I'll Be Sick for Christmas

It's all SB' s fault, really. She started it. She ran a fever off and on from Wednesday through Sunday. While the fever seems to be gone, it has been replaced by a nasty cough. And she was kind enough to share her germs with Jack and me.

Isn't she the most pitiful thing? SB and Bunny doing a breathing treatment.

At least Jack can take good medicine. He's already feeling better after a day or two on steroids and cough syrup. Meanwhile, my pregnant self is stuck with a sore throat and congestion that I can't seem to shake. Did I mention I was pregnant? Because I am. Very. Just ask SB who now calls me "the biggest momma I ever saw." That comment is almost always followed by a big hug around one of my giant thighs, so I can't be mad at her. I'm pretty sure she means it as a compliment. Although she did come into my room a few days ago while I was changing shirts and with wide eyes informed me that "your tummy is too big." Thanks for the pep talk.

For those of you who don't know, here is the rundown:

I'm 29 1/2 weeks, due March 6.
We're having another girl.
Jack is still hoping she will turn out to be a boy.
Her name is Debra Ann, after my mother; we plan to call her Annie.
SB loves to talk to her baby sistah and translates Annie's kicks into words for me and Jack:
"She just said she can't wait to meet me!"
"She just said she looooooves cranberry juice!"
"She just said she wants a poop dog for Christmas!"

Anyway, with Annie counting on me to keep her healthy, I'm trying to muster through this cold as best I can with minimal meds to help me breathe. I'm just praying we are all well before Saturday. My whole family is coming into town for Christmas night, and I am so excited. Especially to see my Texas sister and her family.

Before I sign off to go drink another cup of hot water with lemon juice (oh, where are my beloved RBFs??), let me share 2 things with you. First, a conversation I overheard SB having via telephone with heaven:

SB: Zaccheaus? Hi, it's Sarah Beth....No, we're out shopping. Can I talk to Jesus?............
Jesus? Hi, it's Sarah Beth.....No, haha, no, we're just out shopping. Can I talk to God?..............
God? Hey, Sarah Beth. Do you have toys at your house?...... Ok good. Well, we're out shopping so I'll talk to you later.

Secondly, I realized a few weeks ago while driving SB and my niece to church that we had not really discussed with SB why we celebrate Christmas in the first place. She was in the back seat yelling about the poop dog, and my 5-year-old niece spoke up: "You know what I want for Christmas?" She waited patiently for me to ask what it was that she wanted and then said: "Jesus." That's all. No poop dogs, just Jesus.

So a few days later, I tried to tell SB about why we really celebrate Christmas. It's not all about decorating trees and pooping dogs. It's Jesus' birthday! I tried to relate it to a Christmas book she likes to read, but all SB heard was "birthday."

SB: It's Jesus' birthday?? Well, when is Zaccheaus' birthday?

I know what she's thinking. If she gets presents on Jesus' birthday, why not on Zaccheaus' birthday too, right?

Me: That's a good question. I don't know.
SB: Well, what's he gonna do?
Me: You mean, how is he going to celebrate his birthday? I'm not sure.
SB: When is God's birthday?
Uh oh.
Me: God doesn't have a birthday.
SB: Why not?
Me: Hey, is that a rabbit over there????

I think we might wait until next year to delve into the real meaning of Christmas discussion.

It's Beginning to Smell a Lot Like Christmas

No need to sit on Santa's lap this year. Not that SB would ever dare come close to such a frightening figure such as Santa Claus, but as it turns out, we didn't need him to ask what she wanted for Christmas this year. Sarah Beth made up her mind a long time ago, and she will not be swayed.

I noticed lately whenever she is watching cartoons, she pays just as much attention to the advertisements as she does the actual cartoon. And she wants everything.

Mom! Come look at this! Can you pause it?? I want that! Look, Mom, look!

Like I said, she wants just about everything she sees advertised. However, there is one toy on the market that has made an especially lingering impression on my animal loving daughter.

At first, I wasn't certain I was hearing her correctly. I dismissed it the first few times she mentioned it, but persistence finally won out, and I was left with no choice but to investigate. I google searched, "toy dog that poops" and SB wasn't lying, nor was my hearing impaired.

