The Exploitation of a Manly Man's Vanity

          I’ve always been pretty big on eating well and working out.  I have a weakness when it comes to fast food but the healthier I eat, the grosser it is.  Since I’ve known Micah, I have tried to keep him healthy and alive as long as possible.  I stock him up on vitamins, load up his tractor and truck with sun screen, encourage healthy eating.  It’s like trying to convert a full blown blood thirsty barbarian into a healthy, civilized human being.  He fights EVERYTHING I introduce or simply ignores my instructions.  For example, the other day, I called him.

“Hi!” I said, “I’ve found a natural way you can take care of your-“

“No.” he said. 

What an obnoxious man. 

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” I told him, “just listen.  It’s called oil pulling.  You basically get coconut oil and by swishing it around in your mouth for twenty-“

“I ain’t doin’ that,” he said.

“Micah it removes toxins and bacteria from your mouth.  And since you refuse to see a dentist, EVER, it will at least help.  Plus, it makes your skin glow.”

“I don’t want glowing skin,” he said.

“Whatever,” I told him, “You're trying this when I get home.  Now the second thing I wanted to talk to you about wheatgrass.  This stuff is absolutely amazing and I can make it from home.  You just take a shot in the morning, afternoon-“

“No,” he said, “I ain’t drinkin’ wheatgrass.  Do all the hippie weird shit you want but I ain’t doin’ it.”

“Would you listen?” I said in my “Micah shut up” voice, “at least listen to why it’s beneficial before you decide to be a horses butt about it.  Just because it’s good for you doesn’t mean it’s not manly.”

“I AM ALL MAN BABY!” he roared into the phone. 

“Yes Micah, I am aware,” I told him, “you are all man.  Wheatgrass removes toxins from your blood, gives you energy-“

“Sissy men drink that weird crap,” he said.

“People who drink it regularly also typically have their gray hair reversed back to the natural color.  Swear to God. Look it up.”

Ten second silence. 

“We’ll see,” he said.

HaHA!   I found his Achilles heel.  Trying to explain to this man the social conditioning behind  his “manly vs sissy”  mentality is useless.  I love Micah enough to find it endearing.  Usually I find it obnoxious and stupid.  The “manly man” stuff is so irrational but most West Texas men are still primitive enough to be pretty hardcore about it and since I fell in love with one of these dudes it just comes with the package.  This yahoo cotton farmer of mine works very hard every single day and I know the benefits of healthy eating and techniques.  I want him to have as much energy as possible, feel balanced and alert, blah blah blah.  If he would just cooperate, he would realize how much better it feels to eat right and take care of yourself.  I am very clever though and always eventually get this guy to cooperate.  I have found out that appealing to this manly man’s vanity is more effective than appealing to his health.  I will be exploiting this since I love him.  Whish me luck!

Adrian Pruitt is Trying to Kill Me

I was minding my own business, reading a book, when Makayla announced she needed a pen for her cross word puzzle.  It was around midnight and neither of us could sleep so we were both in agreement that we needed to be very quiet when we went downstairs to get a pen.  On the stairs when we were halfway down, I thought I heard a noise.  I’m convinced this house is haunted and constantly spooked at night so I stopped on the middle stair, put a hand on Makayla’s arm and said, “shh!  Did you hear that?”  We both stood in the dark, listening, and I came to the conclusion I had just been hearing things.  We got into the kitchen and I, being night blind and still unused to the layout of the house, stumbled around, fumbling for a light switch.  I thought I heard a cough like sound and stopped and grabbed Makayla’s arm. 

“Did you hear that?” I whispered?

“Yes,” she whispered back, her little nails digging into my wrists.

We both stood there in the dark, listening, not moving an inch and after a few seconds we heard a low voice say, “Hey.”

We both shouted and I grabbed Makayla’s hand and took off running down the hallway yelling, “Adrian!  Adrian!”

We barged into Amber and Adrian’s room, and I yelled, “Where’s Adrian!”

Amber shot up out of bed and I assumed Adrian was right behind her. Their room is huge, kind of like two bedrooms in one and I didn’t go past the vanity since a wall blocks the view of their bed and rest of their room from there.  Even in a state of desperate fear, I still did not want to risk seeing Adrian in any sort of state of undress or God forbid, my two best friends doing something disgusting like fornicating.  Amber came rushing towards us.

“What happened?  What’s going on?” she said, all freaking out.

I was having a hard time standing upright, much less talking and after a few gasps and frantic “what’s going on’s?” from Amber, I managed to say, “I heard someone out there.”

“Was it Adrian?” she asked?

“Huh?” I said back, “Adrian’s out there?”

“Yes,” she said, “He’s in the living room.”

It took a second for it to sink in.  Relief replaced panic.  And then I started laughing like a goon.

“Bahahaha!  Oh my God!  It’s only Adrian!”

“Babe!” Amber hollered as we all headed towards the living room, “stop wondering around in the dark scaring Jess!”

He made some comment about how I was the one wondering around in the dark and he figured I would have seen the light on his iPad screen.  I gripped the back of the couch and Makayla said, “Mommy!  You’re shaking!”

We discussed my dramatic handling of the situation and Adrian said, “What kind of intruder is going to tell you hello?  What’s he going to do, introduce himself before he kills you?”

“Psychological torment you fool!” I yelled. 

“Would you people just go to bed?” Amber said, laughing at us.

Makayla and I tromped up the stairs.  Adrian remained on the couch, probably plotting a clever strategy to terrorize his next victim.  I vowed to get even.  Texted a friend about the legality of certain fireworks in California.  Yet another memory made with the Pruitt/Jessica/Makayla clan.  

Man Interests

 

          I am sure no one in my circle of friends or family takes my man interests seriously anymore.  I mean, in the past year, look at this:

 

The Cotton Farmer:  This doesn’t count as a man interest since I had an actual relationship with this guy.  I adored him actually.  Too bad we made each other psycho.

