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I am telling you!

I am at Alexis' gymnastics class. My mother and I are sitting in the waiting area that is in this little room behind these wall-to-wall windows where you can see the kids in the gym. The chairs are all lined up in rows about 10 chairs to a row, about 6-7 rows deep. We are sitting, our legs crossed, just watching Alexis in the gym.

Then the CRAZINESS begins.

These two boys (whose mother is MIA) begin to chase each other all around this very crowded room. They run, they race, they yell loudly. They squeeze in front of my mother and I, and run on down the isle. My mother grunts.

Then ... they did it AGAIN! Even louder, even faster ... right over our feet and purses. My mother grunts and huffs.

And ... AGAIN! They run past us, squealing loudly, arms flapping, spit flying, squeezing through and trampling our feet. My mother wants to say something - badly - (I want my mother to say something) but ... she just mumbles and then huffs and then grunts.

I just move my legs.

I do look around the room - wait patiently for the mother of these unruly children to save us - wait for some mom voice to say, "Get. Over. Here. Now!" It never comes - no voice.

So, I get up and go to another room, near the front desk and front door (leaving my mother behind). I find a seat and get out my laptop.

Now ... there are 4 boys - screaming, sliding on their knees in the lobby, racing their small cars on the floor and banging them loudly into the walls, climbing on the chairs and jumping off. Four, loud boys ... about ages 8 down to 3 years old. All cute ... but very loud. The littlest one kept screaming, I mean SCREAMING, "Ethan. ETHAN. ETHAN, I NEED YOU TO LISTEN TO ME!" While Ethan - totally ignored him and just kept running his Hot Wheels car across the window next to me (SKREEEEETTTCCHHHH!!!)

I gaze on this MADNESS, laptop on my lap ... and watch ... and wait ... in complete astonishment. In my head I am thinking (WHERE. IS. YOUR. MOTHER?). I stay quiet.

Finally ... the girl (about 18 years old) behind the front desk, says, "Boys, BOYS, BOYS, BOYS - You are going to have to keep it down," and then turns and goes back behind her desk.

Two of the boys sat down and the older of the two got this very fearful look on his face. The little one sat next to him and followed what his brother was doing - nothing, but sitting, at this point. Ethan and his loud little brother, remained rowdy even after the 18 year old reprimanded them once again.

Mind you, I am sitting ... with my laptop on my lap and only looking up at this CRAZY MADNESS every so often - hoping soon it will all disappear. I am minding my own business.

Suddenly ... she appears.

The mother.

A mother.

She sees her two boys sitting quietly in the chairs close to me and she says, "Why are you sitting down (I swear!) - Did they make you sit down?" and she looks at me. She means me ... I know she means me ... but I do not look up - I am minding my own business!

Her son just grunts something inaudible - he is embarrassed that he had been reprimanded by the 18 year old girl. The mother begins to pace a bit and ... I fully expect her to address me at any moment. I am fully prepared to ... raise my hand and point at the 18 year old girl ... but I never have too.

The CRAZY mother - gathered up her CRAZY kids - and left. I could hear her drilling her boy as they walked out the door, "Did they tell you to sit down? Did they?" and her annoyingly LOUD voice then faded ... into the darkness of the night. Along with her CRAZY boys!

Shortly after she left ... MIA mother #2 showed up and casually rounded up her hooligans, Ethan and baby brother ... and slipped into the darkness as well.

The 18 year old girl, stood up, leaned over the desk, looked at me and rolled her eyes and smiled. I just shook my head.

On the upside ... It's a good thing my mother bit her tongue - she would have never won that fight (these were two really BIG women)!!

There once was a mother.

She was a very busy mother - as most mothers are.

On this one night, she looked at the clock.

It was getting late.

She yelled, "Time for bed! Get your pajamas on - your teeth brushed - your face and hands washed - your hair brushed - GET IN BED," she was using her drill-sergeant voice!

She walked down the hallway near her little son's bedroom.

She stopped.

It hit her.

"Son, " she stuck her head in his room, "Have you had a shower lately?"

The son, in a jovial voice, said, "Not since Monday, Mom."

The busy mother took in a deep breath and hung her head.

Could it really be possible?

Was he telling the truth?

Think back - think, think ... she frantically thought to herself.

Yes - he was right.

"Okay - GO GET IN THE SHOWER!" she raised her drill-sergeant voice and waited in the hallway to see if her son would come running.

He did.

On the upside ... The mother is a very busy mother. The mother is also a very lucky mother. Lucky .... that her son has not yet realized that a mother that does not insist that her son have a bath or shower for five days ---- is normally viewed as miserable mother. She hopes the boy will continue to be oblivious - at least until she, one day soon - hopefully ... gets her pathetic act together. (*sigh*)

The boy sat quietly.

His mother, driving the van, hummed along with the country song coming from the radio.

Over the sound of the music, the mother heard her son say, "Mom. Do you think that there has been someone born on everyday - everyday, in the history of the world?"

The mother thought for a moment about this question, shook her head and said, "No. Thousands of years ago, when there weren't so many people on the earth, I am sure there were days when there were no people born at all."

The boy then said, "What about these days? Is there someone born every single day?"

The mother quickly shook her head and said, "Yes. There is a baby born in the world, something like every three seconds. That means there are thousands of babies born every single day," she looked into her rear view mirror at her little boy's face.

"Wow! he said."

"And," the mother went on, "I suppose that there are the same amount of people that die every minute - everyday."

The little boy stayed quiet and then said, "I find that extraordinary."

"What?" the mother asked.

"That so many people are born at the same time that there are people dying," he went very quiet again.

The mother smiled. "I agree - it is extraordinary."

"Death is kinda scary, isn't it Mom?" the boy spoke in a sweet voice.

The mother felt a chill race across the back of her neck. "Yes, it is, a little scary. But ... you know what makes it not so scary?" she waited to see what her son might say.

"Yes," he answered quickly, "Jesus."

The mother was very proud. "Yes - it makes it so much easier to accept death if you believe that you will be going to heaven to live with God. And ... heaven is supposed to be a million times better than it is even here on earth," she smiled at her son in the mirror. "Can you imagine that?"

