Mother Suffering from Baseball Ulcer

Dear God,
Uh, I'm about to write a post about baseball.
Please help me.
Amen.

My oldest son turned 13 a couple weeks ago and all of the sudden he's gone from a tiny little bundle of chub with auburn hair that smelled like a wet puppy rolled in sugar to a giant, stinking beast balancing between boy and man.

I know several people that are going to say, "April, Seth has never been tiny." And to you people I say....phlbbbt, he's a babaaaaay! A tiny helpless infant!

Seth, my baby-buh-buh-buh was asked to try out for a baseball team because he just happened to be in the right spot at the right time.

When he got home Clay told me it's an older team and they do a bit of traveling...........and that's all I heard. Traveling. Traveling. Traveling.

"But, you know, he may not get picked. They're trying out four guys for one spot." said Clay.

"Gah, I hope he doesn't get picked!" I complained.

The coach called today. They want Seth to come practice with their team tonight and again on Wednesday. They are interested in him, but can't promise anything. And now. And NOW. AND FREAKIN' NOW, I'm all nervous!!!!!

I'm not nervous that I'm going to have to take him to all these freakin' tournaments all over FREAKIN' KANSAS! No. I'm nervous that THEY WON'T PICK HIM!!!!!

For cryin' out loud what if he gets all excited about playing with this team and they choose one of the other boys? One of those other stinky boys that is NOT a teeny tiny baby boy with wittle bitty fweckles on his squishy wishy nose? I'm not sure I can take the rejection....I mean Seth, I'm not sure if SETH can take the rejection.

Oh boy, I think I might have a problem.

The real question is.....WILL THAT COACH READ THIS BLOG AFTER I COMPLAIN ABOUT IT????!!!

Oh, Lord. Why? Why is my life steeped in sports? Why can't my children like art and dance and music and....and...FARMING!!!

Dear Mom, I'm sorry.

Dear Mom,

I'd like to apologize to you for making you live with me from the ages of eleven to twenty.

I'd like to say I'm sorry for all the times you were explaining the ways of the universe to me, but I couldn't understand anything you were saying because I was too busy rolling my eyes to the back of my head and sighing very loudly.

I totally understand why you sat down at the piano and banged out gospel songs after you would send Rechelle and me to bed and vacuumed the house at five o'clock in the morning. It was your way of irritating us while avoiding beating us to death.

I'm sorry you didn't have a blog to escape to.

I'm sorry I thought you were stupid for making me do all those useless tasks like; clean my room, do laundry, help make dinner and spend time at home. It was so hard for me to do those things when I was walking around with my eyes rolled back in my head, I hope you understand, because I can see quite clearly now....especially since I got glasses.

Remember all those times you said, "I hope you have a kid that is just like you, then you'll understand what I'm talking about?!"

I totally understand.

I also want to thank you for teaching me the fine art of embarrassment. Remember all the times you sang and danced in the car to songs you didn't know? Remember how you would get out your Mary Kay lipstick in the compact case with the three shades and apply it with that little retractable brush while looking the in the rear view mirror? Ugh, that was so embarrassing, and yet, brilliant. Remember yelling at us down the stairs in the basement to move the car because we parked it in the wrong spot on the driveway and when you finally poked your head through the door ranting and raving we were filming a spoof for the Johnny Carson show with a few of our friends? Oh, wait....that was Dad, never mind. But, wow, that was really humiliating, thanks Dad, I'll keep that one on the back burner.

Again, sorry you didn't have access to a blog.

I also want to retroactively ask your permission to wear all your clothes and your pearl necklace that I broke. Also, I won't get ticked when I see you likewise raid my closet and show up at school wearing my choir dress that no fewer than twelve other girls own and have no doubt that you are wearing the choir dress....to school.....in front of everyone....my choir dress.....in public......dear God, that was a priceless moment, I don't think I can top that one. Nor was I able to convince the entire school that you were NOT MY MOTHER.

I'm sorry for the times that I didn't claim you as my mom.

I'm sorry for not thanking you for all the time you spent driving me to dance classes. That is, until you discovered Rhonda Jarrett and her VW Bug and basically turned all parenting responsibilities over to Rhonda, the perfect older girl in the neighborhood that was able to protectively herd Rechelle and me through junior high and the first two years of high school. Thank God for Rhonda.

I am in serious need of a Rhonda and her VW Bug right now and also, could I get a male version of Rhonda for the boys?

