What? Who? When?

Y'all, I am tired. I mean t-i-r-e-d.

Yancey was out of town for 3 nights (Thurs-Sun.....so that means 2 full weekend days by myself which is exponentially harder than weekdays when the boys might be in school for a few hours) and the boys traded off on me with who had The Cold. You know The Cold, the one your kids give each other (and you) from September through God knows when. Foster decided to include a fever with his this go round, and while he was all sick-cuddly-cute, Yancey 4 took that opportunity to become needy and Mommymommymommymommy. Oh, how the healthy can manipulate. By the way, the sick-cuddly-cute conveniently stopped at 9:30PM when Foster woke up screaming because he couldn't breathe. Sick, yes. Cuddly-cute, hell to the no.

Dorothy (Yancey's mom) was here 2 nights to help with dinner/bath/bedtime (God bless her), and then when Yancey 3 got home his sister, Susan, came by to visit and help with the boys' dinner. I think I was coherent for about 45 minutes during all that time, and I feel certain that my in-laws think I am a lunatic. I found myself wheeling around, calling both boys by the wrong name (sometimes calling them Annie) and telling them that I was going to sell them to the gypsies if they didn't straighten up (yeah, Time Out doesn't work so well around here).

We spent our days going to the park (with about 3000 Kleenex on hand), to the bookstore (leaving germs for everyone else to enjoy) and to the zoo with Katie and Hunter. My motto: If you are well enough to be a pain in my butt, you are well enough to get in the car and go somewhere. Look no further to wonder why I am tired. Two heathen children running around the zoo screaming, "EH phant EH phant, RAFF, RAFF (giraffe)" then fighting over who sat where on the train and carousel, then one deciding that the carousel jaguar going up and down was just too much and he wantedoffrightnow then wondering how in the hell to find the exit when both boys are taking off their shoes and socks and throwing them at the animals as we pass. Jesus. Meanwhile, Hunter (who is 2) was the picture of perfection - I think he even said the Latin name for gorilla while sketching in a moleskin journal. And, he ate oranges without complaint. I put the boys in bed each night with a gigantic sigh of relief. Then I cleaned up the upstairs landing, the kitchen and the sunroom. Then at about 10, I had a glass of wine, read 3 pages of my book, found some eggs on Facebook (whassup Hatchlings?!) and stumbled to bed.

OK, so what is my problem? There are women (many family members included) who do this every single day. Their husbands travel for work, or they are divorced, or they simply do it because they love it (or believe - tired or not - that it is the best way to raise their kids). I don't do this every day. I jobshare, so I work either 2 or 3 days a week, and I have help 4 days a week (Jasmine - the angel from heaven that has been with us for a year an half). No shame in my game - I like the help. But, DAMN......there are people who do this without losing their temper or patience (much) and can juggle shoes, socks, lunch, snot and fevers without batting an eye. Not to mention actually *cooking* for their husbands and kids.

I have always found it slightly patronizing to hear people say, "Wow, I could never stay at home full time with the kids - it's just too much." Although, ummm, yeah, I've said it. But, I have *totally* not been patronizing my friends! When I say it, I mean that I would be calling 911 to find out what to do when I have "accidentally" locked both kids in the closet. When other people say it though, somehow I hear, "I could never go that long without adult interaction. I am just too sophisticated." But that's not what I mean at ALL! I just mean that I am too weak, impatient and easily angered. So, I am trying to find a way to impart my own truth to y'all and to myself - that I 100% believe that parents (women or men) that stay at home with their kids are full-on, no holds barred, absolutely and totally my heroes. They probably never find themselves wheeling around in their sunroom calling their kids the wrong names and saying, "What? Who? When?" when their sister-in-law asks how their day went. I applaud every single one of you.

PS - Yancey told me that I can't post anymore about my car because if I tell you any more about what I did, no one will ever buy it.