The boy remained still and then he said, in the most confident voice, "Yes, I can. I can see it - in my mind."

And when the mother looked back in the mirror, she saw her sweet son with his eyes closed, his head rested back against the seat and a soft smile on his face. She thought to herself ... I'll just bet you can ... see it all very clearly in your mind.

Can you Imagine?

Little Billy's mother has her hands full.

She's got herself 4 kids.

She's got herself a busy life - as most mothers do.

She's the sounding board for most every word that comes out of her children's mouths and every thought that pops into their little minds.

She's the go-to person for advise --

For Band Aids --

For ...

The fixing of all broken toys.

She is the finder of ALL LOST THINGS!

She is a cool mom (the coolest - really) - but ... there are certainly times when she is ... TIRED!

Times when she might just say things to shush a rambling or whining child.

She might just elaborate statements - so as to make a child feel happier or put them in a better mood.

She might even - lie!

"So ..." Little Billy is standing next to the sink in the kitchen, "Can M spend the night tonight?" he asks, in an excited voice - so sure this question directed at his mother - the mother seated at the kitchen table - the one trying desperately to enjoy her delicious brisket and potato salad - will ... answer a quick, "YES", and then Little Billy can run happily on his way to call his buddy.

"NO!" is the answer that comes out of his mother's mouth.

Little Billy's shoulders slump.

His eyes dart back and forth.

He becomes fidgety and begins to shuffle his way across the kitchen to stand in front of her.

"But - you said," he tries very hard not to whine. He tries very hard to maintain his composure. He says, "Last night - you said, 'Maybe' - and you said it --- so positive," he is obviously confused.

Little Billy's mother shoves another bite of brisket into her lying mouth and thinks to herself how funny it is that the older kids would have picked up immediately on this stalling tactic the mother often uses to pacify a situation.

The older children would have easily seen through this feeble attempt on the mother's part to offer a statement, such as 'Maybe' --- even if offered in a chipper voice --- as merely a ploy -- a tactic -- a lie!

Poor Little Billy - he's got so much still to learn.

On the upside ... The mother showed pity on the boy child and changed her answer to "YES". How could she resist? He was so darling - standing there all wide-eyed and trusting (*evil mom throws her head back and laughs ... nearly choking heself to death on a mouthful of brisket*)

The Princess came to my room last evening, threw herself down on the floor and started saying, "There are two kinds of bears - teddy bears and bears." Then she said, "Oh yeah, grizzly. There are three kinds of bears - teddy bears, bears and grizzly." She was talking to herself, rolling around on her back, holding both feet in her hands, up in the air. I didn't have the time to clarify this "bear" list and tell her about polar bears, panda bears, black bears, koala bears, etc., because God knows, then we'd have been talking for an hour about all the bears. I decided that I would tell her later. I just let her continue to talk to herself - something she is quite happy doing.

Speaking of stuffed bears, one day, a couple of months ago, my mother came over to our house and caught me in the process of putting yet more things (boxes and furniture - even some stuffed bears) in the garage, to then be donated to Goodwill. She asked what I was doing. I explained that I was cycling stuff out of my house - moving out old stuff in order to make room for the new stuff.

In my mother's generation, their houses were set up a certain way and they pretty much didn't change things. My mother's wasn't a generation that felt the need to go out and buy new bed spreads to update the look of their bedrooms or new dishes because they got tired of the old ones. My mother has the same stuff in her house now that she had when I was growing up. She has bought new stuff over the years, of course, but she just arranges that new stuff in with the old stuff and makes it work (there's "bearly" room to walk, but ...). Her generation is of the thinking that if it still works, you don't throw it out. If you don't want it and can't find anyone else in the family that wants it - you put it in the attic.

Shortly after that day in my garage, we came across a big screen TV that some friends of mine were getting rid of and we (my brother and I) decided that it would be nice if my mother had it. We figured she should come into the 21st century and finally get rid of the console TV she has had for thirty years. So ... we got this new TV and we helped move it to her living room. Just about the time we figured she was going to put that old console TV in the garage - to get rid of - she announced that she wanted to put it in another room as, "It still works," she said. "We know it still works," my brother and I said in unison, "That's not the point. The point is that it's easily thirty years old and you have to look at the floor when you watch it." We moved it for her - into the other room. It will be there when she dies and we will inherit it in her will: "To Kellan ... I leave my 1976 Magnivox Console TV." I hope I get it, so I can put in in my garage and finally cycle it away.

We are certainly a generation of change - my mother's was not. In some ways I am very much like my mother, but in many ways we are very different. As different as my mother and I are, I am sure it will be the same with me and my children. I can't wait to see the things my children find peculiar about me when they are in their forties and I am seventy years old.

On the upside ... all that actual good stuff in my mother's house, we will also inherit in her will.

I'd like to wish my mother a Happy Mother's Day!

I'd like to wish all of my family - those that are mothers - a Happy Mother's Day!

I'd like to wish all of my friends that are mothers - a Happy Mother's Day!

I'd like to wish all of my Mommy Blogger friends - a Happy Mother's Day!

And to my children ... I just want to say ... I am very proud to be your mother!

Happy Mother's Day!

There once was a mother.

She had herself a set of twin girls.

Five years later... she had herself a son.

Four years later ... she had a little daughter.

She had herself ... 4 more children ... than she ever saw herself having and yet ... she became a mother.

She spent many, many, many years - raising all these kids.

Sixteen years - to be exact.

Raising all these kids.

One day ... the boy child, sat upon the mother's bed.

"Why do you do all that typing? Writing stories and such? Why do you do that?" the boy child asked of his very devoted mother.

The mother looked at the boy. "I like to write. I like to come up with stories," she said, and then smiled most sweetly into her little boy's face.

The boy child jumped down off of the mother's bed, turned to walk out of her room and then looked back and said, most casually, "It would be really good if you were a real writer," he took another step. "That way you would have something to do."

And ... then he was gone.

On the upside ... If ... having been a mother for 16 years is representative of "having nothing to do" - then ... this particular mother would absolutely not be capable of taking on a profession - such as that of a honest to goodness real writer. Nope - she could never handle it!

