#IceBucketChallenge

If you have no idea what the #IceBucketChallenge is, you need to leave this blog right now and catch up with the rest of the world. Also, where have you been for the past month or so?

The basic gist is this: You are challenged by someone you know to either douse yourself with ice water or make a donation to the ALS charity of your choice. Personally, I like the ALS Organization. Ideally, you should do both. And then you challenge whomever you want.

I encourage you, however, to not just douse yourself with ice and make a donation, but to find out about ALS. It's commonly known as Lou Gehrig's Disease and 5,600 people in the U.S. are annually diagnosed with ALS. At any given time, 30,000 people are living with the disease. Those are devastating statistics.

My cousin Courtney, of StopLightGoLight.com fame--I've written about her a lot--challenged me to the #IceBucketChallenge. This is laughable on so many levels. Courtney is rarely on Facebook and all of a sudden, she's posting video and tagging me. Lookie who turned out to be a social media aficionado after all? When I groaned, because I hate cold, The Daughters were all about dumping ice on me and themselves.

So, we decided, as a family, that we'd do the #IceBucketChallenge. Brian was in charge of getting the ice and filming. Lucky dog.

Daughter 1 went first. She'd been challenged by another friend as well. She challenged "everyone below" since she's going to post it on her Instagram. But, basically, she challenged Carinna, Daisha, and her Aunt Lulu and Uncle Jared.

Daughter 2 went next. She decided that Cousin Courtney must have challenged her as well. She challenged some of our Texas cousins, LJ, Brecken and Gavin, her Rebelz teammates and her Rebelz coaches.

I went last and challenged all of my co-workers at Central Middle School and all of the lovely ladies at Oklahoma Women Bloggers. Trust me. I know what I'm doing.

Enjoy!

Obligatory First Day Of School Post

Today I had my thirty-ninth first day of school. I think--math is not my thing.

Thirty-nine years ago, I went to Kindergarten in Mrs. Sturm's class, and today, I welcomed the beautiful baby faces of the class of 2020. (PS--The class of 2020 is in seventh grade this year.)

The first day of school is so full of promise and hope. Lovely faces in new clothes and shoes carry new supplies into a classroom. They have visions of being a straight A kid. They all have visions of growing up and being whatever they want to be. They also have dreams of making such a difference in the world that one day their life story will become a block-buster movie. And on this day--the first day of school--I share that vision with them.

I know, realistically, that not every kid will have a block-buster life for any number of heart-breaking reasons. I know, realistically, that there will come a day--some sooner, some later--that we will no longer share a vision with each other. I'll want them to work, and they'll just want the attention of the cute co-ed sitting at the next table. They are seventh graders, of course, even the best of teachers just can't compete with hormones on those cold winter days between New Year's and Spring Break.

But, the beauty of the first day of school is that you get one every year. And that's a wonderfully hopeful thing. It's also the reason I have had thirty-nine first days of school to call my very own.

And now for the obligatory first day of school picture. The Daughters are in transitional years. Daughter 1 is in the eighth grade--the last year of middle school. Next year, she'll be in high school. HOLY COW!  Daughter 2 is in the fifth grade--the last year of elementary. Next year, she'll be in middle school. God save the queen. With me being the queen, of course.

Aren't they the smartest, most beautiful creatures?

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!

Not Gone Nor Forgotten

This winter has caused us all kinds of memory issues. The cold has robbed our brains of our capacity to remember just the basics.

1. The Daughters have forgotten that we have a place for their shoes in their rooms. Right now there are seven pair of shoes under the table and three pair of shoes in the living room. We picked them up last night. This has all happened since 6:22 this morning. I blame the cold.

Source

2. We can't seem to remember that the trash men won't--because they've never--come into our house to fetch our trash. We still have to take it out to the trash can. Weird, right? You'd think that as cold as it is, we'd stop having trash in our house. Or, at the very least, that the trash men would actually come gather in from our house, particularly the bathroom trash, which is always overflowing despite the fact that no one actually puts anything in it.

3. Our family believes that when it's cold outside time moves much slower. "Why do I have to get up now?" was the whine this morning when I roused Daughter 1 this morning at the same time as I rouse her every other morning of this school year.

"We have to go to school?" I responded, leaving off the "duh."

"This early?"

"I always tell you to get out of bed this early, honey."

"But it's cold."

