Just for them

I am too busy these days to even brush my hair. Birthdays and trips in November and Christmas rapidly approaching. Barely the time to dribble the basketball or walk the dog before darkness comes after school. I haven’t updated this blog in a long time. I know this because my sister reminds me. Daily.

I don’t want to say I quit, but I will say I don’t have the time. Not right now.

So tomorrow…or tonight…or when I can get to it, I will change the theme of this blog, update it randomly simply to capture things I don’t want to forget. Or them to forget.

And so this space will no longer be for you or even my sister…but just for them. You know the them. The ones that still ask me to read to them at night, the ones that still like to make things with pipecleaners and glue and glitter, and the ones that still cry for me when they fall from their bike. The ones that need me to parent for two.

So long for now.

The Internet is Good.

I’d like to think this is what I would do for a friend. It’s what Jesus would do.

Facebook Fundraiser Saves College Student Demorris Davis

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I don’t need no stinkin husband

I know it’s not good grammar. Ok, so sue me but I’m irritated. And it seems to work for Emmalee when she gets fed up with her sisters not playing with her or generally not doing what she wants them to do.  

So why am I so fed up? Because there is so much I want to do in my house and I can’t get anyone to help me. I have tables that I want sanded and painted and banisters I need hung and a bathroom that just really needs some love. I have pictures I need hung, bookcases that need refurbished and a fireplace that is begging to be painted.

I have asked my dad. And I have asked my mom. I have asked my neighbor. And I have asked my best friend. They all gave me that fake “oh yeah, okay, sure I’ll help..it will be fun!” But then they didn’t come. No one wants to help me! Tiffany put your hand down, you moved too far away and I’m still not over it.

I had a brand new vanity and sink top that sat in my hallway for a year. No kidding…a year. Until my sweet brother-in-law came to my house to install it while he and my sister and their family were here ON THEIR VACATION. Why did my b-i-l have to do this for me? Oh that’s because my dad just owns his own remodeling business and he can do anything. Oh wait.

And I make lots of excuses for not doing what I should just do my ownself! So I am! 

The first project is an old kitchen table that sits in my front room, covered with a tablecloth because it is so so ugly. I started stripping and sanding last night and I can’t wait to apply the first coat of turquoise paint I bought a few months ago for another project. I’m going to use the tablecloth to cover the chairs. I am! I am! I am! Sorry, just trying to motivate myself.  

Ok I lied, this (below) was the first project. And it sat on my craft table for a year. No kidding….a year. But I finished it last night too! Yay me! Still motivating.

Yes I know it’s just scrapbook paper covered wooden letters, and yes I know everyone in the blogosphere has already done it, and yes I know it’s so 2008, but it’s a craft project, ok? And I finished it! And I even hung them on the wall above the chore board and it looks quite cute thankyouverymuch.

Oh wait – there’s the paint! That blue paint on the little round table. That’s the blue for the other table. Hmm how bout that. And that birdhouse….my nephew made for me with his own tools and smarts. He’s 8. 9? He’s young. And really talented in the woodworking department. And I guess I’ll go ahead and tell you that I have been planning to paint said birdhouse for months now and haven’t gotten to it. Imagine that.

So now about that fireplace…..I’m thinking orange. Really.

That’ll show my dad not to help me next time.

Kidding.

Sort of.

Stay tuned….I’ll post some pics of the table on Monday.

A Letter to the Curious Folk

Originally posted on April 17, 2008

Dear Lady in the Grocery Store, or the Mall, or the line at the Pharmacy,

I realize you are of an older generation and sometimes change is hard. Especially when it involves race relations, which we all know is a toughy. I am sure seeing a white lady with brown kids can be a little perplexing and sometimes some of  your silly questions can even be validated. Like are my kids adopted. That one I can give you I suppose. My youngest two pretty much look nothing like me and they are well, brown. But the questions that are really none of your business anyway like “Are you married?” and then the one that always follows when I say no, “Do they all have the same dad?”, um, that’s a little much. I apologize if you ask me these questions on a bad day when I may answer by saying “I dunno, the UPS man just dropped them off one day” or “Why yes they do, have you ever heard of Denzel Washington?”

