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We Waited Seven Years

We’re on the verge of a big family change. It’s been in the making for years, but we like to take things slow and not just jump into adding another member to our family. My daughter says she’s been waiting for seven years and two weeks; however, it’s really been more like five years and two weeks, and three hours and fifty-one minutes, but who’s counting.

The excitement is palpable. I guess that’s what happens when you’re about to welcome new life into your home – fish life that is.

You didn’t think I was talking about a child, or worse, a four-legged critter. Did you?

Heavens no. I’ve already been putting the fish off for five to seven years, give or take a child’s imagination.

Back when my daughter was somewhere between four and five years old (FringeMan and I disagree on the age), FringeKid asked for a fish. She whined, begged, and pleaded, so I did what all good mothers do. I put her desire to the test. I told her if she kept her room clean for an entire summer, she could get a fish. In my heart, I knew I would never be cleaning fish poop out of a bunch of neon colored gravel. Never.

I think she was on to my wily parental ways, because every single day she’d clean up her room and then show me. I was a bit shocked, dumbfounded even. I tried this new technique on my son, even offering an entire aquarium, but no luck. Dirty underwear and toys multiplied under his bed quicker than a classroom full of fourth graders can do their two times tables.

My daughter has the angelic child part down to a science. She can turn on the sunshine and summon her inner clean kid when needed. Although she’s a bit of a brown-noser, a kiss-up even, she’s terribly sweet. She’s not only the teacher’s pet, but she also cleans the teacher’s fish tank. I was doomed from the start.

So I bought a Betta fish, because they live alone and I didn’t want to colonize the bowl, and my daughter lived happily ever after. Until it died. I’ll never forget the day. She sobbed, her little heart broken at the loss of her good friend. You don’t know love until you’ve had a pet fish blink its wobbly bug eyes at you from the other side of a rounded glass tank. She felt this loss to her core. I feared we’d never have a fish fry again.

FringeMan wanted to flush Necklace. Yes, she named her fish Necklace, but I never let her wear the fish around her neck. I swear on the dead Betta’s grave. FringeKid would have no part in flushing Necklace. A proper ceremony was the only way to send her off to the big stream in the sky. So, we did what all good parents do when their child is hurting. We held a service. FringeMan spoke some comforting words, we quoted a scripture, and then FringeMan flung Necklace into a bramble of berry bushes.

FringeBoy was certain the baby foxes got Necklace’s body, and he was sure to share this grave robbing theory with his sister. It was a long time of mourning. FringeKid drew a picture of the fish and hung it over her bed. Years later when we moved, I had to pack the picture and bring it to her new room. She still talks about that fish. I only hope she’ll find such kind words for me after I’m gone. I also hope FringeMan doesn’t fling me into the bushes, but it’s probably better than a ride down the toilet.

Now the long days of mourning are over and we’re ready to bring a new fish into the family. Honestly, I’m not ready at all, but my elderly neighbor asked me for help with a few things and I said “Of course.” Little did I know love thy neighbor would translate into four trips to the pet store. It was just my luck that this lovely neighbor had a fish tank in her basement and she offered it to me in front of my daughter. I’ve never seen such a happy child.

We’ve reminisced over Necklace. Six years later, her stories are mostly fish tales, but the love is the same. So it’s with good memories of fish that have gone on before, we welcome the new additions to our family. We pick them up on Saturday. I just hope we don’t need a car seat to bring them home.

Wish us luck, long life, and many future fish tales.

Comments 12 Comments
Categories Family

10 Things I’ve Learned about Dieting

16 May

I’m on a diet. That should be explanation enough for any weird moods and hallucinations of cheeseburgers. I find myself googling every yummy food known to man in order to get a calorie count, only to realize I cannot eat it, because diets only let you eat the caloric equivalent of a piece of unbuttered toast and water.

Source: google.com via Tricia on Pinterest

I’m beginning to think liposuction doesn’t sound so bad after all. So what if they have to gash a whole in your body, insert a vacuum hose, and suck until they hit bone, it’s gotta be an outpatient procedure nowadays. Doesn’t it? The only drawback is I have every bit of confidence that I could replace all that fat within a year. That, and then there’s the money, and the cutting. Ya, I should never underestimate someone taking a scalpel to my skin.

