Momnesia

As I've stated many times before, bugs terrify me. Anything resembling a bug, even fake bugs, makes me nervous.

I'm lucky to have a daughter who is largely fearless when it comes to bugs. She volunteered to catch her first bug at 18 months old - and I let her, dammit. I am not sorry.

However, she is no fan of spiders. Foreshadowing.

The other night, we were snuggled on the couch, watching holiday movies and ticking each other. The house was a wreck, one of our homemade garlands was coming off the wall, the mail hadn't come in two days for some unknown reason, I was flat broke from Christmas shopping and all was right with the world. Until...

"Ohmigosh," I exclaimed. "Emmie to the rescue! It's a bug!"

"Where?" she jumped up. I sometimes give her spare change for her piggy bank after a successful de-buggification, because I am a manipulative jerkface - uh, I mean, because positive reinforcement is an important tenant of my parenting philosophy.

I couldn't really see what kind of bug it was from my perch high atop the couch, from which I had no intention of ever leaving while the tiny mercenary awaited me. So I pointed her in the right direction and chanted her name from the safety of the furniture. "Emmie! Emmie! Emmie!"

She waved me off and peered over the floor. She is done with my dramatics surrounding bugs.

"Oh, dats juss' a leaf," she dismissed it.

"No, closer to your time-out chair," I said, and in her enthusiasm, she darted in that direction.

"Ack! Emmie, it's right - "

She looked down, saw the spider. And the spider saw her.

"Rawr!" it hopped at her, a tiny monster move that can only be characterized as adorable.

She screamed, leaped from the front door to the couch, setting a world record for 6-year-olds in the standing long jump, and clung to me.

"IssaspiderIssaspider!" she screamed. "Get it! Get it!"

I was too busy cackling.

"Issnotfunny! Go! Go!" she pushed me. "Get da spider!"

I stumbled from the couch, still doubled over. The spider stood its ground. I had to admire its bravery.

"Okay," I gasped, and reached into the closet for the broom. "You open the door, and I'll sweep it out."

She sneaked over to the front door and swung it open. The bottom of the door caught the spider and dragged it towards the wall. Crap.

"I goddit," she called, and reached for the door.

"Yaaaahh!" The spider charged towards Emmie's feet from under the door. She ran screaming again, leaping back onto the couch and screeching for me to get the spider.

It was about the funniest "Man vs. Wild" situation I have ever witnessed: This little spider, about the size of a dime, taking on two towering giants. It gave not a single crap that it was outnumbered or outsized.

I finally got myself under control enough to wield the broom. The spider saw me coming, and raised its front legs at me.


Insane. This crazy spider was not backing down.

I shrugged. Sweep! And it was out.

On the porch, it lay curled into a ball, legs contracted against its body. It didn't move, but it was most likely still alive.

I decided to let it live. Likely, we will face him again on the battlefield. Or, at least, on the living room floor. But he had been a worthy adversary and I think he had earned a second chance. Hopefully, he would choose to make his home in the woods behind us. But the neighbor's cat was lurking nearby.

"Is it gone?" Emmie called, and I closed the door.

"Yep."

"Good."

We laughed about the rampaging spider for an hour afterwards, especially because we came away from it with completely different perspectives.

For Emerson, the incident marks the day she almost died.

For me, it marks the first time I've ever seen a spider, those chitinous horrors, do something cute.

Side note: I came across this just a day ago, and it made me LOL.

My younger sister, Kelli, refuses to start her own blog (even though she's the one person in the world who can make me laugh hard enough to vomit), so I have decided that I will occasionally post a story from her part-time gig at a natural foods store in North Georgia.

About an hour outside of Atlanta in a small town is a really high quality natural foods store. Kelli jokes that it's the "Appalachian Emergency Room" because people will come in and ask all manner of questions that one might ask a licensed medical practitioner.

"And you can hardly get a word edgewise before they launch into their stories," Kelli said. Stories that are frequently of a very personal nature. "I just want to interrupt and say, 'Ma'am, I am just a retail clerk. I cannot help you with your vagina.'"

The store owner is a wonderful person - an experienced, licensed homeopath and an all-around natural foods and supplements expert. She's very enthusiastic about her work, to the point that some people might think she's absolutely crackers. But she's not. She's just passionate.

However, one of the things she recommends to people is regular colonics. Now, devotees of a good colon cleanse (most recently marketed as "The Master Cleanse") are quite obsessed, even though there's not a lot of evidence to support their use.

"Have you ever Googled 'colon cleanse?' I've Googled it! Google it now. Do it. There are people who will blog about their colon cleanses, the entire process, with photographs," Kelli exclaimed.

Apparently (and here's where you may want to skip two paragraphs), the colon walls become coated over time with a substance that is eventually expelled during a cleanse.

"It looks like boiled spinach or collard greens, Stacey, and they take these photos of it, where they're showing people what they've just pooped out," Kelli said.

And every one of them is holding up their prize with a stick of some kind. The thing is, all the sticks look familiar...

"You'd think there'd be some difference in the sticks they use, right? Like, some would be just regular sticks from trees, and some might be old broom handles or coat hangers, or something. But, no! They're all about the same color and size and shape - and they're very clean. What I want to know is: Who is marketing the stick?! Who is selling the poop scooper sticks?!"

