Around Town

Tennessee Weather

Here is a picture of the girls in January at Grammy and Papa’s. They were thrilled to have a 1/4″ of snow. I had to let them go out at 10 PM to enjoy it…I knew the snow would be gone by morning.

Here are some photos I snapped around town last week when we got a good snow…as you can see it wasn’t a whole lot.

I snapped these photos while I drove the kids to school. (yes, I did drive and take pics at the same time) LG was taking the bar, or I would have been glad to have him do the snow school commute. I guess they didn’t close the schools down or at least start on a 2 hour delay because the weathermen predicted that this would be all we would get.

I am always a little afraid of TN icy roads. I went off the road into a ditch several years ago. When we get snow/ice conditions in TN everything shuts down. It only happens a few times a year and so they aren’t equipped to handle it…everyone just stays home and waits for it to melt away. And it is true that our icy roads are totally more slick than those out in the dessert.

So, on my way home from dropping the kids off, I started getting really stressed. The kids school is a 20 minute drive away, and I was driving through a pretty good downpour on the way home. I would have to go back and get them later in the day, and I was worried about navigating through it all after it piled up all day.

I was listening to talk radio. (while driving, snapping photos, and talking to Bella) People were calling in to the show and reporting treacherous conditions in different parts of town while the talk jock kept saying repeatedly that he hates snow. One woman called in from the west side of town and reported blue skies…I thought she was kidding and trying to cheer up the talk show host…until I hit the interstate…here is what I saw…

And now you know why all Tennesseans know to constantly check the weather!

The Sabbath

Deuteronomy 5: 14 14 But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, nor thy manservant, nor thy maidservant, nor thine ox, nor thine ass, nor any of thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates; that thy manservant and thy maidservant may rest as well as thou.

As Mormons, we take this scripture literally. We do not do anything on the Sabbath that requires others to work: eat out, shop, or any type of recreation. It is a frequent debate between members about how elaborate of a meal should even be made on a Sunday. Some people seem to think that even cooking a roast is too much work.

This strict Sabbath Day observence is sometimes hard for our children to understand. They understand that God has asked this of us in the Bible and our kids love God but, they just don’t get why no one else around them seems to care.

All of our kids have had to miss out on a lot of birthday parties, but none was as hard for me as the one that Allie celebrated last month. Allie is Sophia’s best friend. Allie is riot; we just love her. Sophia, being the shy kid that she is, just loves Allie; and Allie being as outgoing as she is, is a wonderful influence for Sophia. Sophia has proudly exclaimed repeatedly since the 2nd week of school that Allie is her best friend. I have never seen a happier child than Sophia when she brought home Allie’s birthday invitation to the ice-skating rink. My excitement for Sophia being able to participate in the simple joy of life we call the birthday party was shattered when I referred to the calendar and saw that it would take place on a Sunday.

So, what did we do? We took Allie out to McDonald’s after school on Friday instead. [ALL kids love McDonald’s] We blew out a candle in her kids’ meal hamburger and had ice-cream. Allie opened her gift and then, to pass time before we had to go back to meet her mom, we walked around K-mart and got some clearance Christmas candy. I guess this made an impression enough because yesterday when I took the girls back to this K-mart that we don’t frequent, all Sophia and Bella could talk about was the day that we had brought Allie there. “Remember, this is where Allie hid. This is where we chased Allie. This is where we found the candy that we got with Allie.”

So, I guess I dodged another birthday party bullet. Phew.

On another Sabbath day note:

On Sunday night, LG went to the Stake Bishopric training without me by his side to attend the simultaneous Wive’s Training. I originally typed this post on Sunday evening, but according to my hubby’s counsel I toned it down before publishing it.

As LG was leaving the meeting, he saw a friend of ours. He asked her what I had missed from the women’s meeting when she asked where I was. LG told her that I had taken courage from a talk today in church. The regional rep’s wife talked about resting from our labors on Sunday and when LG got home from church I explained to him that his calling in the Bishopric is one of my greatest labors. I was resting tonight! I needed to be home with my kids, not take them off to a sitter on Sunday. (If I am to be totally honest, I would have preferred to have LG home with us too, but I can’t control him or his desire to attend his meetings)

Our friend told LG that the wives’ meeting was about righteous selfishness. (I still don’t think this is exactly the correct term) The friend explained, “The jist of the meeting was that when a woman has a husband in such a busy calling, it is o.k. for her to act selfishly sometimes if it is to meet the needs of the family. “

LG replied, “Oh good, I guess it was o.k. for Alice to miss this one. She’s got that one down. In fact, she is practicing that right now.”

