Fresh Princess of Walmart!

So, we had just returned to America (in the midst of Covid) and were through our quarantine at home – I mean, after all, we had just traveled halfway across the world in the middle of a pandemic …

It was the month of my mom’s birthday – April 2020 – and we also needed a few supplies at the rental where we were staying.

And, let’s just be a little honest, I wanted out of the house. To explore.

To see the world!

So, we hopped in our borrowed car and drove straight to Walmart!

My encounter there reminds me of fan favorite (and my personal favorite) Fresh Prince …

You remember the theme song?

If you do, you can sing our story …

Now, this is a story all about how

My life got flipped-turned upside down (Thanks, Covid!)

And I’d like to take a minute

To sit right there

I’ll tell you how I returned to a town called Chandler

In west Chandler born and raised (Actually born in Mesa)

On the playground was where I spent most of my days

Chillin’ out maxin’ relaxin’ all cool

And all shootin some b-ball outside of the school (Erie and Knox! AJHS & CHS)

When a couple of shoppers who were up to no good

Started making trouble in my neighborhood —- Walmart that is

I got in one little verbal fight and my husband got scared

He said ‘You’re not allowed’ back in your hood … #chandler

Okay, okay.

You got me. It wasn’t really a verbal fight. Sparring match. Or encounter of physical form at any time —- BUT —- believe me when I say, Walmart Chandler off of the 202 and Arizona Avenue heard from me!

And this is really how my story goes …

My husband (the better half of the Two Makes Crazy) and I were shopping, birthday shopping, Easter shopping, Mother’s Day shopping —- just generally, masked-up, crazed hand sanitized, shopping without littles or a teen in the mystical land full of all sorts of creatures – called Superstore (aka Walmart).

I found my mom the perfect gift. Yes, at Walmart. It couldn’t have been more perfect for my mom – let me explain why.

If you have met my mom, she is sunshine and delight. She is rainbows. And she is unicorns.

She is laughter and encouragement. The world needs more lovelies like her in it.

And her mom – my eldest daughter’s namesake, Marguerite (aka Tootsie), was laughter. She was a pint-sized miniature granny in a bottle.

She lived a full and extremely hard life. She lost big big big (burying 3 of her children, two as infants, and her husband) – and, yet, still managed to laugh well.

And Tootsie, sweet, feisty, amazing, Tootsie had a fan-favorite toy – if you could call it that.

It was a dancing bear that would dance and sing at the push of a button.

And the cackling laughter of a woman that has lived long would fill the room. Her laughter was loud. It was squeaky. It was combined with lots of exclamations.

And it was infectious.

Even if you didn’t think the stupid, dancing bear was funny, it would take you 2.3 seconds to, all of a sudden, find the obnoxious bear amazing. And you would push the dancing singing paw over and over again – simply to hear Tootsie laugh.

So – when I saw IT at Walmart, I just knew.

It beckoned me.

It called my name.

It was shiny.

It was musical.

It was a unicorn.

It danced.

And it sang.

It was the perfect gift for my mom.

And, in the nostalgia of the moment, reliving the past while in the present, I pushed the button of this musical, dancing unicorn in the middle of the aisles of Walmart over and over again.

Best of all – it was the VERY LAST UNICORN on the shelf!

I had won.

Best gift of 2020 was going down with my name on it. And I just knew my mom would laugh – maybe not as loud, long, or hard, as Tootsie – but I knew it would bring joy!

And so I placed it in my cart, turned my back, and began looking for a card and bag to accompany it.

Within 2.5 seconds, there was a whoosh!

Like a flash.

So I turned.

Behind me, in my cart, was nothing.

No unicorn.

No joy.

No dancing.

No singing.

And that’s when the Chandler in me came out and I threw down.

Okay, not literally.

I hollered, very (let’s just leave it at one very and, yet, imagine a very – very – very in there) loudly,

“Oh, COME ON, PEOPLE! DON’T STEAL FROM PEOPLE’S BASKETS! GET REAL!”

With my loud proclamation came, immediately, literally, before I could blink my eyes, a small crowd of curious shoppers.

“What happened?”

“Are you okay?”

And the funniest of all —- “DID SOMEONE STEAL YOUR TOILET PAPER???!!!”

Yes, in the middle of a pandemic, you would think that would be a logical thing to get upset about – so imagine the surprise of the other shoppers when I said, “No, my magical, singing and dancing unicorn.”