Click to enlarge.

Me: "Sometimes I wish there were death panels - so I could be on one. I have a list."

Allison: "I think we should use a big foam finger. And when I touch you - BAM! - you've been death-paneled."

Me: "People will be all, 'Not the fingerrrrrrrrrr!' And it will be awesome."

Channing: "You two are just wrong. I'm not listening to you anymore."

And, you know, Merry Christmas, and stuff...

I don't know if there's something stressing Emerson out, or what, but she's been super grumpy in the mornings the last couple of weeks. If she's not careful, she's going to spend a good portion of the rest of her life in time-out. She'll emerge at the age of 28, blinking from the light of the sun and gasping, "Trees! I remember trees!"

You think I kid, but her behavior is ridiculous. This morning, I was trying to get her to brush her hair. She refused to let me braid it the night before, so it was crazy tangled.

"Emmie! Dear lord, you have been brushing your hair for 30 minutes, and you've only done half of it. Will you please make an actual effort?"

Basically, she'd been sitting and staring at the radiator, absently pulling a comb through her tangles. I'd been riding her all morning, to the point where I'd even made a little "We Will Rock You" song-and-dance routine:

"brushyour HAIR! brushyour HAIR!
brushyour HAIR! brushyour HAIR!
Emmie you're a girl, head of cute curls
Brushin' your noggin gonna get smooth hair that way
You got a comb in your hand
Understand
Brush your hair, it's the law of the land.
Singing we will, we will BRUSH YOU!"

Tadaaaaaa!

Blink. Blinkblink.
Seriously. Nothing.

"Emmie, do you think I like telling you to brush your hair all morning? Do you think I get up in the morning, make your breakfast and lunch, take a shower, brush my teeth and think about ways to nag you? Do you think I'm like, 'Today, I will tell Emerson to brush her hair 75 times.' That's not my goal."

She looked directly at me for the first time all morning: "Dat might not be da goal, but it's da score."

*GASP!*

I know there are lots of people who feel depressed over the holidays. I used to feel depressed, but now I just walk around with a big cloud of resentment hanging over me. Who are these people who have the time to make homemade wreaths and tie perfect bows in big, fat wire ribbons? You could poke out an eye with that stuff! How can you bear to climb up a ladder to put up Christmas lights? You know you're in the air, right? Like, not touching the ground?

In short, I detest being surrounded by people who somehow have the time to not only set up Christmas lights in their lawn, but also whip up some code to program the lights and set the display to music. I'm mad that my family has insisted on perpetuating the Santa Claus myth for the children in our family. I'm sure they're very appreciative of a fictional magic elf-man who uses slave labor to deliver toys to all the Christian kids on the planet in one night, traveling faster than the speed of light and possibly time. But fictional elf-man didn't slave over a hot computer screen to purchase that Wii last year, Emerson. Mommy did. And I want gratitude! Santa can bite it!

I am the Grinch in Whoville.

Do I express these thoughts? Well, yes. On my blog. But I try to keep my grousing to a minimum around living, breathing people. I went to our office white elephant gift exchange - and I brought an awesome gift that I found for only $7 at Walgreens!

I feel like I've gotten slightly off the subject here. To sum up, I resent the pressures to create the perfect holiday. And if you, also, resent those pressures and find yourself falling short of a A Very Macy's Christmas, you are not alone. To make you feel better, here is a list of stupid crap I have done in the last week.

Twenty stupid things I have done just this week:

• Set my breakfast on fire in my toaster oven.
• Glued my pants to the floor while doing Christmas crafts with Emerson.
• Put my tights on so twisted that I think I cut off the circulation to my lady parts.
• Run my head into a wall while demonstrating for comic effect how someone else ran their face into the same wall.
• Taken a series of event photos and forgotten to fix the settings on the camera so that out of 100+ shots only five were usable.
• Given almost all of my Christmas gift ideas for Emerson to other people so that now I'm out of gift ideas for Emerson (who is related to a LOT of generous people, apparently).
• Somehow, despite my intentional increase of social media activity in the last few weeks, actually lost points on Klout.
• Forgotten to pack Emerson's ballet shoes in her bag, leading to a meltdown of epic proportions that required me to leave work early to get her to ballet class.
• Reinjured the wound on my chopped foot.
• Baked a whole chicken and then completely forgot about it on the bottom shelf of my refrigerator. Four dollars, trashed.
• Broke a universal remote simply by dropping it on the couch.
• Decided I knew better than a recipe and burned about three pounds of chocolate in the oven. Five dollars, torched.
• Decided I was good enough to trim my bangs with nail scissors. I'll let you imagine the awesome it added to my already oh-so-fashionable exterior. Twenty-five dollars to fix it, slashed.
• Wore plastic shoes to work. My mommy gave them to me, and they're comfortable as heck. I love them.
• Forgot to pack Emmie's lunch one day. I don't know where my brain was. Luckily, she had some money in her meal account. But still... hello, in there!
• Took a picture of my sleeping child, showed her said picture, and utterly freaked her out. "Dats creepy, mama! Don't do dat!" Now, every morning, she checks my phone to see if I've been "checking on her." Sigh...
• Refused to buy an Elf on the Shelf, because I think it's stupid. Commence angry comments. I've already lived through one barrage of them. Come at me, bro!
• Was defeated by the Post Office, once again, regarding international shipping. Thousands of people ship gifts - and sometimes drugs, weapons, and other illegal items - every day through the mail, but I can't get a box of Little Debbie zebra cakes past the glorified cashier to send to a friend in Germany. And why does she even like zebra cakes so much? They're made of sugar, wax and dish sponges! Is this what passes for food in the world's greatest nation?
• Turned in my desk chair, where I'd been sitting in a relaxed position while I wrote, and accidentally mostly-flashed my supervisor. I was obviously not raised right.
• Ate someone else's chocolate. In my defense, it was sitting in the "everyone's food" spot on the counter. And, if you leave chocolate unattended around here, it will get eaten by someone. So, really, it's not my fault at all, right? Right?!

