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Have you ever been in one of those awkward situations that you didn't know how to get out of? The kind that make your hands shake, and make you think "Is this really happening?" The kind where you know you have to handle it delicately or else you might loose your best friend over it? Or at least add in a whole lotta drama that you don't really need?

The kind of moment where you should have punched someone right in the nose, but you didn't cause you kept thinking "This can't really be happening to me!?!"? The one where your tummy hurts and the kids can tell your upset and start acting out cause they don't know what else to do.

The moment where your fight or flight instinct is triggered and all you can think of  is to take the dog out to pee or clean the house like a mad woman trying to keep your hands busy so you don't have to think about it.

Or when you have to lay down on the floor with your feet on the couch to try  and get your blood pressure go down? Or when you get a hiney twinge just looking back at the last few moments. The kind where you know you have gone past the point of no return?

Had one of those moments today.

Brer Rabbit

One of the BEST parts of parenting is teaching you children to love reading. My punks love to read, well, be read to anyways. We have discovered funny books, sad stories, grand adventures, heroic battles and everything in between.

My newest project involves having my older punk reading to my youngest. It’s a great way for them to spend some time doing an activity together that doesn’t involve running around the house screeching at the top of their lungs. Or sword fighting with fake flowers. Or jumping on the dog.

Sometimes I will sit there and listen, or take over as I have control issues and someone isn’t reading the way I would. It’s a process; I am learning to let go. Baby steps.

Yesterday we came across a story that my oldest couldn’t read with a straight face. I couldn’t figure out why he was reading all crazy. The story came from the “American Tales” section of A Treasury of Children’s Literature. Not something I thought I would have to jump in on to keep things calm.

But there they were just a giggling and laughing and I think I saw a tear fall from the elder’s eye.  What could have caused such a reaction? I will tell you. Brer Rabbit and the Tar-Baby caused it.  They disrupted our nice quiet reading time.

“They talk weird” was all my oldest could say while trying to catch his breath.  Have you ever read this story? No? Well let me give you the story line.

Brer Fox makes a Tar-Baby and puts it in the middle of the road. Brer Rabbit sees Tar-Baby and tries to have a conversation. Tar-Baby, being made of tar and turpentine does not respond to Brer Rabbit. Brer Rabbit gets angry and hits Tar-Baby; thusly getting stuck in the tar.

Brer Fox decides to teach Brer Rabbit a lesson for stickin his nose where it doesn’t belong. Brer Rabbit tricks Brer Fox into throwing him into the brier patch which he then uses to scrape himself free of tar. Brer Fox gets no dinner and Brer Rabbit is free to pester the Fox another day.

Now, you’re prolly thinking what is it about this story that could make a 9 year old punk laugh so hard? Well, here’s an example:

Scene: Brer Rabbit speaking to the Tar-Baby

“ Is you deaf?” says Brer Rabbit. “Cuz if you is, I can holler louder,” says he, and den he starts hollerin’ fit to raise the dead. “GOOD MAWNIN’! FINE, FINE WEDDER WE HAVIN’ THIS MAWNIN’ AINT’T IT?” says he. De Tar-Baby she don’t say nothin’. And Brer Fox, he lay low.

Then the punk hit below the belt. He said, “ Momma! You sound like that when you get angry sometimes!” Now I have tried to be honest with ya’ll. I have tried to explain that I am a Southern girl to the core. And I have a bit of a drawl, but not that bad. Unless I am around Beccum and T for too long. Apparently. I think he was specifically referring to this selection:

“You is stuck-up, dat’s what you is” says Brer Rabbit. “If you don’t take off dat hat and tell me good mawnin’, I’m goin’ to bust you wide open,” says he.

The Tar-Baby don’t say nothin’, and Brer Fox, he lay low.

Brer Rabbit, he keep on askin’ de Tar-Baby to say howdy, and de Tar-Baby, she jest keep on sayin’ nothin’. Then presently, Brer Rabbit draws back wid his fist, and blip! He knock her in de side of de head. Right there’s where he broke the molasses jug, cuz his fist, it gets stuck, and he can’t pull lose. De tar held him there. But de Tar-Baby, she jest stay still, and Brer Fox, he lay low.

