Tuesday, September 30, 2008

U Can't Touch This

While Dylan and I cooked supper tonight, because, yes ladies, I am teaching my boys that they can help cook the meals if momma has to work an eight hour day just like daddy....yeah, send your daughters over, we can start interviewing for wife positions now....whoa! Where did that come from?....ahem...as I was saying, as Dylan and I cooked supper tonight, I instructed Emma to start practicing some cheers. We went through a couple, Jackson going right along with her, when we got to the one they call MC Hammer. MC Hammer goes something like this:

Turn around like MC Hammer
Touch the ground like Salt and Pepper(it's supposed to be Pepa, duh!!!, but they haven't figured that out yet)
Shake your booty like tooty fruity
Go, Raiders, go!

Dylan stops the cheer dead in it's tooty fruity glory by asking, "Who IS MC Hammer?"

Wade and Me: (In unison, looking shocked, of course!) WHO IS MC HAMMER?!!!! I mean, he was huge, like, just last year!

Me: Babe, pull MC Hammer up on the computer and teach this baby something....

I watched from the kitchen until I heard the familiar beats: oh,oh,oh,oh,oh....oh,oh,oh...Can't Touch This....

I ran over all excited, a little bump in my step, to Wade and the three children standing around the screen....I get ready for everyone to start breakin' it down!.....

Dylan: (Laughing with a pathetic twang in it) What's wrong with his pants!!!

Oh crap, here we go!!!! Have we really entered that stage already?!


I mean, c'mon, you remember the pants, right......they're cool, right....I mean...they're still pretty cool.....right?

Monday, September 29, 2008

Sealed With.....Spit?!

Emma: Here mom, it's a message.

Me: (As I take the crumpled peice of copy paper from her hand) Oh, a message?...Well, it is all...crumpled...is it trash? (Why do they keep using ALL MY PAPER!!!)

Emma: Noooo, it's a message...you have to OOOoooopen it! (Duh!)

Me: (You know, they have like...1 gazillion notebooks with their own paper....) Oh, okay, let's see, let me get this open. Oh, I see the message...let me see what it says.

Emma: (Big cheezy grin)

Me: (Oh, she even used my special floral stationary..how nice....) Can you help me read it Emma? It's kind of dark in here.

Emma: (Reading her own wavy lines across my message) (Big breath) It says, "A message. To Emma's Mudder. From Emma Wiermann." (Another, big cheesy grin)

Me: Emma? Why is this paper wet? Ewwww, it's wet all over! Why is this paper wet all over?!

Emma: Because I licked it.

Me: What?! You licked the whole thing?! Why!?!

Emma: BECAUSE! IT'S A MESSAGE!!! I had to close it up!!


Wake Up!

Emma...still sleeps in our bed. Yes, I know, she is four going on 24, but she is the baby and....I don't exactly have the money to fix up her room....yes, she has a room.... but we just use it as storage....you know, for lots of toys....and....her dresser....and yes she has a bed in there......oh, FINE! I just don't want her out of my bed, okay, I want her to stay right there, in the crook of my arm snuggled up nice and warm until she's 104. There. I said it.

Every night, Emma and the boys go to bed before me. Whenever I get ready to go to bed, I jump in and....I wake her up. Wade gets so upset with me, telling me, "Leave her alone! Let the girl sleep!" But this, this my friends, is why I just have to do it!

Me: (In a whisper) Emma, Emma, Emmmmmaaaaaaaa! Wake up.

Me: (Shaking her a little more violently....and a little louder) EMMA! EMMA! WAKE UP! I need you! I need you to snuggle with me!!!

ME: (Finally giving up) Emma.... (I kiss her on her cheek for my one final attempt)

Emma: (In a very sleepy and sometimes annoyed voice) What?!

Me: (All excited) Emma, scoot over here and snuggle with me.

Emma shimmies over and gets in the crook of my arm, laying her head on my chest.

Me: Emma....

Emma: What?

Me: I love you.

Emmma: (With eyes still closed, near sleep again.) I love you too.

