Changing diapers; Boys VS Girls

Disclaimer; if you have NEVER had kids, you might want to hit that little red "X" up there in the corner. This blog is probably not for you. Side effects include upset stomach, vomiting, bad dreams, and possibly even death.

If you HAVE had kids, this won't be a problem. Keep on reading.

For a long time, my best friend Tracy and I debated which was worse, changing boys diapers or changing girls diapers. Tracy's argument was basically, "Everything is on the outside with boys. There is no need to "get in there" with boys." My argument was basically, "I have had girls only so boys are gross and weird and foreign to me."

For the record, I still stand by my general argument that boys are weird and gross and foreign. This is just in general though, not so much limited to diaper changing.

But now that I have a boy, I see things differently as far as changing dirty diapers goes... Boys are much, much, much, much (much times a million) worse to change than I previously thought. Much worse...

Okay, so I will give Tracy points for boy parts being on the outside. I admit that with girls, you do indeed have to get in there. Poor girls. The first time I changed Savannah, I kid you not, I apologized for violating her. That is a true story. When baby girls have blowouts, it is not an easy task to get everything cleaned.

BUT, with boys, there are other complications.

Let's start with the fact that boys (basically from birth till death) LOVE to play with themselves. Any chance that Wee Willy becomes Free Willy, boys hands are not far. I thought this was just a cliché. Nope. It's true. Hands to penis. Every single time.

So, when you add that little phenomenon to a dirty diaper (specifically dirty with #2), it makes for nice little poo covered hands if you aren't quicker than the speed of light. And boys don't care that their junk is covered in poo. They still need to grab themselves. It's required of them any chance they get.

Next, lets add in the wiggle factor. Boys move. And then they move some more. And then they move. And then they repeat this until the day they die. They don't stop moving. Another cliché that I thought was just repeatedly parroted. Nope. It's true too. Boys are always on the go, from day one. Girls sit there nicely and allow for the cleaning process. Boys....they want to go. Now. They are not worried that they are covered in poo. If you have to clean it off the couch, carpet, bed, etc., that is not their problem. Try for a girl next time.

Lastly, lets cover the fact that most parents don't have 5 arms. This is what is needed to change a boys diaper if we're all being honest. Two hands to hold kicking legs up, one hand to keep little hands from grabbing Wee Willy, one hand to hold down a squirming baby who wants to spread his poo all over the living room, and one hand to do the actual cleaning.

As if this wasn't enough, my particular boy giggles when I wipe his parts. Giggles and smiles. I feel like I'm one van away from being a creeper. It's horrible. I wipe his Wee Willy, he giggles, I say "STOP IT!" he giggles again, I feel like a pervert, and then I call for his dad to finish the project as I am disturbed at this point. My girls never giggled when I wiped them. It was business as usual.

When it comes to diapers, girls are easier...and less creepy.

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I'm Not Racist, But Races Shouldn't Mix

I've told this story before, but it's worth repeating...

When I was 12, my gram said to me, "I'm not racist, but races shouldn't mix." Even at a young age, I knew this was ridiculous. Make no mistake, my gram was almost a saint, but she was wrong sometimes...much like all of us. She had outdated opinions. Because karma misses no one, she got a whole bunch of BEAUTIFUL great-grandbabies that were not "pure" if there is a thing anymore anyway. Her mind changed and she didn't see color anymore, but love.

I read an article online about all the reasons that Natives shouldn't date/marry/breed with Non-Natives. It thins out the bloodline apparently. Drains out the Native culture. Kills the breed. The last reason given was that it makes life harder for children considering that they are not accepted by either their Native family, nor their Non Native family. Okay, this one I somehow see...more so than other reasons anyway. I know that many people who are multi-racial do have a hard time fitting in sometimes. They struggle. However, their struggle is not harder than the struggles that others face, just different. WE ALL STRUGGLE, mixed race or not. It builds character.

