I've been noticing that lately the kids are playing this game on facebook called "why, what's up?". If you aren't familiar, basically the game goes like this: someone has to put "why, what's up?" as their status, then friends post on their wall saying things about the person. My oldest daughter, Kaylan did it, and I wanted to answer for her. Here goes:

Kaylan Denney? KKD? Punk-Punk? The one who lived in my tummy for 9 weeks before I even had a clue? The one who made me feel like KFC would be a good idea for breakfast, lunch and dinner? The little person who caused my size 5 body to balloon to 170lbs? The cause of my stretch marks? The baby who arrived after 8 hours of labor?

The baby who slept through the night at 6 weeks, therefore making me think something was wrong with the next 2 because they didn't? The toddler who set the bar high because she did everything early? The little girl who walked right into Kindergarten while I sat out in the hall and cried because my baby was growing up?

The girl who didn't have time to snuggle because she was too busy exploring the world around her? The one who always championed the under dog? Who didn't make friends with people because they were popular, but because she saw something in them that not everyone else could see?

The young lady who started high school this year? My punk-punk who has made me realize that I've grown up too? My little band geek who has shown true grit and determination in color guard? The one who yacked at band camp, but wouldn't let me pick her up because she swore she was okay?

My young woman who has caused me to see the world through different eyes? The one who has shown me that maybe I've done a pretty good job at being a mom? The chick who has the same sense of humor as me? Who can be the only one who laughs at stuff with me? Obscure things that other people wouldn't understand?

The one who went to a dance at school last night? Who looked so grown up that it caused me to be out of sorts for the rest of the night? The one who makes me so very proud?

Yeah, I know her, why, what's up?

A New Set of Beliefs

I'll be honest with you, I'm scared of teenagers. They are full of anger and hormones. All they think about is sex, drugs, and whatever you call that music that Justin Bieber sings. Teenagers are hell bent on making horrible decisions that will bring shame to their families. You can't get a group of them together without someone sneaking off to smoke or get pregnant. So when my 14 year old daughter informed me she wanted to have a boy/girl birthday party for the very first time this year, I immediately began trying to find ways to prepare myself for the doom I knew it would entail.

Day of the party arrives, I end up with about 20 kids of varying ages in my yard, half are girls, half are boys. Thank goodness I had some adults on hand to help me keep an eye on all these hell raisers. I kept a constant vigil to make sure noone tried to satisfy their raging hormones. But I noticed that all they really wanted to do was listen to music, and be able to enjoy interacting outside of school.

I then started to wonder what their angle was. Why were they being so polite? Were they trying to catch me off guard so they could go in and invade the liquor cabinet? I laughingly told my sister-in-law we should tell them to play "Red Rover" just to see their reaction. To say I was shocked at their enthusiasm would be an understatement. In no time at all, they had teams picked, and were lining up holding hands, ready to play. Their laughter could be heard throughout the neighborhood.

After that, we suggested freeze tag. They loved it! I remarked to Christie, my sister-in-law, that this is how it was when we were kids, outside laughing, running, and playing. Not stuck in the house mindlessly playing video games and munching on junk. After they were worn out from the running, they moved seamlessly to a game I'd never heard of called "Ninja". How refreshing to see that teenagers still know how to play, and they've even come up with their own games.


I guess I was seeing just how silly they could be when I suggested "Duck, Duck, Goose". Again, everyone wanted to play.

After everyone had left, I was exhausted. But I found that my spirit felt happy. My beliefs had been proven wrong. I'm rethinking my whole philosophy on teenagers. I'm thinking that teens don't just care about drugs and getting pregnant, deep inside I think that maybe they still want to be kids, to be able to enjoy childish pleasures. I know they are growing up, but just because they look like miniature adults, doesn't mean that they are there just yet.

For My Fellow Mama Birds

This time of year is a wonderful time for mothers everywhere. The time of year when the kids FINALLY go back to school. Funny, when I was a kid, summer seemed to only last a couple of weeks, but now that I have kids, summer seems to stretch on for many, many, many months. As moms with more than one child, the beginning of school means no more fighting, no more boredom, no more kids asking, "why do we never have food in the house?" even though I just spent $200 at the grocery store.

There are some moms who view the beginning of the school year as a sad time. Their house will echo the silence of no children during the day. Who wait for their kids with a plate of cookies and cold milk, eager to hear every detail of the child's day. They'll even volunteer to be class mom. I firmly believe these moms have a hidden IV bag full of Valium tucked into the waist band of their pants, and it constantly drips to keep them sane.

