Blind and deaf

Ok. For most of Tru's sweet little life, he has existed in what we call "Tru World". As a toddler, he would lay flat on the floor and become one with whatever trains he was playing with. On top of it all, he was born smart as all get out. Seriously, by 18 months he knew all of his letters and the sounds they made and would divide his m-n-m's up by colors. It was almost freaky at times. We found out he could read at 3 when our babysitter told us that Caroline got stuck on a word (in a book her teacher sent home for her to read, not one we had at home) and Tru told her (in an exasperated voice) what it was.

He is an adorable and quirky kid. But because of some of these (and other issues and talents), we decided, along with his pediatrician, to have some developmental testing done before kindergarten. We went into it with an open mind and some ideas of our "worst case scenarios" and came out understanding him so much better and thrilled that the specialists felt like there were no issues he wouldn't grow out of with some time and maturity. They confirmed that he was one smart cookie and were all charmed by him. I could go on and on about all the things they said, but bragging isn't polite. Let's just say, he is already smarter than me.

Recently, however, Tru has seemed more and more out of it at times. Like at Target, he will walk right in front of someone pushing a cart. I cannot tell you how many times I have said, "Tru! Do you not see these people?! There are other people in the world than just our family, buddy." Or he has stood nose to screen with the television. Or when he was looking for something, I would have to lead him over to things that seemed like they were right under his nose. I don't know if the frequency of these incidents have increased, or my expectations for him at his age have, but I found myself more and more frustrated by his inability to notice what was going on around him. We would also have to repeat anything we said to Tru a million times. Or say his name often and loudly. Was he ignoring us? Being defiant? ARGH!!!!

I made an appointment for him at the ENT and we discovered that his 3rd set of tubes had fallen out. We scheduled another set to be put in and WALAH--he can hear. 2 weeks later at his well child check up, the pediatrician said he FAILED the vision test. She said he big time failed it. So . . . specialist appointment #2 was made. I'll be honest, I expected him to have some vision issues, like maybe have to wear glasses when he looked at the board or watched TV, but I really thought he bombed the test at the ped's office because he was a little hyper and silly that day and I figured he wasn't really paying attention.

WRONG.

Our friend, Brent, is our eye doctor, and he kept shaking his head and saying, "I mean, he is significantly far sighted." The poor, poor child is SO farsighted that he can't see up close either. And he has astigmatism (?) in both eyes.

HE REALLY DIDN'T SEE THE PEOPLE AROUND HIM AT TARGET!

We are working on finding a pair of glasses for him. He's pretty bummed . . . that they don't make Dwayne Wayne glasses anymore. You know, the kind where the shades flip up. Ha! I love him.

His vision is so bad that we will not go full strength or full time with his glasses right away. He'll start at a decreased prescription and ease into them several hours at a time and then eventually we will go full strength.

But can you imagine how the world is going to open up to him? A month ago he was practically deaf and blind.

And can you imagine how stinkin smart he will be now that he can see and hear? Frightening.

I do know that there is NOT a cuter or smarter or sweeter kid in all the world.

Look at him. Could you not just eat him up?

The truth and nostalgia

Ok . . . so because of my extreme superstitiousness and cautiousness and borderline paranoia, I chose not to mention that Josh was out of town ALL last week. He left Sunday around 5:30 and Caroline threw up at 7:30.

Not exactly how this mama likes to start a week alone.

Thankfully (ha,ha), it turned out to be strep and not a stomach bug reeking havoc on the whole lot of us. And it only took me and one nurse to hold her down for the 3 swabs needed to get a good enough sample to test. There are many patient qualities that Caroline excels at, swabbing for strep is NOT one of them. My mom saved the day and stayed home with the younger two hooligans (I have panic attacks just imagining keeping up with them and restraining Caroline.) We left with a prescription for her favorite bubblegum flavored medicine and orders to eat lots of popsicles.

