A tale of two shoes

The only thing left for us to be totally ready for Misti and Mark's wedding next weekend was shoes. Since Misti and Mark were engaged, our family has been stupid excited for this new chapter in their lives. Misti and I were in the 2012 NWA Listen To Your Mother show and have worked together on the OKC Listen To Your Mother show since then. In 2013, Hadley wouldn't let me talk about the show without asking me what Misti had to say about it. And last year, Briley said, "I can't remember how we're related to Misti." (PS--we're related by heart.)

Saturday, we had a perfect opportunity to get our wedding shoes. It was a gorgeous day and we were in the city and Shoe Carnival was having a sale.

Hadley is difficult to buy for because she wants to wear shoes that don't stand out and are comfy. She wanted to wear Chuck Taylor's to the wedding. When I tried to push her toward some cuter, more stylish shoes, she dug in her heels (figuratively and literally) and decided she wouldn't buy any shoes at all. We compromised, though. She'll be wearing a pair of my shoes and she can slip them off under the table when she's not walking anywhere--which will be all night long because she's a wall-flower like that.

Briley is difficult to buy for because she wants stripper heels.

That's right, my eleven year old, athletic, funny daughter wanted some six-inch, rhinestone studded heels. I vetoed them without any discussion.

She then chose some hideous grandma-type shoes which I said, "Really? Do you think you'll like those?" And she shook her head no before trotting off and returning with her original pair.

As if I would forget the stripper heels my fifth grader wanted to wear.

I chickened out recruited Brian help me out. "Go ask your daddy."

She returned defeated. "He said no then he went to the car." (Who's chickening out now?)

I argued the softball bit--if she fell off of those suckers, her season was done as we would try repairing her ankle. This caused her to pause, but ultimately the shoes were way sparkly.

I argued that if the Department of Human Services saw her wearing them, her daddy and I would go to jail. She shrugged it off.

I promised to take her to Target and buy her two pair of shoes if she'd just put the stripper heels down.

She got a pair of fleece-lined sequined moccasins, a pair of pink canvas, Tom's-like shoes, and a pair of black flat sandals.

Three pairs? Yep. They were on sale, and Target had stripper heels too. I had to up my ante.

Christmas Headlines

If my holidays were summed up with Headlines and Teasers ...

Sick Children Left to Fin for Themselves
With the last day of school hanging heavy in the air, parents continue to teach others' children while their own children suffer at home with a tummy bug.

Tummy Bug Take Two
As if to teach her parents a lesson about taking care of their children, Hadley, age 13, proceeds to vomit for twelve hours straight--beginning at nine in the evening; her mother is heard to have said, "Ugh."

Family Unpacks Before They Even Leave
Having their three-day sojourn to southern Oklahoma thwarted by sick kids, the Davis family repacks their suitcase so as to not haul too much stuff. It didn't help.

Heather Davis Spends Eight Hours In A Car
After leaving from Christmas with her In-laws, Davis repacks her bag to travel with her mother to Stillwater.

Family Enjoys Time Together; Wishes for Different Circumstances
Davis's Uncle Mac passed from this life to the next. His family expresses regret at his passing, but rejoices in his perfect healing.

Candlelight Service Calms Davis's Heart Before Storm
 Singing carols with her family and friends and sharing candlelight as they sang "Silent Night" helped Heather Davis, ever-graying, to regain Christmas spirit in her heart.

Teen exclaims, 'This Is The Best Christmas So Far'
After opening Christmas gifts from family on Christmas Eve, Hadley Davis makes her miraculous exclamation. Parents rejoice over positive words escaping from their teen's mouth.

'Mom, I don't feel good,' Cries Tween
Heather Davis was awoken (it's a word) by her 11-year-old Briley on Christmas morning, not with shouts of excitement, but with moans of misery.

Davis Receives Fateful Call From Her Husband
With all the urgent care offices closed due to Christmas, Brian Davis takes his tween to the ER due to high fever. Calls his wife with one word: Flu.

Evacuate Nana Plan Goes Off Without A Hitch
Davis and daughter Hadley transport Nana to sister, Rachel's home to keep her away from sickly tween (and eventual sickly husband).

Mother Daughter Share Quality Time Thanks To Hotwire
To allow the sickies to heal and the wellies to stay well, Davis and Hadley score a deal at a hotel less than half a mile from her house; both enjoy a Duck Dynasty marathon.

Good News: World's Best Aunt Wins Christmas
When Davis's four-year-old niece was denied drums by her parents, Davis purchased herself some drums and left them in the care of her niece. They both rock.

Thank you, Briley

Today I'm thanking Briley. Briley is better known as Daughter 2. If you keep up with me on Facebook, you know that she's an avid softball-er and keeps me in stitches with her wit and humor.

I have no idea where she gets it.

The good news is that she's always been this way. Where Hadley's been serious, Briley's been not serious. As a baby, Hadley did more crying than Briley did--this was usually because we wouldn't let Hadley pick up her baby sister, and Briley was all like, "What? I left the womb for this?"

But, Briley's also intense. She loves intensely. She gives her whole heart to her passions. She thinks of others first. She loves God and the idea that while her life is wonderful here, greater things are waiting for her in the next life.