So I’m back to being on a diet. This time it’s for real. It’s not just a reconnaissance mission to take back my thighs. I’m taking back my whole chubby self, double chin and all. I hope there’s an exchange policy on flab.

Source: google.co.uk via Tricia on Pinterest

I’m down twelve pounds. Doesn’t seem like much, but I did fit comfortably back into a pair of jeans I haven’t worn in quite some time. The bummer is I’ve decided I hate the jeans. Go figure! It’s just my luck. I’m stuck wearing jeans that are a size too big or jeans I hate. Now I’m going to have to lose another size so I can justify buying a new pair. That’s all there is too it.

Here are some things I’ve learned since being on a diet.

1. Calories count, so count your calories. (I just made that up this second, but doesn’t it sound like a slogan from a diet plan?)

Source: tumblr.com via Tricia on Pinterest

2. You can sit by and watch your family eat goodies and say NO. You will live to have another Oreo cookie.

3. Exercise can be as simple as taking a walk with your family, but don’t overestimate the amount of calories you burned on your walk. It was probably like ten.

Source: media.photobucket.com via Tricia on Pinterest

4. Food is not your enemy, appetite is your enemy. What you need and want you want are drastically different.

5. Eat foods that are full of good things like fiber and protein.

6. If you’re hungry, drink some water and wait a while. If you’re still hungry, eat something, but make sure the calories are counted in your overall total for the day.

7. Eat for the right reasons. In my family, we tend to overeat just because something tastes good. “It tastes so good” is not enough reason to eat more.

8. Fad diets are not for me. I won’t stick to them for more than three days. I have to eat regular (to me) foods or else I won’t achieve long-term success. Translate: Find a meal plan that works into your budget, lifestyle, and taste.

Source: someecards.com via Tricia on Pinterest

9. No one may notice your accomplishments, but keep going. Brainwash your child into telling you, at least once a day, you look thinner.

10. Make baby step goals. If I tell myself that I need to lose twenty pounds, I’ll quit before I even start. So I tell myself five pounds and then another five. I’m three pounds away from my next goal.

Believe me, I’m no dieting expert. I’m one of those women who actually enjoys eating, and it’s downright shocking how much food I can consume when I don’t stop myself. I do not have a fast metabolism and dare I admit this, being a bit overweight doesn’t even bother me that much when I look in the mirror. I don’t care enough to lose the weight. What makes me diet from time to time is that I feel bad when I’m overweight. Carrying around an extra ten, fifteen, or twenty pounds makes a huge difference. It’s a difference I can feel when I’m sitting down and bending over. It’s uncomfortable and I hate being uncomfortable in my own skin.

I don’t think weight management is necessarily about a number. It’s about getting to a place where you feel good. I suspect when you feel good, you’ll look good too.

Source: someecards.com via Tricia on Pinterest

So how about you share your accomplishments, or maybe what you’ve learned about dieting?

If you’re one of those girls who can eat a cow without even getting a gas bubble, don’t tell me please. Jealousy isn’t good for my soul.

Comments 26 Comments
Categories Life

In Honor of Mother’s Day – Things My Mama Taught Me

8 May

When the telephone rings, the world is a good and happy place – wrongs are righted, arguments cease, and tears dry.

My childhood is laced with moments of awe as I watched my mother transform from a fire-breathing – I’m going to half-kill you for that! – What were you ever thinking? – Drop your draws, because you’re getting a beating!! – dragon into a pearl wearin’, child lovin’, Bible totin’ mama.

At the first “Bring, bring…,” hope stirred in my tummy. By the second “Bring, bring…,” I could see the fire fading. And by the third “Bring, bring…,” I knew salvation was nigh.

Rubbing my happy heiney, I’d run from the kitchen and leave the strange, but thoroughly lovable Donna Reed to her conversation. I stand assured that I wouldn’t be alive today if it were not for the telephone. I only wish we had cell phones.

I owe Graham Bell a thank you card.

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Never be ashamed to show your true colors.

