So just for kicks yesterday, I kept a running tally of how many times my kids said "Mom" or any form of that word (Mom, Mama, Momma, Mommy, etc.) I got up to 978 before I quit counting. I love my kids. I really do, but HOLY CRAP, SERIOUSLY???! I mean, I have said a million times "If I had a dollar for every time I hear 'Mama' in a day, I could write full time and hire a nanny." I always thought that was a joke, but I could hire a damn good nanny for half of that per day. What really sucks is that very few of the things that were preceded by "Mama" were necessary. Just a few examples include:
"Mom, where's my other shoe?"
"Mom, I need a band-aid."
"Mama, can we go to the Baby Store and get another baby?"
"Mama, I'm mad at you!'
"Mooooooom! William sat on my head!"
"Mama, William is telling everyone bad things about me and now they are all being mean to me."
"Mama, can I take flying lessons? Like a bird, or a bee, or a super hero without a cape?"
"Mama, what's for lunch?"
"Mama, can we go back to Texas on this day?"
"Mom, why doesn't Daddy just get a job in Alabama?"
"Mama, what's for dinner?"
"Mom, do I have to eat ALL the chicken?"
"Mom, I just threw up again."
"Mama, Lorelei scratched me"
"Mama, Jackson scratched me."
"Mama, I got a big giant booger! Wanna see it?"
"Mama, when do I get boobs?"
"Maaaaaaa-maaaaaaaa! I neeeeeeeed you to wipe my buuuuuuuuutt!"
"Mom? Mama? Mom? Mom? Mama? Hey Mama, I'm trying to ask you something...."
However, if you're a mom, then you know that this is absolutely normal and you are probably wondering what the heck I'm complaining about. You're right, of course. The only time I hear it less is when they are in school. (Sigh) So enough about that.....I'll share a few stories from our mountain trip instead.
When we were in the mountains last week, the weather was wonderful. It was in the low 60's in the mornings and up on the mountain tops and I loved it since the day I left Arlington it was 105. But my kids were cold. We only brought 1 pair of jeans each since it is Summer, and they had already worn them twice. The last day that we were there, we went to breakfast and Lorelei kept saying something that we were having trouble understanding. Finally, it clicked: "Mama, I want my pants to be long-sleeved." When we went to Roan Mountain, she saw an old man sitting on the porch of the visitor's center where we stopped to use the bathroom. She walked by him, raised her hand in a half wave and said casually "Hey Pa" because she thought it was my dad. My dad didn't come with us. While we were up there in North Carolina, we went to this amusement park called "Tweetsie Railroad." It was extremely overpriced, but the kids had a blast. They got to ride on the rides. We thought that Jackson was going to be too short for the "Tilt-A-Whirl" type ride, but when we saw by how much Lorelei cleared the red line, we decided to check. His head juuuuuuuust cleared the red line -- barely. He did a little happy dance. When we were waiting our turn, the ride operator came over and said "Hey folks, just a few quick rules...." and Jackson was interrupting him saying "I'm tall enough!! Hey, I'm tall enough. Guess what? I'm tall enough." Then after the ride was over, where he laughed so hard that his whole head turned red, and I laughed at him having such a great time that my belly hurt, the ride stopped and he started saying all over again "I was tall enough!" I had to sweet talk to get Bella on a ride called "The Tornado" because she was about an inch too short. She helped by standing there, tears streaming down her cheeks, lip quivering, as I begged the operator to let her on it. Eventually, once I agreed to ride with her, he caved. It was staggering how quickly she recovered once she got her way....
We also had one of those old-timey pictures done. I will have to see if I can scan it in or take a good enough picture of it to post it here, even though I look horrible. I wanted to all dress like cowboys and cowgirls, but Bella wanted to be a saloon girl and she wanted me to be one too. While my 7 year old can totally rock a saloon-girl/hooker outfit, my best hooking days are obviously beyond me. I should have been a cowgirl like I wanted. I was hot and pouring sweat, so I was shiny in the photo, not to mention that the photographer told us to smile, and I was the only one who did, so I look ridiculous with the rest of my stoic family -- like the fat, old, drunk, hooker at the party. It really is pathetic, but Jackson was the cutest thing ever in his little cowboy get up, Lorelei made an awesome little cowgirl, William looked like the kid who wants to be a man, but just isn't yet, and Bella was a pretty little saloon girl. Even the husband could pull off the cowboy look with ease. They all love the picture and want it displayed prominently in our home, and I wish that there was a way to take me out of it. I loathe having my picture made because it forces me to face the fact that I am not nearly as thin and good looking as I am in my own mind. Also because every time someone takes a picture of me I look at it and am convinced that I could have done better -- that is why I rarely give up my camera.
I had better close, the minions have been in here 34 times in the last 10 minutes wanting something and the choruses of "Mom, Mamma, Mom" have started again. It is a stormy day here in North Alabama and all I want to do is curl up with a good book -- I brought about 8 books to read and I have already found 2 more in the stacks around my mom's house. I do not understand why this weather doesn't have the same effect on my children. They want to run in circles squealing when it rains. I'd like nothing more to get a blanket, a book, and a cup of coffee and sit in a comfortable chair by the window and watch entranced as sheets of rain pound the ground and the winds bend trees to their will as if demanding that they bow down to their awesome power. A good thunderstorm in the South is a majestic, awesome, and sometimes frightening spectacle. Never has that been more true than this year.