Their concern for my cart-thievery did not hold.

After all, they did not care about my unicorn the way I did. Perhaps their toys that would dance and sing were not as memorable as mine.

So, they left.

And my cart remained empty.

But, no! I was not done.

I shouted again.

Let’s just say, the volume was ample.

“Really! A gift for my mom! Get real, people!”

And then I decided to do something kind-of stupid. Something that I would tell my teenager to never do – I went looking for a “Cart War!”

After all, they messed with my cart, I was coming after theirs!

So, I left the aisle I was in. I left my husband. I left my empty cart – and I began the trek around Walmart – eyeing everyone’s carts. Seeing if I could find the sneaky soul.

I know how to confront. I am not afraid of a fight. After all, I have broken up teenage fist fights in my neighborhood in Poland by grabbing their ears, as well as chased away bad men that were beating up a homeless man at a tram stop in Poznan.

I have served murders soup in my home.

And I have released my dog on approaching robbers in the middle of the night.

I have watched my daughter surrounded by machine guns at the Temple Mount.

And I have taken money back from a man because he did not deserve it. Literally – opened up his jacket, reached into his pocket, and took it back.

So there is no way that some lunatic at Walmart (I use that loosely, as I am most likely looking like the lunatic here) was getting away with my unicorn.

Battle on.

Unfortunately …

I mean, fortunately …

My mission was very short lived.

Apparently the cart thief did not think my unicorn worthy of a fight. So they ditched it on a clothing table.

My prize – tossed – haphazardly – in the middle of a pile of messy clothes.

I am sure it had a soft landing.

I picked it up, looked around for guilty faces. Saw none. (Sly thief)

And pushed the hoof.

Sure enough – the song and dance once again filled the store.

And laughter my memories.

Holding onto my unicorn, I found my husband (who did not pursue this unicorn on foot like I did). We made it through the rest of Wally’s World without incident – and the lovely, hard-fought, unicorn…

Well, let’s just say, it made it to my mom.

With a story to boot!

Maybe the unicorn doesn’t make her laugh as loud as Tootsie’s bear. But, with each push of the button, my heart is flooded with memories.

And laughter.

And, now, a new reason to smile.

I was back in my hood.

#conquererofwalmart #freshprincessofchandler

“What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul.”

Yiddish Proverb

Article explaining the benefits of laughter:

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/laughing-health_b_4519611

What do you do?

I keep people alive every day.

Some professionals call this a doctor.

I keep people out of trouble. Even prison.

Some professionals call this a lawyer.

I have a 24-hour food service.

Some businesses call this an all-night diner.

I make sure individuals are eating properly.

Some professionals call this a nutritionist.

I provide full-service cleaning of home and garden.

Some businesses call this Merry Maids. Others Lawn Services.

I organize an entire empire, guaranteeing the success of my subordinates.

Some professionals call this a CEO.

I listen to hurts and pains and help guide to a healthier and stronger emotional well being.

Some professionals call this a psychologist.

I pray with, for, and share scriptures with those in attendance.

Some professionals call this a pastor.

I even democratically rule my own country…with the strong use of Veto when necessary.

Some would say that I am a self-appointed democratic monarchy—ruling both the party and the crown. Therefore, calling me simultaneously Mrs. President and HRM the Queen.

Yes, many professionals and businesses may give me many names…

But, for those under my roof, they simply call me mom!

Murphy’s Law…Of course!

Listen, we just had the most adorable and awesome and BEST interns in the world literally leave our home less than a week ago.  These ladies were seriously the BEST!

And I know my home is NEVER empty.  Like ever. Like a day after they left, we had a friend of Adelyne’s in our home for TWO days.  Not one.  Two.

The week before the interns left, we had another friend of Adelyne’s PLUS the interns.

People were sleeping on the floors…Couches…Kitchen tables.  Bathtubs.

Okay. The bathtub was an exaggeration since it was literally our only ONE for nearly 10 people. Unless a garden hose counts as a washing tub?  Or a quick dip in a lake or hot tub?

If so, then I have 3 extra washing rooms in near proximity (smile and wink).

But I don’t think they do.

Let’s get back to the sleeping situations of our home.

Tomorrow, we have a different friend of Adelyne’s spending the night.  Then two nights after that, we have Rich’s sister and her family spending the night—which will make 5+5=10 under our little farm house’s roof.