I've dated a rainbow of men (boys..haha). My first love was Hispanic/Caucasian/Native American. A few years later, I fell head over heels for a Native American who's mom told him that she didn't like me because I wasn't native. She wanted him to date a nice native girl. He told her to kick rocks...basically. I eventually married a white boy (Sicilian really). These three boys were my greatest loves and I still hold a place in my heart for the first two, though I married the third. I didn't see color, I saw love...and heart...and personality...etc. 

I don't believe that races should stick together merely for the sake of sticking together. This seems silly to me. It seems even sillier considering that if any of us did a DNA test, we would find that we have a surprising amount of diversity in us. My husband and I researched our family histories. He had a Jemima in his family tree. I was super stoked initially, assuming that he had some African-American in his family tree. Considering that he has very curly and coarse hair, it wasn't a long shot. As it turns out, Grandma Jemima was Caucasian. This greatly disappointed me as I was EXCITED to have children with African American descent. None the less, the point is that we are all MIXED. All of us.

And we all bleed the same color.

On the article about Natives sticking with Natives, one person said that Natives should not mix because, "Cats don't breed with dogs." This is completely correct (though my dog does try to breed with my cat), but Labs will breed with Rottweilers any day of the week because though they look different, they are the same species. We are all the same species. We just look different.

Claim that races shouldn't mix all you want for any reason that you can come up with...I still think your racist. Period. End of story.

And at the end of the day, if any minority in the world heard my Gram say that whites should just stick with whites, they would call her a racist. It's not different because of the color of skin. Anyone who thinks that races should not date/marry/breed outside their race is a racist. Yes, I am a white person saying this. I don't care.

Mother of the Year, I am not. But if you tell my kids that they cannot love someone who looks different than them, you will feel my wrath. Your culture is not being watered down either way. Culture isn't blood percentages, its actions. Culture is preserved by actions. Racism is preserved by seeing skin color. Keep on preserving the racism if you wish, but please know that even my 70+ year old grandma got with the times eventually.

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Parenting; A Series of Educated Guesses

Dear Parents Everywhere,

All of your parenting decisions are merely educated guesses. For those of you who need to swallow your pride and read that again....

I bring this up out of frustration over the recent elevated vaccine debate. My kids are all vaccinated. I made this decision after researching some and making an educated guess. That's all. That's all anyone can do.
For every scientific article on the pros of vaccines, there are 100 more articles on the cons of vaccines and vice versa. There is evidence that can sway you both ways. Websites lie and distort facts for BOTH the anti-vaxxers and pro-vaxxers.
Science this and conspiracy theories that and poisons and mercury and herd immunity and autism and death and suffering and outbreaks and 1 in 5,000 chances or was 1 in 30 chances, BLAH BLAH BLAH... Both sides use scare tactics and lies. End of story.
Do your research, read every article that you find. In the end, your head will be spinning and you will be left to make an educated guess. NOTHING MORE, NOTHING LESS.
Even if tomorrow, we learned some new knowledge with 100% certainty that immunizations were either good or bad, it doesn't matter because three days later, it could change. It has happened. Remember all of you that kept nut products away from your children for the first two years because it caused peanut allergies? Guess what...that's been changed. Now, avoiding nut products early on apparently CAUSES allergies. And all the science community says is, "Our bad..." Yeah, your bad.
Anti-vaxxers, you are not somehow more caring or more educated or less "sheeple" because of your decision. Get off your high horses about being a better parent. Those who choose vaccinations don't necessarily nod their heads cluelessly at everything their doctor tells them. Many do research too. They just choose a different outcome than you.
Vaxxers, the scientific community and healthcare professionals have been wrong many times. Remember bloodletting? Remember shock treatment for seizures? Remember how women were told to smoke during pregnancy to lower birth weight which would make delivery better? Remember how the earth was flat?
Yeah, good times, good times.
Science doesn't know everything. Conspiracy theories are possible. Or perhaps vaccinations are the best thing to happen since sliced bread. I don't know. Neither do you. Neither does anyone. We make educated guesses and hope for the best.
My kids have their shots. I took my chances. I have no animosity for anyone who chooses not to vaccinate their kids. Their guess is just as good as mine. We're all doing the best we can and none of us are all knowing....despite what many "Facebook Professionals" think.
"Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's." -Baz Luhrmann

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Que Sera? No.

