Moms love to give their kids a Sonic Boom sounding kiss. The kind of deafening kiss that ricochets off the walls and bursts your ear drums if you are not the one administering or receiving said kiss. Moms rock at this.

I can’t really describe what it sounds like since there are so many variations. It all depends on the size of the smooched area, wind speed, humidity levels, mood of the mother, squirming of the object of affection. There are just too many variables. I bet you know what I am writing about though. It’s that kiss that results from an overflowing of joy and love that makes you charge your children like a wild bear after it’s prey. Except the Black Bear eats what it’s after, we just want to give our prey a big, loud kiss. So really, nothing alike at all. Moving on… 

Not every one is a fan of the  Sonic Boom Smooch. I know, it’s shocking. My husband is one such individual. This came to light while pregnant with our first baby. Sitting in an overcrowded obstetrician’s office, the woman next to us was mauling her sweet baby with ear shattering kisses. My husband leaned over and said ”My Eternal Love, when thou bears the first sired son of the Sanders tribe, wilst thou refrain from making those loud kissing noises upon his wondrous fleshy cheeks? My stomach becomes overwrot at the sound and I fear retching.” I replied “Of course I can not promise suchmy Eternal Love. Tis my job as Mother.” (This may not have been exactly the way it all went down, but it’s how I chose to remember it) Never having been a fan of recieving such messy loud kisses, he assumes others don’t like them either. 

I believe, however, there is a time and place for The Sonic Boom Kiss. Here are a few of my personal guidelines for it’s use: 

1. When a regular kiss just won’t do-  Sometimes we just need to bring the big guns of parental love. We know when it needs to come out… and aren’t afraid to causing hearing impairment to those around us to get that kid’s frown turned upside down. Examples: Illness, lost family pet, good report card, bad report card.

2. Cute pajamas- Mom’s are suckers for kids dressed in cute pj’s, aren’t we. Dinosaurs, stars, and primary colors are like Kryptonite to us. We lose all self control and snatch them up out of their Thomas the Tank Engine slippers for a kiss.

3. Relational Issues- Sibling Rivalry, Friendship ups and downs all require a Sonic Boom Kiss.

4. Graduation from ANYTHING- If someone is capable of graduating from something, I can guarantee you there will a be a mom there to blow out the sound system by her display of affection.

So what about you? When do you bring out the Sonic Boom Kiss to plant on your children?

Moms LOVE ugly babies. We can’t help it. Their little squashed heads, big ears and lopsided eyes just melt our hearts. Don’t they?

I think God designed us Moms to love ugly babies because the world can be a cold, harsh place for a newborn with a black uni-brow and coating of back hair thick enough to braid. We don’t see it…okay, we see it. BUT ouur overwhelming love for our children and deep unshakeable faith in God allows us to gloss over those oddities with an abundance of love. 

Not everyone shares our rosy view.  Unfortunately, some old crazy, excuse me “impaired” Aunt is always waiting in the delivery room with a magnifying glass to inspect and pass judgement on our brand new offspring. She can’t wait to point out the teenage worthy acne break out and any toes that are slightly (or extremely) longer than the others.

Once we maneuver past the Crazy Aunts, the whole wide world awaits our ugly baby’s debut into society or the local Target, whichever comes first. Those early tentative outings with an Ugly Baby or UGB for short are stressful for Mom. People are drawn to brand spanking new humans like moths to a flame.  They want to bring that ship into the shore and share their thoughts on your bundle of joy. They can’t fight that feelin’ anymore,  like a classic REO Speedwagon  song.

Here is a quick way to decode a stranger’s remarks about your UGB:

“Wow. He sure is big”- That kid is freakishly large. Probably has a thyroid condition. How will they ever afford to feed him? Better add them to our family prayer list.

“I am sure she will be smart”- Hmm… given her family genetics and tendency to drool excessively when propped on her left side, I hope she is a genius. She’ll have to be to ever fit in society. Let’s add them to our prayer list.

