Mr. Personality & More Not Politics

The President (my son, not the actual president of the United States) has been on a roll lately. I never know what he's going to say, but he always cracks me up. This morning, I was teaching Sunday School for the age group just above his. I let him sit in with me because many of his friends were moving up to that class for the first time. With several new children, I suggested everyone would have a chance to introduce and tell a little about themselves.

It was a pretty typical exercise. You know, one person mentions they have a new puppy and a four-wheeler...so everyone has a new puppy or they're getting a new puppy and a four-wheeler.

Until my kid. "My name is The President and I like cheese and sometimes I can point my eyes in two different directions."

I heart him.

Later, during our lesson we were to name examples of disasters our country has faced and how we can support others in their time of need.

My question: "Who can name a disaster that has happened in our country?"

My child's response: "When Clinton bought real estate?"

I can't make this stuff up.

What Will He Think of Next?

I know everyone thinks their kids are the cutest, smartest, most-well behaved...and all that. So, it will come as no surprise when I share how funny, imaginative, and smart my children are.

Yesterday morning, the boys dressed and lined up their favorite animals from Build-a-Bear Workshop on the kid-sized sofa in their room. Then, The President informed me that since I had "nothing to do all day" it would be my job to teach his "sons" while he was away at school.

Sure, I'd be glad to...now put on your shoes! Eat breakfast! Brush your teeth! Don't forget your backpack! And so another day begins.

When we'd been home from school for a couple of hours, he asked me "what the boys learned today?" Huh? Oh...I had forgotten my promise to mold the minds of his best pals.

"Ummm, uh, we sang the alphabet song, and counted, and then talked about how bees (the theme of The President's second grade classroom) gather nectar & make honey."

"What kind of pictures did you show them?"

You've got to be kidding me. I'm being held accountable for my lesson plans & use of visual aids for stuffed animals? Seriously.

I told him that we didn't have time to get to that.

"That's right," he said. "It is just the first day."

So, today I propped up a book about dinosaurs in front of the animals...maybe he'll be impressed that I remembered my teaching responsibilities.

This probably could be a second post, but it is kind of along the same lines....and I'm in a hurry to go pick up Fat Baby at preschool.

The President found a nice, smooth river rock that he named aptly, Rocky. We drew a face, hair & a moustache on Rocky with a sharpie, and he's been pretty popular around here lately.

School has been in session three weeks now, and My Baby's Daddy has not been at home at all in the mornings, and has missed the majority of meals served in the evening. He works in a sales job, but also does real estate part-time. The market is crappy right now, so if he's seeing clients and making deals I say, "Your plate will be in the microwave when you get home."

But it's harder for children to understand when a parent is "never home." The President wants to spend time with Dad (a.k.a. "the FUN parent"). Last night, My Baby's Daddy got home as I was orchestrating bath time for the boys. When The President put on his PJs, he collected Rocky, brought him to our room and announced, "Dad, Rocky wants to buy a house." (Smart kid to put together the way to get dad's attention). It was so cute to listen to them:

My Baby's Daddy: Has Rocky been to the bank?

The Pres: Oh, yeah...a couple of times.

MBD: So, he's prequalified. How much does he want to spend?

TP: Fifteen thousand or two hundred.

The finally drew up a contract, and had some great time together. I am looking forward to a long week-end of more moments like these. And help with bath time. And no lunches to pack. And no carpool line. And...

A Post Not About Politics

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that my 8 year old son is determined to be the President of the United States. He asked for a desk and a "world ball" (globe) from Santa when he was 5 years old. He's like Alex P. Keaton with attitude. This is not something we've pushed him to do at all, but we do love that our son has the confidence and intelligence to pursue lofty goals.

Now I feel compelled to say this: I do not like to discuss politics. I don't want you to judge my beliefs (that's why I keep them to myself), and I don't want to hear you preach yours (whether they are the same or different than mine). And many times, I've been in the worst possible situation--where someone is spouting their political beliefs, assuming yours are the same. That being said, this post does not necessarily reflect my own personal political opinions. I am open-minded and fair, and do not attempt to inflict my beliefs onto others--even my own child. His opinions are his alone. And while they are sometimes rooted in immature thinking (I'm voting for so-and-so because I like the way his name sounds, or he went to college at my favorite school), I'm teaching him to gather information, watch the news, and form his opinions accordingly. Keep in mind, however, that we do have an outspoken, "old school" grandparent who lives with us.

