God's Perfect Timing

As a Christian, I know we are supposed to always trust in His plan and wait with a knowing....but I am not only a Christian, I'm also human...and I DON'T LIKE TO WAIT!!!

Seriously. Send me in a restaurant giving out free cheesecake with a line out the door, and I'll go next door to buy a piece for $5 with no wait. If you want to see smoke boil out of my ears, make me wait on you...that's a real quick way to get on the "Tainted Taco Bell Buffet" list. (By the way, would anyone like to come over to celebrate Cinco de Mayo with some local Mexican cuisine? I know it's the 8th, but I've been waiting on you since the 5th.)

I've never told my whole story on here, and I won't get to all of it today, but there are some things on my heart that I've got to get out before it explodes like a Crohn's patient after said buffet.

But for now, look at the outline of how God has put things together. It's truly amazing.

1997- I graduated high school and went to college.
1999- Ended a long term relationship with an amazing guy...and couldn't tell you why. I just knew that we weren't supposed to be together anymore. I decided that for the first time in a long time, I wasn't going to be tied down to anyone. I refused to enter into another serious relationship. After all, it's college, right? Time to have fun!

1999- 6 weeks later- I met my husband. I wanted to enjoy being single for a while, but God had other plans. Yes, I fought Him for a little while, but thank goodness He kept his hand on me.

Feb 11 2000-  My better half asked me to marry him, and I said...."get up". Not "yes", but "get up". (And no, I'll never live that down!)

Feb 25 2000- The man I've just agreed to spend the rest of my life with is diagnosed with lung cancer.

After a few insane weeks, his diagnosis is changed to lymphoma, and he begins chemo. So, he and I (equipped with all of my wedding planning magazines) take up residence in a chemo ward in Atlanta for a while. The Jewish doctor in the Catholic hospital tells us that there's a very good chance he won't be able to father children. (Keep in mind, I've been given a similar report for different biological reasons.)

March 2000- We learn of a church meeting in a little community center in Cumming, GA, and decide to try it out. Let me tell you...GOD LIVED THERE! I know that God is everywhere, but in that little community building, we had His direct number and, honey, He answered our calls!

April 2000- The Mr. goes up for prayer, and all heaven breaks loose. When we leave church that morning, we know what He's done.

April 2000- Dr's appointment. Pablo tells the Jewish doctor treating the Pentecostal young man in the Catholic hospital that he's seen the great physician, and will no longer be needing his services. The doctor's response? "You'll be dead in a year."

(Picking up the pace here...)
December 2000- We're married.

2001- We decide that we're going to start trying to have a baby.

A couple of weeks later, we're pregnant. <3

2002- We have a beautiful, healthy baby boy.

2004- We shared a Coke at McDonald's, and God gives us another butterbean!

2005- Our second son arrives.

2008- We passed each other on the sidewalk one day, so God gave us another butterbean!
(If you haven't noticed, God healed both of our fertility issues!!!)
Dec 2008- I finish my Associate's Degree. It wasn't much to me, but it's progress, right?

2009- Our little princess arrives.

Things begin to get a little messy here. Jobs are lost, vehicles are downsized, utilities are barely staying on, but we're surviving.

2012- Due to unexpected professional circumstances, we leave behind the area, family and friends that we love to move.

2013- I'm doing an internet search one day, and I come across a school where the tuition is a flat rate per term. The cost is the same whether you take 5 hours or 50. I've never done it before, but I pick up the phone and call the '800' number to speak to a counselor. A month later, I start classes. A few of my earlier credits transferred, but I still have a long way to go.

2014- My husband is sent to work 8 hours away for a span of several months. For three kids who worship their daddy, this is unbelievably hard on them, but we manage to survive. (Thank God for video chat!) While he's gone, things change....a lot. Suppers are sandwiches or cereal. (Why cook when nobody eats it?) The laundry piles up all week, and Saturday is marathon laundry day. There are usually dirty dishes in the sink, and I put on make-up and fix my hair MAYBE 10% of the time.

