Mama's Visit

Today my mama visited me.  We had a normal visit, where she assured me she didn't want me to cook.  Why is that?  I'm a good cook.

While we were at the restaurant (Mexican, my favorite), we had our normal conversation.

Mama:  Look at that girl's pants, hanging below her butt.

Donald:  Why are you looking at her butt?

Mama:  I can't hardly miss it.  It's huge. 

Please note that she's not whispering. 

Ainsley:  Who's butt, Maw Maw?  (in her glass-shattering squeaky voice)  I want to see the big butt.

Mama:  What do you want for Christmas, kids?

There's a various chorus of camo shirts, weapons of mass destruction, and pink ponies.  Notice that she didn't ask me, her only child.

Me:  I'd like a normal mother.

Mama:  That's not going to happen.

Ainsley:  I'd like a normal mother.

I tried to swipe some of her nachos and cheese, but she blocked me with some kungu fu move. 

Me: I gave you birth, now give me some cheese.

Ainsley:  No.

Me:  I'm taking back your birth.

She shrugged.

Mama laid her credit card on the table, which was irresponsible of her, soI took it. 

Mama:  Give that back.

Me:  This is my allowance.  You're 25 years behind. 

Mama:  I'm going to take back your birth if you don't give me back that card. 

She has issues and needs therapy. 

Double 16 Hunting Club Trail Ride 2012

Here's a recap of today's events, from my perspective.  I have to write them down now, before my aches and pains overcome me and I'm immobile for the next two weeks. Thank you, Blitz.

I chose to ride my sweet boy for today's ride.  As you may know, sometimes Diva gets cranky and kicks at other horses, and I thought Blitz might make a more relaxing ride. 

On the way to the hunting club, I got stuck behind the granddaddy of watertubs being carted down the street on a flat bed semi truck, and was reduced to going 30mph, which had me running a bit late.  When I stopped to pick up drinks for the trip, I loosened Blitz's rope and fed him in the trailer.  (There's a point of telling you this, I promise.)  When we got to the campground, I noticed the trailer rocking just a bit, but it wasn't until I parked that I realized why.  Blitz took that rope I gave him and hung himself with it...nearly literally.  He'd turned himself around in the trailer, the better to see the other horses with, then tried to right the situation, and, well...

So.  I unload him, or he unloads on me, whatever.  I tied him.  He swished to the left, he swished to the right.  He bugled in my ear.  I'm now deaf, thank you so much, you donkey's rear end.  I made an attempt to brush him, gave up, and threw the saddle at him - yes, at him.  It was the best I could do, short of a cattle chute.  Sweet boy was no more and poster child for adhd was in fine form.  "A horse!  Another horse!  I want to say hi.  HI!  A wagon!  A mule?  I don't like mules."  Lays ears back and snorts.  "A mare in heat!  Heeeeyyyy, baby!  I got what you want!  Well, I don't, but whatever."

I tried to get on him, and I hope no one has that posted on YouTube yet.  Eventually successful, we pranced, danced, and sashayed our way to the front lines, where I repeatedly apologized for our existence.  "He's not normally like this, honest.  He's normally very calm."  LIAR!

Setting off, I met two  new best friends, Angel and Eunice, that were luckily riding mares in heat. Blitz was happy to have two new girls, and I was happy to have someone to talk to.  Blitz was just this side of behaving, which is actually model behavior for him.  I didn't even fall off once, but Angel did.  I did NOT throw that rock!  She's okay, just hurt her finger.  (I didn't get it on video.)  :(

Stopped for lunch only four hours later.  Blitz is tired you say?  Au contraire, you silly person.  I tied Ritalin-overdosed boy to a tree (he can't hurt a TREE, right?!) and took a break.  Big mistake.  Huge.  I didn't even get the first bite of my sammich in my mouth before I see people chasing a familiar looking red horse.  Darn if he didn't look just like Blitz, who always stands tied perfectly.  And the tree is empty.  Huh.

"Always bring a halter on a trail ride, and never tie a horse with the reins."  Yeah, got that.    I figured it out as I held my new leather bridle in five different pieces, and only one of them was attached to my horse, who didn't look the least bit repentent.  A leather tie and some duct tape later, and we were back in business.  Remember, fellow rednecks, duct tape fixes anything.