Me: I love you more.

Emma: (Rolling back over to her old position) I love you the morest....

And then we sleep....



Me: Emma, what is that on your hand?

Emma: It's a stamp, but you can't see it very good...it was a pumpkin.

Me: Well, why do you have a stamp on your hand?

Emma: Because I got the answer right.

Me: Oh...what was the question.

Emma: Two hundred thousand and eight.

Me: Huh? Two hundred thousand and eight? What does that mean?

Emma: That was the answer. It's on my calendar.....

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Ain't Skeered!

I am scared of the dark. My ears become HUGE! I get panicked. I just KNOW someone is watching me and is in that dark room with me. So, to make sure I am safe...I just make one of the kids go downstairs with me to do the laundry if it is after dark.

Me: Who wants to go with me downstairs?!! (I sing it, so it makes it more appealing!)

Emma: Me!

Jackson: I do!

Emma: Nooooo! I'm going!

Jackson: Nuh uh, I said it first!

Me: Hey! Hey! We can all go, come on, get your shoes on. (Strength in numbers right?)

Emma: I'm not going to wear any shoes because I'm not scared of bugs...they don't scare me!

Emma leads the way...Jackson takes the tail.

Emma whips around after her first step....: Mom, you go first!

Me: What?! I thought you weren't scared.....

Emma: (Impatient and in her don't embarass me voice) Mom! Just go....!

Ah! Shoot! Y'all call somebody if you don't hear from me again in the next 10 minutes!

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

My Final Rant

After this...I am going to move onto happier subjects...maybe not forever...but at least for a while...I hope.

This year, we have had many trials. Wade lost his job. We have had car trouble constantly...with both cars...at. the. same. time! This paired with a struggling economy and rising gas prices has put a strain on my small family. A lot of times Wade "complains", for lack of a better word, about us not having money, our furniture is crap, after 11 years of marriage we have nothing to show for it, etc., etc. Really, this is his way of venting. I vent, but usually it is in my head...or on here,.. bless your hearts. I try to remind him that we are rich in so many other ways. We have each other....because that is what family does. When someone is down on their luck, you help them. You don't talk to behind their backs about how they didn't save money for times like this, how she shouldn't have bought those boots last week....you don't kick your family members when their down.

My sister wrote to me in one of many hurtful e-mails this week that "the concept of family has fallen apart". While I think that she was right regarding family in America, I can assure you that she was wrong in what my concept of family is.

First, what does family mean? Well, here is the dictionary version:

1: a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head : household

This is definitely NOT my family, so this can't apply to me.

In my concept of family, you love each other. No matter what. When you are up, when you are down. Everyone has faults. Every. one. The only perfect being that ever walked this earth was Jesus Christ. I am certainly not Jesus Christ. And neither. are. you.

In my concept of family, you talk to each other. Not through e-mail. Not through Myspace. Not through text messaging. And although the telephone is a great invention, you need to put that down sometimes too. You need to see each other. Feel each other. Look at each other's faces. Look into each other's eyes. How can you truly know each other when you can never touch? Feel their flesh. See through those eyes, into their souls. See their smiles. See their tears. See their frowns. Fellowship with each other. You take on their hurts and you take on their happiness.

As I was growing up, I had two separate families. My father's family and my mother's family. Up until about the age of four, my brother and I didn't see my father. He didn't come. He wouldn't come. She tried to get him to come. He had more important things to do. It's the truth. It is cold. It is hard. But that is just the truth.

I remember one time when I was five. He was supposed to come get us for the one weekend of each month that was his. There we sat, with our suitcases, waiting....he never showed up. No explanation. No phone call. He just didn't come. We were 8 and 5. Memorable ages. I am 31. I still remember that defining moment. I can see the color of the suitcase. I can see out the window where we watched.

Eventually, we did begin to go to my father's house regularly....and we spent the day, from the time we were up and had breakfast in us, until it was dark....outside. He...was inside.

