Sunday, November 11, 2012

Comedic Relief, Pocket Frogs & an Unexpected Compliment

There isn’t a day that goes by as a mom of two small girls that I don’t wake up rudely. 

In my perfect world I remember waking up at 2pm as a teenager in the soft glow of the sun from behind my closed blinds and laying there for another hour in the quiet sanctuary of MY OWN ROOM where I knew no one would walk in without knocking and no one would dare take the first step of communication for the day before knowing I had had my coffee. I remember letting my muscles and organs and brain wake up with me and then finally - lazily if you will - rolling out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom, taking my time and going forward with my day as I pleased. 

Now-a-days though, it just isn’t so relaxing. This morning, for example, I get a toy to the face. Yep, straight between the eyes. Now I don’t know if you’ve seen the hulk and the way he basically tears himself apart becoming his green behemoth self with his clothes shredding and popping off and his eyes bulging but I suspect that is how my daughters saw me this morning. Needless to say, mommy had to ask many prayers of forgiveness from God and my daughters, not because of anything I said or did but because of the things that went through my brain. Imagine Lalaloopsy hair tied around four big toes with the other end tied to the ceiling fan. FUN! Okay, not really but you get the idea. I was not a chipper chipmunk this morning.

After my massive muscles regained normal proportions and my eyeballs stopped bulging and the veins in my neck and forehead retracted to their normal position INSIDE my skin I happily set about the tasks of dressing my girls and myself for church.

“Mama, I’m hungry!”

Winning mother of the year award I handily grab a box of Wheat Thins and put it in Sassy’s confused hands.

“Make sure you share with your sister,” I say as I rush around like a chicken with my head dangling from my body (because mine never fully gets severed Dammit!) trying to get ready.

“Breezy doesn’t like these!” I hear Sassy yell.

“Then you don’t have to share!” I yelled back from the bathroom.

Now, on any other Sunday I would have had my outfit for the day picked out already because I am kinda OCD like that, but today being my first day of eating well and exercising and actually documenting it, I decided I wanted to look nice.


After 4 pairs of pants, one that was too tight, one that was too loose, one that was dirty but somehow ended in my clean clothes and one that looked more like sweatpants than church pants, I finally decided on the ones that were too loose and started on the shirts. Hooded sweatshirt? Sure, why not? It’s cold. Butt friggin’ cold as a matter of fact. No one is going to hold it against me for wearing a sweatshirt.

Oops, sweatshirt is too short, lower belly hangs out. Let’s try and stretch it.

DAMMIT! Stretching a hooded sweatshirt inevitably tears front pocket. Storing that in my cranial filing cabinets for next time.

I’ll try another hooded sweatshirt. It’s white. No, I look like flippin’ Shamu. I’ll scare the children in Sunday school.

I rip the sweatshirt off and throw on ol' reliable which is exactly what I did not want to wear; a strange textured shirt that hangs nicely and shows just a little too much cleavage because my boobs are small in comparison to my hips but HEY, it works so I’ll wear it.

Time for hair and I check the clock and HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS AND JOSEPH it is 9:17 and church starts at 9:30 and it is at least a 15 minute drive. I throw my hair up in a ponytail and flip it up with an alligator clip. OH MY GOSH! I look like I have a bush growing out the top of my head. So, I gel it, I wet it, I play with it, tug it, rip it out and finally I think ENOUGH.

“Let’s go girls,” I yell, throwing things around looking for my keys which happen to be sitting right on top my purse where I always leave them but is always the last place I look. GOD, I LOVE MY LIFE!

The girls, as usual, fight to open the screen, race to the gated fence, fight over who will open it. One inevitably pinches her finger, blames her sister, shoves her sister against the cement wall of the garage, that one starts screaming and yelling like she’s being murdered and all I can think about is the friggin’ bush growing out of my head and the fact that the ushers are going to think I’m disrespectful because my boobs are practically falling out of my shirt. I HAVEN’T LOST THAT MUCH WEIGHT YET, HOW DID THIS SHIRT GET SO FLIPPIN’ BIG?