Mom, I want you to know that at some point in my twenties you became a very smart woman with great ideas. I hope I can live long enough to become a smart woman with great ideas, it appears that I'll be teetering in that dancing in the car phase for many, many years to come. I fear I'll become so proficient at embarrassing the kids that it will become my normal to sing in an opera voice to all the songs on the radio and shake my shoulders while holding the steering wheel.........wait......is it normal to do those things when the kids aren't in the car? I think I have a problem.

Mom! What am I going to do?! When am I going to be normal?

My kids are too spread out for me to have a break between wanting to bash their faces into their smelly laundry and looking at them with love and admiration for MOVING OUT OF MY HOUSE! I am always going to have someone in emotional upheaval, hormonal egress and behavioral malfunction.

Mom, please feel sorry for me.

I really am sorry for having been a teenager and putting you through hell. Now, will you please come get all your grandchildren......wait, leave them here, come get me and take me home with you? Please, rescue me from these kids! They are driving me CRAZY!!!

I love you the most.

Your Favorite Daughter,

April

White Boy Gettin' His Groove On

I have no idea where he got his sweet moves. I'm so proud.

She's home!

Last night we had the amazing privilege of seeing the homecoming of our good friends and their new daughter, a little girl adopted from Ethiopia.

This is a very unique group of children. It includes two little girls that are awaiting the arrival of their newly adopted sister, two little girls that have been adopted and one little girl that is eagerly awaiting the adoption of her little sister. It was very sweet and touching to watch how excited they were.


I've watched this video about ten times and I get goose bumps and a nervous excitement every single time.





I have so much I want to say about last night, but I'm a bit overwhelmed. It was one of the most joyous occasions I've ever witnessed.

Sleeping Tips

Hey! Wanna know how to get a great night sleep? Here's a few things you can try:



Place your freezing cold feet in the armpits of..... your hot husband. Try not to wake him up, be prepared to have him toss you across the room.



Listen to the sweet sounds of....your four year old coughing every two minutes.



Go get the feverish/coughing child and put him in bed with you.Now you are nice and warm. In fact the four year old is emitting so much heat that your skin is melting off your body.



Be sure to place the four year old high on your pillow with his mouth right next to your ear.
Now you're able to hear him coughing up his toenails directly into your eardrum. Oh, the sweet soothing sounds of your baby coughing, you'll be asleep before you know it.



Might as well throw a cat in the mix. Put your cat on your head and tell her to please start rubbing her claws on your cheek. If that doesn't work then just ask the cat to rub her butt on your face or lie down across your neck....because the best way to go to sleep is by NOT BREATHING.



Make a deal with your dog.....to wake up just as you might be nodding off between the hours of 12am and 4am to go outside, because he knows that if he goes outside and starts barking at the air and other invisible things that you will feel safe and protected and be able to go night-night.



Let me know how these work for you. If you need to borrow a kid, cat or dog I can help you with that.

Brothers and Cousins

Ellen is the lone girl in our family. She has three siblings and four cousins, all boys. She's also the oldest of the pack.



She has always been respected as The One Who All Must Follow. She is especially loved by Drew, the cousin clutching her knee to make certain she doesn't flee the scene without him and Calder, the cousin she's pummeling who calls her nearly everyday to get 'advice'.



When these two little blond headed boys were born, she decided having more brothers was okay, because she knew what boys were like and she fought with me over who the baby loved more, me or her.

Sometimes when they get hurt they cry for Ellen, instead of me.

Of course, they irritate her too and she doesn't get much alone time.

Because, whatever she does the boys want to do too.

Likewise, whatever the boys are doing, Ellen will be there giving instruction and orchestrating her boys in all manners of fun and chaos.

It's a bit like Snow White and the seven dwarfs, except at some point Snow White will probably be the smallest of them all.

Haircuttin' the Country Way

My mom went to beautician school way back in the 60's. She would cut my hair, put it up in a bouffaunt which I would prompty go brush out with my fingers and the worst was when she would wash it with vinegar while I screamed, "It smells like pickles!!!"

She wouldn't let me grow my hair long until I was in junior high. Mom always thought I looked best with a short pixie cut and for that reason most people thought I was a boy. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I wore Billy the Kid jeans and cowboy boots and my favorite toy was a shotgun accompanied by a holster with two six shooters. I wanted to be a cowboy, dang-it.