We didn't spend time with grandparents, aunts and uncle's or cousins from that side very often, we may have seen them three times a year for a couple of hours at a time. It wasn't the same. Brian and I, we were outsider's because we weren't there. Wasn't our fault. We didn't have control over it.

At one point, one of our aunts said that we were the black sheep of the family because we were the children of divorce. How sad! This blame was put on children, who if they could have changed their situation, you bet they would have. These children did not set the boundary of one weekend a month and they certainly didn't choose how that time was spent.

Children only want to be loved. They come from the womb wanting to be cuddled and held close. It is in their nature. It is the human nature. It is what is taught and what is given that teaches them to hate instead of love.

My mother's side of the family is the polar opposite of my father's side.

When my Papa was alive, we were at their house at least one Sunday a month and every holiday. I don't mean the big ones, just Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. I mean, anytime we got a chance to get together, we were there, Labor Day, Memorial Day, Fourth of July, etc. The room was filled with laughter, loud chatter, all the women in the kitchen preparing the meal together, the cousins hanging out talking about school and whatever else was going in our lives at the time. Prayer at the beginning of the meal and hugs and kisses when coming and when going.

When we weren't at Memaw and Papa's house, we wanted to know when we were going. We wanted to know how "Angie was doing" or "wasn't that funny what Steve said the other day". There were no hidden resentments. There was no backstabbing. There was no cattiness. There was love. You felt it when you walked into that house. You were never an outsider. We would often bring friends. They were immediately accepted into their hearts. Never black sheep.

This is what family means to me. This is the kind of family that I want to teach to my children. I want to teach them that to love someone, you have to love them unconditionally. You have to love all of them. You have to love their faults. You have to love their good qualities. You love them whether they have a drug problem, whether they are an alcoholic, whether they are from a divorced family, that the black sheeps are the ones that need our love the very most because they are the ones that have been shown the least love and are hurting the most.

Things have changed in my mother's family. We don't get together as much since Papa passed away. Our families have grown, some have moved away and it is just harder to get together. We miss each other. We have to keep in touch through Myspace, blogging or the telephone. We all have different families. Some have divorce in them, some don't. We continue to love each other.

There is one holiday that we never miss. Christmas Eve. We have always had Christmas Eve at Memaw's and Papa's and I have never missed one in my 31 years. But if you come into that home on Christmas Eve, you would never know that we had been apart. Our children now all play with each other, talking about school or whatever, the women are in the kitchen preparing the meal, there is laughter, loud chatter and prayer before the meal. We have even had a surprise wedding. You would never know that we had not been together for months. We love each other. We love each other's faults. We love each other over the distances. We hug hello and we hug goodbye. We hold tight in those embraces. They are heartfelt. That is family.

There are some things that go on that we may not agree on, but we love each other anyway. Someone may have done something that hurt someone's feelings. It is never intentional and we would never purposely set out to hurt each other's feelings.
It's okay. None of us are perfect.

My concept of family is very well intact.

It has been a tough month for me....I am having a very hard time dealing with a lot of things that are going on in my life...all of which seem to be hitting me all at the same time.

I miss my Papa. He would have loved my children. He would have been impressed with Dylan's intelligence, he would have loved Jackson's vigor and I think he would have just adored Emma. I miss our drives. I miss his stories. I just miss him.

We are having a hard time financially with the job loss. I know there are many in America who are, so who am I to complain, but it just seemed that right when we were getting it together, it started falling apart.

I miss my children. I hate when they are at school. Now, my best friend started pre-k.

My little sister got engaged...I learned about it a month later...on Myspace.

My sisters both e-mailed me several times in a couple of weeks, one blaming me for "ruining her wedding day", the other "blaming me for keeping my children away from my father", claiming that "I single myself out to make other's feel guilty", amongst other hurtful things, but then they say they love me.... but that it can't be the same... that our relationship is nothing more than exchanging Christmas gifts....

This my friends, is when family should be flocking to our side....not berating us with hateful e-mails...which, by the way, "are not meant to be hateful"......

Stop and think about what you are doing...think about the things you say....sometimes it is not all about you...and it's not about me either....