I do believe he was saying I am the Tar-Baby; able to keep my cool under any situation. He couldn’t possibly mean I resembled the impatient Rabbit. That would be rude.

Personally, I think I resemble Brer Fox the most. In fact, I believe I have had a similar conversation with my kid when he went stickin his nose where it didn’t belong. Just listen (well, read) this victory speech:

“I reckon I got you dis time,” says Brer Fox. “Maybe I ain’t, but I reckon I do,: says he. “You been runnin’ ‘round here sassin’ me for a mightly long time, but I reckon you done come to de end of de road. You been cuttin’ up your capers and bouncin’ ‘round dis neighborhood ‘til you come to believe yourself de boss of de whole gang. And you is always somewhere where you ain’t got no bizness,” says Brer Fox, says he. “Who ax you for to come and strike up an acquaintance wid dis here Tar-Baby? And who stuck you up there where you is? Nobody in de roun’ world. You jest up and jammed yourself in on dat Tar-Baby widout waitin’ for any invite,” says Brer Fox. “And there you is and there you’ll stay.”

As a parent I think I have some work to do in order to be more like Tar-Baby; like I said – It’s a process.

Conversations

“Hi there, nice to meet you I’m B-Dub.”

“Hello B-Dub, how are you doing today?”

“Well, actually it’s raining pretty hard outside and my kids are running around the house screaming and hollerin. I think they are trying to wake up the baby.”

“Oh, you have kids! How many and how old are they?”

“Well, Punk #1 is 9, Punk #2 is 3, and I am watching my friend’s baby- he is 5 months old.”

“Wow! You sure do have you hands full!”

“Tell me about it!”

“Wait, shouldn’t you oldest be in school? Doesn’t that give you a break?”

“Actually we are homeschooling for the first time this year.”

“Homeschooling? Like you are teaching him at home?“

“That’s the idea.”

“But why? Don’t you worry about socialization? Like, that he won’t develop any social skills? Or that you won’t be able to teach him everything he needs to know?”

“Well, ummm, not really. See he attended public school from kindergarten to 3^rd and it didn’t go so well. We kept trying, but it really wasn’t a good fit for him so we are going to give this a try. Not to mention that the social skills he learned at school were mostly related to the “Bully” department, so now I’m thinking that he doesn’t need those influences in his life. Maybe when he is a bit older he can handle the pressures of public school better without falling into that role-“

“But what about teaching him! How will he even learn anything from you? My kids wouldn’t take instruction from me.”

“True, it is sometimes difficult. We just focus on content rather than how long it takes to finish a project. We don’t have a time table to stick to- no deadlines at all. He can take as long as he needs to master a concept and he doesn’t have to worry about 25 other kids in the class. Not as many distractions. Sometimes it IS really hard for us to get through a lesson but we just keep trekking. It’s a learning process”

“Yeah, but what about YOU. Don’t you think that you are taking on a bit much? “

“Yeah, mostly I feel like I am just barely keeping my head above water. It’s all new; we are just trying to figure everything out together…”

“But is it worth all that stress? You could just let someone else deal with it.”

“True. But I don’t want to anymore- our lives were more stressful when he went to public school. Now we have to figure out how to be a real family. I have to improve my patience and learn to keep my cool. So it’s been good for me too. We are both learning tons!”

“Well, I wouldn’t ever choose it for my family, but good luck. Hope it works out well for your kids and that they don’t turn into serial killers or anything cause they were never socialized.”

“Yeah, thanks, me too.      I think. “

Road Trippin; Big Stop #3

I started to chronicle our trip from Montana to Georgia; but I have a confession. I skipped around a bit on ya. The order in which we traveled is true: Bozeman: Chicago: Ohio: Delaware. We left Delaware and migrated south; to North Carolina. But I jumped the gun in posting about the Slide Fiasco cause it should go here under Big Stop #3.

So instead of telling more about our trip I have something I need to get off my back. It’s vitally important for you to remember that I am a Southern girl deep down to the core. I have tried to change my ways- I have lived in California and Connecticut and Montana.