She feels compassion and empathy for those less fortunate. While she's fiercely competitive, she is sad for those lose. She's lonely for those who are friendless. She aches for those who are hungry, cold and needy.

But she's also willing to back up her feelings with actions. She constantly has an activity going or a plan brewing or a stream of intelligent (sometimes) and entertaining (always) words coming from her mouth.

Most importantly, she completes our family. I used to dream of having three or four children. But, once Briley joined us, I knew she and Hadley were enough. They filled my heart.

Besides, who could follow this kid?

Co-Sleeping and Attachment Parenting

(Alternate titles)

... Or, How Your Hands Will Tingle When You Sleep On The Edge Of Your Bed All Night Long 

... Or, Don't Kill Your Husband Because Then Your Children Will Be Orphans

... Or, Oh, Hell! It's Storming! There Goes My Night

There will come a time when you, as a parent, believe that your children are growing up quickly and you are sadly leaving all things child-ish behind.

Then it will storm. And while your husband stays in his recliner "checking the weather," you will retreat to your bed to comfort the fruits of your loins. And by fruits, I mean fruity kids who still get rattled every time the windows rattle even though we've never had any true storm damage.

 Here are the top five ways to break your children of co-sleeping and attachment parenting once they hit the double digits.

1. Blackmail. Take a selfie of the kid as she snuggles into your spine and threaten to post it on your blog, your Facebook, your Twitter, and your Instagram.  She will object saying, "But my hair is in curlers!" Unfortunately, if you have children who have grown up online because their mother is a prolific blogger, you might actually end up with a sweet-smiling kid. You'll use the picture anyway.

2. Melatonin. Lots and lots of melatonin. If you give your kid enough of this natural sleep aid, she'll sleep-walk her way back to her bedroom, after she makes a stop in the bathroom, the kitchen and the dogs' room, but who cares? She's out of your bed, right? Mission accomplished. (*Disclaimer: The child was only given the prescribed amount of Melatonin and is under a doctor's supervision. Don't call protective services. They already know.)

3. Lie. Tell the kids that the storm is over. They'll reluctantly crawl from your bed and, if Mother Nature is on your side, she'll be quiet long enough for them to settle into your own bed. If, however, the wind picks up, thunder claps, and the lightening flashes, those crazy kids will be right back up in your grill, yo. (PS--Mother Nature can be a bitch.)

4. Admit Defeat. Eventually, you'll be so tired that you'll just give into sleep with a kid suctioned to your back. You'll fall asleep on the side of the bed and your hands will tingle throughout the night. You will sneeze, hit your head on the night stand, curse loudly and no one will skip a beat in their snores, including your husband, who still had his whole side of the bed to himself. You'll contemplate going all Lorena Bobbitt, but your hands will be so asleep that you can't even wipe the tears from your eyes. But, that's okay. They're only little once. It was about three years ago that either girl could be considered little, but whatever. if they want to sleep on your sciatic nerve who are you to stop them?

5. Bribery. At five in the morning, after about three hours of sleep in twenty-minute intervals, you will channel the energy of sleepless mommas who have gone before you and fling your offspring onto their father. He will then offer them $5 each to return to their beds and they will comply. He will then slink over to your side of the bed and start touching you as a husband is wont to do. You will offer him $50 to leave you alone for just one more hour.

Lucy and Desi were onto something with their twin beds.

The Olympic Talk with Daughter 2

--> I had to have the "Olympic talk" with Daughter 2--I'd rather have had the sex talk with her. Daughter 2 is a do-er. While the rest of our family is watching the Olympics, she's "skating" in her socks in our tiled entryway. While the rest of the family is ooing and ahhing over the speeds of the alpine skiers, Daughter 2 is fashioning a ramp from our roof. 

"What can I do in the Olympics?" she asked. If this had been four years ago, and she'd only been six years old, my answer was anything you want to do.  But she's ten, and I felt like I needed to be honest with her.

"Your talents don't necessarily lie in the Olympics, honey," I sighed. "Olympians have devoted their entire lives to their sports. Your talents lie in math and softball and your generous heart. Those are things that you rock like a star. But they aren't Olympic sports." 

Then I told her about Dachhiri Sherpa of Nepal who was the only Nepal athlete at the winter games in Sochi. He was quoted as saying that he’d probably finish last in his event. But, “the placing is not important…” I didn’t want to discourage my daughter or crush her little spirit, but I did want her to appreciate the hard work and dedication that went into becoming an Olympian. And I wanted her to understand that unless the IOC brought back softball as an Olympic event, we’d probably missed her window to be an Olympic athlete as most of the athletes had been training even before they were potty trained.

“The thing is, honey, he’s the only winter Olympian from Nepal. And while he’s not a stand out athlete—he won’t win the gold or the silver or even the bronze—it’s the spirit that he wants to convey for his country. Do you understand?”

She nodded her little head yes, a slight look of dejection upon her face, and she walked away. She’d taken two steps before she turned back to me with a sweet look of satisfaction on her face. 

“I know what I can do for the Olympics, Momma.” 

I sighed. My message had not been clear.