For the first time in my life, I have had, yes folks, I have actually entertained the idea... thoughts of suicide, of running away, of just wanting to get away from all of it. I want to be alone. You think those e-mails helped my sanity...no...if anything...they are helping to push me to the brink. Thanks girls.

The thing that brings me back to sanity, my family....my husband and my children...because....they...love me...they love me for me. They love all of my emotions, they love all of my faults, they love my hair-brained ideas...they, love me unconditionally. They....even think that I am cool!!!...for now.

I am an emotional person...can you tell :)....I cry, I wear my heart on my sleeve, I am an ugly crier, I go mute when I cry...I take things to heart...very easily...I want to be everyone's friend, I hate it when people are mad at me because I try my very best to be a people pleaser, I don't want to disappoint, I get emotionally high sometimes and just feel like doing something crazy like leaps through the yard, tried toe touches the other day....ouch...this is me...it is who I am....love me unconditionally. High or low. I remember things that hurt...I take forever to heal! Like my brother, he told me last Christmas that he didn't want to bring his new girlfriend around yet because me and my mother were too judgemental. Ouch! Didn't know he felt that way. That...still hurts.

As we enter into my favorite season, I am hoping this helps to bring spirits up, I love the smells, the colors, the oranges, the browns and the reds, fall would make a great wedding time. I look forward to the Christmas season, especially now that my Christmas list has been trimmed down by a few people, less money going out. Yea!

We are entering soon into the season of love. A season of family and friends. A season where there are love songs of people being apart and coming home on Christmas. A season of Christ. Christ is love. Love is what He taught. Love one another this season. Unconditionally. Put down the hateful words. Put aside differences. The world is harsh enough without us beating each other up. I am hurt. I am broken. I can't change some things. I can't change the past. I am not perfect. But I can love. That is what I have for you. Unconditional love.

Love Me.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

It's Not About You

It's not about me either.

Say this to yourself. a lot. Mostly, the second part.

It was nice of you to show up. Nope, you didn't say or do anything wrong. Ya just didn't do anything at all.

Remember, it's not about you. Go home and write it, front and back. Til. you. get. it.

You can all go back to your regularly scheduled lives and I will go back to singling myself out to make you feel guilty.


1: violently separated into parts : shattered
2: damaged or altered by breaking: being irregular, interrupted, or full of obstacles c: violated by transgression, a broken promise d: discontinuous , interrupted
3 a: made weak or infirm b: subdued completely : crushed , sorrowful, a broken heart a broken spirit

He holds the universe and still, He runs to the broken.

I am a visual thinker, better yet, hands on, so when I think of this statement, I try to think of a child. A child who is hurting. A child that is me. 31 years old. Hurting. I can't visualize a father because in my mind, I don't have one. He has never been there. He has never held me. Not when I was broken, not when I was whole.

I often wonder, if this is part of my struggle for my relationship with Jesus. Not that I don't believe in Him, but that I have a hard time visualizing Him, drawing near to Him.

"When you are broken, draw near to Him, like a child to a father. None are closer to Jesus, than the broken."

So tonight, as I sat in my car, my child cheering her heart out, oblivious, I first tried to visualize Jesus and I drew near to His chest and he held me. And I cried.

Then Jesus turned into my Papa and I sobbed.

Monday, September 22, 2008


I start remembering school really well, at about fourth grade. I remember a little bit from the prior years, like some things from daycare. I remember the day that my mom forgot to pack my swimsuit, so I had to miss the field trip to the pool that day. I remember being paddled on the hand by a ruler because I wet my cot at nap time.

I remember my first grade teacher, Ms. Shelley, mainly because it reminded me of my best friends name, Michelle. She was in the class across the hall from me, in kindergarten and I thought that was cool.

I remember trying to guess my parapro's age and putting it on her Valentine's day card. I don't think she was impressed with my estimating skills.