I just can’t help myself- I yearn for the drawl, greens, tobacco and cotton fields, and BBQs. And most especially some of Beccum’s Pickled Eggs and hot links.

Even though the eggs are pink, and smelly, and rubbery. There is something about them that gets stuck inside the head and taste buds. Can’t get away.

The runner up in the pickled category is Pigs Feet. Not an everyday grocery item to be sure but you just haven’t lived without tryin ‘em.

But back to my problem:

My punk can't talk right. In addition to constant third person references; she tries to make one syllable words into two syllable words. Totally normal in the South. Trust me. Here's some of my favs:

Bicycle:   Bi-skittle

Train:      Tra-yan

Rain:        Ra-yan 

Beans:     Be-yans

Pants:      Pay-yants

Chucky Cheese:  Chucky Chan ( No explanation for this one, she did it all on her own)

Et Cetera. 

So my problem is that my hubby is gonna flip because you see, he is not a Southerner. In fact he is one of those people who might even look down upon the Southern Drawl (but he will still eat the pickled eggs). He is a living contradiction. But the reality is that he will feel I have corrupted his offspring. Changed her into something unrecognizable, foreign even. He won’t understand that it’s all for the best and has only served to strengthen the bond between Mother and Child.

This poor guy never suspected what was to come from loving a Southern Girl

He is going to ask me to translate every word she says cause he doesn't speak Souther-on. He will go through a premature mid-life crisis due to feelings of abandonment and loneliness.

Secretly though, my girl makes me proud, and she kills me. She is so very much like me, and yet totally her Dadda. I still haven’t figured that one out myself.

But rest assured if I could figure out a way to make audio files I would post samples of her speaking for ya'll to enjoy. But I can't cause I am not that  computer savvy. 

Road Trippin; part deux

After busting out my Atlas and determining a new route we were on our way. Pft, whats a few hours detour anyways right? No biggie. Delaware here we come! Only we couldn't, cause I wasn't gonna make it. I was getting tired and we were only a few days into our trip. Uh oh.


Enter the TrueFather. He gave me a call and said, "Come visit- I am in Ohio." He was there for work. Ya know, the business...  Or not, if you didn't read that post. Its cool.


So we stopped in Ohio and while we were there we ate at Buffalo Wild Wings. I love wings. I think it comes from living in the south. Probably, I was born into the wrong family because I like fried chicken and watermelon and fruity flavored sodas. I also hate the cold. Pretty much everything that comes from being a southerner and being brought up to appreciate the finer things in life; like brisket, baked beans, and chocolate sheet cake that has almost 4 whole sticks of butter in it. Ummmm, butter..... I digress.

So after a quick stop in Ohio it was on like Donkey Kong. We made it to my big bro's house in Delaware. He then followed Chubaca around the house for a good 20 minutes. I followed along too, but just because I am nosy and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Turns out, he thought Chubaca was going to try and mark his territory in the house cause 


a) he has dogs  
b) Chuey is a boy 
c) and he apparently doesn't think I raised my dog right or something. 


Or really, it was that he didn't raise his dog right and then thought that dogs whizing on the carpet was normal. Either way I stopped the parade cause Chuey isn't like that; I raised him right, he has manners and can eat off a fork and everything.

I love my bro's kids. The little guy kills me what with learning to talk and all.  He and my littlest punk are the same age so basically you can't really understand what either one of them are saying. The following is a sample of one conversation where they both were saying they wanted to go to Wally World:


Bro's punk: I go Omart
My punk: No I go Walmar


Bro's: NO OmaRRRRRRt
Mine: NO Wwwaaallllmar


Bro's: NO OMAR!!!
Mine: NO! NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NO!NON!NO!NON!ON!ONO!NN!N!ON!O!NON!ON!ON
WWWWAAAAAMMMMMMAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR


Then Bro's punk knew that he'd been beat; so he laid that shiny fiddle on the ground by my punks feet. 


My punk said: "Boy just come on back if you ever want to try again"


I told you once, you son of a gun, I'm the best screecher that's ever been."


