Tuesday, September 16, 2014

My Musical Obsession

Confession:  I love musicals.  As in, I'll watch them over and over again and I buy every album and fantasize about being the lead.  Yes, even the High School Musical series.  That's right.  Who wouldn't dream about being romanced by Zac Efron and all of his cuteness?  LOL!  I love movie musicals and love seeing them live on stage at the theater.  I LOVE to SING!  But for those of you that know me well know that I don't sing well.  As in, I sound like a dog howling at the moon.  Tone. Deaf.  You also know, that it doesn't stop me.  Those that know me really well also know that when I don't know the words verbatim...I  make them up.  I'll learn the correct words eventually.  I also create songs to familiar tunes for my kids on a regular basis.  For example, I sing, "Let It Go" when one of my twins needs to poop.   Of course, I change the words to say "Let it go, let it go, You need to poop everyday!" and so on.  All three of my kids have songs that allow me to belt out their full names over and over again.  I sing to stop the fussing.  I sing while giving them baths.  I sing to keep from going insane on my sleep deprived days.  I've even sung about housework.  My life should be a musical.  I'd be okay with that. :)  Can't you see me belting out a tune in the  middle of the grocery store as I dance around?  Would you join me as my back up dancers?  I need a chorus.  I should recruit my friends.  Who's with me?

Here is the thing though, even though I am obsessed with musicals, I don't sing in public.  I lip sync at church for crying out loud!  In my home however, I am the star and I take the stage regularly.  No two shows are the same.  Only a few people are aloud to be in the audience (most of them are under the age of five).  I used to be embarrassed about singing in front of my very musically talented husband.  Not anymore (although I have offered him ear plugs) because he believes singing is good for the soul in spite of how it sounds.  He encourages it.  He figures that my singing is a good sign of how happy I am.  I am very happy and blessed.  I have every intention of singing my heart out for the rest of my life.  Hopefully it won't always be about poop! :)

Here are just a few of my favorites:

Les Miserables
Wicked
Phantom of the Opera
Mama Mia
Rock of Ages
Rent
Grease
The Sound of Music
Annie
Chicago

Comment below with your favorites! :)



Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Random Ramblings of an Undomesticated Goddess...

Am I the only one that finds it frustrating that my hubby just "spins the bread" to close it rather than using the twist tie that it comes with when he is done making a sandwich?

Why do I hate matching and folding socks?  Why on earth is there ALWAYS one missing? 

Does anyone else watch kids shows and listen to kid songs when the  kids aren't even around?  Why do I put myself through such torture?

Can someone please explain to me why home builders think a 2 foot by 1 foot pantry is sufficient?  A man must have designed my kitchen.  (Okay, so the dimensions may be an under-exaggeration  but seriously?  Why so small?)

Vacuums should be designed to not only collect my hair, but line it up and braid it so that I can make a wig out of the hair I'm losing on a daily basis. 

Is it bad that I can write "Wash Me!" on my house windows?  Speaking of, I need to dust my blinds...ewe. No wonder my  kids have allergies.  EEK!  I think I just saw a dust bunny hop across my living room floor.

Will the pinterest recipe for tile cleaner really work? I've pinned it three times...I guess the floors won't clean themselves in spite of this fact.

How is it that I can spend so much time on Pinterest?  I should be sleeping or cleaning...ooh, that recipe looks yummy.  I wonder if I  have all of the ingredients for this.  Oh never mind, too many steps.  I'll pin it anyway.  I want everyone who follows me to think I'm a great cook.

I'm on my third load of laundry today.  I have at least two more loads to go.  I'm sure I'll have another two loads worth by the end of the day tomorrow.  My clothes get washed more frequently than I do these days.  Is that spit up on my shirt?  It's crusty.  This shirt needs to go in the next load...

How can I expect my four year old to aim if my man-child can't get it right?  LOL! Double Yuck!  I need to throw the bathroom rugs in the wash. 

