Urine

Our Jude-Dude has always been a little odd. The child has a unique, yet hilarious sense of humor, and has understood and used sarcasm for as long as I can remember. An example, when he went on his first field trip with his preschool class, my mother-in-law accompanied him. His teacher asked, "Who did you bring with you today Jude?" He had just recently turned 4 years old, and his response was, "I don't know who this lady is."

People who specialize in psychology have told me it's a sign of genius. I don't plan on telling him this any time soon. I'm sure he'd use the information for some maniacal scheme.

His latest stab at comedic genius has come in the form of bed wetting. He hasn't wet the bed in years, and all of a sudden I noticed he was smelling a lot like urine. "Are you peeing in your bed?" I asked one morning.

He gave me a devilish grin, "Yes!"

"Uh, why?" I was afraid to ask.

"Because I felt like it," he laughed.

At bed time, my massive pregnant belly struggled to put the fitted sheet back on his bunk bed. As soon as I finished dressing his whole bed, he dove under the covers and nestled in, then he giggled and said, "Ahhhh....give me these warm blankets to pee in!"

"You better stop peeing in your bed," I threatened.

"But it's awesome!" he replied from somewhere under his blankets.

Lesson 171: your kid peeing his bed because "it's awesome" = white trash

This went on for two weeks, until the other night when Adam was the one to tuck him in. "Why does your bed smell like pee!" Adam yelled, "Jess, come here!"

I walked down to the boys room to see Adam ripping off all five thousand blankets and pillows Jude insists on sleeping with (and peeing on).

"Ugh..." Adam looked repulsed, "everything smells like urine!" he yelled.

Jet was up in his top bunk and said, "what's urine?"

"It means pee Jet," Adam informed him as he threw another pee-tastic blanket at me to put in the wash.

"Ooooooh....in what language?" Jet asked.

Adam gave me a look like, these are our children? "Uh...English."

Lesson 172: kids being so trashy they don't know the proper word for pee = white trash

Once the blankets were off, it revealed a very large stain on the mattress. "Wow! That's a lot of urine!" Jet exclaimed. Way to use it in a sentence buddy.

After Lysoling the crap out of Jude's mattress, Adam gave it a flip. He then looked at Jude and said, "This isn't funny, and if you pee in your bed again I'm moving you upstairs in Jovie's room."

Yeah, who's funny now? Needless to say, he hasn't peed in his bed since. :)

Dryer

Well, it's been about a month since my dryer broke. I really have no one to blame but myself. The poor thing was here when we moved in 10 years ago, and who knows how long it was here before that. I also beat it up after its washing counterpart died several years ago and we replaced it with the biggest capacity washer on the market. Adam even said to me when we got it, "Now Jess, I know how you are. You aren't going to be able to fill this washer and then put it all in our dryer. Our dryer doesn't have the ability to dry a load that big." That would be the point where I rolled my eyes. I agreed, but knew I wasn't going to listen. He wasn't the one who had to do the endless amounts of laundry our family produced. I'm serious. The laundry in this piece is stupid.

I probably should have listened, because it broke at the worst possible time, of course, and we won't be able to afford a new one anytime soon. Oh well. It really isn't that big of a deal. I'm very thankful I still have a washer. (*knock-on-wood*) When our washer broke, I washed laundry in our bathtub by hand, and that was when we only had half the kids. If that happened now, I'd be stuck in the bathtub all day long until my skin fell off.

There are some downsides to this whole ordeal. First, the kids and Adam are always complaining about scratchy towels, stretched out socks, or having one sleeve of their shirts being stretched so far it touches the ground. Do I send them to work and school looking like fools? Yes. I'm a blimp right now, so stretched out clothes make me feel thin.

The second thing that stinks, is that I can only do one load of laundry a day. Well, I could do more, but that brings me to the third inconvenience. Space. I have a clothesline in the basement, but it only holds about 3/4 of a load. I told my mom, I still use my dryer to dry clothes, but this is what I meant.......

Lesson 170: by saying you use your dryer to dry clothes, you mean hanging laundry on top of it = white trash

The next thing that is frustrating is the amount of time I have to spend on one load of laundry. I never realized how lucky I was to be able to go down to the laundry room and rock out about 5 loads of laundry in a day, and only lose about 15 minutes of my life. (Not counting the folding. That takes me hours after the kids are asleep.) Now, going down to "do" laundry takes me 15 minutes just to get the stuff out of the washer onto the line and try to figure out where to put the extras that don't fit. Then it takes me 10 minutes everytime I go down to check on the progress and flip it all around so it dries evenly.

That part wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have little ones who capitalized on these opportunities. It seems to be prime time for sneaking candy and destroying the house. I'm sure you're thinking, Why don't you have the older boys help? I've tried. It doesn't work out. An example for you...Jovie and Stone were going to come down to do laundry with me, so I asked the 4 older boys to keep an eye on the twins. I even told them if the twins got out of hand to come down and get me. It wasn't like I was miles away, I was one whole floor away. I thought everything would be alright. I was wrong. When I came back up, the twins were nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the twins?" I asked.

Marky looked at me and replied, "I don't know. Where are they?"

"Uh, you tell me. Weren't you boys supposed to be watching them?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot."

Frustrated, I went upstairs to find them splashing in the toilet wearing pee-soaked toilet paper hats. Yeah...the older boys are about useless in that department.

The dryer being taken away from me has been mildly aggravating, but I'm not going to complain. We're so very blessed to just have clothes to wash when so many are deprived of that luxury. So, when I feel myself getting frustrated, I stop and say a prayer instead, a prayer for anyone who doesn't have a washer or dryer, or those who don't have clothes, and it even makes me think of those who don't have clean water.I have been so blessed, and it's bizarre, but I'm kind of thankful for my broken dryer because it has caused me to be a tad more appreciative and prayerful, and I can always use help in that department.

Dear dryer,

Thank you for all the years of dried and perfectly-fitted clothes, and towels that didn't rip with a little pull.

Love,

Jess

P.S. Sorry I killed you.

A Johnston Halloween

I may think Halloween is a financial nightmare, but everyone else in my house seems to love it. It was much easier when the kids were smaller and didn't care about their costumes. Now it's as if their lives will end if they don't have the costume they desire.