I'm often surprised at how much The Pres has learned about our country's government and current events. This was his reaction to the Democratic National Convention coverage this morning:

(News footage of Hillary Clinton on the Today show) "I thought Clinton got flushed down the toilet like a turd...so, what's she doing on the news?"

I love being a boys' mom...

Because this afternoon, I was pelted in the back of the head while driving home from school with four stinky little socks. Just like their Southern Fried Mom, my boys love to get out of their shoes first thing.

Then, of course, they start with the foot-sniffing. They smell their own, they smell each-other's. If we were at home, they'd be smelling mine. (Please tell me that mine are not the only kids who do this!)

The President made the unlikely announcement that, "Fat Baby's feet smell like Cheez-Its!!!!"

Later, just after dinner, they began to antagonize and aggravate each other. Fat Baby began to whine/cry, and My Baby's Daddy gave him Man Advice. "You're as big as he is...go kick his butt!" (Thanks, MBD, for when I get the notes home from preschool that Fat Baby is threatening to kick people's butts!)

Fat Baby ran through the house like a tazmanian devil, chasing his evil big brother. Pop, unaware of all of this says, "Hey, Fat Baby...where are you going in such a hurry?"

His reply, "I've got to go kick that butt!!!"

I told y'all he was the president...

So, on Wednesday, The President has to do a report and presentation about a famous American. He chose the president (duh). He also has to come to school dressed as the aforementioned famous American. When I brought home his navy blazer and striped power tie, I thought he was going to hyperventilate. (It just occurred to me that I'm raising Alex P. Keaton). He has been campaigning (pun intended) for a "tuxedo" for two years. I could not make myself buy an honest-to-God suit (cheesy)for a seven year old, but he is going to rock the house with a blue oxford, khakis, and bucks (apparently they're making a comeback)along with the tie and blazer. I can totally coordinate the ensemble de frat boy. Looks just like his dad back in the day. It was so freaking cute, I could not look directly at him.

I told him that we should dress Fat Baby in black and sunglasses with a walkie-talkie to be the Secret Service. (Also a good idea for Halloween...)

Later, The Pres told me that he didn't understand...everyone knows about the Secret Service, why not just call it The Service?!? Smart ass.

In a non-presidential moment, we were having a conversation about the weather....(80 degrees today, 40 by the middle of the week) and the possibility of storms. I asked The President if he'd ever heard that March is "in like a lion, out like a lamb." He hadn't. I asked him to think about it & tell me what he thought that meant.

"Is it when you have a fart & then let it out softly?"

Hail to the Chief!

For the Love of Chocolate

Last night I was getting the boys ready for bath time, and it just so happened that Fat Baby's diaper was completely dry. And since my wish for him to just go ahead & potty train himself hasn't come true yet, I decided to take the opportunity for an easy shot....so to speak. I put him on the potty & poured a little warm bath water on the target shooter for some encouragement. And guess what? He DID it!!!! Woo hoo!

I wanted to make as big a deal as possible, and to do something quick to have him make the connection that: pee on potty = fun

I jumped up & down and clapped and cheered like crazy. Then I ran to the kitchen & grabbed a Dove milk chocolate heart. I gave it to him while he was still on there to reinforce the association. pee on potty = yummy chocolate

Around the corner I heard the sound of The President mumbling something. I asked what he said & I heard him coughing into his hand...."I need chocolate!"

"Why do you need chocolate? He got that chocolate for peeing on the potty...did you help him tinkle on the potty?"

"I was his agent."

He got the chocolate, of course.

A little bit nice and a lot of naughty

First of all, if anybody is still checking in on this blog....Bless your heart! I have no excuse for not posting, except that the datebook is full right now (fa la la la la....) and since I neither gave birth to nor get paid for the blog, it's on the "we'll catch up in the New Year" list. Along with my laundry. And my husband's semi-annual conjugal visit.

That being said, I couldn't resist sharing some great holiday moments of the Southern Fried House of Fun, 2007 edition.

