The Wedding Day Conspiracy

I went to a beautiful wedding this weekend.  Such a lovely bride, such a stunning dress....such a tiny waist. 


I started to think....what happened to my waist since my wedding day?  See the evidence below:

Tiny waist.  I can breathe and everything in that dress.  Slender arms, no hint of chin fat.  I didn't even have to say, "Let me know when you're about to take this picture so I can suck in!"

Something happened.  I can't explain it.  But, it's something dark and sinister.  Maybe it has to do with being happy in life.  Maybe it's getting older.  Maybe it's eating McDonald's when I'm pregnant instead of salad.

I saw this picture of myself today...and I wept:

2 chins.  Sausage arms.  Dolly Parton bust.  Big 'ol baby belly.   Sigh.

Better not tell this weekend's bride about this evil, unstoppable force.

Permanent

Why didn't someone tell me that tattoos are really permanent? (Besides my mother, who fell to her knees and wept when she realized that I did, in fact, go with my boyfriend to the tattoo parlor and get inked.)

I still feel really bad about that.

A 20-year-old has no concept of "never coming off." At that age, I knew everything and nothing at all; a dangerous thing. I thought the lily, and later the butterfly, were awesome and indicative of where I was in life. So deep and meaningful, I'm sure.

And now the darn things won't come off.

My wedding day, a formal dinner, a trip to the beach....anytime I show my feet or shoulders, there they are. Mocking me.

I've been too chicken to have them removed, I hear it is more painful than childbirth; I barely made it out of that.

I changed my mind after the precious girls in my Sunday School class all insisted I give them "butterfly tattoos like Miss Sara!" All 6 of them went home from Sunday School that day with a Moses color sheet and a purple butterfly and a stern warning from Miss Sara that only silly girls get real tattoos.

This silly girl knows from personal experience.

My Legacy

There is absolutely no denying that I have a fondness for words that I shouldn't. I have managed to offend several people I love, was trying to impress or should have been trying to impress. I have honestly been trying like never before to say "shoot" or "darn" or "bummer" in lieu of the word I actually want to say. First of all, it's just tacky to talk that way. Second, I have a toddler that repeats my words.

So, I've been trying. Please keep that in mind.

Scene: Playing cards with my Mommy friends.

Her: My daughter said something the other day, I think she got it from you.

Me: Oh, really?

I ran through all of my most-used saying:

-Super Duper!
-I want both of you to be sweet to each other!
-Tattling hurts my ears.
- You can get glad in the same shoes you got mad.
-Cool Beans!
-Run like the wind!

* I was hoping it was something cute and sweet......

Her: Yeah, she was frustrated about something and said, "Oh, CRAP!"

Oh, cr.........bummer.

Me vs. The Short Shorts (I didn't win...)

When I was 18, I baby-sat 3 very energetic little girls. One of them, now 19, came to visit for a couple of weeks. It was heaven. I love her energy, her heart, the way my son fell in love with her instantly, the way my kitchen would magically be clean when I would come home...and that's just the beginning.

But things turned nasty when I put her laundry on the bed and I decided to try these on:



I was oh so painfully reminded that:

A. I am not 19
B. I do not have her tan legs
C. I have had a baby
D. I only work out once a month

I made her leave immediately. Sigh. Not really, I just decided to accept that my season for short cut-offs is officially over, and I should stick to my spray tan and knee shorts. And then I made her change a poopy diaper.

Because if I have to deal with reality, she has to join me.

The Unexpected

As a wedding planner, I've learned to expect the unexpected at any wedding:

Red wine on the bridal gown?
No problem, I'll grab some club soda and we'll get it right out!

Mother-of-the-Bride hates the Mother-of-the-Groom?
No problem, let's all have some complimentary champagne.

The groom is missing and might be at the bar next door?
No problem, unruly grooms can be motivated by an angry Mother-of-the-Bride. Every time.

Bride calls off the wedding and runs away?
Okay, even I can't fix that one.

