To Wave or Not to Wave?

My kids very possibly have the nicest bus driver in the history of the world. When I went into the 1st grade and started riding the bus my bus driver's name was Mrs. Horn. The name was fitting, and I was terrified of her. You know the bad guys' 'Mama' from Goonies? Well, she wasn't quite that bad, but to my already-terrified-and-anxiety-ridden self she might has well have been. She was not warm and fuzzy, she didn't smile and learn your name, she certainly didn't hand out candy every Friday, and I'm not actually positive that her name wasn't granted to her because of her very loud, very commanding voice.

(Now that I think about it, I may have my older brother and his friend to thank for Mrs. Horn's presence on our route. They were not good bus passengers. For instance, there was some song {Van Halen maybe???} in the '80's that started with the sound of a train whistle. Well, remember the boom box? My brother and his friend had one, and they decided that it would be an awesome idea to cue the tape, turn up the volume, and hit play just as the bus was passing over the railroad tracks...)

(I think that may have been the last time they rode the bus in their high school careers, but they still claim that it was worth it.)

Anyhow, Mindy is not Mrs. Horn. She gives candy. She smiles. She ALWAYS pulls over when there is a car coming from either direction. (Seriously, I've been completely spoiled, and I now have no patience for driving behind a school bus. I can also always tell when she has a sub because apparently she is the only pull-over-and-let-the-cars-pass bus driver in the world.) And despite pulling over she always gets my kids to school on time. And she always waves.

Always. Which leaves me to the question at hand: how many times in the same day do you have to wave at the same person when you pass them on the road? And I don't mean 'if you pass them and wave in the morning do you have to wave again in the afternoon,' I mean within a five-ten minute period.

See, it's like this: My younger kids' school (which is out of district, so they don't ride the bus) is west of my road, and my older kids' (who only ride the bus home from school) is east. When I drive west to drop off the younger kids, Mindy is driving east. We wave.

Then I drive east and (often times) have to go back up my road to pick up my older kids, or get something that one of us forgot. On my way up my road Mindy will be driving down. We wave.

Then I'll be going back down my road and invariably catch up to the bus (because it keeps stopping to pick kids up) and of course Mindy pulls over to let me pass. As I pass - we wave.

AND THEN, after I drop my kids off at school and head west for home, Mindy is driving east (because I passed her on the road and got ahead of her again, remember?) AND WE WAVE AGAIN!

Do you think she gets as tired of waving as I do? (And have any of you had to draw a map to keep all of this straight yet?) I admit that sometimes I'll put my visor down or pretend to be texting because waving repeatedly gets SO AWKWARD! I begin to feel like an idiot. In the meantime, I pass my sister when I leave my younger kids off and she's on her way to drop hers, and we wave, and then after I drop my older kids off and head back home we usually pass again and I have to wave again.

And there are at least three other moms I dance this I-pass-you-a-million-times waving dance with, and I keep wondering why we're all still waving.

I also have to admit that occasionally I'll be driving a car no one's familiar with and I blithely make my entire drive without waving at any of them, all the while feeling so happy that they don't know they passed me. It's so much easier. Am I the only person in the world who has ever had this problem? (Other than the poor people who have to keep waving at me, of course.) Do other people just hit their limit and start refusing to wave on principle? Can I do that?

I don't feel like I can. I feel compelled to wave. I tell myself I won't and then my hand flies up on it's own and does it anyway. After all, they're all still waving, right? Are they just nicer and more polite than me, or are they rolling their eyes when they see me and quickly pretending to tune their radios so they can get out of at least one of our morning waves?

Okay, this is kind of going on and on. Enough. Enough with the waving. For now, anyway. I'm sure that by Monday morning I'll be right back at it again...

"Too Much Information" or "Another Mom Brain Fried in the Wal-Mart Checkout"

There seriously is nothing like the microscope of the Wal-Mart Checkout to fry a mother's brain. We've all seen it. We've probably all been victimized by it.

But some incidents are more painful to watch (and hear) than others. Such was the case tonight.

The scene: 9:30 in Wal-Mart's Garden Center Checkout.

The players: Me, a young mother with her two children, and about twenty other witnesses.

The situation: Very, very, very sad.