During the longest, hottest part of several summers, my aunt and grandparents whisked my cousin, my brother, and myself off to the Jersey Shore for a vacation. We splashed in the water while our skin baked to a warm pink. We raced on the boardwalk looking for samples of fudge and taffy. At night, we threw coins in arcade machines faster than grownups could say no. We had pure summer fun.

One sunny afternoon shines a little brighter than the rest.

The phone rang.

My mother called to tell us her exciting news. She painted the living room a surprise color and couldn’t wait to show us. For the rest of our ten days at the beach, I thought about color.

Sky blues, sandy beiges, milky cloud whites, chlorine greens, and swimsuit pinks blurred my vision of home. I couldn’t wait to see what my mother had done.

What had my mother done?

Our living room shone a tangelo orange well past labor day’s no-more-bright-colors rule. My uncle wore sunglasses in our house until his eyes adjusted (for about a year), and I saw that style and color are personal choices.

No matter good reason, show your color!

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Life may hurt and tears will come, but always know “You’ll Live.”

I wasn’t a reckless child, but I sure was clumsy. Family would tease me for having two left feet and if I’m honest, my pigeon toes did not help keep me upright.

I fell up the flight of stairs to our apartment. I fell down the flight of stairs at school. I tripped in parking lots, scraped my knees playing jump rope, and twisted my ankles walking down the street. Bruises, scrapes, and cuts were the defining marks of me. Strong bones and springy muscles spared me real harm; however, my young body hurt.

Before my tenth birthday, I cried more tears of shame than pain.

No matter the fall, no matter the blood, no matter the tears, my mother would always glance my way and say, “You’ll live!”

I didn’t get Barbie bandages or healing treats, but I learned to get back up and carry on. Life doesn’t stand still for bumped and bruised girls; life goes on.

I’ve never forgotten the message. Even now, when I want to succumb to a heap of tear-stained whines, my mind reminds me – I’ll live. So I get up and go on.

And those are a few lessons I learned from my mother.

Thank you mom!

I’m linking with Mama Kat today. Click on Mama Kat’s button and go read lots of other stories about lovely moms.

Now I know you learned some lessons from your mama too. Share in the comments!

Comments 10 Comments
Categories Family

Who Cut the Cheese?

30 Apr

Are we crazy?

Why of course not. Why do you ask?

Sunday night we attended an Awana awards banquet. Awana is a children’s program run through a church. All throughout the year, the kids memorize Bible verses, play games, and do all sorts of silly super-fun things, but it’s not just fun and games. The kids are on teams and they earn individual and team points for everything from wearing their uniform t-shirt to winning a game of dodge ball. Although for some of the kids it’s quite competitive, I have a sneaking suspicion my son attends just for the dodge ball games.

When we walked into the gymnasium Sunday night, long tables were covered into bright green cloths with tissue paper pop-poms making everything look bright and cheery and quiet fain-cy. Toys and games were piled high in the front of the gym. A large screen was set up and photos of children, leaders, and parents from throughout the year flashed for our enjoyment. The kids excitement could be felt.

So we found a few seats at a table filled with children and made ourselves comfortable. Bowls of nuts and m&m’s were scattered around the table, an appetizer of sorts. I took a handful nuts, just so I could get a few of those m&m’s in the mix. FringeMan spied a little dish across the table and said, “Oh, I’m gonna grab a slice of cheese.”

He took the neat little white square and popped it in his mouth faster than I could say, “That’s butter!”

Too late.

He looked over to me, eyes wide with surprise, and said, “That’s not cheese.”

All the kids laughed and laughed.

I said, “You know that’s making the blog cut this week.”

The moral of the story: If in doubt about the little white squares, ask a kid to try it first.

Once we moved past appetizers, the food was lovely. A brownie sundae rounded out the meal. While we were eating our ice-cream, one of the girls at our table looked at FringeMan and asked, “What land are you from?”

“What land am I from?” FringeMan questioned in confusion.

“He’s out of this world, honey.” I answered for him.

Really, we cannot blame her for wondering where FringeMan came from. After all, he eats pats of butter.

By the end of the night, FringeKid won a fluffy white bunny and FringeBoy came home with an automatic pitch machine, the kind you use for baseball practice.