PPS - Yancey would also like for me to clarify the statment, "I have help 4 days a week." He would like the record to show that I have HELP 7 days a week, in the form of a husband. Duly noted. (Author's Note: Except when he's on a golf weekend.)

Miss Mellie

My favorite movie of all time is Gone With The Wind. I have a list in my head of my Top Five favorite movies (and a sub-list of my Top Five Black and White movies), but Gone With The Wind doesn't count. It is not on the list because it is The Ultimate. I have always identified with Scarlett O'Hara. I read the book in 6th grade (and again and again later), and I have always felt (more like hoped) that I was like Scarlett -- opinionated, headstrong, willful, determined, intriuging, etc. Never thought I was a great beauty, like she was...but I like to think I would have made a dress out of curtains if the occasion warrented. Plus, Rhett Butler is hot.

I never liked Melanie Wilkes. She snatched up Scarlett's one true love and married him. Never mind that Scarlett was wrong about Ashley being her one true love - at the time, she thought he was. Plus, Melanie and Ashley were cousins. I know that the Wilkes' always marry their cousins, but that always seemed gross and wrong. But, the real problem was that Melanie was just simpering, "mealy-mouthed" (to quote Scarlett), forgiving to a fault, wore a lot of grey and was so completely unselfish that it just bugged me to no end. Yancey and I have fought about this (yes, sometimes we fight about fictional characters - together 15 years, what can I say?).....he says Melanie is a saint and a wonderful woman. Although he says that to get my goat, I know he really believes it deep down.

So tonight, I have come to a worrisome realization - I am afraid that I now more resemble Melanie than I do Scarlett. In the course of a typical random evening conversation, I behaved in a way that was clearly unselfish and actually reflective of feeling quite content. I thought for a bit and asked Yancey, "Have I become Miss Mellie??" He knew exactly what I was talking about (although Gone With The Wind was not part of the conversation at all), and he responded maddeningly (take note, men - this is maddening). He said, "Ummmm.....I can't answer that. Melanie is a fictional character, and you are a real person. Totally different." I know he was hedging. He knew exactly what I was asking. Have I lost my edge? Have I lost my feist, my fire, my recklessness? This could be devastating!

[Don't tell anyone, but I should mention, that over the last 5 years or so I have come to admire the quiet strength and uncompromising faith and loyalty that Melanie possessed. She stuck by her friends and family no matter what. She forfeited her own personal health if someone else was in need. She took the side of the underdog. She took money from the prostitute for the good of The Cause. Blah blah blah. Yep, still annoying.]

Is it because I'm inching closer to 40? Do we all turn nice as we age because we don't want the hassle of kicking up a ruckus all the time? Do our kids so totally exhaust us that we just look on smiling because we are bone-tired, but to the outside observer we seem seem peaceful and content? I honestly don't think I have it in me to be Scarlett Stribling, mother of twin-boys-about-to-turn-two-who-like-to-stand-on-tables. Is it possible to be a hybrid? That seems to be a popular concept these days. Perhaps I could be "Scarlanie" or "Mellett." I'm not sure that will appease me, but I'm going to think on it.

God help you poor people that just read all of that. Sorry.

The Streak Is Over

I am not the most graceful person in the world. I have been known to break a glass or two.....to marvel at bruises and wonder how they got there....to bump into cubicles at work....and even to walk into a chair that had been in the same position for about 7 years, thus breaking my toe and having to wear a big ugly shoe brace for 6 weeks. And then, 2 years later, to stub the same toe on the same chair.