Unfortunately, not only did I have a poor darling that felt lousy--and she really did feel L-O-U-S-Y, lousy--it also threw a wrench into my whole week. When Josh is gone, I like to pack things in to keep us busy, help the time pass quickly, and wear the little people out so they sleep good. Less than one day in, and I was rewriting the calendar for the first part of the week. I was REALLY disappointed that it meant no play date with Cory and her boys on Monday. Cory is my oldest friend . . . not that she is old, she's actually a year younger than me, but she is my first and longest friend and we don't believe that we live in the same town because we CANNOT seem to get together. She and I rescheduled for Wednesday (she is a mom of 3 and totally understood). I was suuuuper excited when Tuesday night rolled around and there were no other strep cases in the house and Caroline seemed ready to go back to school. The plan was to meet at her house at 9:30 and then go to the pool at 10. (What fun! The pool with just 2 kids!!!!) At 8 something Cory texted me that we should probably forget the pool since a big ole thunderstorm was rolling through and at 9:15, right before I loaded up the dumplings to head to Cory's house for a regular play date, the school called and asked me to come get Caroline because she apparently wasn't feeling as good as we hoped. Canceled. Play date. AGAIN. BOOOOO!

A short week later, these feel like little things, but last week, as I was trying to remain patient, fun, kind, and firm without Josh, these moments and hiccups felt bigger. This phase of life is hard. It is physically trying and very hands on and full of teachable moments that I don't want to miss. Yes, there are plenty of wonderful things that happen with kids this age . . . and I keep hearing how I should enjoy it because it will never be like this again. I just want to say--I do enjoy it, but that doesn't mean I am not looking forward to some of these phases being behind us. The future is always something different with new challenges and new things to love and cherish. The past is always something to remember fondly, sometimes with nostalgia and sometimes with a hearty "THANK GOD WE MADE IT!".

Case in point, my sweet, wonderful, perfectly amazing nephew is a month old this week. Here is a picture from yesterday, just in case you have forgotten how heavenly he is

Anyway . . . as much as I love, love, love, love, love (do you get the idea?) him, I am not sorry we are not in the first baby phase. I adored the time I had when it was just Caroline, Josh and I, but I am so happy that she is my oldest of 4 and that we can talk and laugh and shop and have real conversations about things that matter and watch "Father of the Bride" together. I wouldn't trade that time for the world, but I wouldn't go back either. I enjoy sleeping through the night, hopping in the car without 3 bags of gear, not changing poopie diapers, asking "What's wrong" when someone is crying and getting a reasonably accurate answer. It is with that same hope that during weeks like last week, I look forward to the day when strep won't strand me, when my boys won't be crawling into video games, when Bo and Sascha will understand more of what I am saying, when height requirements aren't a factor in family fun.

I know there are rough waters ahead too--it hasn't been that long since I was a teenager with angst and emotions and issues. But I also remember fun times with my family and conversations with my parents that surprised us all and laughing til it hurt when my mom and I got slap happy and knowing my dad had my back and would kill for me (or at least maim). The way I see it, contentment doesn't include blissful unawareness of what's going on in your life, it's the ability to see that over the horizon is an end to that challenge (even if it means a new one will surface), buckling down, and getting through it with as much enJOYment and sanity as you can.

In spite of how incredibly helpful my parents were last week, by the time Friday rolled around, we were counting down the hours until Josh got home. By 8:30 that morning, I was over Bo and Sascha and ready to run away and hide from them. My sweet friend from Dallas (actually she's FROM here, but now lives in Dallas) was having a similar morning and directed me to this article. It was exactly what I needed to hear--some empathy, some sympathy, some "rock on sister" and then some "make the absolute most of it" motivation.

I know, not such a funny post. No vandalizing by my kids. No funny Sascha quotes, but maybe when they are snotty teenagers, I can reread this and remember I was looking forward to being told how much they hate me and how little I understand and how happy they will be when they are on their own!! Or at least it will be a reminder to look forward to that next stage with naive excitement and be glad they are all able to bathe themselves.

(And yes, I know I will miss Miss Thang's chubby little hiney in the tub one day.)

