Stop Tapping Me!

I'm standing at the register talking to the cashier. Then I feel one of them tapping me from behind. I ignore it and continue talking to the cashier.
It didn't matter that I ignored him- the youngest spoke anyway. I guess the tap was his warning.
"Mama... she passed gas," he said- and it was NOT a whisper.
I just tried to talk louder. I didn't entertain him at all.
So what does he do? He walks around so he can look up to see my face. Make sure I hear him I guess.
My conversation was basically over but she was still ringing me and I did not want her (cashier) to hear any part of what he was saying about his sister, so I quickly started talking again- trying to drown him out, while turning away from him. I'm sure I seemed odd to the cashier now.
"I like those earrings. They look nice on you!" I smiled at her.
She felt her ears.
She hesitated to reply but with a peculiar look she thanked me. She was wearing tiny, small, little earrings. Much like the plain, silver or gold (ball) earrings a child gets when she first gets her ears pierced. Nothing stunning at all.
But it was the only thing I could think of talking about to drown my son out.
Didn't work. He got it in despite my quick thinking.
"She passed gas two times," he said, pinching his nose.
I got my change. Pressed my lips together and felt sweat all over my body.
Even though I did not know the cashier, I was embarrassed.
"Thank you!" I told her. "Come on, let's go!" I told the kids as I headed for the door.
As soon as the door closed behind us I asked him,
"What did you want me to do about it?"
He shrugged his shoulders- realizing I was not happy.
"Did you want me to go all Willy Nilly on your sister or something? I mean there was nothin' I could do but you'd rather broadcast it in the store!"
"I told him not to be a tattle-tell," his sister said, as if she were in the clear.
My attention quickly shifted.
"And you should have used your manners and said excuse me- no, better yet you should not have done that in the store!"
We got in the car and buckled up. Before I could put the car in reverse I felt a tap on my shoulder. I ignored it and threw it in reverse to get out of the parking lot.
Fingers tapping again on my shoulder.
"Mama... who is Willy Nilly?"
I wanted to scream!
"Stop tapping me!"

A Hair Raising Story from Walgreens

Yesterday we (kids and I) went to Walgreens. I gave them the usual spill-
"You ain't gettin' nothin' so don't ask!" and "Don't touch nothin'!"
I did end up getting something they wanted but it was a good product. The new Plaque Detector for kids- we'd just seen it on TV and Dude said it would be good for them to use, especially for our youngest who spends every bit of 35 seconds brushing his teeth. They saw it and did a good job of selling it.
"Mama. Here is what Daddy was talking about to get us to help us brush. And you know he (pointing to her little brother on the sly) doesn't brush good. You know that Mama," my daughter said.
"Watch it woman!" our son snickered. "I can hear ya!" he added, while eyeing some candy.
I could see his little wheels turning- possibly trying to come up with a reason that candy would be good to get.
"Nope!" I told him when his lips first separated to talk.
"Come on, we gotta go get Du- I mean Daddy from softball practice," I yelled to them while speed walking to the register.
There was just one person in front of us but the cashier took so long that a line had now formed.
Finally it was my turn. I threw in an Almond Joy with the rest of my items.
"How come you get to get sumpin?" our son asked.
"Because I have a job and have money- you don't always have to get something." I told him.
"I can't wait 'till I can be an Edult and buy my own things. I'm gonna buy a lot of stuff," he replied.
"Good! I wish you could buy your own stuff now before you become an Adult."
His sister was fine. She was busy looking at the little products at the register. I was about to get my bag when she said, on full volume-
"Look Mama. This little thing is like a mitten and it says you can use it to shave hair off of ya."
"That's nice baby come on," I smiled to the others in line.
"And you could even use it to get those hairs under your underarms!" she added.
She and her brother had a ball laughing as we walked out the store. I'm sure the people in line did too.

I'll Have the Last Laugh!

