Dear Old Man Who Lives Across the Street, Part 3

Dear Old Man Who Lives Across the Street,

I have a fabulous neighborly idea.

I know how you are probably on a fixed income, so I've been thinking of ways I could help you out in this crappy economy. I'm SO thoughtful, right? Anways, I really don't know how to ask you this in a non-awkward way, so I'm just gonna come out and ask...

How would you like to be my nanny, or...uh...ahem...manny?

It's a brilliant plan. I mean, let's think about it for a sec:

• My boys don't have grandparents close, and you NEVER have company, much less grandchildren.
• You live right across the street (hello...can we say convenient?)
• They seem to be in your yard an awful lot anyhow

Maybe it would help if we don't think of it as "babysitting" per se. I mean they're hardly babies, anymore. At ages 9 and 5, you'd really just have to feed and water them occasionally, make them brush their teeth once every other day, and keep them from playing in the street.

Now, I know what you're thinking. I did let them play in the street that one time, but the nice policeman did slow down and wait for me to hang up the phone before coming over to talk to me. I mean, it is a cul-de-sac, for goodness sake. What a great town.

So, assuming you have chicken nuggets in your freezer, juice boxes in your pantry, and something more up-to-date than a VCR in your living room, we're all good to go. Any chance you own a Wii? Oh, never mind...just give them a couple of empty cardboard boxes and a couple of pocket knives and they can basically carve themselves out a battleship or two. And, unless you suggest it, they probably won't even stab each other after they're done.

You won't even have to put them to bed because somehow I managed to have the kids that need very little sleep to function. They seem to have the uncanny ability to stay up into the wee hours of the night but still get up at 6:00 am the next morning. Unbelievable.

But you will have to actually speak to them in some fashion. You see, shyness isn't something these kids are accustomed to. They can spot it quite easily from approximately 200 yards away, and before you know it, they've already come up with more than a half-dozen ways to use it to their immediate advantage. Kids...you just can't teach 'em this stuff.

So, it's a plan. Are you free next Friday night?

Hugs and Kisses,

H

It's like Walking...Just Faster

Who doesn't love the Olympics? There's just something about all the hard-work and camaraderie among the athletes that make me want to suit up for a trip down the luge or something. And Bob Costas...don't even get me started on all that yumminess.

Truth is the Olympics make me feel like a complete imbecile.

You see, I was the scrawny, freckle-faced girl that every team captain avoided picking until there was no one else left to choose. I was that kid...I was incredibly slow and remarkably uncoordinated. I couldn't win a game of "flag-tag" if my life depended on it, and basketball...wow. Whoever assumes that a 4-foot-8, 80 pound 6th grader can possibly muster up the strength to actually get the basketball anywhere in the near vicinity of the goal, much less through the hoop, is completely asinine. Who does that?

And then there was Coach Christian. Good God. Why in the world this man was allowed to teach P.E. to middle school children is completely beyond me. Let's just say it's a good thing I was a late, late bloomer.

I'd really like to say all that has changed now.

But, of course, it hasn't. So about 18 months ago I took up the only sport I thought I can manage. I figured running was the perfect exercise for me. And why not? It's like walking, just faster. Right? It requires no coordination or complex, thought out game play; it's just one foot in front of the other over and over again. And several months ago, I started running with my friend, Meghan. It's the most opportune time for me to catch up on all the "news" I otherwise would have missed out on. Did I say perfect sport?

So, I suck at sports...so what. I'll obviously never make it to any Olympic games, unless of course they change the rules to allow the syncopated rhythm clapping game as an official event. I love that game, and whenever I can find someone crazy enough to play it with me, I can take on even the most talent percussionist.

We all have our talents :)

Perfect Attendance is for Losers

Ah, 1983. What a great year in the grand scheme of my life. Ronald Reagan was president, Sally Ride (rock on, sista) was the first woman astronaut, and Ghandi won the Academy Award for Best Picture.