Yeah, they're mine

Josh had to work tonight, so I was alone (with the kids) for dinner. I decided that we needed to burn some time and energy and not mess up the kitchen that I had cleaned and mopped today, so I took the kids to a local pizza place called Razorback Pizza. It's a family fav--Bo actually eats there--and it has a game room that takes quarters. (Which I totally prefer because there is nothing worse than thinking that you have enough change for a bottle diet coke only to realize that it's Chuck E. Cheese looking up at you and NOT George Washington.)

Anyway. I try to go into situations like this (you know, the responsible party for a 2 year old, 4 year old, 7 year old, and 9 year old in a restaurant with other paying customers) with a little pep talk for myself and them. The kids get the expected reminders about restaurant etiquette--no yelling, no running, no throwing food, etc. I tend to sing a little Whitney Houston ("I'm Every Woman"), remembering that my "single" parenting is temporary, and cherish these moments that will pass too quickly (so everyone keeps saying).

Fast forward to the end of our meal . . . kids have all eaten (some better than others, but all to my satisfaction), quarter bag is EMPTY, and Caroline and I are having a nice little chat about some stuff she is trying to figure out. The waiter (whose face has relaxed considerably since the first time he approached our table) has brought our to go box and the check and I am assessing our table with a small amount of pride--there were no spills, limited and appropriate use of napkins, no dropped silverware, basically, you would never guess (save the 4 kiddie cups) that 4/5 people sitting there were under 10.

Their time in the game room seemed to have been successful as well--no fighting, no fits when the money ran out . . . I thought it a little strange that the boys had quit coming back and begging for more money, but I mistakenly chalked it up to another example of good behavior.

Remember that verse in Proverbs? The one about what follows pride? Shortly thereafter, Caroline and I wrapped up our conversation and she went back into the game room. I sighed and started gathering our stuff, glad we had more than survived our venture out.

Then Bo ran up to the booth with a basketball. Hmmm.  I glanced ever so slightly into the game room and saw Tru shooting a basketball.

Maybe that wouldn't alarm anyone else, but remember they were out of money.

And Tru was shooting it into a basket that wasn't part of the game . . . it was decoration over a row of video games. (He did make it, perhaps the last moment of pride I experienced.)

At this point, I knew that something was up, so I zoomed into the game room and found Bo IN the basketball game. He and Tru had figured out that if they flattened themselves just so, they could squeeze into the part that holds the balls when your turn is up. They had figured out how to play for free.

Awesome.

They were ripping off the pizza place.

I'm sure if there had been vending machines to shake, they would have been eating knocked out Honeybuns while they played.

I quickly grabbed them and our stuff and hightailed it out of the restaurant.

But not before trying to laugh off their antic to the friends of ours who were also there . . . sitting in a booth that faced the basketball game.

"I wondered whose kids those were"

Yeah. They're mine.

Sha Sha Speak

After having a child with speech delays, having one who is a tad advanced in her speaking is fun! Bo and Sascha would probably test at about the same level of speech right now. And that's fine, because Bo is improving all the time thanks to Mrs. Yauren (his adored speech therapist). But even with her impressive talking, the sweet thing is only 2 and gets plenty wrong.

Here are a few of my favorites from this week:

"My net is hurting!" - her neck, aka her throat, was sore

"I snecked!" (pronounced like necked, as in without clothes on, with an s in front) - her response to Bo yelling "I'm first!"

"I spaint hims bodnum." - Sascha's answer to what she had done to Bo; translation: I spanked his bottom

"Gairl" - girl

"I need some of you rink." - she's asking for a drink of my diet coke. Every other drink is specifically named--milt (milk), tea, water, etc--but any carbonated beverage is a "rink".

She likes to watch "Duhra" (Dora), "Mitty Mouse" (Mickey Mouse), "Tom and Zerry" (Tom and Jerry) and the "Wild Craps" (Wild Kratts from PBS).

"Mih Tepaknee" - Ms. Stephanie



I know there are a gajillion more that will come to mind as soon as I hit publish, but these are some of our favorites.

