falling out of bed

one hour after 'lights out' for Mac...

she appears, a bit disheveled...

Mac: (with tears streaming down her face) Mom, I fell out of bed (picture big pouty face)

me: [quiet giggle, accompanied by Steve] Oh, honey... I'm sorry

Mac: Mom, I'm serious! I really fell out of my bed!!

me: Honey, I believe you. I'm sorry. [wipes tears off of Mac's cheeks]

me: Mac, those are fake tears!!!

Mac: NO, they are NOT!!!!

me: Mac, I know they are fake!!!!

Mac: Mom, I *really* fell out of my bed and I'm *really* crying!!!!

me: Mac, I believe you that you fell out of your bed and I'm truly sorry, but I *know* that your tears are fake.

Mac: NO, Mom, THEY ARE NOT FAKE!!!!

me: Mac, they are fake.

Mac: [growing increasingly very angry] MOM... THEY ARE *NOT* FAKE TEARS!!!!!!!

me: Mac, if they aren't fake, then why is it completely dry directly under your eye and the tears don't start until halfway down your cheek???

Mac: [trying to hide her giggle] Mom, I did NOT put those tears on there, they are REAL!!!!!

me: No, they aren't.

Mac: YES, they are!!!!

me: No they are not.

Mac: YES THEY ARE!!!! [an even cuter 'trying to hide' giggle]

me: no they aren't

Mac: [bursts out in laughter]

me: [laughing out loud right along with her]

Mac: [BURSTS OUT IN TEARS 'CUZ SHE'S BUSTED] /runs away to her room crying

I went into her room to comfort her (because I'm not *cruel*). She keeps insisting that she did, in fact, fall out of her bed. She really did. Because she has so much crap piled on her bed that she has to sleep halfway hanging off of the side. I rearrange said bed, tossing most of the junk on the floor (she'll have to clean *that* up tomorrow), rearrange her pillows and tuck her in nicely. I gave her sufficient cuddles and kisses... she's forgiven me.

But the tears were fake. And she knows it.

Church

Before anyone aware of my present situation panics... don't!!! No, he didn't convert me. I must preface this entire post with saying that I still very much believe in God. I pray with my children every single night before bed. I believe in Heaven and Hell. But, mostly, I believe I'm spiritual.

I was raised 'in the church'. Attended fairly religiously (pun intended) from the time I can remember until just before I left for college. And for that, Mom and Dad, I thank you. I wouldn't change one single thing about my upbringing. I appreciate my Christian beginnings, the bible studies, the youth groups, the summer camps, the fellowship.

I've circumspectly traveled down the path of my spiritual growth. At one time... and this'll have them rolling over in their graves... in my very late teens, very early twenties, I actually considered myself agnostic (wow! even before I'd ever heard of the Limey!!!) I wasn't so sure about all the things I had been taught about God. I couldn't get concrete evidence... nobody could *prove* that such a thing existed. So, naturally, I questioned. And I grew. I grew up emotionally, mentally and spiritually.

I finally came to the conclusion that, yes, I do believe in God. And this remains a conclusion that I hold steadfast to this very day. But something makes me different and I'm not sure I understand why?

To sum up what I 'believe' is, actually, pretty simple. I believe that we should love our neighbor as ourselves. I believe that we should strive to do good and despise evil. I believe in the good in people, *all* people. But most of all, I believe that I have absolutely no right to pass judgement over anyone, or anything for that matter, ever.

See, I believe that my life is for me to live. Just as your life is for you to live, just as your neighbor's life is for him to live. How dare I pass judgement on someone, *anyone*, until I walk the proverbial mile? And this, I'm afraid, is where I split from the traditional values I 'should' hold near and dear.

I believe that if two people love each other, then they should be together. Simple. Of course, some will toss several arguments my way tossing out ridiculous things like 'child molesters' who profess 'love' or some other equally disturbing analogy. What I'm talking about are two consenting adults (teenagers could apply here in some cases, but we'll keep it simple). I could give a toss if they are two women, two men, one black, one purple... what flippin' difference does it make??? Why in the world would I not wish for others to feel the same amorous feelings that I feel towards my husband? It's wonderful being in love... and why should two people who share that feeling ever be told that they can't or that they are wrong??? I simply don't get it.

This leads to the judgement thing... who in the hell am I to pass judgement over anyone? Why in the world would I ever dream of telling someone that they are wrong, simply because they don't make the same choices I do??? Goodness, I've gotten it wrong so many times... I would *hope* that people don't make some of the same decisions I do!!!