The Halloween whining started as soon as school did. Adam and I both have a creative gene floating around inside of us, and our kids have all been blessed to have acquired these genes. But this means big costume ideas. Unfortuanely for us this year, their costume wants came from obscure video games. Jude and Marky wanted to be a character called Slenderman, and Jet was insistant on dressing like a Creeper from the game Minecraft.

Adam, being like some Halloween Fairy, saying, "All your Halloween dreams will come true", was up for the challenge. Luckily, Party City made these new costumes called Morphsuits, and one looked close enough to Slenderman that Jude was happy, but there was nothing close to a Creeper that we could buy in a store. This 8-bit costume nightmare is a Creeper.... 

The night before the kids' school parties, I helped Adam finish Jet's costume. I laughed, because at one point Adam stepped back and said, "What am I doing? I need to chill out. This is a 7 year old's costume for school. It's not like some other 7 year old is going to critique my work."

Lesson 165: stressing out and trying to perfect a cardboard box costume because you're scared of what a bunch of 2nd graders are going to think = white trash

I personally think he rocked it.

The kids love it so much it became like a family member. The boys took it everywhere with them, and when Stone first saw it, he hugged it and said, "I wuv you Cweeper!" Here's the Creeper watching Jet play Minecraft with the other brothers.



Lesson 166: a chunk of cardboard being treated like a long lost brother = white trash

The costumes were a hit in 5th grade, I hear, though not many fellow classmates knew who they were supposed to be.

After carving pumpkins, it was time for Trick-or-Treat. Did I mention the kids carved their own pumpkins this year? That is quite an accomplishment. Adam and I have spent countless years carving multiple pumpkins by ourselves, with cramped hands, and kids screaming in our faces, "Are they done yet? Why aren't they done yet?!" The only exception was Jovie's pumpkin. It wasn't actually a pumpkin. It was a big gourd that was bought because it looked like Yoda's head. It was practically uncarvable and caused Adam to break out the jigsaw.

Lesson 167: using a jigsaw to carve pumpkins = white trash

Trick-or-Treating turned out to be an experience, as usual. Because of the hurricane it was pushed back to Saturday, so Brett couldn't sit at our house and give out candy while the twins slept. We had to take a double stroller AND a wagon.

The other thing that turned out to be a problem, was Jet's costume. The poor kid was stuck in a box. He could hardly hear, had no peripheral vision, and couldn't walk up and down stairs. We'd be walking somewhere, then turn to see Jet wandering around aimlessly on the other side of the street. Then there was the problem with his head. Every time he'd look down in a candy dish, his big block head would fall off into the bowl. Adam finally ran back to the house and grabbed some tape. He came back and wrapped a ridiculous amount of tape around his costume. Being in Pittsburgh, we have a lot of hills, and where there are hills, there are a lot of stairs. It got to the point where Marky would go up to a house and say, "I'm getting candy for my brother down there," and he'd motion down to the bottom of the stairs where a kid in a green box stood flailing his arms.

We did make it though. The kids were all troopers, as were our neighbors. I was a tad embarrassed when my family walked up to a house and the man said to his dog, "Uh oh, here comes the rush!"

Lesson 168: your family being "the rush" during Trick-or-Treat = white trash

Halloween may have been a slight hassel, but it doesn't seem so bad now that I can eat my weight in Snickers bars!

Lesson 169: Trick-or-Treating around the block and being able to fill an economy sized diaper box to the brim with candy = white trash

There are some advantages of a large family! :)

 

Voting

Adam and I are usually quite private about our political beliefs. We believe that everyone deserves a right to vote for whatever candidate they feel is worthy, and that is what is so beautiful about our country. I did, however, wake up with something weighing heavy on my heart.

Many years ago I stood in my freshman dorm room staring at a stick with a plus sign on it. My heart sank and panic ripped through my body. I remember thinking, This is a nightmare! My Catholic upbringing was screaming CHOOSE LIFE!, but my head, that knew my situation, was yelling HAVE AN ABORTION!

I was a smart young girl, attending a great college. I had a wonderful scholarship, and was getting good grades. I was going to make something of myself, and my family couldn't be prouder. The other side of my situation, I was in a relationship I had no business being in, and that's all I'm going to say about it.

I thought long and hard about my choices, but in the end, God's Spirit spoke louder and I had the ability to choose life. I wish I could say that everything worked out and life was peachy, but that isn't what happened. Actually, it was quite the opposite. In choosing life, I also chose to see the disappointment in my family's eyes, to feel the judgement of society who looked down on me for being pregnant with no wedding ring on my finger, to be the living stereotype of being "the head cheerleader who graduated and got knocked up and made nothing of herself", and got to hear from many, many people how sad it was that I threw my life away. No, things did not go well at all.

Sure, it may be sad to some who think I've thrown my life away. But in actuality, I now believe to give up one's life for another is one of the greatest privileges you can experience. The past 14 years of my life may have been harder than I ever could have imagined. And my choice has led to much heartbreak and hardships that at times were, in fact, life threatening, but never once, NOT ONCE, did I wish that my son wasn't here. And if given the choice, I would suffer it all over again. I may not have become the person I had planned on being, but I feel like the whole experience has helped me grow into a better person, the person I was meant to be.

Please know that I am not judging anyone who has had an abortion. That is never my place. I am just trying to tell my own story. I look at my tall, gangly 13 year old son, who is a beautiful light to this world, and I am terrified to think that I had the power to extinguish that light. Now that he's here, and I hear his hopes and dreams, I realize how scary it is that I thought my own dreams for my life were more important than his actual chance at living.

So, today I am voting for the little ones who currently don't have a voice, because I'm hoping someday, along with my own son's voice, theirs will also be heard.

Stoned To Death

My 2 year old, Stone, is one of the cutest little boys you'll ever see. He's got big beautiful brown eyes, with the nicest eyelashes, and a smile to make your heart melt.

 

He may look sweet and innocent, but when he and the twins were put in the same bedroom, he made it his personal mission to figure out a way to rub Rex and Fox out.

I may have removed everything from their room, but it didn't stop him.The child got out of his bed and quietly climbed around upstairs looking for supplies. He tried to drown Rex by dumping a large cup of water on his face. He's fed the twins toothpaste, A & D ointment, anti-fungal foot cream, hand lotion, and detangler. I also found Fox swimming in a bed full of prenatal vitamins. Did I mention Stone is really good at removing child-proof lids? And please don't think I just left this stuff laying around. To get to my prenatal vitamins he must have climbed on my bed, then lept onto my dresser, and climbed to the top of my tv. Unless he can fly and hasn't let me in on his secret.  

