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Friday, September 26, 2008

Safety Patrol

Before we had kids, I really thought Rhett and I had almost everything in common. I mean, sure there were the small, irritating differences (like my propensity to leave used tissue around the house), but I was pretty sure that on the big things, we were compatible.

And then we had kids. And whoa, we are different. Really different.

For example, I tend to have a more laissez-faire attitude towards my children and their safety. I see them doing something like climbing a stone wall, and I think, Well, they haven't hurt themselves yet, so they're probably fine. And then I sit and watch them climb all over and don't say a word to them. Plus, I think it's good for the gross motor skills to climb like crazy.

I get this attitude from my mom, who once let my three-year-old nephew play with a box of pushpins. When he stepped on one and then screamed in pain, she shrugged philosophically and said, "Well, he was having the best time playing with them until he stepped on one."

I'm not saying I'm leaving out poison over here just to teach our kids a lesson, but I don't worry too much about bumps and bruises, either.

Rhett, on the other hand, sees the same kids joyfully climbing on a stone wall, and the fact that they haven't fallen yet only means that they are that many seconds closer to inevitable disaster, which disaster will probably take the form of a broken neck or death. Kids jumping on the bed? A serious breach of safety protocol. Me, allowing our kids to climb on the back of the sofa? The foolish, foolish choices of a future grieving mother.

He can't understand why I let Veevs ride the bus to school, why I let the kids paint with watercolor paints without aprons, or why I don't really care if they jump from chair to chair in the kitchen. I let them sit on the counter when I'm baking, and why haven't I considered that they could fall and crack their heads open while I turn my back to get some eggs out of the fridge? I don't know why. I just haven't.

And if they do, at least I have an awesome pediatrician.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Sicker, sicker, sicker, sicker, sicker

Well, hey there! You might have thought I got all my sick talk out in one post, but if so, you don't know me that well.

Because 105 degree temperature? Harbinger of Pneumonia! And a little boy who has just turned three? Doesn't like an IV that much, even if it will make him feel better in a few days.

Just thought you might want to know.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Sick, sick, sick, sick, sick

We've all been sick this week. I started off with a bad head cold and Spe and Veevs followed up with some fevers. Jakers jumped into the fray with a little teething misery, and Rhett couldn't be left out, so he mustered up some autumn allergies.

Last night, Spe woke up at 2:30 with a fever of 105 degrees. I was laying there with him, after his tepid bath and medicine, waiting for him to feel better. I put my arm over him to comfort him.

"Mom," he said, "You can't touch me. It's not allowed."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I hate it." Well, there's a little boy who prefers to suffer alone.

This morning when I told Veevs that Spe was so sick she said flippantly, "I just hope he doesn't die."

Yeah, me too.

So there you go. I miss a week of blogging, and all you get are crappy stories of how sick we all were. To add to your enjoyment of this blog, you could come and help me clean up the mountain of used tissue by the side of my bed.

No?

I thought I might be on my own with that one, but I left it for a day or two to see if Rhett would be so disgusted with it, he would just do it himself. The answer was no.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Saved by the Bell

Hey, take a walk down memory lane with me, and review Jesse Spano's mental breakdown, brought on by caffeine pills. Serious addictions are hard to overcome, guys.




Seriously, I love this video. And thanks to my brother, Josh, for bringing it to my attention.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Wigging Out

Today Veevs was flipping through a magazine, when she came across a picture advertising Richard Simmon's line of workout tapes.


"Hey!" she said, "Why does this guy have the same wig as Nacho Libre?"


The girl has a point.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

If We WERE Going to Talk About Politics . . .

If we WERE going to talk about politics, which WE'RE NOT, because, hello, how crazy do I look to you?

But, hypothetically, if we were, here would be some things you should probably know:

1) We probably won't agree. My party affiliation is pretty much the opposite of the majority of people in my state (Texas!), my religion (Mormon!) and my family (Smiths!).

2) It will annoy me when you assume that I will agree with you because I live in Texas, because I'm a Mormon, or because I'm a Smith girl. I'm feisty like that.

3) I like to talk about the issues, not gut feelings. If you want to talk to me about politics, you should really know where your candidate stands on energy, education, Iran, and fiscal policies. I don't want to talk about their family, who they dated in high school, or how you just can't put your finger on it, but for some reason you just don't feel like they are that trustworthy (Because just ask George Bush--those gut feelings can be wrong. When he met Putin for the first time he looked into his eyes, "saw his soul" and just knew that he was a good, trustworthy man. Oops!).