Here's how it went. After a long, meandering, child-free shopping trip, I purchased all my goods but one and loaded my car. I then drove over to the Garden Center to pick up a bike (for C's 5th birthday tomorrow) that I'd set aside at the checkout. As I came around the check station to get in line I see the following:

The said young mother and her kids. She was standing behind her cart, about five yards behind the last person in line, pleading with her 3-4 yr old boy to let her move forward.

His foot (and body weight) were blocking further progress.

Me: Oh, are you in line?

YM: Well, kind of. I'm trying to be. I've been standing here for twenty minutes.

Me: (thinking she meant she'd been waiting in line twenty minutes like I just had) Well then I'll just get behind you.

YM: (Look of panic and desperation set in as I move in behind her)

She then begins explaining how he wants this toy (which I'll call a "blah,blah" since that's what it sounded like when she said it), but there weren't any more - all the while desperately pushing against the kid to get him to move toward the line. He doesn't budge. Two more customers get behind me. She gets more desperate.

Apparently desperation makes her want to talk.

So as she moves to the front of the cart to battle more effectively with her child, she tells me (loudly - definitely loud enough for the man behind me to hear) that she "just needed to get tampons" (waves box in air to prove point). Then she turns to the child:

YM: They don't have a blah,blah. They're all gone. You need to move.

Child: I want blah,blah (whine, whine)

YM: They don't have a blah,blah! You need to move, there are people behind us.

Child: I want blah,blah (whine, whine)

YM: (sounding a little frantic, but still sane) We need to move! They don't have the toy! (physically tries moving child - child goes limp - she gains about three inches - woman two people back sighs loudly).

Child: I want blah,blah (whine, whine)

YM: (to me)(loudly)(getting VERY frustrated)(and probably starting to sweat) I was just sitting on my couch, and I started my period! So I just had to come and get some tampons (waves box again)(I feel man behind me cringe).

Me: (to make her feel better, and to get her off the tampon subject) It's okay, I have four of my own.

YM: How do you do it! I am done. I'm not having any more. (tugs on kid, gains a few more inches. There's still a few people in front of her, so she's okay).

Me: Really? Are you sure? (don't ask why I said it. I don't know. I was trying to make conversation).

YM: (again, speaking loudly) When I had HIM (points to angelic 15 month old in cart) the doctor asked me if I wanted a TUBAL LIGATION. I asked him, "a TUBAL LIGATION?" and he said, "Yeah, a TUBAL LIGATION." I said, "you mean get my TUBES TIED?" and he said "yes, a TUBAL LIGATION." I said "of course I want my TUBES TIED!!! I don't want ANY more!" and he said, "well we could have, since you had a c-section, but you have to give us twenty day's notice, so it's too late."

I swear she really did say TUBAL LIGATION at least that many times. And what's up with her doctor?

About this time the person in front of her moves up. This is when she really started to lose it, and started bargaining with the child. (And where I wished I could help her, but knew that every mother must do her time in the Wal-Mart checkout, and there was nothing to do but watch, and feel a LOT of pity).

YM: (to child, who has been incessantly saying "I want blah,blah" since we last mentioned him) You have to move. If you move, I'll come back in the morning and get you the toy.

Child: I want blah,blah (whine, whine)

YM: Fine. If you don't move, I'll take away the "blah,blah" you already have when we get home.

Child: I want blah,blah (whine, whine)

YM: (repeats this last exchange at least five times before moving on to...) Don't be such a cry baby! I'm taking away your toy. You're such a whiny brat, why can't you be good like your baby brother? You're the one acting like the baby. Don't be a whiny baby.

Child: I want blah,blah (whine, whine)

YM: You're being such a brat! Stop it! If you don't stop crying like a cry baby, I'll call you a baby - I'll call you Riley! (apparently they know a crybaby named Riley) Did you hear me? Do you want me to call you Riley?

Child: No.

YM: Well I will. I'll call you Riley if you keep being such a bratty cry baby.

Child: (miraculously stops crying, moves away from cart, and line proceeds forward).

She then admitted to me (loudly) that she really had always wanted three, but since her first two had different dads she was worried people would think she was a whore.

Another mom-brain fried, compliments of Wal-Mart.