So, this holiday season, know that whatever is going on in your life to stress you out, you can give thanks that you're not a complete incompetent like me. Happy holidays!

Me: "Emmie wants a pet for Christmas. Is a kitten asking for trouble? Maybe I'll just get her a gerbil."

Alice: "How about a parakeet?"

Me: "Eff birds. They terrify me."

Alice: "Me, too!"

Me: "They're just Velociraptors with feathers. You can tack goose down on an alligator, but I'm still not going near it."

At work, eating lunch with co-workers. T. doesn't eat red meat and was horrified to hear that A. had eaten veal parmesan while out to dinner.

T: "I can't believe you ate a baby cow!"

A: "Yes, and it was delicious! I also had Dungeness crab while I was in Charleston. I'd never had that before."

T: "What's Dungeness crab?"

Me: "It's where they raise the crabs in a tiny dungeon to make them more tender. [I make my hands into little claws] Give us free! Give us freeee!"

T: "What?! That's not true, is it?"




see more Lolcats and funny pictures, and check out our Socially Awkward Penguin lolz!

One of the reasons Scott and I don't take Emmie some places - like, to the Georgia Health Sciences Children's Medical Center Radiothon to be interviewed - is because I never know what is going to come out of that child's mouth.

So Christmas is a bit of a concern. I want her to properly use her manners and show her appreciation, but I worry that, instead, relatives will get The Face. The Face is this thing she does when she doesn't get what she wants. Her little mouth turns down, her eyebrows slant back and her voice takes on a whine that could strip the paint off your car.



So I've been role-playing with her.

"Em, what do we do when we get a present?"

"Open it!"

"Well, yes, but what do we say?"

"Fank you!"

"Good! But, what if we don't like what's inside? What if it's something you already have, or something you don't want?"

"We say 'No, fank you.'"

"Eeee! Wrong!" I mimic a game show host, and she laughs. "You say 'Thank you.' What if someone gives you a present and you open it, and it's a box of poo?"

She laughs. "Uh... 'No fank you?'"

"Eeeee! Wrong! There are no exceptions to this rule, Em. You always say thank you. When someone gives you a present, how do you feel?"

"Happy!"

"And like they love you, right?"

"Yes!"

"That's what they're really giving you! They're giving you happiness and love. The present in the box? Well, that's just extra. So even if you hate what they give you, you smile and say something nice about it, because they already gave you happiness and love. And you want to give some to them."

"Okay!" She nods enthusiastically.

"Let's practice. Here you go, Emmie!" I hand her an imaginary box. "Merry Christmas."

She mimics opening it and looks to me for the contents.

"It's a... HAM SANDWICH!"

"Fank you," she says, laughing. "I like samwiches."

"That's awesome, Doodle! Now try to say something specific to the gift, like how you will use it. Oh-ho! You have another present! Merry Christmas!"

She mimes opening it again. I gasp with pretend amazement: "Look, Emmie! It's a box of dirt!"

She giggles: "Oh, fank you! We hab a hole in da yard, an' dis will help me to not fall down in it."

Oh my gosh, this is awesome. Why don't I role-play with her more often? We're both belly-laughing, and it's such an amazing insight into how her mind works.

"Very good! Oh, but we're not done yet - here you go, Emmie! Merry Christmas!"

She opens the imaginary gift, and I clap my hands with faux glee: "Ooooh, it's a live cobra snake - and it bites you in the face!"

"Oh, fanks!" she says, feigning delight. "We don't hab a snake pet! And it has so berry strong fangs!"

I laugh so hard I throw my head back and bang it against the wall. She's just too much!

"Wuz that good, Mama?"

"That was awesome. I think you definitely have this down. You might even be a little dangerous."

"But... mama? Is anyone really goeend ta gib me a real snake?"

"No, baby doll. But if someone went crazy in their brain, and did, what do you say?"

"I say, 'Fank you.'"

"Exactly."

"... but den I gonna run away."

"Yeah, I think that's probably the best course of action."

"I just had a two-hour meeting, the result of which was that we decided to hold a five-hour meeting next week."

"My meetings last about five minutes before the boss gets distracted by something shiny and I have the threaten to punch him in the face."

"My meetings never end and nothing ever gets done. Then I go back to my desk and I have to staple my hand just to refocus."

"At least you have meetings. Most of the time I just do my job with the knowledge that the boss isn't 100 percent sure what he's paying me for, and I'm not 100 percent sure that I can tell him why it's important that I do it."

"I miss meetings. I tried to have them with my kids, but they insisted on bringing their stuffed animals."