“I want to move to Nepal. There’s obviously no competition.” 

Source

Dream big, baby … and don’t forget to phone home when you can.

Give me an S! (For Stupid)

When we found out that Daughter 1 was not Son 1, we declared then and there that she would not be a cheerleader. Now that Daughter 1 is a tween, it's clear that she's completely on board with our desires. Daughter 2, though ... man, that's a different story.

It's not that we think cheerleaders are evil; we just don't believe that the end of a cheerleading road is someplace we want our girls to hang their hats at night. Let me explain. If our daughters play softball growing up, they can join a softball league as an adult. If they play golf, they can continue to play golf as an adult. But, if they, as an adult, don a cheerleading uniform, shake their pompoms and run onto a football field, they are arrested for public intoxication. We just wanted our kiddos to participate in activities that would serve them well for their entire lives.

Please understand that I know all about competitive cheer with the stunts and tumbling and routines, and I support that fact that cheerleading is an athletic endeavor. I just don't believe that Daughter 2 wants that out of life. I think she wants the short skirt and the matching bow, if the truth is told.

It might have been a little hypocritical of us--and by us, I mean me. I was a little girl during the mid- to late-seventies. My sixth grade year, found me on the sidelines shaking a pair of black and gold pom poms, cheering on the YMCA Raiders. But, I really wanted nothing more than to be a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader. I'm also pretty sure that if I were a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, Brian would have not one complaint about cheerleading in general.

I loved those boots. I did. I really did.               Source

I wanted to marry Roger Staubach, and knew what a Fedora was thanks in no small part to Tom Landry, who was the third most important man every Sunday behind God and the preacher.

Back to Daughter 2. This kid. She's an awesome athlete. She can seriously compete in any activity and competes well. But, she's also a girly girl. She wants to accessorize herself like a QVC model, and she's always trying the new and latest hair styles. And ... she really, really wants to be a cheerleader.

When asked why she wants to cheer, she'll stiff-arm an off-the-cuff routine that involves the words victory, defense and let it roll.

I conceded and told her that quite possibly, this fall, she could cheer. Sigh. I don't want this to become her one true passion, but I don't want her to always wish she could have been a cheerleader when it could be an easy and somewhat harmless fix. But, I'll be honest here, I hope it's not something she loves. Because if it does become a life-long pursuit for her, I'm afraid of her becoming an Oakland Raiderette.

You've heard about this, right? The organization has a "super secret" cheerleader handbook. And a not-so-super-secret scorned cheerleader has let its contents leak.

If you don’t like your meal, try a little of everything and strategically move the rest around your plate.” And, “Gently unfold your napkin and place it on your lap. Fold it almost in half and place it with the fold side towards your body. If you need to leave the table, place the napkin on your chair, and don’t forget to say, ‘Excuse me.’

It takes 3-5 seconds to form a first impression of someone. Think about the last time you met someone for the first time. You probably looked at their hair, jewelry, facial expressions, style of clothes, shoes and nails…

If you are a grown woman and you still need very basic social functions explained to you, then being an adult cheerleader is the least of your concerns and quite possibly the department of human services might want to do frequent welfare checks on you.

I might have made that last one up. But, I bet we find it in some form there.

So, my fingers are crossed the Daughter 2 cheer and get it out of her system, that Daughter 1 not torment her too horribly and that Brian and I can lead her down a road that leads to fulfillment as an adult and not necessarily down a road that leads to cheerleading. Unless she makes the Cowgirls squad, then Go Cowboys!

That's why, Ben

"You wanna use this?" Ben, the young and--let's hope--chaste cashier at the Big Box Sporting Goods store said to Daughter 2 as she struggled to open her softball-shaped lip gloss. Then he handed her a box cutter.

A Box Cutter.

We'd spent the evening running all over Tulsa trying to find everything she needed for her softball team (Go, Oklahoma Bedlam!) and at what I thought would be our last stop at the south-edge of town, we discovered Ball Balms. Ball Balms (they may have had some other catchy name) were sports-ball-shaped lip balm holders. At the south store, they had tennis balls, baseballs, soccer balls and golf balls.

Daughter 1, the golfer, was thrilled to snag up one of the last golf balls. Daughter 2, the softballer, was heavy-hearted because a baseball is not the same as a golf ball and, while the tennis ball Ball Balm was the right color, it had no tell-tale red-stitching. So, I said I'd drive completely out of our way home and go to the other Big Box Sporting Goods store to look for softball Ball Balm. Yes, I am a good mom. Not indulgent at all.

We pulled into their parking lot with seven minutes to spare before they closed the doors on my baby girl's dream of having softball-shaped lip balm for her bat bag.

Quicker than you can say $12 worth of gas, we found a softball-shaped lip balm--new in package. And we raced to the front of the check out and paid.

As I was putting the change in my purse, Daughter 2 was struggling to get her softball-shaped lip gloss out of the protective plastic wrap, and that's where Ben stepped in.

I'm sure Ben was just working hard so he could score some beer after his soccer tournament next weekend. I'm sure he enjoyed the discount on his endless items dotted with the Under Armor logo so he could look cool and athletic at school. I'm also sure that Ben was not using his oft-hit-with-a-ball head when he handed Daughter 2 a box cutter.