They entered the dimly lit CICU hospital room and lingered in the shadows by the doorway.

I could see them clearly, standing together. I knew they were there and yet it was as if I was seeing their shadows in a bright light at the end of a long corridor. As if they were not close at all - and not real, but a dream.

My heart raced and then slowed. Tears welled in my eyes at the sight of my sweet family.

My son stood beside his father and his sisters and tried to put on a brave face. His little sister walked bravely to the side of my bed, looked me in the eyes and cried, "When are you coming home, Mama?" Tears rolled down the cheeks of my tiny girl as she buried her face in my lap. My son stayed back.

He has never been a mama's boy. It has not been until the past year or so that the boy has been drawn to his mother. They have grown close. It has been such a pleasure to see him grow and become a young man, and at the same time ... fall in love with his mother, like a small child.

I would look over and there he'd be - staring at me. Not saying much, but watching my every move and listening to the chatter of his sisters and soft whispers of his sick mother. He eventually moved close to the side of my bed - close enough for me to place my hand on his back and urge him closer. He leaned, cautiously, on the edge of my bed, looking over his shoulder into my eyes and offering sporadic heart warming smiles. It was obvious that he was afraid.

I could not sit up. I could barely breath or string together a coherent sentence. But ... I was able to see the look in my son's eyes. The look in my daughter's eyes. The look in my husband's eyes. I saw the fear. I saw the connection - to me. I saw ... the longing and the love.

When the visit was over and the family began to pull away from the mother and move into the hallway, one by one ... the son lingered behind. He snuck back to his mother's side. He smiled sweetly. He said, "Bye, Mom," and then he walked away.

The mother was sure the son had gone and then ... he returned to her side once again, like a flash of light from heaven. He took her arm gently and hugged it to his chest. He did not look up when he whispered, "I love you Mom. I miss you Mom," and then he turned again and he was gone.

It scared the mother to be left alone. To feel so sick. To feel the sadness and see the fear in the eyes of her children. But ... it was also a brilliant moment in the mother's life. The time when her loved ones gathered around her ...

to protect her ...

to support her ...

to raise her up.

She felt loved.

She was loved.

It was dark, but ...

It was going to be okay.

This is a contest

There are all kinds of mothers.

There are working mothers.

There are stay-at-home-mothers.

There are grandmothers.

There are mother's-in-law.

There are good mothers.

There are bad mothers.

There are famous mothers.

There are infamous mothers.

There are historic mothers.

There are f-other m-uckers.

Then ...

There are ...

Those mothers ...

That BLOG!!

There are no other mothers like BLOGGING MOTHERS!!

Am I right?

I am a BLOGGING MOTHER.

And ...

Being a mother that BLOGS, I am always - ALWAYS - A.L.W.A.Y.S ...

Looking for the next BLOG story.

I am.

So ...

I am on the phone the other day.

Just so happens I am on the phone with another BLOGGING MOTHER.

Not just any BLOGGING MOTHER, but ...

A FAMOUS BLOGGING MOTHER!

She and I have become friends over the past year or so and we recently decided that since we both plan on going to the BlogHer '09 Conference this July in Chicago (WOO HOO!), we would room together. After discussing this and finalizing our decision to do so, we talked on the phone to settle some reservation-making details.

During the course of our conversation - after talking a bit about her life and a bit about of mine - after discussing the conference and hashing over details - after about 10 minutes or so into the conversation - something happened.

Something happened on her end of the phone.

It was funny.

It made me laugh.

I said ...

"You know I'm going to blog about this!"

But ... I then assured her that I would never do that - it would stay just between us - I would never blog about her life on MY blog - never, never, never!!! It's an unspoken rule. I'd never do that.

She gave me permission to tell this story.

So ...

While we are on the phone, I can hear her kids playing in the background. Every so often, one will come close to her, ask her a question, she will answer and off they go back to playing - leaving their FAMOUS MOM BLOGGER to her business.

Then ... her boy child comes back, "Why do you have your helmet on?" she asks the child. "Do you want to wear your helmet? Well ... okay," and she returns to our conversation.

"He wants to wear his helmet?" I ask.

"Yes," she says.

"Are you outside?" I ask.

"No ... he just likes to wear it - so I let him wear it."

I don't need any further explaination to this - I get it.

She goes on to tell a VERY CUTE story about how one evening they took the kids to dinner and the boy child insisted on wearing his new helmet and how she - the FAMOUS MOM BLOGGER - felt sure that people in the restaurant surely must have thought that he was a "special" child. (She needs to write that whole story on her blog - it's a great story.)

So then ... after she and I talk another minute or so, the boy child returns and she says, "What do you mean you dropped your popcorn? Where did you even get any popcorn?" she explains to me that he has popcorn spilt and there are bits and pieces of popcorn all in the grooves of his helmet - I get the visual.

Then she says, "I'll make you guys some new popcorn," and she goes about putting the bag in the microwave - all the while continuing our conversation at the same time.

A bit of time lapses - the popcorn is done and given to the kids - we continue to talk.

A short time later, the boy child returns again and she says, "I see you spilt it. That's okay, just pick it back up and put it in your bowl - it's okay - you can still eat it. Just put it back in your bowl," she is trying to convince him and I am imagining him standing there - eyes wide and tearfilled - looking at the popcorn on the floor - looking up at FAMOUS MOM BLOGGER - but I never hear him say anything so I believe she is convincing him. Then she says, "Or ...... just sit right there and eat it off the floor."

It was at this point that my BLOGGING MOM radar went off!

I tried to ignore it.

I tried to turn the radar off and just giggle through the moment, but ..

I could not help myself ...

I said ...

That famous line we MOMMY BLOGGERS are known for ...

You know the one ...

I said ...

"You know I'm going to blog about this!"

Now ...

I'm going to offer a list of BLOGGING MOTHERS and give you the opportunity to guess which of these moms is the MOTHER BLOGGER that told her boy child, "It's okay, it won't hurt you - just eat the popcorn off the floor."

Who do you think it is?