He was also caught feeding the twins pencil sharpeners, and the smallest Legos he can find in his older brothers' bedroom.

I finally got tired of his shenanigans, so one night, when I put them to bed I closed and locked all other rooms upstairs. A little while later I heard some loud thuds and the sound of a door knob being turned violently. I ran upstairs and was horrified by what I saw. Stone had pushed the twins beds over, dumping them onto the floor. My cute little doe-eyed two year old had done this.....

What added to my terror was while my twins rolled around free on their bedroom floor, Stone was picking the bathroom lock with a piece of plastic! I called Adam crying, "I think Stone is going to be a criminal!"

Lesson 164: your 2 year old being capable of breaking and entering and attempted homicide all in one night = white trash

After a few weeks of this kind of behavior, and a lot of yelling and punishment, Adam and I thought real hard about why he would be doing these things. He had always been so kind and helpful before. That's when it hit us. He was trying to be kind and helpful in a way we weren't seeing. He could get out of his bed and play, so it made sense that he would try to help the twins out of theirs. And truth be told, I find Stone eating toothpaste by himself, so maybe he was just trying to share something he enjoyed. (For the record, it's NOT something I allow him to do!)

Thinking about these facts, we decided to give Stone some chores, and to let him help out with the twins. Now we let him feed them, but he feeds them actual food. He gets them diapers when I need them, and throws the gross ones in the garbage. He helps clean up the toys at the end of the day, and helps me empty the dishwasher. Ever since then the twins have been safe in their beds, and Stone doesn't get out of his until morning. Maybe his need for helping is satisfied, or maybe he's just completely tired from all the extra work. Either way, now at bed time we all rest a little easier. 

Drive-Thru Window

A few weeks ago there was a bit of sibling conflict. Jovie and Jude had ganged up against Jet and Jagger. I'm not sure if Jovie and Jude were trying to get outside or they were keeping Jet and Jagger from coming in. All I know is it turned into an all out brawl on my front porch. Screaming and door slamming filled the air.

I was upstairs trying to fold about 900 loads of laundry, so having to stop to break up a fight made me very angry. I stomped down and put a stop to the show my kids were putting on for the neighbors. I snatched Jovie and Jude up then tried to open the door to chase after Jagger and Jet who had run away. I pushed on the door, but it didn't give. I thought it was locked. I checked. Nope. The kids had broken it, and it was stuck shut.

This happened on a Friday. So I knew we'd have to live with it until Monday when Adam had some time away from work.

On Saturday I had to work at the restaurant as well. Not wanting Adam's cousin Liz to lose her mind watching my kids, I decided to go online and order them a pizza for dinner.

That night when I came home, Liz chuckled, "When the pizza got here I couldn't open the door."

"Oh my gosh! I totally forgot about the door. Did you have to go out back and walk around?" I asked.

She laughed, "No, Jovie said, 'I know!" then she went and opened the window. She took the pizza and said, 'Thanks old man.'"

Can you see the look of horror on my face? I didn't know whether to be more embarrassed by the fact they got the pizza through the window, or that Jovie called this poor guy "old man". I sighed, "I hope the neighbors didn't see that."

Lesson 163: having a pizza delivered through your window because your kids broke the front door in a Jerry Springer style showdown = white trash

Sore Throat Cure

Adam has been sick for a week and one of his main complaints was the sore throat that went with it. So, when Jude came down with the same cold I knew his throat had to hurt too.

I went down to the boys' room the day after Jude got sick to check on him. "Hey buddy, how're you feeling?"

"Fine," Jude told me.

"Is your throat sore?"

"Not anymore."

Jude is our tough guy, so I knew he would never admit to feeling ill.

"Are you sure?" I asked, trying to get him to admit it.

"It did hurt, but Jet punched me in the neck and now it doesn't hurt anymore," he smiled.

"What?!" I turned my attention to Jet sitting on the couch playing video games. He looked up at me and smiled. "Did you punch Jude in the neck?"

He proudly nodded, "Jude told me he had a sore throat, so I punched him in the neck."

I looked at Jude, "Did you ask him to punch you?" I wasn't sure if I wanted the answer.

"Yeah. When you have a sore throat, if someone punches you in the neck it goes away," he explained. He and Jet both looked at me as if to say 'Duh Mom, everyone knows that.'

"Uh, do you boys do this often?"

Jet answered, "Only if we have a sore throat."

Shocked at my boys' medical discovery, I decided I had heard enough. As I walked back upstairs I mentioned, "Wouldn't a cough drop be easier?" Of course, I'm not a 7 year old doctor. Who knew my basement was full of Doogie Howsers?

Lesson 162: a punch in the neck being your go to cure for a sore throat = white trash

Hearts

"I can't find a heartbeat." After trying for over five minutes, my doctor had finally thrown in the towel. Being equally awkward at hard moments as I, he tried to joke with me, "It's probably because you're uterus is HUGE!"

As usual, I combat the dying feeling inside with humor, "Are you saying my uterus is beat?"

"You said it," he smiled. Probably relieved I wasn't in a ball crying.

"You were thinking it."

"Maybe." He once told me I crossed his mind as he sewed a 90 year old woman's uterus back up inside her.

Lesson 160: your gyno thinking, "Hey, this is going to be Jess someday" while performing surgery on an elderly woman who's uterus has fallen out = white trash

Of course, why wouldn't he? I call or walk into the gyno office, and every staff member knows me by name without looking at my chart.

Lesson 161: being the equivalent to Norm on Cheers at the gyno office = white trash

Despite my calm behavior in the office, my hands were shaking as I called to schedule my sonogram. I did this, I thought to myself, It's all my fault. The guilt made my stomach churn.

Not that I have been doing drugs, or on some drinking binge, it was worse than that....I was ashamed of my pregnancy. When Adam and I found out we would be welcoming a ninth child, we decided to keep it a secret. I can't tell you how horrible it feels when you see the judgement in people's eyes, hear it in their voice, or in some cases, their harsh words. People can be cruel.

After learning I would have to wait four excruciating days to find out the fate of our unborn baby, I drove home in deep thought. What had I done? Adam and I had worked so hard to be open to Gods plans for us, and we know God's plans are rarely easy. In fact, they usually challenge us to the core, but always changing us for the better. Not only had I been telling God, by my actions, that I was ashamed of his perfect plan, but I was unappreciative for the gift he was trying to give to me. How hurt he must have felt by the way I was hiding.