I try never to look shocked, and I try to keep a pleasant smile on my face so that no one gets panicky.

I did a bad job this time:

The Grandmother of the bride took a nasty fall in front of the chapel. She walked in with a busted nose, a busted lip and a bloody knee. I can't remember exactly what I did, but it was about as helpful as running around in circles screaming, "somebody call 911!" And, I might have had a mild panic attack, (blood freaks me out, I still don't know how I gave birth).

And this is why my business partner/sister rocks. She calmly took Grandma to the bathroom, and began patching her up, icing her down and fixing her make-up to hide the scratches. She accomplished all of this before the ceremony began.

I accomplished procuring a first-aid kit and getting control of my stomach. And then serving myself and Grandma some complimentary champagne.

Cause it's important to contribute...

My Little, Red Engine

I've wanted one for 2 years...ever since I discovered that cooking was not the devil's punishment for wives and mothers.

Daddy Doo presented it to me for my birthday. Bless his loyal heart, he acted confident in my skills. He didn't make wisecracks about my pumpkin roll gone bad, my peppermint cake that broke teeth, the unfortunate pineapple upside-down-cake incident or my E-Z Bake disasters.

My sister tried to follow his example. But, she couldn't help but look a little concerned when she casually asked why I wanted one, (the memory of the peppermint cake is probably too vivid in her mind...)

Here's the thing: I've been watching Food Network for 3 years. I've been reading Pioneer Woman. I've been checking out cookbooks from the library. I've been quizzing my 2 mother-in-laws and begging for tips. I've been practicing.

I think I'm ready.


Hello, Lover.

A Tale of Two Cousins

7 years ago my sister fell in love with a little fur ball and named him Smegil. The drama began immediately when she brought him home and he refused to walk on a leash, eat or potty train.

She called me in tears one day and yelled, "I let the little butthead, (not the real word she used), outside for half an hour! He wouldn't go to the bathroom so I let him back in the house, then he just looked at me and whizzed all over my carpet!"

I then proceeded to laugh until I hurt.

7 years later, I put my little boy on his fancy, singing potty. He sat there. I read books to him. He sat there some more. We sang songs. He sat there. We practiced colors. He announced, "All done." In fact, he had done nothing in his potty.

He stood up, looked me straight in the eye, and peed on me and my carpet.

The best part? I was on the phone with my sister when he did it. I have tasted my own medicine and it is bitter.



The Potty Protesters

The Things I Do for a Toddler

Evidence is mounting that my son has too many toys. When his bestie got a red car, I allegedly went straight to Babies R'Us and bought one for him. He was seriously in love with it- and the devil made me do it.

Clearly.

The drama happened when my husband had to work late and my son insisted on driving the car immediately.


"Easy" 50-step instructions:


I have a college degree- how hard can this be? Oh, my battered pride:


He wouldn't leave me alone, I wasn't assembling fast enough...so he drove it like this until bedtime:


After much concentration, bad words muttered under my breath, a screwdriver being thrown across the room and making my husband finish the job at midnight...I present....



And that ends my desire to do it all myself-I don't need help-my son wants this-I can totally follow directions.

My Childless Wisdom

When I was childless and knew everything, I said things like:

1. I won't let my kid eat in the car.

2. I won't give my kid much sugar.

3. I won't get my kid fast food.

4. I certainly would never give my kid sugar as a reward for good behavior.







I now have a toddler, I know nothing and he loves Sonic ice cream. It seems to be working out okay...and carseat covers can be washed....

An Unlikely Break-Up

My son is officially acting two. I was not so delusional that I thought I could get through unscathed, but this is ridiculous. It takes him 2 hours to get to sleep at night. He gets up 2 or 3 times in the middle of the night, climbs in my bed and then sleeps on my face. To add insult to injury; his 2-nap-a-day has gone to 30 minutes. With about an hour of drama before that. He punches, he hits, he whines and he refuses to eat. A completely different toddler within 2 days.

