What happens in da family, stays in da family.

Every family has their crazy stories that are labeled "Confidential." Under no circumstances are these stories to be spoken of in public.

Our family is no different, with exception of one thing. I have a blog.

And some stories are too good to file away.

If you're familiar with my blog, you know that most of my Top Secret stories involve everyone else in my family. (Well, except for my 4th of July entry from last year when I ate 3 plates of jello jigglers that turned out to be jello shots and I showed up drunk to the church picnic. Whatever.)

But in the interest of fairness, (and threats from my family), I feel the need to share with you what happened in this house this morning.

We're preparing for a garage sale next weekend and everyone is busy going through their things they've outgrown. K showed up in my bedroom and asked, "Can I sell this?" There in her hand hung my 21 year old Prom Dress. And as any woman knows, you can't be in a room with an old sentimental dress and not try it on.

Boosted by my recent weight loss and a fresh pair of Spanx, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the dress. When the zipper reached my butt region, we heard a little rip and she gasped. In my best "no big deal" voice, I explained that I just needed to put it over my head.

I got my beautiful strapless gown into place and I was one zip up my back away from running outside to surprise my husband who was my Prom date when I originally wore this dress. I excitedly told K to zip me up and then I stood there impatiently waiting. Five minutes and lots of panting and gasping later she said, "I'm not strong enough!" Good grief. It's just a zipper. What's the problem?

I ran upstairs and recruited A to help us out. Ten minutes and more grunting and A says, "Can you suck in?" (What the heck does she think I've been doing?!) I said, "I AM sucking in!!" She said, "Can you suck in your upper back?" (How in the h*** do you suck in upper back fat?) Finally, she said "We need Z's help." (Yes. Because this situation isn't quite humiliating enough.)

Enter the 17 year old boy who took one look at me and said, "Why?" So in the sweetest "mom voice" I could muster I said, "BECAUSE THIS FITS ME, D*** it!!!"

Three kids and ten minutes later, the zipper made it's way to the top. Just as Z yelled, "She's in!!" the zipper ripped from the bottom and left a gaping hole in the middle of my back. The teenagers burst out laughing and ran from the room, but K stuck around to comfort me as I stared at myself in the full length mirror. She patted my back and said, "It would have been fine if you hadn't breathed."

I'll keep that in mind next time.

To the man!

This weekend is all about the man.

The man who bought me a super-sized box of Captain Crunch peanut butter balls for Mother's Day.

The man who tried to kill a raccoon in our garage with a bow and arrow but shot through our refrigerator instead.

The man who tries to scare the neighbor's peacock up the road when he gets loose to "teach him a lesson."

The man who ordered the "Shocking Roulette Game" and then played it with our kids. (Our toddler "won" the first two rounds.)

The man who DJ'd the church youth dance and introduced them to such artists as Van Halen, Bon Jovi, and Def Leopard.

The man who wouldn't stop posing with his shirt pulled up beside the Girls Gone Wild tour bus at a gas station on our way to Hilton Head.

The man who would get sucked into the 90 minute time share presentation by the guy standing outside the Hilton Head Walmart if I wasn't there to lure him to the van with a package of Oreos.

The man who faithfully watches Finding Bigfoot because "you should be prepared."

The man who wears his Ohio State baseball cap everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

The man who makes fun of me for watching this season's The Bachelorette, but then asked me where Bentley was last week.

The man who hit 2 triples during our co-ed softball game last week and then accused me of arranging that with the other team as part of a "cruel fitness program."

The man who used clothes hangers, wires and the car battery to electrify the ground, thus sending fishing worms to the surface for bait. (Two worms fell for it....or just came to the surface out of morbid curiosity.)

The man who willingly pulls over to allow our toddler (or me) to relieve ourselves along the side of the highway and doesn't even roll his eyes when our toddler (or me) doesn't quite make it.

The man who knows how to have fun.

The man who has his wife and children at the top of his priority list.

The man who is slow to anger. (Unless it involves the Buckeyes or the DirectTv service tech named Roy.)

