Steel Magnolias 2: The Real Housewives of Chinqapin Parish

Do y'all remember when Truvy said "there's no such thang as natural beauty"? Little did we know that in 1987, Dolly was setting us up for a good twenty years of women stuffing junk in their trunks, Jell-O in their hell-OO's, and bionic Tupperware into their kiss holes. I wish Dolly would've kept her mouth shut.

Just look at the men in that movie! You had Tom Skerritt and  Sam Shepard as the patriarchs of their families. Do you think for a minute Drum Eatonton or Spud Jones would'a had anything tucked, besides their boots in their britches legs? Now, Jackson Latcherie? There's a good chance he might've headed down the plastic highway in the future, and I think that's why M'Lynn didn't like him:  she knew he was a skinny jean wearin' girlie man on the inside.

Yo Shawdy, It's My Birfday...

What does every Mom look forward to on their birthday? Spending time with the family, taking a bubble bath sans the world heavyweight title holder, and eating cake. Today? Check, no check, and oh yeah....check.

I'm in job-induced, single parent mode this week. No, I'm not really a single parent, but I'm the only one around with beating privileges, and the iPad can't call 911 should the short stacks seize control. I'm hoping this explains my daughter's message to me for my birthday:

"Mom, you're the best mom I ever had. You're just so nice and you let me eat cake for breakfast, and your big, squishy belly makes me want to snuggle. But I wish dad was here and you could go away for work sometimes. I really love him a lot, and sometimes he's my favorite."  Thank you, my dear. However will I fit my big head through the door come morning?

Then there was my greeting from Morgan Freeman.

"Hello there, I'm Morgan Freeman, and it's your birthday. You should party like it's your birthday, watching evil farty like it's your birthday, and you know I don't know the words because I'm Morgan Freeman, you're just some old white lady that fixes me cereal."

I didn't--and still don't-- know how to respond to that, so...there. I was hoping I'd get an encore of the performance of "Shawdy got them Morgan Freeman jeans..." from last night, but no such luck.

Then there was Larry King. "Happy birthday, Mom. Can you fix supper now? I want tacos."  Yes, because I definitely want to be sharing a bed with a bunch of taco-stuffed wind bags tonight. I suppose it would make me feel less lonely. Sorry, but if I want a shot in Hades of making it till 35 and a day, I ain't loading this bunch up with Mexican again. I thought dear 'ol Morgan was gonna blow the freckles off his shmeckle after El Mocha Jeters Friday.

We had to do our obligatory milk-and-bread run earlier, so we stopped by Aldi. I know, I know...they sell horse meat lasagna. But it's really cheap!!! And it smells better than Wal-Sharts produce department. So I get the kids bundled up and herd them to the truck like a six-pack of ADHD kittens.

"Hey, I'm in the front, butt hole!"

"NO! You were in the front yesterday, baby rump sniffer!"

"MOM!"

"MAMA!"

"Hey! Why don't I get to talk?"

"Alright, alright! Larry, you're in the back this time. Morgan, you're riding shotgun."

I swear Bubby transformed into a 90-year old white man before my eyes, peering over his invisible glasses as he mumbled "It's cuz he's black, ain't it?"

All I could think to say was "Well, Larry, I ain't ever seen you up front with Miss Daisy."

Apparently, it's supposed to be colder than a gravediggers butt in Fargo over the next couple of days, but no precipitation yet. I even did the good mom thing and sprayed our back patio down with water to try to make a miniature 911 magnet, I mean, skating ring, but we haven't had so much as vulture spit so far.

I just want them to call school off...before bedtime. I want to delay that sorry-I'm-late-but-my-mom-overslept excuse for one more day. Not to mention, I think it'd be really fun to play with the boys new paintball/dart guns in ice and snow.

So, today has actually been really fun. I crunk up the fire place, put on my fuzzy pj britches, burned a hole in said pj britches, and have repeatedly questioned why I haven't taken my vacuum cleaner to audition for the lead in a Lifetime movie. It really sucks, and apparently that's the only requirement.

I took them out in public....again.