4) Not admitted as evidence or acceptable proof of your claims of your candidate's superiority? Anything that has made its way to you via an email forward. This includes amazing stories of your candidate's (or my candidate's, for that matter) compassion for the underprivileged as well as senseless ramblings attacking my candidate's (or your candidate's, for that matter) commitment to their religion, their country, or their wife. I'm just saying, that stuff is called PROPAGANDA, not proof.

5) I get that you can have a different point of view from mine and still have a valid point of view. You should get that, too. (You guys, politics makes me super bossy. Can you tell?)

6) I will get CRAZY. I always think I can totally have a reasonable, logical, fabulously calm discussion with someone, wherein we will both leave thinking, Wow, that was intellectually stimulating. I now see the issues in new and exciting ways, and I have so much respect for my dear friend who sees things differently than I do. The sad truth is that the last time I had a political discussion with someone Rhett said later, "Uh, Heids, I'm not saying you weren't right, but it kind of seemed like maybe you were sort of trying to like verbally take that guy's head and smash it against the concrete curb over and over and over."

And that's the real reason why we won't discuss politics. You don't want your head smashed into a curb, do you?

Let's just be friends instead.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Soccer Mom

Hey, soccer started this week, and there are very few things that give me more joy than watching my eldest daughter shrink away from a soccer ball.

Unless it's watching my middle son hurtle towards the same soccer ball like a freight train.

Last year, Veevs took to laying out in front of her team's goal in seductive poses that I have no idea from whence she learned them. But think Solid Gold Dancing (remember that? We weren't allowed to watch it, but my best friend was and I played at her house a lot!). She would hop up when the ball came too close and run out of the way, because wow, that girl does not want to get hit by a ball.

Spe is a natural, kicking and running simultaneously, pausing only to do a somersault in the middle of the field.

We've got some serious competitors. Bring it, Barbie Girls. Bring it, Arctic Freeze.

The Wildcats are READY.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Big News!

No, actually, I have no big news. But I'm not afraid of crying wolf. Being the fourth of eight children taught me that you have to use whatever tools are in your toolbelt to get attention. Some other techniques that I found useful growing up?

Keeping a book in the bathroom. My mother had a strict "Everyone cleans up dinner until dinner's all cleaned up" policy which is part of why I had a strict "I need to go the bathroom suddenly, and it might take me up to twenty minutes" policy. Have I mentioned before that one of my basic character traits is laziness? Also, I don't mind rereading books, so as long as there was a book in there, I was golden.

The closet shove. My mother also had a strict "You can't leave this house until your room is clean" policy which inspired my own "Clean only means out of sight" policy and a reputation for being the fastest cleaner in the family. Funny how that never translated over into dinner cleanup.

The closet hide. This sounds like the same thing, but trust me, it's not. See, I developed socially slower than oh, say 95% of the population, and so I was playing Barbies with my younger brothers and sisters until I was about 15. Which was kind of embarrassing when people would stop by, as you might imagine. So I got really, really good at hiding in the toy room closet whenever anyone came over. I could stay in there for upwards of twenty minutes. But I wasn't alone. My thirteen year old brother was in there with me too. Because we also had a strict "Everyone plays" policy at our house.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

When Life Sucketh

You know, sometimes life just sucks. Usually you can pinpoint the reason, like, oh, maybe you've been thrown up on sixteen times by your baby in the last four hours. Or maybe your laundry room has suddenly exploded out into the hallway and no one has any clean underwear. Or maybe your husband left on a business trip for a week and left you home with all the children and it's that certain time, if you know what I mean. Or maybe a combination of all of those factors.

But sometimes, life sucks and you can't even pinpoint why.

That's how I feel right now. Sure, I could blame it on my baby's violent diarrhea and yeast infection in the nether regions, or I could blame it on having to get up so early now that school has started, or on the massive ant infestation I just found in my kitchen, but to be honest, I think it's more that all the mundane details above are the biggest worries on my mind.

I just think maybe the human spirit was made to tackle bigger problems than explosive diarrhea. The fact that I'm going to spend a good half a day of my life killing tiny ants just makes me feel small. And the fact that school days has now added two more hours to my already eternally long days just makes me miserable.

Hey, wasn't this post hilarious? I KNOW! I can't stop laughing either. Or maybe it's crying. Whatever.