I Made The Team. It's Just The Wrong One.

Stop the presses! The DCC is back on!

I should know, I have TiVo and no life whatsoever.

Last night Meridith, Bubba and my cousin Michelle curled up on my couch to watch the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders "wannabes" high-kick, cry and drown themselves in Freeze and Shine for almost 2 hours. And it was glorious. Okay, glorious is a strong word and should be reserved for, well, things that are full of glory, so just suffice it to say it was super-duper.

We pulled out all the stops, too:

Cozy Couch? Check.

Warm blankets cuz I keep my house on 70 degrees and a ceiling fan going at all times? Check.

Mashed potatoes with gravy? Check.

Small side of baked chicken so our mashed potatoes give off some air of healthy? Check.

Meridith? Check.

Michelle? Check.

Someone who will constantly discuss body parts and their "ability to go out with any one of those girls if I wanted to." Check (That would be Bubba; my cousin Michelle is happily married, lest you get the wrong idea.)

Later in one episode they scanned the girls for their body fat index. Let me just go on record as saying...it's pretty low.

Which is good because Joe Jackson their "Don't-look-me-directly-in-the-eye-cuz-I'm-a-bad-mamma-jamma-and-I-will-take-you-down-with-one-push-up-to-the-groin" trainer said the scan was necessary due the war on obesity. To which Meridith proclaimed, "Guess what Mel? If there's a war on obesity, we're winning."

Thank the Lord I'm finally on a winning team.

Unless my team is required to do high-kicks. Then we're in a whole heap a' trouble.

Chicken, Hair Nets, Pound Cake and Jesus.

Last Sunday the AG had to go out of town, which meant I had to come up with some kind of creative concoction for lunch for me and the kiddos. Now normally that "concoction" would be wrangling a lunch out with Nonie and Poppy and putting all food items on his tab, but they were out of town too.

Let me tell ya, Sunday lunches are bo-ring for the born again if friends and fried chicken are not involved. But I digress...

Sunday I found myself at The Brookshire Brothers (that's a big-time grocery store here in the 75904) with Remi and Rocco and noticed quite a healthy line at the deli checkout. Seeing as how I am my mothers daughter and she is her mothers daughter I felt the need to inch further and see what the fuss was about. And wouldn't you know it? FRIED CHICKEN.

I promptly park myself in the looooonnnggg line and wait for my turn all the while praying underneath my breath, "Please don't let the lady in the hair net wait on me...please don't let the lady in the hair net wait on me..." but guess who waited on me?

Me and the Lord are tight.

So as I sheepishly make my way forward this is what I hear, "whatwillyouhavetodaydarlin'yougonnahavesomefriedchickenandwillitbeforhereortogoandwillyouhaveadrinkwithththatandwhattwosideswouldyoulike?"

And my mind goes something like this...

Oh, Lordy she is talking too fast.

What sides do I want? What sides do I want?

I like okra.

Okra. And yes, gravy is good.

Oh crap, I've got kids. What do my kids want?

She's talking to me again. She's talking fast.

I can't think that fast.

She wants an answer and she wants it now. She's really loud. And where is Remi...

And then, as I looked for Remi, I spot her at the very back of the line.

What is she doing back there? And why are the other shoppers looking at her and laughing?

Oh sweet mercy.

And there, at the back of the line stood my daughter - with a piece of pound cake in her hand. And to her left? The table where the bakery pound cakes sat. One pound cake tin just a' flappin' in the wind. She had opened it up and taken a piece, and was enjoying every last morsel.

Back to the hair net.

Yes, gravy. I said that already!

Remi, get up here! And bring that pound cake with you!

Just give them some corn fritters.

Uh, ma'am...hold on one second. I have a child to beat.

Remi, I don't know what you're thinking...eat the pound cake and be done with it. Momma is ordering food at the speed of light and I ain't got no time for this.

I drag her back to the front of the line with me.

Okay, mam. I'm back. Yes, I'd prefer a roll over corn bread. And a drink, sure. Would they like a drink? I don't know, let me ask...