The man who baptized our daughter in the ocean at sunrise.

The man who swept me off my feet 21 years ago and hasn't put me down since.

The man who gives freely with no strings attached.

The man who loves UN-conditionally.

The man who makes me laugh (almost) every day.

The man who doesn't have a selfish bone in his body.

The man who shows me every day the kind of person I want to become.

So, here's to the man!!!

Happy Father's Day to the one we know we can trust and the one who knows how to love.

We love you.

I pray everyone has the man in their lives to celebrate this weekend. Enjoy!

Anonymous

Hi. I stalk read blogs. And when I feel really strongly about something, I've been known to leave comments. Occasionally, but not always, my comments drip with sarcasm in a style referred to as snark. I write fluent snark. You may or may not be familiar with some of my work. It's always signed "Anonymous." (Shhh...don't give away my secret.)

Granted, you're never completely anonymous. You're usually required to sign up for an account so someone somewhere can track you down if need be. That little "track you down" feature has paid off for me on several occasions when I've been contacted by websites to do some snarky writing.

So why do I hide my snark behind "Anonymous?" Because besides my sarcasm, I'm also pretty well known for my fear of people. Fear of judgement. Fear of hostility. Fear of conflict. Ultimately, fear of rejection. I know what it all feels like. Family, friends or strangers....fear feels the same. So I hide behind my anonymous mask.

I've shared before how Facebook was my first step out of hiding. My blog was my second. Both leave me feeling transparent and vulnerable, but both have helped me successfully break free from the chains of fear that used to bind me so tightly. Great risk = Great reward. So true.

I've come a long way on my road to freedom. I've actually never felt more free in my entire life and that feels....well, free! So am I ready to step out from behind "Anonymous?" Nope. Which brings me to what happened today.....

I clicked onto one of my favorite blog sites to find a post about her experience in a department store and a detailed account of how she witnessed another mother behaving with her children. It was told in a humorous way and wrapped up with self reflection of how we mother our children. It was funny and thought provoking. I loved it. So I was completely shocked to scroll down to find this woman being ripped to shreds and being accused of everything from "being judgmental" to "ignoring abuse." Some of the comments were getting pretty nasty, especially by one particular poster who simply referred to herself (himself?) as "Roomthreeseventeen." (Yikes. If you were trying to choose a code name that sent chills of fear up everyone's spine, congratulations. You did it.)

I jumped to my blog friend's defense with a comment laced with some of my best snark that I save for truly special occasions and clicked Enter. To my shock and horror that inflicted immediate stomach cramps and four subsequent trips to the bathroom, my full name appeared under my post. And I couldn't delete it. Holy crap. (No pun intended.) Suddenly my mind was filled with images of the faceless Roomthreeseventeen, dressed in a dark hooded robe, finding my house and ending the life of the Anonymous Queen of Snark and nobody would know where to find her (him?) because she (he?) was smart enough to list only the number of the room of the dungeon where she (he?) sleeps.

Cut me some slack, drama runs deep here.

Two hours later, I'd contacted and heard back from my blog friend. My super snarky comment was deleted, hopefully before the armed and dangerous Roomthreeseventeen got a taste of my gift and I can happily return to my life as Anonymous.....and always remember to set my security alarm at night for the rest of my snarky life.

Happy Mother's Day

This morning I read an article by Andrew McGinn that made my day. Not only do I also hate all things Caillou, but I finally found someone else willing to admit to stepping outside of the "How to raise an emotionally healthy and mentally stable child" box that someone, somewhere decided exists.

I'll admit, when our oldest child Z was born, I had every intention to conform to that box. Not only would he never be permitted to watch shows that society deemed "violent" but this son of mine would never be permitted to play with toy guns, either. He would grow up to be a peaceful gentleman who treated his younger sisters with nothing but kindness and the utmost respect. From my lips to God's ears....