I got really good laugh today! I posted, on Facebook, for my status that I was gonna have to lay the right-hand of fellowship on my kids. I received a few comments. One friend posted a hilarious, off-the-wall, comment.
"Take out all the racks in your fridge and hide in there. When the kids get hungry and come open it, surprise 'em and jump out and start whippin' 'em with a gallon of milk and some frozen steaks."
Uh... can we say Social Services or the Po Po coming?
It was funny! So funny to me that I called my younger brother to tell him about it.
Then he had a better, more realistic suggestion.
"Naw, beat the mess out of Wilbur!"
Wilbur is our daughter's make-believe friend she conveniently talks to at inappropriate times. Last time being seconds after I fussed her out. She claimed Wilbur was talking about me. You'd have to go back and read that post.
This is a great idea! I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna just jump up in the middle of her watching Disney Channel and pretend to beat Wilbur down. I can see myself, choking him- or her- then throw in a little old school wrestling moves (when wrestling seemed a little more real). I'm gonna put Wilbur in the head-lock first and run toward the wall, then put him in the figure-four, then show no mercy and pile drive him-or her.
Can't wait to see what my daughter does then. Get Wilbur up out of here!
Now her brother choked Wilbur once. I probably posted about it too but it was when he was younger. I think he was in daycare because that made it funnier- that he was so young to think t do that.
He wanted to play with her but she told him no that she was playing with Wilbur instead. He sat there for a minute, then out of the blue, this little child I delivered, knee-high to a grassphopper, began choking her make-believe friend, Wilbur. And he put emotion into it to. Bit his bottom lip and choked and shook Wilbur wildly! He did it for about two minutes too.
But his sister wasn't rattled. When he finished she folded her arms and told her brother,
"Wilbur is over there." Pointing to another area of the room.
That's okay. I'll get him! I'll have the last laugh.

"I'm Calling Your Daddy"

In case any readers aren't aware... I work at my kids' school. My son's kindergarten class is two doors down, on the opposite side, from my room. It's not that I need to have him close- it just worked out that way.
I'm not sure what he did but one of his teachers tells me today that while reprimanding him, he would not look at her.
"Look at me," she told him.
She said he continued to look beside her as if someone else was there.
She told him a second time to look at her when she was talking to him and he didn't. He didn't say anything either.
So she remembered a while back she had to get on him and threatened to call Daddy. He called her bluff so she pretended to dial Daddy's number.
"I know your daddy's cell phone number," she told him and pushed one button. He quickly got himself together.
Remembering this she was now using it again.
"Okay. You can't look at me- I'm calling your daddy!"
Still not looking at her, he finally speaks-
"My mama work here. You can talk to her."
I know the teacher was shocked, baffled, hot!
She reached for her phone.
"I'm calling your daddy," she told him.
He calmly, without any additional hesitation, and without speaking... looked at her.
I've always said I was NOT gonna be the easy going parent. The one the kids would rather go to when they are in trouble. This made me look bad. And believe it or not, I do spank him when needed. Guess my bark must be bigger than my bite.

Running Away?

Every now and again I temporarily lose my sanity. I allow the two little ones to "raise my blood pressure" as my older relative used to say. I mean how would they really know it is going up at that moment? Anyway...
The kids had allowed their rooms to just get crazy recently. I mean it was a disaster and of course this wasn't the first time but I was tired so I went off. Close your ears.
"I am tired of these rooms not staying clean! I can't believe y'all can find anything in here. Look at this mess- looks like someone came in here and just went crazy! Y'all don't appreciate nothin'- that's the problem. And y'all are too big to be letting this mess happen. But you know what? This is my fault. My fault for letting y'all do this. I just keep talkin' and talkin' instead of just whippin' your butts! I just need to get old school on ya!" I told them, while looking around the rooms.
"I just need to get old school on ya and just stick my arm out and clothesline ya when you come down the hall like my aunt used to do. You know when I was little my-"
"We know. Grandma used to whip you everyday," one of them interrupted, not realizing how mad I was and the potential wrath that could come from this. But obviously I had told this speech before.
I stopped for a minute and sucked in some air slowly.
They were quiet. But not fearing for their lives like I wanted them to be. I realized then that I talk way too much. I stared at them for a minute and walked downstairs- didn't do what I usually do and added on. Figured it would get them thinking.
A few minutes later I heard them cleaning up.
"We gotta clean up for mama," my son said.
Later that night when they came to kiss me goodnight, they had something to tell me.
"Mama... we want to start helping you out more around the house and we are gonna keep our rooms clean too."
"I appreciate that," I told them as I hugged them. We were having our Cosby moment.
Then...
"Cause we don't want you to run away or somethin' because you can live here too," my daughter added.
My smile quickly went away.
"Um... uh... I ain't goin' nowhere. Ain't nobody runnin' away!" I told them.
The nerves.
And they seemed to look like they felt sorry for me. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me!" I told them as I sent them to bed.