WARNING: If you are easily grossed out, please stop reading now. Go pick up an LL Bean catalog and see how fast you can go through it and figure out which items are new from last months edition. Don't watch this video.



SB calls it the poop dog and has made a game of going about the house, yelling "poop dog!" in each room until she finds me. Just to let me know she hasn't forgotten about it. SB is for some strange reason delighted with the idea of watching a dog poop, cleaning it up and then feeding it back to the dog. I was so horrified at what I saw that I told SB there was no way I was ever getting her any toy that pooped. I told her it was gross and to forget about it.

She didn't.

She was talking to Jack's grandmother on the phone last week and only uttered 5 words before I had to yank the phone away. His grandparents have a dog named Wags and a cat named Kit. SB always asks about them whenever they speak on the phone.

Me: Here, SB, say hi to Gran.
SB: Wags!
Gran told her that Wags was outside and would love to play with her next time she came over.
SB: Kitty cat!
Gran told her that Kit was outside too and would see her at Christmas.
SB: Poop dog!

I guess Christmas is the trigger word for this new Pavlovian response. I frantically grabbed at the phone and prayed the translation had been lost over the telephone wires. SB kept yelling in the background while she danced down the hallway, "poop dog! poop dog! poop dog!" I ran in the other direction, explaining that SB was kind of busy and couldn't really talk at the moment.

I had a few friends over earlier this week, and SB enjoyed playing with their kids while we visited. The next day, one mother called me to say that her son had been asking for a poop dog ever since they left our house. (This happened to be the same mother whos lipstick SB was wearing last Saturday night after dumping out her purse. I don't supposed we will be getting any more dinner invites from them for a while.)

And imagine my humiliation whenever a kind old lady in the grocery line asks SB what she wants for Christmas.

"Poop dog!" She always yells with such enthusiasm. Then they look at me with disdain and quickly select another line. How do you respond to that? I know what they're thinking, what a horrible mother I am for a child to say such a thing. But don't blame me! Blame it on Mattel!

I, like every other good parent, went to Wal Mart at midnight on Thanksgiving in order to secure for my child the best toy for Christmas. I was so excited for her to open up a Barbie Jeep on Christmas morning. I was sure she would be delighted and insist on taking it for a spin around the block despite the freezing weather. I would, of course, oblige and happily chase her down the street while she sped around the block, the happiest little girl in town.

Now I'm plagued by nightmares that SB will rip into the barbie jeep and move right past it in search of her beloved poop dog.

So if you see us out this Christmas season, do me a favor and don't ask SB what she wants for Christmas. And say a prayer that the power of the Barbie Jeep will be enough to overwhelm any feelings for the poop dog.

What Child Is This?

So I've been away for a while. What can I say? SB has been keeping me on my toes. I can't succinctly recap the last 6 months, but what I can give you is a small taste of what the last 6 days have been like in our home. First of all, you should know that SB has pretty much always been really really good. But somewhere in the last week, I lost my angel. I'm not sure what happened to cause this change. Read on and see for yourself.

Wednesday: SB and cousins are playing on the swingset at my parents house. Then they decide to help themselves to the inside of my car. I quickly removed them from the car, only to realize they had helpfully locked the doors before leaving...with my keys inside. It was nap time, and did I mention that SB had safely strapped bunny into her carseat just before I pulled her out of the car? So that was a nice afternoon. But it was nothing compared to the storm that was coming.

Thursday: I'm diligently working on the computer, keeping Jack's business in order, and I think about how good and quiet SB has been in her room. Should have been my first clue that she wasn't pulling on my shirt for something to eat or drink or a cartoon...but it wasn't. When I went upstairs to check on her, she immediately ran to her room and closed the door. Not a good sign. When I went in, I saw white. Thick white paste with a strangely familiar scent...desitin. And it was smeared everywhere, including on SB.

