Witness Pawns

Over the last year I have gained some Jehovah visitors. The first time they came to our house, they were so nice and I feel like it is rude to tell someone no they can't pray with you or for you. So, I invited them in and accepted their literature (to be placed in the reading material bin by our toilet -- right by Time magazine). They asked if they could come back and pray with us again and I thought, well....again, how do you say no to that? So I said sure.


I told hubs about it and he laughed and we had a good time making jokes about me becoming a Witness. They came back a couple more times and brought literature. I started to notice that they were making special trips to our house. They were not visiting anyone else in the neighborhood. Uh-oh! They might think I am interested instead of just polite (yeah, I can do this sometimes).


The next time I saw them walking to our house, I decided to do what the rest of you do...I hid. Yes, I grabbed the girls and played in the back room. Fortunately, the windows were open and I was able to hear hubby talking with them, "...yes, Tanya is home. Of course she would like to pray with you. Go right in..." WHAT!? 


I needed to be more sneaky the next month. Luckily, they came at nap time at our house. I was sooo "sleepy" that I "didn't even hear the doorbell ring." It was payback time! I laid on the couch and I giggled as I heard hubs respond, "Oh! That's interesting!" and "I didn't know that!" to their information on Jehovah and the end of the world. After they left, he walked back in and said, "I know you are awake. That was a dirty trick!" (Heh! Heh!Hehhhh!)


They came a few more times after that and it did actually come up in conversation that I am a practicing Catholic (that will stop them...I thought).


Well, I thought I was successful at politely telling them that they didn't have to drive all this way to our house to pray with a Catholic. I even got cocky on Saturday morning when I said to hubby, "Hey! I haven't seen my Witness friends in awhile. Maybe they got the hint!"


Not even kidding, 20 minutes later hubs shouted, "I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!" I thought it was weird that he was telling me such a strange thing. Like I would care that he had to go to the bathroom. In fact, like I would WANT to know that he had to go to the bathroom. Who does that? Who announces their need to go to the bathroom other than a three year old still working on the whole potty-training thing? Then there was the polite knock on the door. I peeked out the window. Crap!


I went to the door and listened to her verses and accepted literature while I had both children hanging from my legs, the dog sniffing them up and down, and of course hubby was in the bathroom. Then I did a dorky thing and wished her Happy Mothers Day. She looked at me oddly and stammered, "Well....yes...um..." Stupid me. I don't think Jehovah allows Hallmark holidays!


I said good bye, thanked them for inviting me to their convention at the end of the month,  and stalked to the bathroom. I threw open the door and to my horror, hubs was sitting on the toilet with the seat down, PANTS UP, reading Time magazine, and grinning. I had been fooled again! 


Now I can shake my fist and say in my evil villain voice, "You may have gotten me this time! But this isn't the last you will see of me! Until we meet again"

Sarcasm and Drama Queens

We usually have a couple of runs of bad luck throughout the year. And like everyone says, they come in threes. Our most recent bout happened last Friday: our dehumidifier went kaput, there were lay-offs and pay-cuts at Brent's job effective immediately, and our tax return has been delayed while they "investigate" before making a decision as to whether we are worthy of our return or not.  I was unaware that the IRS had Sherlock Holmes at the ready for when suspicious citizens such as ourselves filed for an adoption tax credit two years in a row. Now I know! 


The tax return was most upsetting of the three because for the last 6 months we have been responding to every dream with "...when our tax return comes we can take care of that." This makes it seem like we were getting back millions and in my dreams we were.


Hubby and I have very different ways of dealing with the bad luck threes that come our way. I get a little bitter and sarcastic. The hubs gets VERY dramatic. It's adorable, what can I say...


MINUTES after we received the letter regarding our delayed return...
       "I just got back from Piggly Wiggly. I was buying milk. I decided to pick up an application for bagger because I thought maybe I could pick up a couple of hours here and there to make up for our delayed tax return."


(I feel that this was a bit of an extreme response. But then again, my response wasn't much better.)


       "Good idea. You should also ride your bike to the Piggly Wiggly so we can save on gas, and we should attach a basket to the front so you can pick up any aluminum cans you see on the way so we can change them in for coins."


As his application is being processed (no, I didn't let him turn it in!) and we are attaching a basket to the front of his bike (no, there is no basket!), we will just delay some of the fun stuff until Sherlock is done. But, like I told the hubs, it will be okay.

I Hope You're Not Next!

Our girls have red hair. I am sure you have noticed. It is quite often the focal point of gawking strangers. Kate's hair has become more of an auburn, but Neddy's is still a full-flamed torch. It is very strange to me how random people will rush over to us to admire the girls' hair. It is like red-hair is some rare gem and they must get closer so they can admire it. 


I do not have red hair. Hubby does not have red hair either. (On a side note: This is actually a funny story for us. My husband, who originally struggled with the idea of adoption, wanted to adopt domestically so that we would have children that looked similar to us so we wouldn't have to answer as many questions from strangers. My response: They might not look like us anyway! God could give us kids with red hair! Ha! Ha! Ha! --- God has an amazing sense of humor!)


Anyway, as these strangers are drooling over our kids' heads they do make the obvious observation that neither mom or dad have red hair. And then comes the question. A question that I think is quite odd if you think about it. A question that I don't think I have ever asked: Where did they get their red hair from?


What in the world? Why would it matter where they got their hair from? Why can't you just say: What beautiful hair color!? And then leave it at that. I don't ever recall saying: Where did you get your blue eyes? Who gave you nice olive skin? or better yet, you have an enormous butt. Where did you get it from?