Never thought we'd go to Wal-Mart, did ya? Friday, I took the kids to get some food because we were gonna go crazy in the house.We haven't been out too much lately, and while cozy, I break down and

give in to the crazies. I figured I'd take them out in public for their teachers' sakes...just to help them,
you know, smooth down the weird edges. I could've stayed at home where it was warm, but I picked
up, and braved going out while outnumbered 3-to-1.

Never in my life have I laughed as hard as I did on our little lunch and shopping outing! "Y'all, we are 

gonna get kicked out of this restaurant if y'all don't calm down!" Rae-Rae's decides he's gonna 

let his name be Morgan Freeman. Believe it or not, this is a normal part of our day. If you're there,

you are laughing your butt off right along with us! We went to this Mexican restaurant, 'El Molcajete.' It's down the street from our house, and their food is cheap and good. The kids love the cheese dip, and I 

never turn away from a place that the kids can actually agree on. They seat us, and we decide we're 

gonna do our own orders. (Meaning, I don't order for the kids...they do it.) So I glance down and  

run my finger down the menu, and decided on what I want, when Rae-Rae speaks up to the waitress.

"Around here, my name's Morgan Freeman. I'd like some chicken fangers with barbecue sauce, fries, 

and a Co-Cola. And, pardon me for asking, but what does 'El Mocha Jeters' mean? Is if french? You have

dessert here? I like them cinnamon thangs at Taco Bell. Do you like Taco Bell? You're Mexican, aren't

 you? My mom looks Mexican sometimes, but she's not. She's just from Georgia."

Never again, I thought to myself. Bubby decides that if Rae-Rae is Morgan Freeman, then he's just

gonna be Larry King. (I know, what the heck?! It goes back to an old dance move he used to do that would make Larry King dance like Steve Urkel. I can't explain it...we're just freakin' weird.)  But anyway...

You wouldn't believe the chips and cheese they put away, and this is not including making Rae-Rae

cry about the cheese he dripped down his shirt. But they all ate a good lunch, and we, of course, could

never go to town with going to Wally-World. In my New Years effort to become more organized, we were gonna go get some crates to help the kids keep the stuff they play with most, cleaned up. We get there; I say we won't there but a minute, but that means an easy hour and a half until we tell all these Walmartians goodbye. We're strolling through the storage stuff, and the crates are nowhere to be found. Now I'd have never imagined that storage stuff wouldn't be in the storage department. Please tell me that I am not 

gonna have to ask. Why wouldn't the crates be in the storage department? Guess that's why I don't

tell Wal-Mart how to organize stuff. We finally find them, and we wind up folding up Miss Nacho Diva,

a farting, giggling bundle of Mexican aftermath by this time, into two of them inside the buggy.I won't lie...she's dropping chimichanga bombs at every corner. We're heading through books when Bubby
and Rae-Rae see Nelson Mandela on a magazine cover. "Hello, I am Morgan Freeman, and it should

hurt my feelings that they keep calling me Nelson. I'm pretty famous. Today I am with Larry King, and...

you have GOT to stop, Emma! They're gonna call me Morgan Stinky Cheeseman."

******To Be Continued******

Sunday (1/5) is my birthday, and I'm thankful that I'm not celebrating like last year:  with the flu, double pneumonia, and a double ear-infection. I'll take freezing my butt off at home any day of the week. Since it's my birthday, I'd like to let you know that I just gave you a little birthday surprise. 

#rickroll

New Years Revolutions

It’s about that time! Time to make all kinds of promises to yourself that you’ll be breaking by the time January’s rent check clears, which will have you drowning your self-induced heart break in Ben & Jerry’s by MLK day. That’s right…it’s time to make useless New Year’s resolutions.

Well, I’m boycotting it this year. I’ve been pretty successful in carb-loading since Thanksgiving, but I really don’t wanna make any more empty promises to myself. I don’t like lying to me.

So this year, instead of resolutions, why not try an “(Ain’t Got A) Bucket List.” Instead of telling yourself what constraints you’re going to place on yourself and how you’re going to be miserably better for it, why not plan a list of things you’d like to do this year? I’m up for it!

The list of years past would look something like this…

• Lose 20-30 pounds
• Eat vegetarian one day a week
• Walk or exercise every day
• Stop eating fast food (yes, this means Hardee’s biscuits!)
• Save $4 billion by couponing

Well, guess what? This New Years will find me fat and sassy, but it’ll find me happy in so many ways.