How would I feel if I gave someone a gift, that I put a lot of thought into, and that person took it and hid it somewhere so no one would see it? Can you imagine the complex thought and time he put into my baby?

When I got home, I could hear the twins had just woken up from their nap. I went in to get them, and after noting how beautifully perfect they were, I began to cry. I thought about how proud I was of all my children, and that I shouldn't feel any different about the one who had been growing inside of me.

Yesterday was my sonogram. I was alone. Happy for this fact, I wanted to be able to mourn without trying to be funny.

"Have you had any cramping or bleeding?" the sonogram tech asked.

"No."

"Well, let's have a look and see if we can find a heartbeat."

She placed the wand on my stomach, my heart beat ferociously. I wondered if my own heart could beat enough for the both of us. The picture came through and there lay my baby. I held my breath and then the most beautiful little hand popped up and waved at us. Tears came to my eyes. I've never appreciated a wave more. Even the tech got a little emotional and said, "Awe....it's like your baby is saying "look mom, I'm still here.""

After the tech left, I lay waiting for a doctor who was learning to read sonograms to come have a look too. I stared at the pictures of my new baby. They even got a pic of the him/her waving, since he/she really seemed to have a thing for it. In the stillness of that moment, I thanked God with a grateful heart for His perfect plans, and His gift of my baby's beautiful beating heart.

Putting Away Groceries

I hate putting away groceries. Not only does it take me a good half hour, but I have to fight off kids who want to sample every new thing that comes into this house. Unfortunately, for most snacks, if they all sample something, it is gone.

Lesson 156: Having more kids than servings of fruit snacks in a box of Gushers = white trash

This morning, when I came home from the 5 million grocery stores I go to to ensure I get the best deals, and save the most money, I was happy to see all my kids were already having their mid-morning snack. I walked in and said, "You're eating a snack, don't ask for any of this food." I thought putting away groceries was going to be a breeze for once.

I started with the cold food that needed to be put in the fridge and freezer. When I opened the fridge I noticed a lot of things in there that needed to come out. Jude has a bad habit of putting his cups in there to keep his drinks cold, but when they're empty he just leaves them in there. I removed 3 cups. Stone also likes to hide toys in the fridge. Don't ask me why. I removed a tea party plate, Spider-man, a toy medicine cup, and a puppy.

Lesson 157: fridge being full of toys and empty dirty dishes = white trash

After those things were gone, I saw some expired food that needed to be thrown away. I went over to the garbage door. (We keep our garbage hidden behind a door, under our island.) I opened the door and garbage exploded all over me. I'm talking wrappers, cheese, orange peels, and coffee grounds all over my feet and floor. I sighed, took out the garbage, and cleaned the floor. I grabbed a garbage bag and went back to the fridge.

As soon as I opened the door I heard Stone say, "Ew....gross." I looked behind me. Stone stood on Jet's guitar amplifier with poop falling out of his diaper. Stupid cheap diapers. My head about exploded. I closed the fridge, cleaned Stone, the floor, and scrubbed Jet's amplifier. (Of course it had to get in all the little nook and crannies!)

When that was taken care of, I cautiously opened the fridge, and actually got things put away. Happy with my accomplishment, I picked up the empty bags and tried to stand up. That's when my butt got caught on the fridge door, ripping the piece that holds all the items on the door in place. Condiments fell at my feet, and the pickle jar lid popped off on impact, dousing me and the floor in pickle juice.

Lesson 158: breaking the fridge with your butt = white trash

I cleaned the floor for the third time in 20 minutes, put away the dry goods, and picked up the Aldi bags to put them away, and be done with the whole ridiculous ordeal. We keep the bags above the stairs going down to the basement. I tried to put them away, but for some reason they wouldn't stay in their place today. Totally frustrated, I smashed them into the shelf. I really need to control my temper, all that angry shoving launched a Halloween bucket full of cassette tapes in my face. I yelled, "It's 2012! Who the heck has a pumpkin bucket full of tapes?!"

Lesson 159: hoarding a Halloween bucket full of cassette tapes from the 90's and not owning a cassette player = white trash

I picked up the tapes and decided to put my bags somewhere else. The new place ended with a box of plastic spoons falling on my head. I left the bags, and put the spoons on the counter. I'll deal with them later. I had reached my ceiling.

Maybe kids sampling food isn't so bad after all.

Game of Dresses

I don't know if any of you have a narrator in your head who narrates parts of your life, but I've had one for as long as I can remember. My life has always been a half written book, waiting for a new day to add another chapter. I don't always have a narrator, they seem to pop in now and then, usually at the dullest moments of my day. Maybe it's a defense mechanism my brain has developed, so it doesn't turn to mush from my mundane reality.

Yesterday, a narrator started telling the blow-by-blow account of my search for a dress to wear to the Pittsburgh Magazine awards dinner, that I had to attend with Adam. I never really pay attention to my narrators as I've become quite accustomed to them. This particular chapter was completely absurd. I've been reading Game of Thrones, and it seems that narrator has decided to claim a stake on my brain. This is seriously what went on in my head as I tried on dresses.....

     "Lady Jessica knew not which gown to choose for the celebration......" Mind you, there were no gowns. I was staring at a rack full of short sun dresses....."She chose a beautiful teal dress, woven from the finest...." I checked the tag......."woven from the finest spandex/cotton blend. She slid the gown over her head, and grimaced at the way it clung to her misshapen form. Her body disfigured from years of child bearing. Tossing that one aside, she chose another, one a deep shade of plum. It fit nicely, hiding her deformities. Now to decide which color. She loved the plum, for it was her favorite color, but it caused her complexion to appear drab, and she appeared five years her senior. She draped the red gown over her chest. The color of loose women, she thought to herself,".......Uh, I have given birth to 8 children. It doesn't get any looser than that......."but the red complimented her fair, freckled skin, and brought out the auburn flecks in her hair...." 


That would be where I realized what was going on in my head. In my own inner voice I asked, What is this? Medieval Wonder Years?" I let out an audible snort, too late to remember there were a couple of other women in stalls next to me. I'm sure, after hearing that, they wondered what was going on in my dressing room. I doubt they had any clue that a whole Medieval dressing scene was going down next to them, and the poor Lady Jessica from the House of Johnston was having gown issues.