"Will this help?" he said, his voice full of innocence.

"Ummm ... " I offered, not really knowing how to say Hell no a box cutter will not help a nine-year-old get plastic off a ball!

But before I could say anything, Daughter 2 pushed the blade all the way up and said, "Dang! I cut some serious balls with this!"

Ben quickly retrieved the box cutter from Daughter 2. I like to think he's learned his lesson: Box cutters will cut some serious balls.

I Got Third

All I remember, really, is that we had been stuck in the house for a bazillion days because no only was it snowy but it was insanely cold, blistery cold, crappy cold that made one's boogers instantly freeze just opening up the door. When it's that cold? People get all kinds of cranky.

Apparently, I was cranky. I don't recall why I send Daughter 2 to her room, but I did. And I not only used my inside voice, but I used my Jack Nicholson as Colonel Jessup voice:

I eat breakfast three-hundred yards from four thousand Cubans who are trained to kill me. So don't think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge and make me nervous.

The voice I wanted to use was the "There is no Dana only Zuul" voice from Ghostbusters.

But I didn't. I calmly and collectedly told my on-edge child to go to her room.

"You're the WORST mother!" she hollered as she stomped to her room. (FYI--She did use her "There Is No Dana Only Zuul" voice.)

When she had calmed down and I had calmed down, I called her to me.

"Do you have anything to say?"

"Yes," she said, "I'm sorrry I said you were the third worst mom."

"Third worst? I thought I was the worst?" I said, feeling a little bit slighted that while she sat in her room, I had moved down in the rankings. We'd been shut in the house for what seemed like months, we'd had no routine and no structure. I hadn't bathed in four days. I couldn't remember the last time a brush had interacted with my hair. I had let my kids veg out and watch endless episodes of The Big Bang Theory on TV ad nauseum. I'm pretty sure that I okay'd them eating a bag of Doritos and Ritz crackers with a slice of cheese for lunch. Why wasn't I the worst mom?

"You were the worst. But, someone is worser and someone is worser than that," she explained as if she were offering a dissertation on what constitutes bad mommas.

Sadly, though, the third worst mom does not get a tiara or a sash. But, it'll look good on my permanent record. 

I run my unit how I run my unit. You want to investigate me, roll the dice and take your chances. I eat breakfast 300 yards from 4000 Cubans who are trained to kill me, so don’t think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge, and make me nervous. - See more at: http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/opinions/the-best-jack-nicholson-lines-of-all-time.php#sthash.gxEPL42Y.dpuf

I run my unit how I run my unit. You want to investigate me, roll the dice and take your chances. I eat breakfast 300 yards from 4000 Cubans who are trained to kill me, so don’t think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge, and make me nervous. - See more at: http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/opinions/the-best-jack-nicholson-lines-of-all-time.php#sthash.gxEPL42Y.dpuf

I run my unit how I run my unit. You want to investigate me, roll the dice and take your chances. I eat breakfast 300 yards from 4000 Cubans who are trained to kill me, so don’t think for one second that you can come down here, flash a badge, and make me nervous. - See more at: http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/opinions/the-best-jack-nicholson-lines-of-all-time.php#sthash.gxEPL42Y.dpuf

Sister Sleepover

"Can we have a sister sleepover?" Daughter 2 asked as she bounced around the living room. Knowing that she had not had good sleep since the last day of school and knowing that she'd likely be driving her sister nutso, I passed the buck to Daughter 1, who would have to be sleeping with her.

"Can we have a sister sleepover together?" Daughter 2 asked her sister, who was sitting on the couch, half dozed and quite possibly with drool coming from her mouth since she hadn't had good sleep since the last day of school.

Daughter 1 shrugged her shoulders and mumbled, "Don't care." Then she stood up from the couch and said, "C'mon."

Forty minutes and three dozen yells of "Calm down!" by her three family members, Daughter 2 finally settled and The Daughters went to sleep. Before I went to my own bed a couple of hours later, I peeked in at my sleeping beauties. They were back-to-back in the middle of the bed. I imagined that Daughter 1 had gotten ugly with a wild Daughter 2 and they'd gone to sleep pouting. None the less, their breathing was synched up and I wished for them at that very moment that they'd always remain this close, not necessarily literally, but for sure figuratively.

Eight Nine Ten hours later, I woke up to a quiet house. Brian was already at the gym (he's such a good man) and The Daughters were still asleep. I peeked in and found Daughter 1 completely wrapped in her comforter and her sister, sprawled in the middle of the bed, uncovered.

In my attempt to cover Daughter 1, I woke her.

"I was just trying to cover your sister."

"She doesn't want covers," she told me in her sleepy voice.

"She might," I argued. "It's really a cold day out."

Daughter 1 really didn't care. She got up to pee and to seize possession of the remote control. I brushed my teeth and went back into her bedroom to cover her sister and found this:

 

She had covered herself.

"See?" I said as I called Daughter 1 back to her room to show her that her sister did want covered.

"Yeah," spouted back Daughter 1, "I wanted a bed to myself we can't all get everything we want."