"I'd like to schedule a meeting with you about your meetings. When can we meet?"

Well, I suppose we all have our professional challenges.

Augusta, GA. - I have a lot of teachers and teachers-to-be in my extended family. And every year they get a treasure trove of sweet little gifts from their students. Teachers REALLY appreciate the gesture, and while it doesn't change the way they treat your child, I believe it indicates to a teacher what kind of values we teach our children at home. So, if you can, please do something thoughtful for your child's teachers.

That being said, there's only so much coffee a teacher can drink, and only so many places to put apple-themed accessories. So this year, consider the following ideas for your child's teacher(s):

1. Thank You Notes - a sincere handwritten note from your child is worth its weight in coffee mugs. If you're one of the many struggling in this economy, consider this. I know teachers who have framed or scrapbooked the best notes they have received.

2. DIY Coupons - Offer to share your talents/expertise with the class! Teachers are always looking for ways to work with parents and use your collective skills to educate their classes. If you work in communications, consider doing a storytelling project with the children. If you work in accounting, put together a module on applied mathematics. If you work in construction, why not an intro to geometry or physics? If you work in the sciences - dude, you are golden. Get in that classroom!

3. Donations in a Teacher's Name - If your child's teacher has had a challenge (i.e., a death in the family) or supports a special cause (i.e., animal rescue) this year, make a donation in that teacher's name to an appropriate organization (American Cancer Society, Humane Society). They won't forget it.

4. Subject-specific memberships or donations - Say your child's teacher specializes in English. Make a donation to a literacy program. Or pay for a quality book-of-the-month club or a Kindle gift card. Or pay their union dues. Anything that makes sense for them, and that makes that teacher's life a little easier, will be appreciated.

5. Gift Certificates - Teachers spend so much of their person money on classroom supplies. How about a gift certificate to an office-supply store?

6. Gift Certificates, part deux - Pamper your child's 10-hour-a-day on-their-feet teachers with gift certificates for pedicures, for dinner, or for groceries. After all, they didn't get into the profession for the money.

7. Teacher Supply Box - Fill a festive box with any age-appropriate combination of anti-bacterial soap, tissues, pens, pencils, markers, glue, tape, scissors, air fresheners, fans, notepads, construction paper, folders, lined writing paper, binders, paper towels, chalk, dry erase markers, graphing paper, burnable CDs, flash or thumb drives, software, memory sticks, a backup mouse or keyboard, disposable cameras ... whatever is age-appropriate or discipline-specific.

8. Jar of Treats - nothing like a snacky-snack! Make sure it keeps for a while. He or she will likely be sharing those munchies with his or her little munchkins.

9. Elementary/Middle School - Board Games - Again, look for age-appropriate and discipline-specific games. Economics? Choose monopoly. Language Arts? That's Scrabble or Yahtzee. Sciences? For younger kids, there's Totally Gross. Art? Perhaps Pictionary.

10. Donate Your Used Equipment - Look around the house. Do you have an old boom box, computer, television, computer peripherals, camera, clothing, art supplies, board games, DVDs, books, or other items that are still in usable condition? I'll bet your child's teacher can make use of it in her classroom. Consider donating to your child's school before you send your things to the trash heap.

WBBQ is playing Christmas music. The advertising circulars are pushing strings of lights and artificial trees. And someone on Warren Road who doesn't have to worry about paying his electricity bill already has a house and yard with so many lights that it can be seen from space with the naked eye.

That means it's time for the annual declarations that there is a War on Christmas! Drink every time you see a Facebook status update about this raging non-issue!

There is no war on Christmas. There is no plot to rid America of Christianity - a religion to which about 80 percent of the population belongs - because it would be a losing battle from the start (likewise, there is no plot to rid public schools of prayer or copies of The Bible, but that's a post for another day).

What does it take to turn some usually polite and kind folks into whirling dervishes? Say "Happy Holidays" to them. I dare you. Then you, too, can be accused of "trying to take the 'Christ' out of Christmas."

I cannot count the number of times I've been sniped at by grocery store cashiers and random people I encounter for using that phrase. No, honestly, I've actually lost count JUST THIS YEAR.

What's up with the attitude, folks? How productive do you really think it is to snap at me for not having a copy of your social script? Let me answer that for you: Not productive at all. I can guarantee that does not make anyone want to visit your church, or even hang out with you in a casual setting, during which you might have an opportunity to share with them your relationship with Jesus.

I've been saying "Happy Holidays" all my life, and I guess I always just assumed that it referred to all the holidays between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. I never thought it was a dig at Christians - because how is a stranger even supposed to know that you're a Christian when tossing out some seasonal parting phrase?

Granted, if you assume that every person to whom you wish a good winter holiday season is Christian, you would be correct 80 percent of the time. But here's the thing: The other holidays to which many people are referring aren't even non-Christian holidays. After all, there IS a reason for the song "The Twelve Days of Christmas."

Protestant Christians who come from different ethnicities and nationalities and non-Protestant Christians all celebrate more religious holidays in December than just Christmas. Do you know who celebrates Christmas like "Christmas Defenders" think it should be celebrated? White folks raised in a Protestant home in America. White folks raised in a Protestant home in Germany or Sweden or Canada celebrate additional religious holidays in December. Likewise, any American raised in a Catholic, Episcopalian, Lutheran, Greek Orthodox, Christian Orthodox or Coptic Christian home also celebrates additional religious holidays in December.