The first one is not funny, but was a very moving experience for me this year. Our group of friends has a casual holiday gathering every year. We usually feast on Christmas goodies, have a few cocktails, and do a "dirty Santa" gift exchange. A fun, low-key, kid-free evening. Well, this year, the hostess & I happened to attend an event at our church and were looking over the "angel tree" where needy families' information was posted. We were surprised and sad to see a family we knew, and the mom had been in a Preschool Mom's group with us a couple of years ago. The list simply said, "We can't afford to buy Christmas for our children this year." We just looked at each other, and back at the list...Then, we took it down & quickly went home to e-mail everyone with the change of plans. Instead of dirty Santa gifts no one needs, we would take the money to bring gifts for the family. We filled a dining room table, and wrapped all the gifts beautifully. It was fantastic, and will be our new tradition. Things like that put me in the spirit of Christmas more than anything else.

The President is looking forward to the holiday, and as you might imagine, has a very specific list for The Man in Red. He's very easy to buy for, and has not faltered from his original gift requests. As I've said before, he's very observant. I downloaded the song "Santa Baby" as my ringtone for my cellphone. As I was packing his lunch the other day, I was singing "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." Well, he put 2 + 2 together, and said, "Ohhhhhh, so that's what the song Santa Baby is all about!" It's sex ed, the holiday edition! And he's only seven. Yippee.

We had a chance to meet Santa on a field trip the other day. Each of the children was given an opportunity to climb up and present their list of demands. My son (he's not called The President for nothing!) leads off with, "First, I've got two questions:

#1) Am I on the nice list?
He was.

#2) Do you have a budget?
Yes. He really asked Santa Claus that...and St. Nick said, "This kid's gonna be a politician!" Everybody cracked up.

And, not to be left out of the festivities, Pop has been teaching Fat Baby to spread the holiday cheer. Ask my three year old, "What does Santa say?"

"HO HO HO....bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!"

Happy Thanksgiving, Fat Baby Style

Went to the pre-school Thanksgiving lunch and program on Monday. The kids looked completely adorable in their fabulous and precious turkey costumes. Mine especially. I mean, he is just freaking cute as pumpkin pie. That being said....

I have some great pictures of Fat Baby's class singing their little hearts out in their turkey costumes. And I have some pictures of Fat Baby lying on the floor of the fellowship hall flat on his back while they are doing so. He did. not. participate. That was expected--it's just who he is. I know that some day I'll be able to laugh about it (maybe when he has a kid just like him)--that's why I made myself take the pictures. Because I surely wasn't feeling it right then. I really wasn't feeling any of it by the time the lunch was over. I'll spare you the gory details...suffice it to say I went straight to Books-a-Million and bought "Your Strong Willed Child," and had read more than half of it before bedtime.

A bright spot to the whole day of fiasco was that the children's own turkey recipes (as told to their teacher) were posted on the bulletin board. You simply must try this one at your own Thanksgiving feast:

MY TURKEY RECIPE
by: Fat Baby

Ingredients:
*Mommy's Angry
*Fat Baby and President
*a bananas
*a red apple
*a rocket toy

Directions:
Cook in it's room, a mess, mix in the food, mix in a toy, a rock, Mommy, Dad, Pop lock the door.

Oven Temperature:
very hot

Breakin' the Law

My oldest child is a sponge. He has an amazing ability to retain things he hears & use them in the appropriate context, even if he doesn't completely understand the meaning. And, yeah, he watches a lot of TV. I never know what's coming next.

Like this morning...

Every day when we pull into the drive of his school, he unfastens his seat belt and leans over my seat to give me kisses. I told him even though I'd be back in a few hours for his Thanksgiving celebration, I still wanted my kisses. We hadn't quite pulled all the way into the parking lot when the smooch-fest began. Then, The President noticed the policeman who directs the school traffic every morning. And he said...

"It's the MAN, man!"


Edited to add: When I checked him out after his Thanksgiving lunch, we were in line behind a soldier in his camouflage uniform. Leaving his mom teary-eyed, speechless, and oh-so very proud, my son walked up to him and said, "Thank you for serving our country."

This is how my mind works...