“He has great lungs!”- OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS. No child should turn that color when he cries. Ever. That scared me. I am seriously scared. Check Please!

“Is her head supposed to look like that?” - Somebody get a doctor over here! I didn’t even know that was possible. This kid is destined for the circus. Right? Can you ever be President with a misshaped noggin like that? Not in America, Buddy. That’s just sad.

“We dealt with UGB syndrome too” – This will pass. Come Toddlerhood your Baby will be the cutest one in preschool. I promise. All these people who declare that baby ugly and scary looking now, will come and repent. They weep at the sight of that beautiful, athletic child someday and you will forgive them… and add them to your prayer list…because you are a Saint my friend.  

Anyone want to admit to having an Ugly Baby that grew into a Beautiful Child or am I the only one?

Be warned: I am blatantly stealing my series title from Jon Acuff. If you don’t know who that is, slap yourself silly. Your life cannot be complete until you have laughed your way through his Stuff Christians Like site.

My series is based on some interesting things I have noticed tend to be true about Moms and some Dads in general. The following is meant for entertainment purposes only, any likeness to characters is coincidental and all that other legal mumbo jumbo.

Stuff Moms Like #2 Labor Horror Stories

As soon as that little plus sign pops up to declare “You’re Pregnant!”, other moms will start bombarding you with Labor and Delivery Horror Stories. It starts out all “We are so happy for you!” but really we are patiently waiting for an opening in the conversation to tell you our ghastly labor story. Seriously.

Moms cannot wait to tell you all the gory details, with lots of hand movements and even some props if we are really good at storytelling. We have to tell you. We have a contract to uphold. See, in between the birth certificate we signed in the hospital and our consent to treatment papers was a legally binding, death pact like document. In essence we stated that we would spread the word of our horrific birthing process to any and all others willing to listen for the next 60 years, give or take. Fantastic.

We also agreed to embellish the facts, if need be, to impress upon an individual the seriousness of the situation. Especially those that are naive enough to believe we rejected the anathesia and instead asked  for a lead free bullet to bite. Used,  since that would be more eco friendly, no less. 

That pact is a big deal to a few.  In fact, I have a friend that asks random women on the street if they are expecting, just so she can say “Let me tell you what happened to me on August 18th, 1984..”. She drops her purse on the sidewalk and goes into a trance like stare, all the while referring to herself as The Warrior in the story. She’s really tiresome to shop with after a while…

Why do Moms love gory labor stories? For some of us, we have been to the Edge-and it was harrowing. We still cannot believe that we lived through it and came out to wear non-elastic jeans ever again. Our bodies are amazing, we were amazing. We stretched, squished, ripped and came out pretty much intact on the other-side with a human to hold! That is a big deal. For some of us, holding our perfect baby in our arms, it was the first time we realized how much God actually loves us. “I am God’s Child” and what that actually means, is an even bigger deal. 

There are others among us (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) who just like to scare those who still haven’t amassed war stories of their own yet . Some Moms  just love to make a newly pregnant woman pass out cold out of spite. Harsh, but completely true. 

Listen, if you break your neck to draw an anatomically correct diagram of every single stitch received and shot administered for a complete stranger’s benefit (torment)- you know who you are- STOP. Really. Stop. You aren’t doing her any favors and when the Silent Warrior beside you tells her labor story involving a tornado, storm shelter delivery, biting on horse reigns since there was no tranquillizers, breaking a horse to ride to the ER, carving a car seat from a downed tree- with her teeth- for baby’s safety and was STILL  home to fill out the FEMA disaster assistance  papers before noon…your story is going to look pretty weak. 

Just sayin’.

How about you all? Know anyone who takes out an entire pew of church goers to harass the newly pregnant? No names!

I love that Facebook has a box to check called It’s Complicated to let your friends know what your relationship status is currently. Three choices: Single, Married or It’s Complicated. I think “It’s Complicated” has much more potential uses than to let people you went to high school know that you and your boyfriend are in the process of splitting up because he may or may not have made out with your roommate after a party that you did not attend. It’s Complicated could be useful for those of us who have experienced loss and ongoing grief to let others know how we are doing.