I read an article by a Christian blogger this morn. I very rarely agree with this blogger but I love reading his stuff because he brings up good points and makes me think. I like thinking. I like hearing other view points. I'm weird like that.

In this particular post, he was discussing the birth control pill. In summary, he basically said that birth control pills are bad in every way because they contain hormones that ruin bodies, cause divorces, and mess with mother nature.

The blogger went on to say that birth control pills were made for liberal women who want to have free sex without the consequences and that there are natural ways (including abstinence for all of us floozies) to prevent babies.

This is his opinion. I disagree, but other people don't have to have the same opinions as me. I respect him either way.

To my credit, I've never taken birth control pills, mostly because my seizure pills cancel them out. In other words, it would be pointless to take them. I'd have just as good of results if I took sugar pills.

I used to think that I was infertile and I believed (and still do to a certain extent) that everything happens for a reason, there is a plan for everything, blah blah blah. This was what happened when I left EVERYTHING up to fate;  

Fate gave me one gorgeous child, but after finding myself struggling immensely, I needed a different family planning approach. I was not in the position to have more children for a multitude of reasons.

Also not liking the idea of hormones, I wanted to try a more natural approach. I practiced the rhythm method. Abstaining while fertile (and we were really careful) worked this well;

Believe me, she was a wonderful product of the rhythm method, but still not the desired effect of planning children at the right time. So I (we) decided to try another method of natural birth control; condoms. This was how well condoms worked out;

I am very grateful for this little boy, but again, my plan of having children at the right time did not work out well for me.

I left it up to fate and I failed.

I left it up to the rhythm method and I failed.

I left it up to condoms and I failed.

Now I have three beautiful amazing children, but I am well aware that this is my limit; financially and mentally. I know that Christians always say to put your faith in God and he will provide. I do believe somewhat that things fall into place, but I've also lived through LITERALLY having bare cupboards and wondering how I was going to feed Savannah. I've gone to bed hungry, waiting for a miracle.

Perhaps I didn't believe enough. Perhaps I didn't pray enough. Perhaps if I am patient enough, things will all come together.

But perhaps they won't. I could have more kids. They could go hungry. I could go nuts. We could all fail. It happens every day. Kids go hungry because parents cant provide. People have more kids than they can handle all the time and everyone suffers.

Now, I know this isn't always the case. Where there is a will, there is a way. I have friends and family who have big families and they make it work. I have the utmost respect for them. I'm even jealous. But they are not me and I am not them.

I am no longer willing to leave it up to chance or natural methods so I got the IUD, which is a hormone-filled birth control. I am going with an unnatural birth control method because the natural birth control methods all failed me. I am not a floozy who wants to enjoy free flowing sex with whomever all the time. I am a married woman who no longer desires to say "Que Sera".

I guess I could always try the abstaining method. But my husband is really hot, soooo.....

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Say It Often

Tell people that you love them often...

It's one of the most annoyingly clichés ever. But sometimes there is a reason that clichés are clichés.

I don't remember my gram saying that she loved me a lot when I was young. This was completely okay with me because throughout my teenage years, I couldn't imagine anyone more lame that my grandma. She was the epitome of lame. Called blush, "rouge", didn't believe in shaving until 18 years old (WTF?), didn't allow boys in my room, wanted my curfew to be at 10, and thought tampons were only to be used after participating in sexual relations.

Lame to the extremist extent. Am I right?????

As it turns out, she was just a really good parent. As for me, I just needed to get over myself. Well, at approximately age 21 or so, I got over myself and realized the gem that I had been given with this lamo grandma. She wasn't lame at all. She was an angel.