So I think we should all have a few moments of silence for this poor young mother, and all the others like her, who have been recent casualties of the Wal-Mart checkout. If you're among the fallen, you're included. We salute you. (we've all BEEN you). There is no mother who is immune to this hazard (except for those that do all their shopping online), whether it is because of inexperience, over-confidence, crabby/sick/difficult children, or any other contributing factor to public meltdowns of offspring.

Please don't feel bad. This too shall pass.

(But whatever you do, try not to mention your period, tubal ligations, or suggest {under ANY circumstances} that you might be a whore. And if you must mention any of these things, I advise whispering).

(ouch).

Why You Should Make Your Children Learn Piano

Today the other two pianists in our ward were both gone. For me, this translates into the following Sunday:

Play the organ for Sacrament meeting, and step in last minute for a musical number.

Play for the first hour of primary.

Run down and play for the Young Women so they can practice the song they're singing next week.

Hurry back and play for Relief Society.

Stay for choir, and realize there's no one to play the piano. Surprise!! I get to show off my fumbling, oops! I mean "sight reading" skills. That was great for the old self-esteem. It would have been easier for the poor people trying to sing their notes if I'd actually PLAYED any of them.

Went home for two and a half hours, and had my kids practice their piano lessons. This I obviously can't blame on the missing pianists, but still.

Went back in to church AGAIN to play for a Young Women's program - and found out they'd decided to do a last minute musical number, and oh, by the way, would you mind singing along since there aren't that many of them???

(As a side note to this last one, I actually wouldn't have missed the program for the world, and really was totally happy to play - and even sing. It was just so ironic that my piano-playing Sunday just kept going on, and on, and on...)

So, please. If you have children, make them take piano. I'm begging you. There are not enough of us (outside of Utah anyway), and it's DRIVING ME CRAZY!!!!!! I don't care if they hate it, some day they will thank you. (But not on days like today. On these days they will curse you - and all those nice parents who failed to force their children to continue on even though it was "boring" and they "hated it", because if those parents had just done a little more forcing, then maybe their child would be in your child's ward, and could PICK UP A LITTLE PIANO SLACK!!!!)

Ugh.

Fat-Around-The-Middle

So, I'm a fat-around-the-middle girl. This classification has no bearing on how much fat I have, it simply refers to where my fat likes to accumulate. I have spent almost two decades trying to decide if I am grateful for this fact, or if I hate it.

First let me explain what it means to be a fat-around-the-middle-girl (aka FATMG). It means I have skinny legs. And no hips. And a little butt. I have friends who try to tell me that I don't have a butt, but I do. It's just not very big. Meaning, it really could stand to be bigger. This is one of the downsides of being a FATMG. Another downside is never having that elusive flat stomach the fat-around-the-hips/butt/thighs (FATHBTG's) ALWAYS have. Or their tiny little waists, or their nice shapely/thin-at-the-top arms.

It also means that 90% of the time I must wear a belt. This is because there is not enough in the hips/buttage area to hold up my pants. Ever try to belt something around a phone pole? Yep, that's me. I rarely have to button or unbutton any of my pants. Undo the belt, wriggle and pull, and they slide right down. (Let's not even talk about the falling-off joke that is maternity pants). The most unfortunate part of this arrangement is that in order to be effective, the belt has to be pretty snug, showcasing the "fat around the middle" by squishing it out over the tops of my jeans.

There are other small irritations, like always having to pull the front of my pants up over my eternal "tummy roll" when I sit down to keep it under control. Holding a pillow/book/purse/anything strategically in front of said roll is equally effective.

Then there's the weight gain vs size issue. I have several friends who fall into the very desirable fat-all-over-girl (FAOG) category. These lucky girls gain their weight everywhere, which gives them so much leeway. I always hear them saying things like, "I gained ten pounds last month." Yet when you look at them, you can hardly tell. Someone once told me to compare a pound of fat to a pound of butter. Every time you gain a pound of fat, it's like taking that pound of butter and spreading it on your body. Can you imagine what it's like for us FATMG's to put ten pounds in one spot? Five pounds (depending on the current weight zone) can grow FATMG's right out of their clothes. This is depressing.

There is, however, an upside.

1. Jackets hide a multitude of sins.

2. When pregnant, our butts don't get bigger.

3. When all else fails, there are those skinny legs.

4. When five pounds means growing out of your clothes, you can't ignore the issue. Let's just say it keeps you on your toes.