(And she played fire on the mount, run boys, run.
The devil's in the house of the risin' sun.
Chicken in the bread pin pickin' out dough.
"Granny, does your dog bite?"
"No, child, no." )    


Wait...

Right, so my bro and I and his wife took the 4 kids to the museum on the Air Force Base. It pretty much was a great time. I love those punks. It was here that I found the pin up girl of my dreams. If I ever get brave (or stupid) enough to get a tattoo I will get her. REAL BIG- um- somewhere. Like maybe on my back. Maybe covering my WHOLE back or something. That way there would be no question about us being soul mates; everyone would just know.  Here she is- isn't she lovely!

Road Trippin

The last few months will forever be known as: The Summer of the Camry. My Camry, that is. Cause I can't seem to stay out of it. I can't keep the kids out either, or the dog. It gets pretty cramped in there.

This is M. M is punk 2's new best friend!

We left Montana in May. Bozeman, Montana had been our home for less than a year. I wasn't too sad to see it go. It was a hard year to say the least.

So we set off on a whirlwind adventure. From Montana we went to Chicago. Chicago Baby! The good ol' Windy City! There was so much to do and see- there was no way to try and fit it into 3 days. So we didn't bother. We checked out the Brookfield Zoo, my friend M's new apartment, and umm, the super cheezy hotel complete with ringed hot tub.

And when I say ringed, I don't mean intricate tile work circling the inside. Nope, I mean like dead skin cells and bodily oils of some sort. I did not get in. But I guess that goes without saying. At least I hope it does.

The only time we made it to downtown Chicago, the part you see in all the glorious glossy travel brochures was upon departure. I couldn't get into the other lane because people there are not courteous drivers and was stuck in a left exit only lane. It took me an hour to get back onto the highway.

My first and only impression of downtown Chicago was claustrophobic. There were sidewalks and then 10 or 18 story buildings as far as the eye could see; which it turns out wasn't very far cause even more building blocked the view. I couldn't see the sky, there was nothing green. It was monotone: Grey on Grey with the occasional Red Brick thrown in.
It was kinda scary. How does anyone live there? I decided that lack of anything organic and green causes whatever that craziness is that causes crime rates to be higher in cities than in small towns. Moving on.

This punk was all about kissing the goats.

Once we finally navigated back to the Interstate I knew I had an upcoming exit to get to yet another interstate. It didn't look all that far on the map. 2 hours later I decided I had missed my exit. Whoever was navigating this trip needs to be fired!

After a potty break I busted out "ye old atlas" to figure out where the heck I was and determine how I was going to get to where I needed to go. Yep, I said ATLAS. I don't have a GPS. I am old skool. And eventually I even made it to where I was going. But that’s a story for tomorrow.

One of these days I will remember to keep my eyes

open in a picture

I would like to add that I loved Brookfield Zoo. And I loved hanging out with M. She even brought us Chicago Pizza. She delivered it right to our hotel and everything. She didn't want to go in the hot tub either. She's clean like that.

M had a friend accompany us to the Zoo. His name is John and he took all the pictures with his super sweet camera. He is better at taking pictures than I am. He can even change his lens to fit what he is shooting. I wanted to try his camera, but it was intimidating. And scary. And expensive. And they don't call me Grace for nothin!

 Whale was swimming with the dolphins 

Stay Tuned: our trip didn't end here.

Because I can.

B-Dub; Tray; Beccum; and T

 These are my People, my Peps, my crew, ... my gaggle? my flock? my herd? Um, I should stop.

My people keep me laughing. Like when Beccum said

"My Grandma got my baby a little stuffed dog. Its black and white. I think its a dachshund." Only, I thought she meant that the little black and white dog was a "Dalmation" and it was pretty funny that she got all mixed up and called it a wiener dog... only joke was on me cause she really did mean a dachshund...

Or how about how Tray is letting me lean on her in this picture cause I had on a wet bikini top under my tank and it looked like I was lactating, only instead it made her hips stick out funny so she looks preggers!

My top was all wet cause  I did this all day:

This was a big ol' water slide. I haven't laughed so hard in all my life. And I don't think I could move the next day- I ain't as young as I used to be.  

