Grace- in sooo many ways

I am a terrible spaz. As in, currently (and almost always) sporting a huge scab on my knee and multiple gag inducing big purple spots on my thighs. Yep. I fall down and bump into things a lot.

Unfortunately, I also speak in stream of consciousness, can sometimes be a "loud talker," make bad jokes, and probably frequently interrupt people.

You see, the grace portion of development somehow got screwed up on me.

If we were to look at the physical side of things, we could talk about how my gut frequently argues with me. It, ahem, is troubled. (we can use euphemisms, right?)

My children are perfect in my eyes. I mean- more than perfect. They're the most delicious thing that has ever been placed on a silver platter in front of me. I marvel in them.

But that being said, Scrappy has a little thing with her ears. Somehow when they were growing they missed a fold. There's some medical term for it- I can't remember. So we will decide soon whether to fix them or leave them as they are. Ok. Seems pretty minor.

And Quirky has a little dimple on his bottom. Sort of a divet at the bottom of his spine. Once caused a bit of consternation about some genetic disorder... but all ok now. Just a minor imperfection.

One of my dearest friends just found out that the sweet little baby boy growing in her belly right now probably has a heart defect. One that will cause him to live in the NICU the first few weeks of his life and he will have to have open heart surgery in the first week or so. It is frightening and worrisome. Terribly. And this wonderful mother worries that it was something she ate, some medicine that she took, some way that she thought, or some power line that she lived under. The joys of motherhood- unbelievable love and guilt.

But let me tell you what I think caused this heart defect, the dimple on my son's rear, and the funky ears on my sweet little noodle.

We are so miraculous. I can't even begin to imagine the millions of tiny little things that go on as we grow HUMAN BEINGS inside of ourselves. How come we all have toes and eyes and the ability to feel love and blink our eyes, hiccough, and kick? In order for us to freaking breathe alone there are TENS of thousands of things that have to happen as we develop. How amazing is it that so many things go right?

I have to excuse the few things that go wrong. I just do. When so many countless things go right I just have to forgive the few that don't. It makes sense that just a couple of miracles go awry when so many don't.

We probably all have some of these imperfections in the great plan that are not obvious. I don't know. Maybe I have freckles on my spleen or something. And maybe as my gut was developing some strange enzyme was missed or whatever that makes my colon hate me sometimes. All I know is that it's ok- because sooo much went right.

My new little buddy in his momma's stomach is growing perfectly- all except his tiny heart. And I have to forgive God for that. Because we all make mistakes (especially graceful old me). And there is SO MUCH RIGHT going on with this little miracle of a baby boy.

And if that's not grace, then I don't know what is.

OY

Crap. I was all set to post this morning.... then the stupid website locked me out and now I can't remember what I was going to write. And now my kid is pouring an entire box of honey smacks out into his bowl and the other one is standing on the toilet seat and shit she just put her foot in the toilet.

Trashy

Noone can say that word as well as my little sister. She says it in the same accent that we say "I'm all ashy"- meaning that our legs are dry and scaly. Sort of a cross between a southern accent and a full blown Chicago. Can't replicate this on here. Sorry. You're missing out- truly.

I've discovered a new hobby. Not knitting, much to the dismay of Quirky. Nope- I've taken recycling to a new level. Cool, huh?

Yes, I realize that this is something that we all should be doing, not a craft that you can pick up at Michael's or Hobby Lobby. But all those years that I spent needlepointing I found that I never really had a functional place to put all of those cute little creations of mine. And let's face it, it's not a joyful or meaningful experience if you can't enjoy the fruits of your labor. Noone really wanted those cute little eyeglass cases that I had ruined my eyes making.

So I've found the answer, everyone. RECYCLING. Always been doing it- now just taking it to a new level. I'm practically gift wrapping the shit up as I lovingly place it on the curb on Tuesday mornings. Prior to "the hobby," I threw the plastic in with the glass, sometimes shoved into a cereal box. Then there was the pesky problem that the garage is detached from the house so it was kind of a pain in the ass to get one little milk carton all the way out there. I recycled, but not with gusto.