 

WTF Guy:  This guy always had me pick him up in various places around town for our dates.  It was bizarre and I could never figure it out.  He also didn’t seem to have a home because he never had me pick him up or drop him off at a house, ever.  Even if it was midnight, he wanted me to drop him off at McDonalds.  Then I realized his last name on Facebook was a fake last name.  When confronted, he said the fake last name was a nickname in high school and it’s what he went by.  I told him to get to kicking rocks because I assumed he was married or a criminal or something.

 

The Jealous Freak:  After about a month of dating I brought this yahoo along to Lubbock to meet my friends.  My friend Tracy showed me her boyfriend’s butt and I asked if I could feel it and she gave me her permission.  My friends and I are not prude dicks and tend to allow each other feeling privileges of our love interests around our third vodka spritzer.  My date walked up behind me, grabbed the back of my hair, and yanked it as hard as he could.  I was FURIOUS.  Tracy and her boyfriend, my friends Tasha and Jeff, all of us vaminosed the hell out of there and left him alone.  We went to another bar where I started making out with Jeff (every time we drink together, Jeff and I decide we are in love, make out, discuss how glorious our offspring would be, and discuss world events, while bugging our friends with our overdeveloped since of justice), vowing to leave the Freak in Lubbock all by himself and he could hitch-hike back to Abilene.  The freak tried to follow us into the bar but got kicked out BEFORE HE EVEN GOT IN, and sat in the street leaving various voicemails and sending texts proclaiming his love and begging me to forgive him. The only text I sent him was to tell him to find his own way home and then I got back to slobbering all over Jeff.  Tasha said that it was pretty shitty to just leave him in a town he’d never been to and to just get him back to Abilene and then tell him to fuck off.  Which is exactly what I did.

 

The Redhead:  This guy was actually pretty nice but I couldn’t get over the fact that my thighs were bigger than his.  He also wasn’t a good communicator and pretty much his only response to everything I said was “Hmm.”  I disliked that.

 

Ice:  I found out after three dates that he was snorting ice.  That is repulsive.  I gave him some resources for drug hotlines and told him if he came near me again I’d call the cops.

 

Sweater Guy:  This guy was an idiot.  On our second date I told him I was cold so we went back to his place since his house was closer and we went inside so he could lend me a jacket.  We were in there maybe five minutes, which was long enough for his roommate to jack my GPS from my Explorer.  I noticed as soon as we got back into the Explorer because I am LOST without my GPS, AKA Larohnda.  (Chuck Lewis died.)  Literally lost.  I was like, “Hey, where is Larohnda?” and he was like, “My roommate just got out of jail for stealing.  You should have locked your car.”  I was like, “Well, go inside and get it from him.  I need it.”  He said it would be better to just buy a new GPS.  I told him to get the shit out of my truck.

 

The Architect:  This guy was great.  It was going great.  I really, really thought there might be a future with this guy.  And then my friend texted me and let me know that my beloved was on a dating website.  Obviously we made a fake profile and contacted him with our invented girl and he said he was single and couldn’t wait to meet her. Once he found out he’d been caught, he said “Well, if you’d spend more time with me, I wouldn’t have to find other girls on the internet.”  Bitch please.  I told him, “If you feel like we don’t spend enough time together, you are supposed to bring this to my attention and we could work it out.  You’re just being a creepy cheater.  Later.”  And I never talked to him again.

 

The Pretentious Annoying Guy:  This guy was so incredibly annoying.  He had an associates degree in computer technology or something and because of this, you would have thought he had a PHD and established world peace.  He had the audacity to sit with me at lunch and tell me how he had “diagnosed” three of his exe’s with various personality disorders.  “Why do you feel like you are qualified to do that?” I asked him.  “I have a degree,” he said, “I know what I’m talking about.”

“You have an associates degree in computer technology,” I pointed out.

“I am right and you are wrong,” he said and put his hand up like a stop sign.  I was very interested in such behavior. 

“What an odd sense of entitlement,” I said to him, “Very odd.”

He loved to meditate and made sure to tell others how superior he was because of this.  He loved to point out how amazing he was because of his vegan, organic diet.  He loved to discuss how brilliant he was and typically he had no clue what he was talking about and when I’d point out something he’d said that was incorrect he would become irrational and blame others or just say he wasn’t arguing with an “inferior mind.” 

“How is my mind inferior if I’m smarter than you?” I texted, “I am actually emotionally and intellectually superior to you.  So I don’t understand why you feel like my mind is inferior to yours.”

“Your not smarter then me”

That was his response.

“You’re and than.”

That was my response.

I mean, it would never occur to me typically to point out or even care who is smarter or knows more about what.  Who cares?  When you hang out with someone it’s because you enjoy their company and want to do things together.  Normal, well adjusted, healthy people who are comfortable with themselves do not go around putting others down and telling everyone how great they are.  This guy was totally delusional because he based his brilliance with and better than though attitude on a stupid associates degree in computer technology.  Loser.  The breaking point came when I dutch ovened him.  He pouted, said “I really need to process what just happened to me,” and I got up, told him he was annoying, and left.  Deuces.

 

The Spaniard:  This guy was hilarious but totally crazy.  He picked me up on our first date, drunker than a skunk.  I had no clue he was drunk at first.  I thought he was just a freaking weirdo.  He had Spanish music on in his car, turned up loud, singing passionately along with the real singer.  It was very annoying but I had to give it to him: he was a very good singer.  Then he tried to show me he could drive with his feet.  He kept asking me if I wanted him to take me home.