This should put the slide into perspective for ya. See the blue and yellow part at the bottom of the picture.  Yeah, thats the wall that you crash into at the bottom of the slide. It hurt me, it hurt me real bad. 

But not as bad as Tray. She has a gargantuan bruise on her leg to prove it. I don't bruise very easy, so no one had any sympathy for me. Stingy Tray- hoggin all the bruising!

I would also like to add that this picture was taken only moments prior to your one and only me slipping; and taking out most of the  people below me. It was wet, and they put me in the middle. Did I mention that it was slippery? 

And as embarrassing as that was- cause then people didn't want to play with me anymore- it wasn't the worst part of my day. Oh no. The worst part was courtesy of my littlest punk. This deserves some background info:

Punk #2 loves to slide. She and her Dadda would take trips to the park so she could go "sliding." It was their bonding time. I was not invited. I tried to not let it hurt my feeling. But only cause I was at work and couldn't go anyways.

So here we are at Tray's and I am thinking "Huzzuh! I can finally top the Dadda sliding trips!" Now this particular slide is double sided. You can tell from the pic above that there are stairs on one side and the slide on the other. Well, imagine the backside being the exact opposite of the front. 

I was heading up the stairs with Punk #2. Kinda tricky, probably, I should have gone up once by myself so I would know what to expect. Nope, we just went. Up, up, up, we go to the top by crawling up those little purple rectangle shaped steps. 

About half way up my punk changes her mind and decided that it would be better to not slide. Sliding is suddenly Soooo yesterday. Nobody SLIDES anymore Momma, really!

So I did what I had to. I let her cling to me like a monkey and dragged her up the remaining stairs. Now balancing precariously at the top; I swung her around and had her sit so I could assume the position behind her. 

This is where things went wrong. Very wrong. I would also like to add that we separated the sliding time so kids had kid time, and adults had adult time. It was better this way. Adults are prone to doing stupid things to try and impress their friends; we could avoid most injuries through separation. So I was hauling my punk up the slide during kid time. Not adult time. Kids- mostly 9 - 12 year old boys. Boys.

So as I was swinging Punk 2 around she made the mistake of looking down. And it was WAY down. Like, she was higher up than she had EVER been before. She did not like it. She did not like it, not one little bit. And then she threw herself backwards cause she knew her Momma would catch her. 

And I did. I caught her fist right in my face, and down I went. I went down hard. On my belly, bo-bo-bo-bo- bounc-bounce- bouncing all the way down the purple rectangles.

I think I may have bitten my tongue. I thought my teeth were going to fall out of my mouth. I wasn't sure if my belly ring was still intact or if it had been pulled free. Only one thing did I know for sure. 

I had lost my top. 

I had lost my top, and I was surrounded by a group of 9 - 12 year old boys.

A group of 9 - 12 year old boys who were staring at me, and laughing, and I think one of them pointed his finger at me. 

A group of 9 -12 year old boys who were pointing and laughing, and pointing, and not helping. Not helping me find my top.

I was laying face down. I couldn't get up. I couldn't see Punk 2. Did she go down the slide the right way? Did I squish her like the little bug she is? I couldn't move. And then somethings happened: 

1. Punk 2 drifted into view- with my top.

2. I heard people coming to investigate. Like ADULT people. I still didn't have my top, and people were 

coming. 

3. I grabbed my top and donned it in record time; while still face down on the cursed slide; still surrounded by pointing, laughing boys.

And once my top had assumed its rightful position I figured out what was taking everyone so long to rescue me. They were laughing. Like the hurting belly kind of laugh. Like Tray started snorting cause she was laughing so hard kinda laugh.

 

Ha. Ha. 

On the upside- Punk 2 soon figured out how to play on the slide her own way. On the down side- everyone at the BBQ knew I lost my top. And Tray snorted. 

All that put together is just about as embarrassing as this picture:

But I have to keep it real. And it doesn't get any real-er than this. 

ps. Ramon pushed me. Then later he brought me a hot dog. But only cause he knew I really wanted one.