Her clothes, toys, furniture, CARPET, everything was covered in a thick, white, scented goo. I was pretty angry. After a small talk and a not so small spanking, she had to throw away her smeared toys and sit in time out while I attempted to clean the carpet. She has had a desitin obsession for a while now, and I thought I had removed all of the temptation from reach. But she somehow managed to find TWO tubes by climbing onto her rocking chair (another big no no) and reaching the top shelf in her room.

Friday: Same scenario, me hard at work while SB was playing quietly upstairs. I didn't wait long to check on her this time, but apparently five minutes was all she needed to remove the peanut butter from the cabinet, hide in her room and empty the container of half of its contents. At least she was kind enough to use a spoon, put it in the sink and return the PB to the cabinet when she had finished her work.

When I walked into her room, the sight was disturbingly familiar, my white nightmare painted brown. I was SO MAD and confused. How could she do this AGAIN? Another talk, spanking and time out while I scrubbed the carpet in a vain attempt to remove the peanut butter. I'm pretty sure some of her pillows are still stained brown.

Me: SB, where did you get the peanut butter???
SB: Bunny gave it to me.
(I ignored the bunny comment)
ME: Why did you do this?
SB: Because I was hungry, and you wouldn't give me anything!

A quick look around showed a plate of crackers and sliced apples on the dining room table and a half-eaten pop tart on the kitchen counter.

Who can reason with a guilty three-year-old??

Saturday: We spent most of the day out of the house, because I was too tired and angry to clean up any more messes and because I was worried what I might do to my child if she misbehaved again. SB played with the little boy next door, we bought and decorated our Christmas tree and went to a friends house for dinner. I was able to relax a little while the kids played after dinner, but when we got ready to leave, I noticed a strange red substance on SB's arms, clothes and face.

After my friend discovered the contents of her purse strewn about her bedroom, we reasoned it must have been lipstick. Another spanking, this time from Daddy. Thank God I was spared from the sole responsibility of punishment this time. Daddy spankings are much more effective than mine, or so I thought.

Sunday: Church, nap, dinner; a pretty uneventful day. Bedtime rolls around, and SB was allowed to fall asleep in our bed, because she is afraid of the dark all of a sudden, and somehow our room is less scary. After getting up 3-4 times to tell me very important things, like how she had decided that she was afraid of Jesus or that she really wanted a poop dog for Christmas (another story in itself), I finally thought she was asleep. I was wrong.

Jack and I were in the living room. My brother and sister were visiting with us. SB was in the hallway. She was timidly calling my name. She knew she shouldn't be out of bed. I got up and went through the kitchen but before I reached the hallway, a strong odor began burning through my nasal cavity. SB looked guilty as hell.

SB's nightgown was covered in something. It was wet but not water, sticky but stinky. I definitely detected the scent of my perfume but there something else as well. Something awful. A full investigation revealed the culprit to be a tube of Jack's muscle rub, Aspercreme to be exact. And it wasn't just on SB's nightgown. It was all over our sheets and Bunny too. Another spanking, since those have been so effective... then she had to go to bed by herself in her room without bunny. That wasn't an easy battle. And my sheets seem permanently oil-stained. I'm still not sure how she reached my perfume, which was on the top shelf of my bookcase, which is shoulder-level to me. I was relieved that she didn't get any in her eyes or mouth! But mostly I was mad.

Monday: It was toothpaste and shaving cream on Monday. I sent SB to potty and put on shoes just before we left to run errands. I heard the toilet flush, and I waited patiently for her to get her shoes. When she came back into the room several minutes later, she was missing her shoes but had gained a beard. A blue beard. Of Jack's shaving cream. Which I can only surmise that she climbed onto the bathroom counter to reach. And while she was up there, she helped herself to Jack's toothpaste as well as her own.

Since I had just bought a new package of toothpaste for her, I was most impressed that she had managed to open the box, twist off the cap and remove the safety seal (which, kudos to her, she had thrown in the trash can) before emptying it in and around the sink.

Wednesday: You may have noticed that I skipped right over Tuesday. Mercifully, I had a doctor's appointment late that morning, so my mother volunteered to keep SB all day so I could have a day off. My mother knows about SB's behavior as of late, and hates for SB to be in trouble, so whatever happened at Grandma's house that day, stayed at Grandma's house. I didn't press for details, because I just didn't have it in me to hear whatever horrible things she had done.