I am not near as nice when the really silly questions come out like “Is that her natural hair color?” (my red head) or “Is her hair that curly naturally?” so try to avoid those. I once convinced a lady at the playland at the mall that I paid $200 every 6 weeks to have their hair permed and professionally colored. They were 2,3, and 4 at the time. She nodded along and then made a beeline for her Canasta meeting to tell everyone all about the crazy white lady at the mall.   

I can also cut some slack on the truly sympathetic questions like “How on earth do you keep it all together raisin’ those girls without a husband?” to which I can usually just say “Easy – I just don’t keep it all together” and then point to my mismatched socks and unbrushed hair.

My new favorite is the one I was asked when we were at the dentist last. I mentioned to the girls that we needed to get moving so we could get Emma to therapy on time; an appointment that was just 20 minutes away. After brazenly asking me what she went to therapy for, I answered “um, she sees a therapist for her ADHD.” “Oh you really believe in that ADHD stuff?”

Yeah, don’t ever think it is okay to ask these kinds of questions really. If you don’t believe in ADHD I would be delighted to invite you to my house at midnight when she is so worked up and fidgety she can’t close her eyes when it is clear she is exhausted. Those nights are always a blast.

So I see that some aspects of my life can seem a little curious and just sometimes you feel like you must ask the question that is burning in your mind. But do me a favor, don’t ask me.

But lady from the gas station this morning, if you are reading this, questions like “Aren’t they just the cutest things?” are fine. Because why yes, yes they are and thank you for noticing.

Love,

Mandy

Lesson Learned

I came home yesterday after a particularly ordinary day and remembered we couldn’t park on our street all week due to paving. We parked a few blocks away at the family dollar, walked inside to ask if we could leave our car there overnight and then proceeded home. After begrudgingly making dinner, cooking the zuchinni too long and getting aggravated with myself for ever volunteering to work the concession stand at practice, I instructed the girls to head upstairs to change from their school uniforms to play clothes. Once again we headed outside on our walk to retrieve the car and I could feel the bad mood just creeping up inside me. I started to think about the two new projects I have taken on at work and all the things I am behind on. Just as I was to turn the corner, I turned around to count heads and realized Emmalee was lagging behind. Nearly a block away, she was crouched down writing on the sidewalk with a piece of chalk she must have had stashed in her pocket. Ever since my mom and I took the girls to see G-Force, she has been convinced she is a special agent with highly secretive missions to carry out. She slinks everywhere, is forever writing secret codes and gets in military mode, where she talks like she has been enlisted her whole life.

“Come on Emmy, we gotta get going”…I yelled back to her.

“Ok, mama – I am writing messages, here I come.”

We all packed in the car and made our way to football practice. I worked at the concession halfheartedly for an hour or so, and then annoyingly waited for the girls to help pick up trash.

We finally arrived back home when I really got irritated. I was tired, I was hot, I was hungry and I did not want to park two blocks away from my house in the dark.

I took a deep breath, parked the car and waited while the girls gathered the 42 pounds of crap they have to take with us everywhere we go, and made sure all the doors were locked. Cori started talking to me about a dog she saw at practice and to be honest, I kind of tuned her out. I was thinking about myself, about how much I had to do, about what a funky mood I was in for no good reason at all really.

As we started down the slope towards home I caught a glimpse of Emma’s “messages” in the light of the streetlamps. There scrawled in her adorable first grade script, every two feet or so, read a very elementary message, but one that made  a big impact on her mama……Have a good day.

That’s it.

Just Have a good day. To anyone that wanted to read it.

I imagine she made a few people having to walk blocks to their home that day stop and smile.

With that, my lips curled up, I got myself a little head start, and then yelled backwards “Last one home is a rotten egg” and took off.

Shortly behind me, and then in front of me, three sets of running feet and just enough giggles to push me into a good day after all.