May 5, 2014- God finally flips a light switch for me. I talk to my advisor, and she is floored by what she's looking at. Since my husband has been gone, I've completed 36 hours in one term. I have 60 hours of classroom observation, and then I will begin student teaching.

What's so amazing about this? Think about it. I began college 17 years ago, and somehow, it falls into place that my observation and student teaching will take place when "the baby" starts kindergarten? The third of three children that man said we would never have. The third of three miracles that GOD said we should have.

I never really understood why it never worked out for me to finish school, but I finally do. You see, I was looking at jobs the other day, and I saw one that caught my eye.

"Certified Oncological Social Worker". Um, why have I not heard about this before?

I used to think I wanted to be a nurse so that I could help cancer patients, but our family dynamics and schedules never allowed for nursing school. What's the chance that, as I draw closer to finally finishing my Bachelor's degree, that I would run across this field of work that I've never heard of?

I've always been drawn to people affected by cancer. I love doing what I can to help them, and if I ever win the lottery, I will spend my time and money doing just that. But for now, I'll work toward a career in it to ease my family's burden and hopefully make the way a little smoother for them.

So, that said, DON'T GIVE UP ON GOD! Like the words from one of my favorite songs by the Crabb Family, "He never promised that the cross would not be heavy or the hills would not be hard to climb".
School is why I don't blog much anymore. It turns out that doing two years of school in two semesters takes up most of your time. =)  But, that said, please keep me in your prayers that I would keep my nose to the grind stone, finish up my undergrad in teaching, and then move on to grad school. It's time to turn one of the darkest times of my life into a resource and a blessing for those wading through it now.

I'm finally starting to see His plan for me, and wow, it feels amazing.

If you're interested in helping others but have limited resources, I invite you to check out www.chemoangels.net. I've worked with them for several years, and it is one of the most rewarding things you will ever do. They also have a "Senior Angel" program where you participate as a pen pal for senior citizens who may or may not be invalids.

Well, that's all for now. If I don't go finish my last two papers of this monstrous term, I won't be moving on to anything! Be blessed everyone.

2014: Just Another Kick in the Bass Fishing Tournament

Hey everybody! I didn't realize it'd been so long since I whined blogged. No, actually that's a lie. I know exactly how long it's been, but 2014 ain't exactly had humor juice in it's watering can. It's been more like the spit bottle of that tobacco-spittin' man of mine. It stinks, it ain't real pretty, and if you accidentally take you a swig thinking it's Coke, somebody's gonna be worshiping the porcelain prince.

It's about 6 weeks into this glorious gumbo of gerbil guts, and unfortunately, it's too late to turn back now.

But instead of sitting here griping about it, I'm going to turn it into a learning activity. Granted, no kids will learn from it unless it's on Youtube with "Let It Go" blaring at 18,000 decibels. (No, I haven't seen Frozen. Yes, I've heard it's wonderful. My daughter has been shrieking the song since around November, and it has completely destroyed any desire I ever had to see these two Disney poopsicles floating around throwing 3-D glitter in my face.

Speaking of throwing stuff in your face, we've had two pretty good snows in the past month. The first resulted in a bad case of whiplash, no lie. Apparently the speed and velocity reached by the time your feet go higher than your head are enough to bring out the whistling birds put a serious hitch in your get along. The second snow? We went out some, but the lingering ringing in my ears and stabbing pain in my neck seemed to damper the festivities.

But anyway...a play on letters addressing the shove-itness of 2014.

A is for the alcohol used for cough syrup for my son, who was one game of hopscotch away from an iron lung.

B is for the butt I busted on the ice, leaving me unable to do the Macarena...or mop, apparently.

C is for the 50 cheese sandwiches Rae-Rae has eaten as he's still boycotting anything with more than 2 ingredients.