For example, Saint Nicholas Day is Dec. 6. On this day, Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Episcopalians and Lutherans host a festival for children to honor the pious Dutch miracle-worker and gift-giver - from whom, of course, Americans partially draw the Santa Claus legend.

The one that always choked me up in Sunday School is Holy Innocents' Day, also called Childermas (Children's Mass). Celebrated on Dec. 27 or 28, on this day the faithful honor all of the children who were murdered by King Herod in his attempt to kill the infant Jesus before he rose to power: "A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children." (Jeremiah 31:15) Some historians say as many as 10,000 children were slaughtered. Weeping and great mourning, indeed.

So, cashiers far and wide can snap at me all you want, but that behavior engenders ZERO peace on earth and goodwill towards men. So don't be surprised if I snap back. Because in honor of those 10,000 children, and to be as inclusive of friends from all faiths and traditions, I will continue to say "Happy Holidays" to everyone this time of year.

I'm not taking Christ out of Christmas. I'm inviting everyone to what is supposed to be a month-long party.

December/January Christian Holidays

• Dec. 6 - Saint Nicholas Day (Christian)
• Dec. 8 - Feast of the Immaculate Conception (Catholic Christian)
• Dec. 12 - Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe (Catholic Christian)
• Dec. 16-25 - Posadas Navidenas (Christian)
• Dec. 22 - Yule (Christian)
• Dec. 24 - Christmas Eve (Christian)
• Dec. 25 - Christmas (Christian), Feast of the Nativity (Orthodox Christian)
• Dec. 26 - Feast of Saint Stephen (Christian), Boxing Day (Christian)
• Dec. 28 - Holy Innocents Day - (Christian)
• Dec. 30 - Feast of the Holy Family (Catholic Christian)
• Dec. 31 - Watch Night (Christian), New Year's Eve (Secular/Pagan/Christian)
• Jan. 1 - Feast of St. Basil (Orthodox/Christian)
• Jan. 6 - Epiphany (Christian), Three Kings' Day (Catholic Christian)
• Jan. 7 - The Nativity of Jesus Christ (Orthodox/Christian)

Three co-workers and I are driving to lunch, when we pause at the 15th Street intersection. A digital billboard flashes an ad.

"Every had one of those nights?" it asks, with a photo of a tattoo that the advertiser wants to remove for customers.

The ad changes.

"If babies could talk, they'd insist on our hospital," the ad says, flashing a photo of a sleeping baby.

"What they should do is combine those ads," Channing says. "Ever had one of those nights? Boom. Baby photo."

Someone get this man a marketing job.

Emerson's class had a module about honey at school, and she wanted to try some of the recipes included in the information packet. So we went to New Life Natural Foods to pick up some organic honey, after having read this story recently. At the counter, Emerson began telling the cashier about the module.

"An' she tole us all about how beeth make honey, an' it wuz AWEthome!" Emmie said. She sometimes reverts into a sort-of lisp when she's excited.

"Who was it who came to your class?" the cashier asked.

"Ummmm... I don't brenembered her name," Emmie said.

"Was it Deborah Sasser? She's just wonderful," the cashier asked.

Emmie shook her head: "I don't fink so. Her name started wif Miss."

Emerson called me on the phone while I was at work.

"Mama? Is wine a drug?"

"Yes, alcohol is a drug."

"So, alcohol is a drug, an' wine is alcohol?"

"That's right. Why do you ask?"

"Wull, I made a sign, but daddy diddin' beleeb me. He got mad at me."

"Give me the phone," Scott barks.

Uh-oh...

D.A.R.E. and local law enforcement have spoken to her class in the past couple of weeks. She's come to me for clarification about what drugs are, etc., so I was aware of the curriculum. Scott may not have been up to speed.

"She made a sign that said, 'Wine is a drug. Don't drink it,'" Scott explained.

Occupy the Liquor Store! Her protest sign says: "Wine is a drug. So don't drink wine. Cause wine is one." The sad person (left) drank the wine, she said. The happy person did not.

And then she marched out the front door of Cheers Wine & Beverage and staged a mini-protest on the sidewalk. She paraded back and forth, holding the sign over her head and chanting, "Wine! Is! A! Drug! Don't! Drink! It!" much to the amusement of passersby.

Occupy The Liquor Store lasted all of three minutes, before Scott realized what she was doing and staged a citizen's arrest. No pepper spray was deployed.

But Emerson's righteousness - impotent as it may be - could not be contained. She called me to get me to intervene. The protest would go on! But I couldn't. When I got done cackling, instead of taking her side ("Betrayal! Thy name is Mother!"), I explained the difference between legal and illegal drugs.

"Legal drugs are allowed for adults only, but in small amounts," I explained. "You weren't entirely incorrect, honey. People shouldn't drink wine all the time. But maybe the front of daddy's business - where he sells wine in order to make money - wasn't the best place for your protest."

"Oh... Okay, mama. I'll find somewhere else."

We may have to unleash her on the competition.

She's sorry, Daddy!

Sort of...

Anyone who has hung out with me for more than a few months knows that I periodically spend time on crutches. It's just what I do. It's like, "Why do bears hibernate?" They just do. "Why does Stacey fall down?" I just do.

