​Why is it that I load up like a pack mule with grocery bags hanging all the way up each arm so that I don’t have to run the few yards back to the car? Like I only have one shot at the Gold and this is it. 

Then I get to the top of the steps (hearing the Rocky theme in my head) to find the door was closed… ugh.  It is not an option to open it because my arms are shaking at this point from the heft of the bags.  I end up kicking and cussing my way inside and am exhausted.  

Am I alone in this?

#grocerystoreobstacles

#whoneedsthegym

#stubbornnessrunsdeepintheseveins

Today is my wedding anniversary.  Very many years ago I walked down the aisle with a cathedral train, a painted face, one million bobby pins in my hair, a garter on my leg, my bags packed for Hawaii and rose colored glasses that saw nothing but sunshine and rainbows…

Even though we are not together anymore, this isn’t an awful day for me.  It was a wonderful weekend with all of my favorite people in one (ball)room and those that weren’t there were watching from Heaven.  I think back on it with fondness… except for the awful photographer who ate more food than the (sub-standard) pictures he took, and brought his wife who took a seat right next to him and ate the lamb right with him…  and the dj who showed up an hour late, drunk and without any of the music we discussed… or the pastor who pulled me from the reception (as the speeches were starting) to get his payment because he didn’t feel like staying, but not before he signed the wrong date on our marriage license… the list goes on… but for real, it actually gets worse.  A story for another day.

Even though it’s not a sad day for me, I wanted to get out of the house and do something with the kids.  We decided to go to the Raleigh Farmers Market for lunch and see what we saw.  There were pumpkins of every size, shape, color and texture, children off their electronics trying new foods, and people working hard to grow something from nothing.  I love it.

I still needed some chicken to make dinner though, so we stopped at Target for a quick trip… have you ever been to Target for a quick trip?

There is something pumped through the air vents that reduces the speed of your cart, which in turn, allows their merchandise to catch your eye, which in turn, is put in your cart, which in turn, slows your cart down even more, which in turn, allows the merchandise to catch your eye even more, which in turn, causes you to lose track of the reason you’re there.

So my quick trip to Target for chicken cost me $200 and that didn’t even include chicken.  We had spaghetti tonight.

I was definitely Targeted today.

#MyCartIsAlwaysFullAtTarget

#RaleighFarmersMarketHasTheBestVeggies

I am blessed with a lot of friends.  Some new, some old, some eccentric, some straight-arrow, most of them sarcastic, a few crazies, some puzzling, some peculiar, some confident, some lighthearted, one or two Sporty Spices, a couple of Lifetime/Hallmark lovers, a few more ESPN followers, some healthy, some sick, many are mothers, several are grandmothers, some just drive like grandmothers, but all of them are good people who are beautiful in their own special way.

Only a select few are in my inner core.  They know the real me and like me anyway.  They have laughed with me at my highest, laughed at me when I’m being my oh-so-graceful-self and cried with me when my world fell apart.  They know what makes me tick, and which buttons to push when I am out of sorts, out of line or out of ideas.

But my very best friend, my sister from another mother, is the sanest crazy person I’ve ever met.  Only she can keep me on the phone for two and a half hours, and keep me wanting more.  She will tell me the truth even when my sass and stubborn streaks don’t want to hear it.  She can boil down my overanalyzations and ask questions that help me find my own point.  We can laugh at nothing and make a lifelong memory of it.  We can pick a city out of a hat and make an adventure of it.  We can compare pre- and post-baby body parts with commiseration and lie to each other with sincerity about the appeal of loose skin, the sauciness of stretch marks, the sexiness of cellulite, and the best lighting to reduce the glare of winter white skin (in any season).

I hope you all have friends like my Ouiser.  She is the perfect mix of saint and sinner, wit and wisdom.  She is gorgeous from the inside out.

After 20 years of friendship, I still don’t know why she talks to me.  I have to be nice to her though, she has waaaaaaaay too much dirt on me.

#cheapertokeepher

#theblackmailisreal

#whatiswrongwithher

#thankgoodnesstherewasnofacebookincollege

I just stubbed my broken toe on the trash can. It hurt worse than the actual break but this time my children were present so any words that may have flowed yesterday were held inside with the pain.

What did make its way out were a string of random words that don’t make any sense but made me feel better. I became the female version of Steve Carell in The 40 Year Old Virgin.

“Son of a biscuit maker in June”, “Holy Sugarfree gummy bears” and “Damage it all to colgate” were my favorites.

By the time the rush of pain and meaningless phrases passed, the kids and I were hysterical!

Here’s hoping none of them are repeated tomorrow on the playground.

#parentingsaveandfail #atoecantstopthedinnerdancing #imayneedanepidural

Trivial Problems I have #1,259:

I really am sorry to complain.  I try not to crab about what life dishes out because there is always someone who has a worse hand than you were dealt.  But more importantly, there is always something to be grateful for and I try to focus on my blessings, not my blunders.

