Thursday, January 28, 2010

It is what it is.

Little Prince: "Can I have more chips?"

Queen Mother: "No, you've had enough. More chips will hurt your tummy."

Little Prince: "Can I have gummies?"

Queen Mother: "No, you just ate lunch and had gummies before that. Too much food will hurt your tummy."

Little Prince: "Can I have mac and cheese?"

Queen Mother: "No, but you can have some 'sugar'." (Making kissing noises)

Little Prince: "Sugar cookie?"

Queen Mother: "No, kisses. Kisses are sugar."

Little Prince: "No, sugar is cookie."

I am 5'2". I celebrate the little things.

I am thrilled (and surprised) to announce that AWM&M reached over 75 followers today! (Ok their may be some overlap, but I worked in radio and this is how we do numbers.)

So thanks to all of you who have come out of the shadows and, for better or worse, associated yourselves with the madness. I am so appreciative that someone reads it, or else I would feel really guilty for ignoring my home and family to write.

I feel pretty confident that you will keep reading. It's kinda like an accident scene. You don't want to, you shouldn't, but you do. Thanks.

Mistake No. 1 (not my first mistake)

I promised I would share from my grab bag of idiotic things I have done, so here is the first installment.

In my former life as an advertising account executive (again, sales monkey), I was sitting at my desk one afternoon returning calls. I dialed up a client and was directed to their voicemail. (This was before the internet "caught on." Heck! We didn't even have computers at our desks--gasp!) So apparently, I was attempting to multi-task while leaving the message, and it went a little something like this:

"Hi! Mr. So-and-So. This is Tara Threlkeld with The Daily Planet. I was just calling to check on you and to get the information for your next ad. Just give me a call at 000-0000. (This is where I must have mentally blacked out and the Spirit took over.) For it's in Jesus name we pray, Amen."

It's true. I ended it just like that.

I have no business interacting with others on a professional level.

In my new 'occupation' I often end conversations in prayer too, but it is more like, "Lord help me not burn the playroom down!"

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Know thyself

I’m always googling to find out about whatever I want to know. I can no longer think for myself. (Offspring to me, “Queen Mother, may I go out and play?” Me, “Hold on. Lemme google ‘is outdoor play ok for young children’. Uh, yeah, google says its ok.”)

So recently, in order to be a better writer for your enjoyment, I was googling 'Unique blog ideas' (because I live to make sure you are not bored), and I received the following result:

23 Great Ideas for Blog Posts

“Well,” I say to myself, “that sounds just, great.” “Twenty-three manageable little ways to make my blog better.” So I begin to read. And I got to number 9 and it said,

Tell about some mistake that you made and what you learned from it.
This will help your readers to avoid making the same mistake, and will make you seem more human to them.

For real? I stopped right there. I have no idea what the next 13 ideas are. (I can tell you right now, that my husband, upon reading this for the first time is probably falling out laughing.) This IS my niche! I could write for years!!!!

Hopefully, you will enjoy some of these stories I plan to share and be able to relate to me as more of a human than the way you formerly perceived me. (*snicker*)

Can't Touch This

If you hear rumors about me, they are true.

I DID ask my daughter to teach me the moves to Hannah Montana's "Hoe-Down, Throwdown."

And furthermore, I have learned them.

Daddy's Girl was in utopia being allowed to give her mother instruction (and correction) in the finer points of "popping" it and "locking" it, and even "polka-dotting" it. It has been 18 years since my last choreographed routine, and I needed the help.

I have no idea what possessed me to want to learn this. I don't recall my mother learning the "running man" or the "worm." And I can pretty well bet that Memaw didn't learn the "hustle." But, this was a chance to bond with my oldest daughter. To show her that I care about her world. I hope she remembers this.

In the meantime, "put your hawk in the sky and move side to side." (I have no idea what that means.)

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Well, Little Prince's birthday party has come and gone and I'm glad to say that it went off without a hitch.

The kids (all 12, eight-years-old and under) played fabulously and the cake wasn't dry.

All the adults were telling stories at incredibly loud volumes, which, to me, is the sign of a great soiree.

And I think I found a booger on the wall.

Taking care of business

I had to stop cleaning to write while this was fresh on my mind.

Years ago, in my former life, I was an Advertising Account Executive. That is just fancy talk for "sales monkey."

Anyway, I consider my new life as a full-time Domestic Engineer, my new career. And my kids are my co-workers, if you will.

So today I am imagining what a business day would have looked like then, were it under the same type of conditions as it is now. Here's my best guess.

The minute I wake up, I'm at the office. In fact I slept at the office. I sit down for coffee with the other sales people after I have gotten their bagel, prepared it and cut it up for them. After I have picked it up off the floor a half-dozen times, I wipe their hands and they are off.