But for some of moms, this is the first year their baby bird will leave the nest for the first time to go to school. I fall into that category, my last little birdy starts pre-K this year. It's only for 6 hours a day, but I feel like it's necessary to socialize her, she's very shy. I'm also a seasoned mama bird, my oldest birdy started high school this year. I've been checking my feathers for gray ones, but so far have not found any, thank goodness.

No matter if you're an experienced mama bird, or if this is your first time sending baby bird to school, we're all the same. We'd like to keep them home forever, but let's face it, the nest gets loud and crowded after awhile! So we just have to trust that everything we've taught them will carry them on out into the public well. Unless we've taught them some kind of crude trick using a straw and an armpit to make fart noises, that's probably not something we want them to do in public. But you know what I mean. You can only hope that they remember their manners, their courtesy, their respect. We've taught them well mamas, now let's shove 'em out of the nest and celebrate with some shots, first round is on me!!!

My Cheating Heart

I've been in a steady stable relationship for 10 years. Apart from one minor transgression, I have been completely faithful. That is, until last week. The first time I slipped up, I felt guilty and ashamed. And sadly disappointed. This last encounter though, it made me happy. When it was over, I felt beautiful and excited about a possible new future.

But how could I explain it to the one who had been there for me for so long? Someone who knew me, knew all my secrets? A person who had seen me at my worst, yet always made me look my best? How could I tell my beautician that I had found someone who might be replacing her?

When I first started going to Leisa, I had a major distrust for anyone who had a pair of scissors in their hand. I'd been to too many bad hair stylists, I'd had my hair hacked, cut crooked, bad perms, ugly colors, you name it. But as soon as Leisa started working on me, I felt like Shug Avery, wanting to tell Ms. Celie all my hopes and dreams. We built up quite a relationship. She knows more about me than even my husband does.

We moved last year. I was in desperate need of a haircut, and just didn't want to drive an hour to get one. I spent the entire time extolling Leisa's virtues to this poor girl. How Leisa was the best hairwasher, (she really gives a good scrub!) how she knew exactly what to do, how for the past 9 years, I never even bother to look in the mirror when she's done, I just know I look great! I'm sure by the time I left, this chick probably decided to change careers, knowing she could never compare to someone as wonderful as my Leisa. I confessed the whole thing to Leisa, who of course laughed at my silliness.

A couple of weeks ago, I had to have another haircut, and as I do not have a trustworthy vehicle to make the hour trek, I decided to try someone else closer to home. As I sat back in the hairwashing chair, ready to find any fault, I discovered that this lady was actually giving my head a good scrub. I slowly made my way to her cutting chair, still cautious, just because she can wash, does not mean she can cut! But as she cut, we talked. I found another kindred spirit. Someone who listened to me, but also had interesting things to share herself.

And when I looked at the final product, I was impressed. She had done a good job, not only making my hair look good, but making my spirit feel good. And I think that is the best quality in any beautician. Somewhere out there, I know Leisa understands, and blesses me.

John Wayne Versus the Princess

The economy has been having a downturn for the past few years. Everyone is cutting back and tightening their belts. Myself and my family are not immune. We've had to learn to do without a few creature comforts.

It's funny how different people have different views of being broke. Some people will consider theirselves broke if they can't afford to gas up their jet to fly away for the weekend. Others will give up their weekly mani/pedi spa dates as a sign of a lean economy. Myself? When I start buying cheap shampoo, I know that times are tight.

But one thing I absolutely refuse to sacrifice is my toilet paper! I will wipe my butt with nothing less than Cottenelle! And while it costs 4 bucks for 4 double rolls, it's a price I'm willing to pay. My only problem with toilet paper is I never buy enough. My mind will not allow itself to grasp the concept of how much TP 5 people can go through in a week. There's nothing like running out and having to scout around the house for napkins and paper towels. One friend told me that a coffee filter will do in a pinch...Hey, don't knock it 'till you've tried it!

But the absolute worst thing to use is cheap toilet paper. Last week we ran out and I asked hubby to pick some up on his way home from work. Imagine my shock and horror when he came in with something that can only be described as John Wayne toilet paper: rough, tough, and don't take no shit off nobody! This stuff didn't even have a name, it was just called Value Paper. I was saddened to see that he does not understand the level of comfort I'm used to in my toilet paper. I'm a princess by no means, but I refuse to wipe my butt with sandpaper!

As I write this, I'm wondering if I still have that wad of napkins in my purse that I swiped the last time we ate out...I'm out of toilet paper again.