Three years after he was born, as I proudly wore my invisible "Self-Righteous-Mother-of-the-Year" award on my forehead for all to see, I was stunned to walk into our playroom to find that he'd lathered rubber cement all over his 1-year old sister's head and was holding her to the wall until she dried. Holy crap.

Not long after that, while I was giving them baths, this "gunless-full-of-peace-and-love-future-gentleman" of mine began making gun shooting noises while aiming his man-part around the bathroom. The next day we went to the dollar store and stocked up on plastic toy guns.

From that day forward we took a more relaxed approach to parenting. It didn't take us long to become "those" parents who people place bets on how soon their kids will need therapy.

When he was 5, his favorite movie was Con-Air. (It still is.) When he was 7 and I knew he was telling me a lie, I wrapped the computer mouse around his hand, told him it was a lie-detector, and then I made it beep every time he answered. When he was 8, we realized we didn't know where he was and found him dangling by his shirt on our privacy fence gate. When he was 9, I attempted to home-school him "for his own emotional protection from the bad influences of public school." One day we got a bill from our cable company. Z, who was a fan of Play Station and Game Boy thought he hit the jackpot and found a television station that combined the two.....Playboy. We sent him back to school.

Clearly, we'd screwed up with this "How to raise a stable child" philosophy.....or is it that very philosophy that is screwing us up? Suddenly we live in a society where every child has to receive a ribbon whether they actually win or not for fear of scarring their little hearts. We now live in a world where to discipline a child is to strip them of their rights. Suddenly, it's considered emotional abuse to set standards for your children and then expect them to follow through.

Good grief. I'll take our way, thank you very much. And the proof is in the young adults we're witnessing our children become. A is 15 and K is 11 and they're growing into the sweetest and most respectful young ladies you'd ever meet. Z, at 17, is charming, funny and extremely responsible. (Well, he did say "balls" during his National Honor Society speech and got put on probation, but whatever.) And did I mention they're all on the Honor Roll? (No thanks to me, I assure you.)

The jury's still out on C, who's 4, but we have high hopes. Granted, she's addicted to Laverne & Shirley reruns, wants to work at Shotz Brewery when she grows up, enjoys staying up till 3am, sleeping till noon everyday and she begins each day with a cup of coffee. So far so good, wouldn't you say?

So I'm going to enjoy a guilt-free Mother's Day because why shouldn't I? I'm imperfect, I screw up, I have regrets, I make questionable choices and there are many areas I could and should improve on. But, God has blessed me with 4 amazing children, who I love wholeheartedly and unconditionally and who are "emotionally healthy and mentally stable" despite my parenting techniques. Wheew!

Happy Mother's Day to all those moms who do their best and trust God for the rest!

It's gravy, baby.

Please indulge me for a moment as I shamelessly brag casually mention something about myself. I can make gravy. And it tastes goooooooood.

Forgive me for that little lapse in humility, but after the week I had, I think you'll understand.

It started with a 3am visit from from the police because my husband's bank card didn't register in the gas pump and the cashier called and reported him as a "drive-off." Clearly a misunderstanding that we rectified with the gas station immediately, but still disconcerting to see your husband's picture via gas station camera along with license plate number and car description hanging on the "most wanted" wall behind the cash register, ya know? Well, maybe you don't. Just take my word for it then.

The week ended with a disastrous attempt at an Easter illustration with my kids called "Empty Tomb Cookies" that resulted in inappropriate nut jokes, a yolk in the egg-white batter, fighting over masking tape, 15 piles of tinted yellow globs of "Full Tomb Cookies" and a spanked toddler. None of which is a reflection on the Empty Tomb Cookies. I take full responsibility for our buffoonery. This is why we don't do crafts.

But on Good Friday, I made gravy. (Didn't sound like a big deal until it's up against mention of the police, gas station mug shots and spankings over Easter crafts, huh?)

Gravy was always my holiday nemesis. I pride myself on the ability to put together a yummy feast, but always had to ask guests to come early and whip up some gravy. Humiliating. But Good Friday, we had Z's girlfriend and A's boyfriend over for a Thanksgiving lunch with the extended family coming over later that evening for dessert, snacks, egg coloring, and games. That left me on gravy detail.

