The Perfect Lie

Okay, I did the unthinkable. I invited someone into my home when it was. . .let’s just say less than perfect. No that’s not true, it was a total and complete disaster.
I have been feeling under the weather the last few days and was really neglecting…well, everything. I had trash that needed to be recycled stacked up in the middle of the kitchen island. Milk jugs, pizza box, juice jugs, soup cans. . . .and the list goes on and on. But that’s not the worst of it. The sink was FULL of dirty dishes. The counter tops needed wiping down. The floor was sticky. There were toys in every room and in every corner. The children were not fully dressed, and I was still in my PJ’s. And of course, as that implies no hair, and no makeup.
Are you wondering what the big deal is?
Well, as I might have mentioned before, I am a southern girl and we like to play dress up. We also like to pretend to be a master of all things. We even indulge each other in this fantasy game, by giving a polite “shout out” before dropping by someone’s home. This gives them the opportunity to also pretend to be perfect by shoving all their messiness under a bed, in the closet, or worse in the bath tub (this one, I’ve only heard about).
So why did I open the door, you maybe asking.
Well, I did it to dispel an ugly rumor that has been circulating though my family for quite some time now. You see the “guest” was my dear cousin, and the ugly rumor that I am trying to debunk is that I am “perfect”.
Now why would I want to destroy such a beautiful illusion?
For several reason really, but the main one, the simplest one is because when all the crap that I have ever shoved anywhere, (metaphorically speaking) comes crashing down on me, I want my friends and family to be standing there with a helping hand and a shovel. Not with their mouths hanging open, pointed fingers and shocked expressions.
To tell you the truth, I have no idea where this rumor originated. I’m not perfect by any standard. I’m overweight and underpaid. I’m a lousy driver and can get lost going to my mailbox. I am sarcastic by nature and though fore offensive to most. One leg is shorter than the other one and my earlobes are fat. I do however posses a few qualities that others in my family may be lacking, such as I understand the meaning of R.S.V.P. I can organize an event weeks before it actually occurs, instead of just a few hours, and I do normally keep a tidy house (not that they don’t) but they also have quite a few things up on me. For instance they are all certifiably geniuses. How very annoying.
No, really I love ‘em and I don’t enjoy being judged negatively by them, hence the impromptu house tour.
I hope there are whispers at the next family gathering.
I hope that I’m the butt of a few jokes.
They can laugh all they want; they just better bring a shovel when I need ‘em.

A girls gotta' do what a girls gotta' do.

It has been an eventful weekend. Lots of celebrating and lots of sugar; so by late afternoon on Christmas day, all I wanted to do was snuggle up to husband on the couch, finish a movie that we had started and watch the kids play with their toys. But my Grace had different plans. She too, wanted to play with her new toys, but she wanted to play with her new bath toys. Now, call me a bad mom if you will, but I didn’t want to do bath-time last night. It sounded like too much work. Washing the hair against their will, coxing them out of the tub before they turn into ice cubes, trying to catch two squealing slippery pixies just so that I could wrestle warm dry clothes on them; and then TRY to brush their hair. NO THANK YOU!
I just didn’t want to do it.
So I told Grace that they could bathe tomorrow, and proceeded to ignore the protest and watch my movie. A few minutes later my husband tells me that he caught Grace coloring on Faith's tummy with markers. When asked why she did that she ignored the question and told her father that Faith was dirty and needed a bath. I thought smugly to myself that Grace may be smart, but as for now, I’m still smarter, because I do not give my kids any art tools that are not washable. So I ignored it and continued to watch my movie. A few minutes later Grace walks up to me in the living room and just stand there. I try to look past her, but she gracefully positions herself between me and the T.V. So I look at her. There was white stuff on top of her head. “What did you do?” I ask. “Well, I’m dirty too, and we need a bath.” She stated very directly. “Grace, what is on your head?” I ask again, not liking it when she ignores me. “My dinner. Now give me a bath. “ also said very directly.
Next time I don't think I'll be quite as smug.
Good times.

I believe. . .