But I still think you FAOG's have it made.

So here's to all you FATMG's, FATHBTG's, and even you FAOG's. Hope I didn't miss anyone:)

Heartbreak and Horny Toads

Tragedy has struck our home. I'm actually feeling a little sick right now. And They don't know about it yet. They're all sleeping soundly in their beds, dreaming of motorcycles, football, and horny toads.

Speaking of horny toads, let's talk about animals for a minute. I am not what you'd consider an "animal lover". I don't hate animals, I just view them as animals. Not people. They have a place, and if they stay in it and are good little animals, we get along just fine. I've even been known to develop a fondness for good pets, like our dog Rosie, and Prissy our cat. I also feel that pets (of some type) are like a right of passage for children.

Then there are the pets I have no toleration for. For instance, if it stinks, requires live food, has a living space requiring cleaning, or provides no actual physical interaction with my children (why do people have fish??) I want nothing to do with it. Our late pac man frog (rest his stinky, worm/cricket eating, BORING, un-touchable soul) fit all these categories. Thankfully, we acquired him late in his life and he didn't last too long. When he left us for froggy Heaven, I vowed I was finished with amphibians and reptiles forever. Watching them eat is not thrilling enough to justify all the previously mentioned setbacks.

Then came the horny toad.

Last week my brother inherited a baby horny toad. We're talking infant here. Roughly the size of a quarter, he ran from any prey bigger than those tiny little sugar ants. Even I had to admit he was kind of cute in that baby-horny-toad-way of his. My brother instantly offered to give the little guy to my children. How noble of him. Couldn't he have asked the mother first? I of course, immediately stomped out all their dreams of horny-toad-ownership with some callous statement like, "Absolutely not, never ask again, we will not EVER own another frog." Within a day or two, my brother found a loophole.

"We're going camping," he innocently said. "Could you babysit the horny toad? We already showed the boys how to feed him."

What could I say? Being the nice sister I am, I could find no justifiable way out, and so I said yes. The parting words from my brother were "just keep him till the boys get bored..." Yeah. Right.

Then a surprising thing happened. I began to grow kind of fond of the itty bitty baby. He was cutish, and unlike stupid Fat Albert the pac man frog, the boys could actually handle the horny toad. And horny toads don't stink. Much to my children's delight, I decided maybe we could keep him after all.

Little Horny made his home in a small, tupper-ware type container with a little sand and a rock. To keep him away from the smallest members of our family, he was (shrewd readers will notice the use of PAST tense here) kept on top of the fridge. Just yesterday I walked by and noticed the container was too close to the edge, where it would fall if the freezer door was opened. I pushed it back and made a mental note to talk to the boys.

Today I had a baby sitter. For dinner she made my kids frozen pizza.

Later, while I was doing something REALLY important (like playing on my computer, i.e. blogging) my older boys asked where Little Horny was. A little red flag went off in my head (and was just as quickly ignored), and I sent the boys back to bed.

A little while later I went into the kitchen to hunt for a nighttime snack.

I opened the freezer.

I screamed. (Okay, I gasped. "Screamed" just sounded way more dramatic).

There, IN THE FREEZER!!! was Little Horny's House!!!

In an instant I realized what must have happened. Baby sitter opens freezer door to remove pizza. Tupper-ware type container falls to the floor. Being fifteen and just a little bit not-so-smart, baby sitter fails to realize the container IS NOT COLD and places it BACK?! in the freezer!!!

Poor, poor Little Horny. Do you think there's any chance the little guy will thaw out? It was only four and a half hours or so...

And poor, poor ME! You all must know what I'm in for tomorrow morning - a majorly loud, majorly long, majorly miserable session of much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. I guarantee you it will not be either pretty, or peaceful in the Baxter household tomorrow morning. The dread is currently sitting in my stomach like a rock. I feel terrible.

If something like this had to happen, why couldn't it have happened to Fat Albert? Then I could have secretly rejoiced, which would have given me extra strength and stamina for the bouts of teeth gnashing. As it is, I feel terrible. He was just a baby! I actually LIKED him! Now I'll be tempted to get another one - and it probably won't be free.

So anyways, that was my stinky evening. How was yours?