Kat from Seeking Sanity

Karen from The Rocking Pony

Karen Meg from A Day In The Life ... One Glass At A Time

Holly from June Cleaver Nirvana

Elaine from Miss Elaine-ous Life

Rachel from From The Land Of Monkeys And Princesses

Kami from Kami's Khlopchyk

JCK from Motherscribe

I love this story because - I have been known myself to encourage children of mine to ... eat food off of the floor.

I know there are mothers out there that might very well frown upon a mother that would encourage her child to eat food off of the floor - but - I am not one of those mothers.

I get it!

I've been there!

I've done it!

I LOVED IT!

On the upside ... This is a contest. Leave me your guess in the comments and you will be entered in my contest to win a $25.00 gift card to Target. I know - I don't normally do contests, but I thought it would be fun guessing which mother said this. You don't have to be right with your guess - you just have to choose one name and leave a comment. I hope you take the opportunity to visit all of these women and try to figure out who it was. I will leave the contest up through Friday (1/23/09) evening, 9:00 p.m., and then on Saturday sometime, I will announce the winner and also let you know which of these bloggers gave me permission to tell this story (and who it is that will be my roomie in Chicago for the conference).

During a trip to Wal-Mart recently, my mother came along.

It was her and I and Alexis and Little Billy.

We made our way through the store, finding Birthday gifts - finding shoes for Alexis - finding cleaning supplies - finding some food.

After a while, the group of us ended up in the ladies clothing department - me with my buggy looking at t-shirts and my mother with hers near the swim wear.

I was not so far away that I missed this conversation.

My mother - talking to herself - talking to me - talking to who? - I'm not sure - she says, "A bikini. I'd like to wear a bikini again one day - before I die."

I look over and I smile (*she's obviously delusional - been on Jenny Craig for a couple of months - thinks she's taken off 30 years, I guess - along with those 30 lbs. - tee hee*)

My son, sitting on the ground - waiting for this ladies-department-browsing-to-come-to-an-end-soon - hears this bizarre comment made by his 70 year old grandmother.

I look over and notice him glance up at her and say, "Whhaa-t?"

My mother repeats this nonsense and laughs.

My son giggles almost uncontrollably and says, "I think you need to forget that idea," hoping his grandmother takes his advise seriously.

I look over at my mother - my 70 year old mother - and she has a look on her face like she is seriously insulted.

Then, my son says, "I think that would scar me for life," and he puts his face in his hands and rubs his eyes, like he's trying to rub the image off of the back side of his eyelids.

I look over at my mother and smile (*she's obviously delusional - been on Jenny Craig for a couple of months - thinks she's taken off 30 years, I guess - along with those 30 lbs - tee hee*).

On the upside ... She was serious. I know her well enough to know that - she was serious. I will do everything I can, to try to talk her out of such a mistake - but, I likely will not be successful. I can only hope that when it happens that Little Billy is not around - it could very possibly ... scar him for life. Me too - for that matter (tee hee)!

My mother is often around.

She does not live far from my sister, brother and I and so she often comes over to spend time with me and the kids.

She spends time with us at the lake.

She often comes along on family vacations.

She lives alone and is happy to have her time and space - but, she also enjoys the time she spends with her family.

Sometimes, though - she takes trips and is gone for periods of time.

She gets a nice little vacation.

She gets a nice little break ... from us.

We get a nice little break ... from her (tee hee).

Recently, my mother's youngest sister and her husband left their home in West Virginia and flew down to Texas.

They planned a trip with my mother.

They got into my mother's car and headed off together on a cross country road trip.

They were going to ... Colorado

And then ... Wyoming and Montana.

And on to Washington.

On a Thursday morning, I picked up the phone and dialed my mother's cell phone.

She answered quickly, "HELLO!" she SCREAMED into the phone.

"Mother," I said.

"YES - HI!" she bellowed.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"WE'RE JUST ABOUT TO CROSS OVER INTO WY-OM-ING," she is talking SO LOUD, like she does when she talks to folks that can't speak English - I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

"Mother," I say.

"YES."

"I can hear you," I whisper.

"Oh."

Like I said ...

We get a nice little break ... from her too.

On the upside ... I honestly don't think she believed she was actually YELLING ... ALL THE WAY FROM WY-OM-ING ... but ... if I had gone out on my back porch ... I'll just bet I could have heard her and ... since I DO speak English - I'd have understood EVERY WORD!

When I had my twins - 15 years ago - I think I was a pretty good mother.

I think I was like most new mothers, in that I did everything by the book. I kept them on a schedule, I burped them after each feeding, I gave them a bath nearly every single day, I put shoes and socks on their feet, I brushed their hair and put lovely pony-tails on the sides of their heads. I was a good mom.

The more kids I began to have, the farther and farther I began to stray from the "model mother" persona that I once resembled. Actually, it probably began to fade long before I actually gave birth to my son. The beginning of the downward spiral was - oh ... probably after about the first year after my twins were born.

So ... that means - if am going to be honest - that I have been a less than "model mother" for at least 15 years - giving myself credit for being exceptional for merely one year!

Yep - that sounds about right.

I have been very aware of this failing for many, many years. It bothers me, of course, and I often try to do better - but, I am just a mediocre mom in most regards. I yell - far too much! I complain - far too much! I set very high expectations - way too much! On some things - like school - I think I am pretty successful as a mother. And, in raising some pretty fun, loving and socially adept children - I have done well. But ... there are certainly some areas that I am miserable at and have failed pathetically. I am a mediocre mom. I know all this.

Yesterday, Alexis came over to where I was sitting on the couch and stood in front of me.

In her hand she held a banana.

I watched as she began eating this banana.

Suddenly ... I saw ... as she folded down the peel, the nastiest bruise on the side of the banana.

In my mind I thought, "Is she going to keep eating that yucky, bruised banana?"

She took another bite.

In my mind I thought, as I squinted my eyes and my stomach turned a flip, "Is she going to eat that yucky part of that banana?"

She took yet another bite.

In my mind I thought, "Should I tell her? Should I tell her?" and then I watched, through squinted eyelids (because I couldn't watch out-right or I felt like I surly might throw up), as she took a big bite - eating the yucky bruised part of the banana.