Except that ... Daughter 2 ended up in the middle of the bed, by herself with all the covers. I guess good things come to those who sleep in.

My Favorite Things: Christmas Programs

One of my favorite things during this particular time of the year are the Christmas programs. Daughter 2 was in our church's program last Sunday as a singing Mary--she added the singing part. This week, she'll be a dancing Anna--they gave her permission to dance. I'm sure it's a mistake that won't be repeated in years to come. (Fingers crossed there's not any twerking.)

Daughter 1, though, because she's older, has the opportunity to perform with her school orchestra. This concert is the all-city concert, which means that both middle schools and both parts of the high school will actually perform. The end of the evening concludes with the senior high's full concert orchestra playing several Christmas familiar carols and the audience is invited to sing along.

Daughter 1 has been practicing her cello part over and over and over again. I love the cello. A cello solo or cello in a group--large or small--is a beautiful, mellow sounding instrument that will bring tears to your eyes and goosebumps to your flesh. But I'll tell you what: When the cello part is played in isolation? You will think a cow is in labor in your front room.

At the concert, Daughter 2 sat--I use the term loosely because she's a wiggler--between me and my own momma. She whisper-chatted a dozen or so times about who was wearing what, which bass player had a Santa hat on and why the others didn't and how could we all get out of that place if a violin randomly caught fire. It's always exhausting entertaining to sit next to her at these sorts of events. 

I did notice a pattern in her whispers and wiggles. As each song began, she'd lean over and asked, "Momma? Do I know this song?" 

And at each song, I'd hiss whisper back, "I don't know. Why don't you silently listen and see?"

Finally, when the senior high orchestra took the stage and were warmed up, they began their first number, "Winter Wonderland." Daughter 2 squirmed in her seat and faced me, "I know this! I KNOW THIS!" There was not a hint of a whisper in her voice. 

Then the first verse of "Winter Wonderland" began Daughter 2, in her best American-Idol Audition voice belted out, "Sleigh bells ring! Are ya listening?" She was so loud, I jumped.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Singing along," she whispered back before continuing in full vibrato, "In the lane, snow is glistening!"

"Hey!" I whispered as I threw my hand over her mouth, "This is a time for listening."

"It's a time," she said wiggling away from my hand, "For singing. It says so right there." Then she pointed to the program before continuing the song, "Gone away is the new bird!"

You know what? I just let her sing. 'Tis the season, y'all!

#ThankfulThursdays: Bless The Beasts And The Children

Last week, I said we'd be serving a meal at our local shelter. And we still will be doing that--only we'll do it this week. I just looked at my calendar wrong. When I discovered that, I mentioned to The Daughters that I was off a week and wondered what we could do for #ThankfulThursdays this week.

Daughter 1 quickly piped up and suggested we go to volunteer orientation at the SPCA.  She'd been once before and loved it. Daughter 2 squealed with delight at the thought of getting to play with the kittens all day long. I was less enthused. I love animals. I do. I just love my own animals. And I've got a very soft heart, and I had visions of Brian leaving me and the thirty dogs I brought home with me on the side of a dirt road.

Nonetheless, I signed us up to be trained on Saturday, and we headed out. After training, Daughter 2 had to go to softball practice, but Daughter 1 and I returned to the shelter that afternoon.

What you have to understand about Daughter 1 is this: She's a socially anxious child. Being around people, new situations, different situations, changes in routine--these all make her very anxious. This anxiety results in angry outburst, disrespectful tones and passive aggressive behaviors. But, when she's around animals ... She's a different girl. She knows that when she loves on an animal, that love will be returned. There's security for her in that. During the time we spent at the shelter, the anxiety that is almost ever-present within my child? It was licked off of her face by a very excited doggy.

We decided to each take a dog out to exercise. When I ended up locked in the cage with the leash around my ankle, I decided to just help Daughter 1 with her doggie. We exercised him, we played with him, we loved on him, and he loved on us right back.

As we walked through the very loud kennels selecting which dogs we'd socialize, I'd read their profiles. I was saddened by how many of them read "owner surrender." I know that there are circumstances under which owners can no longer care for animals. But I'm also realistic and know that a lot of times the animals are sad castaways when they are no longer fun or cute or just get in the way. You can't claim to value life if you don't value all life.

So, for #ThankfulThursdays, think about the way you can help the voiceless animals in your society. You don't necessarily have to volunteer your time--but I can tell you this much: You will be changed.

Most shelters run off of grants and donations, receiving very little if any government funding. You could donate money.

Most shelters always have a wants or a needs list. This can include anything from food, paper towels, litter, snacks, plastic Hellmart sacks, sheets ... If you ask them, they'll tell you what they need most.

What can you do on this #ThankfulThursdays to help the voiceless beasts of the world?

#ThankfulThursdays: Two For One Post

Last week was a blur. Is it finished? I don't remember much of it because we were so, so busy! Our project last week was to make Get Well Cards and take them to the hospital for the nurses to deliver to patients who could use a pick-me-up. It was evident between softball, cello, The Tulsa Run and such, we didn't get around to making the cards, so we bought them and wrote sweet messages in them.