“I am a very nice person,” he assured me over and over again.  He said “person” like “pair sone.”  I am a sucker for an accent.  At one point I pulled out my phone to call my sister, Amber.  She HAD to hear this guy.  When I pulled out my phone, the Spaniard yelled, "Oh no!  Are you calling the cops?"
I looked at him.  "Why on earth would I call the cops?"
"I am not a predator!" he screamed.
"OK dude, good.  Shit."
  He took me to the house of some illegal immigrants from Mexico and the lady asked me in Spanish, “You let him drive you out here drunk?”

“He’s drunk?” I asked?

“Couldn’t you smell it on him?” she asked.

I don’t have the Spanish vocabulary and didn’t have the patience to explain to her that I do not have a sense of smell so I just sat there, wondering why I was at this crappy house when I specifically told him I wanted him to take me to Abuellos the day before.  Then he tried to ram his tongue down my throat, I slapped him, grabbed my phone, and ran away into the night.  I called my friends to come get me and it took them over an hour to find me because I had no idea where I was.

 

That’s not even all of them.  I meet some of the weirdest freaks, I swear.  Anyway, this is why I am hesitant to even discuss my love interests until I’ve been dating them for a month and the time has come to introduce Chris to my blogging world.  I met him only a couple of days after he shattered his elbow in a car crash.  He’d just had surgery and the first thing he said to me on our first date was “I am so high.”  I went to turn to walk away from him then realized he was talking about pain pills because of his surgery and gave him a hug instead.  For some unknown reason, I thought a party full of strippers and illegal immigrants from various parts of Mexico would be a good place for a first date.  Naturally I ended up getting drunk and solicited him to go do naughty things in a shed.  He refused.  I propositioned him again when we were driving to his house for him to take another dose of medicine only this time I suggested a dirt road.

“My ex, this cotton farmer yahoo, we used to do that all the time,” I assured him.

He refused again.  Thank God.  The next day I felt like such a freak and was surprised when he texted, “Good morning, how are you?”  I apologized and assured him I rarely drink and thanked him for not taking advantage of the situation.  A couple of weeks later we were at the park with our kids and he kicked me right in the butt.  Naturally, I decided to retaliate and ordered the children to attack him.  I did not know he would take off in a dead sprint, the fool.  I yelled at him, “You’re going to fall!”

And as soon as I said it, he did.  Hard.  He even rolled.  I saw him fall on his elbow and knew we’d be going to the emergency room.  This was on Valentine’s Day by the way.  I was right indeed and we did need to go to the ER.  He kept complaining that his shoulder on his other arm hurt and I said, “It’s just a pulled muscle.  I’m more worried about your elbow.”

I get the bad girlfriend of the month award because he broke that shoulder and also rebroke his elbow and had to have two more surgeries.  One arm is in a cast, the other in a sling, and he is not in a chipper mood.  What a way to start off a relationship.  I'm just ready for this guy to get cured so I can figure out who he is underneath pain pills and misery.  We shall see.

Abbey is a Genius and the Humans of the House are Gross

The other day, I went into the living room to escape from my children and noticed there were plush toys scattered all over the place.  I had just cleaned the living room a mere two hours before and seeing this child paraphernalia all over the blasted place annoyed me. 

“Caleb!” I hollered.

Kayla came running in, “Yes Mommy?”

“No, CalEB,” I said.  Naming your kids Kayla and Caleb is a dumb idea.  So much confusion.

Caleb came running in, roaring and grunting because at that moment, he was The Hulk.

“Did you bring all these toys in here?” I asked him.

“I am The HUUUUULK!” he bellowed and punched the sofa.

“Yes, I am aware,” I told him, “Did you bring these toys in here?”

“NOOOO,” he said in his Hulk voice, “ABBEY DID IT.”

Ugh.  It’s like when Makayla would blame her indiscretions on Archibald and Stephon when she was little.

“Abbey did not do this,” I said, “Pick them up.”

The Hulk took off his mask and said in his Caleb voice, “Mommy, Abbey really did it.  I didn’t bring these in here.”

“Abbey really did do it,” Makayla said, “She should take them back.”

“Abbey did not bring Y’ALLS toys in here,” I said, “pick them up.”

They picked them up and Caleb glared at the dog which I thought was a little dramatic.  The next day while the kids were in school, I dusted the living room then went into the kitchen to play with my crock pot.  I went back into the living room to get my phone and yelped because there were plush toys all over the place.  I am a total tool and this is why:  for a split second I considered there might be a ghost in my apartment.  And I got spooked the shit out.  Until I saw Abbey trot in with a plush toy in her mouth, drop it on the carpet, and run back to the kids’ room for another.

“By DOG!” I yelled, “You are a genius!  It really was you!” 

Her reaction was to run to me, this time with her leash and then run to the door and howl.  Like a bonified coyote.  This is how she lets it be known she needs to pee or poop. 

I took her outside and she did her business and I told her we both owed the kids an apology.

“You can’t go around framing the kids,” I told her, “they have it hard enough already without being framed by their k-9 companion.  Uncool Abbey, very uncool.” 

Anyway, the past forty eight hours have been horrible.  A week after having some flu/cold thing, we all three came down with a stomach flu.  It started at the park.  I had already had my daily run with Abbey and went back home to get the kids and their new Husky puppy, Taylor Swift the Second.  Taylor Swift the Second is only seven weeks old and I don’t trust her to not poop in the car and she can’t run with Abbey and me, mostly because I am not athletic enough to run with two dogs on a leash at once.  Plus a seven week old pup could not keep up with Abbey and me.  Abbey and I are like seeing a blur go past you when we run; we are THAT fast.  Anyway, I went and fetched my offspring and then the pup and went back to the park.  We love the park.  We are there so much I am sure people think we are homeless and live there.  During my earlier run, I had cut it short because I kept getting these gross waves of nausea.  For a split second I panicked and wondered if I needed to pee on a stick but then I remembered I have not been penetrated by anything that could impregnate me so I wondered if I just needed to eat something.  On the way to the park, Caleb said he felt like he wanted to throw up and Makayla said her stomach hurt.  Oh no.  Sickly children.  To test them I said, “OK, we don’t need to go to the park then.”