Today went by almost uneventfully until I caught SB standing on a table trying to reach something on top of her dresser. Ugh. Then she had to be taken out of the restaurant where we had dinner for throwing something immediately after I said, "Don't throw that!"

When we got home, I sent her to our bathroom to potty before bed. Knowing I couldn't trust her alone anymore, I went in about 45 seconds after I sent her in there. She was standing over the toilet, toilet brush in hand, and I was just too late to stop her from dumping out the comet. I guess she was trying to make up for all of the messes she had made this week.

Meet Ellie

Our swagger wagon

Here she is! Our newest addition arrived home with us last night after a long, laborious day of test driving, price negotiating, paperwork and a long drive home. We are more than happy with our decision and even, in retrospect, glad that the Dossett "sales manager" was so disinterested in us when we tried to buy a different car (see previous post).

This is the car that we had wanted all along, and it ended up being the best deal of all the cars we saw over the long weekend. Sarah Beth loves it and immediately christened the back seat by jumping up and down on it while singing, "I love it, I love it, I love it, I love iiiiiiiiiiiit!" (yes, Laura, she was singing to the tune of the cousin song.)

The back seat had been previously untouched as the first owner clearly did not have children. I made the comment that I suspected as much and then confirmed my suspicions when searching for a seatbelt for SB's car seat. The seatbelts were nowhere to be found, and I began to worry that there were none. We finally discovered them under the seats, and after much exertion, we were able to dislodge them from the factory wraps.

Anyway, SB has done her best to mudify as much of the backseat as possible, but I am doing my best to keep it nice and clean despite an active, hungry 2 year old.

If you are searching for a good family car, I would highly recommend the Mitsubishi Endeavor. It is ranked in the top 10 of SUVs. And I searched for that information in the most scientific way possible:

I googled it.

I typed in "best suv" and selected the first link. According to suv.reviewitonline.net, the Endeavor ranks as #4 in their top 10 list of the best sports utility vehicles. So it must be true. Here are a list of pros and cons that I have come up with for this thing:

PROS:
Plenty of room
Drives great
Looks great
V6 engine gives enough power without the gas guzzling you get with a V8
I hear "hot babysitter" a lot while driving it

CONS:
No auxiliary plug for an mp3 player.

I know. That is not very Raven. You might scoff at that as a disappointment, but for Jack and me it seemed to be the only criterion we were concerned with when looking at cars. Every time we got inside a car, while the dealer is pointing out the sunroof, leather seats and other pricey add ons, we immediately checked for an auxiliary port. If there was not one, we both mentally scratched the car off of our list. I can't believe how many newer model cars do not have that!!

I know it seems like a silly criterion, but there are a few reasons why we felt like we needed this one thing. First of all, we take a lot of trips, and we need good music for the long hours in the car. We both have music wizard apps on our phones that allow us to download any song we want for free. The only thing I have not been able to find on this search engine is some old school Destiny's Child. There. I said it. Don't judge me because your musical tastes are not as advanced as mine.

Another reason we need this port is for the navigation system. Again, our phones come in handy with the turn by turn GPS that we use on a pretty regular basis. You can plug in the phone through the auxiliary mp3 porthole, fire up your music and listen as loud as you like. (If you are like Jack, then you like your rock n roll turned up to 11.) Then when a turn is coming up, the navigation system pauses the music and pipes in just long enough to tell you that you need to turn left in 1/2 mile on Interstate 59, then it goes right back to the music. So you never have to worry about missing a turn while you are enjoying "Can you pay my bills" at full blast.

While I am on the subject, let me just promo the Android phone for a minute. For me, it is a product that ranks right up there with Tilex. Jack got one last year and has loved it since first sight. When I finally had to trade in my beloved blackberry last month, Jack insisted I try the droid. Lucky for me, they had just put out their newest model: The Incredible. It truly is, as the commercials say, nothing short of its name.