But …

For the last week, I have been fighting a sinus infection, the beginnings of an ear infection, viral conjunctivitis in my right eye, and just a few hours ago I managed to break my toe.  I haven’t strung that many four letter words together since I sat down to watch The Goonies on VHS and found out someone had taped over it.

I. Am. Frustrated.

I’ve already had a full week of looking and feeling like Quasimodo, and now I have a limp to go with the looks.  I feel my pulse in my toe and with every beat I hear “mor-on”…”mor-on”…”mor-on”.

My eyeball feels like the soccer ball they used during the Olympics.  Beaten, dirty, gritty and kicked but still in play.

The maid officially quits when I’m sick, so the house is a disaster.  (I have to quit saying that in front of the kids though.  I heard one of them telling their friend that the maid quit, not knowing the maid is really me… I’m like Clark Kent and Superman, without the feather duster).

Please say a little prayer for my Wednesday.  Hopefully hump day does not mean my back goes out and I end the week bent over.

A funny friend at work has offered to wrap me in bubble wrap to prevent any more incidents/ailments.  At this point, I may take them up on it.

#iwanttorunawaytothebeach     #allthewrongpartsarebulging     #brokentoesdontlikeshoes     #choosetolaughthroughthestumbles     #perfectweektobuyalotteryticket

Time is flying too quickly!

A boy bought cigarettes at the grocery store in front of me the other day. His pants were far below his waistline, his hat was on sideways, his tattoos seemed to be spelled correctly but his shoelaces were untied.  Clearly, the stress of responsibility and ambition were enough to warrant a drag.  They carded him and his birthday was in 1998. Eeeewwwww, he’s a baby! Don’t sell him those!

I asked a tween-age girl in our neighborhood if she had seen Friends. Her answer… “I have lots of friends, I see them all the time.”  What? How do you not know Friends?  The show ended in 2004… that means we haven’t clapped with the intro of an original episode in 12 years.  Sigh.

 I was talking with a teacher at the kid’s school about Sting and the Police. In my mind, I can still see where to put the needle on the record to play “Every Breath You Take” (one of my all time favorite songs).  A young mom heard me and asked why I would put a needle on it, “wouldn’t it scratch it?” Seriously?! Turns out, she hadn’t been born when that song was released…Walk away from me.

I was describing my gorgeous best friend to someone not long ago. I always say she has Farah Fawcett hair because it is thick and perfectly feathered/layered. She looked at me, straight-faced, and said “Who?”. I said “You know, she was one of Charlie’s Angels.” To which SHE replied, “No, the Angels are Drew, Cameron and Lucy.”  Just never mind.

A group of friends and I were talking about all the hospital shows on TV and I said they all stem from M*A*S*H and St. Elsewhere. One of them asked if St. Elsewhere was a hospital in Hollywood that let the actors shadow and learn how to be “doctors”.  Oh good glory.

I don’t feel old until these people talk to me… and they seem to flock to me lately.

#howdoyounotknowfarrahfawcett

#illbethereforyou

#stelsewhereneededageorgeclooneytospicethingsup

#hasNCjoinedthesaggypantsban

#imisstheoldrecordplayerintheglassstereocabinet

My pregnancy with my first child was extremely difficult.  The baby was healthy, but I was constantly nauseous.  Actually, nauseous doesn’t even cover it.  I was an involuntary disgruntled bulimic.  Over the course of 7 months, I graced multiple public places with vomit.

My highlights were a Durham Bulls game, the potted plant outside my office building, a red light on Capital Blvd and my own birthday party (which promptly ended the party, long before any wishes were made on the candles).

Towards the end I didn’t even apologize for it, I just wiped up, popped a mint and kept trucking.  People gave me all kinds of tricks to get rid of the “morning” sickness but nothing worked.  The doctor finally prescribed the little blue pill… Zofran.  At that point in my life, I had never loved anything more than the contents of that bottle.  I had them near me at all times, they were my life line to sanity.I lived a happy, vomit-free life for a few weeks before the preeclampsia/toxemia took over.  I could eat again but was on bed rest for the last few weeks of pregnancy.  The combination of toxemia and bed rest caused me to gain a lot of weight… 65 pounds to be exact. 65 POUNDS!  That’s a Backstreet Boy y’all!

My round and red-headed baby girl came a little over 3 weeks early.  She was perfect in every way.  Her mother, on the other hand, was a hot mess.  I had to stay in the hospital for what felt like an eternity and because I was so sick, I wasn’t able to breastfeed.

I met with the lactation consultant and she gave me the best prescription I’ve ever gotten.  Cheesecake.  I was instructed to eat a piece of cheesecake every day to enrich my milk.  I was desperate, I would have done anything but was very willing to step aboard The Cheesecake Express.

We finally came home on Superbowl Sunday.  I walked through the door, put the carrier on the coffee table and just stared at her.  What in the world do we do now?  We had spent 8 months getting ready for this baby, now she was laying in my living room and I didn’t have the first clue what do with her.  She looked cozy and cuddly so I ate a slice of cheesecake and passed out with her snuggled close.