Then, I started saying, "I love you." to my gram. She said it back. We said it often, regularly, even when I knew she was going to call right back. "Love you." "Love you too!" There was never a phone call ended without an I love you. It was lame, it was last minute, it was rushed often, and it was said without thought sometimes...

.but it was always said. Always.

She passed away in April 2014. My entire world ended. Except that I had 3 beautiful children and a husband to also think about. I couldn't let my world end. I got the average one week of grieving and then it was back to life. Too many people depending on me to dwell for too long. Too many little people who might be distraught to see mama cry for too long. Everything was well.

Except for the little regrets.

Why did you let her do so much for you and not give anything in return? Why didn't you go see her more? Why did you ask for so much? Why didn't you do more? Blah blah blah... I suppose no matter how much we love someone, we always have regrets. We should have spent more time, should have listened more, should have loved more, should have, could have, would have. There is no shortage of regrets when someone passes. There is always something that we wish that we would have done.

I have a lot of regrets....

My cousin and I were talking. I was mentioning that I wish I would have spent more time with her at the end. I said that I didn't remember what we talked about the last time. I have no idea. I don't remember our last conversation...

 This kind of eats at me.

BUT, I know for a fact, my last words to this woman were that I loved her. And her last words to me were "I love you too".

We said it often. We said it every time. We said it without fail.

I can't remember my gram and my last conversation, but I know without fail, that the last words we said were I love you. Because we always did. Because we never knew... And we didn't know when the last words would happen, but we had it covered...because we said I love you every single time.

Say it often. Say it regularly. Say it even if it seems stupid and cliché and lamo and dumb. Maybe you'll say it three times in 20 minutes. Who cares? If it's a regular habit, then you won't have any regrets when its too late. You'll know that the absolute last thing out of your mouth were , "I love you." That was 100% the last words that I said to my gram, because I said it often. I know that, even if I don't know what the last conversation was about. This gives me immense comfort.

I may be the worst mother of the year, of the world, of the universe... I may annoy the crap out of my kids with my million, "I love you's"..

But there is a good chance that when I pass away, the last words out of my mouth to my children will be,

I. Love. You.

And I like to think that this will give them comfort.

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Of Course!

It's the small things that make toddlers happy....(also the small things that make them freak the eff out, but that's another blog for another day).

Madelyn climbed up onto the couch this morning. She's two and so she's been doing this for about a year now. No big deal right? Wrong. Big deal today!!!

Big. Huge. Deal.

As soon as she got onto the couch, Madelyn stands up on the cushions, throws her hands in the air and says, "Woohoo!! I did it!!!"

While stifling my laughter, I faked my best "super impressed mom" look. "Good job Madi!" I said to her. "You did it!"

You've also been doing that for 365 days now, probably at least 900 times in total...but good job this time!!! You did it especially well this morning. Great form pulling that leg up after getting the first leg up. Gold medal for you!!

And a trophy too. Always a trophy. Haha

I'm an ass mom. I admit that. But just in my head. Never to their faces. I'm not sure if that's better or not, but what they don't know won't hurt them right? Right? Hello?

A few minutes after that, Madelyn wanted juice. After a solid 25 seconds of trying to get her to drink some water, I gave in. I'm kind of a stubborn, unwavering, hard-ass parent like that. I know, I know, I should probably soften up a bit.

Regardless, I eventually started pouring her some juice into her sippy-cup. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tiny little face get wide-eyed. I looked over at her. She was watching the juice pour into her cup.

"Wow!" She says. "Amazing!"

I looked back at the apple juice to see if it was changing colors or growing wings and flying away or something. Nope. It was just falling into the cup like normal, boring, non-magic apple juice does. Next time, I'm getting the magic kind. This kind was not special at all.

Madi thought it was though. It was amazing!!!!

They (no idea who that is) say that a wise man enjoys all the wonders of the world and celebrates the smallest of victories in life. According to "them", Madi is very wise.

But this is the same girl who answers "of course" to questions such as, "Where did you put your cup?"

"Madelyn, where did you put that sippy-cup?"
"Of course."
"Of course what? That doesn't even make sense."
"Of course."

