That's What I Get

For those of you who don’t know me well – or haven’t read this blog enough to form an opinion of my overall character – I have something I have to get off my chest. Here it is:

I find a certain amount of joy in beholding other people’s bad luck.

Now, to clarify, I didn’t say “misfortune” or “loss of life and limb”. No, I mean simply bad luck. Also, I think it only fair to mention that I also take great joy in laughing at my own bad luck. Those of you who’ve been my friends for a while may remember the Triple Sow Cow incident of ’01. Yep, my bad luck is pretty dang funny to.

Earlier this week – or perhaps last – there was a bit of a bad luck incident at the Hadley home. The jury is still out on who to blame here (mostly because I think it may have been me), but the indisputable fact is that someone left a library book on the stairs. My poor husband was coming down them in the dark, stepped on the book and performed something most men dread: the splits. He followed that sweet move by riding the book down the entire flight of stairs in a maneuver worthy of Olympic gold. Bad luck indeed!

I’m not trying to minimize his pain or anything, but part of me feels like maybe after 6 years of parenthood one would have learned that it’s nothing short of prudent to turn on a light and check the stairs before proceeding down. I’m just sayin’….

Anyhow, I tried to be sympathetic even though my very soul was crying out in laughter. It’s just funny. I’m sorry. I laugh when I fall down the stairs too. Falling = funny. If this wasn’t true then my favorite show, America’s Funniest Videos, would have never lasted for 20 glorious years!

Turns out it wasn’t all that funny. Yesterday found the hubs visiting a chiropractor in search of relief. Then today we went to the Instacare. You know it’s bad when the doc nails your knees with his nifty little instrument and your legs just sit there. Bad reflexes is a bad sign.

So, long story short, Hubs has a herniated disc and is on enough pain meds to make his skin turn green. Seriously, it’s green. He also has doctor’s orders to stay home from work at least thru Wednesday. Bummer.

Next time he falls down the stairs – because there WILL be a next time until he learns to look before you leap – I will not laugh. I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t laughed he would have been just fine.

From now on I’ll save my laughs for people I don’t live with. See, on AFV you never see the aftermath. It’s just funny. And when it’s your neighbor, well that’s just funny too. (The funniest is when it’s your sibling… ) But when its people in your house then suddenly you find yourself playing nursemaid…

And there’s NOTHING funny about that!

Let's Make A Deal

At my house it's all about making a deal.

You do something for me, you will get a reward.

You opt to stonewall me, I will do the legal equivalent of making you swim with the fishes.

Occasionally my subordinates attempt to wield the mighty power of deal-making. For example: "If you give me that sucker, I will stop crying" or "I'll make my bed if you take me for ice-cream".

When these situations arise I am forced to show them my ring of power - you know, the one that's gold and sparkly - and remind them that for now they are under my reign. Someday, when they receive their own rings of power, they can make all the deals they want. However, their rings will always fall under the umbrella of MY ring (the one to rule them all) and they will never have the pleasure of making deals with me.

Oh, I know that some day I'll probably throw them a bone and get dementia and then they can make deals with me all the time. But, we all know it won't really count because I won't be aware of what's happening.

Their lack of power may be starting to sink in. This morning I informed them that we'd be cleaning the playroom after snacks and that those who chose to not help out would be grounded from toys for the day. (I hate making these kind of deals because they tend to backfire on me and I'm left with a little "follower" for the day.)

Cadie Lu informed me that that deal wasn't to her liking. She would not be cleaning the playroom with us and would just bring toys out of the playroom later on.

Time for some showing of power!

However, as I opened my mouth to suggest to her that she may want to rethink her position, Ms. Els piped in with: "If you don't help clean you'll have to go to bed early tonight Cades!"

Cadie Lu was irate with this intrusion on our negotiations. At the top of her lungs she screamed, "YOU CAN'T MAKE DEALS!!! MAMA IS THE DEAL-MAKER!!"

That's right homies. I make the deals around here. Now get to cleanin'......

Let the games begin!

One thing I greatly admire about my husband is that he is very dedicated to teaching our children about surviving in the cold, cruel world. He is constantly seeking opportunities to gently guide them and help them learn life lessons at home, rather than being taught the “hard way” by the general populous of punks

The other night Steve decided to treat his harried wife (that’s me) to dinner out. Now this decision isn’t without its ramifications. We often have to weigh out the terror of taking our children to a public place vs. the horror of having to cook at home and clean it up. This particular evening Steve stumbled upon the perfect blend of private dining outside the home: Sonic. (Woot, woot!)