Mom also wouldn't let me do any sort of chemical process to my hair. So, while my sister was highlighting and perming her hair I had to sit back and watch with envy as she transform her hair into something new and trendy. Then the summer before my sophomore year in high school I made an appointment in the trendiest local beauty salon and asked for a perm. It didn't fry my hair or turn it green like Mom feared. But, it did make my hair even whiter and frizzy like a poodle. That's when boys started calling me April the Albino, it was that white. So, I stayed away from perms for a few years.

Mom had kept all her supplies, including one of those huge dryers you sit under, we always had rollers, clips, drapes, razors and scissors. It wasn't weird that I would cut my bangs and most of the time they looked okay. Then I started cutting other people's hair. There were several boys that were friends of mine that would come out, sit on a stool out in our sunroom and I would cut their hair in weird patterns. My friend, Brian, wanted a zigzag cut into the back of his hair, so I did a zigzag and then older folks kept asking him if he was the youngster that had been in the car accident earlier in the year and had to have brain surgery. I never said I was good at cutting hair, it was just something I did, and for some reason a few people trusted me enough to work on their heads and then walk around in public.

Now, I have my own hair salon. It's in a nice breezy place. I don't have many customers and the few I do have, never leave with a smile on their face.

They come in my swanky salon, sit in my chair and give me cautious looks.


Sometimes they comment that at least the view is good. I never know if that's a compliment or not. Then I throw a torn plastic drape over them.

They bolster their courage and put on a brave display.
I like to help them relax by asking a lot of questions.

How was your Christmas?

Did you get some fun new toys?

Did you get any candy in your stocking?



How's your folks?


I heard your mom is a really nice lady. Tell her I said, "Hi" and come back again real soon.

I like Ike

I like this little guy.
Most people find it hard not to like him.
I like Ike.
He's almost seven years old.
I sure wish he'd stay little forever.

Me-Hey, Ike what do you wanna be when you grow up?
Ike-An archikect
Me- Like Daddy?
Ike- Yeah. I wanna go to work with Dad. And then I'll be a scientist and a Vet.
Me- You mean a veterinarian.
Ike-Yeah. Can I be a farmer too?
Me- I think so. Are you going to get married?
Ike-Yeah.
Me- Who are you going to marry?
Ike- Moooooooom.
Me- What? Is that embarrassing?
Ike- Moooooooooom.
Me- How many kids do you want to have?
Ike- Ummmm, four. Two boys and two girlsus.
Me- What are you going to name them.
Ike- Um. I dunno. I'm not a very good namer.
Me- You could name one of the girls after me.
Ike- Name her Mom?

So, my granddaughter's name will be Mom, because that's my name. Why does he have to grow up so fast?

You've hurt my feelings three times today!

I have two sister-in-laws, but if you ask Clay, I only have one. Apparently, the woman that married Clay's brother is not technically my sister-in-law, she is only Clay's sister-in-law. Likewise, Clay insists that Rechelle's husband is not his brother-in-law.

Have I ever mentioned that my husband loves to frustrate the heckle-jo-jeckle out of me? He does, it's like a sport for him. A sport that sometimes leaves him bloody and bruised.

Clay's sister or, my sister-in-law, is an actress or at least she's been auditioning to be an actress for the last twenty or so years. She is very dramatic, so being an actress is the perfect vocation for her. She's also the best story teller I know and whenever she's around I laugh myself silly at the retelling of her crazy life. Being around her is like watching a musical comedy come to life and I get to be an extra on the stage. By the time she leaves I'm exhausted from all the curtain calls and back stage parties.

Before Clay's grandmother passed away her house was home base for Clay's siblings and father to meet for holidays. Mam-ma lived in a tiny two bedroom house with one bathroom. After we had Ellen we were upgraded from sleeping on the floor in the living room to the tiny back bedroom that had a little couch with a hideaway bed. The frame of that bed had a metal bar that hit across my shoulders and another one that went across my lower back. It was also not much bigger than a twin size bed. I have no idea how Clay, baby Ellen and I managed to fit on that bed. I do know that Clay and I were not the young happy new parents after a couple nights of rolling around on the metal pipes and attempting to sleep with a baby that insisted on putting her butt on my neck and her feet up her father's nose.

Unfortunately, my sister-in-law with her glitter and sparkle, sing and dance, giggle and glee personality was the whipping post for Clay's lack of sleep. I wish I could remember what he said to her but by the third day of being cooped up in that tiny house with each other, my husband was not tolerating his sister's over exuberant personality and had heard enough about LA and The Business. He also didn't want to learn anymore of the tips from her life coach or hear all the new methods that the west coast was boasting on rearing children. We had watched all of her audition tapes, witnessed the reenactment of her reaction to celebrity encounters and learned several new yoga moves. Clay was done playing. Like all little brother's, he found his best coping mechanism was to make-fun of his sister. After several ribbings, his sister turned to him in front of all of us and said with great dramatic flair, "Clay! You've hurt my feelings three times today!"