Marriage.
People can say what they want about marriage not being necessary or realistic, but I find great comfort in believing in our “forever”, our commitment. I am an introvert and can appreciate “alone time” and personal space. But I have Never needed my husband like I do now. There are secrets of the heart that you only share with the person in your life that you never think will leave you. Your spouse has “promised” to be there for you through it all. Even after seeing you at your worst and finding out just how selfish and ugly your heart can be. They have promised to be your friend, to hold your hand, to love you and to allow you to love them back; to hold their hand and to be their friend.
If you don’t believe in a good marriage, then you don’t believe in yourself. You don’t believe that you can be that open, that supportive, that forgiving, and that self-sacrificing for that long. You have to know that you are capable of that kind of relationship in order to believe that someone else out there is also.
I find it interesting that a lot of people that do not believe in a God do not believe in marriage, in the traditional sense. They don’t see what a piece of paper has to do with a life long commitment. But I do. I believe that your word should stand for your character. I believe that commitment is something that should be stronger than motive. And I believe in God.
I think that because I am able to “believe” in something other than myself, something bigger and better, that it allows me to believe in me. And ultimately the “God” that is in me.
If you are finding it hard to believe in something solid, something good; even yourself and others. Reconsider the importance of God in your life.

It could be worse...you could be a fish.

I’m a big believer in “It could be worse.”
If you call me late at night, and cry on my shoulder, I’ll cry with you. I’ll listen to you. I’ll try to comfort you. But before the night is through, be sure you’ll hear those four annoying words come out of my mouth. I just can’t help it. I believe it, and for some reason I find it comforting.
If you don’t believe me. If you think it would be impossible for things to be worse, you’re wrong.
You could be an Anglerfish. Anglerfish are those nasty looking sharp teeth fish that live in the Deep Dark Ocean. You know the ones. They have that little light that hangs off their head to attract their pry. Yep, that’s them. But, not only are they extremely freaky to look at, the male of their species is even more disturbing. He looks nothing like the female. He has no light and is a lot smaller in comparison, but the worse part is that he actually attaches himself to the sides of the female. The disturbing part is that he NEVER detaches. He melts, sort of dissolving into the female's sides. Scientists thought that these fish just had a lumpy exterior, but no. It was actually the remains of their former lovers.
Now that’s bad.
At least the black widow moves on after devouring her mate, she never has to see him again, but the Anglerfish sees her ex-mate's butt every time she looks at her own. He’s like cellulite. Not to mention that he actually becomes part of her. His blood mixes into hers. He’s a parasite.
So you may have it bad right now, but you can always take solace in the fact that your ex’s aren’t permanently attached to your butt.

A nice night

I had a date last night. Well, it was a girl’s night and then my sister-in-law and I hit a late feature before calling it quits. Actually, in true girl fashion, we stopped off and did a little midnight shopping at the local drug store after the movie. I had to bring home baby formula and it was convent, open, and not Walmart. Not that I don’t shop at Walmart, but I will say that I only go there when I have to. I always leave there a broke zombie. Talk about mental overload. You literary have to ask yourself two questions for EVERY item that you lay eyes on.
1. Do I need this now?
2. Will I need this in the next couple of weeks?
Do you KNOW how many products a Super Walmart stock? Exhausting.
Anyway, I was going to tell you about the movie we saw.
Holiday. It was really, really cute. I think it is one that I would like to own. And don’t be turned off by Cameron’s performance during the first 20 minutes or so. She loosens up and gets better as the movie progresses. Besides, that haircut is so very cute on her that it makes the hard to watch acting, bearable. Besides, Jude Law is oh, so yummy! Man! He’s got a couple of “looks” that can make a girl blush.
Needless to say I had a nice evening. A little laughing, a little shopping, and a little blushing. . . Now that’s a good date!