I already mentioned the free music feature and the turn by turn navigation system, all of which can be run through your car stereo for maximum efficiency. And of course if you get a phone call while listening to your music and running the navigation system, the music pauses, you can opt to answer or decline, and if you answer, the music stays paused and your conversation automatically takes place hands free via the speakerphone, with your conversation partner coming through the stereo. The navigation system will interrupt your convo to remind you of a turn and the music comes back after you hang up the phone.

The new Incredible model is considerably faster and is also more lightweight than the original, and one function I love is that you can talk to text message. I am not fond of the virtual keyboard, since my fingers always seem to touch the wrong button, but with the talk to text function, I can just tell the phone what I want to do. I can also voice search Google or speak my emails. It also has way better web access than my blackberry. I have yet to find a page that it will not access.

If only it had Destiny's Child.

Dossett Big Fool

I have waited too long (again) between posts, and therefore I have lots to say. However, our current situation has provided such an unbelievable story that the old stories will just have to wait.

My 8 year run with Allie the Altima seems to have come to an end. It was a pretty good run. (Insert Larry David here.) But the black smoke pouring out of my tailpipe signifies that the end is definitely here. Our weekend was spent vigorously searching ebay, autotrader, carmax, local and long distance dealers, looking for that one sweet deal.

We have been wanting a Mitsubishi Endeavor ever since my older sister bought one several years ago. Since then it has transfered to my younger sister, and we have borrowed it on numerous occasions. However, those cars seem to be few and far between around here. I did finally find one on Autotrader a few hours from where we live. However, that dealer has been closed all weekend, even today for Memorial Day, and we were tired of waiting.

One dealer that wasn't too far away, Dossett Big Four, had a couple of Envoys listed on their web site, and they both looked like good deals. We were so tired of searching and cramming into Jack's truck whenever we needed to go somewhere. We were just ready to pull the trigger on something. An Envoy sounded nice, and both were reasonably priced. I called the dealer to make sure they were open on the holiday, and the secretary answered. She informed me that today was the last day of Autofest, and all of their salesmen and all of their inventory were at a huge lot with 2 other dealers. They would be there until 9pm. It sounded like a good plan to me.

As we made the drive, we were psyched to come home with our new car. We were ready to buy. When we hit the lot, we first found the Envoy we came to buy. One had sold but one was left, and as we wandered the lot, we were surprised that we were not assaulted by salesmen. After a long weekend of touring every dealership within 45 miles of our home, we were amazed that no one came running to our aid with promises of low interest rates and rock bottom prices. (Most of them also had stories about how they were raising 3 kids and had a fiance living in California to visit or just had a grandkid in Sydney Australia, so they needed our money to go see the little brat. Basically, they all promised to do "whatever it takes" to sell us a car.)

While searching for a salesman at Autofest, if you can believe we actually had to do that, we happened upon a beautiful 2009 Chevrolet Equinox. It had less than 20,000 miles on it, and it was maroon. Perfect for tailgating; it would match exactly with our new MSU tent. We were psyched, and I knew that one of the cars parked before me would soon be ours.

Still no salesmen in sight, so we decided to just see what the other dealer next door had to offer. We barely set foot on the lot before that salesman was shaking our hands and loading us into his golf cart to see the deals. We agreed to test drive a Jeep Grand Cherokee, and when we returned, he already had another running. He said he figured he would cool it off for us so we could take it for a spin too. This guy was serious about selling us a car and even insisted that we come inside after a few test drives to talk about financing and bottom line pricing. We didn't really have a choice, even after admitting to him that we still wanted to check out a couple other cars (the Envoy and Equinox were calling). He practically begged us to come inside, so we obliged. We finally got out of there to his dismay and ran back to Dossett Big 4 to buy our car before it was gone.

When we got back to Dossett, we wasted no time and went straight inside to play let's make a deal. We were met at the door by a man that can only be described as a car salesman, right down to the sunburned skin with the unbuttoned print shirt and gold chain reflecting off of his red, hairy chest. The only difference between this guy and any other car salesman was that this guy did not want to sell us a car.


Jack: Hi, are you a salesman?