Now I'm at my desk working on setting up appointments. "Yes, Mr. So-and-so, owner of We Got Stuff, I have got that proposal ready...could you please hold?" Pause to ask two co-workers to please share the copy machine or they will be sent to their desk for age appropriate time-outs. "I'm sorry. Now when are you availa...,excuse me." "I said share, and I will not ask you again!" "I apologize, Mr. So-and-so." You get the picture.

So now, before I can sit down at my desk to work on spec ads and proposals (which must be done), I have to clean up the toner that has been spilt on the floor. Change the clothes of the co-worker sitting and playing in the toner and send him to his desk. Meanwhile, another fellow salesperson has climbed into the off-limit supply cabinet and poured out all paper-clips and tacks and is running around without shoes or pants. Ok, check to make sure the co-worker doesn't have any of these in her mouth (or her bare feet) and secure her at her desk. Now I have to separate and put away all tacks and paperclips. (Notice I still haven't gotten to the ads and proposals?) I put clothes and shoes on the gal that made the mess and let her loose from her desk.

Why is there peanut butter all over the stapler? Seriously? You have to go to the bathroom right now? Ok, done. Now I'm back to work. Wait, two co-workers are crying for a snack. Didn't we just eat 45-minutes ago?

That would be the first hour. I shutter to think what the rest of the day would have looked like.

Quick post of feelings for today:

Excited because I get to hang with some very cool people tonight.

Busy because I'm getting my party food on.

Enamored with my husband because ....too many reasons.

Hopeful that my precious children will not tear up every room I have cleaned.

Desperate because I want to bring every precious Hatian orphan home.

Peaceful because I know God is aware and ever-present.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Monday, January 18, 2010

We'll have the value meal and a tourniquet.

I have the greatest cousins. Although we don't get together as often as we like, I have a blast when I am with them. Today The Tribe was able to hang out and lunch with one of my cousins, CD, her husband and two boys. At my suggestion, we headed to a fast-foodery where we could enclose the kiddos in a glassed-in play area and make an attempt at a "real conversation." (Whatever the heck that is.)

The scenerio is pretty much the same every time we do something like this. We arrive at our destination, hustle the kids across the parking lot and into the establishment to a frenzy of "where are we going to sit?", "Not right now, we'll play after we eat," "Are you gonna order? What do you want to eat?" "Hang on just a minute.", "How many chairs and high chairs to we need?", etc., etc., etc. So designated parents get the food and today it was me and JD, my cousin-in-law. We get in line. "I can't do fast food math fast enough." "CD has given me a run-down of what we need." "You go ahead, I haven't got the math finished." We order. Food is passed out to all the kiddos, ketchup is dispensed, all is well. We begin conversation. Kids take four bites each of their food and it's, "Can I go play now?" After a few encouragements to eat a little more, they are off. We commence conversation about the acting ability (or lack of depending on your stance) of Johnny Depp, PEEHIP, Kids Market and various children smells that make us gag. Truly the intellect is staggering, but we are enjoying it and no one is having to recite their ABC's or Hop on Pop.

Of course there is the intermittent interruption of someone needing a drink or getting in a playground scuffle or whatever, but for the most part we are good, and as long as I was popping food into mine they were happy. Daddy's Girl informs us of a playground bully, but she has it under control. Little Prince is in heaven because his big sister's got his back and he gets to play with his boy cousins too. We send them after lost socks about a dozen times and finally just tell DG, "Just find some socks and bring them back, and we will figure out which ones are ours!" We continue on our conversation, the guys get milkshakes and everything is going along fine.

Then it happens. Daddy's Girl comes up to our table breathless and in tears. I was sure that she had been punched by the bully. But it turns out she has fallen backwards off of the slide that she was standing over onto her back and knocked the breath out of her. She is panicking because she thought she had paralyzed herself and is sitting in my lap crying. Now I've given Sunshine to Mr. Wonderful who is wrestling with her because it's way past naptime and I've fed her everything on the table, plus two packs of fruit chews and some jelly beans that were in her bag, and LP is running from our table to the lady two tables back to give her the salt shaker. I am sitting on the outside of the booth and, as you may or may not know, that means I am the point man for chasing any runaway kids. So I set down DG and go after LP and when I am turned around the woman behind me mouths that "She fell really hard. I think she really might be hurt." To which I wanted to reply, "Maam, this is nothing. Three weeks ago, we about lost a finger in the bathroom door.* We're good." I know she wanted to call DHR.

Daddy's Girl recovered, we got all the kids together (with socks) and all was good. Now I'm trying to decide, since we are two for two at fast food playgrounds, should we will be taking visitors here at the home front for a while. Well, come on by and we'll sing our ABC's and read Dr. Seuss for you.