Perhaps she is wise...

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Worst Tantrum Ever

There is a video circulating around that apparently shows the worst tantrum ever. I guess the kid is out of control in a store and people are absolutely shocked by his actions. I didn't watch it. I didn't need to. 6 years and 3 kids later and I find it hard to believe that there is ever a tantrum that could shock/disgust/astound me.

Okay, that's not entire true. If a kid sat down cross-legged on the floor and calmly said, "Mother, I am very disappointed that you are negating my requests for this toy in which I truly desire.", I would be shocked. I would probably be bewildered and slightly disturbed about the whole thing. Truth be told, I might even have creepy dreams about it later on. That would be shocked. A regular old kicking/flailing/crying/screaming tantrum... I barely blink an eye.

I've seen it all when it comes to tantrums. There is no worst tantrum ever. They are all bad and normal and stressful and common and unavoidable and annoying. And no kid is immune and there isn't a mother alive who has escaped them. They happen. Period.

My oldest drained all the "give-a-damn" out of me when it comes to tantrums. She broke me in well with her antics. She knew/knows how to throw a good tantrum. I'm talking, give WWF wrestlers a run for their money with throwing chairs, body slamming herself, screaming as loud as she can, all things crazy. She is good. I admire her tantrum skills.

(But really, she's a super good girl 99% of the time)

My second child throws the most hilarious tantrums that I've ever seen. It takes all of my energy and determination to not bust a gut laughing at her attempts to be as good as big sister when it comes to tantrums. She's got nothing on my oldest child's skills, but she tries her best anyway. A for effort, F- for outrageousness.

See, my second offspring throws out a half-assed grrrr, throws herself on the ground, pushes out a tear or two with all her might, pretends to cry, and then peeks to see if she has an audience. When she realizes that she does not, she stops, gets up and resumes life like a normal human being. It's great.

My baby is too little to throw tantrums yet, but I'm fairly certain that he won't impress me with his skills either. He's a super happy little guy so I'm hopeful that the tantrums will be few and far between. Even if I'm wrong, I'm not going to stress over it. I know now that they are normal.

7 years ago, if I had seen a gigantic tantrum in the store, I would have thought (or maybe even said), "What kind of a mother is she? How hard is it to raise a civilized little person? My children will never be like that because I will be a good mom!"

Not only did I turn out to not be a good mom, but I also realized that little people will have tantrums from time to time, no matter your parenting skills. It happens to the best of us. Nowadays, my judgment has turned into, "Mama, it's going to be okay. This too shall pass. Just breathe."

So if you see a kid in the store that is out of control and your first (pre-parent) thought is judgment about how crappy the kid is and how much the parent is failing, I have one word for you; KARMA. It will come back to you and you will feel the need to apologize to every parent you ever criticized.

If you watch that video of the WORST TANTRUM EVER and think to yourself that your kids will never act like that once you're a parent, you're wrong my friend. They will. It doesn't make you a bad parent. It makes your kids normal.

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Madi Lou Turns Two

Madelyn Noel


Madi girl...

Madi Lou Who...

Madi Paddy Pudding and Pie....

My sweet Madi, sometimes I think you have more nicknames than days you have been alive. You've been alive for roughly 730 days....also known as 2 years. I can't believe how fast the time goes and it scares me that time flies more and more quickly every year. I'm afraid that one of these days I will go to sleep and you will be 30 years old.

But for now, you are 2.

The "terrible 2's" they say. (For the record, 3's are highly underrated as a terrible age). But you aren't a terrible 2 year old at all (knock on wood). You are a sweet two year old. Much more sweet than I ever thought possible for a toddler. Everything is "yes mama" and "okay mama" and "yes peas" and "velcome" and "tanks". I don't know how I got so lucky to have an easy child, but I did. You are very complacent... something that worries me for you later, but for now I just appreciate it.