I am so tired of that trick-or-treat post, I can't even tell you. I wish I had time to post every day. This time last year, I was doing NaBloPoMo (national blog posting month). Great fun, got a lot of new traffic, can't commit this time. Too bad for me. I seriously wish I could clone myself, as I really don't have time to be sitting here right now.

Because I know all 6 of you who read this blog are on the edge of your seats...here's the news around here:

*We've all been in bed by 8:30 every night this week. Thank you, Jesus for the time change!

*I can't believe that Sabrina was voted off Dancing With The Stars. She was seriously the best dancer.

*Recently overheard, The President to Fat Baby: "I've got three words for you, Fat Baby---SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE!!!! Actually, that's two words and a compound word." I'm so glad he's learning something in school this year.

*For the first time in my life, I will be cooking Thanksgiving dinner at my own house this year. I feel like such a grown-up, I'm totally excited! My Martha-genes are working overtime. The only other time we've not traveled to visit relatives for Thanksgiving was the first year we were married. We lived about 4 hours away, and My Baby's Daddy (who was just known as My Hubby then) worked as the director of dining services on a college campus. Their football team was in the playoffs, and consequently he had to be there to supervise their holiday meal. I spent the day alone in a town I hated, and when he got home (late) we had turkey subs from Subway. That's love, people. We did have a family thing later in the week-end, so you don't have to feel too sorry for me. I felt plenty sorry for myself! Anyway, I am going to rock the house with my first ever Turkey Day meal!

*I've kind of started a little borderline holiday shopping. No lists yet, though.

*I have two ideas for our Christmas card picture. Coming soon.

*I'm considering a pre-lit artifical tree. Where's the best place to go? We usually have a live Frasier fir, but I've heard there's a tree shortage, and since they're going to be $$$$, I might as well invest in something permanent and convenient. I'm willing to entertain arguments for and against. Offer up your opinions!

White House Bound...

Since he could talk, my son has dreamed of being The President of the United States. Hey, if you're going to dream--dream big, right? The kid is a natural born politician! His adult mannerisms and vocabulary never cease to amaze me, but...

At the end of the school year last year, we decided to retain him to repeat the first grade. Being one of the youngest and smallest in his class, combined with an inhereted short attention span (thanks, My Baby's Daddy!) made the first time around extremely challenging for The Pres. Not to mention we had a major family trauma-drama at the beginning of the second semester, and everything went to hell-in-a-handbasket.

The fabulous last-year's teacher and I decided that we would do everything we could to make the retention a positive experience for The President. We wanted him to be excited about now being the oldest one in the class, and being able to do things easily that were a struggle last year. We decided to capitalize on his love of politics and get him involved with Student Council when the new school year began.

Well, the school added an extra grade to the facility this year, and the administration decided to have only second graders govern through Student Council. Last year's teacher, this year's teacher, and yours truly were all stressed out when the word came down a couple of weeks ago. The President had to do Student Council. He was born to govern! He would have been eligible to participate, had we not decided to retain him and give him a better academic foundation! This can't be happening!

Last night at the PTO meeting, the Assistant Principal (Student Council sponsor) told this year's teacher, The President, and myself that The Pres was welcome to invite administrative staff (principal, asst. principal, and counselor) to a debate.

He was all over it! They did NOT know who they were dealing with! My baby went in there & knocked their socks off! He told them that the Student Council should focus on doing good things for other people (specifically citing examples like Hurricane Katrina) and that it was their job to represent the school and community. (And he was NOT coached, either!)

Needless to say he is the newest member of the Student Council at his school. It is a very proud day for The Pres and his mama!

Oh, Boys!

Overheard yesterday afternoon while cooking dinner:

The President (in a voice just above a stage whisper): "Fat Baby, say Oh, CRAP!"

Fat Baby: "Oh, CRAP!"

Pres: "Say, CRAP!"

Fat Baby: "CRAP!"

President (slightly softer voice): "Fat Baby, say SHIT!"

Fat Baby: "SHIT!"

Pres: "Say, SHIT!"

Fat Baby: "SHIT!!!!"

It makes me so happy when they can entertain themselves.


And another peek into our Southern Fried World....