I look down and find my daughter standing obediently beside me.
A piece of banana bread hanging out the side of her mouth.

Oh, c'mon!!!!!!

We left with more desserts than chicken that afternoon.

An Ode To Natalie...And The Facts of Life.

To all of you who participated in last weeks caption contest, "thank you!" I loved reading all your comments. They were a hoot! And to those of you lazybones (Claudia!!) who decided to send me your captions through Facebook...naughty, naughty, naughty. I can't keep up with Facebook. Don't you know that by now? I don't know what Farmville is or Mafia Wars and I still can't understand why someone would care whether or not you washed your car today or if its hot enough for a snow cone!

So if you missed last Thursday you can catch up with it just below this post.

Here are a few of my thoughts:

Lisa@BlessedWithGrace actually thinks that Rocco would spit something out? Oh, sweet, Lisa. Sweet, naive, Lisa. Don't you know that just yesterday my son put away two cereal bars, a pop-tart, 6 fried corn niblets, an order of okra, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and two pieces of pound cake? At this rate I would be happy if the kid spit something out.



Dear Amber, you are not winning this contest for one reason: Rocco could care less how bad it smells and there is no picture of ME crying.



Whomever Anonymous is that wrote, "but Grandma would let me..." is disqualified due to cheating. Considering Rocco was actually crying because I told him "no" and he was swooped up into Nonie's arms because all she ever tells him is "yes" then I have to assume that Nonie wrote that comment and is therefore disqualified.



Carrie, I'm not gonna lie, I wanted you to win. Mainly because so many wonderful things rhyme with Carrie (hairy, very, evolutionary) but alas I could not name you the winner due to the fact that it seems we completely skipped the stage of strained peas and went right from Enfamil formula to green bean casserole complete with French's fried onions on the top.



Oh, MBush, I cannot begin to tell you how yours made me smile. Especially when I took out the name Aunt Gertie and replaced with all the women in my family who actually DO have whiskers. (It was a long list, indeed)...and they know who they are.



Nicki did not win due to the fact that no one on this earth knows what she is talking about when she refers to "beef wellington" except for me - since I have been her best friend since we were 5. And plus, when I told her what the prize was she said, "that prize stinks" - so she is big loser all the way around.



CrazySister, Remi can't understand why yours is funny. For she not only loves to suck on the lemons that come in her daddy's tea, she also loves to pass them off to her brother. He's not so hip on them, which is why she delights in it so much.



Laura made me smile with her reference to Julio's chips. Thank you, Laura, I think will go and open a bag now. And by the way, Rocco loves them; I am raising my children right.



Oldwomaninashoe@live.com wrote "Remi is being mean to me." Well, ddduuuuuhhhhh....it's a day of the week that ends in "...day", right? Sheesh, if I took a picture of Rocco every time his sister made him cry I would have to change the name of my blog to repetitivepicturesofRocco because that's exactly what it would be. Wanna trade places with me? Some days I'd much rather live in your shoe.



Candice, can I just say we miss you? Of course I can, so here goes: We miss you, sweet babysitter. You were a gem!



Neeki (another great name for rhymes: tiki, pipsqueaky) in my heart of hearts I am praying that is exactly what he was crying about. I truly am.



Connie, you must have misunderstood the game. You were supposed to right what Rocco was crying about - whereas you completely wrote the tag for REMI'S picture. Trust me, friend.



Mama T, you know I have a soft spot for my Rocco, so that's no fair. Of course that face works every time; it is the thing that makes momma's and their sons so special and I will not apologize for it. Of course you should remind me of this someday when he's 16 and my whole house smells like a belch.



Which means that our winner for the contest was none other than Natalie at
Hi, My Name's Mommy...Oh Wait, Natalie! She was the genius who believed Rocco was crying due to my laziness in not wearing my Bump-Its...

"You left the house without your Bump-It? How could you?"