Right. Of course, without the help of Google, I wouldn't have remembered any of that crap. I mean gimme a break; I was 8-years-old for cryin' out loud. I was much too busy fighting with my siblings over who Mom and Dad loved more, who got to sit where in our awesome red and white striped van, and which of our three (sometimes four depending on the weather ) TV stations to watch. So unless current events and 80's movie trivia somehow got subliminally mixed into a random ABC Afterschool Special or our 8 track of Bing Crosby's White Christmas, chances are I didn't know about it.

All I cared about was who I sat next to on the 45-minute bus ride to school, who I played Chinese jump rope with at recess, and who I would be moved next to in Mrs. Dixon's 3rd grade classroom because I couldn't keep my gigantic mouth shut for .5 seconds. In addition to all of these childly duties, I also had to keep my kick ass pair of brown KangaROOS clean and stain free. It was a hard life after all. But I somehow managed.

And then my best friend, Julie, had a fantastic idea. WE'LL JOIN GIRL SCOUTS! Yes! It all made sense. It would get me out of riding the bus home one afternoon every single week. It would have been a phenomenal plan if we would have done something besides hold hands, sing songs, and stroll over bridges...sometimes all at the same time. I mean really. Even in 1983 I had better things to do.

So, here I find myself in 2010 in not too different of a situation. Fabulous. Here we go again.

I don't claim to be the world's best parent. I didn't join the PTA, I don't volunteer at the school (except for the fun stuff), and I almost never do speech therapy homework. I'm not perfect by any stretch, and I'm really just figuring it out as I go. The mere fact that my children are as level headed as they are is nothing short of a God given miracle. But there is one thing that I have learned in my almost ten years of motherhood. Perfect attendance is for losers.

That's right...L.O.S.E.R.S. Losers.

Why in the world I would care that my 9-year-old has perfect attendance in **insert secret, undisclosed after school activity here** is absolutely outside my realm of thinking. Really? REALLY? I can see his high school graduation now..."And is there any graduate out there who never missed a **insert secret, undisclosed activity here ** meeting in the school year 2009-2010? If so, please stand up so we can recognize you." Right. Not gonna happen.

Here's another thing I know. NOBODY CARES. Nobody. It won't matter to anyone in 50 years. Hell, I'll probably be dead by that point, and if Levi still faults me for not taking him to his **insert secret, undisclosed activity here** every single time the doors were open then so be it.

So, do we show up 90% of the time? Yes. Do I pay attention and keep my mouth shut during the meetings? Of course not. Do I actually remember to take the manual and flip to every page during the meeting to see how we're making progress towards our next accomplishment? Nope, not even close.

Here's the cold, hard truth. I've never even opened the book. That's right all you organized and punctual **insert secret, undisclosed activity** moms. That book has never been opened by me. I have NO earthly idea what it takes to earn any of the accomplishments or even what exists to even attempt to earn. And here's something else. I don't really even care.

But what I do have is a fun-loving 4th grader who's not afraid to make mistakes and speak up in a crowd. He's hard-working, friendly, and loves to make up his own jokes and share them with anyone and everyone who will listen (and even those that won't). And that, my **insert secret, undisclosed activity here** crazed friends, is worth more to me than some ridiculous perfect attendance pin any day of the week. So there. Take that.

**Insert secret, undisclosed activity here** are prepared not their mothers. Instead, I choose to teach independence, responsibility, and the ability to work without being under constant supervision. Good for me. I am a good mother...(repeating under my breath)...I am a good mother...I am a good mother.

So, raise your right hand, extend your three fingers, and repeat after me..."On my honor, I will try to serve God (which I absolutely do), my country (I vote...does that count?) and mankind (hello, I write a blog) and to live by the Girl Scout Law (well, okay, I don't exactly live by the Girl Scout law, but three out of four ain't half bad.)

Bring it, moms. You ain't got nothin' on me.

Christmas, the Way I See It

There's nothing I love more than Christmas. I do. I always have. I delight in Christmas lights. I adore Christmas music, both the secular variety as well as the traditional hymns. And I love, love LOVE watching my kids' sleepy faces as they throw open their presents with delight at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning.

Those are the things I love.

But, of course, all good memories in my cynical mind must come to an abrupt, screeching halt, and I eventually must wake up in the midst of the chaos our society has created for us as we celebrate the birth of our Savior.