Back in the saddle, which I was still excited about, believe it or not, and we were off.  I never got to eat that sammich.

Three hours later....

Where's my cell phone?  Somewhere between lunch and that moment, I'd lost my cell phone.  I'm gonna die.  This trail ride is no longer fun and I want to go home, where my phone will magically be waiting for me.  I need to Facebook that I lost my phone.  Oh wait, I can't, because I don't have my phone!  Life as we know it is over.

It gets better.  We round a curve to find a group of people and horses coming toward us.  "We're going the wrong way.  We have to go all the way back to the rotted tree stump and start over."  Uh uh.  My butt hurts, my knees hurt, my stomach is churning because someone won't stop bounce bounce bouncing, and I'd rather die than ride one more step.  Just call 911 and medivac me out of here.  I'm done. 

We got back to camp.  The food was to die for - spare ribs, nanna pudding, some other stuff, but who cares.  I was going to stay for the hayride and all, but since my kids couldn't contact me, I headed home.  It was almost dark already, and guess what?  No trailer lights.  Such a nice surprise.

This is my life, people, and you can't have it.  But you'll be real proud of me cuz when I got home I tried to back my trailer into it's spot and all I hit was the fence, a tree, and the boat.  I didn't hit the house or the van! 

I also didn't back it up.  It's still in the front yard. 

I Never Exaggerate

I've been accused of the crime of exaggeration.  I don't know why, because it's blatantly untrue.  The person that started this vicious rumor is just mad, I think, that my horse is so much more wonderful and amazing than her horse.  It's just jealousy. 

She should be jealous, and I'm about to tell you why. 

I spent the day with my very favorite guy yesterday.  Peter and the kids tagged along, too.  We went to my mother's house and got ready for a day on the trails, but something more exciting caught our eyes.  Sitting right there in my parents' side yard lay a huge, ginormous, sixty foot long casualty of Isaac.  My favorite guy and I walked around the colossal testament of the storm's mighty force and eyeballed it, hmm hmming and tsk tsking.  We wandered across the driveway, sized up a good path, and made a run for it, dodging out-of-bloom azalea and wisteria bushes until we reached It.  A brief hesitation while he checked his stride, then Blitz soared, up and over. 

We touched the clouds. 

When Blitz's hooves (freshly shod and adorable) touched earth again, we made a circle and went back for another turn.  The second time was even better than the first.  No horse could jump higher than my horse.  Olympic riders should be embarrassed if they could see how much better we were than them, and on the first try, too. 

I went to the back porch where my parents were sitting, drinking iced tea as all old southern people are wont to do.  "Did you see that?  We just jumped that!  It was at least ten feet high!  We could be in shows!  We could be in Olympics!  Where's your camcorder?  You've got to record this so I can put it on YouTube!"

They didn't move, except Donald took another sip of tea and rocked his chair on it's back legs. 

"Mama?  Come on! You gotta come see us jump!  I coulda died and it was totally cool!"

She fanned herself with her visor.  "It's warm today, isn't it, Donald?  I hope it cools off before the fair next week."

"Ayup," he says. 

Hellooo?  Where's my fan club?  I take a new tact.  "Mother.  Don't you want to watch me jump that huge tree in the side yard?  I could fall and break my leg or die and you could have it on video." I figure that would inspire her to get up.

"It's just a log, Kerri."

Good Mom/Bad Mom

I used to be a wonderful mother.  I don't just mean good, I mean truly wonderful.  I made no mistakes and I had all the answers.  I knew exactly what to do in each situation with a child.  Was the child simply being childish and needed to be instructed?  Was the child just tired and needed a nap or hungry and needed to be fed?  Or was the child just flat out beyond help and needed to be locked up in a padded room for the safety of self and others?  My nephew usually fell into that category, but he still held a large portion of my heart - proof that I'm a saint. 

Like I said, I was a wonderful mother.  Then I had my first child, and I became a good mother.  We had a few glitches, like the time my angel baby drank the lawnmower gas. He wasn't being disobedient or anything, because I had never thought to tell him not to; I just assumed he had the sense God gave a goose.  I thought wrong.