So a couple of days ago, I fell down again. I didn't break any bones this time, yay! But there was blood, boo.

Our living room, dining room and kitchen are all open to one another. But while the living/dining area is hardwood, the kitchen is rockin' some linoleum because it is just so cool. Linoleum is like retro hipster kitchen flooring - or so I tell myself. Anyway, where the two types of flooring meet, the landlord installed an idiotic strip of metal to join them.

I don't even know why you'd put a hump of metal in the middle of high-traffic area, but that's what he did. It's ugly, unwieldy and apparently dangerous even for mere walking. Because the other morning, at 6 a.m., I went from living room to kitchen, and hit my foot on something, nearly falling on my face. I took a step to steady myself, and... squish.

"That's an awful lot of blood on the floor," I thought. "Oh, wait, that's my blood!"

The metal edge of the flooring-whatever-majig had bent up through normal wear and tear. The edge of it caught the pad on the ball of my foot and sliced it. Sliced it like ham, people!

And, of course, as soon as I lifted my foot to look it, it started hurting. A lot.

"Hey, Em? Could you grab me a paper towel?" I called, while I watched the blood pool in the wound, and run down my foot in rivulets. She trotted out of the bedroom, saw my foot, and began sprinting in circles.

"Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!" she cried. "You're bleeding!"

"Emmie! Honey, it's okay. Just grab a paper towel."

"I don't know where dey are!"

"They're in the same place they always are: above the sink."

"I don't know how to get dem!"

"Just grab your blue chair. It's right there. Honey, right... Emmie, it's... no, there, sweetie. Look where mama's pointing. Right there. Baby, right there. It's where it always is. Right by the door. Emerson. Seriously."

She got the paper towels and helped me to the bathroom, where I saw things I never want to see again.

Y'all. There is stuff inside your foot. Gross stuff.

(DISCLAIMER: If you have a weak stomach, you may want to skip the rest of this post, wherein I describe said gross stuff).


So, this is the foot. The red line is how I sliced it.


This is kind of what it looked like. Except not cloven and such (those are pigs' feet).

Oh, it gets better! Because I hadn't actually sliced it like ham. No, no. I sliced it like spiral ham. That means a portion of it was still attached. And that portion was all jammed up into the wound.

So, sitting on my bathroom counter, I took a pair of tweezers, poked them inside the wound (ow), pulled out the gross partially attached portion (ow) and straightened it out (ow). Can I just tell you what a badass I am?

I'm like this dude:




But... what do you do with that still-attached portion?

I don't know!

I started to cut it off. But... ow. So I washed the entire area with antibacterial soap (ow). Emerson sprayed it with Bactine (ow) and doused it with Neosporine (ow). I put the puzzle pieces back together (ow) and Emerson bandaged it up (ow).

I put a sock on under sandals and limped on into work. It really needed stitches, but that's a $100 co-pay I'm not willing to pay.

In the meantime, of course I contacted my landlord to come and fix this crap.

Emerson's been very fascinated with the whole procedure. She insists that she must check my boo-boo several times a day, and gets more confident each time. "Mmmhmm. Dat's doeend very well. Loots good, mama! Brenembered to keep it clean, and we'll change da Band-aids in da morneend."

This morning, we went through my daily wound-care process again. Y'all, I didn't intentionally involve Emerson into my gross foot wound. She totally took charge. "Sit here, mama. I goeend tate care ub dis."

She's a right old expert at it now. In fact, I think she really, really likes it. She lays out all the stuff (she calls them "'gredients," like we're cooking my foot up for dinner - gross!) and carefully and cheerfully applies everything. She doesn't even hurt me anymore.

"That's great Em! Thanks so much for helping!"

"Mama?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you fink you can call me 'Dahtor Emerson?'"

"Absolutely."

So, if you see my Doodlebug around town, "brenembered" that she's Dr. Emerson, now. And if you need any Band-aids, she says Dora or Spongebob Band-aids work best.

I've been thinking about this one incident a lot lately, and because I know you all want to hear every little thought that comes into my pea brain, I thought I'd share it with you. You're very welcome!!

Years ago, I was dating this really nice guy. We'd been together for a couple of years. One day, he was in the midst of a heated rant about something or other. He was irritated and venting. I thought he was way off base, so I told him so.

He stopped, put his hands on his hips and said politely but bluntly: "You know, sometimes I just want you to agree with me."

Blink. Blinkblink. You mean you don't want to hear my opinion? Well, what kind of bullshit is that?!

What kind of bullshit is that? That's the kind of loving bullshit one brings into a relationship to build a foundation of mutual trust and support. I took that comment of his to heart and tried my best to shut the frack up more often in life.

Of course, it's important that the other partner not be entirely full of crap, or the kind of person who rants all the time. Nothing can support a platform built entirely out of hot air.

I still laugh at myself - and at his honesty - more than 10 years later whenever I have a conversation with someone. Because sometimes agreeing with someone isn't so much a statement of fact or honor as it is a statement of love.

I'm going to remember that as Emerson grows and later becomes a teenager, a series of years during which children exist entirely on a diet of hormones, drama and high fructose corn syrup.

And after one of my conversations with her (assuming she speaks to me), when I find myself asking, "What kind of teenage bullshit is that?" I'm going to remember: the kind that deserves love.