My 2014 “(Ain’t Got A) Bucket List” is going to be a fun list…things I WANT to do, not things I'm gonna kick my own Irish and German arse for not doing.

• Start a fire without matches or a lighter (Yep, we watched Castaway this weekend.)
•  Go fishing with the kids.
• Visit my friends in Navarre
• Not go to Wal-Mart for one month
• Find a huge hill, and roll down it like my hair is on fire.
• Participate in some sort of redneck outdoors event, whether it be hunting, performing stupid tasks involving ropes and tires, or anything else fun like that. (NO wheelbarrow races. I once broke my butt in a most unfortunate accident involving a wheel barrow and an attempt to break the sound barrier.)
• Volunteer somewhere.
• Go hiking. (And by hiking, I mean casually stroll through some place with pretty hills that has plenty of places to sit down along the way.)
• Do at least 5 stupid things that I'm dared to do.
• Develop an invisible spit shield for Lou Holtz on ESPN. That guy drivesh me nutsh.

If you haven’t made your bucket list, you’ve GOT to do it. And the bigger, the better!

I made mine a few years ago after my best friend was killed, and I can’t even believe how many things I’ve marked off! It’s not necessarily earth shattering stuff, but stuff that has made me genuinely happy for a little while! I put 100 things on my first list, and I’ve crossed off about 25 of them in four years. So do I go ahead with the next 75? Nope, I add 25 more and keep going!

No, I haven’t been to Europe or Italy yet, and that’s okay. I’ve always wanted to see them, but I’d much rather see my kids faces light up in Disney World than see the Louvre light up at dusk. If they happen one day, that’s great, but I’m okay if they don’t.

I guess if I had to make one resolution for this year, it would be to be happier with what I have, with who I am, and with the opportunities that God has given me.  And if our next family reunion should turn into a virtual redneck edition of non-lethal Hunger Games, then it might just be the best year ever!

Make 2014 the year of truth. Don’t pretend to be a vanilla cupcake with freshly whipped butter-cream if you’re really a fruity-pebbles-and-french-onion-dip kind of girl. Men, don’t pretend to be what you think women want. Be who you are, and even if you don’t find the soul mate you’re looking for, you’ll be happier. The real magic happens when you live as the person you really are.

On December 31, 2014, I want to look back and say I’ve earned my certificate of authenticity. No faking and no camouflaging:  all me, all the time.

If you're looking for somebody to have good, clean, stupid fun with in 2014, give us a call! I'm in no way committing my betrothed to such acts of tomfoolery, but I can guarantee that he'll laugh at whatever I try.

I'll leave you with a few memorable quotes from our joyous Christmas season.

“Momma, your face is as big as daddy’s belly…bigger than the universe.” –Emzilla

“Daddy, I love you more than mommy because you’re my favorite.”

“Mommy, you’re just so big and squishy!”

“Mommy, Chwis Wock died. He was my boyfriend, and he died and now we have to put him in a hole. He died yesterday, too.”

“MOM! I’m supposed to get mawwied today! I’m gonna mawwy daddy because I love him and he’s not yours anymore so you’re gonna have to leave.”

“You and dad are, like, the best parents I’ve ever had.”- Bubby (Wow! Considering those couple of years when we secretly rented him to the Vanderbilt's, this is uh-mazing.)

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had, but you’ve done a lot better. It’s okay…you can try again tomorrow.” –Rae-Rae

When You Ain't Got A Pot to Pee In Or A Window To Throw It Out Of

We’ve all heard rich people say that having a bunch of money doesn’t make you happier. Well, first of all, they’ve obviously never had to choose between toilet paper and a jug of peanut butter.  Second of all, I don’t believe it. Let me walk a mile in your Choo's, and then I’ll deliver my verdict. 

Yet, somehow, I think they’re right.

We’ve all fallen on hard times, and we know what they’re like. If you haven’t, then let me paint a starving artist's Polaroid for you. In the heat of summer, you turn off the air and sit in the dark to try to keep your power bill down. During the dead of winter, you sleep in sweats and wool socks so you can leave the heat shut off. You borrow money from piggy banks until your paycheck hits.