She stood in front of me and ate the whole banana - yucky, squishy, bruised parts and all.

I let her.

I never said a word.

I debated about telling her, but thought, "It won't kill her. If she likes the taste and the texture doesn't bother her - let her eat it. I wouldn't eat it, but it won't kill her. It shouldn't do anything to her, other than encourage astonishment from others if she ever does it around anyone outside of our house. That's okay - my sister has been known to eat boiled shrimp - shells and all (blech!) - Alexis will fit right in - as long as she always sits next to my sister. "

Being as Alexis is the 4th child - it occurred to me - while I watched her eat this banana - that I would have had a hard time eating - that I have never told that child about rotten fruit. Either that - or she chose to ignore this lesson and has decided to distinguish between those things she will eat and won't eat, on her own. I prefer to believe the latter.

This is just an example of how my mothering skills have seriously deteriorated over the years. Somewhere along the way, I stopped teaching the lesson about rotten fruit.

I'm certain there are many other lessons that I have failed to teach Alexis that I probably taught my first born children - because she is at the tail-end of our line of children and also because she has been stuck with me as her mother (*sigh*).

I hope she survives.

On the upside ... I guess with Alexis around, not much fruit will ever go to waste in our house. And ... when my kids eat boiled shrimp, I'll try to remind them to peel the shells off first. My poor sister - she didn't realize you weren't supposed to eat the shells until I told her (you should have seen my face when I saw her crunching on those shrimp and then how we laughed - HA!) - just this past summer - she's in her 40's. I wonder why our mother never told my poor sister to take off those shells? Maybe my poor mothering skills aren't my fault at all - maybe it's just a disease that has been passed down from generation to generation in our family. That's probably what happened. We're just defective or genetically challenged in the mothering department.

When you're five years old ... you one day decide that you can put on your own shoes and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're eight years old ... you one day decide that you can ride your bike on your own and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're ten years old ... you one day decide that you can choose your own clothes and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're twelve years old ... you one day decide that you can make your own breakfast and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're thirteen years old ... you one day decide that you can decorate your own room and you plaster posters on the walls and you won't let you mother help you.

When you're fifteen years old ... you one day decide that you can shop at the mall for your own clothes and you won't let your mother help you.

When you're seventeen years old you can ...

Put on your shoes by yourself.

Drive yourself to school, to parties, to the mall and and to your friends' houses.

Pick out your own clothes and cool outfits.

Make yourself breakfast and lunch and dinner and pick up chili-cheese-fries and a Route 44 cherry lime-aide from Sonic all by yourself and anytime you want.

Put posters and pictures of your friends and art you created and any crap you want on your walls and ceilings and behind the door of your room.

You can hang out at the mall and spend countless hours wasting time and spending far too much of you parents' money.

But ...

When your dad one day asks ...

"Courtney - can you pick me up some charcoal on your way home from Starbucks?"

You will likely say ...

"I don't know where to buy charcoal," and shoot your father the most innocent of childish grins.

"At the 7-11. You can pick me up some charcoal at the 7-11," your father will say nicely.

Then, you will likely say ...

"I don't know how to buy charcoal," and shoot your father the most innocent of childish grins.

"You just pick up the bag, walk up to the check-out counter and pay the guy," your father will advise.

Then, you will likely say ...

"Don't you have to be like 18 or something to buy charcoal?" and flash your father the most ridiculously confused smile.

"Uh - no," your father will respond.

Then, you will likely say ...

"But ... there are those things that kids aren't allowed to buy. Isn't charcoal like one of those things kids can't buy unless they're like 18 years old or something?" and flash your father the fakest confused smile you can conjure up.

"Uh - no," your father will respond. "It's charcoal, Courtney," he will say, a confused look riddling his fatherly face. "Charcoal. You do know what charcoal is?"

Then, you will likely say ...

"Uh - no."

On the upside ... *sigh*

*Note: The second picture of an innocent Courtney is a charcoal self-portrait done by Courtney.

-

I voted for Barack Obama - I'm just going to put it out there - SO THERE IT IS!

My mom is beside herself.

She can't believe we are of the same blood line.

She is ashamed and disappointed in my brother, sister and I - as any good REPUBLICAN mother would be that had three kids she raised up to be good REPUBLICANS who then went behind her back and voted for Barack Obama.

If it makes her feel any better - all 4 of my kids - count them - F.O.U.R! - voted for John McCain! Now ... my kids are only 16, 16, 11 and 7 years old, but ... they were asked to vote - at their schools - and each one came home and proudly announced who they voted for and were extremely proud to be part of the process. And ... Alexis - the 7 year old - was the only one distraught when I told her she voted for the wrong guy.

I made the HUGE mistake of trying to have a rational discussion with my twins about their choices. I have no pull with these girls. If I say black - they say white --- it's true and it will be that way until we all die! I was that way with my mother (hence the Obama vote *tee hee*) and they are that way with me. They voted for McCain just to piss me off.

I guess my mother could say I voted for Obama just to piss her off - but saying a thing does not make it so. I voted for Obama to piss off not just her - but ... ALL REPUBLICANS! No, not really. That was a joke. Did it get all you REPUBLICANS riled up? Sorry - I couldn't resist.

I'm neither Republican nor Democrat. I vote the person. But ... my brother, sister and I love when an election comes around where we sway Democrat (like this election) and we have the opportunity to cast our vote in the opposite direction our mother believes we should. We love to see her face when she hears we are not in her camp. She needs to lighten up. And ... she needs to stop telling people that Barack Obama is The Antichrist. We all know that Bush is The Antichrist. Oooooh - I'll bet that riled up some Republican readers. It's just a joke. We "liberals" love a good Antichrist joke.

I would have been okay, I guess, if McCain had won the election - I was not adamantly opposed to him and I got a real kick out of Sarah Palin, but ... I did worry a bit about having to see his angry face on TV for the next four years. Yes ... he seems angry to me. But, he did lighten up a lot once he brought Sarah Palin on board and I was beginning to believe he wouldn't be all that hard to watch. But, now ... it's Barack that has the serious face every time I turn on the TV. I want him to be serious. I think he is very intelligent and that is what I am counting on to help dig us out of this hole we have been pushed into over the past 8 years, but ... his serious face is scaring me a bit. Makes me wonder what all he's seeing and hearing and learning in these private meetings he's been having with Bush, up there in the White House.