Lesson 155: having a dressing room experience that requires a raising of the banners = white trash

Scene

Adam and I decided, after Jagger received his First Communion, in May, that it was time for us to start taking ALL our children to mass EVERY week. Holy Communion is a wonderful blessing and not letting Jagger experience it as often as possible would be a great injustice. Jet will be receiving his First Communion next May, and Jude the following year after that, so, we may as well start the ball rolling now.

Let me tell you though, just saying those words out loud to each other made us physically exhausted. It's not the getting up and getting ready, or the stress of getting there on time (which we never do),.....it's the 2 year old. Johnston 2 year olds and church don't mix, and we always seem to have one. I don't know what it is, they're fine in church until they blow out that darn number 2 candle, then the devil enters their body and hell is released at every mass until they turn 3.

Jude was a squealer. He would let out ear piercing squeals of delight, anger, frustration, they all sounded the same. The only time he wouldn't be a banshee was when his mouth was full. I remember packing chicken nuggets in the diaper bag. He could never eat a chicken nugget in bites. Jude always had to put the whole thing in his mouth, and it would take at least 20 minutes for him to get it chewed and mushy enough to swallow. That was how he ate them....at home. At church he chewed through those suckers in less than a minute, leaving plenty of time for squealing. Fellow parishioners did not appreciate the high pitched, eardrum splitting screams. One day, after church, a lady walked by my family with a scowl. Seeing the embarrassment on my face, Jovie's Godmother, who had gone with us, turned to the woman and said, "Well, someone needs to go to confession."

Speaking of Jovie, we couldn't even take that child near the church when she was 2, she would throw her body and scream as soon as she saw the building, and there was absolutely no way to console her. She's past that now, and acts like a lady. Thank goodness.

Unfortunately, Stone is now 2. He doesn't scream, or act possessed, he's more of a talkative monkey, rolling on the ground, climbing over and under pews, gamboling on the seats while people are standing, and all the while giving us a boisterous blow-by-blow account of what he's doing.

Adam and I have always been against the cry room. I know some of you may think that's rude, but when we are in there, the older kids think it's acceptable to act up as well. We still feel that way, but now we have twins. Usually, one of us takes care of whoever is a baby at the moment, and the other tries to control the 2 year old. Now we're outnumbered, so cry room it is. That way if both twins are being dealt with and Stone has removed his socks and shoes and decided to lay on his back in the middle of the room and sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, we know we aren't upsetting the whole church.

Today, my brother Clayte decided to join us. As we walked in, I said to Adam, "There's three of us today. Clayte can hold a twin, you could hold a twin, and I can deal with Stone, if you want to try sitting in the church."

We peered in, since we were late (as usual), we would have to search for seating. We require a whole entire pew. "Ugh....Just sit in the cry room. I don't want to cause a scene," were Adam's words. I felt defeated, but I followed him into the sweltering, empty cry room. It had to be 100 degrees in that tiny space. I got the kids seated and pleaded to Adam, "See if you can turn that air conditioner on." There was an air conditioner right above his head. It was normally on when we arrive, but not today. We were only there for a minute or so, and already I could feel beads of sweat forming along my hairline. Adam struggled through the whole opening song of mass, and never seemed to get it working. He looked at me and shrugged as we took our seats.

"Would an usher please go turn the air conditioner on in the cry room please? They seem to be struggling back there," came the voice of Father over the speaker. I looked up and the whole church turned to gawk at my family. FOUR ushers burst into the cry room, none of which seemed to know how to work it either. Again, Father called out, "The remote is in the confessional." It took about five minutes, but the air was finally turned on, and mass was able to be started.

I leaned over to Adam, "So much for not causing a scene." He rolled his eyes.

Lesson 154: not wanting your family to cause a scene by trying to find a seat at church, then causing church to stop altogether = white trash  

I want to thank all of our fellow parishioners who, over the years, have been encouraging, and not judgmental. We're looking to the future when our kids will no longer be unruly, and a lot more holy.  

Retaining My Sanity

Adam and I built a new retaining wall in our back yard. It's nice, because it made our yard bigger, but getting  it to this point was a long, somewhat painful process.

We decided to build it last year. Adam underestimated the cost (as usual), and we went WAY over budget. So bad, in fact, that we had to leave it unfilled for the rest of the year.

LESSON 151: a million unfinished projects in and around your home because your husband is an optimist = white trash

We finally got back to it in May. It became an emergency when we decided to sell our house. No one would ever want to buy a house with a retaining wall that retained nothing. The back yard sloped violently into a wall with huge screws sticking out of it. (Fact #2 that annoyed me about Adam's cost underestimation, the kids had no where to play for a year. The wall reminded me of something straight out of  Mortal Kombat. There was absolutely no playing allowed back there.)

In two days Adam and I shoveled 13 tons of gravel, 8 tons of fill dirt, and 8 tons of topsoil. The gravel wasn't bad, it was the fill dirt that broke me. Towards the end of that pile I was near tears, I held it together, but when I put my shovel in the topsoil and felt how wonderfully easy it was to move, I couldn't keep back my emotions.

Lesson 152: crying tears of joy from shoveling topsoil = white trash

It was finally full, but it still looked hideous. We planted grass and Adam was adamant about planting several trees. "Ugh, how much is that going to cost?" I begrudgingly asked. I personally didn't want to spend anymore money. I'm a saver. Adam goes above and beyond the call of spender. "Oh, it shouldn't be more than fifty bucks."

UNDERESTIMATION! 

They do look nice, and I am excited about the fruit they will produce. So, the retaining wall fiasco is finally over. The kids have a yard again. The only bad thing is, they have a yard again! The grass won't grow in one spot by the retaining wall, because Stone has claimed this section as his own little sandbox. I also had an aneurysm the day I looked out and saw a tricycle wrecked into one of the "less than $50" trees and a very large limb hung sadly by nothing more than a thin strip of bark.

"Who wrecked the tricycle into the tree?" I demanded. Five resounding, "Not me"'s came from all children who could speak. I guess it was the twins. 

I stormed outside to check out the damage. I didn't just see a broken tree, I saw broken dollar bills. Adam came up behind me, "I can fix it. Get me a Popsicle stick and a band aid."

"Who are you? Green MacGyver?" 

I came out with his supplies, and sure enough, he fixed the tree. He even made me give the tree's boo-boo a kiss for good measure. It's expected to make a full recovery.