Nurse

Well it only took one week of school for the strep monster to strike. Poor Caroline went down like a champ on Sunday--sore throat, throwing up, headache, and fever. She is recovering now after a traumatic throat swab at the ped's office yesterday and is enjoying being pampered and watching endless episodes of Disney tween shows on Netflix from the couch bed.

I have quit my job as a baker to become her personal nurse and have her on a steady rotation of antibiotics, yogurt, grits (the sick kid wants what the sick kid wants), ice water, motrin, tylenol, probiotics, and of course, diet coke.

Hopefully she will go back to school tomorrow, but she is an easy, sweet, and grateful patient, so it's not so bad having her around.

(Except for the fact that she feels lousy.)

Flour thy name is crack

So many one liners come to mind when I ponder my relationship with flour . . .

"Why can't I quit you?"

"You had me at hello."

and most recently . . .

"Houston, we have a problem."

I have been in baking mode this week (muffins and bread) and can't seem to keep my hands to myself.

(Which may lead to some handle problems around my middle.)

Right now, I am searching for a good loaf bread recipe that is not too involved. No luck yet, but it's fun trying. I even found a recipe for making my own yeast--not going to happen, but kind of cool to know how.

And in other Bass family news, Sascha got her first haircut today. Well, first official haircut at a real hairplace and not on my bedroom floor while she watched Bugs Bunny on my phone. She was pretty excited to go see Mr. Tony like the big kids do--she even chose some church shoes for the event. It looks healthy and cute and went WAAAAAAY better than Josh and I anticipated (since she has to be put in various wrestling holds to even brush her hair.)

I would show you pictures but my computer is complaining that I have too many pictures already saved on it and is refusing to look at even one more until I make some room on the hard drive. I would be frustrated but I sort of get it because that's how I feel about Josh's sock drawer.

no wonder i'm so tired

i read this quote today and i love it . . .

"Parents teach in the toughest school in the world-the School for Making People. You are the board of education, the principal, the classroom teacher, and the janitor." - Virginia Satir 

 . . . sometimes i wonder what i am doing with my time when my house gets messy or the pantry gets low, now i can relax and realize i must not have been the janitor that day.

prepare to laugh

I usually don't post twice in a day--it wastes what little written material I have and I would almost never let something interfere with little presh being front and center.

BUT. OH FUNNINESS! When you read this true story, you will see why I couldn't wait. I love each of you too much to not allow you the opportunity to laugh out loud at someone else's expense.

I cannot take credit for anything but copying and pasting without his written permission. (Although he put it on Facebook, so I feel like it's fair game). And now, without further ado, I give you Tender Tim vs. The Squirrel

So...I was driving to work this morning.  And I was talking (not texting) on the phone.  I looked ahead and saw a squirrel sitting in the road.  After living in the country for 13 years, I've become fairly adept at maneuvering around live critters.  Mostly.  So, I swerved to miss the little fellow and didn't feel a bump.   I was happy.  I looked in the rear view mirror to make sure he made it and was running off to scamper and frolic with his squirrely friends, and was horrified to see him him break-dancing like a trout on hot asphalt in the road.  My heart, as usual when an injured animal is concerned, stopped.  I slammed on the brakes and turned my car around.  


The only solution which is totally abhorrent to me, was to  go back and run over him again and put him out of his misery.  I was already starting to get misty-eyed (not to mention a bit nauseous).  He was  lying on his side, motionless as I approached and I thought he had already passed into furry nirvana,  when another car passed him and he flopped over onto his belly, sat up and stared straight ahead.  I let out a  pained howl that sounded not unlike a screech owl being neutered without antisthetic.  


I parked in the closest dirt road, jumped out of the car, and raced back.  He was just sitting there, looking off into the distance, trying to decide whether or not he should go toward the light.  WhatEVER he was thinking, I KNOW he felt like he'd been eaten by a bear and pooped off a cliff.   I was already blubbering as I apologized profusely and  then reached down to see how close I could get.  He was obviously in shock.  I pet him.  Then I picked him up and set him gingerly on the floor board between my feet.  I turned the car around and drove back to Doubletree Veterinary Clinic (where I work) so Dr. Peck could check him out to see if he would live or not.  