Aaahhh Natalie. Do you know why I loved this so much? Because for a moment it made me think that someone else cares how good my hair looks beside me. But alas I know this is not true. Truth be told, no one cares what my hair looks like. In fact, no one even notices it when I get my roots colored (and yet they sure as heck notice if I don't.) But a mom can dream, can't she?

So in honor of your big win I am now going to bestow on you a classic gift. I have written a poem in your honor. Which is not an easy thing considering you name is Natalie.

Here we go..

An ode to Natalie:

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie true...
What would our dear Stretch Marks be without you?

What if you didn't read or write in
And what if your caption about Bump-Its didn't win?

Would you leave us and pretend we just didn't exist?
Or would you send us a letter, a "cease and desist?"

Maybe you'd go on, as if nothing had happened.
As if you'd never entered a contest for captions.

But my sweet Natalie, you did enter to win.
So you must take the prize! You must take it and then...

You must copy and paste it on your blog as well
So that everyone in blogville knows what the heck...

Is going down here at the Stretch Marks brigade,
And knows that a poem's better than gettin' paid.

And so my sweet Natalie (I shall now call you "Nat")
Rhyming words is hard and I am learning that...

Using your full name is giving me strife
So I shall now refer to you as that girl from Facts of Life.

I hope that's okay - that you'll go with the flow
And that, like me, you preferred her over Tootie or Jo.

I know that I did. Oh, and I hated Mrs. Garrett!
That woman could not act and it was weird she wasn't married.

Although I should tell you I've reminded some of Blair.
I like to think it's because of my hair.

Because let's be honest, the girl could be a bit much,
And just like me *sigh* she used her beauty as a crutch.

And speaking of beauty, why, we've come full circle.
Uh, oh, nothing rhymes with circle but Erckel.

But what I mean is we've come back to my Bump-Its
And the reason you won this bit of tea and crumpits...

Though I must admit, those things ain't to comfy.
Should you endure the pain just so hair can be puffy?

I don't have the answer - but I do know this truth
You can get as much puff with some gel or some Mousse.

So the next time you see my little boy in that mood,
Just ask him, "Is your mom's hair flat? Or is it her roots?"

You Say It Best.

Take a close look at this picture. Really study it.

Now tell me what in the world he's thinking.

I'm serious. Give me the best caption and win a prize. (Want to know what the prize is? I have no idea. Chances are it will be really cheap yet creatively priceless. And what can compare to that?) So go ahead and leave me one.

I'll start...

"But I hear you telling dad all the time,

'sometimes I just want to shove her head in the toilet,'

so I thought I was doing a good thing."

I Heart You.

There's something to be said for sitting in a Cardiac Care Unit with your family for 72 hours. Seriously, there's a word for it, but I can't think of it right now. It might be "exhausting" but I'm not sure. It could be "mind-numbing." It might be "schizophrenic", who can be sure at this point.

But here are five things I am absolutely certain of:

1. When sitting in a Cardiac ICU with your family make sure your Granny is there. It lightens the mood; for when heart surgeons and Nephrologists bombard you with words like plasmapherisis and arterial graft it's nice to know there is no decoding when it comes to Granny's words. What she says is what she means. What she means is what she says. And what she says is usually mean.

2. When everyone that you know in the free world wants an update you will find that no ones - I repeat, no ones - cell phone is working. Bubbas was working but it ran out of minutes due to some unexpected text messages and Melba's will charge but the battery won't work. Karen's will work but it can't get any signal upstairs in the hospital and although Meridith's will get signal the volume on it can't be turned up so she can neither hear calls coming in or hear what people are saying. My phone died and I didn't bring my charger but that's okay because my dad had his and the numbers are too small for him to read anyway so he gave it to Melba but then when that battery ran out she used Lawrence's because he only needed his work phone not his personal phone but he gave her the wrong one so....

3. When Hershey bars, M&M's and People magazine can no longer sustain you - prayer will. And a waiting room game of Bananagrams.