Lesson 153: fixing your tree with a Popsicle stick and a band aid = white trash 

You know, with all the money I've dumped into this place, coupled with my stress, and all my sweat equity, I'm seriously considering raising the price of my house $500,000. 

Lollipoop

Kool-Aid....the delicious beverage that is usually banned from our home, but after running out of juice on a Saturday, with no vehicle to get me to a store, Kool-Aid it was. I made my kids a gallon of the blue kind. Not only was it a hit, it was like crack! My 6 older kids went through that gallon within a couple of hours! I told Stone and Jovie they had had enough, but when I would go down to do laundry or some other chore they would con their older brothers into getting them some more of the good stuff. Stone had never had Kool-Aid before and he was by far the worst. He got a cup and downed it within minutes. It was so bad I had visions of him years from now sitting at Kool-Aid-aholics Anonymous with a red perma-stach yelling, "Oh, yeah!"

Now, I understand this looks really bad here, because it seems like my kids just consume massive amounts of sugar all day long, but the next day all the kids were enjoying a Blow Pop. No one wanted the green apple flavored pop, so I gave it to Stone, who was just happy to get one.

They all sat out in the living room quietly. The sound of slurping was all I could hear. A few minutes went by and Stone came toddling out to the kitchen. His face was covered in bright green slime. He held up a bright green covered hand and whined, "Poop!"

I smiled at his error, "No Stone, it's pop. It's a lollipop."

He held up his hand again, "Poop!" 

"I'm not wiping you off until you finish. I don't feel like wiping you a million times before you're done. I think you'll make it."

"Poop!"

"Pop."

"Poop!"

"Pop."

"Pooooop!"

Sigh....."Fine, give me your hands." 

Stone held his hand up and I noticed something peculiar, a chunk.

"Oh my gosh! Is that poop?!" I yelled.

Stone smiled, and proudly repeated, "Poop!"

Lesson 150: Not realizing your son has poop on his hand because it is stained the same color as the sugary treat he has in his other hand, and it's that color because of the massive amount of sugary treat he consumed the day before = white trash

Yeah, the Kool-Aid is going back into hiding.

Leather Couch

Yeah, my couch is disgusting. Completely disgusting. It used to be a nice soft fabric, but now the fuzziness has turned into a bizarre smooth surface.

The other day, Marky sat rubbing his hands across it (which made me want to vomit), "Hey, I didn't know our couch was leather."

Adam looked at me and we both started to laugh. Marky looked up puzzled, "What's so funny?"

"It's not leather," I told him.

"Well, it feels like it."

"It's from years of cereal and juice being smashed into it," Adam told him.

"That's gross." Marky jumped off the couch and ran away.

Yes, yes it is. He thought juice and cereal was gross, Adam didn't tell him anything about the occasional pee!

Lesson 149: your couch turning to leather after tanning it with juice and crushed cereal = white trash

Mirror Mirror

Tonight, as the older boys got ready for bed, Jet came up to me and asked, "Why did God make us so we can't see our own faces?"

I tousled Jet's hair and said, "Huh..I don't know." Which is how I answer most of Jet's deeply thought out questions.

Lesson 148: knowing your 7 year old is probably smarter than you = white trash

After they were in bed and fast asleep, the twins woke up and wanted fed. As they ate, I ogled them, as I often do, amazed that I produced two human beings at the same time. Jet's question crossed my mind, because I thought how the twins would be able to look at each other and get a good idea of what they looked like. "Good thing the rest of us have mirrors," I thought to myself. Then I stopped. Is it? I thought of all the hours of my life I have wasted standing in front of those stupid things cringing at zits, looking at gray hairs, obsessing over my laugh lines that never go away now, or watching myself dance to MC Hammer......ok, well that was pretty awesome, but the other stuff is just plain sad.

That's when it hit me. Jet was on to something. (Like always) God doesn't care what we look like. He made us this way because we shouldn't care either. I then thought about all the times I've shrunk away from who I really am because the other person looked so incredibly young and vibrant, my Crypt-keeping face made me feel inferior. I should always be everything God wants me to be, but I shy away because of what I saw in a man-made object produced for vanity. How pathetic.

After I put the twins back in bed, I walked into the bathroom. It was the end to a very trying day, but I had come out victorious. I looked up and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Damp stringy hair, a make-up-less face, yoga pants, and an unbecoming oversized t-shirt stared back from baggy eyes. Not the appearance of a great warrior princess, but that's what I felt like on the inside, and I'm sure that's the way God wants me to think I look. I smiled at the hag in the mirror and walked away....warrior princess it is! :)

Jude's Joke

In honor of April Fools Day today, I'm going to tell you this lovely story. Every week on Jude's kindergarten calendar there is a space for the theme of show and tell. Being overwhelmed with my overall state of life, I often forget to check it. They have a full week to participate in show and tell, and poor Jude has probably only participated in 3/4 of them.

On Tuesday, I remembered to look at the calendar. I knew Jude had to do snack sometime at the end of the month, and I was happy to see I hadn't missed it. While I was looking, I checked the show and tell box. Joke week.

I looked up at Jude, who was jumping on the couch with a big smile on his face, "Hey buddy, we need to learn a joke for school."

Jude immediately stopped jumping and shamefully looked at the floor. Noooooooo! It made me almost sick to ask, "Jude, did you already tell a joke?" No response. Desperately I demanded, "Jude, did you tell a joke?" He oozed off the couch and climbed into my lap, making me hold him. Now, this is Jude we're talking about here. The boy doesn't snuggle, so I knew the answer. Now I just needed to know the details.

"What joke did you tell?" Nothing. Adam asked him the same question, and still no response. I took a deep breath, and pulled him back so I could look him in the eye. "Alright, tell me this. Did you get in a little bit of trouble, or a lot of trouble?"

"A little bit of trouble," he mumbled.

I let him snuggle back into me, and I said to Adam, "It probably had something to do with poop."

A couple days later, I returned from the grocery store to see Jude's teacher (who lives across the street) getting out of her car. I called over, "So, what was the inappropriate joke Jude told for show and tell?" A chuckle escaped her lips, "Oh, you mean the joke Adam taught him?"

I laughed, "I assure you, Adam didn't teach him whatever it was he said." I told her the story about how I have become a mediocre mother and didn't realize it was joke week until it was too late. Then I informed her of Jude's response, or lack there of, when I asked what he had said.