Instant protests.  They were either faking or not too bad off.  Suckers.

We got to the park and I realized I was getting light headed and my muscles were aching.  My children weren’t running around like cracked out lunatics as is their usual manner, but instead, just sitting on the ground watching everyone else.  Oh no. 

“Mooooomy,” Caleb moaned, “I have to poop.”

We went to the bathroom and he pooped about ten gallons of runny child poo and needed assistance wiping his butt.  It was that bad.  And as I wiped his bottom he said, “Mommy…uh oh,”

“What’s uh oh?” I asked and as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that “uh oh” was Caleb pooping all over my knees and shoos.  To wipe his rear I had him bend over and I got down to my knees to see what I was doing and his little butt was positioned over my lap.  I wasn’t fazed; I have been covered in child feces before.  Caleb used to shoot out his poo after I would unconstipate him and it really would explode onto my lap or chest or head or whatever. 

When he saw what he did, he was very upset.  Being five means you are very big and strong and good at stuff and pooping on your Mom is something a baby would do.  That’s what he said anyway.

“It’s OK,” I told him, “I’ve pooped my pants when I was bigger than five.  I did it like a year ago.  It happens.”

Yes, I lie to my children.  So what?  He felt better and I cleaned us up and off we went.  At home, we ate soup and all went to lie in my bed.  Makayla was moaning.  She doesn’t handle being sick well.  Neither do I.  I wasn’t moaning but I was cursing.  My stomach kept cramping and I’d have to run to the bathroom.  Then that started happening to the kids.  For hours, the three of us had explosive diarrhea and only two toilets.  I literally told the kids to poop in the bathroom trashcan if the toilets were occupied so they wouldn’t poop their pants.  It was horrible.  When I finally felt like maybe I could venture into the world without defecating all over the place, I ran to the store next door for water and Gatorade.  I was terrified my offspring were in danger for being horribly dehydrated and I wanted liquid in them ASAP.  They were indeed very dehydrated and drank and drank and pooped and pooped until they finally passed out in a heap on top of me.  This went on for 48 hours.  When we all woke up at three thirty pm today, we were all sweaty, with hair matted to our heads, shaking and dazed.  No one was hungry but I had them sip some soup and drink water.  They are both exhausted and already wanting to go to bed.  This stomach bug was not kidding.  The End.

This Blasted Boy Child

I really wish I knew why Caleb loves to cut his own hair.  I just feel like he's old enough to look in the mirror and SEE that when he does this to himself, it looks ridiculous.  Self inflicted hair cuts started for Caleb before kindergarten started.  He figured if he cut his own hair and made himself look insane enough, he wouldn't have to go.  But BEHOLD!  He had to go anyway.  In reality, Caleb has been cutting his own hair since his little hands were coordinated enough to manipulate a pair of scissors.  I thought I had found a solution when Grandma just started shaving his head.  But then my yahoo cotton farmer lover told me Caleb looked like he just came straight from the Holocaust and every time I looked at my son after that, I felt like I should apologize to him for his grotesque appearance.  So taking the advice from a not so fashion savvy farmer, I went ahead and stopped having Caleb's head shaved and told him, "Bubba, do NOT cut your own hair.  It looks horrible when you do that.  If you cut your own hair you're going to be in trouble."  I reminded Makayla to keep her scissors picked up but we have tons of scissors in this house because Makayla is an artist and I can't open packages by hand without injuring myself.  The other day I went into the kids' bathroom to start their baths and I saw clumps of brown hair all in the sink and on the floor...and a pair of purple handled scissors strategically hidden under a wad of toilet paper on the side of the sink.  I went in search of Caleb, hoping, HOPING he had cut the hair off of one of Makayla's dolls but I found him hiding in his sisters closet with a scarf over his head.
"Get out of there and take that scarf off," I told him.
"No," he said back.
I gave him a mother look because he isn't allowed to say no and he came out of the closet but clung to the scarf.
"You cut your hair," I told him, "I saw it in the bathroom.  Let me see."
He feigned a confused look and then his eyes lit up like he had JUST now remembered that he butchered his hair.
"Oh YEAH!" he exclaimed, "I DID cut my hair!  But it was like, forever ago that I did that.  It probably growed back by now."
"You cut your hair within the last fifteen minutes," I told him, "I don't think it's grown back by now.  And it looks like you cut a lot of it.  Let me see."
"I think I am just shy today," he said.
I yanked the scarf off his head and rolled my eyes.  He had four large bald spots on various parts of his head.  It looked like he had shaved them.
"How do you even cut your hair SO short?" I asked him, "This looks crazy.  I can't cover that up."
He went from sweet to defiant and roared, "Well I LOVE it and it's MY hair so THERE you mean mother."
"And you're MY son and you have to follow MY rules and you are in VERY serious trouble for cutting your hair," I told him.  I spanked his butt and made him clean his hair out of the sink.  Then I put him in front of the mirror and showed him just how silly his hair looked but he just grinned at his bald spots proudly and asked if he could make "just a tiny other spot" on the side where he forgot to cut his hair.  Blasted boy.  Blasted bald spots.  I'm really ready for him to outgrow this hair cutting stage.  I feel like I have to explain to people that he isn't diseased and that I don't have his hair cut like this on purpose.  After school this afternoon, as we drove home, I caught Makayla in the review mirror just looking at him, shaking her head.
"Makayla, that isn't very nice," I said, "why are you looking at your brother like that?"
She looked at me with a "duh" look and said, "Mommy.  Just LOOK at him.  Look at his HAIR.  It's embarrassing."
Before I could say anything Caleb said, "I LOVE myself so THERE."
So there.