Bubble, bubble, bubble, bubble, bubble, bubble guppies...oh crap, I need to change the channel...




<---three loads down!  So many to go! LOL!
 

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

My child"hood" (pun intended)

Times have changed so much that parents can't trust that strangers won't be lurking around the corner and therefor can't let their kids out of their sight.  I don't blame them.  I don't/won't let my kids be alone outside either.  Society has forced us to loose trust in each other and it is proven time and time again that we live in a very scary world.  When I was growing up, my brother and I along with our friends were all looked out for by one another's parents and were literally "raised by a village."  It was a time when it was okay to be corrected by another mom/dad and you'd actually worry about a phone call that might be made to your parents if you had to be corrected or disciplined in some way. Now, kids just roll their eyes and say, "You're not my mom/dad."  I was equally scared of other moms as my own!  I knew better than to sass talk them or disrespect them in any way and I was always respectful when on their property or in their home.

Gone are the days when your neighbors were your friends, the parents all knew each other, spoke often, and trusted you in their care while you were with them.  Do you even know your neighbors names?  We wave at neighbors all of the time and they look at us like we've grown an extra head.  It has become a faux pas as everyone wants to keep to themselves and have forgotten what it is like or even how to have face-to-face interactions.  Kids would rather have their relationships through social media or spend time with tablets on games than get out and meet new people.

As we sat outside this evening holding the twins and watching our four year old play in the backyard, I started thinking about how much has changed since I was a kid.  I wonder if my children will ever know what it is like to "run the streets of the neighborhood" with their friends until the street lights come on.  Will they ever have the close bonds and exciting memories from their own childhood to reflect on when they are parents themselves?

I am blessed to have grown up in an era where we weren't just allowed to run around the neighborhood from sunup to sundown, we were expected to.  It was fun.  We were young.  We had nothing to worry about other than making it home before that last street light came on.  You better believe it was an all out sprint to make it sometimes!  It was our dinner bell.
We camped out in the woods at the back of our neighborhood or in someone's backyard.  We were always inventing games with other kids from the neighborhood and always changing the rules.  We would pick berries by the railroad track without fear of a "Stand By Me-esque" adventure.  Swinging on a rope across the bayou was not only fun but a right of passage.  We dug up crawfish in the ditches after a good rain.  We ran barefoot, climbed trees, played ball in the street, rode our bikes everywhere without fear of them being stolen, and even drank from each other's garden hose (gasp!).  

One the weekends during the school year and most nights each summer, we were even back out playing after dinner.  That's right, after dark.  All of the school age kids gathered for a fun game of "Ghost in the Graveyard."  Those were the best of times and some of my greatest memories.  Every time I catch up to an old friend "from the hood," we ALWAYS mention our favorite game without fail.  Never heard of it?  Imagine an outdoor game of Hide-and-Seek in the dark.  There was always a base, usually my parent's front porch, and two teams.  The Ghosts that would hide and those "walking the graveyard."  Those of us that were ghosts would hide while the other's counted and jump out of any dark spot we could find within the boundaries to scare and chase them.  If you got caught, you became a ghost, essentially switching places with the one that tagged you.  So the teams were always different, as not everyone got caught every time and some ghosts weren't as fast as others.  This game would go on for hours and it never got old.  We perfected the game from year to year and learned to dress appropriately (dark loose clothes for climbing trees and crawling under/behind things, tennis shoes, and absolutely no jewelry or items that would make noise to alert your victim of your presence). We gradually expanded the boundaries and relocated the base to a large tree in my front yard.  The players changed over the years, but the concept stayed the same.  We all talked about how we'd pass this game down to our own children one day.  I hope that still happens.  I'd love to have a reunion with these friends and our kids in a few years!  We'd have to pick a new street, as the quaint neighborhood it once was has changed dramatically.  My parents still live in the same house.  The tree is gone, but the memories remain.  Just being back with these friends would be enough.  It would bring back that sense of innocence and help me remember simpler times.  I'm not sure why it hasn't happened yet, but I sure hope it does.

