Be forewarned....

 I do not need any additional insurance. I, as well as my children, are covered out the wazoo. I am very happy with my credit card machine, and need no wrapping paper for this joyous holiday season. We have enough toilet paper to last us thru 24 stomach bugs, and incidently, I do not suffer from either corns or bunions. So, really, I don't need your American Podiatric Medicine endorsed medicated orthotic foot pads. (I actually have a podiatrist that I love and he even takes my insurance, so should the need arise, I'll visit him promptly).

I am not interested in providing teddy bears for our State Troopers to cuddle. I make regular donations to our boys in blue as I travel the highways. If they want to spend some of that money on cuddlies, they have my blessing. I don't need 12,000 pens with my store name imprinted on them. I spent $3 gazillion on permits, signs, business cards, etc. If my customers need to know to whom they should make out their check, I'll direct them to the appropriate place. I also do not need a 16x20 laminated sign for my restroom with instructions on how to properly wash my hands. My mother covered that when I was two.

I have no need for a 5 gallon bottle of Mother Earth Love Your Body miracle tonic. Yes, I know that just one tablespoon a day will make my hair shiny, skin glow, provide 324 essential vitamins and minerals, and increase my brain function by 212%. True, it will also serve as a drain cleaner, floor waxer, and cure my pooch's mange, but I am just going to opt to live vicariously and take my chances.

You can tell me charming, witty antidotes, threaten to hold my dog hostage, or have the Federal Credit Collection Agency on speed dial, but I still am not going to give you my checking account number, verify my social security number, or disclose my children's blood type over the phone. I survived an alcoholic, abusive marriage. You really don't scare me.

I am really content with the brick that is on both my store and my home. Crazy as it may sound, I do not want to replace it with poly resin, fiber optic, UV-tested siding. I do not have a chimney, so I don't need it swept. I realize that North Korea has the longitudinal cooridnates of my home programmed into a nuclear missle, but me and Jesus are on a first name basis, so I'll pass on the underground bomb shelter. See you on the other side. No, thank you. My Bible covers everything I need. I realize that your bible has an additional 63 books that you think I may need, but like I said. I like to live vicariously.

Yes, I am a Southern Belle. My words alone can sweeten gallons of tea. But be forewarned, if you push me, or insist on putting your supervisor on the phone so he can persuade me to purchase whatever you are selling....there is an iron fist inside the white kid leather glove. My sister and I keep a running tally of how many grown men we make cry...I am an over-worked, sleep-deprived, Type A, single mother of tweens, who is working retail during the holidays....so go ahead, be the one who pushes me over the edge...I just hope you ate your Wheaties this morning...

When you say nothing at....

 There are so many things I just don't take the time to say out loud...But they are taking up too much space in my brain. Space that, frankly, I need for other things.....



"Do you really think you are qualified to homeschool?" Not at all. Not one single day. It's the hardest thing I've taken on so far in my life. But we are managing. When I am weak, God is strong. And my children are thriving.



"Why didn't you wear makeup today?"  I don't know. I was awakened this morning by the sound of blue birds chirping merrily outside my window. Which was opened a perfect 3 3/4" to let the breeze waft thru my bedroom, bringing in the sweet fragrence of the nearby honeysuckle. Someone had already brewed the perfect cup of coffee, which was waiting next to my bed with a perfectly folded newspaper which only spoke of world peace and prosperity. When I emerged from my boudoir, I passed thru an immaculate house to rouse my precious offspring. They bounced out of bed with radiant faces and hair that was already magically perfectly coiffed for the day. "Good morning, Mother. We are so thrilled to begin a new,  and exciting day. What can we help you with this morning before we start our  fascinating studies?"  "Oh, my precious dears. I have it all completely under control. Take your time readying yourself for the day. The car will be round to pick us up in a bit to transport us to the downtown offices." 

Oh. Wait. Reality check. I woke up to the sound of the dog barfing next to my bed. I caught sight of the alarm clock across the room, laying on the floor. Must have thrown it as I turned it off. As I untagled myself from various limbs and drool (surely someday they will stay in their own beds) I dodge the upchuck to hurry the four legged creature out the back door. I hear the crash of a glass that never made it to the dishwasher last night. THe dishwasher that I forgot to run. The cat meows from the top of the kitchen counter. Coffee is not happening. That would require coffee grounds that I forgot yesterday at the store. "GET UP! GET UP!! GET UP!!!. We have to be at the store in 25 minutes. No one showers this morning. Remember that the garage door is broken and I don't know where my house key is. We'll go out the back and scale the fence. Get your jeans out of the dirty clothes and spray them with Febreeze. Hurry!!