4. When someone will sit with you in the waiting room for 17 hours straight, hold your hand, tell you your hair looks good and let you fall asleep on their shoulder they are either family or friend. And quite often they are both.

5. When the surgeon arrives with the news everything stops. Talking stops. Games stop. And you even cut off the waiting room television of Dancing With The Stars, because nothing, absolutely nothing is as important as what he has to say at that very moment. And the moment he finishes talking is the moment you realize you were holding your breath the whole time.

Thank you all for allowing me time to be with my family. My uncle Donald (Meridith and Bubba's dad) is still in a critical state after a very long and exhausting and serious open heart surgery. When the surgeon has to take a nap before the surgery begins you get the feeling you're in for a long one. But thankfully God is faithful, my family is nuts and we shall all be together for the long haul.

And I heart that.

Hunkering Down.

There are a few things my family does well.

Cook. If you need an exhibit A, look at me. If you need an Exhibit B, look at all the rest of them. We can cook. We can also play games, watch movies and over analyze everyone and everything. But mainly we can cook. Our King Ranch Chicken is unparalleled and our Spinach Salad is talked about in most society circles. (Don't get the wrong impression, our Spinach Salad sounds healthy and yet is packed with eggs, bacon and fat!)

Circle the wagon. If you are not from the South you may not know what this means. But in a nutshell, if one of us needs help we "circle the wagon." If one of us needs privacy we "circle the wagon." And if one of us needs to let the family in on a little secret that the rest of the 75904 is not privy to then we, you guessed it, "circle the wagon." It means, "if you ain't part of this here wagon train, then mozy on along, cuz this here wagon is for me and my compadres only. We don't let no one else on and none of us is gettin' off."

Hunker Down. Hunkering down is never fun and it doesn't happen very often, but when it does, we mean business. It means we drop what we're doing and go into hiding. Maybe someone in the family is ill, is sad, or is a little of both; then we drop what we're doing, go to their side and together we hunker down.

We're doing a lot of hunkering down right now.

One of us is sick. And many of us are scared.

So we've dropped to our side what doesn't matter; soccer games, homecomings, birthday parties and even work - and together we've hunkered down. Always together. After all, no one should ever have to hunker alone. So my weekend might not look as I had planned it, that's okay. It's time to hunker down with my family. So you may see me on Monday, then again, you may not. I'll hope you'll forgive me, but it's time to hunker. Someone in my family needs me now. And when someone needs us - we're there.

Hmmm...I suppose that's another thing they do really well.

Deja Vu

I once wrote a blog post specifically to the Attorney General about how since he was out of town I had to run to Target to pick up a few necessities (because isn't everything at Target a necessity?) and I tripped over something in the floor and ended up spending too much money.

Wondering how tripping over something and spending too much money go together? They don't. My point exactly.

I was going to re-post that little gem, but...
a. I don't know how and
b. I didn't have two kids at the time to blame it on and this time I do. Hooray!

So now I would like to leave a letter to the man I love as he travels back to Texas today in hopefully health and happiness. Though after reading this here letter, both of those are a gamble.

Dear Attorney General,

I call you Attorney General because you are so powerful. Did I ever tell you that? You really are. You are so powerful. And you can run really fast and lift really heavy things over your head. I find those attributes completely irresistible.

In fact, they make up for the fact that you are obsessively glued to our bank account online and once told me, "I know you just spent $20 at Walgreens, so you better hope you have a rash and are able to prove it."

So the fact that I am telling you I spent too much money at Target last night probably comes as no surprise. But it would be wrong of me to let you see how I much I spent and yet, not tell you why I spent so much. So with much desperation and twisting of arm I will admit to you why I spent a lot of money at Target. But don't get me wrong, I don't want to. I do not want to tell you this. But I will...

It was Rocco's fault.

It was. It really was. Almost everything I bought was for him. Truly! He is growing so much and so fast (he's probably going to be a big and strong man like his daddy) and so I had to get him some new clothes. I didn't want to. But I had to. Oh sure, I could have gone somewhere other than Target for his clothes - but I didn't want to spend even more money just to have him grow out of them months from now. See how I'm always thinking of us?