SM: Well, not really. I'm the sales manager, so I don't really know anything.

He was obviously joking, so we offered the obligatory chuckle. If he was the sales manager, then he was just the man we needed to see.

Jack: Well, we really like that Envoy; we saw it on the web site and that's the one we came for, but we just saw the Equinox a few minutes ago, and we are interested in that one too. I don't see it over there right now. Did you sell it already?

SM: No, it hasn't sold. They just took it to fill up with gas.

Jack: Great, then we would like to test drive those two and maybe get an opinion on which one you might recommend.

SM: Well, we are trying to close down for the day.

We waited for the ...BUT... but no but came.

Jack: Um, ok. We just want to check out those two, and then I think we will be ready to make a decision. (hint hint)

SM: Well, we have been trying to close down for a few minutes now, and I already put the keys away.

At this point, I jump in and tell him that when I called the office BEFORE we drove all the way out there, the secretary told me that they would be there until nine.

The sales manager said it was just too bad he had already sent the sales staff home. His exact words were: "It's just me and the owner here now so we can't really do anything for you."

Just the manager of the sales and the owner of the company. They couldn't help us.

Jack: Are you sure, man? We drove out here an hour and a half for this one particular car. Are you sure we couldn't just see it real quickly?

SM: Oh where did you drive from? yeah, I sold a lot of cars this weekend to people from where you live. A lot of cars. It's just that I already put the keys up for the day. All these cars are going back to our lot first thing in the morning. Why don't you just come back tomorrow?

Jack: Well, we came today because I had the day off and because our car just died so we kind of need to go ahead and get something else. And because we were told you would be here for 4 more hours.

SM: Yeah, I'm sorry she told you that. We are closing up now.

At this point, Jack and the Sales Manager are in an arms crossed stare down stand off. The sales manager had a "I don't give a you-know-what" smug look on his face. Jack wore an expression that I could only interpret as disbelief mixed with 'are you telling me that between the sales manager and the OWNER of the company, as I am standing here before you practically begging you to sell me a car, you cannot help me today because it is almost five o'clock?'

Either this guy had a date with the captain of the cheerleader squad to get to or he had been out in the sun so long that the reasonable portion of his brain had been fried. Some salesman. He didn't even have to sell us a car. All he really had to do was hand us a key and hit print on the sales receipt and we were ready to sign our souls on the dotted line. But he didn't budge. Finally I dragged Jack out of the stand off, and we drove away without our car.

We are going tomorrow to buy the Endeavor that we found on Autotrader.

I hope that cheerleader was hot.

SB's Prayer

At the dinner table last night after Jack blessed the food, SB jumped in with a few words of thanks:

"Jesus, Wonderful. Thank you for my baby, my princess umbrella and my stroller. Amen."

More SB Stories

1. We have been trying to teach SB some manners. For example, don't talk with your mouth full, and say "sir" or "ma'am" when addressing elders. The not talking while eating part she caught on to pretty quickly, which was rather surprising considering how much she loves to talk. However, sir and ma'am didn't catch on as quickly, and she seemed reticent to say those words especially when corrected.

SB is a pretty bright kid, which is not surprising considering her parentage, but even I was surprised at how she managed to get around the "yes ma'am" rule. When she responded to me one day with a "yes" I reminded her, "Say 'yes ma'am'." She frowned and said, "I gotta mouth full."

Clever girl.

2. SB is completely potty trained. I forgot to blog about that, but one day my mom kept her and told me afterward that SB told her every time she needed to potty and was definitely ready to train. She pretty much trained herself over a weekend, and now she is doing great. One minor irritation is that she knows she can use this to her advantage at bedtime, or whenever I give her a chore like cleaning her room. When she says she needs to go, we go. She will tell me that she needs to use the bathroom about four times in the span of 10 minutes or so. She can usually squeeze out a few drops each time before announcing, "I'm done!"