When I get this frustrated in a relationship, I like to break-up with the person. I imagine my current relationship problem could be dealt with like this:

Dear Toddler, I need to write this out so that I can get it all out before you interrupt me. First of all, you're great; you're going to go far in life. I truly want only the best for you. I just think we're in a different place right now, you know? It's not you; it's me! I just can't handle a serious relationship right now. I love you a lot, but I think I just need my space for awhile.

Love,
Me

But, I won't write this. Instead, I will get up in the middle of the night and comfort him. I will make endless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches if that's all he'll eat right now. I will pray. I will call my Mother and cry. I will ask for advice on facebook. And I will get over it. Cause I'm the mommy now. And a 2-year-old will not best me...I hope...


Cheetos are calories, right??

A Day with my New Cookbook:Part II

Since my oven had not produced good results, I thought I would try with an iron skillet. How hard could it be? I looked online to see how to"season" my skillet. Next, I oiled it and put it in the oven for an hour. This happened:



Once it was seasoned, I assembled the ingredients and made the batter:


*Yes, there is a fire extinguisher close. Refer to picture #1.

I buttered and sugared the bottom, then poured the cake batter in:



So far, so good. I am following the directions perfectly, and there is a delicious pineapple aroma wafting through my kitchen.

I became concerned when I saw the black smoke coming from the sides:



I checked my recipe and corresponding pictures; and black smoke was not mentioned. Since the cake was still not done all the way through; I just laughed it off as some part of iron skillet cooking that I didn't know about.

I took the pan off the stove when this happened again:



After 2 hours of work and concentration, I present my pineapple upside down cake:



*Cuss word. Cuss word. Cuss word.

A Day with my New Cookbook:Part I

We were snowed in for 3 days. I eventually ran out of projects and had an idea:What if I got out my new Pioneer Woman Cooks cookbook and baked all day? True, it didn't go along with my healthy eating plan...but I personally believe that being cooped up with a toddler for 3 days deserved baked goods; it's only fair.

First, there was the blackberry cobbler:



It turned out okay; but my devil oven doesn't cook evenly. It tasted great with a side of vanilla ice cream, though!

Next, I tried orange muffins. Once again, quite tasty, but the devil oven made them stick to the well-greased muffin tin. I did my best to dislodge them, putting forth all my rage at my oven:


They turned out like this:



I mashed them up in a bowl and put a large scoop of ice cream on top to disguise my muffin-incompetence.

I should have stopped there, but I saw a recipe for an Iron Skillet Upside Down Cake. And that's when the real drama began....

Momisms

I am often surprised at what comes out of my mouth on any given day. Here is a sampling:

"Nobody likes to be stared at when they use the bathroom."

"Put the knife away."

"Don't touch your poo! Don't touch your poo! Don't touch your poo!"

"That's not nice to spit in mommy's homemade meal."

"You do not need coffee. Yes, I am sure."

"Tampons are not for little boys!"

"Eyeshadow is not for little boys!"

"Facebook is not for little boys!"



Apparently, he and Emma are doing some chatting. I'm calling her mother.

Our Unabashed Wine Trip

What happens when the Oklahoma gals go to Sonoma Valley, CA?


*Unabashed singing


*Unabashed dancing


*Unabashed taking-over-the-stage-cause-she-had-a-few-things-to-say


*Unabashed posing


*Unabashed drank-so-much-we-fell-down


*Unabashed wedding-posing

I had a fabulous time; and think it worked out best that I took most of the pictures...

Playing Dirty 2009

The Annual Dessert Contest is well-underway. The sabotaging started yesterday with this e-mail from my Mother to all the voters:

Hello most revered friends, I just want to express how delighted I am that I will be sharing Christmas this year with so many wonderful voters, I mean revelers. I just wanted to assure one and all that I will be providing the winning dessert and not to worry re: the losers' feelings....they're used to it. Love, Kelly

It ended today with my poster:

Do you want these two making YOUR Christmas dessert?