"What's for lunch/dinner/breakfast 3 weeks from now?" This one gets me every time...and my Bs know it. I have been a mother for 4,954 days. Not one single day in all those days have my children missed a meal. Rarely have they missed a snack. And yet, on a regular (daily) basis, do they need reassurance that the next meal is in fact coming. My mother has suggested that I put each of them in charge of different meals...remove the monkey from my back. I think this is a fantastic idea. The problem...I really like being in control. Really. But that is a whole other note for a whole other day.

"Are you ever going to marry again?" Sorry. Not that kind of a note.

"Why do you have so many pets?" I do not know. I mean, sure, I can explain the reason and purpose behind each one. But collectively-pure insanity on my part. I have finally taught my children not to hover outside my bedroom door, waiting for me to emerge...but I have yet to train the menagerie of four legged critters. And while they wait, they drool. Yuck.


 which brings us to the next most common question..."Why did you stay in your room so long? What were you doing?" Well, it was a conference meeting. All 23 of my personalities showed up, and frankly it takes some time to get organized. Rarely can we agree on a seating chart-everyone wants to be in charge (except that weird one that just sits and twirls her hair), and we were trying to decide what is actually for lunch-try taking a vote with that crew...

Are you kidding me?? Ummm, self-employed, single mother of 2 tweens and a teen....I was laying on my bed with a cold washcloth...wondering if China might actually be on to something....Oh give me a break. You know every single one of you reading this has entertained the idea of state mandated sterilization.

"Are you very close to your sister?" No jokes, no sarcasm. She is my next breath...always. I would rather give up a limb-or limbs- than my sister. Next to introducing us to Christ, giving us each other is in my opinion, the single most successful thing my parents have done. They taught us to love each other, to respect each other, to cherish. If I can pass the same legacy to my girls...they will make it thru life just fine. "Did the two of you fight growing up?" Rarely. But when we did, she was always in the wrong, and I always won....That's right.... Its my note.

Speak life to your children....

My scissors are lost. I know that means nothing to anyone reading this, but for me...it is heartbreaking. Like tears gushing, boo hoo heartbreaking. And I'm not a pretty crier. AT ALL. These aren't just any scissors. They are my sewing scissors that my parents bought me when I was 13. I remember the night. We were at WalMart, (remember when WM used to be where Atwoods is now?) getting my sewing project supplies for home ec. There was a cheap pair, and a more expensive pair. My mom and I had been doing the choosing. But when we were looking at scissors, Dad spoke up. He said to get the more expensive pair. That I was ready for them. Mom agreed. For me, it was a moment that I have never forgotten. It was a moment of recognizing that my parents believed in me. That they thought I deserved the more expensive pair. That I would put them to good use. See, sewing was a big deal at our house. My mom sewed everything we wore. Things my grandmothers wore. Things friends wore. She sewed every day. My sister and I had to learn to sew. To prove that we weren't being ask to do the impossible, my dad also learned to sew. He made a red shirt. Wearing his suede tool belt, using a Tsquare and carpenter's pencil to mark seams. The shirt turned out perfectly. And our family smiles alot over the image of dad working. So we learned to sew...being given the nicer pair of scissors meant my parents believed that I could continue to learn to do something that I equated with being an excellent wife and mother....

I sewed my way through high school. Sewing for myself, my sister, my friends...being given a sewing machine one year for a gift, when I thought I was going to be given a diamond ring. The ring came the next day, and I began sewing for my new home. I went away to school...and studied how to sew in college...still using the scissors my parents had bought me when I was 13. With every project, every assignment that seemed impossible, I remembered the words "She's ready for the better ones." And even though my parents were 8 hours away, I knew they believed in me. And so I measured. And cut. And sewed. And in time, I earned the respect of some tough professors. And was given an opportunity to work for a designer...and was able to use my scissors while sewing to clothe the First Lady of Louisiana. And I continued to sew for my family...work shirts, and Sunday dresses, and napkins, and pillows, quilts that my grandmother helped me piece... turned into tiny onesies, and blankets....for a child that was never born...a child that would be 16 years old this Mother's Day...the scissors sat untouched for a while...but were eventually picked up again, and sewing continued...for three precious girls... In time, more heartache came. And on tough days, I would lose myself in my sewing projects. My sewing has always been so therapeutic for me. So comforting. And always, a reminder that I was holding the words of my parents..."She's ready"

I know I've rambled...down my memory lane, and for those of you still with me, I do have a point...my parents had no idea that night in WalMart that the words they were speaking were going to be the words that have sounded in my mind over and over and over again through my life. And so many times, when I wanted to give up, and give in, I held in my hand tangible proof that they believed in me. Parents-our words to our kids matter. Always. We feed their dreams. We mold and create who they become. I've been reading alot in James lately. We are instructed throughout the Bible, but particularly in James, to gain control of our tongue. With it we speak either life or death. Speak life over your children. You have no way of knowing what the world is going to throw at them as they grow. Plant seeds of faith that will carry them over the hard spots. Let them know that you believe in them. Even when it seems like nothing more than a pair of scissors from WalMart.