When I went to pick up Fat Baby at preschool this afternoon, the teacher told me that he didn't want to take a nap (& since he's so. freaking. loud)--she asked him if he would like to go play in another classroom while his classmates slept. When I picked him up she said, "Ms. Teacher-in-the-other-class says she wants to meet Fat Baby's mom!" Yep, that's me. I'm the girl who produced this loud, buck-wild, funny as hell, into-every-darn-thing, naughty-but-in-a-I'm-so-damn-cute-you-don't-want-to-hurt-me kind of way...Yes, I am responsible for that. Funny how he's the hit of the party everywhere we go, yet no one will take me up on my offers to let them have him for a day, week, or month at a time...hmmmm, what's up with that?

Keepin' It Real

I rushed out to a meeting last night. It was the end of a long, frazzled, blazing hot day. I don't think I even took the time to brush my teeth & reapply lipstick after dinner, because I was running late. After the meeting, I spoke to a very sweet (and cute, and skinny) acquaintance of mine who also serves on the board. She was dressed in her "grown-up" career clothes & I had on a casual but cute sleveless top & denim bermuda shorts. Okay, everyone does tell me that the particular blouse is the best color evah for me...but, still. Long, crazy, freakin' hawt day. Sweet friend looks adorable & fresh as a daisy (as usual). After the meeting, she rushes up to me and says, "Oh, my GOSH...you look fabulous!!! I need to be doing whatever you've been doing! You look great!"

The only difference I can see is a few extra pounds, a leftover tan, and the flat-ironed hair. I tell you, I'm on to something with this straight hair thing. Oh yeah, and the stress. This has been the most traumatic, difficult, stressful, and life-changing year I've ever faced. I can literally feel myself aging.

But, this really cute and perky girl is standing here telling me how great I look. And you know what? I started to feel great. My long-ish, straight-ish hair felt all bouncy. I remembered I was in my A-game shirt. Yeah, I do look kind of great....I couldn't wait to get home & stand in front of the mirror to examine myself for signs of cuteness.

Of course, I was greeted with bath time on a School Night. Cute Girl suddenly turns back into Sweaty, Wilting Cess Pool of Motherhood. Oh yeah, and Fat Baby crapped in the tub. After I clean it out, get him back in and bathed, he begins to poke around my arm flab. He investivates the fat-dimples and asks, "Boo-boos?"

Thanks for bringing things back into perspective, Fat Baby.

Addictive Personality? And some cute stuff from the Southern Fried Brothers

Some people just have that gene for addictive personality disorder. My substance of choice is food. Love it. Love everything about it, cooking it, smelling it, thinking about it, tasting it, reading cookbooks, watching food network. But, as I've well-documented...I lost about 100 pounds of lardass after Fat Baby was born, so I can't indulge my addiction as much as I'd like. I want to stay as healthy as I can, so I've decided to pick up some new vices. Thought I'd share....because it's my blog, and I can.

With the start of a new school year, I decided to go all out in the organizing department (my type-A-ness has been well documented, here). I didn't post about the total extreme makeover of the boys' living space, because I was too damn busy cleaning out, painting, constructing, ordering, purchasing, and working my ass off to talk about it. I moved them into a room together (The President wanted bunk beds, so we gave him a roommate!) and am re-claiming Fat Baby's room as the office it once was. I thought our chances of keeping everyone in his own bed might increase, if they had each other for company. Plus, I really needed a work space.

In my attempt to get on the organizational bandwagon, I finally purchased one of those fancy-schmancy labelmakers. Totally addicted. Anything that would usually get a name slapped on it with Sharpie is now neatly marked with a clear adhesive label. Anything that can't be labeled gets monogrammed, and vice-versa. Yeah, I have a real thing with the monogramming. (I seriously have the monogrammer on speed-dial in my cell phone). Is the whole monogramming thing limited to the South? If so, I am totally in the right place.

As if the monogramming and labeling frenzy weren't enough, I was cleaning out my pantry yesterday when I discovered that I apparently have some sort of vinegar obsession. Seriously. I had like 8 different kinds of vinegar in the pantry. And I use them! I guess that kind of goes along with my cooking/eating addiction...

Since I've been growing my hair out, I can't seem to step out of the house without purchasing some kind of hair product. Clips, barrettes, pony tail holders, headbands, flat irons....just trying to keep things interesting. I also seem to be stockpiling body wash and pajamas lately. Maybe I'm getting ready to hibernate for winter.

