My Kids Are Named After Music Stuff

Sometimes in the night I just can't sleep. I think it's because of all the nights I was woken up every two hours like clockwork over the years. I don't know what to do with a 2-year-old who sleeps pretty soundly through the night next to me and a 4-year-old who sleeps like a log. The others sleep great, too, since Joel's sleep problems have disappeared!

Anway, when I can't sleep I pray and think. The other night I was thinking about how much I've always loved music. Then I was thinking about my kids' names. Here's what I came up with how I subliminally named my kids:

Joel was named after Billy Joel, a great singer. He was married to Christie Brinkley, and when I was like 8 years old a boy told me I looked like her.

Michael was named after George Michael, who I was in love with before I figured out he was gay.

Callie was named after California Dreamin', a great song I've always loved. Chyna Phillips is the daughter of Michelle Phillips, and Chyna's song Hold On got me through my first marriage.

Eva is named after Little Eva because I love the song Locomotion.

Sam is named after Sailor Sam in the Paul McCartney and Wings song Band on the Run.

Freaky, right?!

Do You Ever ...

... look at a pair of pants and think, "Those are for a real fatty and would NEVER fit me!"?

Then you try them on and they fit. Maybe they are even a little tight.

I HATE that! I also hate when I accidentally put on something of my husband's and it FITS.

Women have it hard, let me tell you. Go easy on us (I'm saying this because I estimate my demographic is 50% male reading this little ole blog ... the guys want to know what I have to say because I'm like a Female Representative ... HAHAHAHA!!! Now, that is a sad, sad thought).

How was your MLK, Jr. holiday yesterday? Did you have to work anyway or did you sit around on your big ole butt? I never realized that part of his speech was about Catholics and Protestants living together peacefully. Maybe I'm an idealist, but I think the black thing and the religion thing are better since he died. Not a ton better, but better still. Some of my best friends are black. And Protestant. But not at the same time. I'm going to shut up now.

Daddy, What's a Joint?

The other night at dinner Michael had to finish his Explode the Code, which is a workbook that combines spelling, grammar and all that English jazz. He asked Aron what a joint is.

Aron told him it's like a bend in something, like where your elbow is or your knee or your hip.

Then he said, "and" ...

And I thought he was going to say something else, so I said, "Michael, let me tell you about my childhood and the definition of joint."

But no, Aron told him it's like a joint checking account.

I could not resist and had to give him the THIRD definition of a joint so he is not that socially awkward homeschooler we all hear about. I told him it's a marijuana cigarette. They vaguely know what that is, only because every now and then when we are out they hear me exclaim,

"I smell pot! I'd know pot anwhere! I've never been high. I wish I could get high because I would be less high-strung, but it's illegal and I am too attached to you guys, so I'm not getting high. Anyway. How 'bout those Chiefs?"

The Poopie Doula

Have you ever had to be a Poopie Doula for your kid?

FYI: a doula is a labor support person.

One time a friend of mine asked her insurance company if they covered doulas and had to explain what one was, using the above definition. The person goes, "Like a union representative?"

No, dummy, the doula is the person who gives the doctor the stink-eye when the in-pain mom can't do it and the dad is too overwhelmed do it.

Anyway, rarely, but often enough, I have to be the poopie doula for a kid o' mine. It goes like this:

Kid: Mommy, my poop won't come out. It's stuck.

Me: PUUUUUUUUUUSH!

Kid: I'm pushing [panicking] and it won't come out!

Me: I can see the top of the poop's head. It wants to come out, be named and be flushed. Just sit for a moment anad gather your strength, honey, and then PUUUUUUUUUUUUSH!

I'm sure you can conclude that the poop comes out just fine. Thanks to me, the Poopie Doula.

Jordan Takes the Girls to Get They Nails Did

Eva's 4th birthday was in December, before Christmas. Jordan's gift to her was to take her to get her nails done (we say get your nails DID just for fun). We all piled into the mommyvan and rolled on over to the ghetto WalMart (not really ... I mean, this IS still Johnson County, after all, and there's not REALLY a ghetto).

Jordan, Callie and Eva went into the nail salon while me and my boys went back to the toy department and did some other pre-Christmas shopping.

(left) Eva getting ready to get her nails painted with pretty little flowers ... fingers AND toes. The woman did Callie's also just cuz they're sisters and are so dang cute.

Here are my sweet baby girls getting their nails DRIED. Sorry I don't have a picture of the finished product ... the zoom/macro was not working right that day. The girls had such a good time. I never could have dreamed when I started having kids that we would be given someone like Jordan as a big sister to my kids. It is not all peace and light, don't get me wrong here. She acts just like a big sister and sometimes has to chase them down in the house and beat them up :-) But they love each other like siblings, and we thank God for Jordan!