Enter Google. I printed off the first one where I recognized all the ingredients and went to work. I ran into one minor snafu when I realized I have no Poultry Seasoning. What to do? Skip it. I ended up with an amazing, creamy, delicious, lump-less, poultry-seasoning-less, gravy that makes my mouth water just remembering it.

It's almost enough to make me forget what happened the night before when I was trying to avoid stuffing hundreds of plastic eggs with candy. I told the kids we'd hunt empty eggs instead as a symbol of the empty tomb on Easter. The kids agreed. My husband claimed I "ruined Easter" and stormed from the room.

So let's talk about the gravy again.....aaahhhh.....the simple pleasures in life, am I right?

Gravy for Dummies

• 5 cups of turkey stock with pan drippings
• 1 can of condensed cream of chicken soup
• 1 tsp poultry seasoning (clearly optional)
• 1/2 tsp black pepper
• 1/2 tsp seasoned salt
• 1/4 tsp garlic powder
• 1 cup milk
• 1/3 cup flour

1. Bring the turkey stock to a boil in a large saucepan.
   
2. Stir in soup and all the spices. Reduce heat to low and simmer
3. Warm the milk in the microwave and whisk in the flour with a fork until smooth.
4. Return the gravy to a boil and gradually stir in the milk mixture, stirring constantly.
5. Continue to cook while stirring for 1 minute or until thickened. It's gravy, baby.
   

Save it.

Crafts, Scrap Booking, Parent-Teacher Conferences, bedtime stories that aren't scary......a little starter list of "mom" activities I suck at. Please add coupons to the list.

Between my tendency to be frugal and my obsession with reality shows, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I stumbled onto the show called 'Extreme Couponing.' I didn't actually watch it, mind you, I just heard the title and put 2 and 2 together. (Research isn't my strong suit.)

I grabbed the giant stack of Sunday papers beside the fireplace and went to work. Before long I had an impressive little pile neatly stacked on top of my grocery list. To add to that, I went on-line and spent 2 hours looking up store ads, noting and comparing the sales of 2 different stores. I was downright giddy with the excitement of my new venture that would surely qualify me for the list of "Good stay at home moms."

My husband always comes grocery shopping with me. He does all the math in his head and tells me which is the better deal. I push the cart, keep track of the list and replace all the junk food to their shelves when his back is turned. It's a good system.

Last night was my coupon debut. Store #1. First stop: Laundry Detergent. I showed my husband the name brand item on sale and the coupon and asked him to compare it to the off-brand we normally buy and tell me how much money I just saved him....(insert Final Jeopardy music as he silently tallied numbers in his head while I stood there beaming).....he finally said, "A penny." (I came this close to bursting into tears, throwing my envelope of coupons on the floor and running to the car.....thank goodness I'm not dramatic or anything.)

An hour and a half later, we were at the check-out and my excitement was back. While my husband loaded up the conveyor belt, I stood with my coupons and excitedly repeated to the cashier that I had coupons until he finally responded. (I think I know how a toddler feels now. We just want responded to, okay?) Grand total saved at store #1: 5 bucks. (Insert profanity of choice here.)

Next stop: Dinner at Fridays. When our bill came to $30, my supportive husband pointed out that it actually only cost us $25 thanks to my couponing. That was a nice way of looking at it.

Off to store #2 where we immediately got into an argument in the toothpaste isle over whether the coupon was for a four ounce tube or a forty ounce tube. It got ugly. And for future reference, there is no such thing as a 40 oz tube of toothpaste. Now we know.

Two hours later, we were finally ready to check-out and bring this nightmare to an end. My husband asked if I could handle checking out by myself while he went to the bathroom. (Give me some credit....of course I can.) But when neither the cashier nor myself could figure out the individual cost of a package of cheese that was 3 for $5, I lay my head on the handle of my cart and said, "I give up."