*For those of you who haven't heard the story, I'll try to post it soon.
P.S. JD, this one wasn't just LIKE your life, it was your life.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Ann Taylor doesn't like chubby girls, so I'm not letting her in my club.

Ever see motorcycles driving down the road, and they've got those little "trunks" on either side. Now, even though I don't know the technical term for these things, they look pretty convenient, something nice to have. Well, my body is shaped somewhat like that, with a little extra storage space down around the side and I'm gonna just say that it is anything but convenient.

I am also 5'2". Now in pretty much any fashion department that calls for the petite/short/ankle length. Because when you are 5'2" and you buy regular jeans you are gonna be stompin' on some denim from now until doomsday unless you get short girl jeans. The problem arises in the fashion industry's definition of what a petite girl is built like. Lemme just inform you folks that it isn't "mother of 3 that has had a little trouble ridding herself of said baby weight and tends to carry it in the thigh regions." I'm just sayin. It's more like a waif-ish. And waif-ish, I'm not. Finding a pair of jeans after you have had children is actually MORE difficult than giving birth to said children, and one of mine got stuck. So there! (And to all you little skinny mommas with your skinny straight jeans and cute little cardigans and ballet flats, even if I love ya, there is a tiny part of me that is still miffed.)

But I digress, this has been a great week out here in blogger world and I'm enjoying so much all the things I'm learning. Thanks to all the new people reading it and for the feedback. Keep it comin'. And tomorrow I'll work on not being so bitter. (Stupid jeans.)

Thursday, January 14, 2010


I'm sitting here at the table side-by-side with Little Prince on "our" Macs with lots of thoughts in my head.

1. How super cool/not cool is it that he picked up using the computer in about 5 minutes flat? He can sit and play Max & Ruby while I write to you, and we are bonding.

2. That it is difficult, in this day we live in, not to begin a letter, a post or anything about me without saying, "The Queen Mother is...." (Facebook has truly become ingrained.)

3. It's almost 11 am and I'm still in PJ's and my incredibly snuggly robe and that's the way it may be when Mr. Wonderful gets home tonight.

4. It is time to commit to finding LP's birthday present online or get out in the cold and shop for it. Make the decision!

5. I realized that searching "wall calendar" on Amazon was probably a bad idea.

6. And some deeper thoughts, like, I wonder what my life would look like if I acted on everything I "believe?"

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

"Hello! Is this thing on?"

My oldest two children love to play games together like puppies, reindeer (because it was Christmas of course), horses, etc. These require one of them to be tied by a sash, rope or any such implement and RUN all over the house. Well, as you all know we mothers cannot have children running around the house. Why? (All Queen Mothers together..."Someone is going to get hurt!")

So, this afternoon Daddy's Girl and Little Prince are at it again. Tied to each other at the waist by DG's Pink Flowergirl sash, they somehow collide, sending LP to the floor to bite his lip. Cue crying and enter the Queen Mother to assess the damage. The damage was minimal, and so I commence with Mommy Speech #439 about how no one is going to tie anyone to anyone or anything ever again. Then I hear DG ask as she follows behind me from room to room, "So, do you know how to tie, like, a lasso like for horses and stuff?" Aughhhhhhhhhhh!

Monday, January 11, 2010

Straight from Daddy's Girl

Before I go to bed tonight I have to post this or I will forget in the madness that is tomorrow.

Sunday Night Conversation while preparing dinner

Me: "Daddy's Girl, just get out of the kitchen. I'm cold. I'm hungry. I'm just in a bad mood right now!"

DG: "Well you shouldn't be. You just came from the house of Christ."

Don't forget to feed the children...

And so goes the process. If you've been reading as long a couple of hours, you have probably noticed I am obsessed with setting up this blog and moving things around. I'm far from finished and would love to hear your feedback and suggestions to be sure you time isn't wasted when you visit. Thanks for taking time away from what you do to read. Hope you enjoy!

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Under Construction

Just changed the template and have a lot of work to do. Please read for content rather than aesthetics. Gotta go.

Thank you Parker Brothers for this magical family moment.

Anyone who has ever been involved with my husband in anything in which there was a winner will appreciate this story.

Our oldest loves to play board games with Mr. Wonderful and I. Mr. W loves to squash any opponent no matter the age or shared DNA. Me, I just love the banter that goes with time spent together, because I'm a sensitive and intentional parent. (Are you impressed?)

