Nice to mole you.

I always find it a bit uncomfortable when people speak to my children and then actually wait for an answer. Evie is almost 2, and I feel that she is super duper intelligent. That being said, I don't think she is going to answer a strange old man when he asks her where she got her beautiful hair. I just smile and watch them stand there in silence, wondering if I should muster up my best baby voice and attempt to throw it into Evie's mouth or if I will just look like I'm on drugs. Either way, it would end the awkward silence that has now gone on way too long and maybe this guy will just move on down the produce aisle and let me get my tomatoes and get out of there.

Anyways, today was Walmart day. So Evie and I are perusing the frozen burritos (don't judge me) when she approached. Now, we've all seen People of Walmart, right? Well, this lady was a front runner. Not only was she wearing neon purple yoga pants and flip flops, she had her hair in at least three different pony tails. Topping that all off with a giant fur coat and a mustache that could shame Yosemite Sam, she was setting off every fashion alarm in the city of Reynoldsburg. And she was headed my way.

Fitting her stereotype, she dove right into a conversation with Evie about ravioli and some restaurant she loves where she has a longstanding relationship with the owner who is 75 years old but now his daughter has taken over and doesn't even make the ravioli homemade anymore and...(pause for breath)...how her husband ordered a steak last time they were there and it was totally messed up and they got mad at her for complaining and.........................here's where crap got ugly. Because all I could do was stare at her mustache/hair cheeks (as Cailynne calls a beard). Does she not see it? Does her husband not see it? Does she not have any good friends that could somehow find a way to mention to her that there are ways to get rid of a mustache? Or at least leave an anonymous gift of a razor or free wax job? Man, that would be a serious wax job! That is a serious beard! I'm such a jerk...stop thinking and listen to this poor hairy woman.................so she just doesn't even eat ravioli anymore which is a shame and what were we going to be having for lunch today?

So I'm trying to answer her. I'm trying to conversate with this woman, all the while Evie is pinching my chin and I'm trying to keep eye contact, but my stupid eyes keep wandering down to the 'stache. It's about the most uncomfortable strange old lady conversation that I've ever had. And seriously, how does a woman grow a mustache and beard that thick? And then God layed the hammer down. Evie pinched me on the chin once again and it hurt so bad my eyes started watering. What the heck?! As I reached up to smack her hand away, I realized that she was not pinching me. I had been so fixated on the bearded lady that I couldn't discern the difference between a pinch and a child tugging on the 3 inch whisker that had grown out of a mole in my chin during our outing at Walmart!!! (I swear it was not there this morning!)

The shame. OH the shame. Nice to meet you, humility. I almost apologized to her outloud. Instead I smiled and listened to the rest of her story about her sister's husband and his love of pasta, and watched her walk away, all the while still talking to me, or Evie. I'm really not sure. Then I climbed into my cart and used my whisker to paddle myself at the speed of light to the tweezer section of the store. Ok, I made that up. What really happened was that I used my whisker as a lasso and Tarzan'd my hairy humiliated conceited judgemental ass out the store and immediately repented.

Moral of the story:
Women with whiskers... (say it with me) IT'S A BUMMER!

Get it together people!!

I will apoligize in advance. I always try to keep everything I write light and humorous, with the intention to inspire. But today I am deeply saddened by my fellow Americans and I need to say something.
What in the H-E-double hockeysticks is happening to us America? I got on Facebook this morning and was utterly sickened by the posts and conversations that were happening. Obama fans are gloating and cussing out the "idiots" that voted for Romney. Romney fans are damning Obama voters to Hell. It's insane! Is this really who we have become? Two sides of one country that cannot respect each other.
Let me put myself out there for a minute. I voted for Romney. I am a republican. I am pro-life. I also, however, (and you may want to sit down for this) support gay marriage. I am a mother who is very concerned about the future of my children, who will absolutely be paying their own way through college, unless we win a lottery. I am a wife who is scared that my husband's salary will not be able to cover our health care next year. BUT above all of these things, I am a child of God! And I believe He loves Obama and Romney supporters all the same. And I believe we should follow suit here.
What is America if we are not free to feel and say who we are and what we believe without being thrown to the wolves for daring to be different than our neighbor. I voted differently than many of my friends and family, but I love them just the same. I respect that they feel differently than me when it comes to politics and issues, and I would never condemn their souls! Ridiculous!
I didn't support Obama, but he won. If you voted for him, then why are you still mad that others didn't? If you didn't vote for him, than don't be a sore loser. Don't tell the opposing team that the demise of this country is their fault. Get off of your high horse and get on your knees!
Pray for our country people. Pray for Obama. Pray for your FRIENDS. Don't let the issues of politics make them enemies. Love each other. Respect each other. Because however this world ends, it will be a lot harder if your alone.
The best status update I have seen today came by way of my brother.