4. We are under the mistaken belief that I control the weather. I appreciate the fact that my family gives me credit for being that powerful, but really--when it's so stinkin' cold, their proper response should not be, "Why is it so cold, Momma? Why isn't it warm?" It's January, it's winter, it's going to be cold. I am not the great and powerful Oz, but pay no attention to the man behind the curtain anyway.

Sacrifcing Momma

I'm not sure when I first ate a Frog in the Hole, but I loved it. The yummy breakfast (or lunch or dinner) dish reminds me of college, but I cannot recall any instance when I actually ate it during college. Of course, there are many instances that I cannot recall from college (cough, cough, my junior year, cough, cough), so that doesn't really mean much.

Ohmygoodness, y'all! This is my favorite!

Frog in the Hole also reminds me of snow days--again, I'm not sure why. But, when we have a snow day, I get a hankering Frog in the Hole.

If you aren't sure what Frog in the Hole is let me 'splain. Butter a slice of bread with obscene amounts of butter (I only use real butter, y'all) on both sides. Slap that sucker in a warm skillet or griddle or whatever you want. Using a biscuit cutter or a round glass, cut a hole in the middle of the bread. Set that circle on the side of the bread (it may be the best part). Crack an egg into the hole, salt and pepper and cook. I love Frog in the Hole, I tell ya. Love it!

Last week when we had a snow day, I craved Frog in the Hole and asked The Daughters if they wanted Frog in the Hole. I already knew that The Dad wouldn't. He has no taste. They both nodded their heads from their vegetative state watching "My Little Pony." So, I made three Frog in the Holes. Frogs in the Hole? Frogs in the Holes? I made three of my yummy, buttery, egg-y dish.

And that's when it happened.

"I won't eat this."

"Is it real frog?"

"Why is the egg in my toast?

"What am I supposed to do with the little circle?"

"I don't like crusts."

"I thought I asked for cinnamon toast and deviled eggs."  Daughter 2 never remembers what she orders.

I stood in the kitchen with three Frogs in the Holes ... or whatever their plural is ... and wondered what to do next.

I only wondered a short time: I ate them all three. I'll be starting cholesterol meds next month, I'm sure, but it was worth the sacrifice.

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.

Christmas Break 2013-2014, Day #2,561

You know when you were a little kid and wished that Christmas would never end? It's happening. It's happening right now. It's a million degrees below zero out there and, initially, the kids were totally all about it.

Now? We're over it. We're Okies. We like our one-time snow day. We like our one-time snow/ice storm. After that? We're done.

Of course, this weekend the temps will be in the 50s. It's Oklahoma. We're where Mother Nature comes when her hormones bottom out.

So, what will we do today on our 2,561 day home? Anything we want. My brain is spent.

January 6--Beans! Beans! The Magical Fruit!

(Are beans even a fruit?!)

Today is Bean Day. It's also Cuddle Up Day. If you get the chance to stay in jammies all day underneath a big warm blankie, I suggest you just do that. If you eat beans, I suggest you cuddle only with people who have had beans or dogs. You can blame your toots on your cuddle partner or the dog. But that's just my opinion. Do whatever you want to.

For Bean Day, we're making a big ol' pot of beans. For New Year's Day, I baked a spiral ham and kept the bone (this is something that I never do and my mother always chastises me for it). I'll make cornbread for Brian and then eat those muffins piled high with jelly for my dessert. The Daughters, however, will not even eat the beans. I'll make them a chicken sandwich instead.

The beans--they are soaking and sad for some 

ham and Rotel!

You could also start your beans for your garden on this day. the home improvement stores already have their starter stuff and soil out.

This would also be a good day to make up some dry bean soup in a jar and deliver it to your neighbors--especially remember those who may be cooped up in their houses alone during the winter. You know me, I like to share and (over)share and (over)share some more.

Let's all finish the day by singing the Bean Song! Sing it with me, now, y'all!

Beans, beans, the magical fruit

The more you eat, the more you toot

The more you toot the better you'll feel

So let's all eat beans for every meal!

Beans, beans, they're good for your heart

The more you eat, the more you fart

The more you fart, the more you'll eat

And you'll spend the night on the toilet seat!

Beans, beans, they give you gas

They make you fart and burn your a$$

The more you eat the more it hurts

Slow down your eating to stop the squirts.

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: Shopping With The Daughters

I love my family. 