He never got away with a thing, let me tell you.  I was strict like you wouldn't believe.  He couldn't even look at me cross-eyed and I was all up in his grill.  "Don't look at me in that tone, boy.  You will show me respect.  I'm your mama, hear me?"  He heard me.  The whole neighborhood heard me.  He still painted his carpet green and blue.

But he was a good child.  Never gave me a moment's worry, aside from the annual visits to the emergency room every January, three years running.  After that, he wasn't allowed to run, jump, or even leave the house from New Year's until February first every year.

Then came baby girl number one.  Blond hair.  Big blue eyes.  Awwww.  Great big lungs.  Bad temper.  My good mother methods were not quite as effective with this one.  One day I'd had it up to *here* with her, and I took her by the arm and hissed (we were in public and you know how I hate to make a scene), "That is ENOUGH."  She gave me a look that sends shivers down my spine to this day.  "No, YOU are enough," she says.  And the beating commenced.  It took some doing, but I won.  She got some good licks in, though. 

Child three, a bouncing baby boy, came along, and he followed the rule book on happy children.  What a joy!  And that sweet smile!  All you had to do was look at his sweet self and he'd break into gales of laughter.  What a relief after the aforementioned child that gave the exorcist nightmares, to have a sweet little angel.  I would raise this one to adulthood with no problemos whatsoever, yes I would. 

He turned three.  One day, while wearing his 'Piderman costume, he threw his 'Piderman hood/face at me, told me I had stinky feet, and hasn't liked me since. 

Child number four came out somewhere between the stinky feet incident with child number three and the exorcism of child number two.  Four - a girl - got fed once in a while, and her diaper was changed.  On a good day, she was clothed, but it was a rare event.  It's a good thing she was bald as a balloon, because at that point I had no further desire to earn my Wonderful Mama award, or even a Doesn't Totally Suck Mama award, and would never have found the time to comb it. 

I'm not sure if she was a good baby or not.  That time period seems hazy to me.  What I know is this:  in three days, that child will turn ten years old.  And I'm not sure she's going to make it.   I may have slacked off a little to much in the discipline department with that one.  For ten years, it's been a litany of "eat your veggies.... no you may not have a snack because you did not eat your dinner.  I don't care if it was yucky.  There are starving children in Ethiopia that would love to have it.  Because I can't just mail it to them; I made it for you....... go to bed...... stop whining............ stop arguing......... stop kissing boys you're only five for crying out loud............. I said go to bed already................ if I said no to a snack, it means no cookie.  Yes, a cookie does count as a snack.  Well, then, no dessert either.  Because I said so.  God made me the mama......"

And today's conversation is a nice one.  "When's the last time you brushed your teeth?" 

She thinks for a minute.  "Mrs. Sam made me when I spent the night with Dani."

Facepalm.  I totally suck.  "That was last week!"

"But it's only Monday."

I always thought I was a stubborn person, but she's more stubborn.  She's wearing me down.  I can feel it.  After ten years of her badgering me, day in and day out, I've found my life is much more peaceful if I just let her have the cookie. 

Yesterday, Scotlyn and I saw an alligator on the way home from town. 

No big deal, really, considering we live in southern Louisiana, but I'll admit to it being excited.  Scotlyn was overjoyed and wanted to bring him home as a pet.  Do you see this big boy?  He's far enough way to not measure him, but I'd put him at no less than six feet.  No thanks. 

After posting the picture on Facebook, Chad called and wanted to know where we'd seen him.  I told him off the road about two miles from our house, just on the other side of the river we live close to. 

"Now you know you have gators," says Oh Wise One.

"Of course there are gators down here, but they aren't in our lake."

"Of course not."  I detected sarcasm.  "They stay on the other side of the river."

"This was an itty bitty swamp right by the river.  We live a mile from the river, and our lake is big.  Big lakes don't have gators."

"Lake Placid." 

Did I raise this boy?  Did I bring him into this world to have him treat me like this?  I'm pretty sure I put my best effort into having a Mama's boy, and look how he turned out.  Where did I go wrong?

Here's another example, from a couple years ago (and also a prime reason I no longer believe in having fun with my children):

I took my children tubing, thinking they would enjoy it.  Pssshhh.  While on the river, a storm began brewing.  Lightning struck in the distance and thunder rumbled, but there was nowhere to leave the water.  The banks were high and covered in trees and vines and the such.  We were more likely to get snake-bit if we got out than lightning-struck if we stayed in.  So instead I had to endure this for two hours.