And one bathtub.  (Oh, wait—that’s right: garden hose, hot tub, and nearby lake—three extra cleaning basins)

I do have a point with this…

MURPHY’S LAW, Baby!

Here as I have been handling large masses sleeping in ever nook and cranny of my home—I was getting all “laissez faire” about proofing my house.

“Baby proofing,” you may think?

No.

“Fire proofing,” may be your next guess.

Nope.

“Storm proofing,” you may try for a third time—and this one plus flood proofing are actually LOGICAL guesses considering a huge storm did some pretty nasty damage on our house last year and our basement floods.  Like ALL THE TIME (don’t worry—we are still working on water-proofing that one before winter).

The answer to both storm and flood, however, is still NIE.

MOUSE PROOFING!

Ever since my husband and our friend found the existing holes on the outside of our house a few months back, filling them, our house has been scratch, poop (unless you count stinky children), and food packaging hole free.

HEAVEN ON EARTH!

For some of you, heaven on earth may look a little differently…but, for me, heaven on earth has looked like a mouse-poop and chewed home free!

It truly was a glorious — albeit SHORT time.

Last night, however.  Last night it ALL came crashing down.

I was in a moment of solitude.  Just me and the TV.

What should have been peace was filled with scratch, scratch, scratch.

I sat up!

The scratching stopped.

I relaxed.  I am just hearing things.  Slightly insane, right?  Perhaps a little paranoid, eh?!

Scratch, scratch, scratch…scamper, scamper, scratch!

I take it back!  I am NOT INSANE (please, tell my husband)…I knew it!

I heard it.  It was like a bad record playing again and again and again.

And then my movie is ruined.  My forthcoming sleep is ruined.  MY NIGHT IS RUINED!

Thank you, MICE!

So, today…after HORRIBLE dreams (smile and wink), I went on a mouse walk around my house.

I know the signs of infestation.  I know the poop.  I know their favorite crevices.

And THAT is when I spied it…

The popped trap.

Now, I noticed this popped trap a couple days ago, but when I peeked at it, I didn’t see a mouse.  So, I just ASSUMED (and you know what they say about assuming) that the trap popped because something fell on it or it was faulty.  Hence I ignored it.

But what I could not ignore the last couple days was the STINK in our house.

Now, to be fair, we have kids.  So, I’ve spent the last three days shouting lovely encouragement such as, “You stink! Take a shower!  Make sure you flush the toilet!  Peeeeeewwwww—-eeeeeeee!”  Yes, I am a lovely mother like that.

On top of that, to emphasize my stinky children, I have been abusing Febreeze.  Like literally spraying it all around the house.  Like multiple times because my kids smell like the pig-farm of summer.

Or DID THEY???

Now, in what is VERY OBVIOUS hindsight, I realize that I may have overreacted a bit (extremely unusual for me, btw, just as my husband)…

It’s not the children at all.

The mice are back.

And now my mind is on FULL lock-down.

I gotta get to my rice before they do.

To the crackers.

The cereals.

I gotta gotta gotta.

I should have known.

Literally.

It was too good to last.

A mouse-free house…

BAH!

Hashtag Murphy’s Law, Baby!  #murphyslaw

 

The Day After Mother’s Day…

The day after Mother’s Day…all celebrating done.

The children all messy.

My hair in “the bun”!

The day after Mother’s Day…it is really true.

The children, once again, forget all about you (me too!).

The day after Mother’s Day…my coffee is old.

No one made me breakfast.

Everyone has a cold!

The day after Mother’s Day…it is really true.

Mother’s Day High…Like the sugar-rush flu!

The littles are crying – the teen is a mess.

PE clothes forgotten, the kitchen (don’t ask!).

The day after Mother’s Day…it comes all too soon.

Will our flowers last…Will they still bloom?

We need the reminders.

Oh, yes, it’s true…

That we do more than wipe bottoms.

And wash hands after poo.

The day after Mother’s Day…

It is not as divine.

Because they didn’t make breakfast or write me a rhyme.

They forgot about yesterday and my crown of glue and gold.

Sparkles and glitter.

Like I said—(big EMPHASIS) my coffee has gone cold!

But the day after Mother’s Day, they are still all mine.

And even though the windows are dirty (just like their behinds), I will remember to choose to smile because I know that it’s true…

Next year they will celebrate me, their mother, too!