D is for "dammit", which has officially been the word of the year.

E is for Emzilla and her newfound love of snorting and doing that little girl scream that makes you want to go buy them a pair of nads at the local animal shelter.

F is for Frozen....the worst, most torturous movie I've never seen. According to Facebook, everybody short of Helen Keller has made "Let It Go" their own, and all I can do is beg that they, in fact, let it go.

G is for my sweet Granny that went to heaven in January. She was a real woman, and I'm so thankful that I got to spend her last day on earth with her.

H is for "How was I supposed to know that we had homework? Well, yeah, she told us, but I thought she was kidding."  Three guesses which kid this one's for.

I is for "If one more thing tears up, I'm gonna start blowing stuff away with our shotgun." No, it's not irrational...it's called taking control of the situation.

J is for 'just keep swimming.' I love Dory.  She's my favorite character of...wait, what were we talking about?

K is for Kenmore, the brand of the dryer that I disassembled in an effort to fix it. It's still not fixed, but I'm so proud that I got the non-working parts put back into place, I'm leaving it for the time being.

L is for Lester, my alter-ego who gets me in so much trouble. I promise, if I piss you off with anything I've done or not done, it was clearly Lester, and I cannot be held accountable for his actions.

M is for "Momma, make it stop!"  2014, that is.

N is for 'Nsufficient funds. Why does nobody have money anymore? Me thinks Obama's been fueling Michelle's pond hopping excursions by seizing and burning Hamilton's and Washington's.

O is for "Oh my goodness, Russia is finally doing something that makes you proud for them!" Seriously, the opening ceremonies were beautiful.

P is for Putin....and Putin's games. I'm 35 years old, and I still can't say his name without snorting.

Q is for "I Quit!"  If anyone can find the address for the Stay At Home Mom's Human Resources Division, I will pay good cash money for it.

R is for "Rarely will my truck crank on the first try." It needs tires and probably a battery, but why pay to let a murderous hooker on the Green Mile get new acrylic nails? Some things just don't make sense.

S is for shit. Pretty self-explanatory, even if offensive.

T is for "Tell me why the heat in our house makes it colder except for in the master closet. It's nice and toasty in there."

U is for Under God, I swear I'm getting a hybrid tank for my next vehicle. Cut me off  again, Ms. Suburban Driving, tennis visor-wearing, mom of 17 perfect kids that volunteers at Trader Joe's in her spare time, and you'll understand why I'm getting the tank.

V is for victory! No matter how many kids puke, how many bones are broken, how many Ramen noodles you eat, you will survive. And according to the owner's manual, that's a victory.

W is for "We're gonna play a game of sit-down-and-shut-up-while-mommy's-in-her-school-webinar."

X is for Xpect. I expect that by the time my husband finishes his stint working in Virginia, my grey temples will make me bear a striking resemblance to Grandpa Munster.

Y is for YOLO, a term that I detest. The words are "Carpe Diem", you illiterate twits. Yolo sounds like Rolo, and every time I hear the word, my hopes are dashed as I still don't have any damn chocolate.

Z is for Zeus, Ziggy and Zhwang, the possible identities of the ghosts in this house. Since the weather has become so erratic, we are apparently hosting a paranormal hopscotch tournament in the upstairs bathroom. As I sit hear in what should be silence, avoiding doing my school work and putting up the load of clothes that took 18 hours to air dry yesterday, it sounds like somebody lubed up the bathroom floor for an intoxicated Limbo contest of the spirits.

So there, boys and girls. And ode to 2014.

Ode.
Commode.
Come on.
Rally on.
Rally's.
I want a cheeseburger.
Rae-Rae won't eat burgers.
Make him try a bite.
Gags, gonna hurl.
Rally round the 'ol white throne,
The 'ol white commode.

See? It's all about the crapper.

Say a prayer that I can keep juggling everything. It's about to break me...kind like that piece of ice that turned me into the elephant man for a week.

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.