Monday, November 23, 2015

White flag

Dinner time at our house is just weird.

Mr. Jenkins standing on the windowsill.

Juicy girl screeching.

Banjo using the tongs like chop sticks... whilst wearing no pants.

Because apparently, we live in a pants optional household.

I guess that by dinner time, I am just waving the white flag. I have not the mental or emotional resources left to require even the most basic manners or common civility.

Honestly, the flag is waving long before dinner - many days before my feet hit the floor in the morning. And I know that despite my "ability" to muddle through the day - I don't have any true ability apart from Christ. Raising little people brings the truth of my inadequacy all too clearly into view.

Humbling these little people are.


Sunday, November 22, 2015

Potty Training

I am wondering if I have ever posted on this subject before.

It is entirely possible that I have because I loathe the endeavor with such passion. And it is here that I often occasionally come to air my grievances.

Banjo appeared to be ready for the potty training and with dreams of less poopy diaper changes enticing me, I decided to try.

Potty Training. Not for the faint of heart.

Or for those who enjoy the simple things in life.

Like doing anything else. At. All.

I hear there are those of you out there who potty train "in 3 days" or some other such insanity. But I'll have you know - that's not how we do it around here. Nay. We prefer to take anywhere from 3 weeks to a year to achieve mastery of the art of elimination.  And even once we have grasped the concept - we enjoy an occasional regression.

Some times regression happens in the privacy of our home. Like in my garage when the child has climbed upon the mini van and pooped on the sun roof and then slid down the windshield of the car in his poopy underwear.

As awesome as that can be, it is always extra special when they "regress" in a public setting. Like at the nursery at church.

Yes, my boy shut down the piglets classroom a few weeks back. All piglets were relocated to the cows classroom thanks to a sizable download that apparently could not be contained by his "big boy underwear." Granted, Brent had dressed him for church that morning and it turned out he was in fact wearing "big girl underwear" - which may have contributed to the problem. Brent's excuse when asked why Banjo was wearing Sassy's underwear?: They were in his closet.


Honestly, some days he is a total potty rock star. And he is a self proclaimed, "potty beast" - just ask him. But some days I miss diapers. At least there was more containment.

Monday, March 23, 2015


I would like to blog more.

But there are these devious sweet little people in my life that keep me on my toes constantly. 

Most recently this one has been the usual suspect when it has come to destruction, mayhem and general naughtiness. 

So stinkin' cute.
So stinkin' naughty.

Earlier this week, I was on the phone trying to make arrangements for a speech therapy evaluation for the little guy. It's my fault - I've fostered his paci addiction in an attempt to keep my sanity. Consequently, I guess I've stunted him because he mostly talks around that paci and doesn't correctly articulate the beginning or end of words. 

Anyway, our baby monitor is one of those wifi devices that I can view through a password protected app on my phone. So, when I finished my very brief phone call, I switched back to the monitor view only to see this.

Yes, that little glowing eyed creature is Banjo. And yes, he's in Juicy's crib. 

With Juicy. 

Who was sleeping. 

But was then no longer. 

I mean. Is nothing sacred?!


Friday, March 20, 2015

'Fess up Friday

Be sure to check out Kira's blog for some hilarious 'Fess Up Fridays - one of my personal favorites: Dental Hygiene 

And for this week's addition, I bring you the following confessions:

I washed my child's shoes in the dishwasher. Like with my dishes.

Who does this?

Me apparently. 

If I'm honest, it did feel wrong. And I confess, I had a momentary internal debate about taking them upstairs to the laundry, but determined - that was just too much effort. I ultimately justified the decision with the the reality that the reason they were being washed in the first place was because the child who owns them was found wiping his tootsie pop all over them and then licking the tootsie juice off of them. 

Super sanitary. 

Good thing the Curls live by the creed - God made dirt and dirt don't hurt!


Speaking of shoes. I went out to the van last night to recover someone's pair of shoes and retuned with the following:

Seriously? There is only one pair of shoes in that assortment. Are my children just walking around with one shoe on? Are they purposely bringing in one and leaving one in the car just to make me crazy? Is my van attempting to "one up" the laundry in it's quest to mysteriously absorb shoes as the dryer does with socks? 

I really don't get it.


Juicy graduated. It was time. She outgrew her moses basket in our armoire. 