While we were sitting in the car waiting for our food the girls were getting restless. Steve was quick to spot an opportunity ripe for teaching.

Steve: Hey girls, wanna play a game?
Girls: Ya!! (They still cheer when he asks this question. Which isn’t smart!)
Steve: Cool. Come up closer to me and we’ll play a game called “Sniff This”.

Those poor fools cheered and scrambled over the car seats to get up front.

Steve: I’ll go first. Sniff this! (He holds up a sock that he’s somehow managed to work off his nasty foot without anyone noticing.)
Ms. Els: Gross Daddy!
Cadie Lu: Oooohhhhh!
Steve: Fine. Wanna play another game?
Girls: No!

Lesson learned. If someone asks you to smell something, you run away.

Steve has imparted this type of practical lesson time and time again. Some of his classics include: Pull My Finger, 54 Card Pick Up, Burp-n-Blow, and Dodge This.

Perhaps one of my very favorites happened last night. It wasn’t quite close enough to bed time, the natives were restless and Steve was desperate for some quiet.

Steve: Hey girls, wanna play a game?
Girls: Ya!!! (WHY??!!!)
Steve: Let’s play “Kick This”.
Girls: Cool, what do we do?
Steve: We run around and if I kick you, you have to go to bed!
Girls: Okay! (WHY??!!!)

They started running and sure enough Steve caught up and delivered a soft kick to each of their bums.

Ms. Els: Daddy, I don’t like this game!
Cadie Lu: I don’t want to go to bed!

Steve: Well, then you should ask more questions before you just agree to something!

Steve = 1 Kids = 0

Someday we’re going to have some very savvy (if not wary) children. And we’ll owe it all to Steve!

Oh Wal-Mart....

Few things cause more debate among my family and friends than Wal-Mart.

As far as I'm concerned, there isn't much to argue. Let's be honest here, who doesn’t like wandering around a store filled with cheap stuff?! I mean you can find pretty much anything you want at Wal-Mart and leave feeling like you’ve stuck it to ‘em, even though those prices were on purpose.

Then there’s the entertainment factor. Anyone worth their salt has visited the website http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/ and come away feeling quite glamorous. Has it occurred to anyone else that the fact there is such a website is a bit troubling? This means that the average Wal-Mart customer is completely stark-raving mad (or as my friend Jen says, bat-sh** crazy)!

I’ve often wondered about the shady patrons of my local Wal-Mart. I never see them out and about on the town. I don’t see those spandex wearing fools at the library, the video rental place, local restaurants, or even gas stations. I ONLY see them at Wal-Mart. Where do they come from?

As an added bonus, Wal-Mart has joined forces with another mega-power – McDonalds. I feel like adding a McDonald’s inside Wal-Mart has made the situation feel more like going to the zoo. You can now eat while you wander around staring at the strange people/cave-men who are there shopping. It’s better than Discovery Channel. And for people like me, living without cable, this is about as entertaining as it gets!

Now, on the other hand, I will give the dissenters a knod; Wal-Mart does have some downsides. For starters, it is one of those big mean enterprises that destroys the hopes and dreams of Mom and Pop establishments nationwide. (If they had a hand in the down-fall of 3D Video then I'm going to punch their CEO in the throat!)

Also, their employees are often a bit much. I was recently standing in the checkout line and killing time by people watching when I realized, shockingly, that I know the life story of roughly 75% of the local Wal-Mart cashiers. That’s disconcerting to me, because I can’t even remember the names of half of my neighbors, but I know that “Deb’s” daughter just had her first baby and “Karen’s” new tattoo is itching her bad. Yikes!

As I’m sitting here pondering, I really can’t think of anything else bad about Wal-Mart. I hate people that complain about it but shop there anyway. You get what you pay for people. And until the masses stop going, there will always be Wal-Mart.

However, if you’re looking for a cheap Valentine’s date this weekend, may I suggest an evening of Big Macs and voyeurism! And for dessert, you can’t find Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream cheaper anywhere else!

May Wal-Mart keep your pocket-books, and your love, alive and well! Happy Shopping!

Talkin' Potty

Potty talk has become a bit of an issue around our house. Sometimes I say to myself, “It’s like living with a bunch of children!”, and then I remember that I am; living with a bunch of children that is.