Then, we got sick. And by "got sick" I mean, we got really. Really. Sick. All of us. The cards are signed, sealed and ready to be delivered. There was a time when I figured one of us would end up in the hospital--yes, we were that sick--and I hoped I had to wherewithal to not only take care of my family but to grab the cards on our way out the door. Alas, or Hallelujah!, we escaped going to the hospital, and the cards are still on our table. After I disinfect them with massive amounts of Lysol, we'll deliver them.

In the meantime, it's next week. Or it's this week. Or it's now. Whatever. This week, our schools launched their canned food drives.

The Daughters love to drag out our wagon and go door-to-door in our neighborhood asking for canned foods. And they'll still get to do that.

We also have a great opportunity to feed the hungry through our church.

But, I wanted The Daughters to understand just how expensive groceries can be. I gave them $10 to spend at our local Aldi's Store and told them to buy food for their schools' canned food drive.

Daughter 1 surprised me. She said she wanted to buy a meal. In her mind, a meal is macaroni and cheese. Instead, she bought two cans of vegetables, two cans of beef stew, instant potatoes, pre-made gravy, a box of stuffing and some macaroni and cheese. Of course. The only reason she bought the beef stew was because she didn't have enough of her $10 left to buy a main course. She felt good about her purchase, but also came to the realization that she'd feed a very small family one meal with her $10.

Daughter 2, however, had one motive in mind: Get the most items for her money. Her class set a goal to collect 150 items. She not only wanted to meet the goal, but she wanted to win. I'm not sure what they'd win, and neither did she, but that didn't' matter. What matters is winning.

Initially, she was going to purchase thirty boxes of macaroni and cheese. Then, she realized that while that would be thirty days of macaroni and cheese, she'd get bored of macaroni and cheese, and she put some back and bought some stuffing instead, which she would eat for thirty days straight if we let her. Then she put back two boxes of the stuffing and bought a box of spaghetti. Even though she doesn't like spaghetti, some kids do, and when Momma makes spaghetti it lasts for days. Maybe she was thinking about others after all.

So, be sure to contribute food in whatever way you can and make them smart contributions. And when this season of #ThankfulThursdays is over, remember to continue to give food. In February those food baskets are long gone, but the hunger isn't. 

For next week, we'll be delivering bottles of water to our local homeless shelter. I hope you'll join us for #ThankfulThursdays!

I See Where I Rate

For the most part, the government shut down didn't have a direct impact on me and my family except to cause extreme anxiety in my already-anxious child about how the government shut down would directly effect her and her alone. I have close friends whose families wondered where their grocery money for the week (or two or three) would come from; I knew people who weren't being paid because they are employees of the Federal government; and every single person I knew had an opinion, one way or another, about what the real issue was and who was at fault.

As for me, I didn't fully understand it. I listened to the commentary, I read every last shared post on Facebook (and then did some major blocking of ignorance), but I all I really got from it was that our politicians' behavior could be best summarized with two words: Big Babies.

Good news--they came to an agreement before we defaulted (whatever that means) and the government shut down was ended, which really didn't mean too much to me and my family because, as I said before, we weren't directly impacted. Life was still going on as usual. I blogged a little. We did our #ThankfulThursday. We went to school. We came home. We went to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

On Thursday morning, we woke up, got dressed in our costumes and drove to Tulsa to film my segment for Great Day Green Country. Brian and I were dressed as a Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes winner and spokesman. Daughter 1 was dressed as Napoleon Dynamite--Sahweet! And Daughter 2, after a lot of last minute scrambling, was dressed as one of the Duck Dynasty Guys.

We did a segment wherein I discussed how we do our own Halloween costumes and how I try to not spend exorbitant amounts of money on something that we'll only wear for four hours at best and how 90% of our costume can be used in some other capacity and about how I crowd source for the hard to find items--like a Napoleon wig.

The interviewer, KC Lupp, who is always so kind and seems genuinely interested during our segments, asked my family how they felt about my blog and my oversharing, and they all responded that they were the first editors, nothing gets posted without their approval and then we cleared.

All during my interview, I felt my phone in my back pocket vibrating like an adult toy with new batteries. Brian and The Daughters went back to the lobby--they didn't need much changing. I headed back to the changing room and then joined them in the lobby where I checked my phone.

You were preempted!
The president is speaking!
You aren't on! The president is!
Why aren't they showing you?
When will you be on?
What are you doing? Send. Send. Did it send? What are you doing? I don't think this phone is working. (My own momma just learned to text.)

So ... we stayed around to film my next segment ... but I'm not telling you when it will air in case the President reads my blog has plans to wipe me from the air completely. (So there! I will not go down easily, President Obama!)

In the meantime, though, we ran into a few of our Wednesday night friends:

So ... what was my takeaway from Thursday?

1. Apparently The President outranks a mom blogger from Oklahoma--who knew?

2. Modern Family photo opps always make things better.

3. Our costumes look really, really great on and off the air.

Conversation Of The Week

As we were on our way to film a segment for Great Day Green Country

The Daughters: What if they ask us questions?

Me: Answer them.

The Daughters: Will we have a microphone?

Me: Probably not.

The Daughters: How will they hear us?