Now I keep little paper bags inside the house into which I gleefully toss every little scrap of paper. Such excitement! I might as well have music playing as I imagine myself saving The Earth. Call me superwoman!

And there's the added bonus to this new ridiculous hobby. I am getting the trash the hell out of my house. The rest of the house may look like we should have a washer and sofa on our front porch (and don't even get me started on the trash pit that my car is. surely you've seen the "mom my ride" video on you tube. You haven't?- Get thee to you tube immediately.) but I have a semblance of control over the trash . Do you know how good this feels? It's better than the way those ridiculous yogurt commercials show women prancing around. Serious virtuosity, y'all.

So prepare for updates about how I've made glittery recycle containers for my kitchen. This is my new hobby.

Dread

You know what getting ready to run a long race reminds me of? Preparing for labor. You know it's going to hurt like hell.... but hopefully be all worth it.

**** as a side note- I laughed when I typed out the title for this post this morning. Instead of "dread" I typed "dead." Freudian slip, anyone?

That Friday Feeling

I've got it today- and most Fridays. Remember when we were in high school and would have all kinds of cool plans for the weekend? I recall sitting in Junior English on a warm Spring afternoon soooooo ready to bust outta there. The windows were down (did y'all have those windows that pulled down sort of into the room? They only seem to have those in classrooms) and I could hear a car outside playing Guns n' Roses. Jam on.

These days there isn't much difference between the weekends and the weekdays. I do the same shit everyday. Make beds, get small people dressed, pop waffles in the toaster oven, supervise training wheel bike rides, hang out at the park, blah, blah, blah.... Now that I'm a SAHM the weekends are actually a bit more complicated than the weekdays. I don't get those couple of hour breaks while the kids are at preschool. One would think I wouldn't get That Friday Feeling.

But I do. I admit, I look forward to The Boss Man being around a bit more. I sort of hope he'll do something with me and the kids that doesn't involve the daily drivel of snot wiping and hanging out around the house. Don't get me wrong...I love doing that stuff most days. But a little part of me holds out hope that we'll take a little adventure together so I won't be alone with my thoughts and obsessions about the wee ones.

Last week I wasn't disappointed. It was cold outside so we took the kids on a quick jaunt to the aquarium. Soooo fun. Saw the big tigers, rode the ferris wheel and the carousel, and had a good ole time.

So while Quirky and Scrappy don't quite yet know about the wonders of That Friday Feeling, I do. I'll keep imagining that there is a keg waiting for me somewhere in a sunshiney place, boys to flirt with, girlfriends to giggle with, and all of the delights of the weekend ahead. ahhh....

Introducing the two most important players.

I'd like you, The Great Big Internet, to meet my two children.

This is CASH. Also known as "Quirky."

Cash is a puzzle. Complicated little dude- and oh so lovable. He has an interesting command of language. Typical comments from Cash: "That's impressive." or "Is sign language the same as speech?" One never EVER knows what is going to come out of his mouth. He spent last Sunday skipping/running through the downtown aquarium here in Texas singing the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah. I'm sure all of the other visitors were just delighted.

This is Sarah, also known as "Scrappy."

Sarah is a mess. And I think it's just fabulous. I taught her yesterday to tell people that she's a "straight shooter." She's wayyyyyy into superheroes, robots, playing space aliens, and arranging her stuffed animals into teams. Sarah despises pink, bows, princesses, and wearing dresses. Her Mimi is positive that this will change at some crucial point and she'll become a vamp, wearing the slinkiest clothes possible. Jury is out on that one.

Aren't they the most awesomest???

She'll never miss any.

You know you do it....

After wrangling with the unintelligible mumbling of the drive thru intercom system you drive up and they hand you a wonderful couple of bags of the best smelling, most forbidden food on the planet. It's hard to even accept the offerings of paper cups of cold drinks that they're even pushing through your window before you reach in the bag.

Then comes the hard part. Driving home to bring the food to your loved ones. The food smells so damned good. And those marvelously salty french fries at the top of the bag are so accessible. Nobody will miss one, right? So then, much like the old Pringles ads, you realize you can't just stop at one. Two? Three? The most difficult question of all: How many can you have before those waiting eagerly and hungrily at home will realize it- You've stolen their french fries.