But, for the last 16 years, I have managed to never - not once - damage my car more than a slight scratch. Sixteen years ago, I backed up and ran into a telephone pole. Panicking, I put the car in drive, heard a scrape, put it in reverse, heard another scrape, put it in drive - scraaaaape, put it in reverse and floored it. Not something I am proud of, but I hadn't had my license long and, like I said, I panicked. Today, all you have to do is replace that telephone pole with a sharp metal plate on a post about 8 inches above the ground and you know *exactly* what happened at about 9AM outside of (of course) a Starbucks. **Oh yeah...you should probably also replace the 76 Oldsmobile Cutlass Convertible with a BMW that we like to call my "I Got Out Of The Hospital Alive" car.** Turn right....scrape....go backward....scrape, scrape, scrape, panic, floor it. I never even saw the sharp plate (don't even ask why it was there (who cares) or why I didn't see it (no clue)). I raced down Peachtree late to a meeting but just HAD to stop to see what had caused that God-awful noise back there. Oh. My. God. Racer X had clearly come up beside me and pushed the button that made the blades pop out of his tires which then drug a giant gaping hole down the side of my car. Oh. My. Not-Nice-Word. God. I called Yancey all hysterical, and once I described it in terms that he could understand (he doesn't know from Speed Racer) I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Now, I have had all day to ruminate over this, feel nauseous and cry some more. And, I have come to the conclusion that all of that emotion comes from 3 things: 1) Having to tell someone that I had wrecked my car 2) Hurt pride and 3) Mortal embarrassment. That's it. Nothing else. The car is mine and it's paid for. I wasn't drunk. I didn't hurt anyone. We'll figure out the repair cost. I have taken care of #1 by telling absolutely *everyone* I know. Get it out in the open, let people laugh and say, "Holy Crap - I've NEVER seen anything like that - it's like a little tiny tornado hit your car and bent steel!!" But (2 and (3 have haunted me today. Perhaps you don't feel as proud or embarrassed at 16 as you do at 38. Well, that's ridiculous - of course you do. Introspection over.

Yancey just told me that I am overreacting - right after I freaked out that a snake or a chipmunk would get into that hole in the running board thingy and crawl into my engine and either die or pop out of my A/C vent. I agree that I am probably overreacting, but I'm just sayin'....that's how I feel about all of this. I don't have any profound reasoning behind it, but I thought if I put it out there, someone might understand (or take pity).

Wine has taken a backseat to champagne, Thai food and a movie tonight (thanks Yancey, you always know how to make a girl forget mortal embarrassment - unless, of course, you caused it). Unless someone's car gets Racer-X'd in Iron Man, I may be OK tomorrow.

PS - Why does a days-away-from-38-year-old woman still have to look up how to spell embarrassment?

Good Housekeeping?

So.....the 20 year reunion was the bomb!!!! I saw so many friends and laughed about so many things! Several of my friends have moved home to Big Lex (although we all swore we would get the heck out and never return), and it was a nice reminder of how wonderful small town life can be. We sat on our friends' front porch(es), drank tons (especially the South Carolina-brewed-sweet-tea-infused vodka called Firefly - go find it and buy it!) and remembered the olden days. Many things were rehashed, forgiven and rediscovered. I *highly* recommend going to your reunion - even if you think noone will remember you or that you have gotten fat or that you have grown "beyond" that time in your life. Trust me - you haven't, they haven't. And everyone is looking at life through hind-sight-rose-colored glasses. So, just go!

Anyway...tonight was a night of fun and friendship with my neighborhood amigas. Better known as Bunco. A dice game that is mindless and fun and therapy. Yancey came home from his golf lesson to our 14 year old next door neighbor minding the boys while her Mom and I sat a few doors down drinking wine and watching our cell phones for any signs of trouble. Thankfully, nothing called us home from our night with 12 friends, all eager to hang out and relax and laugh. Not to mention that $120 was on the line ($10 each). I have won Bunco once in about 8 years, and tonight upped my winning streak to TWICE ....Yippee!!!! I got home, and when Yancey asked (as he always does because he knows I never win) where my winnings were......I whipped them out of my (still really unneeded) bra and waved that money around like it was our new 401K (actually, with today's market, it might be!). So, all in all, a good night.