And of course, there's the internet, blogging, and reality tv. Yeah, I think it's safe to say that I'm a likely candidate for several multi-step programs.

In other news, here's some funny stuff my kids said today.

From The President, "Oooooooooh, yuck!!! Mama, my breath smells like Fat Baby!"

"You mean your breath smells like his breath?"

"No, I mean my breath smells funky, like the smell of him!"


My poor baby grabbed my excruciatingly hot flat iron the other day. There's nothing like learning a lesson the hard way, after you've been told a bajillion times. (Around here, we call that The Law of Natural Consequences). This morning, he noticed it on the counter and we had this conversation:


(Imagine a gravelly tough-guy baby voice, just like you'd think a 48-pound-just-turned-three-year-old would have).

"That's hawt, mama."

"Yes, it is...you burned your fingers on it the other day."


"Yeah, that's hawt. That alligator is hawt."

I love their imagination! Who would've thought that the flat iron looked like an alligator?

The kid who nearly got his little "pingers" burned off by the sonofabitch, that's who!

Words of Wisdom from my boys

Life around the Southern Fried House of Fun has been a never-ending roller coaster ride of chaos. School started on August 9th. That Saturday, we celebrated Fat Baby's third birthday (which was actually the 12th) with a pool party. On the 13th, I turned 36. Yeah, I'm on the dark side of my thirties. Yippee. And, oh yeah, we're potty training. It sucks. I'll tell you straight up, the 5-day-a-week-daycare trained the President, and I just reinforced it at home. And so I am spending a L O T of time in the toilet begging, pleading, cajoling, bribing, threatening, and getting nowhere fast. I'm not too worried about it, honestly. It will happen before he goes to college, but for the sake of the preschool staff, I'm making an effort.

In traditional, grown-man-in-a-7-year-old-body-fashion, the President has been throwing me some zingers this morning. For example:

He was talking about some of the 'tween shows on Disney Channel with his dad & he said that if Hannah Montana's bodyguard (female) became the manager of the Naked Brothers Band, then she would be the "womanager."

He was getting dressed this morning to go to the store with my husband & came out with socks & tennis shoes. To save time I suggested that he just put on Crocs or flip-flops. I was told, "Mom. Crocks and flip-flops are 'so last year!' "

Finally, as we were all gathered in the bathroom, waiting for Fat Baby to produce a little squirt, The Pres tells his little brother, "It's all about transportation. When you've gotta go, just take yourself to the bathroom & put your stuff in the toilet."

And not to leave out the budding philosopher known as Fat Baby. The other day, I was pulling out all the potty training tricks I could think of. So I put a few Froot Loops in the bowl for him to shoot. I forgot that he had eaten that kind of cereal for breakfast until he said in his booming baby voice, "I EAT THAT!" Bad idea, Mom.

By any other name...

We returned home tonight from a fabulous dinner out. I was totally stuffed, and my new bra (which made the girls oh-so-perky) was cutting me in half. I started shedding clothes on my way to my room to remove the offending garment, and snuggle into my cozy pjs. Let me remind you that:

#1) we have a very liberal nudity policy around the House of Southern Fried Fun
#2) being genteel Southerners and all, we are big fans of the euphemism...(body parts, bodily functions, sex and sex-related acts, diseases, scandal and scandalous behavior, and the like)

The boys refer to their package as their "goober." The accompaniments are known by various names, including nuts, the boys, balls, etc.

Since there is only one non-boy in the house, my stuff is known as "not a goober" and "boobies."

I will (and have) teach them age-appropriate, accurate information as the situation dictates. The President knows that his goober's "real name" is a penis. He seems to prefer goober & I'm fine with that. The President remembers me breastfeeding, and is aware that my boobies have a purpose & his don't. He will tell you that boys' boobies are just for decoration. He sometimes calls his tiny little nippley-area, "my decorations."

But it was his little brother who followed me into the bedroom. When I took off my bra, Fat Baby smiled & said, "A Goober!"

I said, "No, those are Mommy's boobies."

Staring in fascination, he said again, "Goober!"

"No, those are my boobies." (I'm wondering how on earth this kid has made the connection that all things private are grouped together in a set...)