While I was in Texas visiting Meredith last month, Jack kept SB here for the weekend. They made a trip to Lowe's during which SB needed to potty. I had reminded Jack before I left that SB needed to use the potty before going anywhere, but if she had an accident, there would be a change of clothes in a bag that I would leave in his truck. I also asked him to be easy on her if she did have an accident because she might be embarrassed and not to make a big deal out of it. So Jack takes her to the men's bathroom at Lowe's, which is gross enough, but SB feels the need to take off most of her clothes: shoes, socks, shorts, panties in order to use the potty. The only remaining item that wasn't strewn around the men's bathroom floor was her shirt, which she somehow managed to pee on while wearing it. Thankfully, Jack remembered the change of clothes in his truck. After cleaning up and changing her clothes, they went back inside only to have SB announce that she needed to poo poo.

Back to the men's room. But before they got there, Jack noticed that SB was lagging behind. He turned around to see that she had stripped down in the middle of aisle 12 and was preparing to let it loose right there. They managed to make it to the bathroom before any messes were made. Jack said she only had one accident over the weekend, and it was while she was outside playing. I think Jack was a little distressed that SB didn't seem more sorry about wetting her pants.
He told me they went inside and got cleaned up and told me later, "I know you said not to make a big deal or whatever if she had an accident because she would be embarrassed, but she didn't care at all!" She just laughed and asked for some hanitizer.

3. She calls hand sanitizer "hanitizer."






4. SB loves to pull tissues out of the box and throw them away. She will grab a half dozen kleenex to wipe her nose and then gleefully toss them one by one into the cash can.

5. She calls the trash can the "cash can."

6. SB loves to sing Zacchaeus was a wee little man. The problem is that SB also loves the song about 5 little monkeys jumping on the bed. One always falls off and bumps his head. Instead of punishing the wicked little monkeys, the mama always calls the doctor and the doctor says, "No more monkeys jumping on the bed!"

So SB has added her favorite part of the monkey song to the end of Zacchaeus:

Zacchaeus was a wee little man
And a wee little man was he
He climbed up in a sycamore tree
For the Lord he wanted to see
And as the Savior passed that way
He looked up in that tree
And he said, NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!

7. SB gets a sucker as a reward every time she goes #2 in the potty. She was pretending to need to use the potty last night in order to delay bedtime. I was waiting impatiently while she sat there twiddling her thumbs. I finally told her we were getting back in bed.

SB: But I need to poo poo mommy.
Me: You already did that today.
SB: I did?? Really?
Me: Yes, right before your naptime.
SB: Did I get a sucker?
Me: Yes.
SB: That's great!!! Gimme five!

Terrorist name: Gusher

Sorry I've been away so long! I got a few good scoldings this week for not posting, but I've been away recovering from Deena's snub. I have many things to post about, but first let's talk about Texas. I have never seen a state more proud of itself than Texas.

Seriously, all the local businesses have "Texas" in the name and use the star or outline of the state in their logo. Even the waffles at our hotel were Texased.


See? Texans also have a penchant for using the letter K where it does not belong, ie Ken's Kwik Stop and Kammy's Kountry Kitchen. One of my pet peeves. But I digress.

One thing that Texas does have going for it is that my sister and her husband (and soon to be niece) live there. So I made the trek a few weeks ago to visit. We had a great time, but that's not what this post is really about.

The truth is that I think I might be on a government watch list. I guess I was kind of suspicious looking, showing up at an airport without any carry on luggage. I mulled this over while packing for my trip. I knew I had a layover in Houston both ways, and I really didn't want to be lugging any extra stuff around between flights. All I really needed was a book, and that would fit in my purse.

I've been on a few flights before, and no airline has ever lost my luggage. Plus, I was flying Southwest, and they love bags! They would be the last people to lose my luggage. So I decided against a carry on bag. A decision that would come to haunt me a few hours later.

At the airport, I was waiting in line to board the plane when I noticed a security officer looking me up and down from across the waiting area. He spoke into his walkie talkie and then headed my way. Of course I was nervous. He asked me to step out of line and come with him. He then asked if he could look in my purse. There was a lot of stuff in there. He helped himself to all of it. I guess he finally decided I didn't have any bombs in there and reluctantly allowed me to board the airplane. It was kinda embarrassing. After they let me get back in line, the guy who was standing behind me remarked, "I didn't think you looked like a terrorist."