He went up to fetch his award, and when he sat back down, he held up his pitching machine and said, “Awesome! Look at my new cannon.”

And sure enough, FringeMan took quite a few shots from the “cannon” when we came home.

But the question still begs to be answered. Who cut the cheese anyway?

Now tell me your family has crazy tendencies too. Is it just us? Anyone else ever mistake a slice of butter for cheese?

BTW If you invite us over for dinner, just leave the butter in stick form. I promise none of us will pick it up and start chomping away.

Comments 11 Comments
Categories Family

Taps For Me

27 Apr

Today I’m writing over at An Army of Ermas.

You simply must come visit me.

I’m talking about our road trip and how past sins came back to haunt me.

Have you ever heard Taps played on a kazoo?

No? Me either, until recently. The tune is about as mournful and haunting as a kazoo can be, and believe me, I’ve been haunted by a kazoo for a quite a few years now.

One of my earliest childhood memories is of my mom, eyes wild with the look young mother’s get when they are torn between selfless love and wanting to eat their young. …continued at An Army of Ermas.

You won’t want to miss it!

Hope you have a happy weekend. I’ll chat with you in the comments over at the Ermas, but then be sure to come back and check out my baby bat.

Comments 5 Comments
Categories Guest Bloggers

Bat Blood on My Couch

27 Apr

Good glory the end is near!

There was a bat in my house tonight. A. BAT!

Help me Lord. This is not funny. I don’t deal well with wild animals, especially wild animals that carry rabies and fly around in the night. One lone bat could fly into my hair and get lost for a week. I don’t know what I would do if that happened, but lighting my hair on fire would not be too extreme.

That bat could have flown into my children’s rooms and sucked their very life from their small pumping veins. Oh, wait. Maybe that’s a vampire. Same difference in my book.

Now we don’t know how the bat entered the house, a small unknown that will keep me up for the next three months straight. Most likely, it came in on a pile of wood my son carried in from the garage after school. He filled a tote with wood, brought it in and then filled another tote and placed it on top of the first. All evening I’ve thrown wood on the fire from the top tote, but I came up to bed to do Zentangle. FringeMan removed the top tote, so the bat could have warmed itself by my fire and then taken flight to kill us all.

I may never rest easy again.

I know some of you have had bats in your houses and attics, but I really, really, really don’t even like mosquitoes let alone a flying creature of the night.

FringeMan was sitting in his recliner doing schoolwork when something whizzed past his head. He felt the breeze, heard the sound (deadly wings flapping in the night). When he looked up, he realize there was a bat in the room, so he went and got the dustpan. He knocked it out of the air and it landed on its back on my couch. My NEW couch. Could this story get any more gruesome?

Yes, because then he scooped it into one of my nice big glass mugs. You know my lips ain’t ever touching that. After he released the bat, the mug went right to the trash, the outside trash.

The funny thing is that I was upstairs with a set of headphones in my ears listening to classical music. Classical music. Could this night get any weirder? I don’t even like classical music. Apparently FringeMan was downstairs yelling for me the entire time. I heard not a sound. Thank you FringeMan for being my knight in shining armor and slaying my ~~dragons~~ bats.

I’m still totally freaking out. Like gag me with a spoon and throw bat blood on my couch.

Thankfully there’s no blood on the couch. If there were, you would hear my wails of anguish.

Now please excuse me while I go sell my house and move anywhere bats do not live.

Do you have one, a story with a wild animal invading your privacy? Share it please. Tell me you had a brush with nature and lived to tell the tale.

Comments 20 Comments
Categories Life

Full of Wonder

24 Apr

Life is pretty fabulous.

I’m not talking about the extra-special things that may or may not happen to you. I’m talking about the ordinary day to day, life itself. It’s great because it’s unexpected.

You wake up in the morning, toast a bagel, ~~argue with the kids over who spilled milk on their homework,~~ and head out into a day of unknowns. There’s no shortage of things that can make you wonder.

It’s a good life.

Take for example, this note that my daughter brought home from school.

Now that warmer weather is hopefully on its way to [my town] again. I need to address the subject of proper clothing for school.