1) Black Friday. GOOD GOD. Why in the world we let toy and electronic companies decide what we buy is totally beyond my realm of thinking. These manufacturers undoubtedly have to pay to get their products in the now infamous Thanksgiving Day circulars and for some crazy reason we all fall into their bottomless marketing ploys and buy what they tell us is a good deal. Ridiculous.

2) Salvation Army kettles. I know, I know. I might be sealing my spiritual fate for this one, but SERIOUSLY people. If you ring that bell in my face with your "Have a Merry Christmas" sad face one more time I swear I just might take you down. I LOVE the Salvation Army; I shop at your thrift stores all the time, but until you start taking debit cards at all of your
134, 247 Wal-Mart stores and Supercenters across the state of Arkansas, please don't mess with me anymore.

3) You, your best friend, and your first cousin's girlfriend ...in my stores. One of the biggest perks to being a SAHM is the endless ability to shop in the middle of the day, but it really complicates things when you're there with me. So, please, I beg you, go back to work and leave the shopping to me and my retired friends. I can take them any day of the week.

4) My Family. I love you guys...I really, really do, but when we get together it's like me multiplied by 1,000. 'Nough said.

5) Endless gift exchanges. We're really just exchanging same dollar amount gift cards at this point. Let's just forget it and move on.

6) Christmas dinner at my in-laws. Let's just say I'll never buy my mother-in-law engraved rocks with each of her eight grand kids names on them EVER again.

7) My Beloved Target. You know I love you, Target. But why do you hide all your good deals from me each year when Christmas rolls around? I'm guessing that reason #3, as indicated above, has something to do with it.

8) Christmas Birthdays. That just sucks all the way around for you people. The birth of Jesus is just more important than yours. Sorry 'bout that.

9) Pet stockings. It's a dog. It's a cat. No, they don't realize what Christmas is, and no, they don't feel left out. THEY ARE ANIMALS, so please don't send me another Christmas card with your cats wearing Santa hats. It's almost unbearable for me.

10) Keeping up with the Joneses. Yes, Robert, down the street this one's for you: I can see your 25 blow-up Santas, reindeer, and snowmen from my front porch. AND I can hear that giant Christmas tree that is somehow engineered and synchronized to flash Christmas lights and play Christmas carols all at the same time. Yes. Your yard is kicking my yard's ass. That is clear.

And somehow I still managed to avert yet another Christmas season without a panic attack. Go figure.

I Gotta Have it My Way or No Way At All

News Flash, people. I'm an adult.

A real grown-up who is able to do or not do and say or not say whatever I want. Growing up, it seemed I would never get to this point, and now all of the sudden, I've been there for more than 16 years. And somewhere along the way God has entrusted me with two children, and now somehow I'm responsible for their lives as well. How scary is that?

While I like being an independent, decision-making, responsible person, there are so many things that kids get by with simply because they are kids and we as adults let them. So, I've decided to reinstate some of those acceptable kid behaviors and start living my life with a bit more simplicity.

For starters I'm gonna start showing people exactly how I feel the very moment I feel it. That's right. I'm reviving the good, old-fashioned, full blown screaming, kickin', arm flailing, rolling in the floor hissy fit. Yep, that's what I'm going to do. If you happen to witness one of my new temper tantrums, just step over me and ignore it. It'll pass within a couple of minutes, or maybe longer, depending of the severity of the alleged trauma.

What a freeing feeling it will be. I'll be so much less stressed, and everyone will know exactly where they stand with me. It'll take all the guess-work out of being my friend. If you happen to irritate or disagree with me, you'll know immediately. I'll throw my little fit, and I'll feel better. We all do it inside anyway, so why not just get it all out in the open and see how much better we feel?

I've toyed with the idea of including slaps, kicks, and occasional "you're not my friend anymore" statements, but those might be for the more advanced users. I'll save those until I perfect my tantrums.

Good gosh this is gonna be a ton of fun. Who's with me?

You Win, Michelle Duggar

I once heard Michelle Duggar say that having too many children is like having too many flowers...you can just never have too many. With all do respect, Michelle, I beg to differ.