When Daughter 1 was a itty-bitty toddler (actually, she was never itty-bitty), she used to tell us, "My favorite thing to say is 'I love my family.'" And it was her favorite thing to say. She'd tell waitresses, our pastor, people in line at Hellmart. It's kinda become our motto: I love my family.

This picture has nothing to do with this post. I just really like it.
I should frame it, right?

And it's the truth. I do love my family.

I do not, however, typically love shopping with my family. I'm not a big fan of shopping anyway. I don't like spending money. I don't like going on wild safaris in search of just the right item or fighting crowds--it just doesn't light my fire. The shopping that I have to do for groceries every week wears me out, and I leave The Daughters home for that outing.

But, once a year, we take The Daughters out by themselves to go shopping for each other. Brian and I accompany them as the basket pusher and accountant, keeping them within budget.

On these shopping days? I love shopping, and I love shopping with my family.

This year, Daughter 2 took along a notebook and pencil (so she could erase), and she made a list of items that her sister would like (along with the price) then she carefully decided what would make her sister the happiest. There was a lot of thought and consideration that went into her selections.

Daughter 1 spent a great deal of time picking out the exact item that would best suit her sister. This year's gift was not what Daughter 2 specifically asked for, but it's something she would want more and hadn't even considered.

It's in those moments when they consider a gift for each other that the pettiness of sibling rivalry melts away. The harmful words and hurtful grumblings fade to nothingness at the sight of them each pulling from their hearts to select just the right things. Shopping with them for Christmas makes my momma heart pound with pride.

Then we go home and Daughter 2 says, "I got you a One Direction pillow." (She didn't.)

And Daughter 1 says, "You know I hate One Direction."

So Daughter 2 fires back, "So, you have to say thank you anyway; it's the rule."

Then Daughter 1 says, "Well, I hope you enjoy your stupid lime Jell-O because that's what I got for you." (She didn't.)

And Daughter 2 whines, "You know I hate Jell-O! Unless we are at Furrs!"

But, I have that memory of a sweet sister pouring her heart and soul into her gift choice to keep me going until Christmas rolls around again next year.

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!

#NaBloPoMo: Accomplishment Of Which I Am Most Proud

What accomplishment am I most proud of? Hint: There's not just one. For the sake of time, I'll give you three...

It'd be easy to say that I'm most proud of my books. Just eighteen months ago, I was dreaming of being a best-selling author. And now I am one.

I am proud that I set a goal to have my books published and am meeting that goal. I'm proud that The Daughters are seeing hard work and dedication paying off. I love that they are sharing their dreams with me but I'm prouder still that their are sharing their plans to make those dreams come true.

I'm proud of a little thing called Listen To Your Mother. I met Misti Kae almost three years ago when we were cast in the NWA production. Last year, we were selected to produce a show in OKC. This year, we're producing a show ... again!

I'm proud that this little show is a nationwide movement that gives motherhood a mic.

I'm proud of my family. My hubby is an amazing rock star--He rocks the classroom, he's rocking his health, he rocks daddy-dom. He's nothing short of amazing--and I'm not just saying that because he puts up with my shenanigans and doesn't whimper or mutter things like it's been a good run, but Imma be going now.  

Our daughters are beautiful, talented, spunky, sassy, strong-willed, smart, dedicated to their dreams, and mine. All mine. I chose them before I knew them. I made them. I birthed them. I love them and am so proud of them.

So, accomplishment (singular) that I'm most proud of? I haven't a clue. But, accomplishments (plural) that I'm most proud of? There's not enough space on the internet for me to list them all.

#ThankfulThursday: Thirsty

Almost as soon as we get in the car to go church, across town, school, the grocery store, wherever, someone will say, "I'm thirsty."

We put The Daughters to bed and as soon as we do, we hear, "I need a drink."

I have a water bottle on my desk all day long and a cup full of ice water on the table beside me all night long. 

We are heavy drinkers, and we take it for granted. Today, I wanted The Daughters to understand that some people don't have the luxury of a simple drink of water at their disposal. We went to our favorite small grocery store and bought a few cases of water and delivered them to the homeless shelter in our town. 

"What will they do with them?" Daughter 2 asked.

"Give them to anyone who's thirsty," I answered.

"They should give them ..." 

And that's when the rules started. 

Give them to people who aren't staying the night--only passing through.
Give them out first thing in the morning. Give them out last thing at night.
Put them in the fridge so they are cold.
Leave them at room temperature so the bottles won't sweat.
Make people refill the bottles. 
Make people recycle the bottles.
Make people turn in one bottle to get another.