Me: KC will probably have a hand-held and you should just speak loudly.

Later than morning as we're all--even The Daughters--being mic'd for our segment

Daughter 2: So, if he asks me a question, I can answer him?

Me: Yes, please do.

Daughter 2: Can I use more than one word?

Me: That'd be appropriate.

Daughter 2: Can I also sing a song if the music just comes to me?

Thankful Thursdays: Come along with us

CLICK.

Daughter 2 reached over the locked the doors as I stopped at the intersection.

"Whew," she sighed. "That was close."

"What was close?"

"That homeless man was standing right there with his sign and our door was unlocked!"

Not the actual sign--
even I knew better than to snap a pic at that moment.
Source.

It stopped me cold. Our town isn't known for peddlers but we are seeing more and more here and there. And, we have traveled to the bigger cities on several occasions and have seen the peddlers and beggars and have visited with our kids about who these people are and what they do.

I know ... I know ... a lot of them are scam artists, but I'm not on this planet to judge or interview or audit them. I'm on this planet to love them and to help them in whatever way I can. And I was really taken aback that Daughter 2 locked her door at the sight of this poor man holding his sign.

The light changed, and I turned onto the highway and drove straight to McGaggles. I bought him and his companion a couple of meals and some waters. I also talked to Daughter 2 about empathy. If we were in that situation, how would we feel? How would we feel when someone helped us? What would we want someone to do for us? So, we also got them a couple of fried pies.

We returned to the couple, and Daughter 2 opted to stay in the car while I delivered the food. She rolled down the window so she could hear me talk to them and to hear if I "yelled for help." We have a long way to go.

Brian and I have gone great lengths to make sure our girls understand that we are ALL (collectively, as a human race) in this world together, and we are called to do one thing as far as our fellow humans go: Love them. I'd like to believe that Daughter 2 does love the man with the sign, but she's not entirely certain how to do that ... and she's not entirely certain that it's okay. Since she's only nine years old, being a skeptic bodes well for her. This really did need to be something that I, as her momma, leads her in.

So, we're going to count down to Thanksgiving every Thursday. Come back here (www.Minivan-Momma.com) every Thursday--starting in TWO days--for the Thankful challenge. Each week, I'll post a challenge for you or you and your family to expand your world, be thankful for your life and love people.

We'll have a link to our Thankful Thursday Pinterest board. (Email me at Minivan.Momma.2{at}gmail{dot}com and let me know you want to contribute to the group board). We'll reveal our Twitter/Facebook/Instragram Hashtag.

You do not need to be a blogger to play along.

I can't wait to do Thankful Thursdays with you!

$25 Thrift Store Challenge

I love thrift stores--particularly, I love Goodwill. I know they have some practices that are not always in the best interests of everyone (I feel your pain, Africa), but I do love a good Goodwill store. (Say that three times fast.)

The Daughters? They love Goodwill as well. Mostly they love to go in to Goodwill and beg me to buy them every single stuffed animal on the twenty-five cent stuffed animal shelf.

"But momma, he needs a home."

So, when Oklahoma Women Bloggers (those are some good women, y'all) issued a $25 Thrift Store Challenge, I was on it like a tag-poppin' rapper.

I, however, put a twist on it. (Did you expect anything less?) I told The Daughters that they each had $25 to spend. They could not buy $25 worth of stuffed animals. They could not even buy twenty-five cents' worth of stuffed animals. They would, instead, buy one school-appropriate outfit and anything else they wanted as long as they didn't go over $25. They were so excited.

Since my own momma's birthday party was coming up, I decided my shopping would involve decorations or party supplies.

Upon entering the store on that very, very rainy day, Daughter 2's shoe immediately broke. She threw her shoes in the trash (No, I'm not kidding!), and went the rest of our shopping extravaganza barefooted (Yes, she did!) and no one even noticed--she fit right in.

She knew exactly what she wanted: Whatever was on the mannequin. So, while Daughter 1 carefully flipped through every single pair of jeans in her size, I undressed mannequins for Daughter 2.

With her arms loaded down with clothes that would make her look like a model, Daughter 2 entered the dressing room, where she erroneously assumed we couldn't hear her belting out a medley of Macklemore's "Thrift Stop," Bridgit Mendler's "Blonde," and Chris Thomlinson's "Awakening." It was like a very schzophrenic Vegas show.

Daughter 1, upon finding what she was looking for, took to the dressing room with one pair of jeans, one shirt and one dress. She left the dressing room five minutes later and declared she had finished shopping. She shops like her momma.

Since Daughter 2 was still trying things on, we retreated to their housewares department where I picked up three candy bowls, two serving plates and a vase for my own momma's birthday part. I conversed with another shopper who complained about parents allowing their kids to sing and be obnoxious like that while out in public. I nodded my head and said, "I know it!" a lot.

Forty-five minutes and a strange vocal rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner" which morphed into Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" later, Daughter 2 emerged victorious with a leopard print dress, a shirt, a jean jacket and a skirt.

The Daughters each picked out a necklace that would be perfect for their new outfits and then we checked out. I figured we had gone over the $50 limit--especially with my party purchases, but I was pleasantly surprised to find several items half price. We made it out only owing $49.29.