Once in the car, I turn on the Christian radio station and try to relax as we drive and even though my eyes keep darting to the clock and the miles seem to move like molasses but the minutes are hopping and skipping and jumping forward so fast, I sort of feel like I am in a time warp. I try to sing and hum along with the music.

“Mama, why are the trees green?”

“Mama, why do horses poop?”

“Mama, can bird fly upside down?”

“Mama, why is there a poop farm?”

“Do they touch the poop?”

These are the kinds of questions I am bombarded with as I am trying to reverently sing Amazing Grace along with the radio. I MMMHMMM and uh huh and answer with one worded answers as long as I can handle it and then I start getting questions like,

“Mama, why is Spongebob square?”

“Mama, why does spongebob sometimes have a square butt and other time his butt looks like mine?”

“Mama, why doesn’t Patrick have a doodoo?”


“ENOUGH! Be quiet now girls! Mama wants to listen to the music!” And of course it comes out a little more mean than I intended, but talking about doodoos and butts – especially of the Spongebob variety - just is not my idea of a relaxing drive to church!

Finally at church and we are approximately REALLY LATE and finding a parking space is an actual joke and so we actually have to park on the main lawn where other poor souls have begun parking because of the overload of church attendees and I have to carry Breezy out of the grass area but not completely out because otherwise I will be standing her in the middle of the road and then I have to get Sassy and we walk into church and by the time I get the girls to their classes and plop down in the seat my family has reserved for me and always reserves for me, I am so frazzled I hardly realize my uncle is handing me the offering bag. I snatch it out of his hand and almost shove it into the usher’s and train my eyes straight ahead as the pastor (whom I adore) makes his way to the pulpit.

As I mentioned, I ADORE OUR PASTOR. He is a wonderful man, a wonderful pastor, a wonderful teacher and a wonderful role model. I usually find myself riveted by his sermons and wanting the service not to end. I usually crave Sunday mornings where I can fill my head not only with the words from the Bible but with the actual history in plain language that our pastor conveys so eloquently.
Not today though. Today, the sermon was about missions and so while my beloved pastor talked about the missionaries in Haiti and Africa and other places, I found my mind wandering.

“Oh hey, the Marine who was deployed is back!”
“Those two look funny together. I mean he’s huge and she’s so small and …”
“I wonder if I locked Emma in the bathroom again. Gosh, I do that a lot.”
“Do we need milk?”
“I wonder if my Pocket Frogs have hatched yet,”

And so the list of random and essentially pointless thought mulled itself around in my head for nearly an hour until those magic words were spoken, “Let’s pray,” signaling the end of service and as soon as the choir voices began and requested that the congregation rise I was outta there to get Sassy and Breezy, still wondering however, if my hair looked like a bush growing out of the top of my head.

{Small tangent, I googled "Thank God It's Over" meaning the church service and get a bunch of this propaganda... I'm not surprised, and not sure if it is offensive or humorous. I guess I am still having a hard time coming to terms with this unfortunate outcome - END TANGENT}

Nothing else much interesting happened today, unless you count my Pocket Frog eggs actually hatching. I mean, I am overjoyed because those frogs are rare and I needed them for my collection but yeah, in the scheme of actual and real life I suppose that doesn’t hold much merit.

However, Marc from Fat or Fit? Changing theStatus Quo had some very nice things to say to me today. I won’t post his comment, even though it is right out there for everyone to see, but I just wanted to publicly thank you Marc. You made my day, and not in the kind of way where my skin will turn green and big muscles erupt from my clothes while I roar ominously like how my children made my day and I reacted this morning. When I read your comment, I smiled – something I haven’t done a lot today and maybe not a whole lot in a while and it felt good. So thank you! It meant more than you know. 

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