Finally, he said, "And a Goober!" I looked down, and realized...the ceiling fan was on, air conditioner full-force, and my boobie had sprouted a goober, indeed.

Show Me The Money!

My son, The President is a budding capitalist. He loves him some cold, hard cash. I admire that. Today we had one of those impromptu "teaching moments" as I was preparing to go to the bank to make a deposit. He often takes inventory of his piggy bank, which weighed in around 100 bucks this morning. I explained that if he saved and invested, he would have enough money to buy his own car when the time came; and later he would be able to buy his own home. "Now doesn't that sound better than blowing your money on candy and crappy little toys that will break and be thrown away?"



Twelve years of being married to Dave Ramsey's biggest fan have made their mark on Southern Fried Mom. My Baby's Daddy was loving it, as I explained the merits of saving and investing. ("Do as I say....")



The President was all in the halleleujah chorus, too. He's planning his jet-set life, full of big bucks and a seat on Air Force One. Then he asked, "How much money will I have when I'm 37, mom?"



"Oh, thousands and thousands of dollars..."



"Well, would it be appropriate for me to take a money-bath, then?"



"Absolutely."



Now I know how Donald Trump's mom must've felt.

Just like a man...

One of my friend's twin boys had his tonsils out yesterday. So, while she's at home with Twin 2 recuperating, I took Twin 1 along with us to the pool. We had a great time. He's in-between my two boys, so the three of them played nicely all day. When we got ready to leave, I was buckling him into the car & the latch on his carseat was kind of stuck, so the buckle wouldn't click into place. We tried this way & that for several minutes until he reached this conclusion...."maybe my ding-dong is too big."

Makin' Mama Proud

This week was Vacation Bible School. I don't know if the tradition is the same everywhere, but here in the South VBS is a big deal. And it has come a long way since I was growing up. Gone are the days of dixie cups of kool-aid and cookies with your bible stories...These days VBS is interactive, and the kids travel to different stations to fully experience the lesson through crafts, drama, music, games, and snacks. Since I had my hands full helping Pop with some necessary medical & paperwork details, a good friend helped a sister out & took my boys to church each night. They both really loved it. I loved the three-plus hours they were out of the house each evening. This is the first year since I've had kids that I haven't been actively involved and volunteering with VBS, but I feel that being there with my dad is a blessing and a calling that I can't afford to miss. So, I sent my little chickens out to get them some religion every night. On Sunday, our entire church service consisted of the kids performing the songs & recapping the bible points learned each night. The music that goes with the curriculum we use for VBS each year is always outstanding. The kids learn simple gestures and dance steps that go along with the lesson each day. We are blessed to have a great, energetic and enthusiastic worship-leader for the music. (She also happens to be a kindergarten teacher & is wonderful with the kids).

Now, a little background....the President is not all about performing. That's just not his thing. He loves to have his picture in the newspaper, or wouldn't even mind being on tv--just not dancing around & singing. In fact, he told me before church that he didn't believe he would participate, thankyouverymuch. To which I pleaded, "C'mon...just let me get a few pictures." After several minutes of debate, I told him I would give him a dollar to sing (and act like a normal six year old for once, for the love of God!) He is such a little capitalist, I know how to motivate him. He said, "Make it two & you've got a deal!" And he's been this way his whole life.

So imagine my utter delight when Fat Baby (not even three years old) is up there on stage, doing the motions & DROPPING IT LIKE IT'S HOT!!!! That kid was breaking it down! It was fantastic! He was center stage & totally stole the show! After a few songs, he started to climb down off the stage & I brought him to sit with me. You could just see the old ladies all over the congregation smiling at his irresistible cuteness. I was beaming as I snuggled him on my lap. Then, in that quiet moment just before the prayer...he looked into my eyes and smiled so sweetly, and pulled open my blouse and squealed, "BOOBIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Going once...

When I picked up The President after school this afternoon, the first thing he asked was, "Where's Fat Baby?" I knew he would be thrilled to arrive home and find Daddy there early--that almost never happens. It may happen more often, since Daddy scored him a hot nooner during nap time. Anyway, back to his question. I simply said, "It's a surprise." The President didn't miss beat before he asked, "Did we sell him on the Internet?!?!"

The kid's a genius!!! Check out my auction on eBay--buy one, get one free!