And then, on my way out of the store, he asked for that huge pumpkin scented candle. I don't know why. But he did. The scent probably reminds him of "home"; a place that just isn't the same by the way when you aren't there.

Oh, and he wanted me to have a new robe. Just ask him! He'll tell you.

Listen AG, before you get too angry, just think that you could be the husband to the woman who just yesterday was arrested at a local grocery store for trying to smuggle a whole chicken out of the store between her legs. Wouldn't that be worse? How would you like to be that dude? To know that while you were out of town I was down at the HEB propping a chicken up between my thighs. I'd choose a little overspending at Target, wouldn't you?

Besides, I work out with a trainer now. And I know - from experience - I could have made it outside of that store with that chicken. No problem. I'm just saying, AG, in case times get hard and you need me to take one for the team. Just sayin'.

All my love,
Melissa

Sometimes I Really Hate Blogger...

I thought the only person that could ruin a birthday party was Nicole Leech and her incessant rambling about her fictious boyfriend which we all knew was untrue due to her tremendous body odor and retainer mishaps. But nope, Blogger can ruin it to. I mean, this post was supposed to be put up on Monday, but instead it put it into last weeks posts so therefore no one saw it and it was probably my fault but I am not accepting blame - mainly because I don't do that - but also because I have a really bad hair cut and some pretty severe bloating. So could someone re-read this and wish a girl a Happy one....please?

Today, today I am turning 2

And so I've got some news for you

I've decided to act like most terrible two's

Until you give me what I want you to!

Tell me I'm pretty and tell me I'm smart

Don't correct me when I scream or fart.

Don't make me use the potty don't make me take a nap.

Don't make me wear that silly dress that has that silly cap.

Please let me touch my brother!

On his face or on his head...

He loves it when I slap him,

He told me last night before bed.

So let me stay up late at night

Watch Scooby Doo all day long.

And quit making me try and count to 20

Or sing that stupid A-B-C song.

Because today is my birthday gosh dang-it!

And I'll do whatever I dare.

And trust me, I don't want to brush my teeth-

And don't even think about touching my hair!

Instead I think I'll just lay here

While you fix me some chocolate milk.

And fetch me a blanket that's not scratchy?

I prefer pink chenille or fine silk.

Don't turn that ceiling fan on too high...

Don't turn that ceiling fan on too low...

And please scoot away from the remote control

While I'm watching my favorite show.

No I don't want chicken nuggets!

And corny dogs just will not do!

I prefer a pepperoni lovers with cheese

You'll go get that for me, won't you?

So that is how I'm going to act today

I'll do nothing and then I'll do it some more

Because today is my blogs special birthday

And what else are birthdays for?

So as I lay around all day won't you tell me

Just exactly what this birthday means to you

Cuz there's something to be said for comments

And for or five? Well, that just will not do.

I can't wait to hear how you spend my birthday

I hope you think of me all day, too.

And as I blow out my candles and make my wish

I'll be hoping for another year with you!

The Deep End.

Let's say you have the chicken pox. They're a pain. They're uncomfortable. You try not to scratch but you do. But at least you know they only last for a moment; a short time, really. Soon your 7 to 10 days of itchies will be over and you'll be back to your old self.

Not so if you're raising a child.

Not only does raising a child come to a conclusion after 7 to 10 days, you are never ever back to your old self.

And so yesterday, as I sat on my couch and cried at the job known as parenting, I was reminded by my sweet Heavenly Father, "Quit crying, Melissa. You asked for this!"

I love how He talks to me.

Maybe He talks to you differently. Maybe He talks in a whisper because He knows you'll listen better. Maybe He talks in a parable because He knows you're creative. Or maybe He talks at the top of His lungs and with a small amount of frustration because He knows you're deaf and hard headed. Guess which category I fall under?

But that's okay...because whenever I need Him, He talks.