I'm scared by my sister's retaliation. She can be as mean as a snake if you post bad pictures.

If I Had A Daughter...

If I had a daughter, I would do things like this to her:

*Mousse her hair and take pictures

*Put on flowery hats and take pictures

*Put on Santa hats and take pictures.

*Uh-oh...I've asked too much.

*Yes, she wants her Mommy now.

And this is probably why God gave me a son. No princess should have to endure this.

Extreme Bathroom Makeover

The funnest part of my marriage is my constant need to redecorate and my husband's constant need for things to stay the same.

Imagine the fun night at our house when he came home to this:



And this:



I was sick of our nasty bathroom-that never seemed clean-even though I bleached and cleaned religiously-it just looked gross all the time- so I took a hammer to it.

Ahem

With a little baby-sitting money, a little help from Amy and Mom and 3 trips to the chiropractor, we now have this:



And now I have my eye on the guest bathroom. Don't tell my husband.

Food Network Challenges

When I was on the couch for an entire summer with a dislocated rib, (I will not mention which fetus made that possible,) I watched a lot of Food Network. At the time, I had 3 meals in my repertoire: Trailer Trash Burritos, spaghetti and hot dogs. As I was about to become a full-time homemaker and mommy, I thought it was time to add to that list.

I was religious about it. I learned seasonings, the proper use of kitchen tools, the proper handling of raw meat, how to baste, how to puree, ect. I called my mother-in-law for lessons and tips. I went to see Memaw with my notebook and had her show me live and in-person how to make a good pot roast.

For the past two years, I was proud of my progress. I could turn out a pretty good dinner night after night, with only a few mishaps that usually involved frying chicken.

Stupid fried chicken.

However, the Food Network didn't prepare me for this:



He is literally screaming and trying to escape my beautiful presentation of homemade lasagna, sliced zucchini and fresh tomatoes.

What would Paula Deen do? I'll have to get back to you on that. I'll tell you what Sara Thompson did:



I bought one of every kind. And I get these results every time:



Stupid Food Network.

Mommy a Favorite? Not So Much....

I've been very disturbed by an ongoing issue with my son.

I don't think he likes me.

Yeah, I'm his favorite when we're home all day together, and he doesn't have any choices. You know, kind of like when you're hungry but the only thing you have in the fridge is an apple. So, you eat the apple but you really want a Twinkie? So, yeah, kind of like that.

I suffer silently when he runs to his Daddy and his Grandparents, and then shakes his head "no" if I want to hold him. I just sigh and accept it when he doesn't seem real excited to see me when I pick him up from Sunday School. He looks around, hoping his Daddy came with me.

The final straw came when we were having a meeting with our pastors and my son repeatedly hugged his Daddy then shrieked in agony when I tried to get a freaking hug. Awesome. Glad I decided to be a stay-at-home-mom.

I called my little sis the next day and cried that I was a good mommy and deserved some love. She was very quiet for a moment and then blurted, "Sara, he's probably just sick of you."

Once my ego recovered, I knew she was absolutely dead-on. How can he miss me if I never go away? I suppose a Mother's Day Out program would be a good idea. For both of us.


Me and my little guy? We're doing alright.

Ready for the U.S. Open

I started playing tennis with my girlfriends on Monday evenings. I've never played tennis in my life, but I was tempted by the cardio workout and the beer afterward. Also tempting was that we were all beginners, so my ego was safe. (That's important to the girl picked last in gym.)

I had a great idea to let the tennis enthusiasts, also known as my husband and mother-in-law, give me some lessons so that I don't look like an idiot during my next game. This is how they play:


BAM! POW! Take that, MOM!


BOOM! SWAT! I gave birth to 10-pound babies, BRING IT!


And then, there's me:



Um, can I stand at half-court? When is the water break?

I'm haven't quite earned my tennis skirt yet: