Back to my Childhood Diet...Random Ramblings of a Fat Girl

This morning it was freezing. I don't know the exact temperature because I am not a thermometer and I don't watch the weather or the news. I simply cannot retain the information when it is commentated the way they do it. They go too fast and I get confused. I grew up watching Guy Sharpe the local weatherman as my sisters and I sat on the sofa eating something off the Hosford Breakfast Menu: honeybuns, SaraLee cheese cake, Morton's donuts (the frozen sugary ones that you heated in the toaster oven,) SaraLee pound cake, pizza bagels, or nachos, washed down with 12 oz of Coca- Cola.



Yes, that was the diet we were raised on. And don't go thinking that was what made me the fatass I am today. Actually, healthy food is what made me large and in charge. Ya see, I was a little kid and a small teenager. I only started packing on the pounds when I was pregnant with Jolie. My OBGYN asked me what I ate and when I told him, he about fell to the floor and explained that I was eating for two and needed to eat a more healthful diet. So, I beefed up on tuna fish (this was back in the day when pregnant women were encouraged to eat tuna fish. Now, pregnant women can only eat it once a month due to the high mercury content. If it was high back then, we didn't know it. Maybe that's what is wrong with my two teenage daughters. Maybe they can't help getting in those weird moods. Maybe it isn't the hormones. Maybe they were born with toxic levels of mercury 'cause I sure did eat the hell outta some tuna fish sandwiches before they were born. I couldn't help it. I was poor and I craved cans of tuna like I was a cat or something!)



I also ate lots of hamburgers because my iron was low and I needed to eat red meat. I suppose I could have feasted on lean fillets of steak, but my body was screaming for quarter pounders with cheese from McDonalds and if you eat one of those things, you just have to get a side order of french fries to compliment the meal. I got addicted to the quarter pound with cheese extra value meals. They had just come up with the extra value meal concept when I was pregnant with Jolie and I felt I was doing my civic duty to support such a good company. However, I would never order the thing by the menu number. I just could never roll down the window of my car and holler out at the speaker at the drive thru that I needed to have a NUMBER 2! That would have been embarrassing. Just like I never tell the gas station attendant that "I got gas on pump number 3." I don't have gas and if I did, Mohamed would be the last person I would tell.



Any way, so back to why I am overweight. Along with my cheeseburgers and countless cans of tuna, I started eating rice cakes, carrot sticks, peanut butter, macaroni and cheese, and meatloaf and mashed potatoes. That is what made me go from 125 pounds to 145 pounds. Well, that along with a baby in my belly. And once she was born, I kept eating for two. I was breast feeding which made me hungry. Don't buy into the myths that breast feeding will make you lose the baby weight faster. Don't kid yourself. Breast feeding is wonderful and I advocate for it, and it makes your boobs look like a porn star while you're doing it, but once the baby is weaned, your boobs sadly look like big tortillas which you can roll up from your belly button to your chin. But I digress...



I had another baby (Sydney) two years later and my weight went form 145 to 165. It stayed there for a long time but I got smart in preparing for my sister's wedding and was able to dance off 20 pounds. Seriously, that's what I did. I did ballet barre exercises every morning and then danced with my two little girls every afternoon for an hour. That, and I gave up soft drinks. I looked pretty hot in my matron of honor dress I must say. With the right bra, my tortillas looked like hot tamales.



Then, I got divorced and that is the best diet one can ever go on. Going through a divorce will curb your appetite. NO matter what the reason for the divorce, there is a little voice inside your head that will magically appear and will whisper to you, "The best revenge will be to look awesome and he will be sorry he ever treated you the way he did." And the voice will also say, "I know you've sworn off men, but somebody was checking you out at the post office and you know that felt good."



And then, two years later, I met Adrian. Being married to a nice man is bad for diets. I wanted to cook wonderful meals for my man and I enjoyed eating them a little too much. My first year of marriage was stressful and ice cream became my new antidepressant. Adrian didn't seem to mind. He kept telling me he would rather have a nice, sweet plumper than a skinny bitch for a wife. I took him at his word and became a very sweet, nice plumper and I also became pregnant with baby number 3.



With Fischer, I gained a lot of weight. I was pretty fat and happy. When I was in labor, my midwife asked me what my current weight was and I made Adrian cover his ears. He put his hands on the side of his head and I whispered, "220 pounds." And Adrian's hands dropped to his sides and his mouth fell open and he said, "Whoa, baby!" For being hearing impaired, he sure does have selective hearing!



I am serious, that was what I weighed. 220 pounds! Our son, Fischer only weighed 8 pounds 3 ounces. I have no idea what the rest of the weight was all about. I can tell you it was all in my backside. Some women carry high, some carry low, and I was all about carrying it in the back. I think it helped counter my enormous tummy. My feet grew a whole size too. I went from a narrow 7 to a medium 8. Yes, I am a freak. Too bad I didn't grow taller because I remained only 5 feet tall and to be 220 pounds is quite a sight, let me tell you. My tortillas were no longer flat, those babies were big, full and stood at full attention. They didn't even make nursing bras my size. I wore the extra large fancy spandex nursing and maternity bras and they were so tight, I would stretch them out by sticking my big clown feet into the front and pulling the straps all the way to my chin before I could wrestle that bad boy on. After nursing Fischer, I had to throw away all my old bras and buy the pricey kind at Intimacy at Phipps Plaza. (I had seen Oprah and knew I needed to have a proper bra fitting by the bra lady.) I cried when I came out wearing my new 36 double G and my mama said she was going to give me a breast reduction for Christmas.



I joined Weight Watchers weighing around 200 pounds and got to 180. Weight Watchers really works, but I was too cheap to pay 15 bucks to have someone weigh me each week. So, I tried to do it myself and I counted my points every day and managed to get to 175. It was so hard and I was still fat.



Then, I got pregnant with Mollie and my midwife told me to really be careful about packing on the pounds. She told me I only needed to gain 15 pounds and surprisingly, I did it. When Mollie was born, I weighed 190. Still, this was big, but I was kinda proud.



9 months later, we were in the family way again and I got up past 200 again. I never wanted to be that big, but there I was. What can you do? The weight doesn't come off magically and I was tired and had to eat to keep myself awake. Eventually, when Nicholas started sleeping through the night, I ate less and started walking and the weight melted off slowly but surely. I got back down to 170 and was happy. All together, I was 50 pounds lighter than my highest weight. Whoa baby.

Then, sadly, my father got really sick and he passed away two years ago. I medicated my pain with ice cream again. I ate everything in sight. Friends were generous and gave our family lots of food and I ate it. All of it. And I gained 25 pounds.

Well, over the summer, I started doing the Food Diary and walking and I lost 12 pounds. I was only eating 1200 calories a day and I guess my body got used to that number and I stopped losing. So frustrating to be starving and not see any results on the scale. So, I said, screw it. Just be happy, Abi. Really, who cares if you are fat? Mollie (age 6) calls me her Squishy. My kids love sitting in my nice, big, warm lap. It's comforting. Adrian likes it too but that's another story.

So, that's that. I am fat. I am not going to go on a diet and I am not going to wait to buy new clothes. Honey, I am wearing Jeggins as I write this and I am proud. And don't go telling me I need to lose 50 pounds for HEALTH reasons. I have no desire to live a long time. I do not want to be old. 75 is my personal age limit for myself and that is only if I can be a funny 75 year old woman. Not a creepy, grumpy 75 year old. I plan to go out with a bang where my friends and family can honestly say, "That Abi sure was a ton of fun!"

This is why I am going back on my childhood diet. I am going to eat Christmas candy, cheese cake, honey buns, and ungodly amounts of cookies. I will enjoy it all. I will not feel bad or guilty anymore. Santa Claus is fat and he is the coolest guy on the planet.

My driver's license states that I weigh 130 pounds. It's kinda sick, really. If I were to get arrested for a traffic violation, I am sure the officers would get a big kick outta that one! My license is due for renewal in 2011 so I am going to change that, finally. For so long, I've kept it at 130 thinking I would see that number on my scale in the not too distant future. What a load of crap. Who've I been kidding all these years? Like anyone would see my stats on my license and think, "I guess it's her outfit that is making her look heavy 'cause in reality, she only weighs 130 pounds!" I mean, really! So, I have decided on my new license, I am going to change the weight to 450 pounds. That way, if I get arrested, the officer will actually high five me and say, "Ma'am, I can see from your license, you must have lost a tremendous amount of weight! You don't look like you weigh 450 pounds any more. What's your secret?" And people who card me will actually see me as being quite skinny considering I used to weight 450 pounds according to my license. They will suspect gastric bypass surgery but I will say, "No, actually I lost nearly 300 pounds by roller skating across America last summer! And they will say, "Whoa Baby!" Amen.

Christmas Poem 2010

T’was just weeks before Christmas and all through my thoughts,
Is a whole lot of nothing ‘cause my memory is just shot.

I have two brain cells left in my brain,
Thanks to my family who has made me insane.

This year we went to the beach twice with all 7 of us, it was so grand,
But while traveling, I contemplated running away or just jumping out of the van.

Mollie was learning to whistle, Jolie and Sydney wanted to listen to rap,
Fischer sang 100 rounds of the diarrhea song while I tried to read the map.

Nicholas had an explosion in his diaper and Adrian was trying to drive,
I vowed to never travel again as long as we made it alive.

But oh, what a time we had once we got to Fripp,
Fischer caught a 5 foot barracuda on a deep sea fishing trip!

We swam and biked along with my sisters, their families, and my mama,
We stayed up late, played games, cooked, and frolicked in our pajamas.

Always wear your sunscreen, ‘cause when we got home we had a scary discovery,
Sydney had a spot, it was atypical, and was removed by a doctor of dermatology.

And speaking of doctors, this year we’ve sure visited a few,
Trying to figure out what the heck is wrong with our kids, well, at least two.

Sydney went to a neurologist; Nicholas went to an endocrinologist,
And after many trips to Emory, I think I need a psychiatrist!

Nicholas has stopped growing; he’s two or three years behind,
But if you traveled around the world looking, not a sweeter 4 year old you would find.

And boy is he smart at certain things like computers and fixing things mechanical,
He is in preschool but is heading to M.I.T. He really is incredible.

Mollie is 6 and is quite the charmer with her witty and clever ways,
She’s smart as a whip, too much for her own good, but makes me laugh every day.

Jolie is the only girl in the Chess Club and is still involved with Thespians and singing,
She is sweet 16, a junior in high school, and of graduation she is dreaming.

Sydney started a new school called Ava White Academy this fall,
She’s is doing so well, I believe it’s my reward for not killing her when she was small.

Fischer is 9 and pretty soon he’ll be taller than me, he’s such a wonderful young man,
He’s fascinated with science and books and is constantly learning all that he can.

And then there is Adrian, the love of my life who sticks by me through all of this,
Architecture is still going slowly, if only he could get paid to fish.

Adrian’s new hobbies include: rolling sushi, gardening, preserving, and canning,
He has plans to focus more on his art work, his oil paintings are outstanding.

“Finding Hope the Journey of a Battered Wife” is my newest book published this year,
I’ve been doing lots of public speaking about domestic violence live, on TV, and on air.

I still write my weekly newspaper advice column called Ask Lula Belle,
If you need any help, just write me a question and send in an e mail.

I have ventured on to a Children’s TV show and am in the midst of shooting the pilot,
With my partner Jordan White we have created a terrific show so funny it’s a riot.

The whole family is involved from acting, set design, singing, and puppets,
It’s called “Pickle Street” and is inspired by Mister Rogers and the Muppets.
Though I stay so busy and I sometimes feel like I am going to lose my mind,
I think of all I am grateful for and it gives me hope that everything’s going to be fine.

I never believe these annual poems will get written but it looks like I’ve done it again,
I am happy to share our news and wish a Merry Christmas to all our family and friends!

Mollie's Christmas List 2010 (age 6)

Dear Santa,
I would like a REAL baby. And 70 Littlest Pet Shops. And 100 stickers that are Littlest Pet Shop-like. I would like a Pillow Pet Turtle and a REAL Chihuahua. I would also like an icecream cake. You can just put it in the freezer when you get here. And I want a little real pink fish. This year, I don't want any books. I have lots of books and getting books is too boring so bring me money instead.

Love,
Mollie

Me: Mollie, Santa can't bring a real baby or a Chihuahua.

Mollie: Ok, we can change Chihuahua to a Pug. I've always loved Pugs.

Me: I don't think Santa can bring dogs or live babies.

Mollie: But I love Pugs. And I love babies.

Me: Where would Santa get a baby from any way? It's not like the elves can make one.

Mollie: Well, if there's a girl elf that's old enough to have a baby, she could have the baby and if she can't take care of it, she could send it to me and then I'd have an elf baby and I already have clothes that would fit it because I have doll clothes. This is what I've wanted all my life: a pug, pug, pug, pug! And a real baby!

Me: Well, you can have your very own baby and your very own Pug when you grow up! But Santa just brings toys. Not live people or animals.

Mollie: It's not fair. Jolie and Sydney got puppies for Christmas when they were little.

Me: Oh, yeah. You're right.

Mollie: I already have the name picked out: Coconut.

Me: (sigh)

Finding Hope...The Journey of a Battered Wife Part 2 (see part 1 below)

Every summer of my childhood, my return address on the dozens of letters I sent home read: “Flintlock Camps, Zirconia, North Carolina.” I was never homesick but in my earlier letters, I always wrote that I was. I missed my family but looking back, throughout my entire childhood and beyond, I have been more camp sick for the remaining eleven months every year than I ever was homesick during that one, precious month. I celebrated eight birthdays there with fifty of my best friends complete with yellow cake topped with creamy, chocolate frosting. I can still hear the squeaky screen door to the mess hall and all the picnic style benches scooting out from under the tables in one big scratch across the ply wood floor. I can hear the Happy Birthday song and see the candles lined up like soldiers across the massive sheet cake. I see the giggling girls reach for pieces of cake as it was plopped on small, white, round paper plates on top of the red and white checked table cloth.

I may have held the 1984 world record for friendship bracelets for I was showered with these as gifts. Every color of embroidery thread decorated my wrists and ankles, never to be removed as a solemn agreement of my commitment to the girl who gave it to me. Of course, by the time the month was over, too many hours splashing in the muddy lake caused each bracelet to rot off and float to the bottom, spied by curious fish, never to be seen again.

Flintlock had an outhouse with three toilets, three shower spigots, and a rustic metal trough where everyone gathered at night to brush their teeth, smear on some Noxema, while sharing a cloudy 8x10 mirror. The trough was also where we washed our socks and underwear once a week. This open air building was one of only three places which had electricity on the entire 150 plus acres of land. It was a luxury to gather at the outhouse every night to be serenaded by a chorus of crickets, katydids, and frogs before we turned in for the night to snuggle up in our blankets on our bunk beds which were on platform tents in the middle of the woods.
For several of the summers, my big sister was there with me and the summer I turned fifteen, my little sister was there too. Jennifer was a counselor, I was a Cabin Girl, which is like a counselor in training, and Rebecca was a camper.

Every summer we rode horses, swam in a cool, muddy lake, canoed, played softball, tennis, volley ball, four corners, soccer, endless card games, Indian Rock games, and capture the flag. We hiked our tails off, went tubing down the Green River, had encounters with snakes and mosquitoes, played flash light tag, and were members of The Polar Bear Club because we were willing to jump into the lake first thing every morning. (Sometimes that was our only hope of getting clean.) We built fires, roasted marshmallows, sang about twenty songs a day, read worn copies of Judy Blume books, stayed up late whispering about getting periods and boobs, performed in plays and skits, clogged, break danced, and made a million and one macramé bracelets.

I am forever grateful my sisters were there during the last camp session there ever was. It is a comfort to always have witnesses to bear testimony Flintlock really existed.

Though I wasn’t necessarily a religious person, my favorite part of camp was Chapel. We had the most beautiful chapel service in the middle of the woods every Sunday evening by candle light. There was a trail which began at the mess hall, went down several silvery slate rock steps, skimmed by the Quiet Benches, around a big oak tree, followed the round rim of the lakeside, past the canoe and kayak storage area, through a natural gate of dogwoods, and further and deeper into the woods under a canopy of hundred year old Maples, Hickories, and Elms. The tree roots offered steps up and down the slight hills and finally we would enter a small clearing which was surrounded by such magnificent fauna and flora on all sides. There were rustic wooden benches where we sat and cool, soft earth to kneel upon.

Bootie, the camp director, would read from the Good Book and we would sing. She always read the story about letting your light shine and not to put your light under a bucket. Even as a young girl, I understood what the message was and I would squint my eyes tightly, then open them, and there in the middle of the dark woods, I would see The Light.

Bootie stood before us in her plaid cotton button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a knee length denim skirt, penny loafers on her feet, and her long silver hair wound into a bun with errant wisps lightly touching her beautiful face. She appeared to be a cross between a wise, old mountain granny and a child. Though she was slender, her face was round and cherub like. She spoke with a unique Appalachian dialect and I can still see her and hear her voice in my head when I read the book of Matthew.

She would dip her candle to the one burning on the stacked rock altar beside the wooden cross. The light in the darkening woods flickered behind an old tin can of beans of which the label had been stripped off and someone had taken a hammer and nail to make the shape of a cross. Next, Bootie would light the little white candle of the oldest Camp Spirit Girl, and they would pass the light on and on until there was a small flame waving light across each girl’s pretty, pure face. And we would lift our voices high and sing to the heavens above: “Seek ye first the kingdom of the Lord and His Righteousness and all these things shall be added unto you, Hallelujah!”

In single file, we would leave the chapel and follow Bootie back down the trail careful to avoid tree roots and rocks but still singing in pitch perfect harmony with every step we took. Counselors had scurried on ahead and stopped at all the perilous areas of the trail and shone their flashlights over sharp rocks and dangerous drop offs on the trail. We collected the dripping white wax on our hands and fingernails as we sang and marched along.

When we would come to the part of the trail which followed the lakeside, I cannot tell you in words the way it made me feel to be singing with the voice of 50 young girls as our candles flickered in the reflection of the lake which mysteriously looked like glass on those nights. It was my favorite part. Fifty candles glowing in the lake with the moon. The bullfrogs were always welcome in our chorus and they merrily thumped out the bass of our songs and the crickets and tree frogs carried out the treble. It takes my breath away even now.

After trekking up and down the trail, we would eventually end our brief journey at the counsel ring where we would form a circle around a blazing fire. The camp hands (college boys who mowed the ball field and did a lot of heavy lifting and snake beheading), licked the fire pit with gasoline and would ignite the fire just as we were arriving sending the flames nearly sky high. We would sing a few more songs and then one at a time, blow out our candles, say our bed time prayers and be excused to the outhouse and then on to bed in silence.

The summer I was a Cabin Girl, I was even busier than usual. I had new responsibilities and new opportunities. We arrived earlier than all the campers and left later too so we could help get the camp ready and then clean it all up for the boys’ camp which would be taking place after the girls’ session was over. My first job was to scrub the chapel benches. I had never seen the chapel in day light before and I felt as if I had just walked in on my mother as she was dressing. Seeing the altar bathed in sunlight made everything appear smaller and simpler. Candlelight was obviously magic.

Finding Hope...The Journey of a Battered Wife (part 1)

While nestled in the womb of the Appalachians directly at the foot of Hogback Mountain, I found the place where light and darkness are one. Without warning, I slipped into it and it enveloped me in its perplexing blanket. Its shadows invited me inside and then allowed me fall hard into its depths. As a small fifteen year old girl, I didn't have the ability to keep walking though it to the end. And though I physically left Zirconia, North Carolina in July 1989, I remained in the shadows, intoxicated for the next ten years of my life.

The town was named for the zircon mines which sustained the small community decades before I was there. Zircons were used as a source for the incandescent light and Thomas Edison himself visited this previously thriving mining town more than once. This place was a paradise and when I think of what my heaven looks like, I can only visualize it as my view from the Mess Hall front porch overlooking the lake and the hills. My heaven is bedecked with Mountain Laurel, Rhododendron, Crow’s Feet, Sassafras, Devil’s Walking Stick, and hundreds of towering Hickory, Cherry, Hemlock, and Pine Trees. The trees are so close together they seemed more like one rolling green swath of fabric being shaken out by some immortal goddess on top of the mountain. The waves of the fabric swept across my view with every whisper of wind.

The Green River meanders through my Great Reward, babbling over slippery, moss covered rocks and fallen trees rotting into new life. My heaven has fields of daisies and clover, bumble bees, and ant hills. According to Professor Pratt’s Geological History of Western North Carolina, he says it is clear that all the rocks there are amongst the oldest geologic formations on earth. My paradise occupies land that is more ancient than that of the Euphrates, the Nile, or the Jordan River. Flintlock Camps was my Eden.

When I drive along the dirt road to my house, I always remember driving down the bumpy road to camp and the sound of the sparse gravel crunching beneath tires with anticipation of what was in store for me at the end. When it rains in the summer, I roll the windows down and I smell it. I taste it. It tastes like the color green. The melodies of the old camp songs rock my children back and forth until they are there too, in my Eden. To their ears, it is their mother’s voice, but in my head it is a three part harmony with fifty other girls. The loblolly pines and the kneesocked girls in pigtails are always just a spitting distance away from my real life even though I haven’t stood on that sacred ground in over twenty years.

Teenagers in the Summer

I keep thinking the summer is wrapping up, coming to an end but then I realize we still have a full month to go before school starts. Excuse me while I go stick my head in the toilet and flush it. I am so sick of summer it is not even funny.

For one thing, there are just too many people in this house all day. And I believe teenagers count for at least two people at each. And when they have the letters, ya know the ones that start with P and end in S and have an M in the middle...well, I think they count for four people each if you take in account all the mood swings and personality shifts.

I swear, I know I have great children and I love them and I am proud of them but sometimes I wonder what the heck I was thinking to have five of them. And it's not because of the little ones. I just think every mother should experience parenting a child going through a complete round of puberty BEFORE she decides how many children she would like to have. I am now asking myself if I can go though puberty three more times. I am thinking not.

I really thought I would be a cool mother to a teenage daughter. I really did. I thought this because I was so cool. But it really doesn't matter how cool you were or are because your children will think you are a total dweeb-o idiot from the time they are 13 until they have children of their own. Then they will feel very sorry for how ungrateful they were.

Adrian says we should write a hard core rap song called, "Shut Up and Give Me Your Money" 'cause that is what it feels like sometimes.

And you will actually say crap you vowed never to say like: "Do you think money grows on trees?" I am serious, the first time I said that, I vomited.

But then you end up feeling sorry for them. They do something retarded and you are forced to ground them which I swear is much more of a punishment for the parents than for the little smart- ass, disrespectful brat. Honestly, every chance we have to send you off with friends for the day or evening, we take it. When you leave, Daddy and I usually high five each other and sneak into the closet to make out knowing you are not going to be raining on our parade of happiness and harmony.

But grounding you means we are stuck listening to you mope around about how horrible your life is and how much we suck at parenting and how we don't understand you and how we must not love you and how you really don't love us anymore and how unfair we are and so and so's parents let their daughter do bla bla bla.

And then we say, "Well, if so and so jumped off a bridge, would you?" And then we vomit again.

Then there are other moments which are much worse. Having two teenagers, sometimes we get tag teamed. Two against two in this scenario is almost deadly because the manipulating power of fourteen and sixteen year old girls is like way out of our league.

It really is a shame you have to grow up and become people, making a pit stop along the way as a devil's spawn. But I digress...

When teenagers stay busy, things go much more smoothly and I can say we really get along quite well. But these dog days of summer are really doing a number on me. We are home way too much staying inside because I mean, really, how can we function in 104 degrees? Little children are easy to entertain because you can play games, build forts, go swimming, fishing, hiking, make treasure hunts, play dolls, games, puzzles, let them outside in their underwear and tell them to turn on the hose, whatever, but to attempt to entertain your teenagers....HA! Forget it! They will laugh at you and start singing that hard core rap song, "Shut Up and Give Me Your Money!" Don't even try. Just leave them at home. 'Cause if you take them in the car all hell will break loose. Apparently, adolescents are very sensitive to extreme heat combined with small children who are learning to whistle and like to practice all the way to the swimming pool.

Also, in the car, there is the issue of the car stereo. Who gets to listen to what and when? Well, it's my car so you'd think I'd get to pick but sometimes I make sure my choice is what the person capable of killing me would choose. I don't want to get shanked on my way to grandmama's house just because I tried to let the 9 year old little brother listen to his favorite Mexican station so he could belt out La Coca Rocha for thirty miles.

I must say, though, when all is said and done and the day is finally over, I do tip toe to their rooms to check on them just like I always have. They look the same as they did when they were babies. So sweet and peaceful. And I take a deep breath and say, "Wow." 'Cause if you are raising teenagers, that's about all you can really say.

I cannot wait until school begins. Then, everyone will be back to their busy little selves. Even though I will have to pretty much live in my car and have no time to write or put on a bra, there will be such peace. Hallelujah!

Ever have that not so fresh feeling?

OK, friends. I feel the need to smile today and I thought I would share a smile with you too.

So, the other day I am snuggled up on the sofa with Sydney (age 14) and Fischer (age 9). We have just been swimming and are just sitting there enjoying a game show.

Well, a commercial came on for Vagisil Feminine Wash.

During the first few frames of the commercial, a poor woman is jilted by her friends and ignored in social gatherings. Apparently this is due to her not so fresh feeling and we assume she must smell pretty rank for her friends to give her such a cold shoulder.

Sydney and I sorta giggle at each other as we look for the remote control. Fischer is 9 so he thinks everything is funny if it concerns any type of hygiene issue. But this seems to be over his head so far.

But then, of course the woman discovers Vagisil Feminine Wash and her friends are suddenly nice to her. They laugh and go out to parties and stuff.

I said, "Watch Sydney, the next thing you'll know is they will be going on bike rides and running through meadows."

Sydney started laughing hysterically. Then, Fischer started laughing hysterically.

Sydney looked at Fischer and asked, "Um, do you even know what this is all about?"

And he said, "Yeah, those women must be getting high off that stuff."

I love my life.

Where Do Babies Come From According to Mollie

This morning, Mollie worked on an art project just like she does every day. When she was finished, she presented me with a handmade card. She brought it into the kitchen and asked me if I would like her to read it to me.

"I would love for you to read it to me!"

"OK, here it goes: Dear Mommy, I bet you would like to lay an egg and give our family another baby. The end. Love, Mollie, your daughter who really, really, really, wants a baby. Thank you."

Well, after this enlightening moment, I decided to have a little sex education talk with Mollie who is five, nearly six years old. Nothing too detailed, mind you, but I wanted to make sure she didn't think I just went out back and laid eggs to give her brothers and sisters!

I know from previous experience (I have five children, so I've had The Talk several times to all varying degrees) that I should always ASK questions first to find out what they already know, what they don't know, and to figure out if simply saying "God makes babies" will satisfy their curiosity or if they are ready to hear more.

So, during lunch, I casually asked Mollie if she knew where babies come from. And boy, let me tell you, I got quite an ear full. Mollie of course had her own theory all along and I didn't really need to say much which was good because she left me speechless as usual.

"Mollie, do you think babies come out of eggs?"

"No, don't be silly. My card was kinda a joke because I wanted to draw a chicken. I know that babies come out of your tummy. And they get in there from the Third Private."

"Mollie, what exactly is the Third Private?"

"Well, you know. It is the third place no one is allowed to touch except God and when you are asleep, God just walks into your bedroom and he brings one of the babies He made in heaven and he just shoves it right up through the Third Private and leaves it in your tummy. The baby is really small at first and it can't see but once it is in its Mommy's tummy it gets bigger and bigger until one day it can see and it says, 'Get me outta here!' and it crawls right out of the Third Private into the world."

"Oh! Wow. So, God is kinda like the tooth fairy in this scenario? How does He do it?"

"Yeah, but except He brings babies and not money. And he does it with his powers. He can even do it when you are wearing pajamas and panties 'cause He is THAT powerful."

"Mollie, having babies is very special and you are right that God plays a big part in making babies but I don't think I am going to have any more babies."

"Well, that's OK because sometimes God will give you the Power to be a mother when he puts the baby in the Third Private and sometimes he gives you the Power when you adopt a baby if their mother is in jail so let's adopt a baby instead."

"Mollie, I know you love babies and I do too and this conversation is wonderful but I just need you to know that I can't have any more babies."

"How come? You just don't have the energy?"

"Yes, something like that."

"Well, don't worry about it. I am going to take care of the baby for you. I am going to be the best big sister ever. Come on, Mommy, you have to do it. I can't because I am too young and if you are too young, and God puts a baby in your Third Private, it can't come back out and you have to go to the hospital and the doctor cuts your tummy open and that is called a C-section."

After that, what could I say? I decided to end the conversation there. Fischer was laughing hysterically by this point any way.

Apple Brown Betty

Mollie was the little chef yesterday and she made Apple Brown Betty. I had a hankerin' for this simple dessert after my friend, Amanda and I reminisced about Flintlock Camp last week. Flintlock was the summer camp I went to every year from the time I was seven years old until I was fifteen. My big sister and I went together for several of those years and we would stay an entire month. Back then, in the early 80's there was no email or Internet and the only contact we were allowed to have with our family was through snail mail. Reading those old letters is such a fun thing to do. I'll post some of them when I get a chance. We were never homesick, although I always wrote my mother saying I was. I guess I wanted her to know I missed her. Flintlock was not a cushy camp. It was rugged as possible. We slept in platform tents in the middle of the woods on bunk beds with 6 fellow tent mates and one counselor. We fell asleep each night to the sound of crickets and frogs. We woke when our eyes filled with the sunrise and the sound of Revel re on the bugle. All 56 or so campers would head down to the Quiet Place by the lake and sit on wooden benches while the camp director named Bootie would read an inspiring devotional. Then we would jump in the lake for a quick dip called the Polar Bear Club. I do not know to this day a better way of starting one's day than this. After breakfast and tent inspections, we would spend the entire day doing horseback riding, arts and crafts, singing, playing games, going on hikes, learning about nature, and swimming. After lunch, we would have rest hour. The afternoons were just as busy and fun filled as the mornings and then we would all gather in the mess hall for supper. The food at Flintlock was delicious. I am not sure if it was because we were all hungry but everyone ate whatever was served. We did not have a canteen or snacks unless you found some berries or crab apples around the barn to pick. At supper, there was always a yummy dessert. My favorite was Apple Brown Betty. I am not sure what the Flintlock Recipe was, but I tried to make it from the memory of the taste and I checked out a few recipes in some old cookbooks. I don't remember Flintlock's having oatmeal in it, but several recipes I read included it. Any way, give it a try and enjoy!
Ingredients: 6 slices whole wheat bread cut crusts off and tear into bite size pieces, 3 Granny Smith Apples (peeled and sliced thinly), 1 1/2 Cups dark brown sugar, 1 stick of real butter (salted) Directions: preheat oven to 375. Grease a baking dish with butter (we used a 9 inch pie dish). Layer bread pieces, apples, and brown sugar, repeat layers until all ingredients are used. We made 3 layers. Then place pads of butter all over the top. Bake for about 20 minutes or until apples are fork tender. Serve with vanilla icecream or whip cream.

Beach Trip 2010

During our recent trip to Fripp Island, I didn't have any urges to jump out of a moving vehicle or get divorced, so, that must mean this trip was better than the trip we went on to St. Simons.

You see, when we had our car accident back in September, our portable DVD players got broken. I decided not to replace them having the mindset of one of those wonderful mothers who don't have television and help their children grow creatively. And having the mindset that my children are extraordinary children, they know how to behave in the minivan even during long journeys.

"Honey, do you want to replace the DVD player before our trip?" Adrian asked.

"Oh, heavens no, sweetie! We'll play 20 questions and I know like over 500 folk songs we can sing. Don't you worry, we'll pass the time doing math fact quizzes, the alphabet game and I'll even tell some of my famous funny stories!" I explained.

"Ok, whatever you say." Adrian noted.

"Don't worry, everything will be just fine." I assured him.

Well, scroll down to the Spring Break post and you can read all about that infamous road trip if you must. Or you can take my word for it that traveling with 7 people for 8 hours is utterly and completely hell. It is like getting a root canal because the little high pitched squeals they let out when their sister is touching them actually shoots nerve pain right up to your freakin' brain!

Well, as we were preparing for our next journey, Adrian came up to me as I was sorting through every one's belongings, (ie sniffing clothes to find out if they were too dirty to pack, cause let's face it, I do too much laundry as it is and suffer from carpal tunnel from pushing the start button 5 times a day) he gave me a hug, looked into my eyes and said,

"Baby doll, it is almost your birthday and I know you know 500 folk songs, but I would like to be friends with you this trip and I don't want to be dropping you off at a mental institution on the way there, and I think you are getting PMS, so I believe with my whole heart that we NEED a portable DVD player. Can we get one? Please?"

"Heck yes!"

So, we went to Wally World and spent $165.00 which practically pays for itself if you figure in the cost of sedating everyone for 7 hours there and 7 hours back.

This time, I also bribed with candy. We ate lots of candy on the way there. I discovered coconut M&Ms and I had an epiphany while I ate them.

Once we got to the beach house, we were greeted by my sisters and my brothers-in-law, my Mama, and my niece and nephew, AND we were reunited with our teenagers, Jolie and Sydney who had gone to Fripp the week before with my mother and were eagerly awaiting us to join them (not.) It was a sweet family reunion and I was so happy to be able to hug all my loved ones at the same time. And even though it made us all miss Boompa even more than usual, which is a whole bunch, being with everyone at this special place made me feel like he was enjoying it too. He would be happy we were at Fripp-his favorite place. And I think he would be happy we were all brave enough to go knowing our hearts would break missing him. I did little things for him in case he was watching. I rode some waves. I played in the sand without freaking out, throwing my sensory issues to the wind. We told lots of Boompa stories to the kids so they will always know how funny he was and how amazing he was.

The next morning, Adrian, Fischer, Madison, Jack, and Jennifer left bright and early to get on a chartered boat to go on a deep sea fishing adventure! Fischer caught a barracuda bigger than him! He also caught shark and lots of bait fish. In fact, he caught the black bass which he then used as bait for the barracuda. The other fishermen caught things too but they mostly let Fischer have the experience of a life time. Anyone who knows our little 9 year old knows what a fisherman he is. He didn't even get sea sick even though the boat ride was apparently choppy.

We celebrated my birthday and I am happy to be 36. I know you shouldn't trust a woman who tells her age, but I just feel like so much is behind me and so much is still ahead of me now. 36 is a pretty darn good age to be. I have grey hairs and the body of a woman who has had five kids and not like the freaky women who have had five kids and still look like they did in high school. I have reached the point in my life where I accept myself. I can look in the mirror and say, I am what I am and it's lovely enough for me.

We ate a lot of delicious food. We all took turns cooking and everyone showed off their skills. We ate some Spanish Mackerel which was caught by Uncle Madison, some shark caught by Fischer, and some crabs caught by Uncle Jack and Sydney. We ate Frogmore Stew (which doesn't involve cooking actual frogs if anyone reading this just gagged.) We ate enchiladas, mama's world famous (at least it should be) lasagna, and so much more. We even bought the cool cereal variety pack! I'm tellin' you, this was totally awesome. I remember my mother buying the variety pack when we were little and went to Fripp Island! All those cute little boxes filled with sugary sweetness! And if you put it in a bowl with milk, it can still be considered (by some) (me) a healthy breakfast.

We rode bikes, swam, jumped waves, caught sand dollars, found shells, played, read, relaxed, kayaked, observed various wildlife including a scary up close a personal experience with a raccoon, and much, much more.

The trip back home was just as awesome as the one there. All the kids were glued to the DVD player and their mouths were plugged with lollipops and sugar. Adrian and I got to talk the entire way, and by that I mean, having real conversations like normal grown ups get to have. Sometimes we didn't talk at all because sometimes we don't know what to say when we aren't interrupted every five seconds. I may not be a granola mother earth who protects her children from the influences of movies and sugar, but I am sane. And that's all I got to say for now. Peace! (scroll down for pictures)

Fripp Trip

Adrian and the kids on Father's Day

Jolie
Hosford pulling Nicholas

Mollie on the frog

Wo Jo and Mollie

Su Su and Hosford

Nicholas, Wo Jo, Mollie, Sydney and Fischer

Nicholas

I LOVE my sisters!

Mollie

Mollie is the fourth child out of five in this family. She is five years old and just finished kindergarten. She has a way with words and she cracks me up daily. We often comment on "Mollie-isms" but we have to be careful not to encourage her to be funny on purpose. She's just funny when she's being herself not thinking about it. Here are just a few highlights this week.

Fischer: Mollie, do you like Hannah Montana?

Mollie: Well, yes, but you wouldn't understand.

Fischer: Wouldn't understand what?

Mollie: I know you are going to say she is doing bad stuff but just because she's sexy doesn't mean she's not good. Any ways, I like being sexy. It's pretty. And she sings good too.

Fischer: Well, you know she dances on a stripper pole.

Mollie: What's a stripper pole?

Fischer: I am not sure, but I think it's bad.

Mollie: Mom, what's a stripper pole?

Me: Um, well, I think it's just a pole and some dancers swing around it and they take their clothes off.

Fischer: (laughs)

Mollie: Well, I wouldn't do THAT!! That is silly! 'Cause if you are swinging around a pole you could get really hurt. You might fall and then you couldn't be a good singer if you fall down and you'd be all like, 'Ahhh, I am so hurt!' "

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Yesterday, Mollie said her bedtime prayer in a British accent. I asked her afterwards if she thought that was reverent or not and she said (still in the British accent), "Of course it is! Don't be silly."

And I said, "I am not being silly. Talking to God is really sweet and He looks forward to hearing from you every day. He may not understand what you are saying with that accent. I think you should try again and be sincere this time, please."

So, she closed her eyes and was quiet for a minute. Then, she opened them and said, "I hope it is OK with you that I said a silent prayer that time."

"That's fine, honey. Sometimes those are the best ones."

"So, do you think God liked it?"

"I know He did!"

Then she started giggling as I was walking out the door.

I paused outside the room and I heard her say, "Nicholas, she doesn't know I can talk in a British accent in my own head!"

Goodnight, Mollie.

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Mollie woke up this morning and still had the British accent. She came upstairs and asked me, "What is for breakfast, Mother Darling, and can I please have an English Muffin?"

I asked her what the accent was all about and she said she was practicing for when she grows up. So, I asked her what she wants to do when she grows up.

"Well, Mother Darling, (as she sips her orange juice with her pinkie up) I would like to be a ballerina, which you already know, but I just found out yesterday I would like to be in the Army too."

"The Army? Really?"

"Oh, yes, Mother Dear. Yesterday Fischer told me girls can be in the Army and they have a cafeteria there with an ice cream machine and then Daddy told me you can get as much ice cream as you want. So, I am going to go there AND be a ballerina at the same time."

"That makes sense."

*****************************************************

Ohhh, I wish they could stay five years old for longer than one year. It is almost a shame they have to grow up and become people.

P.S. I removed the story about finding hope. I was only leaving it here temporarily for several reasons. Thank you for all the love which has been showering over me this week. I am such a lucky woman!

Why you should never tell the school you are good parents, really.

Want to hear a funny story?

OK, so our daughter, Sydney was in the first grade and wasn't doing well in school at all. (4 years later, we discovered she had an undiagnosed learning disability but let's not travel down that road right now.) All right... so, Sydney's teacher called me into yet another conference. The teacher actually suggested to my face that perhaps Sydney's troubles in school stem from problems in the home. (Oh, yes she did say those words to me.) I of course assured the teacher that this was certainly not the case.

"Not that we are a perfect family, but we seem to be doing a pretty good job raising our family and Adrian and I love being parents. We're good people, I promise. Sydney has problems in school but it has nothing to do with us. We ARE good parents, really."

While I was enduring this awful conference, Adrian was at a meeting about 50 miles away. I expected him to be home in time for dinner at 6:00. Of course I called his cell phone several times to get what he likes to call, "The play by play." He never answered or returned any of the 20 messages I left. I cursed him for forgetting to charge his phone and then forgave him and went about my business.

Hours passed by and not a peep from Adrian. I repeatedly checked the phone to make sure the ringer was on. I called friends and asked them to call me so I could check if my phone was still receiving incoming calls. I called Adrian's friends and asked if they had heard from him. I tried to put my worryin' out of my mind, but something just kept telling me something was really wrong.

I put the kids to bed (back then, we only had 3 kids so that was a piece of cake.) I cleaned up the supper dishes and paced back and forth wondering where oh where my husband could be. I decided to make a list of hospitals anywhere near he was going to be and I called them all asking if they had Adrian. Nope, no Adrian in the hospital. I couldn't sleep and it was getting really, really late.

At 1:00 am, the phone rang! It was a collect call from "an inmate" from the Gwinnett Detention Center!

Adrian had about 5 seconds to tell me what happened, so in other words, he couldn't explain anything. He just told me where he was and to come get him.

Well, I had to call a Bail Bondsman first. Isn't it so cool I figured out how to do that? Actually, I had called the Jail back after they made Adrian hang up and they told me what to do but they wouldn't or couldn't tell me what they had arrested him for.

I started thinking. Do I even know my husband? Does he lead a secret life? Is he a criminal and I don't even know it? Have I been living a lie?

Next, I had to wake up the children and put them in the car. Then we had to drive more than an hour away in the middle of the night to find this bail bondsman place. The children were scared and crying probably because I kept getting lost and saying, "Shit, shit, shit" a lot. Their little voices were trembling, "Whhh whhh where's Daddy?" Whh whhhh whhhy are we driving in the middle of the night? Whhhhy are you saying bad words?"

I just couldn't tell them we were out looking for the bail bondsman to bail their father out of jail since I had no idea what he was doing in there. So I just said that Daddy's car broke down and we have to go get him. We're going to the car repair man. "Yes, I said repair man, sweetie, not Bail man."

We finally found the bail bondsman and then we had to follow her to the jail. I thought I could just wait in the parking lot so my babies and I wouldn't have to get out of the car. They didn't even have shoes on.

Nope, I had to go with the bail bondsman who was actually a woman and a pretty darn fierce looking woman at that, and I wasn't about to leave my babies in the car. Turns out she was a bounty hunter as well. The kids were already scared and feasting their little innocent, small- town eyes on this, um, car repair woman and the slew of real, live weird-os walking around the jail at 3:00 in the morning made them horrified.

I carried all three children at once, two on my hips and one on my back. We got into the lobby of the jail and the guard told me the bondsman and I had to go post bail in the jail but no children were allowed and they had to stay in the lobby.

I can only imagine how I appeared to these people. Disheveled house wife with three children clinging on to her like koala bears, standing in the lobby of a jail to spring her husband out of the pokey.

There were some weird-os in the lobby too. I was afraid. Surely this was a practical joke. Where's the hidden camera? Of course, I said, no way jose cuervo, I am not leaving my babies in here alone. And the big, black as night bounty hunter shot me a look and said, "You come with me now and leave your children right there. You weren't supposed to bring your kids here in the first place. What were you thinking?"

"Well, I am sorry but it is the middle of the night and I couldn't just leave them at home! Excuse me!" I unclenched my children from my back and my sides and plopped them in a chair, covered them up with a blanket and told them to hold hands the whole time I was gone and not to let go no matter what. I told the guard he better not let anyone lay a hand on my babies. He wouldn't even look at me. He just shook his head at the bail bondsman and rolled his eyes.

Then, Jolie, my oldest, who was 9 years old at the time, pointed to the big letters across the wall and asked, "Mommy, what is Gwinnett Detention Center? Are we like in a jail? What did Daddy do?"

"Hey, um, that's interesting. Good reading, sweetie."

I posted bail with the bail bondswoman and they released Adrian. Adrian came walking out looking like he had been in jail for years instead of hours. They had taken his shoelaces and everything! It was the most pitiful thing to see him run, hobbling unsteadily into my arms with his shoes flippin' and a floppin' with each step to seek warmth and compassion and to cry on my shoulder.

"What in the hell have you done?" I asked.

"Nothing, I promise! It's all a big mistake!"

"Yeah, that's what they all say," said the bounty hunter.

"I will explain everything on the way home." Adrian whimpered.

Well, we got back home around 4:00 in the morning. Adrian's story was legit. It turns out he got pulled over for speeding and the computer said there was a warrant out for him due to an outstanding speeding ticket from 1980 in North Carolina. (NO, reader, I am not kidding.)

Well, we knew all about that mess since when Adrian went to apply for a new license a few years previously, this ticket had come up. From 1980!! The county in North Carolina had just updated their computers and they were going after all these old tickets. It was like a ten dollar fine back then and Adrian swore he paid it. However, to get his license, he had to pay it again. He did and it was all water under the bridge.

However, with their new fancy dancy computer program, they failed to update his status that it was paid (again) even though Georgia renewed his license.

When we got home, we literally tore apart the house because Adrian was convinced he had saved the receipt from North Carolina for paying the ticket from 1980 again. The kids stayed home from school because they were out all night picking up their father after "his car had broken down."

The next day, Adrian had to appear in court and he had the receipt from North Carolina! The judge said he was sorry for the misunderstanding and waived the new speeding ticket since having to stay in jail for 12 hours without the ability to make a phone call and having to spend $350.00 for bail was punishment enough. Not to mention he almost had a heart attack while he was in there and they had to give him a blood pressure pill! Oh, and he had to use a community toilet with his fellow inmates, all who were hard core criminals and he had to lay on the floor using his shoes as a pillow while he waited for 12 hours to pass so the jail could collect money from the state for housing him for a whole "day," and we had to pay an arm and a leg to get his car out of impoundment along with a hefty towing fee.

Any way..... so, the following day, the kids return to school. Sydney's teacher who had been soooo on my case all year long for being a bad mother for having a bad kid who couldn't read and write or follow directions, saw Jolie and Sydney in the hall way coming to school. "So, Sydney, why weren't you in school yesterday?"

"I am not supposed to tell." She replied

"You can tell me, it's OK." said the teacher.

"Um, we had to go get my dad out of prison." Sydney said. Then Jolie apparently hit her and said, "You weren't supposed to tell!"

And yeah, um... all that explaining that we were a fine family and Sydney's problems in school had nothing to do with us just fell on deaf ears after that.

I tried for 10 days to contact Sydney's teacher. I left voice mails.

"Um, hi, Mrs. Groce. This is Sydney's mom. I understand Sydney has told you we picked up her dad from prison. Well, it's just a misunder.... BEEEEEP!"

"Hi, it's me again, Abigail. Sorry, the voice mail cut out. Any way, I was just trying to explain that... BEEEEEEPPPP!"

"Ok, one more time. It was all a misunderstanding. See, back in 1980, Adrian got a BEEEEPP!"

"Voice mail box is full."

"Damn!"

"Sydney, please tell Mrs. Groce that Daddy was not in prison and he is not a criminal. No, actually, don't say that. That sounds like we're trying to cover for him. Um, how about just smile and tell her the police man made a mistake and Daddy didn't do anything wrong. Wait, no, that still sounds bad."

Any way...eventually, I got to talk to Mrs. Groce. She just held up her hand and said, "Hey, it's OK, it's none of my business."

And I was like, "But my husband didn't do anything wrong and he was not in prison! Well, he was in jail, but it was all a big mistake from 1980! Can you believe that? See, it's rather funny, isn't it?"

She didn't laugh.

And this is why you should never make any formal declarations that you are good parents because fate will teach you a lesson and you might just end up someplace without your shoelaces.

To Spank or Not to Spank?

I write a weekly advice column called Ask Lula Belle for the White County News and the Towns Sentinel. Last year, someone wrote me seeking advice about spanking children. A few months later, I was asked to publish it again. Last week, I was asked to run the column again for the third time. It seemed to have struck a nerve with many parents as I got both fan mail and hate mail both times it ran. I am still sticking to my story that I do NOT believe spanking is an effective form of discipline and with 20 years experience working with children and 16 years experience being a mother, I only become more convinced that I was right all along to follow my instincts when I was a young and dumb mother for the first time. I sure as heck didn't know what I was doing the first time but I just kept following my heart. Spanking my children just never felt like the right thing to do.

As a preschool teacher for 7 years, I could pretty much tell right away which of my students were spanked at home and which were not. The ones who had to endure spankings at home were the more aggressive children and the worst problem solvers. They also had a much harder time respecting me because they felt like they were really able to get away with making trouble since I was not going to ever hit them. In fact, they would try to push me to see how far they could go and to see if they could ever get a reaction out of me other than a gentle reminder on how to behave in school and a time out. Time out to them was a joke.

On the other hand, I consistently found that the children who never received any discipline at home (and that means proper teaching and training, by the way) were just so lost and clueless on how to behave. Those students were usually not defiant, but would often times just do whatever they pleased and were rather impulsive. Those were the students who would unlock the gate at the playground and run off because they decided they wanted to play inside. They were the most disruptive at circle time and had a hard time understanding time out and would manipulatively tell me I was a mean teacher.

The students who were properly disciplined at home were the easiest to teach. They were respectful and kind to their friends. Sure, they would make mistakes but usually just a gentle reminder would put them back on track. These students would sit in time out when necessary and would be able to start over, correcting their own behavior when it was time to come back to the group, ready to try again with a new attitude.

It is important to teach children real life skills they can use in the future. I promise, promise, promise that there will be no place in their future where spanking or hitting will be acceptable. They cannot do it at school, work, or in a marriage. So, why do parents use spanking as a method of teaching and training a child? What message does it really send? "You, small innocent child have made a mistake and so now I am going to hit you?" Will the child say to herself, "OK, that hurt so I will never make a mistake again because I am afraid of getting hurt by the one person in the world who is supposed to love me no matter what?" Um... If that theory really worked, a spanked child would not make mistakes. But that is not the case because young children are learning and they will make many, many mistakes because it is just the way it is.

The important thing to think about is not preventing mistakes, but to focus on teaching many beautiful lessons for your child. And who in the world can really think about things when they are afraid or upset or if someone is hitting them? Try it, ask your husband or wife to make you study Chinese for and hour and then quiz you on what you have learned. While they are quizzing you, tell them to smack you every time you make a mistake.

Then, ask your husband or your wife to make you study Chinese for an hour but this time, ask them to be encouraging and loving every time you make a mistake while they quiz you. And if you really goof up, let it be OK for you to take a time out to really process all you are trying to learn. And how about a hug afterwards? Wouldn't that be better? Don't you think you would be eager to learn Chinese this way? Perhaps you would really resent learning Chinese if someone spanked you every time you messed up.

When I have to witness a child getting spanked, I just about fall apart because I can actually feel the shame and hurt the child is feeling. When it is happening, the child looks like a dog who has just been kicked for peeing on the carpet. With its tail between its legs, the dog will hopefully learn to only go potty outside, but it will always walk with its head down and will be scared of your foot everytime it see it. When the child is spanked, especially in public, I can feel the humiliation. I can feel the child's loss of self respect. When a parent is spanking a child, you might as well be saying, "I think you are an animal and I think you are too stupid to learn your lesson by listening to me teach it to you patiently, so I am just gonna whack you across the behind in this store in front of everyone so you will be too scared to keep telling me you are too tired to shop with me today." That's what a spanking is. It is a tool to make your children hurt, scared and humiliated in hopes they will stop behaving in a way that displeases the parent.

You know your child is not stupid. They are not animals. They are VERY sensitive little people. Whatever you do is ultimately shaping who they are. It is important to send the message that you think they are smart and capable of learning. Even if they really are driving you crazy in the store, it is better to LEAVE the store, take a break and try again. Maybe they truly are too tired to go shopping. Maybe if you hug them and let them know you UNDERSTAND how they feel, you can sorta compromise. "Hey, darling. You are being really fussy in this store. Are you tired or hungry?" "Uh, huh." "OK, I'll tell you what. I really need to get this shopping done. I am going to hurry as fast as I can and I won't waste any time just looking around aimlessly or buying stuff we don't need. We are going to do it together super fast and you can be my helper. As soon as we are finished, I am going to buy you a new hair bow or a new chapstick or a piece of candy as a reward for being such a good helper and I am going to let YOU pick it out. Ready? Let's do it!" Then make a game out of finding everything really fast. Run with the cart. It is fun.

See, in this example the child wasn't doing anything "wrong" to begin with. A child having a melt down does not need a punishment. They are just trying to tell you something important!! Like, listen up, mommy, I have had a really hard day and I need a nap and I am hungry and you are taking way too long in this store and I feel like I need a hug!" When a child is having a melt down, he or she is really just trying to share their feelings and if the parent isn't listening, they will get really, really loud about it. But if the parent knows that the melt down is the cue to listen and be understanding, the child will learn how to talk about their feelings and trust the parent will help them feel better.

Haven't you ever had a melt down as a grown up? PMS, hello! Your husband makes you mad. You have a horrible day at work. You get home and you feel totally overwhelemd by all you have to do and you yell at everybody and you cry. What makes it better? A. Your husband spanks you for yelling in the house. B. Your husband tells you to be quiet and get over it because life is hard. or C. Your husband realizes that your day really sucked and gives you a hug and tells you to just lay down because he is going to take care of dinner and that you can worry about all the things you have to do later when you feel better. I know when I have a bad day, I feel better when the people who love me support me. I know when my husband takes over my "duties" for a little while that after I rest for about 30 minutes, I join in with a spring in my step and a song in my heart because I feel so loved and understood.

Of course, parents who spank always argue with me about what to do when the child has really, really crossed a line. Let the punishment fit the crime and all that. Some parents say they only spank if the child is doing something dangerous or if the child is too small to understand a lecture about cars in the parking lot or they only spank if the child hits another person or bites them or whatever.

All I can say is that if you begin early by being a loving, patient teacher and begin time outs early, the child will "get it" before they are 2 years old. They will still make mistakes, but the cool thing is that they will learn how to talk about it with you respectfully and will be really good listeners.