I heard a sermon once... loosely paraphrased, it went something like this... If a family is not made up of a Christian man and a Christian woman, with God in the center, coming first and foremost always and forever, with various children a product of said marriage, again, putting God first and foremost always and forever, then the family is not only not a 'proper' family, but it is doomed to failure. Now, this was a sermon heard fairly recently in a church that I am fairly close to (not necessarily in distance). So, that being said... my family is doomed. Again, parted ways.

Why can't we just live our lives as good people? Mind our own business and just be nice? If someone is nice to me, does it really matter who they share a bed with? I just don't understand how anyone can answer 'yes'. I really don't.

Saying all of this, I realize that many would not consider me a Christian at all. But I do. And my God is a God who actually *does* love *everyone*. My God wouldn't want, for one second, me to hate someone simply because of the color of their skin. Unfortunately, I know, as fact, that hating someone for something so superficial is, in all actuality, not that uncommon. Where does The Bible say that it's ok to do that? I must've missed that passage.

My 'Handyman'

Steve and I will be married two years this July 1st. We had an 'interesting' start, to say the least. But, things have settled down, and I must say, I'm probably the happiest I've been in a very long time. I won't get all sappy or anything, but suffice it to say that, this time, it ends with a coffin.

We really enjoy the simple things with each other. One of our favorite pastimes, is just sitting around and chatting. We've gone complete weekends without the kids with never leaving the house and never turning on the tv. Those have turned out to be some of the best weekends we've had.

We enjoy DIY. Our home is a wonderful palette to exercise our DIY ambitions. What I'm learning, to my pleasant surprise, is that Steve will actually get busy and *do* the things we talk about. Picture it... you're sitting there, with your significant other, or roommate, or whomever the person is that you cohabitate with, talking about and envisioning all the things you'd like to do to improve your dwelling. Now, I don't know about you, but my past experiences have been that nothing much past the 'talk' stage actually gets done. Not the case now. Don't get me wrong, we do our fair share of dreaming... mark my word, this house will *never* get an addition and the garage will never become a den. But, the improvements we've talked about that are actually attainable have been done.

It's mostly down to him. I lack the motivation and knowledge to actually get anything done on my own (I help plenty, tho... even Steve would attest to that). I always ask him how he knows so much stuff about 'stuff'.

His latest endeavor has been to improve the outside areas of our home, as summer is approaching and we will soon be spending much more time outdoors. I won't run down the list of projects completed (suffice it to say it's decent) or projects in the works (suffice it to say it's decent, as well) or projects we'll get to when we have the money (suffice it to say that this one is probably the longest!). He's good. Damn (sorry, Mom) good. Hopefully, he can turn it into a business, but until then, I'm definitely enjoying his 'practice' pieces...

My *HAPPY* post!

I love my life. I love my job. I love that I live only 45 minutes away from my parents and sisters and nieces and nephew and Granny. I love that we are going to start looking for a new house soon. I love that I have a reliable vehicle to get me to and from places. I love that my children go to a good school. I love that their teachers are good teachers who care about them. I love that all breakfasts and lunches at my kids' school are free. I love that I have direct deposit. I love my children, all five of them, more and more each and every day. I love that school is almost out for the summer. I love that all of my paperwork is caught up. I love the smell of babies' heads. I love my children's feet. I love that I have medical insurance. I love my husband. I love that Mic learned to ride his bike without training wheels when he was only four. I love that I have old pictures from high school to look back on. I love my yellow summer shoes. I love my bed. I love when Mac tells me she likes to hang out with me. I love singing with my husband. I love Saturday mornings. I love it when N rubs my neck for me. I love my cats. I love the furniture my husband is building. I love my life.

I love happy posts :)

An apology to my Mother

Steve and I went to visit my parents this evening. They live about 45 minutes away, and we thought it would be nice to pop over to visit and have dinner together. In the course of conversation, I realize that my Mom has been reading my blog. I forget that Steve has put a link to my blog in his journal, which we are aware that Mom reads on a regular basis. Mom and I were chatting about the muddy incident which led to the 'Shower Time...' post last night. I was telling her that I let my oldest daughter, who is eight, read that post. I talked with her before she read it, about the nicknames mentioned. She was fine... not really a big deal to her at all. So, I'm telling Mom this story and she says, "Well, leave the cuss words [sic] out, then" Oops! Busted!!!

I came home and hopped onto my blog to survey the damage I'd done. Looking through, yes, I have tossed out my share of obscenities, but, my excuse is that close to half of my posts are 'vents' or simply put, me bitching (sorry, Mom) about something. (as an aside... I started thinking that I should really start posting more positive things, rather than complaining all of the time. As I've said... I really *am* a happy person!!) Cussing is usually just a given in 'vents'. I know, I know... the point can be made just as well without the curse words, but, part of the purpose (for me) of blogs is just to be able to 'get it all out' freely and openly.