And yesterday He spoke to me. Reminded me that this job of motherhood, well, it's never over. Much like His job of fathering.

And this job of motherhood, well, it's difficult and frustrating because they don't listen and they yell and scream when you ask them to obey. Much like His job of fathering.

And this job of motherhood doesn't come with any guarantees that what you're doing is right, that what you're doing is effective, or that what you're doing is even within the bounds of law. But I suppose that's where my mothering and His fathering differ. He's got the answers. I don't.

And though I don't understand why she runs when I yell stop, why she screams when I say whisper, why she says she's tired when it's time to go but says she's not tired when I say it's time for bed...He does.

And today, I feel like a failure. I will not lie. I feel over my head and in too deep. I am confused half the time and fried the other half. I feel like someone has played some horrible joke on me and I'm on that Survivor show only it's down to the final two - me and her - and she's winning.

And although I read "count it all joy, my brothers" I just want to rip that page out and tape it to my spanking spoon. Then at least I'll see it half a dozen times a day.

(James 1:2-8) Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.

If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You'll get his help, and won't be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believing, without a second thought. People who "worry their prayers" are like wind-whipped waves. Don't think you're going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open.

That's the Book of James, here's the Book of Melissa.

Believe it or not this trial of motherhood is a gift - so look at it that way. Because when all is said and done you may not be the world's best mother, but you'll be better than you were. Because something in you will have grown and matured. So don't fear going to bed just to wake up and do it all over again, because this is what it takes for us to become all that He wants us to be.

So if you don't have a clue what you're doing - and let's be honest, you don't - pray. Beg. Plead. Cry. Moan. And then listen. Because He loves to hear us call on Him. And in an instant He is there, not making us feel like big fat losers, but making us feel just a little smidgen of peace. And who couldn't use that? So ask and then sit still and listen for Him to speak. He will. And just like that cheezy church sign that says "If you're worried - Pray. And if you pray - don't worry," well, it kinda makes sense.

So here's to all us mothers who are sitting on our couch today with Hershey's kisses in our lap and Kleenex in our hands: He's proud of us. Just ask Him. Amen.

Guess Who's 2?

Today, today I am turning 2

And so I've got some news for you

I've decided to act like most terrible two's

Until you give me what I want you to!

Tell me I'm pretty and tell me I'm smart

Don't correct me when I scream or fart.

Don't make me use the potty don't make me take a nap.

Don't make me wear that silly dress that has that silly cap.

Please let me touch my brother!

On his face or on his head...

He loves it when I slap him,

He told me last night before bed.

So let me stay up late at night

Watch Scooby Doo all day long.

And quit making me try and count to 20

Or sing that stupid A-B-C song.

Because today is my birthday gosh dang-it!

And I'll do whatever I dare.

And trust me, I don't want to brush my teeth-

And don't even think about touching my hair!

Instead I think I'll just lay here

While you fix me some chocolate milk.

And fetch me a blanket that's not scratchy?

I prefer pink chenille or fine silk.

Don't turn that ceiling fan on too high...

Don't turn that ceiling fan on too low...

And please scoot away from the remote control

While I'm watching my favorite show.

No I don't want chicken nuggets!

And corny dogs just will not do!

I prefer a pepperoni lovers with cheese

You'll go get that for me, won't you?

So that is how I'm going to act today

I'll do nothing and then I'll do it some more

Because today is my blogs special birthday

And what else are birthdays for?

So as I lay around all day won't you tell me

Just exactly what this birthday means to you

Cuz there's something to be said for comments

And for or five? Well, that just will not do.

I can't wait to hear how you spend my birthday

I hope you think of me all day, too.

And as I blow out my candles and make my wish

I'll be hoping for another year with you!

The Last Time I Talked To My Mother...

I should probably change the name of this little segment, considering I once titled it this when I lived 400 miles away from her and we only spoke on the phone.

Now I live about 2 yards away and can't get her out of my kitchen.

Nevertheless, the woman can say some things that just, well, things that make you go hmmmm....