"Take away" is a great consequence. It is important to teach a young child about consequences. When you make good choices, good things happen and when you make bad choices, bad things happen. Taking away toys or privileges and then allowing the child the opportunity to earn it back is an excellent way to train a child.

If I am raising five children without spanking, then you can too. And don't think for a minute I have "easy children." They are no different than any other child. They each have strengths and weaknesses. All children can be stubborn sometimes and all children can be lazy sometimes. All children can be rebellious. All children can wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Being a parent will take you on a journey of really high highs and really low lows. But the number one job of a parent is to be a teacher. 85% of what they need to know, they will learn from you. And if you teach them that hitting someone can somehow solve a problem, you are doing them a disservice because it won't work any where else in their lives. Not at school, not at work, and not in a marriage.

A letter to my son

Dear Nicholas,

It has been a year since we learned you have PDD-NOS. I admit I cried all the way home from Atlanta after the developmental pediatrician told us. A part of me was hoping he would say the things that I'd been worried about were all in my head. When he said the word, "Autism," my heart broke. So many thoughts entered my head. Will you go to regular school? Will you live with us forever? Will you learn to drive a car? Will you have a job? Will you make real friends your own age? Will you fall in love? Will you get married and have a family?

I apologize for talking about you in front of you sometimes like you're not even in the room. I am sorry for explaining PDD-NOS to strangers and friends like you can't hear what I am saying. I am sorry I talk about developmental delays as if you don't have remarkable skills other than speech development. I admit Autism has consumed me for most of this year and each time I talked about it, it helped me deal with it. Every time I read a book about it, I felt better and every time I shared what I learned, I felt empowered.

Although, during this past year, I have learned more from you and your big brother and sisters than from any books I have read. I have learned there are many ways to think. No two minds are alike and your mind happens to be even more special than average. I have learned not to judge anyone, especially a child. I have learned not to put God in a box because God is more awesome than I once believed. I have learned that there are more ways to communicate and sometimes taking words out of the picture gives everything a deeper meaning. I have learned to trust my mother's intuition more. I have learned to take things one day at a time. I have learned to be more patient. And most importantly, I have learned that all in all, my concerns for you are absolutely no different from the concerns I have for your brother and sisters. I want the same things for each of you. I want y'all to grow up happy, spiritually minded people who will be passionate in life. I want y'all to spread goodness and love. I want y'all to be anything and everything you want to be. Nothing will stand in your way because any walls that you can't knock down yourself, Daddy and I will knock them down for you and any walls we can't knock down, your grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, friends, teachers, and our community will jump right in there with us and we can knock them down together. Nothing will be impossible for you. And that goes for each of our five children.

I am sorry that from time to time I forget at the end of the day, you are just Nicholas. You are not Autism. You are a human being who maybe thinks differently and grows differently, but no two people are alike any way, so it doesn't matter if you have a diagnosis or not.

I believe at the core, each and everyone of us has one question. We ask many people along our journey in life, "Am I accepted?" I truly believe this is our eternal question. We all desire and seek acceptance, pure acceptance to be loved unconditionally. And for you, Jolie, Sydney, Fischer and Mollie, the answer is YES! Daddy and I love you and accept you exactly as you are, no strings attached. This means we wouldn't change anything about any of you even if we could.

So, I guess what I am trying to say is a year ago I was devastated and in twelve short months, you showed me hope. I am so grateful for your school, Challenged Child and Friends. I am grateful for your teachers and your speech and occupational therapists who look at you and just see Nicholas. I love that at school, everyone focuses on your abilities and not anything else. Reading the notes they send home letting me know you were the line leader, or you were the door holder, or you tried to go potty, or you cut with scissors on your own, or you can read everyone's name on the felt board, makes me the proudest mommy on the block. When I see you with your little back pack on, smiling and happy to be a big boy at school, I know in my heart, everything is going to be just fine.

Jolie gets ready for the Prom 2010

Spring Break 2010

Oh, Lordy! Why oh why did I think a vacation is what this family needed? I mean, really. Believe you me, it was no vacation for Adrian and me who got a whopping total of 4 hours sleep the entire time. Nicholas, come to find out, cannot sleep in a foreign place or at least not on a beautiful island in South Georgia. Jolie and Sydney slept OK the first night but the following day they got sun burned and sleep became an elusive dream after that. Fischer and Mollie were lucky they just could zonk out just about any place even if that was an uncomfortable sofa and chair. Adrian and I are spoiled by our top of the line bed mattress, so it is hard to fall asleep anywhere but home, but truly, the real prevention of shut eye was Nicholas who hit us, kicked us, scratched us, and pulled our hair for hours on end while we tried to coax him to sleep.


That kid has night vision because when I would let him loose, he really could get into things around the condo. I was afraid to fall asleep without knowing for absolute certain he was asleep because he could have started a fire or escaped which he has done before. Then, once he finally was asleep, I slept with one eye open, of course even though that boy will go and go and go and then pass out like a rock and will sleep through anything, just apparently not until 4:00 am.


And the traveling part...Whoa! Don't even get me started. Let's just say, during our 6 hour road trip which took 8 hours with 7 people cramped in a small space for that span of time, made me contemplate: divorce, suicide, and homicide. And then, of course, there was the car ride home which was worse than the ride there.


But when we were actually on the beach itself, I can tell you a different story. Like how awesome it was to see the look of wonder on Mollie's face when she laid eyes on the Atlantic ocean for the first time since she was a little baby. And the way she let go of my hand and ran through the cool, wet sand straight for the waves so fearlessly. And the way she would giggle when the cold, cold salty water would splash all over her and the way she merrily plopped herself down in the sand making sand angles as if she were in the middle of snow.


And Fischer, my ever curious 9 year old was in his element being out there with the wind blowing his mop of blonde hair. He seemed totally in tune with the sea and the sand. Watching him dig to China and build spectacular sand castles made me feel so, so, happy. Fischer my little sensitive soul is such a thoughtful Buddha. During the school year, he is always so busy, but to have a week of him just being himself, was divine. If ever you get to hang out with this dude, you would see what I mean. He is so cool.

Sydney took charge as the little mama, of course. It was either her joy to be nurturing or her excuse to be young and unencumbered by embarrassment to play right along with the little kids. She was the first one to run into the ocean and then turning around with her arms out to invite everyone to come join her. She taught the little kids how to jump the waves. She kept everyone highly entertained while helping us keep our eyes out for everyone's safety. I swear, the good Lord has blessed me with this amazing young woman as a reward for not killing her when she was little.

Jolie actually smiled and seemed not to mind being around us which was a weird change. Lately, if it does not include her group of friends, she is simply not interested. It was pretty awesome to see her just content with her family. No computers and no cell service did some good I'd say. I hate to point out that she only has two more years of high school before she graduates. I am cherishing every minute of the attention she will give us. Watching her play on the beach brought back so many sweet memories of her as a baby on the beach. It was she and I against the world back then.

And then, there was Nicholas chasing the birds and running like there was no tomorrow all across the beach. He loved standing in the surf, laughing every time the ocean was pulled back away from him as the next wave was building up. He would look down and watch his little feet as the water rushed over them and he would lose his balance as the sandy floor was being sucked out from under him. He would look all worried and say, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" while his little arms flapped in circles trying to steady himself. And then the next wave would hit and he would smile and burst out laughing. Again and again!

My sister and her husband and daughter came along too and it was so nice to see them after we'd been apart for so long. My niece, Wiley has grown and changed so much. She and Mollie played as if they saw each other every day.

Then, alas, my husband. Even though we were both totally and completely miserable with our lack of sleep and our nerves trying to recover from the road trip, I must say that holding hands with my best friend on the beach as we watched our kids frolic in the surf was a total breath of everlasting fresh air. I can't imagine going on this or any adventure without him. Which is why I vowed I would NOT kill him on the way home... plus he was driving, so that would not have been good.

Peace, Love, and all that, y'all!
Abigail