United Disaster

          So, I was minding my own business, herding my children to the car in the United Parking lot when an alarming sight caught my eye: a man who was probably in his seventies was putting his cart back up after unloading his groceries, and as he turned to walk back to his car after putting the cart up, he tripped over the wheel of the cart.  He stumbled pretty hard before falling even harder and I gasped, “Oh my goodness!” and instructed my children to get off to the side of the road and ran over to help the feller.  He was having trouble getting up and I was figuring he probably had a broken hip or something.  When I got to him I got down on my knees and was in such a hurry to get on his level and inspect him that I busted my left kneecap on the road.  I asked him frantically, “Hey, are you alright?  Can you move?  Does anything hurt?”

“My pride’s a little busted,” he said as I helped him into a sitting position.  By then others were coming over the help and at the site of his scraped forearms and how he was shaking I started crying.  I was helped him stand up as others asked if he was OK and when he was on his feet steadily again he handed me a hankie.

“I’m OK, no need for all that,” he said and I thanked him for the hankie, “I’m not hurt at all,” he told the ladies who were fussing over him, “if that’s what it takes to get a bunch of pretty girls to fuss over me I should fall down more often.”  I blew my nose in his hankie and then wondered if I should have done that.  I doubted he wanted a snotty hankie back.  His wife might want to know what on earth he’d been up to if he came home with a make-up smeared, snotty hankie.  I kind of held it in a position where he could snatch it back if he wanted but he seemed in a pretty big hurry to get out of there.  I think he was embarrassed.  I was horrified that his arm was bleeding and felt like I shouldn’t let him leave without helping him but he assured me he had a wife who would doctor him.  Then he pointed to my bleeding knee and said I needed to take care of my own self.  I’ve had plenty of battle scars in my day but this was my first one obtained during a rescue mission.  He went to his vehicle and I went to my own vehicle.  Then with a start, I realized I was forgetting my children and went back to retrieve them.  I apologized for nearly forgetting them in public and Makayla was horrified that the man had fallen and that my knee was bleeding.

“Mommy, was he hurt?  Is he going to the doctor?  Does your knee hurt?” she asked.

“He was more embarrassed than anything, I think,” I said, “And my knee doesn’t hurt at all.”

“That man could have kidnapped you mommy,” Caleb said, “I thought he was going to kill you.  I would beat him up if he to.”

“Bubba, that old man wasn’t going to kill Mommy,” Makayla mused, “Did you see how old he was?  He could barely even walk.  And when he did walk he fell down.  Mommy was just helping him because he couldn’t get up.  No one could kidnap mommy anyway.  Look how big she is.”

I gave her a look and said, “No one is going to get kidnapped, the man is fine, and I’m sorry y’all were scared.  Sheesh.  Let’s go home.”

And that is what happened last night.

Update on...Stuff!

Aaaahhh, the wonderful world of blogging.  I have neglected informing various friends and family what I’ve been up to through this blog.  I typically update everyone through frantic text messages in the middle of whatever catastrophe I’ve managed to get myself into.  It’s time for a regular blog update though and I will try to keep up with this thing a little better. 

Pregnancy Update:  Max was born August 28, 2012 and weighed seven pounds and fourteen ounces.  His birth was very smooth and I went home less than seven hours later.  When he was a few hours old his mom was feeding him and he began turning very blue.  He was rushed to the NICU and that was very scary.  His mom and dad rushed to the NICU with all the nurses and Max and I sat in the hospital bed trembling and crying, thinking they were going to come back and tell me he was dead.  I won’t get into the specifics of the story because I figure since he has been adopted, it’s not really appropriate for me to tell personal details about all this but long story short, he was fine, just had some trouble with his sucking reflex and breathing while swallowing.  He is totally precious.  Makayla and Caleb think he’s so cute and Caleb especially liked holding him.  The adoption is open so there will be many more updates on Max to come.  I spoke with his mother yesterday and she said he is a bottomless pit. 

Children Update:  These children of mine are larger than life and amazing as they have always been.  Makayla just started second grade and Caleb just started kindergarten.  Makayla has always loved school and she was excited to go to second grade.  Caleb told me all summer he wasn’t going to kindergarten unless I went with him and stayed all day so naturally I was worried sick when he did start.  Luckily the second he entered the kindergarten room, he saw all the other kids and his very own desk and didn’t even remember I was there.  Now every day when he comes home from school he says he wishes he could just go back to school once we get home.  Kind of hurts my feelings but I’m glad he likes school so much.  Both of the kids are determined to go to Midnight Madness in May.  Caleb has to read 200 AR books and pass the tests on them to go and Makayla has to read 100,000 words to go.  They’re both working hard already.  Well, for Makayla it isn’t really hard work; she loves to read anyway.  Caleb isn’t as big of a fan but if I sit with him then he does OK.  He really wants to do Midnight Madness with Makayla so that’s what his little mind is on.  They’ve both made some good friends here in Abilene both at school and in the neighborhood.  I’m working on my unholy fear that they will be snatched by a child predator and have recently began letting them play outside while I sit on the porch.  Typically in the past I would have followed them everywhere on foot.  Now, as long as I can see them playing in the green belt across the street, I don’t run after them.  Caleb has started playing football with the neighborhood boys and Makayla and the girls climb trees and play chase or just sit on the grass and watch their brothers.  I like that the kids are playing with other kids and playing outside. 

Love Life Update:  I’m becoming highly suspicious that the future Mr. Hallford is avoiding me because I haven’t found him yet though I’ve encountered plenty of yahoos that will make me appreciate him when he finally decides to reveal himself.

Since I became pregnant with Max, I moved to Abilene and got much more focused on the kids and settling down.  Running around Lubbock like a feral animal with all my friends was fun and I made some amazing memories but I’m ready for a calmer, more family oriented way of life.  It took me a couple of years to outgrow the constant running around but now that I have, I am glad for those fun years but ready for a new kind of fun.  I’m totally bored with dating superficial yahoos, going out to party, hanging out with people who mostly just annoy me.  I’m pretty into hanging out with the kiddos, doing my school stuff, and making sure our lives are simple and happy.  I still get into catastrophes but they aren’t as ridiculous as before; mostly just outrageous speeding tickets and getting in trouble at the library for spilling my soda.  I plan on keeping up with this silly blog a little better and hopefully someday I will be writing about the power and wealth I have stumbled into.  Deuces!