I reached down to pick him up and he miraculously moved from shock to a radical state of distress.  Which moved me into the same state, more or less.  He (obviously not as injured as I first suspected) began bolting from ceiling to floor to banging against the windows, to door to dash board to...back dash board ledge...thing...(whatever that's called)... and shaking, more from agitation at this point than distress and all the while I was trying to calm him AND me down.  I reached for him and he began the leaping again with great abandon.  He landed on that back dashboard ledge...thing and I froze...very still for a while.  He was glaring at me with a "I will shank you" look. (Okay, sidebar.  I think he was actually a "nature's terrorist" and I had, in fact, thwarted his evil world dominance plan from a suicide bombing of power lines.)  


So, I was leaning over the seat, arms stretched out, trying to nab him, when he lurched at me, scratching my face and landing squarely on my back.  So, here I was, leaning over the drivers seat, arms outstretched in front of me, with a squirrel sitting on my back.  And he didn't leave.  He just sat there.  I began to jiggle a bit.  He stayed.  I jiggled more.  He stayed (and I'm not sure, but there could have been maniacal, all-be-it shrill, piercing laughter).  So, I tried to reach back behind me, and that's when he jumped to the passenger floor board.  I swiftly, and with great agility, reached down and grabbed his tail, which...well...it was kind of like peeling rosemary off it's stem.  There was a moment of stunned disbelief on his face, and I'm sure mine, as we both looked at the tuft of fluff left in my grip.  And then we both slowly moved our gaze to gape at the plucked carnage that used to be a thick, fuzzy, fluffy tail.   I chose to take the moment.  I grabbed again and got hold of his back.  I never really appreciated the agility or adroitness of these frisky little nut snatchers until this moment.  He, in turn, reached around and sunk his teeth into my index finger.  Deep.  And didn't let go.  He was literally hanging from my finger.  I shook.  He dropped...and then dove under the passenger seat.  


I am now bleeding like a stuck pig.  He was hiding under the seat.  I thought if I moved the seat back and forth it might encourage him to come out.  But, the seats are, alas, electric and move about a 10th of an inch every 15 to 20 seconds.  I went into the clinic, blood coursing down my finger and the side of my face.  And no one could believe it had all been done by a squirrel.  Until I took them out to the car and they actually SAW the foul personification of evil sitting in the passenger seat.  So,  co-worker Jenny and I tried in vain to capture him...and then...after 20 or so minutes, realized we could just open the door and "shoo" him out.  


I am now waiting for a call from my doctor about anitbiotics, pain meds and yes...rabies shots.  So if you're driving down Kanis, close to Ferndale and a precious, adorable, darling, little squirrel crosses with a bunged-up, disfigured tail...speed up!!!

She may or may not have me snookered

I am the first to admit Sascha needs . . . refining. By no means do I think we are "finished" training her. When I pick her up from church or get home from a sitter, I cringe asking how she was. You just never know with her.

But. Oh. My. Gosh. Look at her!

Can you blame me if I am, at times, distracted by her total yumminess and adorableness and cuteness and funniness?

Like just now when I put her down for a nap and she had me gathering up all of her Smurfs . . . Jokey and Panicky got stuck together (which could totally happen and I could just imagine Jokey laughing and Panicky, well, panicking) . . .

Anyway, they were stuck and I said, "That  Jokey is such a mess . . . just like my Sascha Jane!"

And as quick as a whip, while I was tickling her, she said, "Yeah, jus like my Racial Jane" (that would be me, except my middle name isn't really Jane).

Y'all. She is funny. And quick. And, besides the fact that despite repeated viewings of The Letter Factory she still thinks all the letters say "Ah", smart. Girl gots street smarts.

And did I mention that I think she is pretty stinkin adorable?

First Day of School?!

I'm sorry. Did summer seem too short to anyone else? I am so sad that it is over . . . how is that even possible? But here we are, mid-August, starting back to school.