If I had to address my current emotional state of mind I would use Facebook’s “It’s Complicated”. See today my middle son starts baseball. He is so excited and I am not even exaggerating a little if I said he will be the cutest kid out there on the field tonight. ; ) Today is (so far) the single greatest day in his young life. 

For me? Not so much. I am caught in that weird place called Bittersweet. Yes, today is a happy day for Zeke and our family. I celebrate that he is healthy and able to play ball. I can’t wait. (The Sweet) But there are clouds in my heart. I know that sounds hokey and poetic but it’s not. That is literally the way I feel today. As though any moment, tears will pour like rain down into my heart and create a flash flood of grief and pain. It’s like a threatening storm you can feel coming. Yeah, it sounds strange, but if you have suffered loss  in your life it probably makes sense.

Today brings back the first day Zane slipped on his cute little baseball uniform for his special needs team. (That would be the Bitter)  Let me tell you- it was a disaster of epic proportions, but he was adorable in his little suit. He loved to hit the ball, but that’s pretty much it. The rest of the time, his “Helper” had to chase him all over the field. He only went to two games and one of them he refused to get out on the field, but it was the first time we had something positive and hopeful to say when asked about Zane. We savored that too.

So now here we are just five years later with another little one about to shuffle out to the outfield to kick dirt while I take a hundred pictures of him. But this time, everything is different. I am just a typical parent of a typical kid. There are no knots in my stomach. My husband and I will not have to tag team to keep Zane under a moderate amount of control. No one will look at us with dismay, then pity because our little boy is having a full scale meltdown at second base. No one will ask us “what’s wrong” with our child or suggest if we just disciplined him a little better he could out grown his Autism.

Tonight my family will just be. And it will be wonderful. (Sweet)

But I am sad because despite all the blessings I have received in my life, today I want more. I want Zane to be okay. To go play baseball and be a typical eleven year old boy who doesn’t want his mom to take his picture before practice. I want him to be embarrassed of me and think I am old as dirt. I want him to have a crush on a girl. I want him to do the countless other things that eleven year old boys do to annoy their parents. I want… to not grow bitter.

I reread that paragraph and realized I said “I want” a lot. That’s okay. I have learned that it’s okay to ‘want’, every so often. These days come and go and come again. To deny that I am hurting only makes the pain worse and leads to some public crying jag that makes me look disturbed. So I am crying as I type this, and my little ones play outside with a half dead snake. (It’s a long story) Knowing that tomorrow it will be better, accepting that today it’s just hard.

Something happened a few days ago that I am not proud of…I was seduced…by a pair of old woman pull on jeans. I know, I know. Go ahead and gasp because it really is that bad.

(side note for men: Pull On Jeans for women is to Over The Top for men. You know, when you start wearing your jeans OVER your belly button like Fred Mertz on I Love Lucy. That fateful day you decide “I am tired of pulling up my jeans twenty five times a day. Today is the day I go over the top.” So you do…and it feels good, really good. The sensation of pants over the rib cage is different- but not unpleasant and provides you with the illusion you’ve gotten taller since your jeans are shorter, a confidence booster for sure. But there is some shame involved, isn’t there? A little niggling feeling that you want to hide what you’ve done because it just isn’t right. That my friend is how women feel when they don Pull On Jeans. Sigh.) 

I could say “Well, I had too much to drink” but unsweet tea really can’t be faulted for what happened, at a SEARS no less. I could blame it on the fact that my boyfriend broke up with me and I was really vulnerable. Except, I don’t have a boyfriend and I am pretty much vulnerable on a day to day basis and don’t make decisions this bad.

I desperately want to give you a reason that would make you nod your head compassionately and add me to your church prayer list so I will not continue down this stretchy elastic road.

The time: 5:15 p.m.