Complaining is like vomiting. It makes you feel better, and it makes everyone around you sick.
Excessive celebration and gloating is like the smell of your own farts. What smells as sweet as honey to you is just a stinky fart to others. 

Think about it friends! Here's to the next four years. May Obama turn to God and follow Him in leading this country into it's next chapter. May you all be blessed, no matter who you voted for. And may our relationships be healed and the division in this country be replaced with one common desire to see lives improve. You're the God of this city. You're the Lord of this nation. And greater things have yet to be done! AMEN!

What was I thinking?

I made the mistake of praying for patience last week. Obviously, I'm saying that sarcastically (slightly), but let me just let you in on a little secret that I temporarily forgot. God does not usually just wave his hand in your direction and give you exactly what you ask for. In my experience, He instead gives you the opportunity to obtain what it is you are asking for. If you pray for holiness, God will give you the opportunity to be holy. Pray for courage and you will be given the opportunity to be courageous. Pray for patience, and holy crap will you receive chance after chance to develop patience!
Anyways, I was at the end of my rope with my daughters and their shenanigans. So after putting them in bed for the 16th time, I ended up on my knees asking God why they are so rambunctious and to please give me more patience to deal with their insatiable desire to send me to the loony bin within the next five years. Strangely, I thought I heard a faint chuckling from somewhere in the distance, but decided it was the lack of sleep.
I'm positive that this was the longest week of my life as a mother. It was as if my children had become possessed with the love child of the Tazmanian Devil and The Brain (insert maniacal laugh here). And there was a moment. Somewhere, between them tag-teaming the dogs with Baby Magic and skittles, to the fabulous new toothpaste paint job they did down the hallway, to me fishing the 13th Barbie doll head out of the toilet, I had a serious moment. A moment where I realized that I was one piece of gum filled panties away from understanding the thought process that lead that woman to take a quiet nap at the bottom of the lake.
And this time I am sure I heard laughter. So, I just joined Him. And God and I had this great moment on the bathroom floor. Laughing til the tears came running down. What am I going to do with these children God?! I love that He laughs with me, and not at me.
So today I was ready. I made it through the entire day without completely losing it. No children were beaten. There were no thoughts of the lake. I had a nice talk with God to let Him know that I was pretty sure that my lesson in patience was received and completed. And then the next moment came.
I stood in the kitchen cooking dinner and listening to my husband play with the kids. I don't know if it was having him home, the sound of their precious laughter, or the fact that dinner came out exactly as planned and every one of them cleaned their plates without a single protest, but it was a moment that filled me with instant peace of heart. You see, it's not easy being a mother. Especially on those days where you feel like your kids are really tiny terrorists, whose only objective in life is to see just how far they can push you before you burst. But friends, it is well worth it. Because at the end of the week, there was always that one moment. That one moment where you realize nobody tried to drown their sister in the bathtub, and bedtime went so easily. That moment that everybody was happy today, even if just for 15 minutes. That moment that you realize God gave you exactly what you asked for.  Well played God, well played.

Why the strange title?

We all have heard them. If you are a mother, you have already used several of them on your children. It's the "momisms". We catch ourselves smack dab in the middle of "I will turn this car around!" and roll our eyes at the realization of what just came out of our mouth. It's like something inside of moms everywhere is pre-programmed with the automatic response to an open door of "Were you born in barn?" I remember as a kid thinking, "what a dumb question, mom. Weren't you there?" You would think that after hearing all of those sayings that were deemed absurd as a child, we would not be bound to repeat the nonsense. But, alas, I still can't help but remind my children of how things were "when I was a child" in an obsolete attempt at helping them understand how blessed they are to live in these times.

Now maybe it's just because I was such a perfect kid, but there seems to be a whole set of other "momisms" that I do not remember ever hearing my mother say to me. There are times that I hear something coming out of my mouth and think how incredibly strange I must sound yelling at my child over and over again to "STOP drawing on your vagina!" And everytime I have to say "stop licking the back door" I wonder if I'm coining a new momism, or if I should call the pediatrician. How many meltdowns do you suppose I'm going to have before my children realize "crayons aren't candy!!" and "tampons aren't for your fingers!!" or that they have to"stop putting nail polish on your eyes!"

But out of all of the crazy sayings that exit my mouth, old and new, the most common phrase uttered by many a mom around this house is "WHERE ARE YOUR PANTIES??" So when I was trying to decide on my new blog title, that was the only one that sounded appropriate.

Here's to all of the mommies out there that are looking for panties right now! Look in the toilet. That's where I usually find them.