So...

Dear Mom,
I am sorry that you have been exposed to my potty mouth. I really don't talk like that in my daily dealings with people. I *always* watch what I say around your grandchildren. I strive to raise them to be proper, decent, upstanding citizens. Because we realize that they will be exposed to curse words in other parts of their lives, we try to teach them that swearing is not ok for children to do.

I promise, I will try to keep in mind that you *do* like to stop by my little corner of the 'net from time to time and I promise, that if I do nothing else, I will never use the "f" word in my posts ;) And, you're right, I absolutely can get my point across without the 'dirty' words. I will try to do better, but I'm quite certain that one will slip a time or two ;) And when it does, I also vow to immediately take myself to the bathroom and promptly wash my mouth out (or should it be my fingers off?) with soap :D (Steve will be my witness)

I like that you read my blog. You probably see a side of me that you either never thought was there, or *knew* was there, but you just can't believe I put it out there for all the world to see!!!

I love you, Mom. Give Dad a hug from me :)
x0x0x0x0

Shower time...

If you clicked on this post hoping to see anything remotely sultry or sexy or something intriguing involving nakedness and water, I'm sorry to have to inform you that you will be terribly disappointed (as *if* I'd post anything like that anyway :p)

Tonight, I'm standing on a step ladder looking for something in the top of Mic and N's closet (what it was escapes me... certainly lost it's importance immediately after the following event). The kids were out front, playing in the cul-de-sac with some of the neighbor kids. Bikes out, jump ropes jumping, SpongeBob somewhere in the middle of all of it was sticking out his tongue. All was well, or so we thought...

I hear Mic crying, which I should point out, isn't unusual for Mic. Very early in their lives, I so eleoquently nick-named them 'Bitchy, Whiney and Messy' in decending order (which, actually makes Mic 'Whiney' any way you look at it... poor middle-child!). The nics have stuck, not because they were particularly cute or anything, but simply because they continue to live up to them! Now, mind you, we don't actually *call* the kids by these names, nor do we use them around anyone else but each other and very close adult friends. I couldn't have called it any better, had I tried.

I digress... Mic's crying. I didn't rush to him or anything because a) it's Mic (see above) and b) my ever so attentive husband is in the garage, which is where I hear the cries coming from. Now, had I thought it through, I may have paid more attention to the whine, as while Steve was in the garage, the garage has recently become his workshop and while in said workshop, Steve has, at times, been known to get so wrapped up in what he's doing that it may take a time or three of calling his name (read SHOUTING) to get his attention. (I'll post more on this later, because we actually don't mind him ignoring us... you should see the work he produces!!)

So, I'm thinking Mic skinned his knee again, or N hit him, or Mac looked at him wrong... Steve'll deal with it. Then I hear, again from the garage, "JOOODDDIIIEEEEE!!!!!" This time, it's Steve. "What?!", I shout from the closet. "YOU NEED TO COME HERE!!!!" Great... so I climb down from the step-ladder to go tend to the crying, all the while grumbling to myself, "Why can't he just take care of it? What can be so earth-shattering that I'm needed at this instant?" At which point, my mind goes to, "Crap, if it's something so major that he actually *does* need me, what happened?" Fully expecting to see something tantamount to a compound fracture or a partially severed limb... I walk out to find this...







They found the mud 'pit' left from where the neighbor's camper was parked. I wish I'd had a video of them when I asked who's hair-brained idea *this* was... they all pointed at each other. I suppose it could have been worse!

So, as the title says... it's shower time!!!

Man, I love my kids :)

Nothing at all...

... useless ramblings... hey! that's what I should re-name my blog. Wonder if I can change it? Probably not, now that I've come up with something *way* more creative than 'Jodie's Blog' (that took a lot of thinkin', ya know???)

My neck hurts. Really bad lately. Still waiting to hear from the insurance company if my surgery is going to be approved or not. Hurry up and wait. Seems like the story of my life, sometimes. (I can't remember if I mentioned the upcoming surgery in my 'Pain Management' post or not... if I didn't, I'm quite sure I'll ramble about it in the near future).

N comes up with little cute tidbits every day. Today, she's standing in the hallway (linoleum) making her shoes squeak by rubbing them on the floor. She said, "Look, Mommy, my shoes scream!"

Ok... I obviously have absolutely nothing to post about, so I'm going to go and see if I can change my blog title...