord of the Flies: Baby Edition had started.

I knew what must be done next: I faked sleep.  Ben, my green-hued hero, pulled off the quilt, stumbled down the stairs, laid his weak body on the loveseat, and acted as guard over the fighters. 

I felt badly.  I had sent Ben down to that cold hell of activity, light and noise.  The moment of guilt passed. I hugged the quilt, which I now held all to myself, and I gave a weak smirk in the upstairs warmth and quiet.

But while I laid in restless peace, the clicking of the clock caught my attention.  The barbarians would be hungry.  But to go into that kitchen with its swirling, sickening sweet smells of the crockpot chili that had been stewing all day?  Oh, the humanity!  I held my breath and with as much energy as I could muster, dove into the kitchen, threw some chicken nuggets on a pan, and dove out. 

We assured our three little balls of fire that on this special Super Bowl Sunday, their brains wouldn't rot, and they finally accepted our plea for more TV.  The three of them feasted on nuggets and chips while the glare of the TV shone in their eyes. 

The clock struck seven, and we convinced them it was bedtime.  Thank heavens the Berenstain Bears didn't write a book about telling time.

Miraculously, they went to sleep.  And we fell into our bed.  We both knew the worst of it was over.  Quiet and rest were upon us.  There was no food in our bellies to keep destroying us, and no children awake to kick us while we were down.  And our fitful sleep slowly turned into more pleasant dreams.

Until the pitter patter of feet woke us up.  1:24 am:  "My tummy hurts," he pitifully cried. 

The party continued . . .   

 

Our Little Barbarians

 



I guess it could be pretty adorable it they ruled the roost.  For like, a minute.