(Right???)

Only 364 more days to prepare me a treat.

Hop to it, you children…

While I put up my feet!

-Insert: Crash; Bang; Boom-

***

Happy Day After Mother’s Day!

(smile and wink)

 

 

 

“Stop crying or I will,” the Mom threats (that we all deny doing)

My 4-year-old was dramatically protesting SOME very unfortunate (obvious to her only) mistreatment in her life…

And she was doing it at a loud wail.

With a bunch of pitchy screeches.

It was enough.  I was trying to work, and I couldn’t concentrate at all.

So, I did what all moms always say they will NEVER do but ALWAYS do (see the hilarity right there).  I shouted from the other room…

STOP CRYING RIGHT NOW OR I WILL EAT YOUR CHOCOLATE!

Oh, no.  I didn’t stop there.  I went on…

Is that crying I still hear?

Crying is getting a bit softer, but there is a bit of remaining whining…

That’s IT!  I’m getting up right now to go and get your chocolate.  I will eat every last bite!  Don’t make me do it!

Silence.

Ah, man!

I was actually looking for an excuse to eat chocolate.

Smile.

Wink.

#momtruth

No Coca-Cola, please…

Photo from pixabay

So, there comes a time in your life when you REALLY … I mean really have to reevaluate what goes in your mouth because it does not all come out on the other side.

In fact, where once it would magically disappear, it now finds your thighs.  And your arms.  And your belly.  It even finds your neck and your cheeks.  Heck, it finds BOTH sets of cheeks.

Yes.  Where once you could eat whatever you wanted, the time will always come where that is no more.

Mine didn’t hit at 30.  It didn’t hit at 35.  Or 36 when I had Max.  In fact, after Max, I had only about 10 pounds left to lose when I got pregnant with Josephine (10 months after Max).  So, I was pretty sure it would be okay with Josephine.

And then 40 hit.  And it didn’t matter if I ate 1 potato chip or the entire bag, it all seemed to find a place .

For me, it’s pretty much on what Max and Jo literally, lovingly call my “squishy belly…”  In fact, they are so cute about it as they proclaim daily, “MOMMA, we LOVE your squishy belly!  It’s like a squishy pillow!  Oh, you’re so squishy…”

And they go on and on and on and on…I could so “SQUISHY” them after awhile, eh?!  (smile and wink)

Anyhow, all of this to say that I have officially decided to not drink “as much” soda as before.  Try not to eat as many cookies as before.  Avoid chips, when possible (smile smile wink wink again).

Therefore, when my husband was leaving to go grocery shopping, I told him to not bring me a Coke.

Proud moment, right?!

Too short, unfortunately, because then I followed it by saying, “But don’t forget the whipped cream for my coffee!”

HAHAHA!

Seriously.

I did.

And, with that, I have come to the deep conclusion…

What is life, anyway, without a little whipped cream?

Go, whipped cream, find my thighs.  They are waiting for you.

Bring on my coffee!

(insert whipped cream can aerosol-like spray and a happily sighing, coffee-slurping momma)

 

That’s why Moms were invented…

Disclaimer in case you like my husband better than you like me (smile and wink)… he knows I am writing this.

In fact, on the day that it happened, he was batting 0 all day long but my list of “What to blog” kept getting bigger and longer and funnier.

Hopefully I’ll come back to all of them.  But today I’ll start with this one…

The day started with me on the countdown: 3 more days until Richard leaves me in a little farming village and travels to the States for a month.  THEREFORE, I am going to lie in bed past time for kids to get out of bed…and daddy is going to get ALL 3 kids to school.

Now, to be fair to my husband, he is usually the one to feed, pack their bags, and drive them to school.

Wait?  What do you do?

I don’t know, honestly.

Maybe help choose clothes, comb their hair, and provide kisses???

I definitely get the coffee going.

In any case, it seems when moms are around (even if all we are doing is drinking coffee) the house just seems to be kept from burning down.

We notice things.

So, I roll down the stairs at a very lazy 9am.  Kids in school.  Husband back to work in his office.  And that’s when I smell it.

Plastic.

Burning.

On my kitchen table (that I painted, btw).

Yes.  The decade+2 daughter’s straightening iron was piping hot—burning a hole right through my adorable Easter bunny placemat (See, right there—that’s what I do!  I decorate for the Seasons and make the house feel “happy”.  Phew!).