I don't know if Barack Obama is the answer to this country's problems or if he will do a great job as our new President, but the way I see it - it can't get much worse and I'm hoping and praying he's got some answers! If not - my mother will never let me hear the end of it.

I guess that's fair, though, as I've definitely blamed HER for HER choice of Presidents for getting us into all this mess. If my vote for "the wrong man" happens to dig us in deeper or fails to offer serious and legitimate alternatives and answers to this nation's serious problems, then ... I'm big enough to admit that I was wrong. I don't think I am.

As for my children - someone obviously got to them before I could explain to them that - I don't care who they vote for. It's their choice and should be based on their beliefs and convictions. It doesn't piss me off because they don't follow my lead. I've decided that that only really works if you are REPUBLICAN. Boy ... do they get their panties in a wad when they find out you voted the other way! My mom and family and friends that are REPUBLICAN think I'm a complete idiot - What's the matter with you? Can't you see what you are doing? Have you lost your mind? How can you be so clueless?

It makes me laugh.

*For those of you that don't agree with a thing I have said, feel free to leave a comment that simply says, "I'm with your mom." Don't go all crazy on me and leave all sorts of mean comments about how we are all doomed and I am an idiot - my mom's got all of your Republican backs and she's already making sure I know all this and makes sure I am aware of this every chance she gets.

**Also, I'd like to invite you to come back by tomorrow to see "Katie Couric's Farewell Interview With Sarah Palin" - another one of my silly doll stories.

My father reminded me of a story recently. A story about my mother.

One day, my mother went to the grocery store. She came home, took a load of groceries up to the forth floor (of our temporary housing - apartment), set the groceries on the floor outside the door of our apartment and then went back to the car. She then brought the second load of groceries back to the third floor and when she came up to the door of our actual apartment, she screamed to her family that someone had stolen her groceries. They ... of course ... were still sitting on the forth floor.

My mother is a hoot. She's always been this way ... not so much scattered brained ... but a little loopy sometimes. We love her for that.

The other day, on the way to my son's football game, my mother road to the game with me. At some point she said, "There's been news reports about that flesh eating virus (I say, "Oh no ... here we go with the new reports" ... in my head) here in San Antonio," and then she pauses and I say, "Uh, huh," because I know what is coming next (she's going to say that it's germ warfare) and then she says, "I think it's germ warfare," in a tone that says "And you know I'm right about this." I say, "I know," (in a tone that says "You are watching too much news"). That discussion drops.

Then ... she proceeds to morf into her alter-ego "Madam Tour Guide". This is where she starts to point out all the new buildings going up, the streets under construction, the buildings being torn down, the store she'd heard about, the neighborhood a friend of hers lives in, the route she used to take to get to the airport, the beauty of flowers in someones yard, the size of a magnificent tree or the restaurant she'd really like to try. The tour goes something like this:

"Would you look at that! I heard they were moving that JCPenny over here. I haven't been on this side of town in along time. There used to be a French restaurant somewhere right around here that Milly and I ate at once; Oh, look ... there it is ... right there ... on the corner. What was the name of that building? (I dunno) I heard they were putting a new spa over here. Now look ... what they're doing there - is that a new mall? I can't believe they are building another mall. What used to be there? (I dunno). Did you see that beautiful flower bed in that yard? I've never seen such beautiful flowers. Is that the way you get to the zoo? (I dunno). What. Is.That? Is that a new school? Now when did that go up? (I dunno).

I swear! This happens every time she gets into the passenger seat of any car. It is like being on a tour bus ride - only there isn't really any information being given that I truly care about or of any historical value to anyone - well, maybe sometimes.

On the upside ... My mother lives in a one story house now. It's really only the four story structures that she has trouble with ;)

And ... fortunate for us San Antonian's, I don't believe it was germ warfare - not this time - just the flesh eating virus - that's all.

(*You know I love ya Mom*)

Sometimes, a fight is in the air just waiting to be unleashed - let out in an avalanche of rage - in the On The Upside household.

It was one of those mornings.

Somehow, Little Billy made the huge mistake of sitting in front of Courtney and Chloe's computer.

He came running up to the kitchen with tears in his eyes, "It's not fair," he squealed, "The girls won't let me go on the computer - they think I'm the one who got the virus on their computer and so now they say I can never use it again." He was in such distress.

I immediately became - distressed.

These fights - this bickering - is enough to make me resort to all sorts of tactics to resolve matters that seem to find only fuel to escalate the problem when rational suggestions are offered.

"Ask for your own computer for your birthday," I say loudly, knowing the words from my mouth will float past the boy in front of me and downstairs to the ears of his "mean" sisters. "Ask for a laptop," I suggest and then smile.

Little Billy smiles back.

Suddenly, from the family room emerge two angry sisters, bellowing loudly their disbelief that a mother would suggest such a ridiculous idea. "YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" one would scream, "IF HE GETS HIS OWN LAPTOP - I'M MOVING OUT OF HERE," another one threatens. "HE'S ONLY ELEVEN YEARS OLD!" the words are spoken distinctly and spewing spit is attached at the tail-end of the sentences. They were enraged and besides themselves with anger.

They tried and tried to determine if their mother was serious or merely suggesting such an outrageous idea to make a point. They were unable to determine which.

I smiled.

Little Billy snickered and smiled.

The mother knew that the pacifying of the boy child by her suggestion was obviously provoking the two daughters to almost uncontrollable anger - but, she did not back down. The angrier they became - the more she wished a laptop for the boy. It was a test, of sorts - this little game - that THEY FAILED!

The mother shewed the girls out of the room - tiring of their loud voices and angry faces. Once gone, she turned to the boy child, pulled him toward her and whispered in his ear "You're my favorite," and he smiled real big - with a look on his face that suggested that he never doubted this fact.