So, as I am winding down, I grab a magazine and start blindly turning pages. I am intrigued. How to organize your junk drawer.....your pots and pans....how to find a Halloween costume for unusually small 2 year olds.....how to find makeup that is easy to put on and cheap. I am LOVING this mag. Then, I look at the front, and it is Good Housekeeping. GOOD HOUSEKEEPING people!!! This is my Mom's magazine (love you Lee-Anne but, still!). This is the magazine that is in the dentist's office, but it's 3 months old. What??? How am I relating to Good Houskeeping? An hour ago, I was funny, irreverant, cussing like a sailor and thinking I was but a young pup.

So, as I retire for the night, I realize that I am still that crazy 17 year old blue-eye-lined girl from Lexington, NC but I am also the almost-38-year-old wife and mother of twins. I relish my time with my friends, but I also search out ways to make my life and my family's life easier, more creative and more fun in general. So, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that while In Touch, US Weekly, People, Vogue and Elle are necessary for me to feel "in tune"......so is Good Houskeeping. Ouch and Hooray.

Love Y'all!!

It Snuck Up On Me

My 20th high school reunion is this weekend. How did that happen? I mean, I know the science. The Earth revolves around the sun (right?)* and years go by. But, how did I become older than most of my teachers were back in high school? And, why on Earth am I this old with 2 very young and very energetic kids. And another thing -- why do all of the old pictures of that era show myself and my girl friends with gigantic hair, blue eye liner, and stirrup pants while my guy friends appear as if they could walk through my door today perfectly stylish? Clearly a conspiracy of some sort. I'm going to think on that.

So, I've been ruminating a lot lately about those hysterical years during the mid-80s. Bon Jovi...California Coolers...Skoal Bandits...Prince...Madonna...Capri Cigarettes (that cost 95 cents a pack - if you smoked, of course)...Cruising (in my hometown, at least)...ahhhhh....the memories. When I look back, they were heady times. But, through it all, I had a plan. The Plan. College, then job, then family, then Happily Ever After. Ummm, yeah.

So, the college thing worked fine. Then things got a little sticky. The Plan to get a job sort of derailed when I was told that in order to take part in Interview Day at UNC-Chapel Hill (where the likes of Goldman Sachs came to cherry pick the best of the best), I needed to cut my hair and buy a navy suit. For some reason, that just ticked me off to no end. So, to my Dad's chagrin, I skipped Interview Day and graduated a very happy (if seemingly unemployable) English major. The Plan then changed (but it was definitely still The Plan) to a year of travel and school in Europe then back to the US to attend grad school. Yeah, that didn't happen either.

Not that I felt good about it, but I moved to Aspen, CO and applied/was accepted to grad school in Atlanta - still stubbornly trying to stick to The New Plan. Aspen, oh Aspen. Soon, I deferred grad school. Later, I wondered why grad school had ever been The Plan. Three years later I moved to Atlanta with Yancey - who would *many* years later (you were slow, my dear) become my husband. Wifehood was rockin'. Starting a family, not so much. Twelve years later, I am planning to attend my reunion.

Over these 20 years, I have remained closeclose friends with those blue eye-lined girls from high school, and we get together often. Those weekends quickly move from "How is your life?" to "Who brought the Eagles and Poison CDs?" Lots of laughs, lots of booze, and countless recountings of who did what with/to whom. I always leave those weekends feeling like I am a success. My life didn't go like I planned it at age 18, and you know what? Thank God.

While this reunion has given me lots of opportunity to be mystified as to how Age 37 has snuck up on me, it has also solified in my mind the fact that this life is the one that was meant for me. I am glad I spent time in Aspen, learning that one doesn't always need a Plan (although if you looked in my day planner right now, tomorrow is planned down to the hour). I am glad that I married someone who challenges me. I am glad that I have 2 crazy boys who, in the end, were my Plan all along.

Now all I need is gas to get me to NC and back.

*Before I posted this, I actually did ask Yancey to be sure the Earth *does* revolve around the sun.