Yes, we sleep our babies in our armoire. It's not like we close the doors or anything, so don't judge. 

Here's her cute little bed. Just look at that precious owl bedding courtesy of Grammy.

Too bad she only graduated to my closet. 

Once again. Don't judge.

Sadly, it will probably the only good sleep she's going to get in her life since her next placement will land her with some combination of these jokers.

And let me tell you... they are not quiet. 


Wednesday, March 18, 2015


I feel like we have been through a fairly intense season of broken things in our home.

First, there was the dryer.

Then there was the sewer pipe back up in the downstairs bathroom.

Then there was my van door... and then the other van door...and then the timing belt.

Can you see the money literally flying out of our bank account!?

Oh wait. That would require that we actually have money. You know, to do the wing-sprouting and aforementioned flying.

I digress.

Then there were the jets in the garden tub which created a leak that flooded down into the kitchen.

Then there was the table which broke when my husband stood on a chair... on the table to cut holes in our ceiling to fix the leak from the garden tub jets.

Garden tub jets. Not a fan.

Benji was in denial that our table was gone.

Then there was the face of the garden tub that had to be removed to fix the jets.


What? You thought I was done? Nay, more breakage commenced.

Then there was the leak in the garage which we thought had been fixed four years ago before we moved in, but alas it had not.

Also in the midst of all this... we had the exterior of our house painted, wood rot repaired, a new garage door installed, and as of a few weeks ago, we got a new roof...

...Because we are made of money.

And these are only the major things... I feel like every day there's a broken plate, or lamp or toy or electronic device, etc.  Just yesterday I discovered that someone used our leather couch as a scribbling pad. And I'm pretty sure my grandfather's antique kitchen table complete with creepy feet that he graciously loaned us since our broke to pieces is not going to survive the wrath of my children.

Pedestal tables and my children do not a good combo make.

I am fairly confident that Chilli is going to break out her purple sparkle nail polish on these toe nails. I'm sure GeeGee won't mind when we return the table to him with a pedicure.

As annoying as all of these broken things are, what is far more concerning is the brokenness I feel in the relationships within our family.

My children are mean. Really mean to each other.

And I know I am really mean to them too.

I'm snarky and selfish with my time and energy - not wanting to sacrifice it or offer it to anyone. I rage at my children about their ingratitude for "all I do for them" while turning a deaf ear to my own complaining and whining. It's the same (if not worse) than theirs...mine's just a more "grown-up" version of the same heart condition.


May it not overwhelm me, but rather place in me a longing for Jesus. The only one who can fix all the brokenness.


Tuesday, February 24, 2015

An Important Update

The balloon is down.

I repeat. The balloon is down.

Only took 44 days.

I swear... this balloon was a special breed of evil.

It possessed a nasty streak for sure. The thing was such a tease.

I mean. That's just hateful.

Not only did it torment my children but it took special pleasure in scaring me as well. That joker somehow wafted up the stairwell and into my bedroom! Nothing like coming into your room and being startled by a levitating orb of evil.

Yes, that's a massive pile o' laundry on my bed. My endless laundry pile... perhaps even more scary than freaky-deaky creeper balloons.

On a positive note... I do get bragging rights!

Yes, my husband is fun and made guessing the "date of balloon demise" into a contest.

And yes, he did call it "Balloon O-Rama."

And yes, he did spell Mommy wrong.

And yes, he is awesome and we love him.


Thursday, February 19, 2015

Dumb and Dumber with a Chocolate Goatee

I think all my children are beautiful.

I mean, I know I'm biased an all... but come on?!

photo credit - Deedee Spangler

photo credit - Deedee Spangler

photo credit - Deedee Spangler

This one here is a real heart breaker.

Of course, he is often confused for a beautiful little girl.

I know it is my fault because I like keeping his hair long. But all you mommies out there know:

Once you cut the curls off, they never come back.

Well, finally, after a day in which he was referred to as "such a precious little girl" by multiple people, I did cut the boy's locks. They took 5 inches but he still had a few curls left and left a good amount of length.

A "surfer cut" they called it.

Brent felt it was a poor effort.

I felt it was a compromise.

However, the pretty little girl comments continued and both he and his brother were beginning to look a little shaggy last week, so I took them for hair cuts.

And now he looks like dumb and dumber.

Brent. I hope you are happy. I blame you for this. ;)