Little Billy stayed near his mother in the kitchen - probably in an effort to stay clear of angry sisters. After a little while, and several conversations later, Little Billy got up to leave the room. I called him over, "By the way," I said, "You're not really my favorite," I had to set the record straight.

He giggled and then his eyes got big, "W-hat? W-hy?" he was shocked. "Well ... then who is?" he asked seriously

"Well - you know I can't have favorites," I explained, "I love all you kids the same. I was just kidding."

"You can have a favorite - sure you can," he suggested confidently.

"You're my favorite boy," I ran my hand through his hair.

"I'm your only boy," he snarled and then ... walked out of the room.

I screamed after him, "YOU'RE MY FAVORITE BOY IN THE WHOLE WORLD."

No response.

On the upside ... After Little Billy left the room, Alexis cozied up next to me,"I'm your favorite - right?" and smiled real big.

"Are you fighting with anyone?" I asked.

She answered, "No."

"Do you want to move out of this house?" I asked.

She answered, "No."

"Do you want a laptop for your birthday?" I asked.

She answered - "Can I have one?"

I answered, "NO!" and shewed her on her way.

-

So ... we are going to go out to dinner.

My mother is staying with us - we are at the lake.

Time goes by and it is getting late.

I am sitting in the living room, watching the news on TV.

My mom walks in the room."Are we going?" she asks.

"I'm just waiting for everyone to get down here," I'm not really in much of a hurry.

"I thought we were going," my mom seems in more of a hurry than me.

I look over at her. She's ready to go. "I'm waiting for Alexis," I say, and turn my attention back to the news.

My mom sits in a nearby chair. "Where is she? What's she doing?'

"Well ... she's probably putting on make-up," I never look away from the TV.

I know the look on my mother's face without even having to see it (tee hee).

*We are waiting ... for the 6 year old to put on HER MAKE-UP!?!* -- You know -- That look!

I still don't look - I just wait.

A short while later - about 10 minutes or so, Alexis wanders into the living room with her hair clipped up in a (*messy*) bun on the back of her head and make-up generously applied to her little-girl face.

She is ready to go.

We were ready to go.

On the upside ... Alexis looked a bit over-made-up, for a six year old - she did. But ... it wasn't her face that was priceless. You should have seen the look on my mother's face when she realized I was going to let this child go out of the house looking like that! It was a funny sight - my daughter looking like a Mabaline clown and my mother following after her in total shock. (I wonder if my mother knows I do some of this stuff just to mess with her (*HA*).

The other day, I was sitting on my bed.

My laptop was in front of me, my TV was on ... I had a bag of GHIRARDELLI chocolates in my lap.

I opened the bag slowly and reached my hand inside.

I pulled out a chocolate square and was thinking, I can't wait to eat this chocolate. This chocolate is going to be simply delicious - I can't wait to eat this chocolate. Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum ......

When, suddenly ---- at that very same moment that I was about to tear the shiney wrapper from my chocolate square, on the TV ----- came a GHIRARDELLI commercial!

What are the odds of that?

It was wild and crazy and I can now mark it down as one of those weird little moments in my life.

I know ... not really so phenomenal, but it was a moment.

I haven't honestly had too many of those sorts of weird moments in my life - not that stand out - you know.

Once ... my sister and I were shopping together. We walked up to the cash register to check out and she began to talk to the cashier about how I had this whole basket full of stuff, but that somehow, my bill would end up being far less than hers - because I am such a frugal shopper, yada, yada, yada. When the cashier rang up my sister's bill, she stood in front of me with her bagged goods and waited for my stuff to be rung up. When the cashier hit the total button on her register - OUR BILLS WERE EXACTLY THE SAME TOTAL!!!

Another - weird moment - but not earth-shattering or life changing by any stretch of the imagination.

When I was pregnant with my twins - on the morning that I was to go to the doctor (at 4 months) for a sonogram, my husband and I went first to meet with our accountant in her office. I made the statement to our accountant, "If I am right - that I am going to have twins - then we will have two additional deductions on our taxes next year." When we left the accountant's office, I called my mother and asked her to meet us at the doctor's office. I had a feeling that she would want to be there - when the technician was going to announce that she was going to be the grandmother of twins. My mother came. When I was lying on the table in that dark room, my mother stood by my side and rambled on and on to the technician that everyone was always teasing me that I was so big and wouldn't it be really crazy if Kellan were going to have twins and ... just about that time, the technician moved her scanner over my belly, looked my mother in the face and said, "Well ... there are two babies." My mother cried.

Now ... that was a CRAZY moment and ... a LIFE CHANGING moment!

One of the most fabulous and thrilling LIFE CHANGING moments of my life!

Life is definitely like a bag of GHIRARDELLI chocolates ..... each little bit is a moment wrapped in a splendid shiney wrapper and the treat inside has the possibility of being .... SIMPLY DELICIOUS!

Happy Valentine's Day to my sweet children - to my darling husband - to my wonderful family and friends. I love you all very much!

And ... Happy Valentine's Day to all my blogging friends. Our journey together has been just like a piece of chocolate - simply delightful!!

Yesterday, my mom calls me in a state of panic and says, "Kellan, Kellan ... it's me, Mom (*panting*) (and ... I know it's her) ... how do you ... how do you, oh this darn thing ... how do you turn off the printer? It's just printing and spitting out papers (*more panting and grunting*). I've pushed all the buttons - how do you turn it off?"

And ... not long ago she says to me, after missing a call on her cell phone, "Someone just called and it went to my voicemail - I don't know how to get it outta' there."

I was at the nail salon on Monday and there was this woman my mother's age, getting a pedicure (I don't have the time for pedicures - only nails). She was on her cell phone and the call dropped and she said, "Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello," six times. When she reconnected with her party, she then got another call on call-waiting (I say to myself, "uh-oh.") and so she switched over and she said, "Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello. Hello," six times. I swear (it was funny)! I tried not to stare at her from across the room, but I couldn't help it. Her daughter needs to tell her to, "Stop doing that - you look ridiculous - it doesn't do any good saying it over and over again." I don't think she ever connected back to any of her calls (poor thing).