Despite your sweetness, you hold back hugs and kisses and snuggles. You have no time for any of that business. There is a cat to chase, a dog to bug, a sister to bother, and things to get into. After all, the cat food isn't going to spread itself all over the house by itself. The toilet paper isn't going to get unrolled without your help. But I wish you would stop sometimes and give me a kiss instead of saying, "No mama. No fiss!" No fisses (kisses in Madi language) for anyone really....only if you're sick and needy. Then, fisses for everyone, even though that is not the time for anyone to be spreading their germs via fisses...but I take them anyway because who knows when I will get the next fiss from you.

I love your hair. Every little girl with curly hair has become you now. I see little girls with curly hair and smile to myself thinking, "That's my little Madi." Your curly hair makes me smile more than you know. I love how it bounces whenever you run or "jump", which for now is just lifting one leg up and slamming it down. We'll work on that. Haha...

But every morning when you wake up, your hair is 3 ft wide by 3 ft high. I know that you will hate it. I love it and so will thousands of other people who wish for curly hair. That's how life goes. Thank your dad for your hair. His hair gets really big and poofy when it gets long. Just so you know, this is why he keeps it so short.

I'm so sad that Grandma Barb isn't here to help you celebrate this birthday or any after this either. I wish you could have known her and that she could have known your personality. She would have adored you with your cute grin and bouncy hair. You would have made her laugh and she would have tried to steal many fisses. She would have called you a little stinker for not giving hugs or fisses freely. But she would have loved you so very much.

I hope you have a great birthday, but I know this day means very little to you at this point in your life. When we tell you to blow out the candles on your cake, you will spit all over the place. When we give you a present to open, you will take the bow and run off (probably to feed it to the dog). When we sing happy birthday, you will try to sing along. It's okay. Soon enough you'll get it.

And then you'll be mad that your birthday is so close to Christmas. Sorry about that....all the good times so close together and then nothing for you for 11 more months. I tried to talk your dad into doing half-birthdays. He said that was lame. He's often a party-pooper, but you'll never have to wonder if he loves you...this I can promise. And I promise that I will always love you more than you ever know and I hope that you never change.

Well, I do hope that you eventually give me more fisses... but that's it.

Happy Birthday Madi girl!


To fully enjoy the irony that is this post, there are two things you must know;

1. I am a horrible cook, especially when compared to my very knowledgeable and talented chef husband. He can take two pinto beans and a drop of water and turn it into a batch of fluffy pancakes. On my best day I struggle with Hamburger Helper. That's no joke. I've made it both too thick and too thin...on multiple occasions.

2. My grandma made Suzy Homemaker look like absolute failure/slob/amateur. She knew how to do everything around the house including but not limited to; sewing, ironing, starching, stitching, crocheting, hemming, baking, cooking, cleaning, and making everything look fabulously easy. I learned nothing from her. I suck. I should have picked up some tips, but while she was making pie crust from scratch, I was eating her scraps....that she threw sugar and cinnamon on and baked for me....because I was ridiculously spoiled.

So keeping those two facts in mind....

Savannah and I were baking sugar cookies the other day. I'm not especially talented at making these nor do I enjoy it necessarily, but my love of sugar cookies is stronger than my setbacks. I LOVE these cookies almost as much as I love my children. In fact, on their worst days (no naps, teething, etc), I might love sugar cookies more than I love my kids. See the title of this blog if that shocks you. ;)

Anyway, we're making cookies together. The dough is thick and needs a good pin-rolling. Savannah loves to use the rolling pin whenever it's necessary and sometimes when it isn't at all. So of course I let her do that step (and any other step that I don't like to do...she basically makes the cookies herself with my managing). As she starts to flatten the dough, it sticks on the rolling pin. "Mommmm....the cookies just keep rolling up!"

I grab some flour and spread it all over the rolling pin and hand it back to Savannah. "It doesn't stick if you do this." I tell her. Just then Jim walks in. I think he thought he was going to need to bail me out of this cooking he often does.  "Hmmm..." He says. "What?" I ask. "It seems that you did pick up some things from your gram." I smile. Maybe I did. Maybe I subconsciously learned more than I thought while I was stuffing my face with her delicious concoctions.