God? Mad At Himself?

We were sitting in the parking lot of our church waiting for Dude. I knew he would be late.
While waiting I noticed a big tree in the wooded area beside our church. The tree had fallen slightly over on two other trees.
"Man. I wonder what happened to that tree?" I pointed out to the kids.
They were in the back heavily engaged in a debate, as usual, about something.
"Where?" one of them asked.
Before I could answer they saw it-
"Oh wow wook at that!" our son said.
"Look," I corrected him. "Watch your tongue on those L words."
Then here comes his sister or wanna-be mama, "Do your tongue like this," she added.
"Uh... I don't need a co-signer. I got this," I told her.
I grabbed my phone to text Dude.
The kids now had something else to talk about, but this time they were in agreement.
"God must be real mad at hisself, " our son began.
"Why?" his sister asked, still looking at the tree.
"Wook- I mean Look at what he did to that tree!"
"But would God do that to that precious tree?" his sister asked.
"Well he gots the power- not the devil so he did it and now he is mad at hisself," he suggested.
She agreed with him, "Yes you are usually not right but you are right about that."
I just shook my head and sent my text.

An F In Spanish

Seven years ago I began teaching our first born, Spanish. She always had a knack for it- she caught on really fast. She could roll her tongue when needed, and much better than me. Unfortunately over the years I have gotten slack with keeping that up and our son has NOT had an interest in it at all.
"How do you say cat in Spanish?" I would ask him. He would flare his little nostrils, look at my happy mommy face and reply, "el cato".
But I had a feeing he knew because he knew to put the article "el"in front. Everytime I asked him a word in Spanish he would just put an "o" on the end of the word and snicker. That little... sweet little thing.
Our daughter knows a fairly good amount of Spanish but due to me being slack, she doesn't know enough to have conversations... yet. I guess she would be considered a beginning Spanish student.
We were in Wally World (Wal-mart) and she began talking to two little girls (She never meets a stranger). They spoke to her in Spanish. She did well with the greetings- saying hello and how are you. She even did fairly well when one girl asked her how old she was.
"Setenta!" she answered and winked at me.
"No. That's seventy Maurissa. You are seven so it is 'siete'."
She winked her eye and gave me a thumbs up. "Okay mamacita!" she said. I gave her the old eyebrow raise that says "watch it!". She then went back to the girls.
They began speaking more Spanish and much faster now. I focused on the playdough in front of me on the shelf- pretending not listen. I wanted to see if she could figure out what they were saying. It had now jumped to Advanced level Spanish.
Then to my horror she began speaking a bunch of gibberish- nonsense that I can't spell- not even phonetically. (The following are the words- as best as I can spell it- that came out of her mouth)
"Reighereiiuteieirueihgbs, llgeiesieiuagijige, bueno uno kdfieuigeirueijgeiuge, la cuccuracha, ccochei-"
"Okay, okay Maurissa. Get over here," I interrupted, while looking to see if the girls' parents heard this mess.
I guess she just wanted to be involved in the conversation or maybe survival mode kicked in. I just didn't know.
"Adios," I said to the girls as I walked Maurissa away. I was so avergonzado (embarrassed). She had flunked Advanced Spanish.

The Coach Bag

Daddy (not mad at him right now so he's not "Dude") did well this year for my birthday! He surprised me with several gifts throughout the day. A week earlier he took the kids to a place where they picked out these beautiful plates, then they decorated and painted them. Once they were dry they went back to get them and gave them to me! Really nice! Our son decorated one plate with pictures of turtles- turtles are HIS favorite animals right now. I better not see any real ones in the house.
One gift that Daddy gave me was a really nice designer Coach handbag. When our daughter saw the box it came in and the handbag she couldn't figure out what the big deal was. She looked at the plates they made then at the Coach bag.
"Don't you like it?" I smiled at her while holding the bag.
"What is it?" she asked with her lip turned up.
"It's a Coach bag!" I answered. Realizing she doesn't know about designer names (fortunately) I began to explain to her, when she jumps in and asks, "Does it yell?
Confused, I looked at Daddy. He just shrugged his shoulders. He didn't understand either.
"Well Daddy is a coach and he yells so does this Coach yell?" she asked holding it up to her ear.
Sometimes we just don't know if she's serious or not.