You feel like you’ve won the lottery when the landlord offers to renew your lease. You sit up at night wondering if things will ever get better. You see a change in your kids that even though it hurts like hell to see, it makes you so proud of them you feel like your heart’s gonna explode. Y’all, that’s when character is born.

After our oldest son, was born, we were beyond broke. I’d gone back to school in Alabama, my husband was working a maintenance job for the apartment complex we lived in. We barely had enough gas money to get me to school. But what I remember most are the holidays from that year. Being in a college town, we had several friends that either couldn’t afford to go home or didn’t have a home to go back to.

So we talked about it, and we decided to fix a Thanksgiving dinner in our apartment for our friends in town. Notice I didn’t say feast, I said dinner. Most of it was vegetables straight out of their dented cans. We couldn’t afford a turkey to go with the cornbread dressing; all we could swing was a marked-down pack of chicken legs that I boiled and put in the dressing. We sat our buffet up on the metal table that served as our dining room furniture, and we were more thankful for that meal than we’d been for anything in a long time.

At Christmas time, we got a $5 tabletop Christmas tree from Dollar General, which we decorated with two $1 garlands, two strings of leftover lights, and a box of candy canes. And guess what? We talk about it every Christmas, and there’s no doubt we always will.

Even Santa was struggling that year. Our son, the first of three miracles we were told we would never conceive, woke up on Christmas morning to a little red wagon, a dancing Elmo doll, a children’s Bible, and a coloring book with four crayons.

And guess what? He looked at and played with everything he got. And stranger still, we remember every gift he got that morning. The Hokey Pokey Elmo doll? We were at the store the night they were putting the unpaid layaways back on the shelves. God had somehow come through for us, and we finally had the $20 it took to bring Elmo home.

My heart hurts thinking about how tough those times were, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything. We’ve had ups and downs since then, and while it never gets easier to tell your kids ‘I’m sorry, we just can’t afford it,’ you’d be surprised how much they understand. Kids don’t lose respect for you when you go through

hard times. 

They may get their panties in a bunch when you feed them instant mac-n-cheese (made with water since you can’t buy milk right now) for the third time this week, but they can get glad in the same pair of drawers.

So what if the cable got shut off and they can’t stare at the t.v. all afternoon? Again, they will survive. Make up games with them.  We made one that is probably gonna make us famous one day:  Balling Bowl. It’s kind of like Skee-ball, but requires bouncy balls and mixing bowls.

Yeah, it sucks like a Kirby when the year you said you’d go to Italy, you’re doing good to get to Olive Garden.  Yes, it blows like the hair dryer at the beauty shop when you can’t go on vacation because even if you got a free place to stay, you couldn’t afford the gas to get there.

But y’all, it’s just money. It’s not losing a parent. It’s not a cancer diagnosis. It’s not losing a best friend. It’s not being homeless. It’s not crying a hungry baby to sleep. It’s….just….money.

Today, I am thankful that even though God ain’t shown me the winning Powerball numbers yet, He’s shown me something more important:  how to be happy with what I have. I don’t sit back and pout when we can’t go out for dinner and a movie. We’ll go pick up a $1 movie at the Redbox, and we’ll have “Popcorn Movie Night” in the living room.

I wouldn't trade the blanket-fort-days with our kids for anything. Even if we had the money, we wouldn't buy my kids everything they asked for. Kids that are given everything grow to be adults that expect to be given everything. These people that leave work and run to the school because little Bobbie Sue doesn't like the school lunch that day are creating monsters. It's one lunch, not her last meal on death row! 

Sure, she'll pitch a fit, but guess what, Mommy dearest? You made 'em that way. I feel sorry for my kids because they'll be the ones working alongside your 30-going-on-3 year old brats. But don't worry...when you're used up and can't manipulate the world for them anymore, your butt will be in an old folks home faster than you can say "please pass the oxygen."

But anyway...when life hands you lemons and you ain’t got the sugar for lemonade, don't stand there and tell them they deserve to have lemonade. Teach 'em how to juggle them bad boys, and see if they can't earn enough spare change to go buy some! When you ain’t got a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of, don't run to the government housing office and get one off of somebody else's dollar. I'm not talking about people that need help getting back on their feet. I'm talking about people that turn welfare into a career. Have some self-respect, people!