She told me, "On Monday," (Hearing this made me cringe. Jude was so stoked to tell this mystery joke he was one of the first one's to share.) "I asked if anyone had a joke they'd like to tell. Jude raised his hand, so he came up and got on the platform. "Knock-knock." We excitedly answered, "Who's there!" "Noodle-head!" "Noodle-head who?" "Noodle-head WEINER!""

"NOOOOO! He told a weiner joke?!" I was mortified.

She nodded. Then, she told me she called him over and said, "Now Jude, that joke was not appropriate and I know Daddy didn't teach it to you. Where did you learn that joke?"

Jude replied, "Mommy."

Lesson 147: allegedly teaching your kid a weiner joke to share with his kindergarten class = white trash

Happy April Fools Day everyone! 

Drinks With A Splash Of Utensils

Lesson 146: juice and milk full of kid utensils = white trash

People wonder why I have a seperate drawer for adult silverware. This is why!

Head Scanning Thermometer

"What all do you want for your baby shower?" Lisa asked me. Adam's business partner, who was just a fellow employee at the casino at the time, had planned a huge baby shower for all the pregnant staff at the restaurant. Since Adam was an employee, but not bulging from his midsection with twins, I got invited instead.

"A head scanning thermometer."

"A what?"

"A thermometer that I just have to put on the kids' heads. That's pretty much it," I told her.

"We can't just get you a stupid thermometer," she laughed, "What do you really want?"

"That's what I really want," I insisted.

"Why?" she asked in disbelief.

"Have you ever had to put a thermometer in a baby's butt?" I asked. "I've done it for over a decade, and I've had enough."

Lisa started to laugh. Really hard. "Alright, I'm getting you the dang thermometer."

Those words made me so incredibly happy. I can't tell you how much stress taking my kids temperature has caused me over the years. I know it sounds stupid, but it has. I feel helpless when little ones lay there looking like death, and knowing I have to make them even more uncomfortable, by probing them with a stupid thermometer, puts me over the edge.

The butt part isn't even the only thing I dislike. I hate fighting with the older kids to keep one under their tongue, and trying to get a 2 year old to keep one under their arm is impossible. The sheer thought of erasing all that uneasiness made my heart sing.

When I unwrapped my gift at the shower, I hugged and kissed it. Seriously. I think there may even be a picture of that wonderful occasion. After I got home, Adam and I took everyone's temperature. It was awesome!

Over the past few months, Head Scanning Thermometer has become my right hand man. No longer did I feel anxiety when my kids said they weren't feeling so good. As soon as a kid even looked a smidge pale, Head Scanning Thermometer was by my side. It sprung into action, taking a temperature in seconds without the fear of violation, tears of pain, or the saying, "keep it under your tongue, dang it, how many times do you want to do this?!"

Yes, things were roses.....until yesterday morning. Stone had caught a cold the day before. I didn't think anything of it, because Jovie and Jagger had the same thing, and they were both doing fine, but Stone didn't seem to be faring quite as well. He woke looking awful, and when I hoisted him from his crib, I could feel heat radiating from his body.

I smiled at him, "not feeling so good, huh? Let's get the thermometer." I carried him out to the hall, where we keep it. It wasn't there. My heart dropped, then I remembered, Oh yeah, It was on the couch last night when I went to bed. My eyes scanned over to the couch as we descended the stairs. Jovie and Jet were sitting there watching tv. No Head Scanning Thermometer. I put Stone down and ran to the couch.

"Where's the thermometer?" I demanded.

"I don't know?" Jet responded.

"It was right here last night." I pointed to the spot it had last been.

Jet looked at me like I was crazy and shrugged, "I haven't seen it."

My stomach was in knots. I turned to look at Stone, who looked back at me and let out a gurgling cough. With that, I fell to my knees and shoved my hands into every cereal filled crack on that couch. Nothing. I turned back to Stone. He stood, staring blankly with watery eyes and thick green boogers oozing out his nose. I collapsed to the floor, and groped desperately under the couch. Panic burned within me. In my head I repeated, I can't go back there, I can't go back there. I can't use that other thermometer. I just can't!

Coming up empty handed made me shiver with fear. I ripped up my house for the next hour in search of my beloved Head Scanning Thermometer, but alas, it was nowhere to be found. When Stone woke up from his nap and I could see his rapid breath in his neck, I called Adam to come home from work. He needed to go to the ER.

"What's his temperature?" Adam asked.

"I don't know. Warm."

"What did the thermometer say?"

Tears started to steam down my face, "I don't know! I can't find it!"

Lesson 144: being emotionally distraught over the loss of a thermometer = a white trash lady who needs to get her head examined

I'm sure most of you are saying, "why don't you just buy a new one?" BECAUSE IT COSTS $40 PEOPLE! FOR-TY! DOL-LARSSSSS! I understand it's not a lot to some of you, but $40 in this house is 2 big boxes of diapers, or 2 big cans of Target formula, or an Aldi's trip consisting of 1bag of chicken nugs, 2 cheese pizzas, 2 pkgs of hot dogs and buns, 2 loaves of bread, a cont. of jelly, a cont. of peanut butter, a lb. of american cheese slices, a big old tub of margarin, 5 boxes of cereal, a big vat of vanilla yogurt, a sack of apples, a bag of carrots, a brick of cheddar, and a candybar for my troubles.

Lesson 145: knowing exactly what to buy for $40 at Aldi's to feed your kids breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks for 3 days = white trash

Yeah, I won't be buying a new one any time soon. :(

So, now all that's left to be said is.....Head Scanning Thermometer, you'll be missed my dear friend. You were taken from us too soon. You're in a better place now. You will no longer have to feel the heat of a fevered child, or be the bearer of bad news for a kid pretending to be sick to avoid school. I take solace knowing that you won't be alone. You'll now be with those that have gone before you; phone charger #1, phone charger #2, laptop power cord, remote control, full box of 24 AA batteries, and Ipod. Goodbye, and may you measure temperature in peace.

Mint On The Pillow

I have been a stay-at-home mom for many, many years, and during those years I've rarely left my children for more than a couple of hours. Lately, though, with Adam's new restaurant, I find myself leaving quite often to help him. We're understaffed at the moment, so he's turned me into the hostess with the mostest.

Now, let me just tell you, I do this once, maybe twice a week, and I don't leave until an hour and a half before the 4 littlest kids go to bed, and two hours before the older boys. So, it's not like I'm missing tons of time with them, but with their reactions, you'd think I leave and don't come back for a month.