Cleaning out the Refridgerator.

This weekend we're having a birthday party for my son. So that means I'm doing my usual pre-party freak-out house-cleaning. This involves me scrubbing walls, cleaning baseboards, and washing things that I never think to wash. It's funny how you can think your house is clean until you envision it through someone else's eyes. You would think the fact that I'm a stay at home mom would mean I'm a meticulous house keeper, but that's just not the case. I just don't have the fortitude to be constantly cleaning.

Out of all the cleaning I do, it's the refridgerator that really gets to me. Usually I just open the door and grab something and quickly slam it shut, doing my best to ignore how gross it actually is in there. In this economy, I'm trying my best not to waste anything, so therefore I save all leftovers. Even if it was something that noone liked the first go-round. I guess I'm convinced that leftovers are like fine wine, they get better with age. But that's not true, they don't get better, they just get furrier.

I finally decided this morning I would deal with the fridge. I prayed to the Patron Saint of Frigidaire to give me strength. I opened the door and the first thing I noticed is that I have 7 jars of pickles. All dill. If anyone was to look in my fridge they might think we're doing some kind of weird ritual involving dill pickles, so I toss them all except the newest jar. I take everything else out and put it on the kitchen table. In addition to all the pickles, I find that I have 5 tubs of sour cream, and 6 containers of cottage cheese. Now I'm not a betting man, but I can guarantee that it would not be worth my while to open any of them, so I pitched them all.

After 30 minutes, I have everything out, and I start removing shelves to clean them. I get them all out, and covering the bottom of the fridge is pancake syrup. How in the hell did syrup get there? I keep my syrup in the pantry. There has literally never been syrup in my refridgerator. After dwelling on that for a few more minutes, I tackle the job of getting it up. I ended up having to scrape it, but finally it's gone.

After throwing away countless bags of fuzzy things that used to be grapes, or maybe apples, who knows, I was finally done. Looking at my gleaming white fridge, giving myself a big ole pat on the back, I start the job of getting all the shelves hung up, and all the food back in. It didn't take me too long. I worked up quite an appetite while I was cleaning, but unless I can figure out how to make some class of soup out of soy sauce, ranch dressing, A-1, and dill pickles, I guess I'll have to go to the grocery store.

Through the Darkness, I Saw the Light

I've always had romantic notions about living back in the pioneer days. That could just be because I had a big crush on Michael Landon in "Little House on the Prairie". But to me it's always seemed ideal to have my family sit around a table lit by a coal oil lamp. Listening to my gorgeous, dark, curly headed husband play fiddle while my children clapped and sang, and asked for just one more slice of homemade apple pie.

For years I've thought technology has gone so far, almost too far, so fast. When I was a kid, if you would've told me I would have a telephone that I could carry in my pocket and use anywhere, I would've laughed at you and told you to be quiet so I could listen to my new cassette of Bon Jovi. My point is, I've often thought it would be nice if technology took a break for a little while and let life settle down to how it was in the old fashioned days.

That was until 5:04 pm today. I noticed storm clouds moving in, so I made sure to catch the 5 o'clock news. They said storms were moving into my area ------------Then my world went dark. The electricity had gone out. My first thought was, "I wonder if anyone has commented on my status on facebook?". My next thought was, "Damn, I just planted some clover on Frontierville, it's a 5 minute crop, I hope it doesn't spoil."

My kids came out of their bedrooms with confused looks on their faces. Where did the cartoons go? I calmly told them that the power had gone out, and we were going to spend some good old fashioned quality time together. While I was saying that, in the back of my mind I was thinking, "is this going to mess with my DVR? I CANNOT miss Inside Edition".

After an eternity (actually only 7 minutes) the kids started freaking out, wondering if the ice cream was going to melt, so they were opening the freezer every 30 seconds checking on it. I tried to calmly explain that we had to keep the door closed in order to keep the freezer cool.

Around the 11 minute mark, I started to think, "hmmm, this would be a great moment to write". As I wiped the sweat from my brow, I dug around until I found a tablet and pen. Two minutes in, my hand was cramped up from writing longhand. I glanced hungrily at the computer keyboard, thinking I would sell my soul if the power would just come back on.

Exactly 42 minutes after the power went off, my computer monitor beeped. It was like a gift from the Gods. I leaped at it, wiping the tears from my eyes. I had to finally admit to myself, I am no Caroline Ingalls, and although I am married to a great man, he's not exactly Charles Ingalls himself.