On this particular Friday, the three of us had gathered around a game of "Sorry." Now, Mr. W was not in a great mood to begin with (you weren't honey) and so everytime Daddy's Girl would get sidetracked (which was often) or slow down the game, he became increasingly less....cuddly. Not helping with his mood was the fact that whenever she was faced with the choice of which parent to send home or sabotage, she would choose dear ole Dad. I however had 3 of my 4 men in the SAFETY ZONE with the last man about 4 spaces away. DG drew a "Sorry" card, which as you know means she can take a pawn from here START and bump an opponents pawn back to START. Two guesses as to who she sent packing. Well this was the final straw and Mr. W "pointed out", "Do you realize that your Mom had most of her pieces in the SAFETY ZONE and the other is almost there?!!!" "But she's my mom!", my precious firstborn replied. To which he retorted with a huff. Assessing the situation and emotions and underlying motivations as she is so prone to do, DG looks at her father and explains, "There's no trophy Dad." To which he had to laugh.

*The game progressed and Mr. W won and did all but perform the victory dance on the table stamping the pawns of all his opponents. It is sick that he gets this much fulfillment from annihilating children's board game victory dreams. (Bring your shirt to the laundry dear, I've become a whiz at removing bus tire marks.)

Saturday, January 9, 2010

"What would you think if I moved the refrigerator into the foyer?"

It comes around every year.  De-decoration day.  Little Prince has been after me for about a week or so now to take down the "decorate."  So I have been preparing Mr. Wonderful and Daddy's Girl for a couple of days that today was the day.  I got up this morning and got my "box-up" on setting out to first take everything down and grouped on the dining room table and the bookcase.  Mr. W got up a little later and began dismantling alongside me.  I decided this would be a great time to organize my little 14 year collection of Christmas what-not.  So I began sorting through.  I've inherited some decorations from both sides of the family and still for the life of me can't figure out how my biological family amassed so many stocking hangers.  

I thought about my dad a lot today.  His distinctive ALL-CAPS handwriting on boxes.  "Dad" in glitter on an elementary craft stocking.  Christmas decorations he and Mom selected.  And all the great Christmases-lots of laughing, lots of love.  

Another thing brought Dad to mind today.  But first I will have to explain another inevitable of post-Christmas days, the rearrangement of a room.  For whatever reason, Mr. W cannot go six months without rearranging a room.  After Christmas it is the den and in June-ish it is our bedroom.  I should have seen it coming.  A couple of days ago we were in LP & Sunshine's room, discussing the chilliness and he began to discuss how we might better feng-shui the furniture to "keep the kids healthy."  He was getting the fever then.  

So today I could see the writing on the wall when he brought a "living-room" chair into the den to fill in the empty spot left by the Christmas tree.  So after I made him promise that we wouldn't hear a word of complaint about any aches or pains and that all the Christmas boxes would be in the attic before the day was over, I consented.  

One of the things that had to be done was to move the massive TV off my hope chest where it resided.  Now, I am not bragging about the massive TV.  It is as the old song goes, "deep and wide."  It is one of the last of the models that they sold for less because they knew that flat-screens would be the only way to go the very next day.  So we are the proud owners of a television that I am sure the entire family could fit into should there ever be a world-wide calamity.  (I am not complaining...just stating a fact.)

Anyway, if I am around and a hope chest is uncovered, then I (like a pirate) must open it and peruse.  There are all sorts of things in mine.  Things from "yester-year," my children's stuff, a small box of Mr. W's, items of my grandmother's, etc.  And there are letters and cards from my Dad.  So I sat down and read through most of them.  And I was very thankful for a daddy who was not shy about telling me he loved me or he was proud of me.  I was thankful for a daddy who loved my husband so much. I am thankful for that and so much more.  Daddys, write to your daughters.  Tell them how you feel about who they are and what they have done for you.  One day those letters will be tied up in satin ribbon and untied when she needs to remember.

So back to the day.  Mr. W finished getting everything re-arranged and even covered up the paint splotches on the wall where we were "testing."  DG has given it her stamp of approval and the Christmas boxes are back in the attic.  All is good.  Until June.

Friday, January 8, 2010

Not a thought in her little head.

Blogging seems like it would be a fabulous outlet for a woman like me.  The majority of my interaction everyday is with the little tikes and I am believe there should be something left in my brain to share after they crawl into bed.   I mean, I'm a talker.  Come from a long line of talkers.  I was a journalism major for pete's sake!  (Please no comments about my pathetic spelling and punctuation!)  But night after night I sit here on this little new post screen and can think of nothing to say.  

So I pose the question to you dear reader, what would you like to read about?  I can go off on some pretty self-righteous rants, but I imagine that wouldn't interest you.  Or, flip the card and there are hours of self-realization which might just send you screaming.  I could tell lots of funny stuff about my husband and I, but then he screams of bus marks on his back.  And then there is the predictable "Stuff my kids said, ate or pooped."  So you tell me.  And if you really aren't interested, well, I will miss you but I understand.  No hard feelings. 


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