The nice woman behind me came to my rescue. I turned to thank her and noticed her super-cool coupon organizer complete with built in calculator. I'm betting her name is on the "Good stay at home mom list" and that her bedtime stories don't scare her toddler. Whatever. Grand total saved at store #2: 7 bucks. (Gritting teeth so as not to cuss in front of Mrs. Cleaver behind me.)

I finished checking out and stopped outside the bathrooms to wait for my husband. I didn't think much of the small crowd of women gathered there until my husband casually strolled out of the Womens Restroom. Wow. Let's just blame the coupons, shall we?

Operation Basic Needs

Last fall, a friend who works at an orphanage in Mexico asked if we'd like to 'adopt' a brother & sister to send Christmas gifts to. We accepted and she emailed us their Christmas wish list. As the mother of 4 kids who has seen her fair share of Christmas wish lists, I was shocked to see some of the items these two children in Mexico had on theirs. Shampoo. Feminine hygiene products. Soap. Basic needs. And my heart broke.

I contacted my friend and she explained that although the orphanage provides a limited supply of hygiene products, the kids see it as a luxury to have their own. And my heart broke again. Not once have any of my children looked at a bottle of shampoo and considered it a luxury. They have no idea how good they have it.

We decided to follow through with this brother & sister by sending them a care box of basic needs every 4 months. As April approached and I purchased the supplies, I began to wonder how it could be possible for every child (or sibling group) to receive a care box of basic needs a few times a year.....and then I became overwhelmed at the prospect and dismissed it.

That Sunday, our pastor preached a sermon about the power of the Holy Spirit. He compared it to the power of a Lamborghini. He challenged us to stop trying to manually control everything and to start tapping into the power that God has provided. And the basic needs idea came to mind again and I contacted my friend at the orphanage.

In all honesty, I was secretly hoping she'd reply that it wasn't a good idea. That there's not really a need for that. Basically, I wanted off the hook. But she jumped on it. (Oh no.) And I began to panic. I was blow drying my hair and wondering what I'd just gotten myself into when I felt God speak to me. (He used to talk to me when I mowed the grass but when Ron revoked my mowing privileges, God resorted to cornering me while I blow dry my hair. And unfortunately, He's not usually saying "Great job down there!" but rather picking away at an area of my heart that needs to change.)

I felt God tell me to get out His way. My part in this became very clear. All I need to do is spread the word. And then I'm going to get out of His way and watch Him move.

So here it goes. There is an orphanage in Mexico who has a total (at this time) of 78 orphans. (This is where I would be panicking again, if not for access to my "Lamborghini.") Twenty sibling groups and twenty-one independent children. I believe that every one of these children should have access to their own supply of basic needs.

My intent for this blog entry isn't to guilt, pressure or even ask anything of anyone. I'm simply spreading the word. I'm also starting a Facebook Page called "Operation Basic Needs." All I ask is that if God nudges you in any way to join us in this ministry, could you please answer by contacting me? Let me know if you have questions or would like to 'adopt' a child or sibling group to send a care box to and I'll set you up with all the information. And if you feel led, could you help me spread the word? Also, please feel free to contact me if you'd like to help but cost is an issue. Thank you!

The ways you can contact me are:
1. Leave a comment through this blog with your email address or contact information. (It won't be published.)
2. Contact me through the "Operation Basic Needs" Facebook page and I'll message you.
3. Message me through my Facebook page for those who are on my friend list.
4. For those who have my email or phone, please feel free to contact me that way as well.

'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for Me.' (Matthew 25:40)

Some answers to some questions I've received:
1. How much does shipping cost? (The post office offers flat rate shipping ranging in price from $4.95 - $14.95. The basic needs for one child can typically fit into the $4.95 packaging. No weight limit.)
2. What are some of the basic needs? (The needs can vary depending on the gender and the age of the child but the basic hygiene needs are shampoo, lotion, soap, toothpaste, & toothbrush. I send out a list of other ideas and shipping info when I match you up. Please feel free to specify an age, gender, single child or sibling group if you have a preference!)