A mother's intuition

As I had mentioned before, my now 4 month old son has a heart condition Tetralogy of Fallot, and will need to have open heart surgery. I won’t bore you with the details, but we spent all day Wednesday in the hospital doing tests. At the end of a 12 hour stay at the hospital, the Doctor after reading some of the results considered admitting our son over night. This was NEVER supposed to be an overnight event. We were suppose to go in at 6:00 a.m. start testing at 8:00 a.m. and leave around 5 or 6 p.m. but my little chunky baby decided to hide his veins under a few rolls of sweet baby chub, creating a problem for the anesthesiologist. ( He needed to be put to sleep for the test. ) After poking every “ thin “ area of his body, they ended up putting the IV in the bottom of his left foot. Part of the “monitoring” was a test that revealed his oxygen saturation levels. They are normally 100% for a healthy person. Normal for someone with Tetralogy of Fallot is in the 70 – 80 range (before surgery); lower than that and it becomes a serious concern. After the test while being monitored his saturation levels fell to the 50 range. He was even being given oxygen at the time. Serious Concern. This condition is also known as “Blue Baby Syndrome”, the lack of oxygen in the blood, causes the person to become blue. The lower the saturation levels the bluer they look. When my son’s levels were registering in the 50’s he looked the same pinkish color that he always did when feeling well. He acted in the same manner that he always did and otherwise seemed fine. But his numbers were not fine. The Dr. was concerned. He wanted to keep him overnight and wait until his levels rose into the 70 range while not having the assistance of oxygen. By this time of night, we were all exhausted. We just wanted to go home and rest as well as ingest all of the information that we had received that day. I had not slept the night before and I will be honest in saying that I was possibly not making complete sentences by this time. God did however give me the clarity to communicate in an effective manner what I was feeling inside.
I told my husband that I did not care what the monitor was saying. This is normal for my son. This is as good as it gets. This is the best color that he gets. This is the best he acts (lower numbers means less oxygen, which means more lethargic). If they do not feel comfortable sending him home in this condition, then they are going to have to keep him and perform his surgery today, because this is as good as it gets. The more I said it out loud, the more I knew it to be true. Even though the numbers and my opinion conflicted each other the Dr. did decide to give it a couple more hours before officially omitting us. So we waited and prayed. Every couple of sections his number would flash across the screen. 52. . .53. . .55. . .52. . . 52 . . .52 Eeeerrrggggg. Come On! I know this isn’t right! So finally our wonderful nurse, truly. Took the reader from his finger and placed it on his toe, hoping that I was right, and that something was wrong with the machine. We held our breath. . . .52. . . . 53. . . .53. . . .52. NO! The Dr. was due any minute and we were going to have to stay. Now, you may be saying, “what’s the big deal lady? It’s just one night.” But no, it wouldn’t be because as I said, this was as good as it was going to get for him, and secondly when he has open heart surgery in about a month we will be in the hospital for over a week. I didn’t want to start that now. Especially without being prepared. So as my son’s bedtime approached we tried to settle him down in a strange environment while working around several wires and sore incision spots. As I was rocking him in a chair that did not rock something happened, I promise I didn’t do it on purpose, but his IV came out of his foot and there was blood everywhere! Yes, it was scary. The reason that he was being monitor in the first place was to make sure that the artery that they preformed the catheter in would not reopen and cause him to loose all his blood.
Anyway, we cleaned him up, realizing that it was only the IV. In doing so, all wires were removed and a new oxygen saturation monitoring device was attached to his toe. . . . 70. . .75. . . 76. . .77. . .75. .. 76. . . YES! We’re goin’ home! Hubby and I did a happy dance with chubby baby. Dr. walked in shortly after. “So you want to go home?” Or bags were already packed. “Thank you very much Dr. , see you tomorrow. Bye.” Thank you Jesus! Finally the end to a VERY long day.
Baby slept like a log all night. So did I.
Remember, you are the parents. You know your children. And computers are not always smarter than you.
Now go kiss your babies and thank God for them.

Heeee heee hee he

I did not write this, but it did make me laugh. . .

A six-year-old boy told his father he wanted to marry the little girl across the street. The father, being modern and well-schooled in handling children, hid his smile behind his hand.
"That's a serious step," he said. "Have you thought it out completely?"
"Yes," his young son answered. "We can spend one week in my room and the next in hers. It's right across the street, so I can run home if I get scared of the dark."
"How about transportation?" the father asked.
"I have my wagon, and we both have our tricycles," the little boy answered. The boy had an answer to every question the father raised.
Finally, in exasperation, his dad asked, "What about babies? When you're
married, you're liable to have babies, you know."
"We've thought about that, too," the little boy replied. "We're not going to have babies. Every time she lays an egg, I'm going to step on it!"

- Author Unknown