How Pantyhose Wrecked the Car… or Cars

I know that to some, you think pantyhose are innocent.  But to any girl who grew up Baptist, you know pantyhose are truly evil and are capable of many wrongdoings.  Today, they wrecked my car.

It all started with a dress. My aunt and uncle gave me a new dress for Christmas.  When I opened it, I thought it was very cute. Then I saw the size.  I thought that it would be another item to hang in the closet and hope to wear sometime soon.  The other day, I decided I would see just how far I had to go before I would be able to wear the cute black sweater dress.  To my shock, it fit. It fit well.  It looked GOOD!  I danced about the house proudly.  My little girls liked it.  My baby boy told me I was pretty.  My teenager just shook his head like I was weird or something.

My only concern with the dress was the fact that it came to just above my knee.  I was not quite sure what to do because we are having this crazy winter and I wanted to wear the dress now. Julie told me the answer was tights. I told her that I do not wear those.  I definitely do not wear pantyhose either!  I wore tights a few times when I worked at Cathedral, but that had been a while. I cannot even tell you how long it had been since I wore a pair of pantyhose.  Those things are the devil!  She told me to suck it up and wear the tights.

Last night, I dug through the sock box under my bed and found two pair of black tights and one new pair of black pantyhose.  I was determined to wear my new dress.

I just have not felt well the last couple days and I could not seem to drag myself out of bed this morning.  I started the morning behind which makes me crazy.  Nothing was working right.  My hair would not do what it was supposed to.  The dogs were driving me nuts. I poked myself in the eye with my eyeliner.  It just was not going well.

I forgot to print words for the music. So, I was even FARTHER behind!

The car did not want to start.

I am finally ready to go, and I decide it is time for the final step- the tights.

I pull out the thickest pair.  Put them on.

I hate tights.

Then I decided to pull them up a little. If you a woman who has ever put on tights you know what I did next.  I grabbed the excess down farther on my leg and started to work it up my leg.  Well, my fingernail went straight through the knee of the tights.

The fingernails are a new thing.  I have been trying to quit biting mine.  I am a chronic biter, and I have tried to stop biting them a hundred times.  I do not do well with nails.  The little bit of nail that I have grown was deadly to the tights.

NO problem.  I have another pair. It is a small price to pay for those new nails! Those tights were old anyway, right?  Goodness.  They were probably two or three or more years old.

Next pair of tights.  A little more lightweight, but I should stay warm right?  I put them all the way on and then I realize that they had a hole in them BEFORE they were ever put away. Could it have been a hole on the bottom of my foot where it would not show?  or the top of my leg?  NO… right on my calf! 

On to the pantyhose.

I hate pantyhose.

I did not even get those pantyhose above my knees before I had a run down the front of my leg from my newly grown fingernails.

I was ready to throw things.  Luckily, pantyhose do not go anywhere when you throw them, so no one got hurt.

I told #4 we were leaving, and I stormed out of the house.  I threw my car in gear and CRASH.

JP had parked his van behind mine towards the end of the driveway.

I am blaming the pantyhose.  I am pretty sure it had nothing to do with my temper.


Just one of them days

A few minutes ago I sat down on the couch and began to type a post on Facebook about my wonderfully gratifying day.  It was just a GOOD day!

I went to the gym and got in a good workout. We sped through our morning and arrived at co-op with everything we needed and on time.  We had a great day at co-op. It is always nice to have  a break, but it is always nice to see each other after a break. My classes went well.  It seemed like the day flowed. I think everyone was happy.  Co-op was good.

I came home and actually sat down for a few minutes. I made a nice big dinner for my well deserved cheat meal and found out my hubby was not going to get to eat with us. I looked around at the OVERABUNDANCE of fish (Which doesn’t not keep well) and made the snap decision to call my parents.  My parents had not started their dinner so I told them they had ten minutes to get over here to eat.  We were able to eat a great meal, complete with a DELICIOUS dessert.  AND we played a game after dinner.

Does it really get any better than that?

Well, yes, my dear sweet eight year old….

The child who has made me seriously consider getting a job an giving up homeschooling.  (as recently as this morning while at the gym)

The child who has made me seriously reconsider my entire position on Ritalin.

The child who makes any day without wanting to run away from the home during our school time a victory .

The child who makes me doubt to my very core my calling as a teacher and sometimes as a mother.

He asked if HE could read a book.

Now, to some of you this is no big deal.  To some of you, you have no idea why I would even think twice about this, but this is a BIG deal at my house. To me as a mother of my first three children, this would no have been a big deal, but NOW as a mother of four…

“Mom, can I read you one of my library books.”

So, he read.


Sure they were low level.  Sure they were short chapters, but he was READING.

Then, you know what else happened.

He said, “Wow, that was kinda fun.  Can I get another one?”

And he read that one too.

While I was turned and helping another child, he decided he should read the third library book called, “Bugs!”

I told him how proud of him I was, and sent him off to brush his teeth and find his pajamas.

and I heard this from the kitchen…

“Hey girls, I read three books, and it was actually fun!  I think I might like reading.  I am going to sneak two books into my bed and read those too.”

I cried.


The Gauntlet has been Thrown

I do not like to be told what to do.

I know that is shocking to some of you, but not exactly a revelation to others.  However, what I like even less that being told what to do is being told what I cannot do.  When someone tells me that I cannot do something, my ear slick back, my head goes down, and I am ready to charge.  I am guessing there may be a pride issue in there, but I have come to accept the fact that it is just the way I am and probably will always be.

A few days ago, during one our morning workouts I was having a conversation with my dear, dear friend Julie.  We were discussing hair.  I was lamenting over the current state of my hair, and the fact that it had gotten longer and I was unsure of what I was to do next.  I mentioned to her, that I really thought it was time to grow it out.  It has been nearly twenty years since I have had hair past my shoulders.  I cut it all off on my eighteenth birthday, and I have never grown it out since.  I have decided to several times, but I always get to that “in between” stage and then I chop it off in a fit of emotional despair. Plus, my husband LIKES short hair, so I have a reason for the constant hacking of my locks.

But, I would like a change.  I would like to be able to pull it up and out of my face. I would like to have a major difference to go with all the work I have been putting into changing my body.  Why not have different hair too!  It would be a whole new me!  So on I went….

Then, my dear, dear friend stopped her feet and looked me straight in the face and said…

I think you can do ANYTHING you set your mind to.  You can lose the weight. You can meet your goals.  You are a strong woman.  You can rule the world, but you cannot, you will not grow out your hair.

My ears slicked back, and my head went down, and I think my eyes might have got little and beady. She does not think I can do it.  She says I CANNOT!

Soooooooooooo, guess who HAS to grow her hair out now.  Just to prove a point.

This girl.

Guess whose husband is less than thrilled that the prospect, and is now refusing to shave his pitiful mustache off because of this?

This girl. 

Guess who will win.

This girl. 

I love you Julie.