While I'm a HUGE fan of using colorful analogies in everyday conversation, I think she's way off base of this one. Last time I checked, flowers don't have to be birthed, bathed, fed, educated, nurtured, occasionally tricked, disciplined, guided, chaperoned, entertained, interrogated, OR bribed to go to the Razorback game instead of going trick-or-treating on Halloween night. It's all just a wee bit different in my mind.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd rather have my two amazing babies than a field full of fragrant wildflowers any day, but COME ON. Seriously.

Let's face it, if I had 18 kids and I was pregnant again, I certainly wouldn't be bouncing around and comparing my minor dependants to flowering plants and the like. My house would be a disaster area, my home-schooled kids would be fairly uneducated, and I would be continuously strung out on anti-depressants, coffee, and whatever else I could buy on the black market or trick the old man across the street into giving me.

God didn't make me to have a Partridge Family, A Brady Bunch, or even a Cosby Show for that matter. I just don't have an overabundance of patience or more importantly, a plethora of stylish maternity clothes to make that all happen.

And Anna Duggar...good lord, girl. We need to talk. We could so be great friends. And honey, I don't care what they tell you, but you CAN use birth control. You CAN and you SHOULD. We can get you a prescription for some amazing birth control pills, and we'll hide them in my garage or something. Hell, I'll even buy them for you if you need me to.

I'm not trying to be super sneaky or anything...well...okay maybe I am, but you are entitled to change your mind about this baby thing. No pressure...just an offer.

BTW, if you girls need me to make a cameo performance on your TLC television show, I'm free between the hours of 8:30-2:00 on Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays. How much fun would that be? We can have a jam session afterwards and all sing together with all the violins and the piano. I would LOVE to. So, get ready. I know a lot of songs, girls. This is gonna be so much fun :)

Dear Old Man who Lives Across the Street from Me, Part 2

Dear Old Man who Lives Across the Street from Me,

I always thought you hated me, and in your defense, I really don't blame you. Maybe I annoy you when I sing at the top of my lungs with my windows open or maybe you can't stand it when I go out in the front yard and yell, "Levi...get your little butt in this house right now." Hard to say, really, but we've made some real progress recently.

A couple of weeks ago when you were out mowing and I was out running, I saw that brief but very meaningful eye contact you gave me. Don't worry, though. I didn't tell anyone. No one will ever know that you actually looked at me. It's our secret, but I saw...I know.

And I can't be 100% positive, but I think you were actually waved at me last week as I was leaving the neighborhood. I quickly glanced in my rear view mirror to see if you were waving to the car behind me, but no one else was there. It was just me.

But I was shocked, to say the least, when you rang my doorbell yesterday morning. I thought surely Oliver, our free roaming cat, must have bitten you and you were seeking proof of her annual shots or some form of medical compensation. Or maybe, just maybe, you were coming over to accuse my kids of climbing your trees or picking your flowers or something. But no. Oh, no, no, no. It was something much more personal.

I would like to admit, however, that it's sometimes hard to recognize you without that fisherman hat on. But I know it was you; and you were talking to me. Me. Heather. Me. Deep breath.

"I have some mirrors I want to give you," he said.
Me? Why me? Do you know who I am? You actually came over here to ask ME if I wanted something? I felt like throwing myself on you for a momentous hug, but thought you might have gone all kung-fu on me or something.

So, I told a couple of people where I was going, just in case I went missing. I mean, I don't know this guy. Sure, he lives across the street from me, but he could bury dead bodies in a trap door in his garage floor. Dang that 48 hours Mystery show for making me so freakin' crazy.

So, after school, the kids, the cat, and I made our way over to the single cleanest garage I've even seen in my life to retrieve my gifts. I mean, seriously. Where are the leaves on the floor, the cobwebs in your windows, or the dead bugs gathered in the corner. Where are they? Do you clean this thing every single day or what.

Anyway, I graciously accepted two mirrors and a paper shredder of all things. Not that I actually needed these things, but I just couldn't say no. I didn't care if he gave me a cow skull, I had already decided I was going to take whatever he offered.

We've made some real progress in the last month. It only took me 4 3/4 years, but we're gettin' there. You'll be coming over for coffee and watching Regis and Kelly before we know it.

Hugs and kisses,

Heather