The First Argument

So I was minding my own business, eating my supper when Makayla announced her hot sauce was spicy.  Since hot sauce tends to be spicy I didn’t say anything other than, “Mhhmm.”  I was distracted, eager to get back to my Hunger Games book and wishing everyone would hurry up and finish so I could abandon them for my own selfish indulgences.  Micah, being a far more insightful human being when it comes to responding to the random vices of children, told Makayla that her taste buds tasted the spicy and went on to explain some totally false reason as to why people feel “spicy” in their mouths.  I was busy clearing the table and let him finish and then said, “Well, it feels like taste but really spicy isn’t a flavor.  It’s a chemical reaction; your brain recognizing pain receptors.”

“Spicy IS a taste,” Micah said, “you think your taste buds don’t know what spicy is?”  I am not one who likes to be contradicted when contradicting someone.  It irritated me that he didn’t just say something like, “Oh, I didn’t know that.  You’re a genius.”

“Do your genitals have taste buds?” I asked him and went on to explain that if we rubbed jalapeno juice all over his pecker it would burn.  “Does your nose have taste buds?  Shove something spicy up there and it burns.  You can maybe taste the pepper itself but spicy isn’t taste.  It has nothing to do with taste buds.”

We went back and forth for a while before I decided this wasn’t going anywhere and sweetly said, “Sweetie, you’re right.  I’m not going to argue over whether or not spicy is a flavor or not.”

“Oh no,” he said, “you come in and say “that’s not right” after I say something.  I’m going to go look it up on the computer.”

My mouth dropped open and my temper made me grit my teeth because his “that’s not right” comment was said in a mock girly voice and I felt like he wasn’t portraying me correctly at all.  First, I don’t have such a heavy country accent.  Second, I didn’t at all say that wasn’t right.  Not in those words.

“I politely let you know you were explaining something scientific incorrectly to a kid,” I said, “I would like her to not have false ideas on things.”

“You’ll see,” he said as he went off to his computer.  I got started cleaning the kitchen, fuming.  I wanted to break a plate over his head or even better, shove a jalapeno up his butt.  I know for a fact spicy isn’t a “flavor.”  I have no sense of smell; I was born with this genetic defect.  Because of that I can’t really taste much of anything.  Because of the mountains of research I have done and doctors I have seen, I KNOW what I’m talking about when it comes to things like this.  Because I can “taste” spicy things I’ve done mountains of research on it and learned it’s because it isn’t a taste at all, but pain receptors from the chemical reaction of whatever spicy pepper I’m eating.  I hate being told I’m wrong when I’m right but realized this particular battle was foolish.  He came back into the kitchen and I figured arguing wouldn’t accomplish anything since apparently the love of my life has a skull thicker than old school Star Jones.  Feeling stupid for getting so worked up over something so stupid, I gave him a hug and said, “Sweetie it doesn’t matter who is right.  It’s just talk about spicy stuff.  I love you.”

“Well we’re both right,” he said, “spicy is a taste AND a chemical reaction.”

I unlocked my arms from around him, took a step back and said, “It is NOT!  What biased retarded site did you go to be told that?  Spicy is NOT A FREAKING FLAVOR!”

“I asked an internet doctor,” he said calmly.  He seemed amused which was infuriating me more because in my mind, being told repeatedly I was wrong when I know I’m right, especially by some idiot “internet doctor” was just too much.

“YOU DID NOT!” I shrieked. 

“We’re both right sweetie,” he said, “No one can be right all the time.”

I wanted to rip his face off.  Kick him in the knees.  Dunk his head in my dish water.  But I just said, “OK sweetie.  Believe some quack on the internet over me.”

He made a jab about my “education,” bringing up yet again my alleged brainwarshing from liberal professors, a jab he stole from my grandpa.

“That has NOTHING to do with this and I haven’t been brainWASHED by anyone.  I form my own ideas but spicy being a non-flavor is a freaking FACT, Micah, and since it’s a FACT, no one brainWASHED me into believing some insane theory.  Biologically it can be PROVEN.”

“Not by what I read on the internet,” he said.

I heard myself make some scream/shriek noise and decided to just ignore him.  He was clearly having a good time with this and I was starting to feel dumb for getting so mad.  But for the next two days I researched and researched for him, printing off pages, highlighting key points, and citing sources.  All my spare time was devoted to compiling a book of every source I could get proving I was right about the argument.  I figured he’d feel like a dumbass and was excited to present him with my information.  He called earlier and I was too excited to keep quiet.

“I’ve been getting lots of information for you that proves I’m right on the whole spicy argument and I expect a very big apology from you,” I told him.

“I know you’re right on that babe,” he said, “I was just picking on you.”

“You’re just trying to get out of being proven wrong now that I have proof on my side,” I told him, “You can’t sweet talk your way out of this.  You even looked online and found lies to support your idea.”

“I wasn’t even looking at anything about that,” he said, “When I went on the computer I was looking at a tractor.”

I envisioned two explosive balls of fire shooting out of my ears and felt like a freak to have spent so much time proving him wrong when he hadn’t even really been participating in the argument.  He claimed he just liked pushing my buttons and said it was fun to get me all worked up.  I plan on introducing a new hobby to him very soon in the future, pottery making maybe, since he feels harassing me in his free time is acceptable.  After we hung up I sat down to lunch, still fuming and recounted the whole thing to my grandpa.  He listened thoughtfully while grandma advised I just totally ignore my beloved the next time he started being obnoxious.  Grandpa cleared his throat, an indication he had something to say.  I looked at him to acknowledge I was ready to listen and he said, “What kind of tractor was he looking at?” 