Emerson, Jackson and I were playing Mario Kart for the Wii, when Emerson announces she no longer cares to play. She flounces out, and we continue to battle. Stupid red team always beats us.

Fifteen minutes later, Emerson wanders back in, toting a walkie-talkie, and sees that we're about to start her favorite board.

"I want to play," she says.

"When we finish this round you can play," I reply.

She frowns and raises the walkie-talkie to her mouth: "I want to play! I repeat: I want to play! Over."

We let her play. I have a rule that clever or funny communication gets taken more seriously than whining. I actively encourage and reward it. You haven't lived until your child has burst into a spontaneous, original song, while you're driving down I-20, about how much she has to go to the bathroom.

Emerson and I were driving to my parents' house in Atlanta and discussing the upcoming holidays. Thanksgiving plans have been made, and I was letting her know how we'll coordinate between two families. But Thanksgiving is a slightly touchy subject with Emerson, who has been concerned about the plight of Native Americans for years. Sure enough, as soon as I mention turkey day...

"Mama! Did you know dat all dis land belonged to da Native 'Mer-cans, but some white people stoled it?"

Um, well...

"Yes, I suppose that's correct, Emerson."

She scowls in the back seat, her tiny anger as adorably ineffectual as always. "If I find doze people, I would beat dem up."

So, that's not good. I'll try to put it into perspective for her.

"I don't think beating people up is the answer. Besides, Emmie, all this land in America belonged to the Native Americans. The whole country. So everyone in America is living on stolen land. You, me - everyone."

She stares at the passing countryside, mouth agape: "Everyone?!"

"Everyone."

She sighs and shakes her head. "Man... das a lot of people I gotta beat up."

Somehow that didn't work out like I'd hoped.

Louisville, Ga., may not be a Mecca for tourism, but agri-tainment complex Kackleberry Farms more than justifies the 40-minute drive from Augusta out into the country. This is the last weekend that the farm will be open, so try to make it out there with the whole family!

Kackleberry Farms opened in 2007 to combine education and agriculture with a corn maze and other seasonal attractions. But the owners, Mitch and Lisa Vaughn, have added something new every year, and now have almost 60 activities.

Pumpkin painting

Little kids: The Kiddie Korral is a play yard with sand pile, see-saw, playfort, slides and a swing; the Korny Box is a sandbox made of corn (not great for building korn kastles, but feels kool); the Kow Train is cow-painted cars pulled by a tractor; the Hay Jump is a six-foot-high stack of hay bales with a pile of straw underneath.

All aboard the cow train!

For everyone: The Korn Kannon allows visitors to shoot corn cobs (korn kobs?) at targets with an air cannon; Steer Roping allows patrons to try their hand at roping a cow's head replica; the Duck Race lets you race rubber duckies propelled by an old-fashioned water pump; the Jumping Pillow is a huge inflatable almost 50 yards long; the Kackleberry Speedway has pedal cars for all sizes; ax throwing demonstrations (which I'm no longer allowed to do... my bad) have some kind of purpose, I'm sure, and the corn maze offers an orienteering exercise that can challenge even the best - but Emmie led me in and out in 10 minutes! She's a freak of nature, seriously.

Thirteen-year-old Jackson rocked the ax-throwing.

Our favorites

We spent most of our time racing each other in the giant Rooster Rollers and rolling each around in giant PVC pipes. We also loved feeding and petting the farm animals (donkeys, horses, goats, sheep, cows, chickens and a pig that repeatedly tried to bite us), and watching the two smaller kids ride the zip-line swing called the Wiggle Worm.

The Wiggle Worm zip line swing.

Emmie did not want to leave the Rooster Rollers.

But there are so many other activities that it's ridiculous: Checkers and tic-tac-toe sets, pumpkin painting, face painting, pony rides, a pumpkin patch, a flower patch, "bull-riding," snacky snacks (oh, good gravy, the funnel cakes...), tire climbing, giant rocking chairs and piggy banks for photo opportunities, laser tag and gem mining.

Make your own photo opp.

Jackson and Allison in a riveting game of checkers.

Anna Grace looking gorgeous on a giant pink pig.

We spent 5-6 hours out there and couldn't possibly do everything there was to do. All for the price of a prime-time movie ticket - and less than the price of a 3D movie ticket.

You want to hear the part that made me very happy? They had real bathrooms. Such a small thing, but port-a-potties make me crazy. Can't stand them (hear that Nantahala Outdoor Center? One toilet at the put-in spot is all we ask).

Also, apart from some music piped in, there's not a single digital device in use out there. No cell phone reception, no iPads, no televisions. It's a whole world of analog activities. I don't even remember how that used to be. No one complained. No one missed the ever-present drone and vibration. And nothing I see on "The Daily Show" has ever made me laugh as hard as trying to compete in a giant hamster-wheel run with five other people.


If you go:

Bring: a camera, coats, gloves (not mittens) and shoes/boots you don't mind getting dirty; $4 for pony rides, $1 for face painting, and more for funnel cakes and other yumminess.

Leave: cell phones, ipods, game systems, bystander-itis.

Some folks don't do Twitter - but that's where I do some of my best work! Or, as Alice Wynn says, where I tell my best "Popsicle stick jokes."