Here are our steals:

Jacket, blouse, skirt and necklace.
She wore it all for picture day.
I'm hoping we got that crazy smile for picture day, too.

Leopard print dress.
Those shoes. Um ... she didn't buy those.
Ahem ... not sure where those came from [blushing]

Jeans, top and necklace.
She was so over pics by this point, I wasn't going to beg for more.

Gasp! A dress! RIGHT?!?!  And she wore it! 

Two plates and two serving bowls--I spray painted the blue plate.
I may be addicted to spray paint.

The vase.
The jars were provided by The Domestic Artiste--she's got my back.

What was your last great shopping steal?

"Why?"

"Can I go with you, Momma?" Both daughters have asked. Not at the same time, of course, that would require that they work together and since this past weekend was an extended weekend, working together had long gone out the door.

"Nope," I said, only half-apologetically. I would love to have a weekend with just my family away in the wooded wilderness, but this is not the weekend for this. "It's for regular bloggers who are adult women only." I gave a very detailed description of the attendees so that they wouldn't think there was a chance they could go with me.

"But why are you going?" Good question. Good question, indeed.

I'm going away this weekend to Arkansas Women Bloggers Unplugged. I went last year and had a great time. In fact, last year, I got to visit with Stephanie Buckley, the beautiful blogger behind The Park Wife and the founder of The Women Bloggers. And when Steph and I visited, she asked me to start up and manage Oklahoma Women Bloggers. And the year since has been nothing short of amazing.

"But why are you going, Momma?" they have each whined multiple times. And it's a valid question. I want to go because I am really looking forward to the break--let's be clear on that point, of course. I want to go so that I can socialize with other women who put their lives on the internet for all to read as well--there are a lot of us, but we're a rare breed. I want to go so that I can learn new things and teach new things as well.  I go with that answer because I hope they see me as a lifelong learner and choose to be a lifelong learner for themselves.

"To learn how to be a better blogger."

"Why do you want to be a better blogger?" Ideally, I'd love to earn a living as a blogger. I'd love to write all day long. But, even if that opportunity presented itself, I'd have to be really passionate about writing--and that's what started me on this bloggy road in the first place. A passion to write and share and tell stories. They know what passion means; we've emphasized that word time and again with them. Be passionate about what you do ...

"Because I'm passionate about telling my story ... and your stories as well."

"Why do you want to tell our stories, Momma?" If only they knew how brilliant they are. If only they know how smart and beautiful they are. If only they knew how creative and thoughtful and thought-provoking they are. But right now, they don't know. Eventually they'll get it, but not now.

" I want to tell your stories so that when you are older, you'll have your life written down ... by me. It's a gift to you. My blog is my love letter to you ... "

source

"That and y'all do some really funny stuff."

What's Funny About It?

This weekend, we stopped for some catfish--this is a meal that everyone in the family loves ... except me. But, I'll eat beans and coleslaw and hushpuppies for the sake of family harmony. It's what mommas do best.

But I digress.

We stopped for catfish and at the end of the meal, I got up to use the restroom. Daughter 2 quickly jumped up to go with me because she is of the belief that if she goes without touching me for an extended time, we'll both implode. She practices Attachment Parenting. I, however, do not.  But, I let her come along with me for the sake of family harmony. It's what mommas do best.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. The bathroom. As we left the bathroom, we noticed a tall, dark, handsome cardboard cut out at the end of the hallway. I flipped the switch to turn on the lights at that end and was delighted to find George Straight.

"Look, honey," I said to Daughter 2, "George Strait must have been waiting for me to come out of the bathroom. I'll bet he wants to take a picture with me. Would you do the honors?" Then I handed off my phone to my youngest child.

"Momma?" she said tentatively, a slight bit of worry evident in her voice, "It's just a cardboard statue."

I smiled, "Yes. I'm being funny. It's not really George Strait. Now take the picture. It'll be funny."

"But you know he's not real, right?"

"I know. That's what makes it funny."

"What's funny about it, Momma?"

"He's not real. It's cardboard. Take the pic already!"

Satisfied that I knew it wasn't a real man, she snapped my pic and we returned to the table.

Cardboard or not, I'm telling people that I've kissed George Straight.

We ate the last of the hushpuppies, paid our bill, grabbed our free candy and left.

Just outside of the door, we found a statue of a buffalo or a bison--that argument is another post entirely. Daughter 1 ran her hand along it's face--the artist in her admiring the lines; the animal lover in her wishing it were real. Daughter 2, however, crouched down underneath the buffalo.

"Take my picture, Momma," she called.

"Um ... why?"

"Momma, look. It's funny!"

"What's funny about it, sweetie?"

"I'm milking him, but he's not real."

Silly city girl.

Wordless Wednesday: Daddy Daughter Date

Lesson Learned

Clean out the litter box.

This was all I said to Daughter 2--a verbal reminder to complete the one task she has to do every single day. And that was all it took for the whining, crying and blubbering to begin.

"But, Momma!" she sobbed, "I don't like to do that! You're so mean to make me do that! My friend doesn't have to do this!"

Her friend doesn't have cats.