I remember my second grade class. Like, a Japanese kid we had in class who taught us all origami. I remember being the only child in class that finished all of their times tables through 12. I was sent to the principal's office to tell him and I was sure that it was some hoax and I was really in trouble. I remember that one of my classmates' mother was my teacher and I thought how cool that would be to be able to spend the ENTIRE day with your mom. He probably thought differently. I remember in the same class that we got to do a mock election for President Regan and whoever it was that was running against him. I voted Regan, because I thought he looked like a sweet old man. We made reindeer decorations that year out of pine cones. It was my idea, so she let me bring all the stuff and lead the class that day.

I remember the fear I had of Ms. Cannon in a new school in the third grade. My mother assured me that I remember her because she was so strict.

Now fourth grade....that was the year that I had Ms. Guest and Ms. Kilpatrick. I was terrified of Ms. Kilpatrick because I thought she was going to Kil us. That was the year we got to write in pen. It was the year Bo Bice came into my life. It was the year we began writing in cursive. It was a hard year. We had to learn so much in that year, I never thought it would end.

Fast forward 10 years....okay...just fast forward a lot...I will tell you when to stop.......STOP!

I now have a son in the fourth grade. I bought him pens when I bought school supplies. A pack of blue, a pack of black and two red. Just like mine. He has two teachers. Just like I did. He has begun to write in cursive and has to edit his papers with that red pen, just. like. me.

There is one big difference between he and I. School is easy. It wasn't for me. It is for him. Or at least he makes it look that way. I got his progress report Monday. The kid got all A's....oh, except that pesky little A+ in math. Not only did the kid get all A's, he got all 100's, well, except for that pesky 100 and something in math.

"Hmmmm", he said, "That's strange, cause, I don't even really like math."

His teacher's comment: Dylan is an amazing student.Amazing....I'll second that.


Wednesday, September 10, 2008


I believe that we all receive gifts from God. My Memaw and my friend Melissa, for example, I believe have the gift of nurturing, the caregiver. Mine, I believe, is mercy. I listen. I am the ear. I feel compassion for your problems, your trials. I try to offer my advice. Sometimes, advice is not wanted. Sometimes, all you want is an ear. I've listened about husbands, I've listened about divorce, I've listened about broken trust, I've listened about new beginnings, I've listened to your lifestyle changes, I've listened to how your too busy, I've listened to how you don't want to take up my time, I've listened to your joy, I've listened to you rejoice and I've listened to your triumphs. I carry your trials, trying to think of ways to make it easier, better for you. When you talk, I care. I truly care.

Sometimes...mercy needs mercy. Mercy talks and you don't listen. Truly listen. Pay attention. Don't cut mercy off in the middle of a sentence, don't tell mercy you're too busy You have to read between the lines, look beyond what is actually being said, listen to the tone, listen to the voice, listen to the sighs, listen to the silence. Stop talking and listen. Find time for mercy. Lock yourself in a room, away from the daily noise. I need you, just as much as you need me. Sometimes, it's just an ear, sometimes I just need to hear that you are on my side. A lot of things are locked away, not mentioned, because no one cares to listen.

I've listened, now it's your turn.


Monday, September 01, 2008

The Seven Deadly Sins

Me: What do you guys want to eat?

Jackson: I'm not really hungry, but I'll eat.

Me: You know that if you are not hungry you shouldn't eat, number one, it's not good for you, number two, it's one of the seven deadly sins.

Jackson: What's that?

Me: Well, gluttony, that is when you eat too much, like when you're not hungry, but you eat anyways, it's wasteful and called gluttony. God doesn't like it.

Jackson: ....oh...

Insert time lapse music here.....

Me: Jackson, you want some cream of wheat for breakfast?

Jackson: Yeah, oh, but wait, I'm not really hungry?

Me: (Oh crap! What have a I done?!) Jackson, it's okay, you HAVE to eat breakfast, lunch and supper and a snack in between. It's required.

Insert time lapse music here...

Jackson with a pack of licorice at about 9 p.m., looking happy and excited: Mom, look how about.....(look of sadness and worry coming over his face) oh wait...I'm not hungry though....


Bless his heart!