So I've decided that I'm going to start trying some other things that she did around the house. Don't get too excited though, nothing big. I'll work my way up to ironing slowly. Those kind of difficult tasks that are better left to the experts.

As for now, I'm just going to start with trying things like separating laundry correctly. Once I master that, I have every intention of learning how to hang clothes up to dry. It's going to be awhile before I get to gravy making and all that business. Perhaps by the time that I reach grandma age, I will know how to sew.

Lets not let ourselves get too far ahead now. Baby steps.

Ho Ho Ho Translates to...

So my 6 year old is already becoming skeptical about Santa. She's already asking me questions about him and saying things like, "I think he's just a man in a suit." Frankly, I think this is bs. I think I'm getting screwed over in the "fun times for parents" department, but I learned that life wasn't fair a lonnnnnnngggggggg time ago.

What can you do? Sometimes we just get hard breaks. Thankfully for me, in the end, I was blessed with the three most beautiful kids in the whole world. One has an abnormally large head (Nolan), but they are gorgeous none the less....

Anyway, Savannah has become skeptical. She's asking me a million questions a day. "Well, how do reindeer fly anyway?" "Well, how does he get to every house in one night?" "Well how does he fit down chimneys?"

Again, bs because she is only in 1st grade and I assumed I would have like 3 more years but what can you do?

I expected these questions, though not as soon, but I did expect them. And I did plan answers so I'm good. (Dear Mother of the Year Committee, I have answers!!!!) So of course I answered completed honest with the, "It's a Christmas Miracle!!!" to every question. Don't judge me. You don't know what I go through...

But then, I remember that I am raising Savannah.

And not just any Savannah, but MY Savannah. This is the same girl that asked me what color her clear straw was when she was 2. TWO. As in not one, but TWO YEARS OLD. Have you ever explained what color clear is? Good freaking luck!!!! If you can answer that, let me know. I have a million dollars that says you cant.

Anyway, Savannah asks me what 'Ho, ho, ho' means. I answer that it is something that Santa says. Normal kids say, "Oh, okay."

Savannah says, "I know, but like, what does it mean? Like what is it in Spanish or whatever? What does it translate to?"

What does it translate to? It translates to Ho Ho Ho. Same same. No one asks these kinds of questions. Only her. So I answer that 'ho ho ho' is a laugh for Santa. She looks at me with a puzzled look.

"I'm just going to ask Santa." She says,

"Okay." I say. I try as hard as I can. You have no idea how it is to raise a kid that has been smarter than you since week 5. WEEK 5!!!!

We go to the mall and wait in line for Santa. Savannah goes over her list. "I'm going to tell Santa what Madelyn wants for Christmas because he won't understand her." Good call. He won't. She speaks English...with French accents...and the occasional German tone...with Chinese words thrown in. It's ridiculous.

Finally we get to Santa.

The elves are tricky. They ask Savannah's name and then tell Santa secretly so that he knows to say to Savannah, "And how are you Savannah?!" This blows her mind more than anyone knows. Later she will ask, "How did he know?" For now, she just looks at me in amazement.

"What does 'Ho, Ho, Ho' mean?" She asks Santa. Dear Savannah, by the way, you don't ask Santa questions. He asks you.

Santa looks at her like "What kind of kid asks this? I have never been asked this in my 40 years" I look back at him like, "I know, right? This is what I deal with daily. She's been like this since day one."

There is a pause and then Savannah says, "Does 'Ho Ho Ho' mean something or what?"

Santa says, "Ho, ho, ho! You've been a good girl! I can tell."

Nicely done Santa. Way to drop the ball. I can do better than that. I'm just saying.....

Savannah was not impressed with his answer, but she was BEYOND impressed that he knew her name. Apparently that's all that matters? I guess next time she asks me how a combustion engine works I will just answer, "Oh, Savannah, I see you have been a good girl!"

Ho Ho Ho...


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