A couple of weeks ago we hit the bottom of the toilet on potty talk and so Ms. Els took it upon herself to gather the family for a little meeting. (Steve couldn’t call the meeting because we are trying to be less hypocritical in our parenting)

With Els as our cap-i-tan we went over what constitutes potty talk, why we shouldn’t use it (because it makes me look bad!), what is actually ok to say and how we’d punish the offenders.

Overall it was about as productive as a meeting run by a 6 year-old can be. Which, I have to say, is pretty darn productive. I do believe that someday she’ll stage a coup and take over this home.

Anyhow, later that evening we were running some errands in the car and Steve made a funny which resulted in me saying, “You crack me up!”

Which resulted in Ms. Els saying, “Uh..(buzzer noise)… you said a potty word!!”

I stepped directly into the trap and defended myself. “No I didn’t”.

“Yes,” she vehemently stated, “you did too! You said ‘crack’ and that’s a potty word!”

Steve and I started “cracking” up all over again at this pronouncement.

“Sweetie, ‘crack’ isn’t a potty word.” I giggled.

“Mom, come on. Yes it is.” She rolled her eyes. I know this even though I couldn’t see her, because she always rolls her eyes when explaining simple concepts to me. “Don’t you have a crack down your bum? And isn’t that were your poo-poo’s come out? Then it’s a potty word and you can’t say it.”

I’ll give her snaps for her reasoning on this. It was sound. We do indeed have a crack down our bottom, and it is indeed where our business comes out.

I wasn’t sure we could handle the intricacies of the crack-on- a-sidewalk vs. crack-down-your-bottom conversation. So I just apologized and backed off.

Still, it’s been amazing to me over the past few weeks as Els has pointed out to me how many potty talk violations I make. It turns out that the blame cannot rest squarely on the shoulders of Steve or their friends. Apparently I’m talkin’, talk, talk, talkin’ potty talk all the day long.

And that just… well… stinks. Which, according to my children, is indeed a potty word. I think you can figure out why.

Now I have to go wash off my hands with soap.

Sunday Jungle

Never smile at crocodile,
No, you can’t get friendly with a crocodile,
Don’t be taken in by his welcome grin,
He’s imagining how well you’d fit within his skin.

Roughly translated, this song is saying: Avoid becoming a primary teacher at all costs.

Sure, those kids come in with their pretty dresses, cute little mini-man suits and their hair all done nicely. For the first few weeks they allow you to get comfy, maybe even feel like you’re making some progress in teaching them.

But, what they’re really doing is lurking in the muddy waters of misbehavior waiting to strike when you turn your back.

The other day I described my job in the primary as being a bouncer.

The odd thing is that I’m enjoying it. Maybe I’m the Primary Crocodile Hunter. I love the rush of seeing how close I can get without actually allowing them to win. I live for the look of disappointment on their freshly scrubbed faces when they realize that they haven’t gotten the best of me yet.

No, primary isn’t really about teaching children. It’s more about survival of the fittest. I feel like I train all week at home with my kids, and then I go to the primary jungle on Sundays and test out my new skills.

So far, we’re neck and neck. Some weeks the crocs win and I’m back to the drawing board. Some weeks I win and they go home with their tails between their legs.

But, no matter who wins, at the end of the lesson I pull out some Reese’s Peanut Butter cups and we regroup before going in to Sharing Time. After all, Sharing Time is a whole new ball game and we need to get our strategy down. Who knows what kind of animals we’ll find in there!

It was Nellie!!

A few years ago, back when we had TV reception rather than just a TV picture with some classical music instead of dialogue, Steve and I would watch Little House on the Prairie. That show is grade A, classic stuff! I’ve been watching it since I was probably 8 years old – maybe younger, maybe older, but I’m too lazy to find out when the show actually came on.


Anyhow, after watching how much trouble Nellie Oleson (I got the spelling right! I promise!) was always causing we decided that when something went wrong at our house we’d blame Nellie.

For example:
Who didn’t flush the toilet… AGAIN? Must have been Nellie.
Whose dirty dishes are still sitting on the counter? Nellie’s.

You get it.

Fortunately, I’m discovering that I can also use Nellie to cover up some of my less than stellar parenting moves.

For example:
Who taught them to give people the stink-eye? Nellie.
Who taught them the phrase “for the love…”? Nellie.
Who taught them to burp at the dinner table? Steve. Oh, I mean Nellie.

I feel like I’ve stumbled onto a gold mine with this whole Nellie idea. And, as a socially responsible person I felt it my duty to pass it on to you. Feel free to use it all you want. I will.

In fact, if I say something on this blog that you find offensive or stupid, it was probably Nellie typing it. She’s such a brat!