Evidently...

Evidently, the dog has found an exit route from the back yard...

Evidently, my merchandise will be here sometime soon...after it's unplanned trip to Japan. It is currently being detained at customs, making sure nothing glows....


Evidently, banging the cell phone on the counter doesn't break it....it also doesn't make the display panel work, either....


Evidently, the nice lady did get my order correct at the drive thru....it's just in a different container....but for the record, most of my body can in fact fit through the window at the local Taco Bell....

Evidently, I look almost 30 in my outfit....and for some reason, my Bs thought that was a compliment.....

Evidently, I still had bronzer on my hands when I touched up my pedicure....so now it looks like I've been playing in the dirt....but its all going to be okay, because I just got an email as to the details of Kate Middleton's beauty routine....as it turns out, I'm just 12 steps away from finding my Prince Charming...

Evidently, there is a sales rep holed up in the World Trade Center who thinks I am stupid enough to order some of his precious baby clothes, that evidently every other store blows out of their store, and he can't believe I haven't already gotten on board with....yet he doesn't want to quote me a price...I checked my driver's license...I"m waaayy over 30... not buying what I don't know the price of....

Evidently, a spider fell from the ceiling and almost ate my daughter's eyeballs this morning...good grief...everyone knows that the only creatures that can in fact eat your eyeballs are frogs, lizards, and of course...dead fish floating in the fish tank...come on, girls. Toughen up...

Evidently, I have super powers to know exactly what the weather is going to be like on Easter....but to be safe, everyone should buy both a cool weather and warm weather ensemble...just in case my powers fail me....

Evidently, the cat has tape worms....I'll save you the specifics....

Evidently, I'm just not believing hard enough...otherwise, my day would be going just peachy...thank you, Mrs. Meyer... I knew there was some sure fire formula out there that I just wasn't tapping into....

If I die young, bury me in Talbots...a note to my sister....

I know its morbid, and weird, but there are just certain necessities I think about when I'm out and about....And what kind of Southern Belle would I be if I didn't plan for every possible contingency?

Sissy,
You know I plan to live a very long time. Genetics is certainly on the side of longevity in our family. However, I don't want you to be overwhelmed by the details should the unthinkable happen....


1. Because I have almost successfully rectified the Peanut Butter Fudge Debacle of 2009, we are now once again the same size. For the funeral, put me in my black Talbots dress. It won't zip all the way up, but the zipper is in the back so it won't matter. Just please, make sure the size 4 tag peaks out from the top. Don't let mom tuck it in. As soon as the service is over, you can have the dress. And the others in my closet.

2. Nothing less than the red peep toe heels. I may be cold, but I can still rock the heel. My tan is okay right now on my legs, but you might have to touch up my upper arms. Don't let me look streaky.
3. Fake pearls. The attorney knows what to do with the real ones.
4. You know I'm serious about my eyeliner. Get my market buddy to help you. She's had to do my makeup plenty of times when I was sick from a migraine. No trailer park hair. If the two of you are too upset to do it right, put me in my tortise shell Jackie O sunglasses.
5. No tacky flowers. Seriously.
6. Mom's going to freak when she sees my fridge. Spare her what you can.
7. The box in the back of my closet....destroy it....
8. The journals in the nightstand drawer....keep them...should anyone (esp. the Froot Loops) try to publish anything, all you need for blackmail is in there. Do what you have to in order to prevent the bismirchment of the family name.
9. There have been those that have told me over the years that should the opportunity ever appear, they would avenge my misfortunes. There is a bank account to pay their court fees should that happen. Use what you need.
10. Regardless of what people may think, I have very few regrets. I have lived and loved. Don't let anyone pity me. I am happier now than I have been in a long time. Make sure the Bs find love. Don't let them be scared.
11. Exception: The Fiasco of '07. (Which led to the Debacle of '09.) My shining moment of stupidity. Should any of my Bs try to repeat the mistakes of their mother, I have made arrangements with a convent in the Dominican Republic. Their passports and a one-way ticket are in the safe deposit box. I've already filled out the paperwork.
12. Make sure Brittany gets gravy on a regular basis. Breanna likes Trailer Park Danishes, and Brookie needs meat cooked on the grill. Have coffee with Dad, and take Mom to look at fabric.
13. Don't waste the fact that so many think we look alike. Haunt those that need to be haunted. Let Brian get creative. Make videos, tape recordings, whatever. Don't disappoint me. Or I will haunt you.
14. Tipper is buried to the left of the front porch. If you sell the house, dig her up and take her with you. I mean it.
15. I expect some good music at the funeral. Hey Baby for starters. Throw in some Roger M, and wrap it up with how every rose has a thorn or two. Mix it up with some Amazing Grace and talk about the Rugged Cross...make sure everybody knows who Jesus is. And that I'm with Him.

