I know, I know.  I've tried to stay away from some of the hot-button political topics...or parenting ones. Must be feeling kinda feisty today, though.  I'm jumping into a hugely controversial topic head-first!

I'm wondering, though, if I titled this post correctly.  Perhaps this one would have been more appropriate: "The Post From Which I'll Lose Lots Of Subscribers".  Because I'm certain I will.  This post totally proves that I am about the most inadequate parent you'll ever find.  Either that or "The Post From Which I'll Be Awarded the Title of "Mother of the Year Worst Mom Ever To Walk The Face Of The Earth"...or something along those lines.  Because clearly, I am.

I mean let's face it.  I let my son have COFFEE!  (Did she just say that she gives her SON coffee!!) 

What kind of a horrible mother does that make me?  (At least she knows what kind of a horrible, no good, rotten, terrible mother she is!  I would NEVER give MY child coffee!  I'm perfect.  Unlike her.)

Oh.  But it gets worse.  I know.  Hard to imagine worse than giving your 8yr old son coffee.  But trust me, it does get worse.  MUCH worse. (MUCH worse than giving her son coffee?  Where's that number for DHS again?  I'm DEFINITELY going to have to call THIS mother in!)

What, pray tell, is SO much worse than JUST giving my 8yr old son coffee?

It's coffee that has been made by his father.  I know this doesn't sound THAT bad.  Trust me on this one, though.  If you were to ever have his coffee you would understand the full impact of that statement.

My husband doesn't just make coffee.  He takes an ENTIRE can of Folgers and adds a little water so it's drinkable.  And just enough so that it's drinkable.  Any less and it wouldn't be drinkable.  Any more and it wouldn't be my husband's coffee.

Those with whom he works at SOS Radio would totally attest to the validity of my words.

Alright.  I'm putting on my flame-retardant suit.  It's a little worse for wear right now because of my migraine, though...so at least be a little nice.  K?

Friday night, we were blessed to be able to go to the Sanctus Real/Addison Road concert. It was trip! Not an acid-type trip, but an "Oh my gosh my husband is becoming an old man" type of trip. And trust me, THAT is a trip in its own right!

First we had to get past the fact that the music was too loud for my old man dear husband. Seriously? You should HEAR how loudly my husband plays his production...or the TV. Yet he finds the concert too loud? Wimp! Just in case, I think next time we'll bring the ear protection he uses when he goes shooting. Then he won't have to hear a thing!

After we got past the hearing issue, there was the dancing.

No. Not my husband's.

Mine.

And THAT was the problem.

Apparently he thought I was kidding or going through a phase when I danced at concerts while we were dating and first married. He thought it was a fluke that I was rocking out to Veggie Tales live with the kids. He thought perhaps I was just having a momentary lapse of sanity when I turned the music up & danced through the house.

Every weekend.

Or maybe he just hoped, prayed, and dreamed that one day I would no longer desire to dance to music. At the least, he held hope that I had not passed that gene down to our children. He found out at this concert that we are a hopeless bunch. We all like to dance. We may or may not be in rhythm. That's really irrelevant to us. We just like to have fun!

Unfortunately for him.

We know he loves us, he just doesn't know what to do with us sometimes. Like when we're embarrassing him at a concert and he can't hide in the crowd because no one could hide in the crowd when we're beside them dancing and singing.

If you ever want to know where we are seated at a concert, just look around. When you see the man with heavy, sound-proof headphones on looking around trying to pretend that he doesn't know the woman and children dancing crazily beside him; you'll know you've found us.

Come up & say hi to us. (Be sure to say hi to our fuddy-duddy too.)

Kirstie took a ton of pics on her phone. This is the only one I'm authorized to share:

We have one hard and fast rule at our house. It comes from the knowledge that my husband is a self-professed addict.

Coffee would be his drug of choice. Everyone knows the rule. If Daddy's grumpy, someone needs to brew some coffee...QUICK! Or some of us may not make it out alive.

A moment of this...


...gives us "happy Daddy".

It's clear my family has their priorities in order. Who can argue with that?

I'm certain my kids are gonna need counseling for this one. I'm also pretty sure it gets us fairly close to winning the "Parents of the Year" award.

Today, my husband hit a bird on his way to work. When he got out, he noticed the bird was STUCK ON the grill of OUR CAR!!!

Did he take the bird OFF?

No.

He went into work, and forgot about the bird.

Then he came home, and our children ran outside to play for a bit before dinner.

Shortly thereafter, they ran in screaming after seeing this:


Yes, children. Your father murdered the bird and LEFT ITS CARCASS THERE for your eyes to see.

We know we're spectacular parents.

You can send the counseling bill to us.

-Me

My husband was jumping for joy today. Our 10yr old ASKED if she could learn how to mow the law! Ecstatic doesn't even BEGIN to describe how he was feeling!

He gladly took her out there to teach her having visions of getting rid of this chore temporarily much sooner than he had initially thought (when our son was 10-12...he JUST turned 7).

Our daughter does a phenemonal job.

Then. We find the catch.

She seems to have learned that there are teens who go around mowing lawns for money. They get about $30/lawn.

She wanted her money.

Gary told her she'd get MAYBE $5...once she was actually doing ALL of it. IF she wanted to. (Nothing forced about it for her. He's got issues with women mowing the lawn. Has chastised me before for mowing the lawn. In love, of course. Because that's not a woman's job.)

All our daughter heard was that she could earn $5/week for mowing the lawn. That's $20-$25/mth. She's hooked. She plans to rake this fall.

Think we're going to stop her?

Nope. And neither are our neighbors. She's cheap!

-Me