This wasn't the conversation I had intended, but it worked out well. This was the perfect opportunity for me to explain to them that when we give, we don't attach strings or rules or regulations. We give for two reasons and two reasons only: We want to and we need to.  

And when we give our gift, we let it go. It's not ours anymore. We have to trust that what needs to be done will be done. 

So, we delivered the water, and as one of my favorite people, Misti Pryor often says, we blessed it and let it go. That may be the hardest part of giving--letting it go without our strings attached. It's also the most beautiful part of giving.

For next week's #ThankfulThursday, we're going back to the same shelter and serving a meal with our church. Daughter 2 has done this before. Daughter 1, I'm hoping, will understand just how blessed her life is that she has a choice in what she eats for dinner. 

#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.

#ThankfulThursday: The Elderly

This week's opportunity for Thankfulness involved the elderly. The Daughters and I decided to decorate miniature pumpkins and deliver them to a local nursing home. We spent most of Tuesday night painting the gourds and then we delivered them Wednesday afternoon.

I took the girls to a nursing home where My Daddy had spent a few weeks after a debilitating stroke. I thought it would be a good time to visit with The Daughters about their Grampy, and we could talk about being thankful for our health and being thankful for long lives.

We had to be buzzed into the home and Daughter 2 wondered who was in there that was so important. Is the president's grandmother in here? Maybe a former mayor? OH! Maybe a movie star from the 80s is in here! Cool!

When we had to be buzzed out, she wondered why there had to be so much security. We had a good conversation about how residents didn't always like being there, didn't understand being there and weren't able to care for themselves if they were to wander outside the walls of the nursing home. It was a sobering lesson in the final days of life.

Since we arrived at nap time (which may be all day for all we know), we opted to decorate the tables in the dining room instead of giving them to specific residents, none of whom we knew personally. There was a couple sitting at one of the tables that thanked us for the decorations. Other than that, we received no official thanks ... and I was perfectly fine with that.

My sweet (and fuzzy) girls decorating the dining room.

It's good to do things without the expectation of recognition. In fact, we should do nice things everyday without expecting to be recognized for it. Another great lesson learned.

On the way out we noticed a post on a bulletin board asking for craft supplies. I imagine that nursing homes are often forgotten when people are looking to make donations. We have the requested supplies, so we'll be visiting them again.

Did you visit a nursing home this week? Tag your post and your pictures with #ThankfulThursdays so we can all be thankful together.

For next week: Let's be thankful for our health. Make several get well cards and deliver them to a local hospital. If there's not a hospital close by, deliver them to a doctor's office. Ask the nurse(s) to pass them out to patients who need a lift. You might also want to make some cookies or take some snacks for the nurses who tirelessly care for those patients.

Come back next week and check in--I want to hear how your #ThankfulThursdays are going!

Anatomy of my Morning

"You wanna meet me for a morning walk?" my friend innocently asked not knowing that I was fixing to rip her  ears from her head and stuff them down her dirty talking mouth.

"I don't do mornings," I growled with a sneer that rivaled Jack Nicholson's sneer.

Source

"C'mon," she insisted. "You'll feel better."

"Lady ... ," I growled. "Let's take a took at my morning ..."

Sharp As A ... Pencil

Earlier in the summer, I received a Classroom Friendly Pencil Sharpener. I finally got to use it last week.

Yeah. There was a problem with it.

The Cat Came Back

"Momma!" Daughter 2 yelled at me as I pushed a mower through the jungle that had become our front yard, "We found Leonard!"

Four days earlier, during a rain storm that had helped our lawn achieve jungle status, Bo The Dumb Dog had opened our back door and let himself in. He dug through our trash, probably ordered some porn on pay-per-view, and then let himself back out when the rain stopped. In the meantime, the door to the back yard was open and the cats, Leonard and Sheldon, let their curiosity take them where Daughter 2 was afraid to let them go: outside.

Proof #526 That I Have Momma Brain

The Daughters and I decided to head to the big shopping mecca just south of us. Since it was a combined back-to-school slash Christmas shopping trip, I joked and said, "I wonder if 94.1 is playing Christmas music yet." Last year, they started playing it very early, and, as a result, I started listening to Christmas music very early. Sadly, they were not playing Christmas music; instead, they were playing 80s music. It's as if 94.1 were trying to make up for their lack of Christmas music.