Oh, that moment was priceless. There were apologies and hugs and tissues and tears. But, the best thing was getting to use that phrase over and over and over again for the next 14 years, "Clay! You've hurt my feelings THREE TIMES TODAY!!!" The mileage that little outburst has received in our house, you can't grasp it. Every. Single. Time. One of us starts to make fun of the other that phrase comes out and we bust a gut. I'm telling you it was Oscar worthy.

A couple years ago we recounted the story to Clay's sister. Like a good sport, she laughed and made fun of herself. That's one of the best things about her, she can laugh at herself too. However, Clay is careful not to make fun of her more than two times.

My baby she wrote me a letter.

When I pick up my older kids from school I insist that they tell me at least one good story from their day. Sometimes they say, "Mom, nothing happened. I don't have anything to tell you."

Eventually one of them will start talking and of course that triggers the other one to tell an equally great story and then their talking at the same time and that makes me crazy! But, I love to hear their stories of handing in papers and lunch room disasters and, let's face it, eventually they will get married and have to answer the age old question, "Honey, how was your day?" See? I'm training them right. Right?

This is the conversation that happened in the car yesterday. I was taking Ellen and her friend to basketball practice.

Me- Ellen, how was your day?

Ellen- Good. I got a letter from my coach.

Me- Oh. What did it say?

Ellen- It's just a letter.

Me- Okay, but what does it say?

Ellen- It's just a gold letter.

Me- I don't understand. Why did she give you a gold letter? And what does it say?!

That's when Ellen's friend decided it was time for her to speak up and interpret the conversation, lest she throw herself out of the van into oncoming traffic because anything would be less painful than listening to a conversation that's stuck in a loop.

E's Friend- What Ellen means is, she LETTERED. She got a varsity letter.

Me- OOOOOOOh! You lettered! Wait a minute. How did you letter?

Ellen- I dunno.

Me- What did you do to get the letter?

Ellen- I dunno.

Me- I didn't know you could letter.

Ellen- Me neither.

Me- So do you know why you got it?

Ellen- No.

Me- What do we do with it?

Ellen- I dunno.

Me- You don't know how you got it?

Ellen- Nope.

And that's when E's friend threw herself out of the car.

No, no, no just kiddin'. But, I'm pretty sure she thought I was an old coot that didn't know nuthin' about nuthin' and my daughter was the least enthusiastic letterman ever to be lettered in the history of lettering.

Yet again the whole sports thing has taken over my life. Now I guess I need to shop for a letter jacket to put this gold letter on and I guess that's okay. My tiny baby girl lettered in volleyball! We have no idea how or why or when, but she's got a big gold letter with a shiny volleyball and a bar to prove it. If you ask Ellen if she wants a letter jacket her response will be, "I dunno".

I have a four year old.

I say yes, he says NO!

I say stop and off he goes!



I turn left and he goes right.

I want peace.
He's ready to fight!

Scream.

Laugh.

Giggle.
Cry.

He's four years old.

He's Levi!

The only people in the world that make me look like I have a tan.....

are my children. Or do they make me look jaundiced? Or does it look like I've taken a bath in tanning cream? I wish you could see my kids at the swimming pool during the summer, they emit a glow. They have no idea what a really bad sunburn feels like, the sheets of skin peeling off, the blisters on top of blisters and then the freckles in places you never thought a freckle was possible. We only buy the baby block 50 spf and we all wear it, but somehow I still get a little tan, or should I say orange-yellow?







Oh, wait a second. Look what I found! Pictures of my glowing children. These are a couple years old, but nothing has changed as far as their skin tone is concerned.

White
WhiterDear God! Someone turn off the lights!

My Favorite Family Photo

And I'm not really in it. I told myself I wasn't going to post very many of these family shots, because I do keep some of my life private. Har har hahhahah! Ahem.

Yesterday, the sweet lady that took these photos watched my two youngest boys while I went to a volleyball tournament. My baby, Levi, who has been potty trained for over a year and I don't know the last time we had an 'accident' decided to crap his pants while she was watching him. I wouldn't have know about it if I hadn't seen the fancy ninja turtle underwear Levi was sporting, which we don't own. That and his older brother said, "Levi pooped his pants". I had to call and apologize to her.