Do what you can, don’t give up, and thank your lucky stars you didn’t choose the Hokey Pokey Elmo. If you’re struggling and at the end of your rope, tie a knot in it, climb on that bad boy, and gimme your best Tarzan yell. After all, it’s hard to be down in the dumps when you’re the king of the jungle. 

Christmas Shopping: Transforming Good, Christian Women into Sailor-Mouthed Buggy Assassins

Normally, on Black Friday, my husband is the one to get out and about early, and I sleep in. This year, things worked a little bit differently. He did his shopping online, and in turn, I got $45 Kohl’s cash to spend. Woot woot!

So last night, since he’s out of town, the kids and I headed to Kohl’s to do some shopping for cousins and friends. I triple check to make sure I've got my phone so I can access the Kohl’s cash e-mail on it.

We were there almost two hours. When I look back on it, it will be easy to remember the significance of the trip:  A REMINDER OF WHY I DON’T LEAVE THE HOUSE WITH THREE KIDS BY MYSELF. I always imagine it being the like Brady bunch going to serve cupcakes to the poor. Instead, it more closely resembles the house drop scene in “Wizard of Oz”, my kids being the house and me being a flip-flop wearing witch.

Bubby, who’s 11, is the kind-hearted shopper. He wants to buy the moon, Saturn’s rings and Elvis’s jacket from the '68 special for everybody he’s ever met. Don’t get me wrong…I’m so thankful that he’s loving and generous, but having to tell him 3,000 times that his substitute teacher from 1^st grade doesn't need a dog-walking, brow-tweezing, Cappucino maker makes shopping a little tiring.

Then here comes Rae-Rae, who is just dumb-founded at how much Chinese crap costs. I’ll put it this way. When we were shopping for Emma’s birthday last summer, I took them to Toys’R’Us. I knew it was expensive, but we were looking for ideas. She was big into Despicable Me then, and they had this minion toy that talked...for the bargain price of $59.99. 

Rae-Rae was absolutely disgusted by this. This poor sales lady comes over and asks us if we need help, and he guts her like a fish. “Y’all are not gonna sell these. When I come back in a few months, I bet they’ll be at least 50% off ‘cuz nobody’s gonna pay that. I mean, really? It’s plastic! Would you buy this for $60? Is there a manager I can talk to?”

EIGHT YEARS OLD.

(Just yesterday he brought home this shopping list from the Santa Store at school. When I asked him if he wanted to buy everything he wrote down, he said "God, no! Their prices are ridiculous!")

But on this particular Kohl’s trip, he wanted to find a coffee cup for his coffee-addicted teacher. (Well, she tells them its coffee. I've seen these kids in action, and I’m telling you, there’s got to be a little bonus in that cup every morning…bless her heart.) He wanted to get a Georgia mug but was deeply offended at how much NCAA junk costs. After doing his little cost-benefit analysis, he decided to go with the black, red and silver mug that was 1/3 the price. Good call, my boy.

Then you’ve got *shudder* Emzilla. She’s decided to provide the soundtrack for this joyous excursion.

“JINGLE  BAH, JINGLE BAH, JINGLE BAH WOCK…”

“Emma, you can sing, but please whisper; the mannequins are starting to twerk.”

“It’s da white time of da night time to knock yer wights away….”

Sweet baby Jesus, please get me to the check-out.

After being mowed down 27 times by the hatchet-faced, old woman stalking the Christmas villages, I’m pullin' a Flo Jo to the check-out.

“Here, Bubby, push the cart while I open my Kohl’s cash, please.”

OF COURSE it won’t open. I’ve got my weekly check-in from Prince Hubbida Bubbida in Nigeria--just checking on my bank transfer-- and a declaration of love from my Farmer soul mate, but the Kohl’s e-mail has disappeared. 

At this point, I’m convinced that these jerk wards have put up an impenetrable force field to block electronic signals and, consequently, e-Kohl’s cash. I’m standing here, all three kids acting a complete fool, and here comes Granny Hatchet again. It was all I could do not to tell Rae-Rae she stole a quarter from him just to see him bring back some of his football skills.

Fine, Mr. Kohl, I may be the loser here, but you’re gonna lose right now. I’M BLOWING THIS JOINT!