We all have dropped calls - we do - but my generation has definitely learned and embraced the concepts of the mobile phone and computer. We've diligently dedicated ourselves to learning all of their features - have pretty successfully moved from land-line phones to mobile phones - can load and unload our printer paper - rather easily. Not my mother and her friends.

Note to Mother: The voicemail is a pretty important feature on the mobile phone and ... it doesn't reconnect the call if you say, "Hello," six times - it doesn't work.

And, while I am capable of flashing over to a call-waiting call without losing both callers, able to retrieve my voice mail messages daily, able to set my alarm, use my phone calculator and take pictures ... I have to admit that I have yet to master texting (*sigh*).

One day recently, I was making the attempt to text a message to one of my daughters and there I was: (e,e,e,)=C, (e)=A, (eee)=L, (eee)=L, (e)=M, (ee)=E (CALL ME) - it took me 20 minutes to enter this one message (after all the mistakes, starting over erroneously, having difficulty with the sending of it ...). This is where I will be technologically left behind by my children's generation. It starts with the texting and will just go on from there (not that I have ever grasped the concepts of the telegraph, radio waves, microwaves, electricity, airplanes ...).

My brother lives in an older house and on the wall in his kitchen is a wall mounted, rotary dial phone. One of those we used to actually have to lease to have in our houses. Every so often, I intentionally use this phone to make outgoing calls - just so I can use that rotary dial. Those were the good ole' days - when the phone was always in the same place you left it, the mechanics of the thing were self explanatory and they came in colors to match your kitchen appliances.

My kids - they all ignore the rotary phone at my brother's house. I think they are confused by it. Scared of it. Can't quite figure out how to use it. I'm not sure what they think of this relic - but, I love it. It represents a simpler time (not that I want to go back).

On the upside ... my mother has me to help her with the gadgets she doesn't understand and my girls are thrilled that their daddy is fixing up his old 1969 Mustang for them. It won't have airbags, power steering, power breaks or power windows - but I'm sure he could paint it to match their cell phones or IPODS ... if they just want to text him and ask (cuz that's all they do ya know - text all day long - you can't a.c.t.u.a.l.l.y talk to these children!).

I walked into the school wearing my jeans, t-shirt and tennis shoes. I signed in at the office, stuck on a yellow Volunteer sticker on my chest and made my way to my daughter's classroom. I peeked in the door and found that the class was empty, just as I had expected. I grabbed the pile of red Friday folders, positioned a teeny-tiny chair next to the slot-thingy that holds the work papers for all the kids in the class and began my Friday duty - filling the Friday folders - as I have done for, oh ... every single Friday for two months. I am ... The Friday Folder Girl.

As I am sitting, filing memos sent from the office, scored spelling tests, scored math work and beautiful first grade art work, diligently, into each of the children's folders ... the door swings open right next to where I am sitting. Keep in mind, I am on a very tiny chair and sitting practically on the ground when I look up. I see a woman I do not recognize, and she is surprised to see me. I do not say a word.

She says, "I'm here ... are you ... why are you doing the Friday folders?"

I am confused. I am sad for her that she is obviously confused. I say, "What?"

She steps into the classroom. I am now convinced that she too, is a mother, and she says, "I am here to do the Friday folders."

I am just watching her, trying hard not to laugh, because she has obviously not heard that ... I am The Friday Folder Girl. And ... I am confused as to why she is here. Have I been replaced? I can't be replaced. I'd been doing the job for 8 weeks, talked many times with the teacher and never once been informed that I had been replaced. It just doesn't work like that. Once you sign up to volunteer for something - it's your job. You can't REALLY be replaced. I was confused. I said, "What?"

She, the other mom, was now pacing and out of breath, as she had obviously RUN to get to the classroom and finding me there ... well, caught her off guard. She said, again, "I thought I was going to do the folders," this time in a more agitated tone.

I wasn't saying much. I was still sitting in the squatty chair, still working as she was pacing and talking and all I could do was watch her odd behavior and think to myself - "But ... I'M THE FRIDAY FOLDER GIRL! I'VE BEEN DOING IT FOR 8 WEEKS. I'M STILL DOING IT - SEE ... I'M SITTING HERE DOING IT - LIKE I'VE BEEN DOING FOR 8 WEEKS." I was just at a loss for words. I wanted to say these things, but her behavior was so peculiar, sort of fidgety and nervous - as if she was angry that I was there. I eventually stood up ... so as to be taller, and said, "I do the Friday folders," in a tone that said, Back off, you are acting peculiar.

She then stepped further into the classroom and said, "Well, maybe I could help you."

I DON'T need help. I've been doing Friday folders as long as I can remember for one teacher or another and the last thing I want, is to encourage this woman any further to believe that she is somehow going to "replace" me or "help" me now, or anytime. But I say, "Okay."

She helped me that day and then I e-mailed the teacher inquiring what was going on. The teacher informed me that she was very happy with me doing the Friday folders, that I was always so punctual and accurate in my work (it's not that hard), but there were a few mothers that asked to volunteer and so she suggested that maybe they could split the Friday folder duty with me. Okay, so I agree to call the other mother and set up a schedule (every other week set-up...). I don't like the new schedule, as I'd rather just know that I am expected to go in every week, than have to remember which week is mine, is this week okay for you, blah, blah, blah. But, I do it. The following week when I show up for my Friday, the teacher informs me that no one did her folders the previous Friday, because ... the other mother never showed up. No kidding?

I told the teacher that I would just keep on coming every Friday from then on out - because I am ... The Friday Folder Girl! And I did.

I don't know whatever happened to that other mother - why she never showed up again. She vanished back into the volunteer black hole as strangely as she had crawled out of it. I saw her a few times at class parties and such, but we didn't talk. I was okay with that .

On the upside ... I don't particularly like all the volunteering and stuff, but I do my share. I choose the jobs I want to do and that has to be enough to satisfy my kids, the schools and my guilt. When I'd thought I had been replaced by a younger, more limber mother ... I was prepared to fight, because ... I am THE FRIDAY FOLDER GIRL! It was a good thing it didn't come to that (*giggle*).