The Attitude: Somber, Stressed

The Altitude: Poorly lit Sears Department Store, Midtown Tulsa.

After trying on a bajillion pairs of jeans I was exhausted and sweaty. Pretty sure I had low blood sugar and blurred vision as well. While sitting down in the dressing room to have a nervous breakdown and or psychotic break from reality, something blue called to me from the corner.

Now I had brought 62 pairs of jeans in the dressing room with me, but not these. These magnificent jeans were here when I walked in the room. I remembered. (This should have been my first warning. Jeans I did not pick out where the lighting was better, now looked good to me)

I limped over to inspect them and found to my surprise they were my size! (Eve, meet fruit)  I put them on, without hesitation. They easily slid on and suddenly I was wearing a spiffy new pair of jeans. Almost immediately though I felt something wasn’t quite right. NO ZIPPER! I shrunk back from the mirror in shame and fear. Could this happen? Could your really just dance on this line between youth and geriatric so easily? I always assumed when the time came for me to cross over, a large supportive group of women would come to my house to escort me to into those types of jeans. Like an band of angels or something. I had no idea I could just stumble across them in a dark dressing room in the midwest. Sadly, they aren’t regulated like the controlled substances they really are…but I digress.  

I immediately took them off and kicked them far across the room as though they were made from live snakes. I was a little shaken, but I knew I was going to be okay after my brush with the dark side. Okay until I noticed the fancy little booklet attatched to the jeans. This should have been warning number two. If a clothing item is accompanied by a book explaining why you should purchase- run!

I picked up the booklet and read. (Apple meet Eve) It was colorful, full of catchy little ego boosting sentiments like “You aren’t average, so why should your jeans be?” and “Real women KNOW what they want and deserve out of life. They aren’t afraid to demand better”. The rhetoric was hypnotic! I wanted to be confident, bold and fitted with “Jeans that can last all day- just like you”. Real women wear elastic! I have always desperately wanted to be a real woman, so I bought them. (Weeping)

So there it is friends, the story of my seduction, full of excuses and more information than you ever should be forced to know. What can we learn from this? Shop with a buddy on a  full, but not too full stomach. Six glasses of tea in less than two hours, really puts one in an under the influence like state of mind in which all things are possible but not beneficial. Confess your jeans transgressions to one another in hopes of not returning to the elastic like a dog to it’s own vomit. I am going to stop right here…

Do you own pull on jeans? Have you been Over The Top and lived to tell about it? Let me hear your testimony.

It’s that time of year again People!  The Tulsa Workshop is just around the corner and to celebrate I decided to drag out last year’s top ten list.

Book your hotel rooms now so you can make the 2010 list 10 Signs You Partied Too Hard At The Tulsa Workshop!

1.  You wake up Sunday morning with a tattoo that says ” Terry  Rush for President”  You also now replace all those Chuck Norris sayings with Terry Rush’s name.  For example, ”Terry Rush counted to infinity- twice. ” ”Terry Rush once broke the land speed record on a bicycle that was missing its chain and the back tire.”

2.  You own a shirt that reads “Disciple of John (Dobbs)”.

3.  You made so many new friends, you are considering volunteering for the Witness Relocation Program.

4.  You signed up to be a missionary in Brazil, Africa, Mexico, China, New Zealand, Canada, Afghanistan and Detroit Michigan.

5.  24 hours post Workshop, you have a blog,  Facebook  and Twitter accounts thanks to John Dobbs and Trey Morgan.  24 hours prior to the workshop, you didn’t even own a computer and thought Twitter was something sixth grade girls did when a cute boy walked past. 

6.  You spouse is sleep deprived because you were singing this song  in your sleep last night.

7.  You quit your job to be an Acappella groupie.

8.  You spent Friday and Saturday stalking Jeff Walling. Tweeting what he ate for lunch and when he used the restroom. Pizza, 11:46.

9.  You seriously are considering kidnapping Shane Coffman  for your own church. (The only time I can condone a possible kidnapping! Love ya Shane!)