Take for instance, last Friday when we went out to run some errands. My mom takes a sudden detour that nearly flung me out of the vehicle.

"What are you doing taking that curve? You're already going 80 and you're blind."

"I know. But you'll be happy I did."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"To the meathouse."

"A meathouse? Mom, are we going to a haunted house?"

"No, we're actually going to a meathouse."

"You mean a meat market?"

"Whatever. It's where they bring in fresh ribs and beef and steaks."

"Oh, okay - so we're picking up some beef?"

"Beef? NO! We're going cuz it's where the Pentecostals bring the brittle."

I would love to explain this to you all and as soon as I know what the heck that sentence means you can be assured I will.

All I know is they were out of "brittle" so she told the lady at the register, "You're out of brittle? What kind of communist society are we living in? Oh honey, I'm kidding...give me enough beef to make a big batch a' chili."

We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

TV Down-Low

Let me begin by saying "thank you." Thank you for letting me have Monday off. Sometimes this blog thing can become quite the little taskmaster, and since the family and I moved into our new digs this weekend I had to set some time aside to organize my new house.

And also I lost my computer in the move.

But it's found now and I am back on board.

So the new season of TV has started up and well, I'm all aflutter. I asked your opinions last week and boy did you all give 'em to me. And for the most part I agreed with you...

Cougar Town
Let me go on record right now as saying that I have never been one to lay my judgements on anyone else. You like CougarTown? Great. Just take some ice water cuz it's gonna be hot in hell.

Oh, for pete's sake. I'm kidding.

Personally, Cougar Town is not for me. Mainly because it's pretty trashy - but also because Courtney Cox is completely annoying and acts like she just downed 12 of those Pixie Sticks of sugar just before the 2nd take. But I am a Courtney Cox fan so if you're watching the show and something happens like David Schwimmer or Matt LeBlanc come on the show and they all go down to a coffee shop to shoot the breeze, well, then could you email me? Cuz I'll TiVo it for sure.

Modern Family

Pass the ice water, cause I like it. I know I'm not supposed to. I know I'm supposed to be against it in every way. But I can't help it. Whenever a chubby gay man dances I'm hooked.

Please don't email James Dobson; I know it goes against everything we believe in as the RightWingChristianCoolitionFoxNewsFocusOnTheFamily people that we are. But it's funny. And ya know, at the end of a long day sometimes you just want to yuck it up. And people, this show has got me, The AG and my dad almost losing our breath.

Did I just lose my Republican voting rights?

Flash Forward

Are you watching this? WHY NOT????

It has the potential to be really good. And it reminds me of a little show about an airplane that went down on an island and all these people were LOST there and the AG said, "How in the world can they write a show about people being lost on an Island for more than one season?" And now he's an addict. Well, yeah...he said the same thing about this one. And yet, we're hooked.

The Good Wife

There's something about watching a drama on CBS that makes me feel very grown-up. Does anyone else ever feel that? I love this show because a.)it's clean and b.) Julianna Margolis is a great actress and c.)I feel like it's a show my mother would be proud of me for watching.

I have no idea why, I'm just hoping to goodness it makes up for Modern Family.

And last but not least...

Glee

You know how I feel about this show. I've already made it clear.

But then I watched another episode and now I'm not so sure. Can I really love something that I would never ever want my kids watching? I mean, isn't this like that age old question they taught you in Sunday School, "Jesus is everywhere we go...so if he is at school with us are we going to cheat? If he is standing with us at our locker are we going to gossip?"

Well, if my kids were sitting with me on the couch would I want them watching this? (Yes, I know they're 3 and 1....not the point) The answer is, "no." I would not want them watching it and I would not feel right about watching it myself.

But thankfully they're 3 and 1 and so this isn't really an issue for me right now. So party on Wayne!

Kidding.

Maybe I should just start downloading the music from iTunes and nix the show. However, I am two weeks behind even getting around to watching it on my TiVo so maybe the problem will work itself out. Maybe I'll forget it exists and never have to ask myself the really hard questions.