Girls, I think we were just slurred...

"She looks like you... Kinda chuffy."
""She's like you....she can't hold on to a man"
"She doesn't stay home like you do. She works really hard every day."

My grandma calls it being slurred. You know the comments. The ones that are made to your face, delivered in sugared sweetness (I'm talking Southern iced tea sweet), that leave you with your head tilted and mouth hanging open, knowing... you were just slurred. Sometimes the comment is one that in any other context, would be fine. But given the actual conversation that it took place in....yep. A slur.

Today has been one of those days that it seems like I've accumlated several slurs. This isn't anything new. It comes with working with the public.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you lost all your fashion sense."
"Oh my gosh. What's wrong with you? Are you sick or something??" (umm, no. This is just me without makeup.)
"I guess they just feel sorry for you and your girls. After all. So and so could shop anywhere."


Really, its not the 'slur' that matters. I have no control of what someone says or thinks about me. What I can control is my reaction. This has been one of the biggest challenges for me since I started homeschooling. My girls are at my store almost all day. They see and hear almost everything that goes on....which includes my response and attitude after being slurred. I try to let the comments be opportunities for "teachable moments". Most days I am able to stay fairly objective. Some days my feelings get hurt. Some days, I get down right mad. I try to let my Bs see all of this, because every day, I am called to be Christ-like...every day, I have set before me the example that Christ gave, the fact that in spite of everything put upon Him, He did not sin. Am I without sin? Not one single day. Can I be humble and show grace even in unlovable circumstances?... If I've taken the time that morning to put on my armor....

And that's the kicker. Taking the time each morning to put on my armor. The breastplate of righteousness. The belt of truth (I constantly have to remind myself that it is who I am in Christ that matters)...the sword of the Word, the shield of faith....those things don't just automatically jump on me each morning. I have to sit down and gather them-at my Father's feet. Spend time in His Word. In prayer. In praise. I'm not a morning person. I need time to wake up. I need to re-caffinate...clear the cobwebs of sleep. But if I don't check in with my Father, its guaranteed...that first slur, first bump in the day...The day is going to turn into what my Bs call a "red-neck" day. No, not a Red Neck like you see at the WalMart, but a true red-neck day. My neck gets red when I get mad, or stressed, or really anxious. And so even if I keep my Southern grace in front of a difficult customer, my girls know that inside, I've lost my cool. (and I know that as soon as I calm down, they are going to tease me about my neck) And my Father knows. He sees my heart. Every minute of every day. And that by getting my feelings hurt, or getting angry, I didn't do the one thing that He ask me to do each day. Shine His Light. That's all He wants. A heart for Him that will reflect Him. Did I fail today? Miserably. Will He let me start over tomorrow? Absolutely. But I have to check in at His throne before I head out the door.

Protecting my virtue...or why I still sleep with a nightlight...

 I had only been asleep for a little bit. Once again, I had stayed up too late watching TV. Something woke me. A B? No, they just climb into bed, trying their best not to wake me, for fear that I will send them back to their room. I scanned the room, relying on the moonlight thru the window to show me what was wrong. There he was. The man standing at the foot of my bed. So many thoughts flashed thru my head at once. Who was this?.... Does he have a weapon?...... Why aren't the dogs barking?..... Are the Bs ok?........He's right there. 911 will never be fast enough.....I knew what I had to do. Hit him low, hit him hard, with....my pillow. (side note: I now know why Grandma sleeps with a baseball bat close by) He barely flinched. I wish he would say something. Anything. So I would know why he was there. The thoughts continued as I prepared for the next pillow attack. Ding-dang dogs. See if I ever feed you again. If I survive this, you're history....Lord, please don't let the girls walk in....Why...What?... Why is he wearing my black hat....and my red wool coat.....The Attack of the Johnson Co Cross Dresser???...My eyes started to adjust to the dark...mental note: next time, put my stuff away properly. The bedpost is neither a coat nor hat rack. Stupid massive 4-poster bed that I insisted on....

In my world...

They had messed up. Their behavior was inexcusable, and unacceptable. And as mommy, it was my duty to address it. Which I was doing a valiant job of. Full blown lecture. Not quite yelling, but certainly being heard. I had ranted for several minutes (all without taking a breath. Parents, you know the type of rant of which I speak). And then I made my fatal error...I asked the question "WHAT WORLD ARE YOU LIVING IN?????"

And almost immediately, in unison, two sweet little twin voices...."In our world, everyone is a pony. And eats rainbows, and poops butterflies".......

Lecture was over. I don't even remember now what they did wrong in the first place.