Anyway, I guess I'm writing this post more of a reflection than anything else.  It isn't about parenting or the raising of my twins and toddler.  You probably didn't get anything out of it other than insight into my childhood but I hope you enjoyed the read nonetheless.  I'd love to hear about your favorite childhood memory in the comments!  What is one game/tradition you'd like to share with your own children?  Those of my readers that share these memories with me,  I hope to see you "in the hood!"




 

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Broken Bones

At the ripe old age of 10, I was the coolest cat on the block.  Its true, just ask me.  I was the tom boy of all tom boys.  I lived to run with the boys. Girls were drama, pink lip gloss, and frou-frou dresses.  Not me.  I had converse in every color, a BMX bike, and a strong desire to run the streets bare-foot covered in dirt and grime from sun-up until the street lights came on. 
My brother and his friends were my hearts desire.  I followed them everywhere.  Wanted to be where they were, wear what they wore, and do what they did.  It was the Fall of my fifth grade year and the newest fad was skateboarding.  I knew that if I wanted to "be cool" I'd have to master the art of balancing on one of these contraptions.  I needed to impress the guys and learn a trick or two while I was at it.  Against objections from my parents I bought a skateboard with my saved up allowance.  In my attempt to fit in, I fell out.  Literally. 
I may or may not have been intentionally "showing off" on my skate board as the Elementary Bus was making its rounds in my neighborhood dropping off kids on a Thursday afternoon.  Just two weeks into owning my own board, I was on top of the world.  I'd mastered pushing off and rolling along the driveway without incident.  As the bus rounded the curve on my street, I sped up, wanting to make sure the passengers noticed my ability to effortlessly glide down the pavement.  I think its important to tell you, that my skateboard did NOT come with a manual.  There wasn't a single warning or label telling me how necessary it would be to look ahead, down even as you glide down the smooth surface of the pavement.  I looked up and waved at the children admiring how "cool" I was.  It was at that moment that the front wheel of my skateboard was abruptly stopped by a small pebble catapulting me forward arms flailing out in front of me in an attempt to keep my face from greeting the pavement.  Though throwing my arms out in front of me saved my face, my bones weren't unscathed.  I'm not sure what was worse, the pain in my arm or the embarrassment of falling in front of those who I was convinced looked up to me and admired my mad skills...
I just about died of embarrassment but at the same time, I was in a lot of pain.  I got up and grabbed my board horrified at the thought of the elementary kids laughing at my folly.  I got inside before I allowed myself to cry.  My mom, with that "I told you so" look in her eyes got me an ice pack.  Being the girl scout that she wasn't, she folded a magazine in half and secured it as a brace with an old ace bandage that my dad had in the medicine cabinet.  I had a long four day weekend ahead of me yet didn't enjoy a minute of it, as I spent my time laying around the house convinced that my arm needed to be amputated.  On Tuesday morning I arrived at school and went into gym, my first period and favorite class.  When I chose not to dress out and participate, my coach knew something was wrong. He sent me to the nurse where my arm was unwrapped and inspected.  Within minutes, my dad was on his way to pick me up. 
We headed to the hospital to get my arm x-rayed.  To say my parents felt guilty for telling me to "stop exaggerating" would be an understatement.  My wrist and elbow were full of hairline fractures and I was casted for the next 8 weeks.  Yep, I was the kid walking around with a purple cast from just under my armpit down to my knuckles.  On the plus side, I am right handed and it was my right arm...which came with perks.  I got a lot of help writing my assignments out.  I got to leave class early and have a friend tag along with me...you know, to carry my things. :)  I also attracted a lot of attention and made some new friends along the way.  Everyone wanted to know how I injured my arm.  I didn't tell the story in detail, but "I was totally doing this rad move and almost landed it!  It was awesome!"   Yea...I was that cool.