10.  You have already booked your hotel room for next year!

My husband and I are  recent converts to the IPhone movement. Exciting for this old married couple! 

His previousphone was the technological equivalent of a old Model T Ford complete with cranking handle. Mine was more advance in nature. Well, when it wasn’t “thinking” it was more advanced.  (Good Bye Blackberry and Motorola of Unknown Origin. You are not missed.)

The IPhone has these magical phone accessories called Apps, for those of you who have been cave dwelling shut ins for the last few years. Understatement of the year: Apps are the bomb. Some literally. Want to virtually blow something up? There’s an app for that! 

I have one that allows me to play and LOSE social media games with friends. At least I had allowed them to be, until they beat me so soundly at Words With Friends.  (I had no idea so many of my Peeps knew the words “arb” “tao” and “qi”.)   My husband has an app that allows him to compete with people all over the world who like to throw wadded up pieces of paper into trash cans. We like to discuss our competitors moves before bed. We live a full life.

But wouldn’t it be an even fuller life if we had Apps that would do the following?

No- This App is the ultimate time management helper. Have a coworker who needs you to work late for her every Friday so she can “Get her drink on and nails did”. Let this handy little app do the talking for you!

Simply walk up to the offending party and shake your Iphone in her direction. “No!” she will hear every Thursday afternoon from now until she quits. Message deliverd in short, serious montone human simulated voice. Cut the drama with No App!

You might also like these Apps-  Because I Said So  and  I Am Serious

No Mouth- Likely one of the most versatile apps ever created for busy parents. From a toddler who specializes in nose picking to a sarcastic preteen, we’ve got you covered.  Just point your Iphone at those wayward children you have produced and they will get the message. Also comes with telepathic Church Mode setting for those Chatty Cathy’s among you.

Also Try: Where Did That Gum Come From? 

Awkward Moment-This app is the must have for those moments when life and people catch you off gaurd. Let’s face facts, we all have moments where we just don’t know what to say. Perhaps a neighbor who specializes in TMI stops by to tell you about his rash. Whip out your Iphone and he will hear ”That’s too bad. I have to go now.” As a bonus, Awkward Moment has now been upgraded to include the phrase “I will pray for you” for Christians.

My Preacher Rocks App- Tired of being personally barbequed every week? This app sends out simultaneous Twitter and Facebook updates that let’s the world and your minister know you think  ”HE ROCKS!”.  Good for preachers’ wives and those prone to public screw ups.   ; ) 

Trust Me App- The perfect application for those times you are about to do something dangerous/ dumb/ that clearly will not turn out well. A text message will be sent to all immediate witnesses that despite all appearances “I know what I am doing here”.  Others who bought this app also purchased Ambulance Please and Someone Help Find My Dignity.

Heroic Remarks App-  Ever do something astoundingly heroic? Nothing crowns a moment of glory like a the perfect verbal response. Preset with these phrases: Please no photos, I’m not a hero, I just love people, It was nothing- much.

You’re Still A Hottie App- Flourescent light activated app makes shopping fun again! GPS allows this application to locate you in any dressing room so you can be comforted by soothing music and direct messsages like “You’re still gorgeous. These mirrors lie.”

Automatically adjusts how much reassurance you need based on a complicated math formula that involves your age, number of children born and current hormone levels. A must have for swimsuit season!

Jesus Loves Them App-  Do you work in costomer service? Then this heat activated app is for you. Once you reach boiling point a message is sent to your phone and your brain that reminds you “Jesus loves this person and I have too as well”. A must have for coaches, teachers, bankers, clergyman, construction workers, insurance agents, doctors, nurses, police officers, commuters, postal workers and others whom must interact with the public.

Let’s Think About This- Have something you are dying to say but can’t decide if it’s appropriate or not? Let’s Think About This app helps you out by weighing the consequences of your words. Simply type in those delicious morsels of grammer you want to spew and take a deep breath. In a few moments you will recieve a Green Light or Red Light signal.