Apparently, someone flipped Caroline and Tru's academic switch in the middle of the night, because on my way home from the gym at 5:55, Caroline was texting me that she was awake and showered and had made her bed and all she needed to do was eat and dry her hair but Daddy wouldn't let her and oh, by the way, Tru was up too.

What?

I rarely saw that child's face before 10 this summer and she is up and ready on her own before 6?

It did make for one of the best 1st days ever because there was no whining or complaining about how early it was. (I'm sure that will start tomorrow.)

So here we (Bo, Sascha and I) sit . . . caffeinated and ready for lunch because we've been up for half a day already. I have commented on more facebook posts and pictures than I usually do in a week, started some laundry, read my Bible, gotten down puzzles, posted this blog, played hide and seek and danced to the Wiggles--all this and Regis and Kelly hasn't even started. Ahhh, school days.

Here are some pics from our great morning. I cannot believe they are in 2nd and 4th grade. Where does the time go?

2nd grader, Tru, with his camo "satch"

4th grader, Caroline

Mags and Caroline, together again

(Maggie dropped by the room early on Thursday and saw that she and Caroline were seated close together. Apparently her VERY excited response about their proximity prompted Mrs. McBride to wisely move Caroline to the other side of the room.)

 Mrs. McBride and Care . . . we are super excited about the year with her!

Ms. Mac wth Tru Bud . . . we have heard wonderful things about her teaching; Tru (in true Tru form) is smitten and has already told us, "I can't take my eyes off her!" Let's hope he can break out of his daze to learn something this year!

Debunking De Dance

If you have followed my blog much, you know that Caroline started competitively dancing last year. We only did one dance, so our commitment level was as minimal as possible, but we had a front row seat to the competitive dance life.

We felt like Caroline had proven she loved the activity and was a responsible student and team member, so we allowed her to try out for the competitive team again this year and she will be performing 4 dances. I have been surprised (sort of) at the assumptions that people make and the strong opinions some have about the sport, (and after a year of watching them practice and perform, trust me, it is SO a sport!), so I thought I would take a minute and address some questions and misconceptions people have about competitive dance.

First off, let me assure you that we are not like the people you see on Toddlers and Tiaras or Dance Moms. It's good television, to be sure, but it's a shame that Dance Mom is the way TLC chooses to represent dancing companies. Yes, our girls wear stage makeup and costumes, but I am hard pressed to think of a sport that does not have a uniform of some sort. And if our directors, teachers, or staff ever got wind that our parents or girls were acting like little divas, being rude or disrespectful or poor sports, it would be addressed faster than you can say pirouette! Rock City was founded on 4 character traits, one of them being RESPECT, and they are serious about it. They respect our dancers and families and expect it from us as well.

The second thing that I am often asked about is the time commitment. Like any sport, there are practices and performances. The more dances you choose, the more time you spend rehearsing. Each family can make that decision for themselves. Last year, since Caroline was only in one dance, she only spent 1.5 hours each week at practice. Competitions did not start for her until the 2nd semester and there were 4 weekends of them, 3 of which were in Arkansas and we could drive up, dance, and go home the same day if we wanted to. The 4th was in Dallas and she and I enjoyed a night in a hotel and some quality mother/daughter time (where I may or may not have shared the facts of life with her). Over the summer, they had a week of rehearsals for the National Competition (which was in Branson). I think she had to practice a couple of hours each day and then we drove in the morning of her dance and ended up spending the night because they were chosen to perform the last day for Battle of the Allstars. This year, she will dance a little over 5 hours each week and will go to the same 4 competitions 2nd semester. We may have to spend the night for a couple of them depending on how spread out her 4 dances are, but the weekend commitment is not much more.

If you compare that to the soccer teams for girls her age, you will find that they are practicing and conditioning a comparable amount of time and traveling as much or more. Same thing for swimmers in our area. Obviously, there is always the option of NOT participating in a sport that requires more than an hour or so a week and there are recreational options for dance that are great, but we felt like our schedule and her interest could handle the time requirements.