Ainsley screaming bloody murder, trying to drag me from my tube with dagger-sharp nails.  She would not be reassured that the storm was miles away.  It wasn't even raining.  Scotlyn was worried but not to the extent of gnashing of teeth.  She was also more upset that she didn't have her mp3 player with her and she could have gone to Karis's house if I'd told her it was going to storm.  For the last time, I'm sorry.

Pierson hunkered down for the duration, staying as far away from the ear piercing shrieks as I would allow. 

Then there was Chad.  Chad stayed close.  Wasn't that sweet of him, to help me out with the fearsome child?  Hmmm.  After a short time (hour, hour and a half, who's counting) I had her down to a dull roar of worries when the next rumble of thunder sounded. She shuddered, but held still.  My brave girl.

Chad, my first born, the "man" of the house while his father was away, took it upon himself to sing to her in her time of need.

"We're all gonna die.
No one will find us,
cuz we're all gonna fry.
The lightning's gonna hit us,
And we're all gonna die."

Every. Single. Lightning. Strike.  He sang that song. She shrieked.  He sang louder.

He's still alive, which just proves the power of a mother's love.

Is It Okay to Be Mad at God?

Answer this honestly, do you think it's okay to be mad at God?  This question was asked in Sunday School today, and we had a pretty even response on yes, no, maybe, and I don't know.  I was so confused I answered yes AND no.  After hearing the high school girls giving their arguments supporting their opinions, I was swayed both ways.  I guess that makes me impressionable, huh?

In order to go further, I need to flash back to earlier in the week.  We are reading through the Bible in a year, and this week we read in 1 Corinthians.  Part of what we read on Tuesday were the verses about God never giving us more temptation than we can handle.  They've been turned into the common saying of "God doesn't give us more than we can handle".  I've heard that saying many, many times, but that day, for some unknown reason, the verses brought back a vivid memory.

I was standing in my mother's driveway the day after my brother's death.  (Keep in mind that this was more than 20 years ago, but so many things this week have happened this week that have made me think that I'm supposed to share this story.)  I had come out of the house, just to escape from the walls closing in on me.  The driveway was as far as I got.  I stood there, realizing I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn.  I looked up, and I got mad.  You're not supposed to get mad at God, you know,  but I couldn't help it.  It was simmering, way down deep, and it was starting to boil up.  I could feel it rising. 

My fists were clenched when the forbidden thought entered my mind.  Why didn't God stop this?  I wasn't walking with God at that point in my life, but I believed - I've always believed.  My brother had a lot of problems - way too many to handle.  And they just kept piling up higher and higher, one thing after another: financial, family, health.  God should have taken some of them away.  Why didn't He?  Why did He just stand by and let Shawn kill himself?  What kind of God does that?

Right there, in the midst of my forbidden anger, my Uncle D came up to me.  He's one of my favorite people in the world, and he's a godly man.  I lashed out at him.  "Why did God do this?  Why did he give Shawn more than he could handle?"

I figured Uncle D would give me a look of disappoint or disgust and then rain hellfire and brimstone down on me.  Instead, he looked at me with the compassion of Christ and said, "I don't know all the circumstances, but I do know that God gave Shawn other paths to take, and Shawn didn't choose them." 

When I showed anger to God, he showed me mercy, and he put one of His people in my life exactly at that moment to answer my question.  I can't say I gave my life over to Him then, but I will say that it made me think more and think deeper.  It started me on the road.

So, can we be angry with God?  I think whatever true feelings we have, God wants us to share.  He made us, right?  So He gets it.  But we need to deal with our feelings and realize that He is God.  He knows better than us, and He has a plan.  We don't have to see it or understand it to trust it.

No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.  1 Corinthians 10:13

Not at My Grandma's House

Scotlyn has a new saying:  "Not at my Grandma's house, you don't!"  I have no idea where she comes up with this stuff. Her mind must be a scary place.

Anyway, on the way home from church, and I have no idea why, she told me that. 

I'm very mature, so I responded with wisdom.  "Oh, yeah?  Well, your grandma doesn't want you coming to her house, because she says you don't behave right."

"I behave better than her."

She has a point.  Have you met my mother?