Green Light means your words may be controversial but carries a low risk of  backlash. Red Light means STOP. TURN BACK BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE! For a small fee Red Light now comes with Auto Shock for those who are still not sure about the advice transmitted.

Blog compatible! Screen turns red with simulated blood when words that are not in the best interest of others are grouped together. Sorry, not Twitter compatible.

I’ve been bitten by the romance bug again. Brace yourself as I give real life marriage a romance novel makeover.  The following story is based on actual events and a real conversation. No animals were hurt during the writing of this piece. (Except for the chicken) 

Greg pulled into the driveway and sighed, his huge muscles rippling under his work shirt. Shutting off his truck engine, he was overwhelmed by the beauty of their homestead. Amanda had managed to turn their yard into a bountiful garden full of flowering trees and drought tolerant shrubs. How she had done that while managing a busy household full of children and taking such good care of him, he would never know.

He imagined her standing beside his chair holding a tall cold glass of milk. Thinking of  his favorite things waiting inside caused him to quicken his pace past their garage. Suddenly his euphoria vanished. There in the corner of the garage stood the one thing that could ruin everything they had worked for…

Inside the kitchen, Amanda was putting the finishing touches on her home made chicken soup. All day she had slaved over that pot of goodness. Chopping and shredding  the ingredients into almost a perfectly uniform size so the soup resembled something from a can, just the way her family liked it.

“The blue dog was i- in. Is that word ’in’Mom?” Zeke asked. He was half way through reading Go Dog Go! aloud. Amanda wiped her hands on a towel and looked over his shoulder. “Hmm..where do you see the word was? Point to it.”  Zeke laughed, “Oh! I keep adding ”was” to everything. Why am I doing that?”

Amanda smiled politely but her mind was troubled. There was something very wrong. She knew it, she had felt it in her bones all day.  But what? What could be haunting her so? Frantically her mind raced, searching for an answer she was terrified to find. 

“Dad! Dad, guess what? Zekey is putting ”was” in every ‘ting and Mom is getting mad. Yeah. Hey, I got my underwear on the right way? See? Tag in the back by my BOOT-TAY. Know what, hey Dad, know what? When I was your age I got into trouble at school too…yeah. I know.”  Amanda listened to Zack greet Greg at the front door. Her heart raced with excitement and she wiped the chicken steam from her face as she moved toward the door.  

He was upset, she could tell. The slumped shoulders and look of dismay could have easily been dismissed as after effects of Zack’s poor conversation skills, but she knew better. Something was wrong.

“What’ve we got going on in here Mama?” he said, sliding up next to her. “Home made chicken soup with organic vegetables, thanks to Kroger. Your favorite. ” she breathed heavily. “Yes. You know how I love dead chicken.” he said sweeping her into his arms for a long hot kiss. The moment their lips met all thoughts left her mind. She was floating in a sea of passion. Nothing was wrong, anymore.

All day he had been away from her. Longing to hold her and now, surrounded by the smell of onions, celery and poultry, he was a happy man. Almost, happy enough to forget the crisis unfolding in the garage. Almost…

“OH GROSS. I AM GOING TO PUKE”. The disgust of their children interrupting the heated moment. Zeke jumped in, “Dad, I keep putting ’was’ in everything. I don’t know why I keep doing that..”

 When Amanda heard the words “putting in” she remembered. The one thing that had haunted her all day, haunted her for the week before ripped open through her consciousness. 

“The trash!” she gasped. Whirling to meet Greg’s desperate gaze, she cried “WE FORGOT THE TRASH!”. Panicked, she reached for the door knob. Trying to right the wrong that had been done. Hoping against hope to find a Conway Corp Sanitation truck outside her front door. 

Greg grabbed her, willing her to stay with him ”It’s too late. It’s over. I saw that when I got home.” the anguish evident in his voice. He had wanted to protect her from the horror. Why couldn’t he have procted her?