Yeah for me: I am a great Sabbath Day keeper! Yes, I do a lot of other things wrong, and I may even receive criticism for my choice to not go to the meeting. But by golly, I am teaching my kids that the Sabbath is the day for a family to worship together, not to go to parties or be carted off to the sitter.

Church signs

Go here to check out my church sign photos.

While at Cracker Barrel a few weeks ago, I saw the above book, The Great American Book of Church Signs. It was very fun to rummage through. This book is a compilation of a very important part of Southern living: the church sign. I have to admit that even though I have never even stepped foot inside of a church that sports any type of unique church sign, the signs are one of my favorite aspects of Southern living.

For my many Western friends. Let me explain. In the South a person in a vehicle can pass a different church at about every block. Under the name of the congregation, each of those churches usually display a block letter sign with a new weekly message. There seems to be an unspoken competition going on. The winner of the competition will win the most parishoners for the following Sunday. How will the church sign do that? Well, of course, the parishioners will not be able to resist attending because of the originality or perfect humor of the church sign.

I grew up in California where all church signs were very bland. Their sole purpose was to let the passer-by know which domination was represented. In Utah, it seems that every church has the same The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints sign etched in granite out front. Which, in its own way is entertaining, given that you will have two exactly similar signs sported a block apart.

But, in the South, the church sign is vital for the spread of Christianity and humor. I am unsure how the church sign tradition got started, but I am sure it has to do with some unorthodox Baptist preacher a few hundred years ago. And, yes, he must have been a good preacher because he can take credit for even teaching this Mormon how to be a better Christian. Here are some of the messages from the signs that I have seen recently:

Lost? Get a GPS (God’s plan of salvation)

You think it’t hot here.

Who’s your daddy?

Free trip to heaven, details inside.

Church parking only – violators will be baptized.

God loves you and he approves this message.

Wal-Mart is not the only saving place.

God answers knee-mail.

Friends don’t let friends go to hell.

Don’t make me come down there. ~ God

If God is your co-pilot, switch seats.

The wage of sin is death, repent before payday.

At the heart of sin is the letter I.

Pessimists need a kick in the cant’s.

So, feel free to add your favorite Southern church sign in a comment. Whenever we all get over the flu at my house, and I can actually think I may try to come up with some signs that they can adopt to put in front of the Mormon churches in Utah. Here are a few off of the top of my fried sick brain:

Join our ward, the boundary is unlimited.

Our Bishop is better than yours!

Is your sacrament bread homemade?

Join us, every Sunday is fast.

Yeah yeah, these are week; I am sick! I can’t stop coughing, so I am going to go. I just didn’t want to be banned to my own bi-weekly blogger list.

Right on Target

So, I had a short stint as a cashier at Target this year. Wow, was that enjoyable! If you ever need to be motivated to go back to college, just go and take a $7/hr job that deals with the public and retail during the holidays.

I have no idea why, but I have always had this dream of being a cashier ever since I was a little girl. I always loved to play grocery while growing up. I think I dreamed of being a cashier because it combines things that I love: meeting different people, working at a fast pace, pounding on a keyboard, and organizing (you can’t put the bacon in with the Tampax now, can you?) It only took two shifts for me to totally outlive my dream of being a cashier. Well, as LeGrand says, “It’s a good thing you got that cashier stint out of your system because I am on the virge of making the big bucks.” Time shall tell. When LG is a millionaire, I don’t think he will want a Target cashier for his trophy wife.

Well, anyhow, it is late and I am tired and I want to get to the funny part of my story. There were many things that happened funny at Target. I may remember all of them someday. There were also many unfunny things that happened to me at Target, like the day I left a customer in my checkout line with a quart of spilled chocolate milk. What person did I find to help me on my third day…the only person not working…the HR lady….what did she do….She exclaimed, “You left a spill, didn’t you watch that training video?” Oh, yeah, I vaguely remember that video that said to never leave a spill…but, if no one else is willing to help, how in the world will it ever get cleaned up unless you walk away and get some cleaning stuff? And, I had asked the customer to stay there and watch it. It was her own darn fault for handing the bottle to that darn toddler to chuck it down on the ground at least 5 times.

Well, you know I became the expert Target cashier because on my next to last shift when a woman urinated all over my checkout line, I didn’t move a muscle. I stood there like a statue and flipped my blinking light until my team lead came and took care of the situation (Yes, he took care of it alright – he told me, he would watch the spill while I ran to clean it up…yes, the joy of being management- another reason to go to college or work at Target for 10 years straight after getting your GED – And, he was quite helpful – he said, “You may want to get some Lysol off the shelf for this one”)

So, the short funny story. One evening, a woman came through. She was purchasing a bunch of “for kids only” stuff, including mylicon drops and detangling spray. Now, you know my goal in working at Target was to make sure everyone left with a smile. (not because Target told me to, just because I like to make people smile.) Now, if any guest left with a laugh, then I would be able to come home feeling really underpaid. (there is no feeling that can compare to being underpaid)

So, I strike up a conversation with this woman as I check her out. “Have you used this stuff before”, I ask as I chuck her mylicon drops in the bag. “I have three daughters and have never tried it.” She says, “Oh yeah, if you have three daughters you have to have it. You epecially need it with curly hair. You would not believe how much it helps.”