I thanked him for his vote of confidence.

I made it safely to Houston, and after my layover and another bag inspection while waiting to board (I kid you not) I was on the plane waiting to take off for Midland. I had a window seat this time, interestingly enough sitting next to a woman wearing one of those white masks. You know the kind you see people wearing while they mow their grass? I don't know if she had been doing yard work earlier that day or just didn't want to breathe any of my recycled air, but either way we didn't speak. Which gave me ample time to gaze out the window and watch the man toss our bags into the plane.

It was reminiscent of the Southwest commercial where the guys load up the bags and then wave goodbye while wiping away tears. "I'm really gonna miss those bags." I halfway expected him to wave after he finished loading, but he didn't. I know because I was watching him drive away. I didn't see him wave, but I did notice two lonely bags pushed to the side of a cart left on the runway next to our plane. He forgot to load two bags. And one of them was suspiciously similar to mine.





I realize it's hard to see in this photo, but that is a red suitcase with a hot pink tag on the handle. I had a very clear view of it from my window seat. I began to panic. The baggage man was gone, and we were cleared for takeoff. I snapped this photo for evidence and emailed it to Meredith with this message, "On my way to Midland. God help Southwest if that is my bag sitting on the runway."

I didn't know what to do. I thought about flagging down a stewardess and mentioning it to her. How much trouble would it be to page a baggage worker to just double check that bag and make sure it wasn't mine? What if I held up the already delayed flight for them to look at that bag and then they determined it wasn't mine? Then I would really be embarrassed. After my terrorist scare, I wasn't up for any more attention. A lot of bags look like mine. It's a very common suitcase. And all of the transfer bags have hot pink tags on them. Right? I decided to keep my mouth shut.

And then we started moving. I was sure I would arrive in Midland sans luggage, and I was kicking myself for not saying anything AND for not at least packing a change of clothes in a carry on bag.

Wow I have told a long story, and now I'm tempted to lie and say that it was indeed my bag on the runway. It was not. My luggage was waiting for me in Midland, and I took back all the bad things I said to myself on the flight about Southwest not really loving bags.

The return trip was almost as eventful and began when Meredith dropped me off at the Midland airport Sunday afternoon. Meredith had packed me all sorts of goodies for my long trip back to Mississippi: fruit roll up, fruit by the foot and Gushers, the delicious candy with a liquid center! I was looking forward to enjoying something other than peanuts on my flights that night.

I went through security without setting off the metal detectors, but my purse did not pass the xray scan. The lady examining the bags frowned and pointed at the screen to something suspicious. So the security man took me aside and looked disapprovingly at my purse.

Security Man: Do you have any weapons in here?

I resisted the urge to make a joke about how I usually carried a grenade launcher because he didn't look like the type of person who enjoyed laughing.

Me: No sir.

Security Man: Nothing in there that's going to hurt me if I go through it?

Seriously? Again, no.

So he begins the process of inspecting every item in my purse and finally pulls out a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer.

"WHAT'S THIS????"

Hand sanitizer, sir.

He scrutinized it for a while, then let me slide on that one, surprisingly enough. Then he hit paydirt. The packet of Gushers. He pulled them out and slowly inspected the packaging.

Security Man: "Gushers, huh?"

My face turned red. What was I, five?? Foiled by the delicious liquid center. I tried to explain that my sister had packed them for me but ended up feeling even more foolish for trying to defend the gushers.

Security Man: "That must've been what she spotted on the screen."

He actually smiled at this point, obviously feeling my pain.

"Well, it looks like everything is in order here, and you got your gushers, so have a nice flight."

He winked at me, threw the gushers back into my purse, and let me go on my way. I was sorry I passed on the grenade launcher joke.

On the flight, a steward asked me if I would like a drink. I asked for a Long Island, because I really felt like I needed one, and he looked first confused, then concerned, then apologetic. "I don't think we have that, ma'am. I'm sorry. Can I get you something else?"

"That's ok," I told him. "I got my gushers." And I enjoyed every last drop of my liquid contraband.