I grabbed the iron, unplugged it (much too late, unfortunately, to save its life as the plastic had now become one with the iron), stuck it somewhere safe, picked up the placemat, got rid of the burning plastic smell by opening all the windows, made sure the wooden table had not yet become victim to the “iron” and walked past my husband saying, “That’s why moms were invented.”

Do you know what he said?

“I didn’t even know the iron was still on…”

Of course not.

Because, while he may be packing their bags, and second breakfast snacks, and feeding them breakfast and taking them to school, I am drinking my coffee and making sure the house is still standing.

And sending them off with kisses.

The best reason why moms were invented.

Now, back to my coffee…

(smile smile wink wink!)

 

My Average Child…

“Average Ada” age 2 at the NLC

Keep soaring, our girl!

I can seriously not stop laughing.  My daughter, my firstborn, my pride and utter joy has written two different things that she would like me to help edit.  The first is part one of a children’s book—seriously the cutest book ever.  Can’t wait to share it with you here!

And then.  Then there is her resume.  My daughter is saving all of her gift and babysitting money to buy a phone.  But, as we all know, phones are very expensive.  Well, my little ray of sunshine, my decade plus 2 daughter, will see her Nana and Papa for a few weeks this summer, so she has decided to submit a resume for them.  On her resume, which I won’t share the entire thing, she wrote:  Average student.  If that was not brutally honest enough, the rest would make you laugh out loud.

Things such as:  Good at—Loving her grandparents.  And so much more.

My “Average Daughter” is just so ABOVE AVERAGE in the good feels department!

And, to be fair to her, she studies in the Polish language, all her subjects.  So those average grades are really QUITE impressive for me 😉  Her father and I will take them, at least!  I can barely help her study for her History or Science tests (no smile and wink here).

Oh, my average daughter, I love you so average PLUS much!

Thanks for bringing sunshine to my EVERY DAY!!!!!!!

 

To new mothers, I have news for you: You will not receive the Mom Award

I was told last night at dinner by Josephine that she was not going to give me a “Mom Award” if I made her eat her dinner…

I looked at her with eyes of Superman steel, pointed to her seat, told her to get back in it, and that with or without that “Mom Award” I would survive just fine.

She sat back in her chair and told me that she “Doesn’t love Mommy and I wouldn’t get a cookie,” to which I replied, “I will also survive.”

She knew she was not winning any battle with her words, so she sat.

Mom Award?  That’s right, I’ll give it to myself.

The three year old sat, ate, and even climbed in my lap for books, where she promptly snuggled up and went to sleep.

In Mom’s arms.

Josephine may not have awarded me the Mom Award last night, but, you see, we did not become moms for awards.  We became moms to raise little people right.  To be their moms.  Not their buddies.  Not their friends.  Not the coolest person on the block.

Now, mind you, our block only has 3 houses, so I just may be the coolest person on the block (smile and wink in exaggeration, of course).  But you get the point.

So, if your children do not award you the “Mom Award,” don’t run to your room crying.

Don’t beg them for it.

Don’t bring them the paper to make you the Gold Star to go on top.

Just accept it.

They’ll cuddle into your arms later, no matter what.

Because, even award-less, you are still their safest place.

And that is award enough for me.

***

Free hint: When I am not using personal photos or photos my husband took, I use the site Pixabay where you will find copyright-free images.  Check it out.  I hope it will prove to be a useful site to you, too.

Mombie Apocalypse

You’ve all seen them.

You know they’re coming.

It’s not if.  It’s when.

There’s no stopping them. 

Ahhhhhhh!

It’s the Mombies!!!!

#mombiesgonnagetyou

But wait.  

You have time.  

First, they must: “Insert Coffee To Begin”

Next:  finish taking horrible Mombie selfies

In the end, these two things will give you a chance to flee. 

But not really.  

At your next recital or game or award ceremony or concert — or just even when you walk in the door from school with friends, these Mombies will be there.  Yes, perhaps, slightly better dressed and maybe even hair and makeup done — but plain ol’ embarrassing Mombies they will always be.

Well, basically it’s the #truth until you become a Mombie yourself.  And then we Mombies will buy you your very own T (shirt, that is).Welcome to the club!  

DISCLAIMER:  My children did not approve this picture or message.  Both mortify them (smile and wink).  Just doing my job, folks.  Doing my job. #mombievictory