Please, girls should not be wearing any short shorts or shirts with spaghetti straps. In addition, no pajamas are to be worn to school or any shirts or hats with innappropriate phrases on them.

See how they have to tell us not to wear our pajamas to school?

I always assumed that was a given, but I live in pajama-mama world. You thought I was joking the last time I made reference to everyone in my town wearing pajamas as day clothes. No sirree. I tell the truth around here.

Next week, I bet they send home a note asking parents not to wear their pajamas when picking up their children from school. It’s coming folks. I may frame it when it comes, because nobody would believe me.

The other thing that about slapped-me-in-the-face and made me wonder is why some women feel the need to excessively self-tan. I mean, I’m all about looking a shade or two darker than ghost pale, but why not quit a shade lighter than Dorito?

Fritos might be nice, but Doritos are just too much color.

It’s a wonder this thing called life.

Don’t you just love it?

What’s made you stop and wonder lately?

Comments 10 Comments
Categories Life

Enticement, Tackiness, and True Love

18 Apr

I’m in love with a store and I don’t care who knows it.

Charming Charlie knocked the socks off me. It’s an estrogen paradise.

Everything in the store is sorted by color, proving my theory that color-coding life is the way to organize the world. In work, I once color-coded all the files in the electrical engineering department. It was not a welcomed gesture, but I was, and still am, convinced it a superior coding system.

Charming Charlie does bling well, very well. In a world of accessories, it’s absolute perfection.

I may have gone to the store three times in one week, but I’m not addicted or anything. It’s my daughter’s fault.

FringeKid is my resident junior diva. There were so many cute hats, she was positively verklempt.

What is a girl filled with X chromosomes to do?

Buy a cute new bag, that’s what!

This bag is a million times better in real life than it is in this photo. It’s so lovely that my sister-in-law drove to Atlanta from Florida, took one look at my bag, and dragged me out the door to go find another. It’s just that cute folks.

Now we are sisters by marriage and twins by shopping.

It’s a good life.

I walked away from the store with one purse, one of the cutest wallets this side of the Mason-Dixon line, and two necklaces. I couldn’t stop myself. I felt like Eve munching down on the crispy apple. I’m almost certain the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil looked exactly like an earring tree filled with colored crystals sparkling in the sunlight. It was like I had a snake on my shoulder enticing me to give in to my tacky. I need not be tempted twice.

Call me Tacky Tricia and hand me a zebra striped wallet with a large leather 3D flower in hot pink. Thank you very much.

Comments 9 Comments
Categories Passions

On Top of The World

12 Apr

We’re having so much fun, no one wants to come home and we’re not even close to home yet! The only reason I’m blogging is because I’m waiting for my laundry to dry. Early tomorrow morning we head out for my in-laws, but today we went to Stone Mountain.

Stone Mountain is a ginormous rock. In order to get to the top, you must ride in a gondola or hike three miles. I know many of you are saying, “Pft. Three miles ain’t nothing!”

To you I want to say one word, compound as it may be – “Hearty-Tack.”

This is one bad-boy mountain!

It was such a nice day, I may have considered the hike of death, but I didn’t exactly wear the right shoes.

Sometimes practical and tacky battle it out in my closet. Tacky usually wins.

Here’s proof that opposites do attract. FringeMan can be mistaken for foliage and I can hunt moose in Maine without getting shot at. Need I say more?

So, this mountain is like five hundred miles (or so) straight up in the air and we just happened to pick the windiest day in mortal history to travel in a box in the air suspended by cables.

This is the look of fear.

This is the look of sheer terror.

When we stepped into the swinging gondola, I asked the nice young man ~~driving~~ flying the contraption…(he’s young because I’m like a hundred since my last birthday)…how long he’s been bringing people up and down the mountain. I think he smelled my fear, because without a second’s lapse he said, “Two days.”

I looked to my aunt and said, “At least I’m going to die wearing cute shoes.” She looked down at her unpainted toes and flip-flops and shook her head in agreement.

Being on top of Stone Mountain is like being on top of the moon, only windier. I know it’s windier because Neil Armstrong was never thrown from the surface of the moon to orbit in outer-space for all eternity.