A Normal Day that I Wrote About for Some Reason

          I was minding my own business, sleeping like a champ when Caleb woke me up claiming he needed to cuddle.  I glanced at my phone and saw it was 2:00am and banished him back to his own bed.  He woke me up next talking in his sleep.  He was saying, “Alright sister.  Game over.  My turn.”  Right as I drifted off again he said, “It’s SO PRETTY, SO BEAUTIFUL.”  I have no idea what he was seeing in his dream but was very interested.

“What’s beautiful Brother?” I asked him.  He didn’t respond.  I poked him a little and he didn’t move.

“What did you see?” I asked again.  He was sound asleep.  Blasted child.  At that point I was wide awake and curious as to what dream caused such a reaction of fascination from Caleb.  I hoped I would have a fascinating dream too.  So far all I’d dreamt that night was that I was looking out at the pasture and saw multiple tornadoes tearing towards the house.  Tornadoes coming towards your house is never a good time and it sure isn’t beautiful.  It had been a while since I’d had my “flying through outer space naked” dream so I hoped for that one as I tried to go back to sleep.  Sometimes in that dream I get stuck in the orbit of some horrifying gas planet and have to hold my breath so the toxic fumes don’t kill me as I’m being dragged into its atmosphere and I wake up gasping for real life breath.  That’s always interesting though because then I wonder if I had just made it to the center of that gas planet in my dream what I would have found.  Probably a secret or something.  Anyway, I woke up at 5:30 because Caleb was shoving his freezing feet in between my calves and I let him stay there because I had to be up in thirty minutes anyway and didn’t want him lurking around while I was trying to get Makayla ready for school.  I gritted my teeth until I got used to his feet and vowed to make him start wearing socks at night no matter how big of a fit he throws about hit.  He says socks make his toes sweat and it makes his “in between toes” squishy.  I have told him he doesn’t know squishy until he steps in a fresh cow patty bare footed.  At six I went to get Makayla ready for school and as soon as her bedroom light was on her brother shot out of bed like a rocket asking what we were going to do today.  An hour later after Makayla was off to school, I asked Caleb, “What will you have for breakfast today, Son?”

He tapped his chin with his forefinger, a habit he learned from his sister and looked up at the ceiling in thought.  I looked up too.  I saw the ceiling.

“I will have a corn dog,” he said.

“You will not have a corn dog.  Choose something else more appropriate for breakfast.”

“A cheeseburger.”

“You know what we eat for breakfast,” I told him, cranky from lack of caffeine and sleep, “Now you choose or I will choose for you.  Would you like me to make you some eggs?  Or waffles?  Maybe a fried egg on a waffle?”

“I would like a breakfast sandwich please,” he said.

Oh good.  He had discovered my secret stash of super quick breakfasts that I make in the microwave for when I’m in a hurry.  They’re convenient because I can zap them for one minute and carry them around with me when I’m playing outside.  I made him his sandwiches.  He demanded two.  He ate one.  I wasn’t hungry at all; in fact I was pretty sure I was going to throw up but ate his other one.  Then I threw up.  After that was over, I lied on the hardwood floor so I could press my cheeks against the cold surface to cool off and Sassy, my grandma’s lapdog trotted over to me to cuddle.  Sassy is old now so I don’t push her away anymore or ever deny her love so I let her cuddle though I warned her to keep her dog hair out of my face since I was sure feeling dog hairs around my mouth would make me hurl.  Caleb brought me a cold rag and rubbed my back and after waking up all the way, my stomach relaxed and I felt a surge of energy.  I jumped up and said “Woo hoo!” because I was relieved that this morning’s tummy nausea wasn’t going to be a blasted all day event like it’s been more than a few times.  Caleb and I lurked all over the farm and into the brush and the trees and down by the creek until it was time for a Dr. appointment.  I had to make myself more presentable since I had dirt and sweat all over my face and clothes so I went to disguise myself into a civilized human in the bathroom.  When I came out, Caleb had destroyed the house by throwing folded blankets everywhere and tossing pillows about.  He was making a fort for Sassy he said.  That sounded reasonable to me so I told him to put the things back and go to the car.

After the doctor, we went to the library.  “We’re at the City Library!”  Caleb cheered.  I love how he calls it the City Library. 

“I will look at the movies while you look at the books,” he said, “I want more books.”

“I just got you new books,” I told him, “I am turning in my old ones and getting new ones.  You will stay with me and then when I am finished choosing books, we can look at the movies.”

He agreed that my plan was fair.  I know this because he said, “I agree.  That sounds fair.”

We entered the library and Caleb let the librarians know he was there by yelling, “Hello there girls!  How are you?”

I reminded him we must speak quietly at the library and he is not to refer to grown women as “girls” but to say “Hello ma’am.”  I had him redo his introduction in an “indoor” voice so he said softly to the librarians “hello ma’ams.  How are you ma’ams?”  He then proceeded to show them his muscles.  His real muscles couldn’t be seen because he was wearing his Octimus Prime costume and that sucker has giant padded muscles sewn into it.  He’s not aware yet that holding your mommy’s hand isn’t cool in front of pretty girls so he grabbed my hand, pointed towards the “grown up books” as he calls them and said, “Come on Mom.  Let’s go look at your books over there.”