*stomp stomp stomp SMACK!*

Great…Emma has run into yet another glass door with her face. Fortunately, she was still rehearsing for the Christmas play so she just stutter-stepped and kept on singing.

“Woo-dolph the wed-nosed, weindee-ah, had a bewwy swimy nose…”

Fast forward…we plow through fogpocalypse and make it the 5 miles home…in 15 minutes. We get home, and of course, the garage door won’t work. @(#$*&!

We get inside, I throw dinner in the oven, and I go online to pull up the Kohl’s cash on my computer so that I can order the same Chinese crap online. Three of the five items I had in the store weren’t available online, so I have to pick substitutes. AWESOME!

I finally get the five gifts picked, and I go to check-out. All over their website, it’s screaming at me to use the promo code “CYBERSAVE” to save 20% on my order. Thank God! That almost makes up for the incident in the store.

Total up my order…$44.55 (phew, that was close!). I enter my Kohl’s cash code, and sure enough…with free shipping my balance due is $0.00! 

This is the only reason I’m buying from you, Kohl’s. You’re going on the poop list as soon as I get my free crap.

*Click, click click….enter code “CYBERSAVE”.*

“THERE WAS A PROBLEM WITH YOUR ORDER. PLEASE ENTER YOUR CARD INFORMATION.”

Are you kidding me? I have a $0.00 balance due with free shipping, and you STILL want my credit card information? Jerks.  I hope you spend Christmas in a small hotel room with Archie Bunker and Al Sharpton.

Fine…I’ll put it in. 

*Type type, clickety-click, CONTINUE…*

“THERE WAS A PROBLEM WITH YOUR ORDER. PLEASE ENTER THE CIV NUMBER FROM YOUR CREDIT CARD.”

I did, you spawn of Satan, dog licking, butt sniffing, monkey seducing son of a ...! Bless your heart.

*Enter card information for the 64^th time, enter promo code CYBERSAVE.*

“INVALID COUPON CODE:  THIS PURCHASE DOES NOT QUALIFY FOR THE PROMO CODE YOU ENTERED.”

I hope somebody superglues a rib-eye to your a$$ and brings Cujo over to frolic in the Autumn mist...and the pants you just pissed. I’m a Christian woman, but you have pushed me too far. 

So, three hours after leaving for a simple, fun shopping trip, I’m throwing stuff at the Christmas tree, popping chocolate-covered espresso beans like breath mints, and shooting at my laptop screen with a laser-scoped Nerf gun. I’m blowing off some steam, trying not to strangle the young’uns, when Rae-Rae comes up behind me and says “Mom, are you sure you got a good deal on that stuff?”

Father, forgive me for what I'm about to do. Can somebody gimme a "bless your heart"?

The Baths of Mom: When Keester Scrubbing Draws a Crowd

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, young mother who's love light glowed from within with the radiance of angels. Each day, she and her children would pick wildflowers, sing songs, and bake fresh cookies together. But at the end of each day, when her heart threatened to burst from the daily accumulation of love, she would retire to her private bath where she would take long, hot bubble baths with nothing but the chirping of the crickets and the songs of her heart to fill the silence. She would count down the minutes until she could return to her beloved offspring and tuck them snuggly in their beds.

BEE-DONG! BEE-DONG! BEE-DONG!

Oh, hey there. Sorry, that was my crap-o-meter going off.

What is it about announcing to your cohabitants that you're tired, grumpy, and stinky that makes them want to swarm you?

Saturday was a cold yucky day, so I decided that after I finished knitting some Christmas gifts, I was going to treat myself to a homemade spa treatment.

It's times like these that I miss having disposable income. There used to be this spa close to our house that had an aroma- and light-therapy jacuzzi capsule thing. Your head was the only thing sticking out, and the rest of you just melted into the effervescent water disco. But the massages were the best part. I'm not gonna SAY it's because they had a gorgeous Italian guy named Giovanni giving the massages, but something was different about that place. It must've been the fabric softener they used on their towels.  It was....indescribable.