People also assume that it is super expensive. Don't get me wrong--it's not free--but we sat down with the director ahead of time and knew our monthly cost, costume expense, and approximate competition fee before we signed our commitment form. One of the things that I LOVE about our company is that our directors don't pretend that we all have unlimited funds from which to pay for dance. We have had carwashes and fundraisers and have the option of selling our costumes back and applying that money towards the next year's costumes (like books in college). Brilliant.

What has us hooked, however, is the way dance has built her confidence and character. Not all of it comes easy. She hadn't danced since she was 4 and a lot of these girls are on their 6th year of dancing. Caroline has had to take risks and catch up and it has paid off in so many ways. She's got potential. She's got personality. She's got drive. And she has people I trust pushing her enough but not to much; encouraging her without blowing smoke; requiring things of her that aren't easy but are good. There are going to be things she won't be able to do or be able to do well, but she's getting a "thing"--you know, something that when she struggles in another area can give her confidence to keep trying and can encourage her that while you can't be good at everything, you are good at something. I personally believe that everyone needs a "thing".

It's a year to year commitment for us. She has to want it and work for it. She's in charge of a family yard sale to earn some money so she can help contribute towards the cost of dance. Not because we have gotten in over our heads, but because we want her to own it a bit . . . to value this opportunity. Next year, we will sit down and discuss if she wants to do more or less or none at all and what we are willing to sacrifice, but I will tell you that I have watched friends with boys her age spend as much time on baseball and football and tennis and we are all ok. Every child is different, every family has to make their own choices, but if you are getting your info about competitive dance from Miss Abby on TLC, you need to spend some time with Mrs. Kristen at Rock City to get the real picture.

We are proud to support Caroline and RCDC!

Diverted post

I had planned on sharing about our weekend jaunt to Austin, but my phone won't send the pictures to my computer.

I am taking this as a blogging sign that I should let you in on my most recent very guilty pleasure.

This requires transparency on my part. Not all of you will agree with my choice; I hope that none of you lose respect for me. The truth is, I am a deep person who enjoys literature, writing, reading the Bible and before this post, I was allowed to serve in our church from time to time. I have a heart for those who are hurting and love being a mom to my four kids. I try to feed them healthy foods, raise them right and have favorite activities with each of them, including reading Sandra Boynton's bedtime stories for active children with Sascha at night.

See. I am a lovely person.

A lovely person who CANNOT WAIT for next Monday night's episode of Bachelor Pad because 3 hours last night just wasn't enough.

There were more train wrecks in that show than I can count. I think that the characters of 90210 (the original show, I am ignoring Fox's new attempt at televising "life" in Beverly Hills) would be shocked at the dysfunction and cattiness of the "adults" in the pad.

And really, Vienna, really? I'm embarrassed for you. First of all, YOU (and that poor sap, Kasey) are the only people convinced that Jake is a monster. Loser? Yes. Monster? No. He doesn't have the kahunas to be a monster.

And, Kasey? Oh buddy. I thought the guard and protect tattoo was the ultimate humiliating low for you. I was so, so wrong. You (and your "extra 30 pounds of pure muscle") make me cringe. Your friends are even worse friends than the ones who let those really, really bad singers audition for American Idol without giving them a heads up that they really should NOT sing outside of the shower.

And just so you know . . . yes, I am also embarrassed for myself because I am intrigued. Who are these people? I am sorry that they do not have more self worth than to constantly put themselves on ABC's series of disaster reality shows for people like me to gawk at.

Ok. I am debating whether or not to hit post. This may be a polarizing moment. I fear that the next time I open my blog, my followership will be down to 10.

But this is me, folks. My name is Rachel and I love the Bachelor Pad.

A wonderful distraction

I would apologize for taking a week off from blogging, but I am not sorry one bit.

Wanna know why?

Because this sweet little bundle of yumminess is what kept me away

Now tell me, please, given the choice between a holding a lap top or him, what would you pick?

I guess it's pretty obvious which one I chose!

Welcome to the world, sweet John Tyler Southwell--all 7 pounds and 4.4 ounces of you has made a HUGE dent in my heart.

Congratulations Megan and Will . . . y'all have already blown me away with your parenting skills! I love you both, too.