I love books.  I love books nearly as much as I love riding horses and much more than I like most people.  I especially love to read books on world cultures and history and strolled all around the non-fiction section reading titles and skimming through books I’ve never read.  I wanted to take them all.  I finally realized I needed to go ahead and make a choice because my little guy had been very patient and when you’re four, it isn’t exactly easy to have to wait on a grown up who is looking at grown up things when your entire heart is set on finding the perfect Spiderman movie.  I chose my books and led Caleb over to find a movie.  The Moore’s squirt was pounding my bladder and I had to pee and I was getting nauseous but Caleb had been very patient for me so it was only right that I be patient for him.  I sat down in a chair while he picked a movie and asked him to help me pick something for Sister too.  We chose Charlotte’s Web for Makayla and he chose some superhero kid movie.  While I was checking out, Caleb started chatting up the librarian who wasn’t helping us.  I was about to remind him to ask if she was busy and if she had time to chat before just starting a conversation, but as I opened my mouth to tell him, that horrifying feeling came all over me and in front of the whole blasted place, I puked in the trash.  As a person who does not typically have the embarrassment gene, humiliation isn’t something I struggle with but when I’m inconveniencing the public with my stinky barf, I don’t have that great of a self image.  Then I realized I had puked in the trash can where people put paper to be recycled.  Not only was I being a public nuisance, I was messing with Texas and desecrating nature.  All at the same time.  Caleb rushed over and grabbed my hand and patted it saying, “It’s OK mommy.  It’s good you made it to the trashcan.  You need to drink some water.”  He looked madly around for some water to bring me and then he instructed a woman behind him to “get my mommy some water please ma’am.”

“I’m fine,” I said to the startled woman and took the entire trashcan full of puke out to the dumpster.  The dumpster itself made me dry heave and going back into the library seemed like the most humiliating thing ever but I wanted my books and Caleb wanted his movie.  Whatever.  I knew all of those people in there anyway and had seen most of them do way dumber stuff than puke in a recycle trash can.  After that fiasco was over, I drove home and put Caleb down for a nap.  Before I knew it, Makayla’s bus was dropping her off at the end of the long dirt road and terrified some highway kidnapper would drive by just as she got off, I threw my boots on and ran down the road until I caught up with her.  I felt like I had been running pretty fast but she told me it took me forever to get to her.  I told her she could have maybe run towards me to quicken the pace.  She said she thought I wanted to run since “you keep saying you’re getting too big too quick Mommy.  So running will make you little again I bet.”

Terrified I was setting her up for a future eating disorder with my comments I quickly reminded her that it is very important to not get too big because it is not good for our hearts and health but not being big enough is just as bad and all that yadda yadda to ensure she grows up with a realistic expectation for weight and self image.  I’m always terrified I’m going to mess up my kids with some dumb young person statement and try to fix the dumb things I do and say with wise sentiments.

Being outside and feeling the wind on my face made me feel better but as soon as I got back inside my stomach started hurting again.  After dinner as I did the dishes I was certain I would die.  My stomach cramped and Caleb had asked every ten seconds when he would watch his new movie.  I had told him repeatedly that he would watch the movie tomorrow and every few minutes and sometimes seconds he asked again.  While doing the dishes I finally snapped at him, “I will NEVER get you another movie again if you don’t stop that right now.”

The act of even talking made me afraid I was going to hurl and I leaned over and groaned to keep from dry heaving. 

“Don’t worry Bubba,” Makayla said, “She’ll forget.  Just like she forgot that she was never taking me to town ever again.”  She put little air quotes around the part where she said “never taking me to town ever again.”  My grandmother reminded me to never give a consequence I can’t go through with and told me a story of how she had handled a situation when her kids were little and reminded me that I’m the one who is in charge of them taking me seriously.  Since I stopped knowing more than my grandparents when I was about eighteen or so, I listened thoughtfully and tried to think of how I could apply what she said to what I do.  When the dishes were finally done, I finished up some chores in the back of the house and then ran outside, grateful to be in the evening sunshine and around the trees and dirt and grass.  We let the dogs out and the kids and dogs and I took off running past the tool sheds and barns and wheat fields, all the way to the path that leads you to the creek.  As I ran I wanted to close my eyes in sheer joy at the wind blowing in my face and through my hair but closing your eyes when you’re running is never a good idea so when we got to the creek path I just laid down in the grass and rolled around.  When I had rolled all my happiness out, I laid back and smiled up at the sky and clouds and sunset and stretched my arms as high as they would go so I could feel the wind between my fingers and the kids plopped down beside me: Caleb laying on the ground right next to me, Makayla sitting lady like, afraid to mess up her hair.  I showed them how the wind blows the clouds and talked about the different types of clouds there are.  I told them how lots of places aren’t like the farm and how I’d rather never be anywhere else unless of course I’m at the beach in Corpus.

“When I moved to Arizona there were buildings all around.  A person couldn’t even hardly see the sky at all.  And beyond those awful buildings there were great big mountains.  You couldn’t feel the wind and you couldn’t see the sun come up or go down.  And at night you couldn’t see the milky way and you could only see a few stars.”

They both looked at me with horror.

“Did you die?” Caleb whispered.

“No.  I survived.  But even when you are somewhere that isn’t where you really want to be it’s best to find the good things about the strange place.  It never snowed in Mesa.  And the mountains really were pretty.  But those things only help you get by.  You have to be where you love to really be alive I think.  And if you can’t be, then find the best things about that place and be happy that you have people with you who love you.”

I figured that was important.  They seemed bored.  I wondered if they ever really understood the importance behind what I try to instill in them.  I wondered what would happen if they became hoodlums or even worse, lobbyists. 

“I will never go anywhere I can’t see the stars and the sunset,” Makayla told me.

We got up and walked back to the house because it was too dark to go to the creek and I don’t like getting mauled by night creatures, especially porcupines.  Snacks and baths and teeth were all taken care of and the kids put to bed.  Grandpa came into the computer room and told me, “We’ve got a full moon out there and me and mamma’s gonna go spoonin.”  Gross.  I made a face at him and told him to enjoy himself and went to the window to look at the moon.  I smiled at it.  Later as I read, I heard the wind blowing through the trees and the coyotes howling and snuggled happy and cozy into my bed, perfectly happy with everything in the world.