 ”NO! Not again!” she wailed into the darkness. ”What will we do Greg?” she pleaded. He turned her face to meet his fiery gaze and said “We’ll make it Babe. That’s all we can do.” Those were last words she heard as his mouth claimed hers.

“Yes, we’ll make it. “she thought and abandoned herself to the flames.  

Wednesday night I was creamed by a can of corn. Niblets to be exact. Those delicious, buttery chunks of goodness that bring a smile to every one’s face jumped up and bit me. Well, that might not be the most accurate statement ever…

Tee minus 70 minutes till church time and the Sanders house was buzzing with activity. Literally, since my Kindergartner stuck my tweezers into the bathroom electrical outlet while making eye contact with me and listing all the reasons why he didn’t really need a bath. He was at number two, “The mud fell off my leg when I kicked the car tire. I’m not dirty anymore..”, when he did the deed. It was a strange moment for both of us. He screamed, jumped and dropped the tweezers. I screamed, jumped and almost fell straight back into the bathtub. 

In the darkness of the bathroom, I began to smell the unmistakable odor of electrical wires being fried. (Speaking of fried, I also had a skillet of chicken on the stove that was nearing the point of “turn me over already” and a four year old who was wandering from room to room, naked save his socks. My nerves were nearing that magical FRIED point as well. )

Zeke evacuated the bathroom area like the paranoid child his mother has raised him to be about fire. I began to put my limited electrical knowledge to work- aka Call Husband. Unfortunately, he was already at work and I was on my own.

Plan B- call Dad. He too was at workbutmy mom was at home. Lucky for me, not for her, Marilyn Sikes has had just about every kind of at home emergency you can imagine. Her paranoia of fire (See a pattern here?) and over the phone diagnosis (flip the breaker) was just what was needed and I went back to the kitchen and my chicken.

What goes better with chicken than corn Niblets? Two cans of corn Niblets! So I hastily sat about opening the cans. First one, major success. Second one? Major blunder. I sliced my thumb with a power that could have only been matched by a man named Magnuss Thor, two time World Toughman Champion. Blood and my guts, I assumed, went flying everywhere.

Immediately, my kitchen transformed from Southern Living to southern massacre. Chicken, corn, tea and blood. I am one to pass out cold at the site of blood. Especially when that blood belongs to me! I truly wanted to crumple in the floor and take a rain check on consciousness. But little tiny wet sock prints caught my eye and I realized passing out was not an option. 

I walked into the living room and casually said “Mommy has cut herself. We have to go to the hospital. Get dressed.” Looking back, perhaps I was too calm about the whole thing. The wanted to doddle and talk to me about why it was good to wear socks in the bathtub.  They asked if we would be taking the dog and would it be okay to bring the Nintendo DS along with a hundred other questions that required more than a grunt from me.

My Mom Brain was saying “Be cool. Don’t freak the kids out. There is no reason to panic them. You are the adult. They take their cues from you. Be cool. ” while my Personal Brain was screaming “PEOPLE I AM GOING TO BLEED TO DEATH ON MY NEW COUCH! PANIC! PANIC NOW!!”. Mom Brain won- but only because Personal Brain hyperventilated and passed out.

Once we made it to the ER I began to feel less stressed. Should I pass out, there were plenty of responsible looking adults to sheppard my kids for a few minutes. The doctors decided that I had too many “chunks missing” for stitches to be effective and pasted me back together with a miraculous adhesive called Dermabond, Amen.

While filling in my gaps and gathering my ragged flesh together, it occurred to me that this was probably as close as I would ever get to cosmetic surgery. This thought made me laugh and my children to pay attention to what was going on over at the trauma table. Zeke, not a fun kid to have around during a crisis, declared “Mom. I’m pretty sure you only have six drops of blood. You’ve probably already dropped them. Don’t drop anymore or you will die and it will do something to your heart.” He then proceeded to say “Hey! I just beat level three on Stars Wars Lego!”

