Santa Eats Roast Beef

After church this morning, my daughter and I decided to go to lunch solo, sans the male members of the family. It’s only day 3 of Christmas break, and my husband and her brother are both getting on our nerves, respectively. So, we left them to eat ham and cheese sandwiches and stale Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies and we headed down to our local diner. We both ordered breakfast because there’s never a wrong time to consume greasy sausage links and hash browns. Then we chatted about mundane things like where butter comes from and her baby brother’s latest tantrum which stemmed from his refusal to get off the toilet this morning so she could use it. I don’t condone physically removing your younger sibling from the crapper and pushing him into the bathtub unless it’s early and you really really really need to go and he just sits there dangling his legs and refusing to get … Continue reading

My Ultimate Holiday Survival Kit

  Ho, ho, ho, people. Christmas is upon us. And it truly is the most wonderful time of the year. The good folks over at Man Crates reached out and asked me to write a post about five things that would undoubtedly be in my holiday survival kit, if I possessed such a thing. It took me a whopping .5 seconds to pick my essentials. 1. Reddi Whip Yes, it tastes delicate atop a warm slice of pumpkin pie, but it’s also pretty awesome to hold that cold aerosol can to my face and spray the goodness directly into my mouth. That’s how I roll. 2. Gap Sweatpants Oh so warm, oh so comfy, oh so elastic-y. These are the perfect pants to wear while doing that whole obscene Reddi Whip thing that I mentioned in #1. 3. Alarm Clock How else would I remember to startle awake at 1:00 … Continue reading

Dear Girl

Dear Girl, The time will one day come when you and I clear the shelves at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Grab those fluffy pillows and picture frames and a zebra-printed comforter. You’ll love that groovy bean bag and shaggy rug and plush towels and what the hey, let’s throw in a water filtration pitcher. You’ll pack all of your new stuff into Rubbermaid totes and cram them into the back of my 14-year-old SUV (with horrible gas mileage and faulty lumbar settings) that has been passed down to you. You’ll toss a couple of photo albums and a suitcase of clothes and your old ragged Pillow Pet in the back seat and you’ll be ready to go to college. Your father, he will cry. He’ll really try not to cry, but he will. You are his baby girl- our first born. He’ll pretend his watery eyes are a result of … Continue reading

Dear Boy

Dear Boy, As you sleep peacefully on your top bunk in Spiderman pajamas with your inseparable ratty teddy bear under one arm and Hulk under the other, I think about how quickly you’ve grown. It seems just like yesterday you were pooping your Pampers and puking your peas. Before I know it, that ratty teddy bear will be in the attic, Hulk will go to Goodwill and you’ll be sleeping in a bunk bed in some cinderblock college dorm. I’m not going to be one of those mothers who praises the Heavens, does the Macarena in the driveway and rips the cork out of the wine bottle with bare teeth before your taillights have disappeared down the street. No, my boy. I’m not going to celebrate that you’ve flown from the nest. I’m going to miss you terribly. I’ll be that idiot helicopter mama who falls to the concrete and sobs. … Continue reading

This Storm

Storms come into all of our lives. Sometimes, like radar, we see them ominously approaching. Other times they can appear as quickly as the sudden summer shower that causes us to haphazardly throw all our crap in the beach bag and scurry for the hotel. When these storms come, for me, it’s difficult to know if and when I should share my grief with others. If I make known the details of my hardship too soon, I feel that people will interpret it as me wanting pity or attention. If I don’t share it at all, I somehow feel cheated–not from people’s pity–but from the missed prayers and encouragement that I could have received. And I truly believe that prayer and encouragement make the most powerful umbrella for weathering storms. I just decided moments earlier to publically disclose my latest storm- while I’m in the very midst of the downpour- … Continue reading

Dear Young Couple

Dear Young Couple, I don’t personally know you, but I spent 45 minutes observing you last week. Wait. I’m not some stalking psycho. Before you reach for a can of pepper spray or notify the authorities, please allow me to explain. You were standing in line at a tourist attraction and my family was behind you. Do you remember those beautiful blue-eyed children who whined about the wait and took turns begging to climb onto that poor man’s shoulders while his wife said the words, “don’t” and “stop” 375 times? Yes, that was us. I first noticed your high heels, young lady. As I admired them, I was reminded of the days when I could tour a museum or wait in a line for hours in stylish pumps. “That seems like so long ago”, I thought, as I glanced down at my New Balance tennis shoes secretly lined with Dr. … Continue reading

Ten Kids’ TV Shows That Really Work My Nerves

When my daughter was small, I knew the words to every “Yo Gabba Gabba” episode, verbatim, which I incoherently recited at random and, in turn, caused friends and loved ones to believe I was on hallucinogenic drugs. When my son was born, I swore that I wouldn’t let him watch annoying television that managed to take a toll on my mental health, but I’ve failed horribly. He has many favorite television shows, but these ten really work my nerves: 1. Transformers: Prime- I’m convinced that each story line in this new twist on an old classic was taken from the Book of Revelation. It’s dark, it’s apocalyptic and it leaves me with so many questions. *What do the words coming out of Optimus Prime’s metal mouth mean? *Autobots and the Decepticons look exactly alike, so how do I know who to root for? *Is Cybertron the Transformer’s version of Best Buy? *Is … Continue reading

That’s Enough, SAHM’s

Oh, the poor, exhausted stay-at-home mother: her yoga pants constantly covered in little people’s various body fluids and her dreams of backpacking across Europe flushed down the toilet with her cell phone (courtesy of her toddler). The sad, resentful woman with a sink full of dirty dishes, a hamper full of grass-stained clothes, unhelpful husband, ornery children and burned chicken. Before you rip the electric sliding doors from your minivans and charge at me with sharp kitchen utensils because of that first controversial paragraph, please know that I, too, am a stay-at-home mom (SAHM), raised by a SAHM, and constantly surrounded by friends and family who are also SAHMs, so I have some authority on this subject. I know what it’s like to have a horrible day. I know what it’s like to run a fever of 103, with the intense desire to sleep, and still have to burp people … Continue reading

Whoa! Susannah’s Moving Pictures

Hey guys and gals (Mostly gals. Guys tend not to put up with my nonsense for long). I’ve heard the cry from the masses. “Do more videos, Susannah. We really want to hear your whiny, Southern drawl. It’s mesmerizing.” And I’ve fulfilled your requests with TWO new You Tube videos. In the first video, I felt the overwhelming desire to tell the story of some redneck shenanigans that I witnessed in my local general hospital. Warning: Mispronounced procedures and Marvin the Martian pajama pants play a pivotal role. In the second video, my husband went out of town on business, my mother kept my children, and I was left home alone. What better way to spend the evening than with my best friend, who was also husband and kid-free for the night? We had a grand old time chatting, watching Seth Rogan flicks and then deciding to share makeup tips with … Continue reading

Cancelling My Guilt Trip

I remember swiping a grape from my hometown grocery store’s produce department when I was about 8 or 9. Before the dirty purple sphere made it down my throat, I knew I was destined to burn in hell for stealing. The guilt was so unbearable that I could never again go grocery shopping with my mother without remembering my sin. That was the first and last time I ate fruit that couldn’t be validated with a receipt. I felt guilty for big things like lying to my mother and coming home after curfew. And little things like shoving stuff under my bed instead of putting it in its proper place. I didn’t eventually outgrow the guilt. No, no, no. It followed me right into adulthood, like a rabid mouth-foaming monkey on my back. My hangovers have always consisted of excessive dry mouth, nausea and a heaping side of guilt. Retail therapy is great until the shame sets … Continue reading