Oct. 28
@natinde Thought you'd like to know that Emmie finally named her stuffed elephant today. And she shall call her... Margaret. #parenting

"Ooooh, sorry, Doodle! Mommy doesn't have very good aim." "Owwww! You should really practice!" # parenting # fail

Oh, wow, the temperature outside is fabulous! I love #fall! #weather

NO, #Microsoft Word thesaurus, "navigate" is NOT a synonym for "navigated." Useless piece of... #MSOffice #work

Wrap dresses are very forgiving - thanks @DianeVFSales! - until your boss buys an enormous lunch for everyone, including FOUR desserts! #WLS

Wrap dresses are also very forgiving until the wind blows. #DVF #fashion #OopsMyBad

This video from @TMZ wouldn't really be funny except... Elvis?! tinyurl.com/3kh7qf7 #Usher #TMZ

But, @UsherReal, you really shouldn't be parking in a handicapped space if you don't need one. #Usher #TMZ

My daughter has taken up #planking. On me. Argh, scoot over, child! #sleep #parenting


Oct. 29
Okay, for real this time, we're headed to Kackleberry Farms in Louisville, Ga. Thanks again, @LindseyThetford! #parenting #Halloween

Last day to pick up ingredients for #Halloween drink recipes from Cheers Wine & Beverage: tinyurl.com/3noxcvz #dining #beverages

Random thought: Am I the only person who would kind of LIKE a sequel to "Love, Actually?" #movies #Liam Neeson #Emma Thompson #Alan Rickman

Oct. 30
So, I'm not allowed to throw the axes at #Kackleberry Farms anymore... #parenting #OopsMyBad

Rubbing my hands together to warm them. Emmie: "Be careful. You might start a fire wif doze." Guess I need moisturizer. #parenting

Not happy to be up sick for three hours, but I've been kept company by an #owl declaring his #eternal yes! And a spoon, please...

Awake with a stomachache. Maybe I am of an age where hot sauce and onions don't mix. #Tums

Here, #Kanye and #Jay-Z, is HOW IT'S DONE: tinyurl.com/b8dwpp. Or, in a pinch, this will do: tinyurl.com/3smo747 #music #otis redding

#Kanye and #Jay-Z now on my "poo list" for murdering one of my fave songs, #Otis Redding's "Try a Little Tenderness." Blasphemy! #music


Oct. 31
Em: What are you s'posed ta be? Kid: A gangster. Em: Wull, you diddin gank me!

"Dog on LSD hit by car." Um... what? Come on, idiots, don't force your poor life choices onto your DOG. tinyurl.com/3l3qmb9

Seven billion people in the world. What number are you? tinyurl.com/3gj9qh5 #population #sustainability #BBC

Oh, dentists, Y U MAKE MY JOB HARDER?! tinyurl.com/5ttj3ax #parenting #dentistry #Halloween


Nov. 1
Emerson just whispered "trick or treeeaaat" in her sleep right in my ear. Heart still pounding. Creepiest sound ever. #Halloween #parenting

My friend wanted to rock Halloween for neighborhood kids. She bought 100 full-size candy bars to hand out. This morning, she has 99 left.

She may actually have 100 candy bars left, but I figure she ate one eventually... #Halloween

Nov. 2
Captain Obvious says: Maybe if you're pushing an infant in a stroller across a busy road, you should use a crosswalk. #parenting

Yes, I sometimes let my first-grader do her homework with a pen. Some moms just want to watch the world burn. #parenting #CantFindaPencil

"@nytimes: $25 and Under: Airy Macarons nyti.ms/uRdt1Y" Will everyone in NYC shut up about macaroons? They're no big deal! #food #dining

Hello, Paycheck! Oh, Bills, I didn't see you sitting there... goodbye, Paycheck. #finance



Nov. 3
Thanks to the little twerp who "found" my daughter's coat the very first day she wore it. Enjoy it. #TeachYourChildrenRight #parenting

TIL that rubbing alcohol erases Sharpie from Mario Kart for the Wii. That's $49.95 Santa Claus didn't have to spend this year. #parenting

I just tried to say "See you later" to my boss, and complete gobbledegook came out of my mouth. Is my tongue paralyzed?! #work

Woman at the bus stop covered in baby powder - or is it? #PeopleAreStrange


Nov. 4
Also, how does one keep a child from misplacing her "glubbs" every other day? Staple them to her hands? #parenting #help

Um, heh... Apologies to the "little twerp who 'borrowed' my daughter's coat." Seems it was in the classroom the whole time. #parenting #fail

Big meeting this morning. Couldn't find my eyeliner, but I had a Sharpie! Not Bad. #fashion #beauty

I think the cashiers here are all asleep. #Walmart

My child is so flippin' special that she got TWO costumes for #Halloween this year. [facepalm] tinyurl.com/3drggpr #parenting

"So my daughter was telling me about an accident one of her gymnastics teammates had. She said, 'And then she fell on That Part That Shall Not Be Named.'"

"She fell on Voldemort?!"

So, I think Emerson might have had fun on Halloween. Every year, her Nona takes her to the neighborhood Halloween party, and then I take her trick-or-treating with friends. That usually means that she gets TWO costumes - one ladylike costume from her Nona, and one costume of insanity from me. It works out pretty great, actually.