Because let's be honest, I've gotten through 30+ years not asking myself the really tough questions so why in the world would I want to start now?

~~~~~~~~

You've had a couple of weeks under your belt now to watch them...what are your thoughts? Where do you all stand on Modern Family? Glee? Anyone still watching Golden Girls, or is that just me?

Uuuuuuuuugh.........

Can't type post. Hurts too much.

Worked out
with
trainer


for the firsttimeand am now




angry

at



the world. And also my mother.

Angry at the world for choosing "ParisHiltonskinny" over "Oprah Winfrey pleasant."

Angry

at

my

mom for giving me these upper arms and the inability
to lift anything over

my head.

Warning: Nerve Pill Required For This Reading.

There are certain things about the South that are wonderful:

I love the fact that my Granny buys okra once a week from the "black farmer down off of 706".

I love the fact that I had to ask for an extra piece of paper when it came time to fill out the people allowed to pick Remi up from school.

And I especially love the fact that when you plan a Halloween party (like I am) the first question someone asks is not some hoity-toity question, but rather, "Want me to see if I can round us up some bails of hay to sit on?"

But there are also things about living in the South (or at least my part of the South) that are a tad peculiar. Though none as peculiar as this...

Since I have moved home I have been diagnosed with multiple ailments, fractures, sprains and "nerve problems."

"Oh, poor Melisa," you might be saying to yourself, "we should really lift her up in prayer."

No, no you shouldn't.

Because you see, none of my conditions have been determined by a doctor; a real, live, educated physician. No ma'am. My conditions - and those of my husband, and both of my children - have been diagnosed by the women in my family.

In the three months I have lived here I have been diagnosed with:

• An early onset of Arthritis ("your momma has it and I can tell by looking at you you have it to.")
• Psoriasis ("Melissa, I was looking at your brush this weekend and I think I see signs of Psoriasis in it. I should know...I have it, too.")
• Flat arches ("Your uncle Dave was told he had this in High School. He's suffered with it for years. And we know you have it, just look how you run!")
• Skin Tags ("Have you noticed how many skin tags have come up on your neck in the past year, Melissa? It's really strange. I think you're Aunt Linda had that happen...")
• Pre-Nervous Breakdown ("You try to do too much and you have two small babies and nobody wants you helping out at the church anyway, just tell 'em NO! And then remind them that you can only do so much with two babies and fallen arches.")

And I've only lived here three months! There's a good chance I'll be dead by Easter.

And my poor kids. They get the worst of it because they can't speak for themselves; and as their advocate I would totally speak up for them but I'm a tad too preoccupied with the plethora of skin tags I got goin' on and the fact that I have some sort of scalp disease.

In their short little existence Remi has been diagnosed with:

ADD, Hyperactivity, Not being spanked enough (apparently that is a disease that was discovered in the 80's when my Aunt Melba was raising her two), some sort of sleeps-too-little-disorder, and a disease in the South commonly referred to as "She-won't-eat-meat-then-there-must-be-something-wrong-with-her-because-we-all-eat-meat-itis."

Poor Rocco has had diarrhea cause he's teething, diarrhea because his teeth won't come through, diarrhea because his teeth came through but then went back down again, diarrhea because I gave him Orajel, diarrhea because I didn't give him Orajel, some sort of sleeps-too-much-disorder, and the classic "The-kid-eats-everything-in-site-but-won't-eat-vegetables-what-do-you-think-is-wrong-with-him-because-we-all-eat-vegetables-itis."

Let's don't even get started on The AG. Personally, he doesn't know just how sick he is. I am trying to allow him to enjoy his last few days on earth.

I told my Granny I was going to blog the fact that they are able to diagnose every problem someone else has but can never quite put their finger on their own problems and she seemed confused...

"So? What's the big deal? Doctors can't do anything for you."

"I've just never met any other women like you all."

"Then you don't know all women."

Maybe not. But I know enough.