Zack not one to pass up an opportunity to educate,  decided that this was the perfect moment to engage the ER staff in a conversation about wearing socks in the bathtub. I concentrated on lying very still and remaining conscious.

In what could only be described as a moment of poor judgement on my children’s part, I was compared to a “little girl” because I expressed some anxiety about the looming Tetanus shot. A quick, venomous “Death Stare” took care of any ribbing and their banter was quickly changed to “When can we go home?”. 

Eventually, we did make it home. My bravery, my calmness and sense of humor seemed to evaporate though once I surveyed the crime scene of my kitchen. My eyes started watering. I wanted to cry. Sit down in the floor and wail hysterically. The thought of having to clean up the scene of my own disfigurement was almost too much to bear. “Sometimes I hate being an adult” I said to the air and God and a lone corn Niblet lying beside me on the floor.

Listen Friends, in just about a month something big is going to happen. The first official day of Spring will come to pass and bring with it  a heap of bikini’s and poor judgement.

Look, I understand the temptation to break out those sandals. After all, we have been wearing winter clothes for half a year at this point, but I caution you to carefully consider the following before you strip down to frolic in public.

1.  March 20th, 2010 may be the  first day of Spring, but only on the calendar. It’s still really cold. Seriously, 3/20/10 is just a number that has no real bearing on reality, like your weight on your driver’s licence. If either of those numbers represented true life experience- we would all be way, weigh happier- but they don’t.

2. Winter Feet- We all have winter feet right now. Shudder. Well, most of us,  that haven’t been to the Carribean for Valentine’s Day are in that boat, anyway. (Not that I am bitter.)

If you haven’t let your lower extremeties go until they resemble a History Channel reenactment of  The Search for Sasquatch, congratulations! You are an exception to the rule and a fine example for us all…and I hope you got sand fleas at the beach. For everyone else, might I suggest a louffa and some lotion? Clippers are your friend.

3.  Too Far, Too Fast- I think this was actually the title of one of those ABC afterschool specials that aired back when I was a kid. In it, the young teenage couple went “too far, too fast” and all kinds of negative fallout ensued. As much as could be aired on national television in the eighties, anyway.

It’s a perfect example of what happens to some unfortunate souls around this time of year. They start out innocently enough, flirting with a pop of “Spring Color”. Instead of stopping at second base, they end up rounding home in a tank top and Capri pants. Leaving good sense and flip flop tracks  in the snow. I blame Gap for these tragedies. Really, who wouldn’t get disoriented in their stores? Seductive music , flashing lights and brightly colored shorts can easily  overwhelm our sensual natures. We all make mistakes when lust and hip music are involved.

Once you have used your wardrobe to declare winter to be ”So Over”, you can’t really go back to those winter sweaters. Even when you really should. It’s like your brain says “I have been to the other side…and it was AWESOME!” while your booty is freezing. The innocence is lost. Misery ensues  and you realize, like those overheated ABC teenagers, you have gone too far, too fast. The Genie will not go back into the bottle.

4. You Cannot Change The Weather By Sheer Will- It’s easy to believe on some level that we control the world. ( For me anyway. ) As though we can bring on a change in temperature by our clothing selection. 

It happens every season. Exibit A: Heat index of 108 at the start of football season, some wayward soul is sporting a sweatshirt and flannel blanket. As though, just by putting on that fleece, fall will get it’s act together and settle down upon us immediately. One cannot make it Summer any more than one can produce Fall on demand.

5. Be Patient Grasshopper- Spring warmth will come. I know it! It has been for thousands of years without the help of Abercrombie & Fitch’s half naked mannequins and their false promises of heat waves and suntan oil. Don’t buy into the pressure. Yes, every magazine and clothing store gives the illusion that by the end of March  90 % of all  Americans have already been enjoying Summer for 12 weeks.  I submit that it’s just that- an illusion. Spring will spring soon. In glorious bursts of colorful flowers and purses and actual heat. I promise.