But that was the old days, and Saturday, it was just me and my Pinterest-inspired detox concoction. Don't worry...I am still completely covered by skin, unlike the aftermath of the cinnamon facial I tried the other day.
I tossed in some Epsom salts, baking soda, lavender oil and ginger. It was awesome! Also, I got this neat little color-changing, noise-vomiting alarm clock for $5 the other day, so I decided to recreate the spa days of old.

I turn my little light machine on, hit the play button, and lean back to relax when....OW! Once again, I have mashed Rey Mysterio and Triple H flatter than a flitter. Now, I don't mean to brag, but I do bathe with professional wrestlers at least three times a week.

As I sip my Phineas & Ferb goblet of ice water, I realize my bathtub looks like a Mattel house of ill repute. Naked Barbie is trying to drown Skipper in a tub of body scrub. Hulk Hogan and John Cena are tag-teaming Mr. Bubbles, and apparently the Little Mermaid has offered a full tea service for 24 of her closest water wenches.

But this day, it's all about hot water and a quiet, spirit-renewing environment. I close my eyes and lean my head back as I listen to the sounds of a bubbling brook and....farm animals? What the heck?

No wonder my little miracle machine was only $5. The relaxing water sounds are accompanied by an irritable Blue Bell with PMS, sic cock-fighting chickens, and a constipated sheep.

Well, ain't this just a relaxing day in the barnyard? No....just try to relax. The kids are downstairs, on the other side of two locked doors, and I'm in no hurry. Just breathe deep....and relax.

"Mommy! I brought you sum-pin!"

Holy helicopters, how did she get in here? 

"Baby, momma's taking a bath and trying to relax, so go back downstairs, okay?"

"But I bwought you a sup-wise!"  She proceeds to walk towards me with Christmas platter containing a Christmas mint and a half-eaten Hershey's kiss.

"Oooh, Mom, can I pway with some of your toys? I'll be Bah-bie, and you be the wrestlahs."

So much for relaxing. Hey, wait a minute...

"Honey, how did you get in here?"

Big smile...right on cue.

My daughter, while only four years old, could capture Fort Knox with a bowl of Jell-o, a tube sock, and a plastic spork. There is no door lock that she can't pick in the time it takes me to yell "leave me alone"... unless she's on the inside of it, in which case she's stranded for hours. I guess I need to brush up on my lock-picking skills.

"I just opened it, Mommy! Didn't I do so good?"

Yes, honey, you did great. Now excuse me while I submerge my head until the bubbles stop.

"Honey, go back downstairs with daddy while I finish my bath, okay? I'll be down in just a minute."

"Okay, Mommy. I love you!"

Love you, too, baby girl, but for the love of God and your own life, get...out...of...my...happy...place.

Finally, peace at last. It's starting to get a little chilly in here, so I grab the plastic cup on the edge to pour some warm water over my shoulders.

Trickle, trickle, splash....SON OF A ....! So much for that glass of ice water I was gonna drink. Dad gum it, now Barbie's gonna have to shave, too.

I'm back to listening to Dolly the cloned sheep rid herself of that pesky intestinal blockage when I hear something at the door.

"Hey, Mom, are you taking a bath?"

No, honey, I'm juggling chainsaws. 

"Baby, I'll be out in a minute."

"But, I just need to ask you a...."

"I'm sorry, but the party you're trying to reach is no longer available. Please try your call later, or leave a message after the beep. BEEP!"

"Uh, hey mom, it's Bubby... I was wondering if I could download this thing....."

Glub...glub...glub...

Could it be...silence at last?

Knock knock knock....

"If you don't get away from this door, I'm going to shove the first wrestler I can find where the sun don't shine! I told you, I'LL BE DOWN IN A MINUTE!"

"Geez, Mom, sorry. I was gonna tell you I took Emma back downstairs for you."

"Oh....thanks, Rae-Rae. Sorry for yelling. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Hey, Mom, while I've got your attention, what are we having for dinner?"

The next person that talks to me is gonna have the black-and-blue plate special:  a knuckle sandwich and a big cup of shut-the-heck-up. 

While I didn't get the peace and quiet, the solitude, or the relaxing ambiance I was looking for, I got clean just the same. The clock wound up being worth about $0.25, and I now live in a house with a whole bunch of useless door locks, but at least I had plenty of hot water to drown myself in.

"Okay, kids, I'm out. What did y'all need?"

Chirp, chirp.