I feel horrible for the babysitters. Every time they walk through my door, Jovie goes into full on hysterics. She cries uncontrollably until she makes her way up to my room, where she snuggles in my bed with her blanky and watches Sprout. This has calmed her up until lately.

This week was really hard. I do the book keeping for the restaurant, too. It's something I can do from home to help out. I had to go into the restaurant this week to get all the progress I've made checked by a professional. (I haven't had to use my brain for a long time. There's many, many cobwebs up there.) So, I was gone for a little bit on Thursday. Then, I hostessed on Friday AND Saturday. Let me tell you, the kids let me know they weren't pleased with my absense.

On Thursday, I came home to find a colorful wall mural of non-washable magic marker, in my bedroom. Jovie and Stone were also kind enough to make sure my bedspread matched with the new motif. Lovely.

On Friday, Adam got a phone call from the babysitter to tell us the kids shattered the ceiling fan globe in our room, which happens to be above our bed. I came home to a rolled up bed sheet full of broken glass. Nice.

Saturday, I returned from a very LONG night at the restaurant. The thought of my bed made me giddy. I walked into the dark room and saw that my bed was still made. I let out a sigh of relief. I opted not to turn on the light. I didn't want to wake the slumbering twins. I tip-toed over and pulled back the comforter and jumped in with delight. I rested for a whole 2 seconds before I realized I was laying in, what felt like, an entire box of Cocoa Pebbles. My kids dumped a box of cereal in my bed, spread it around, then remade it. What?

Lesson 143: Twisted versions of complimentary mints left on your pillow = white trash kids' revenge

See if I ever come back to this hotel.

Wanted: New Van

I need a new, mammoth sized vehicle. Be it a van, a bus, a small space shuttle, I don't care. I just need something I can fit our whole family in.

On Thursday, I had to join Adam for a jazz event, so I had to find a babysitter. I found someone to do it, but I had to go pick her up. Adam was at work, so I had to either take the kids with me, or figure something else out. We would be one seat short if the kids came with me.....so, I got another sitter.

Lesson 142: Getting a babysitter to get the babysitter = white trash

Jovie's Mess

When we potty train our kids we keep a kiddie toilet in the living room. It just helps until they are more sure of themselves.

I know, I know....

Lesson 141: toilet in the living room = white trash

Jovie has finally become a potty-pro, and we gladly put the toilet back upstairs. (Until it's Stone's turn.) Now, in the bathroom, there is a big toilet with a little potty next to it. Then, there is also a training potty in Jovie's room, in case she needs it in the night.

Today, Jovie called to me from upstairs, "Mom, I pooped!" When I got there, I realized she isn't exactly the pro I thought she was. There was a little bit in the big potty, and some in the kid pot. "Jovie!" I yelled, as I answered my ringing phone. It was Adam's business partner. She needed to talk to me about the books for the restaurant.

As I talked to Lisa, Jovie yelled, "Don't forget this one Mom." Trying to give Lisa as much attention as I could, I went to see what my lovely daughter was talking about. When I got to her room, I found she had also made a deposit in that toilet.

"Well, I'll let you go," Lisa said. She could probably tell I wasn't able to talk about the books at that moment.

"Thanks. I have to clean Jovie's mess."

"What did she do now?"

"Pooped in three different toilets," I sighed.

Lisa laughed, "Wow. That girl needs to get her s*** together. Literally!"

Aha! The Truth Comes Out.

I gained more weight with the twins than I normally do with a pregnancy, which isn't surprisng, but after they were born I've heard nothing but good things about the way I look. "You don't look like you've even had a baby, let alone 8," or, "If I looked that good after giving birth to twins, then I'd have some babies," etc.

These comments make me feel good, but I see what my body actually looks like. I do own a mirror people! Not to mention, I went to buy jeans the other day and I bought a size I'd rather not discuss.

Well, the jig is up! If you ever want to know the truth, ask an 8 year old with autism. Jagger doesn't have the capacity to tell flattering white lies. So, when he burst into the bathroom, when I was changing into my jammie pants, and said, "Ew," I knew I was finally going to know the truth.

"What do you mean ew?" I gave him the stink eye.

He looked at my bottom half with disgust, "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked again.

He walked over and grabbed a handful of thigh fat, giving it a jiggle, "Uh, well, you got kinda big."

*sigh* "Jagger, don't tell women they're fat, it'll make them cry." He just shrugged and scampered away. I guess the sight of me scared whatever it was he wanted to ask me when he barged in.

Lesson 140: son jiggling unflattering leg fat and letting you know you've let yourself go = a flabby-butt white trash mom who desperately needs to go to the gym

Stone's First Joke

I love when my kids get old enough to have a sense of humor. God and laughter is what keeps this family going.

Jovie has been telling jokes for a while now, always knock-knock jokes, and they always end with some sort of potato hybrid. You know those kind of jokes...."Who's there?"...."Potato-banana with peanut butter!"

On Friday, I took Jovie, Stone, and the twins to pick up Marky. On the way back, Jovie decided to head up her own little comedy tour. She sat in the back for about a half an hour telling a new line of jokes. The punch line came immediately after the "Who's there". Can you detect a theme?

Jovie: "Knock-knock."
Me: "Who's there?"
Jovie: "Poopy diaper!" (laughter)

Jovie: "Knock-knock"
Me: "Who's there?"
Jovie: "Mommy has a poop face!" (hysterical laughter)

After several of those jokes, I hear Stone's little deep voice chant, "Mom....Mom.....Mom." Just so you know, Stone isn't a man of many words. He's had speech therapy for months, because he doesn't feel the need to speak. So, I wanted to make a point to let him know that what he had to say was important.

Stone: "Mom.....Mom...."
Me: "Yes Stone?"
Stone:........"POOP!" (proud laughter)
Me: *sigh* "Good one Stone."

Lesson 139: the whole content of your child's first joke being nothing more than the word POOP = white trash

Dirty Work

Tonight, as I got the twins ready for bed, I could tell Rex was brewing something. He kept crying and pulling his legs up, a tell-tale sign of gas. As they both ate their nightime snack, I could tell the time was close. Rex bore down, grunted, and poop shot out......of Fox's butt.

Uh. I've heard that twins have close connections, but that was just plain bizarre.

Lesson 138: making your twin do your "dirty work" = white trash