This morning I took Ellen and my two littles to the second day of the eternally-long volleyball tournament. We were sitting in the bleachers nestled close to other parents and I kept getting whiffs of the stink that I personally know comes out of only one little butt hole. I know that stink all too well to deny that it isn't coming from my son. Given the previous day's 'accident' I kept asking, "Levi! Do you need to go to the bathroom? Do you? Do you need to go poop?" What I really wanted to do was get on the PA system and say, "It's not me! I swear! It's my son! He really stinks! Whooooo-weee, does he stink!"

Anyway, he didn't need to go poop, he just smelled like it. Good Lord help me.

If you've had any experience with a little stinker or, like me, a ginormous stinky monkey butt, then go over and give my girlfriend some love. Cause it's one thing when it's your own flesh and blood, but it's just awful when it's not your own stinky kid.

I've been beiroching.

In preparation for a post on beirochs....

Go Ahead and JUMP!

If you're feeling a little stressed with all the goings on in our country, then I would suggest you find yourself some hay bales and JUMP!

Go ahead and....

JUMP!

I get up, and nothing gets me down.
You've got it tough.
I've seen the toughest around.

And I know, Baby just how you feel.
You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real.

Might as well jump! JUMP!
Might as well jump!
Go ahead, jump! JUMP!
Go ahead, jump!

My Baby

He's always going to be called Baby. No matter what. He's my little snuggle-wuggle-monkey-skunkey-squishy-bottomed baby boy.

He's four. And that's still a tiny baby. Right? Yes. Don't be judging me because I can't let go of my little tiny boy (who's a head taller than all his friends and could tackle a first grader if he wanted to). And don't be judging my cake making abilities either! Oh, wait....Clay baked the cake, from a box. Like you all don't love him enough already because he tries to put away laundry! Please, people you're killin' me here the man can barley get his head through the door and he's struttin' around like a rooster on steroids! All because YOU READERS THINK HE'S CUTE AND WONDERFUL FOR NOT PUTTING THE LAUNDRY AWAY CORRECTLY!!!!

sigh**eyeroll**

Anyway, my baby is now four. And I don't like it one bit. These darn kids grow up to stinkin' fast. This last one is such a Momma's boy that I'll do just about anything for him. And he knows it. When he wakes up in the morning the first thing he wants to do is crawl up in bed with me and say, "I sweep wif you Mom. Coot over Mom, I sweep wif you. You snuggle me Mom." And of course I never say no, because who wouldn't want a little toasty, squishy-bottomed monkey to snuggle with every morning?
It took him nearly four years to tell me he was 'free years old'. But instantly, when he turned four, he knew, "I'm FOUR!!"

Little Stinky Monkey Head!

House of Crazy

In this episode of House of Crazy we begin with Rechelle making fun of April's fall decor that she worked hours and endless hours to please the Internet. Rechelle has just made a comment on the use of April's jars filled with bananas to catch fruit flies and refers to the fall foliage as another fly trap. April responds to her sister's remarks with some highly intelligent and well thought out words. Then the cast moves quickly into another example of April's family's extreme lack of care regarding her fear of large bugs in the house. The question you will be asking at the end of this episode is, Could they be any louder or more obnoxious?

Cast and Characters

Clay-himself
Rechelle- gigantic bug crawling on the counter top or Cockroach
Ellen- her loving,beautiful, elegant, well versed, tidy and timid mother
Giant red obstacle being played by Seth's head

I Breed Em' Smart

The look on his face when he realized his clothes were still on......well, what can I say? We're so proud.

Summer of Pain with Coach Clay

This here's your basic Goodmornin' Stretch

Sprints

The baby begging for his big sister to hold his hand while they run the sprints.

Oldest cousin sweetly offering a hand.

Even though it made him come in last place.

Hippity Hoppity....Clay? Clay? Are you flying?

Uh, yes. I think you are flying!

Prisoner squats or what I like to call 'Gopher Butts'.

Yes, I saw that you can fly.

Spidey Crawl

Dot Drill

Hip Hop with the Dot Drill

Doo Whop with Dots

The man who wants to be the coach for every team his children are involved with. Look, he created his own team for a day. It's Clay's summer of pain camp.

Yes, she's tall 5'8". And she can outrun all those boys wearing ripped up old Rocket Dog sneakers. You go girl!