The weeks passed, the mom gene kicked in and I fell more in love with her every day.  I also ate my cheesecake every day.  Walking into The Cheesecake Factory was like walking into Cheers, everybody knew my name.  I wasn’t loosing any baby weight but my genius daughter had mastered breastfeeding and was growing, which was all that mattered.

The lactation consultant called about a month later to check in on us.  I praised her endlessly for her prescription, and swore my love for her forever.  She cut me off mid-praise and said “Wait, you’re still eating cheesecake?  I meant that you should eat it for a week or so.”

I had eaten a piece of cheesecake every day for a month y’all.  A MONTH!  That child was gaining weight like a heavy weight prizefighter, and I was definitely still shopping in the spanx aisle of the maternity section.

Nine years later, she doesn’t like any kind of cheesecake and I still cherish every bite.  But I’ll only let myself eat it a few times a year for fear of another Backstreet Boy strapped to my midsection.

#cheesecakestillmakesmehappy

#howdidwomensurvivebeforezofran

#wouldhavebeencheapertoopenmyownCheesecakeFactory

#thankGodbabynumbertwowaseasier

We were fortunate enough to get a piano after the kids started taking lessons.  The trick was getting it in the house without destroying it, or the new sun room, in the process.  The men who delivered it were very kind and listened to me with patience while I droned on about the new tile floor and how if they scratched it, I would have to kill them.

I said it with a sweet southern drawl so they took it well.  I just channeled the Julia Sugarbaker running through these veins, with my eyebrow sky high, so they knew I would at least draw blood if something happened.

That’s the great thing about being a woman in the south.  As long as you say it with a sweet accent and a flirty grin, you can threaten death with no hard feelings.

For those lucky ladies who say y’all with a drawl, this is a lesson we learn early on in life.

The head delivery man smiled at me when the piano was placed, safe and sound with no scratches.  We gave him a nice tip, a bottle of water and I told him he was my hero.  He smiled and said he loved a woman who was this easy to please and told me what a keeper I was.

That’s me, I’m a “keeper”.  Pah!

The kids and I went back and forth for 15 minutes about what to make for dinner tonight.  No one was in the mood for the same thing.  The boy wanted grill cheese, the girl wanted soup and I wanted not to cook.

Mama’s vote counts twice.  Take-out it is!

We brought everything back home and had dinner at the dining room table with all the laughs, stories and pleas to eat the healthy stuff that would have happened if I had cooked.

When my family sits down for dinner, take-out or not, we always say Thankful Prayer.  Each person names a handful of things they are grateful for from the day, or in general.  It ranges from the love of family and the roof over our heads, to a new Pokemon card and the big poop they took at school that made them feel better so they could play hard at recess…

Yes, that was actually said at the table and no, I did not fuss at anyone when milk sprayed across the table in laughter at said prayer.  We’ve all been there.

So today, my little angels were saying Thankful Prayer and I sat there listening to their little hearts finding hope and appreciation for the little things.  I just adore them kept running through my mind while they thanked God for all their blessings.

Then my baby girl finished with “and I am grateful for all the animals…”

“How sweet is that?” I thought, so considerate of the world around her.

“…because most of them are delicious and the one’s that aren’t get eaten by the one’s that are.”

Hide your pets friends, Grace is going through a growth spurt and may be looking for a snack.

#thereisalwayssomethingtobegratefulfor

#findthejoysinthejourney

#kidssaythedarndestthings

#whatwouldpetasay

There comes a time in a man’s life when he is tested in ways that a woman could never understand.

For my son, this test was his first loose tooth.

It has been wiggly for about a week, and has been hanging by a thread for two days.  He spent the whole night pushing it back and forth with his tongue but freaking out at the idea of actually pulling it out.

I came up with so many fun ways to pull it, but he kept looking at me like I was off my meds…

We have Nerf gun battles all the time.  Why not tie a string from the Nerf bullet to the tooth and get a free shot at your sister.

Or get the little helicopter Santa brought and fly the tiny tooth right out.

Or tie it to the car and let me back it out of the driveway.

Or wrap it around the dog’s collar and throw a treat.  It would be out before the treat hit the ground.

Nope.  With terror in his eyes, he said I wasn’t allowed to be in charge of his wiggly teeth anymore.

When he got up this morning, the first thing he did was push and twist his tooth around with his tongue.  It was literally hanging, but I still wasn’t allowed anywhere near it.

In the end, brushing his teeth was the death of the thread.  With one stroke of the brush, the tooth was out with no fuss or fight.

With one stroke of the brush, my baby lost his first baby tooth.

After they fall asleep, I’m running to their dad’s house to sneak the Tooth Fairy’s note under his pillow.  He may be growing up, but I’m not ready for him to stop believing in magic yet.

#mybabyisntababyanymore

#firstloosetooth

#toothfairyisgoingbrokeatourhouse

#funwaystopullatooth

#kidstodaygetdollarsforonetooth

#thetoothfairyonlyleftaquarterforme