The Man

When I was little there was a man who would come around the neighborhood talking to himself. We called him "Shorty". Not sure why we called him this but when he came around we would laugh at him and often times do things to get him to chase us. Back then no one really used mental health terms to describe erratic behavior. We just referred to them as "crazy".
There is a man around town here who stands on corners doing the same things. He usually wears the same gray coat, has salt and pepper colored hair and many times I see him puffing on a cigarette. You can see people at the four-way intersection, staring out of their car windows at him. I'd love to hear what they are saying; I'd love to know his story too.
I'd never seen this man up close... until today!
We (the kids and Daddy) stopped at a fast-food place on the way home, which happened to be near one of the man's common speaking spots. As we walked in I noticed him sitting outside at one of the tables. But soon after we sat down to eat, he came in.
I always worry about our kids' reactions in situations like this.
He stopped at our table, said hello and asked if he could tell us something.
I wiped my mouth and gave him my attention. We all did.
He briefly shared something about faith and the devil. I finally was able to see "the man" up close. Black man with a scraggly beard, looked to be in his late 50s and missing a lot of teeth.
"That was nice," our little compassionate seven-year-old said, as he walked over to refill his cup at the drink dispensers. I was somewhat relieved.
We continued to eat. I nudged my husband and cut my eyes at our son. I couldn't believe he didn't have anything t say. But I could see the wheels turning in his little head.
Then the man was back.
"You can't give to everybody because you might be giving to the devil," he said. "God Bless ya'll ." He went away again. This time leaving the restaurant- still talking.
We were quiet for a moment then finally our son spoke.
"That man only had ONE tooth in his mouth. Just ONE tooth," he said showing us with his finger.
He was confused by this. And this was all he got from it.

Death and Resurrection

The kids have worried me so much about dying eggs for Easter.
"Patience!" I had told the five-year-old for two days. "You've got to learn some patience! "
I purposely took my time to get things ready. Just because our son sat around just staring at me. I just kept thinking of things to do so I could drive him crazy.
Didn't work- he drove me crazy first!
As I carefully placed the cooled, boiled eggs in a bowl, I hear someone sniffing. It was the seven-year-old crying. There was no telling what was wrong with her.
"What is it?" I asked rolling my eyes.
"Do you really have to make the chicks die?"
"What are you talkin' about?" I asked her.
"Well you said we have to die the eggs," she answered.
I just spent about ten seconds looking at her. She had to have been kidding.
As I began to prepare the kit and eggs for decorating, I realized there was something missing- or someone. Surely he didn't think I was going to go this alone. Besides... I'm not an arts and crafts person so I didn't want to do it.
"Daddy!" I yelled. "The kids want you to help them with these eggs!"
Reluctantly he came in and plopped in the chair- acting like my third child.
So there we were, the four of us having a cute little family time. But the two oldest ones (myself and Daddy) did not want to be there. I would have been happy just cracking a few and sprinkling some salt on 'em.
"Sooooo... are these eggs gonna come back to life again?" our darling little talkative daughter asked.
"What?" I said sternly.
"The eggs died so they are going to be resurrected again!" She said with a huge smile.
I just looked at Daddy- while we both yawned.
Where do they get this stuff?

What Would Jesus Do?

Our little five-year-old thinks on his feet.
While on the playground a little girl in his class complained to the teacher that he (my son) wouldn't play with her. So the teacher called him over to talk with him about it.
"What's going on?" she asked him. "Why don't you want to play with her?"
"I just don't want to play with her!" he answered.
"Well... what would you do if someone didn't want to play with you? How would you feel?" the teacher added.
Before he could answer she jumped back in- she knew what to say to get him thinking-
"Think about what Jesus would do."
She knew she had him then.
She could see him processing it. He nodded.
"Okay now go on and play- but think about what Jesus would do," she reminded him.
He started to run off to play again then the teacher asked-
"What are you gonna do?"
He turned around and quickly told her with a smile...
"I'm gonna tell her to go play with Jesus!"