Yeah… We’re A Little Spicy Around Here

Do y’all know how you have those days?  Those days where the baby wakes up at 5:15 in the morning and assures you that there won’t be ANY going back to sleep.  Those days where you scrounge through the refrigerator for something to stuff into your 7th graders’ lunchbox, and realize that MY WORD!  This is only the third day of school, and I’m already failing at my good plans of packing a nutritious lunch every day!  Those days where you run hither and yon, knocking out errands, when what you really need to be doing is knocking out laundry, because everyone is running out of clean socks.  Those days when your seventeen-month-old discovers that it’s downright OKAY that you put locks on the drawers, which he once pulled out, so that he could use those drawers like a ladder and climb to the kitchen counter, because HEY!  He can just push a dining room chair over to the counters and have FULL ACCESS, and how do you put a lock on the chairs?

(We’ll be that family who looks like our dining room table is on display in a parking lot of a discount store, where all the chairs are woven together with a giant cable that sports an even bigger lock, because theft in America is a real thing.  And stealing dining room chairs to gain access to a kitchen counter and Mama’s iPod that is up there is also a real thing in this country, and it needs to be prevented.)

I had one of those days today, which means I might just throw my hands into the air and declare, “Hear ye!  Hear ye!  It’s Lame Blog Post Thursday!”

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(And see that lovely red streak of sugar-infused juice on Thing 2’s white shirt front?  Mmm hmm.  That little swim set was loaned to us by my adorable friend, Lisa.  Lisa would like her little boy clothes back, because future little boys might just appear at their house.  So we wear her son’s hand-me-downs.  We treat those clothes with love and respect.  And I’ve always prided myself on having the spiritual gift of stain removal, but that lone red streak has fought me with fangs and claws and vicious PMS-type meanness.)

(It has proved tougher than all of my magic potions in the laundry room, and I’m at a point where I have to admit that DEAR LISA, YOU’LL BE GETTING THIS BACK WITH A GIANT STAIN, AND WE APOLOGIZE, BUT THING 2 IS DESTRUCTIVE, AND DID I MENTION THAT HE CAN PUSH A CHAIR TO THE KITCHEN COUNTER AND GET UP THERE NOW???)

(Yep.  We ruin clothes that are on loan to us.  We are THAT family.)

So instead of reading something grand on MY blog (Like you’ve EVER read anything grand on my blog, because I write nonsense, y’all!  UTTER NONSENSE!), I’d like to point you to another blog, where you actually CAN read grand things.

Have y’all heard of Jen Hatmaker?  She and I are quite close friends, which means that I read every single blog post she writes and hang on every word, while she has no idea who I am.  She and I share a silent friendship; I stalk her blog and she’s all, “Jedi Mama?  Never heard of her!  Is that an action figure of Luke’s mother?”

Anyway.

She wrote a post today on sweet families and spicy families, and how it’s okay to be spicy, and… well… RELIEF!  Because we ARE the spicy family, whose baby climbs to kitchen counters, throws sharp knives, deliberately pukes all the time, and eats gravel while he’s on playdates.  And the boy watches a show called Pawn Stars, which is embarrassing when he tells your 82-year-old great aunt this, and she MISUNDERSTANDS HIM, and thinks Hubs and I have gone horribly astray in our parenting, as she shoots us the evil eye and declares that NOBODY IN HER DAY EVER WATCHED A SHOW LIKE THAT, and WHAT HAS AMERICA COME TO?  Even after we explained that it was a PAWN, PAWN, PAWN shop, she still wasn’t convinced that we weren’t breaking moral codes in our house.

I’m also the mother who mentally beats myself up all the time, because WHY DON’T I MAKE HOMEMADE FRENCH TOAST FOR MY BOYS IN THE MORNING?  And SHOULD I HAVE SAID SOMETHING A LITTLE MORE SYMPATHETIC WHEN THE BOY WAS ASKED TO MOW THE YARD, AND HE LAID DOWN ON THE SOFA AND SAID, “MY FOOT IS KILLING ME; I MIGHT NEED SURGERY!”  Was it okay to tell him, “WELL, YOU CAN VISIT THE ORTHOPEDIC SURGEON AFTER THE YARD IS MOWED.”  Did I just cripple him for life because my yard was long enough to be baled and GET IT MOWED ALREADY?!

And, like Mrs. Hatmaker said, sometimes I think Hubs and I are raising feral children, too.

So… yeah.  Jen Hatmaker wrote a lovely little post today, and I loved it.  So… for mothers of all the spicy families out there, who think that they’re ruining their children as badly as I’m ruining mine, this one is for you.  It’s a lovely post.

Click here to read it, and find some reassuring words for your soul.

And y’all have a fantastic Labor Day Weekend, filled with fun!

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