When the nice child/flyer/driver dropped us off on top of the mountain, he told us we may have to walk back down because of treacherously high winds. I wished he had mentioned that before we found ourselves stranded five million miles in the air. I looked down at my cute shoes and asked FringeMan if he wanted to spend the night on the mountain with me.

Of course he said “YES”. It would be easier than ~~rolling~~ carrying me down the mountain.

I’m really kind of proud of us. We looked our fear of heights in the eyes and then prayed a lot.

I almost kissed the ground when we got back down the mountain, via air travel I might add. It was a shaky descent. We also hit the side of our gondola landing pad when the thing finally stopped. I looked at the young flyer and said, “Don’t feel bad. I park like that too.”

Sadly, it’s true.

If you’re ever in Georgia, you must visit Stone Mountain. Just go in the summer when all the attractions are open, and wear your hiking shoes. Gondola or not, you’ll need them.

But, nothing beats the feeling of being on top of the world looking down on creation.

I totally need a bumper sticker that says “I climbed Stone Mountain.”

Comments 9 Comments
Categories Family

Put it in Your Will

2 Apr

I’m getting all Martha Stewart crazy with my bad self today. Not only did I label my totally organized cabinet, but I’m preparing for our road trip down south.

I bet my mom never thought she'd see the day her baby had an organized cabinet. It's almost more miraculous than childbirth.

I. Am. Preparing. I don’t even know myself anymore!

I’ve always admired prepared people; I’ve just never been one of them, but I’m changing my ways, getting older and wiser and all that.

I now have plastic containers (yes, I know they kill all things living, but sometimes you have to take risks) filled with strawberries, grapes, baby carrots, chunked pieces of cheese. Slim-Jims, crackers, pretzels, and assorted nuts and seeds. There will be no stopping for junk food/fast food on our trip. We will eat healthy and live long. Well, as long as it takes for our plastic containers to kill us.

I’m so impressed with myself right now. It’s like I don’t even know who I am. I bought drinks and everything. I went to bed one night, a girl who flies by the seat of her pants, and woke up a responsible middle-aged housewife. Who did this to me?

I just hope this alter ego sticks around long enough to organize the laundry/mud room. I fear I’ll wake up tomorrow and dump everything out of my containers so I feel more at home. Can anyone relate?

I’m a little mentally weary from all this washing, sorting, organizing, and chopping (cheese). I doubt both sides of my brain are communicating clearly. One side of my brain is probably trying to overthrow the mature alien invader. I can’t say I blame that side, because I’m even annoying myself.

Anyway, this weekend was my mom’s birthday – a BIG birthday, like a super-sized, grande, bigga-licious birthday. I can’t give away her age, but let’s say it’s not twenty-nine, no matter how much denial you embrace.

I happen to think birthdays should be celebrated at any age. I mean, who cares if you’re all wrinkled up and you need a cane to walk, it’s an excuse to eat cake and get presents. Who doesn’t like that?

So we went down and spent the weekend with my mom, who does not have wrinkles and does not use a cane. Just want to clarify before she kills me. She does have a cute new hairdo though, which I failed to photograph.

I just stole this from her facebook timeline. Tell her how pretty she looks so she doesn't kill me. Okay?

As much as I love birthday presents, I couldn’t think of anything really special to get her. I already made this ginormous photo collage one year. My mom is stuck with it forever, because although I don’t care if she trashes it, my son does. No grandmother wants to insult her grandson, so I figure it will clutter my mom’s house for another twenty years or so. Instead of another useless gift, I assembled a board of facebook consultants. You should try this when you have a big decision to make. Your friends and family are very wise. Tap into that resource. It’s free.

My friends decided I should get my mom a Keurig. Good idea, huh? I would never have thought of that.

The other night when I was wrapping this big box, my son looks to me and says, “Maybe you should ask grandma to put this in her will, so you’ll get the coffee pot when she dies.”

NOT a good idea!

“Please don’t speak of that idea again.” I told him. “You never put a person in their grave on their birthday, especially such a monumental birthday as grandma’s. Never.”

Then I penciled it into her living will.

Thank God my mother has a sense of humor. I wouldn’t want her face her own mortality every time she wanted a cup of coffee.