This always leaves me semi-speechless (hard to believe, right?). I mean, I am not at all concealing that our children were adopted (this is a public adoption blog) but I don't think it is the business of a random stranger to know how our family was made. AND I am sure that some day our girls will appreciate a little more discretion and want it to be their choice in who is privy to that information (that will be the death of this blog, I presume).


Hubby, of course, did not notice that many, many people asked this question until I pointed it out to him. Then it seemed like the question was coming from everywhere -- the waitress, the weird lady running out of the store after us, the receptionist at the doctor...


It was time for a plan. We decided that the next person to ask us where our children got their red hair was going to get an uncomfortable response. Here is how it will play out. I hope you're not next!


Stranger: Where did they get their red hair from?
Hubby: (In an angry voice) I don't know. Obviously not from me. Why don't you ask my wife? 
(Followed by hubby storming off and a fake cry from me.)


Who's uncomfortable now?

A Text is Worth a Thousand Words

This was worth more than a dozen roses last night!

Tribute to SAHMs and SAHDs

Last week was Spring Break and I was at home with my children. God whispered to me again that I am not stay-at-home-mom material. I knew by day 2 that I needed to go back to school!


Seriously, I don't know how you people do this!? You would think I might be kinda-sorta good at staying at home with my TWO children seeing how I spend everyday at school with TWENTY-THREE children and manage to keep a good sense of humor and a bit of sanity.
But there is a huge difference...


At home there is someone attached to me at all times. Either I am carrying someone or they are pulling on my leg, butt, arm, some part of me. Usually repeating, "Uppy mama!" at decibels that could reach a hard of hearing person. You have to learn to do everything with one hand or arm. This can be tricky, especially when working with liquids. And you are never alone. Yup, not even in the bathroom. 


Then there's the drool and boogers. A box of Kleenex a day!!!! Where are they keeping all of this stuff?


We have also entered what some may call the 'terrible twos' with Kate. I love her strong will, and I believe the doctor when she says that Kate will make a great leader some day, but right now she is just coming across as bossy! That's right, my 22 month old is bossy. I have no idea where she gets it from. (HA!) She is like a Baby Hitler. "No-No Daddy!" "Move Mama!" "Mine!" "Eat now!" We are puppets and she is the puppet-master.


Oh yeah, and we also have a human vacuum cleaner in Neddy. Seriously, I can clean the floors eight times a day and she still manages to find the little microscopic scrap of whatever on the floor and choke on it. Yet, she does it all with a smile.


And please tell me how these beautiful red-heads can be playing so nicely and the moment they know I am watching, something vicious has to take place -- a bite, a shove, sometimes even a body slam?

Probably the worst part of staying home is the poop. I feel like my kids poop an extraordinary amount throughout the day. I am talking 5 poops a day....times two. And it isn't just little rabbit turds. This is full-on, up-the-back, what-have-I-been-feeding-you poop. And it reeks. And it lingers. Sometimes I wonder if the smell is just burned into my nostrils. 


This doesn't sound like a glorious way to spend your day? I didn't think so either. 


The truth is: I am a better parent when I am at work. I feel like I am using my God-given talents when I am at work teaching and I am more appreciative of the time that I do spend at home with my girls. Now that I am back to work this week, I am able to look past the heinous poop smell that is emanating from our garbage can, I don't mind digging scraps and leaves from Neddy's mouth, and Baby Hitler has become quite comical.


I need to be a working mother. It seems, for the moment, that  I have found some kind of balance in life. This is what works for me. 

Which Golden Book Are You?

We love reading at our house. It's no surprise -- I am a teacher, after all. For baby showers people brought books for the girls in lieu of cards. We received so many classics and new favorites.
My favorites have always been the Little Golden Books. You know the ones, they have the gold binding. 
Well, recently I have developed a theory that you can tell a lot about a someone's personality just by knowing their favorite Little Golden Book. Think about it once...

• Poky Little Puppy -- This is a favorite by many. These people don't rush into things. They like to sit back, analyze the situation, and wait to see how thing turn out for those that jump in head first. I like these people. I have some friends that are these people. This is not my favorite.
• Tootle -- These people are determined. They have learned to keep their heads down and eyes on the track. They are rule followers. Many would think I would fit in nicely here, but I don't. I have a thing for the "road not taken" sometimes.
• Scuffy the Tugboat -- I think that these might be "the grass is always greener on the other side" kind of people. Scuffy wanted out of that bathtub so badly but when he got out all he could think of is getting back to home....not me at all.
• The Little Red Caboose -- These are my friends that long to be in the limelight but do great things behind the scenes. I think I am too in-your-face for that.

See what I mean? I bet you are starting to look at your favorite a little differently, maybe re-analyzing your selection?!

What's my favorite? Well, I did save the best for last. The Little Red Hen. She has all of these great friends but when it comes time to get the work done, they are all busy. She realizes that she can do it by herself. So at the end when it comes time to celebrate her hard work, she gets to say, "Screw all of you! I will enjoy this by myself!" Gosh, I love that Little Red Hen! 
Now, please don't take my selection as a slam against any of you. Those of you that know my personality well, recognize that I have some control issues. I will ask for help (on very rare occasions) but no one can ever seem to do it the way I want or at the exact moment that I want it done (I am a freak, I know). 


But, you gotta admit, doesn't it feel good to be that Little Red Hen sometimes and rub the fruits of your labor in everyone else's face?

Censorship

It happened last night.... 


Neddy spit up all down the back of my shirt and I said, "S#$^%T!" followed by a quiet little echo of "S%$#%t, Mama!" 


Oops!


Note to self: Time to watch what you say. Little ears are listening!


Neddy pulled herself up to standing by a not-so-sturdy chair. She tipped. I said, "S@#$#T!" followed by a quiet little echo of "S@!#@!t, Mama!" 


What is wrong with me?


This is going to be harder than I thought!