I say, “Really, curly hair, I have never heard that before. I have only heard that there is a link between babies with hair and a pregnant mother’s heartburn.” At which points she starts cracking up. I say, “I can’t believe that, children with curly hair have more gas than those with straight. That would explain why I have never needed those mylicon gas drops, all my girls have pretty straight hair. Who knew.” I keep going with, “Well, they did get some gas when they were really little; I wonder if that is when their hair was curlier.” She just laughs even harder, at which point she takes the bottle of Detangling Spray out of the bag. She says, “I thought you were asking me if I have used this stuff before, not the Mylicon drops.”

I am sure that my face turned a brighter shade of red then my beautiful Target polo. At which point, I started cracking up. I had no reason to be embarassed, she was loving this funny conversation. As a few other people around us started laughing too, my shirt immediately flushed back to it’s normal color, which is roughly the same shade of my Target khaki pants. Now, don’t you think that they should have given me a raise to at least $7.50/an hr. I made at least 6 people laugh that night, not to mention the skill of making my skin the same colors as my uniform.

"You’re supposed to"

Last week we took the kids to window toy shop at Target. While I was chatting with a lady from our church, LG stopped at the books with the girls. Bella kept requesting LG to read from different books. At one point LeGrand told Bella to hold on. He was attending to Abigail or Sophia. Bella chimed out in a way that was bound to be noticed, “Dad, it says on the TV you are supposed to read to your children.” Classic.

This is the way we do it in the south

So, I am addicted to reading the comments on my blog. The other day I was frustrated because none of my blogging friends have updated and no one is giving me the desperate attention I shouldn’t need. LG informed me that I have fallen away from what I do best, telling funny stories. “No one wants to read about your kids”, he said. He then informed me that I ruined my reading audience because back in the beginning I was getting at least 20 hits a day, and that now, if we could remember how to get to my tracker it would be just the same 5 friends. Oh well, I guess I’ll never be famous. Isn’t this blogging thing so egotistical? Who really wants to read anything that I have to write about except other bloggers who are just as desperate as I am for some comment action. I mean really, be honest with yourself, don’t we all blog for the comments?

So, on with my desperate attempt to entertain my readers with a story that doesn’t have to do with my children. Which may backfire because all of my readers may be in the future when my children get older and decide to do genealogy by reading their mom’s blog. And, then they will just want to hear their stories, and instead they will find this one. Man, us mom’s, sometimes we just can’t win.

A few years ago, when I was very new to the South and was trying to learn all the new vocabulary I had an interesting experience at WalMart. Of course it happened at Wal-Mart because Tennesseans don’t shop anywhere else. This story has to do with the picture above in a round about way…see if you can figure it out. I got the picture above from, I know you won’t believe it, the international towing museum, which is amazingly located down south a bit in Chattanooga,TN.

I was checking out in the regular line, as opposed to the infamous Self Check Out, which is where I normally check out. I may have shied away from Self Check Out a little after the above mentioned linked experience, and come to think of it, it was shortly after the funny check out story and I was checking out late at night (which explains why I wasn’t in my favorite closed self check out line.)

So, this night, a gruff looking man pulled his buggy up behind mine (we use the word buggy instead of shopping cart in the South) On a side note, I learned very quickly to holler (not yell) at my children to get in the buggy. No onlookers understood my discipline when I told my kids to get in the cart. I like to think of my audience you know. So, on with the story, as the cashier checked out my mountains of groceries, this gruff man asked her politely if she would keep an eye on his buggy. He explained, “I’m a wrecker driver and I just got a page.” He took off and the cashier pulled his buggy of merchandise out of the line.

I was perplexed. “What’s a wrecker driver?”, I asked the cashier, with as close as I can get to a Southern accent. I knew I would sound as if I was from a foreign country. The cashier looked at me as if I was from a foreign country. I explained further, “If you can’t tell already, I am not from the South.” (not hard for most people to notice since calling a shopping cart a buggy is as close as I get to a southern drawl) “So what that you aren’t from the south, are you stupid?”, her glare seemed to scream at me. So, I asked again,”What’s a wrecker driver, I really don’t know what that is.”

As she must have noticed the tear forming in my eye from frustration, she answered nonchalantly, “It’s a person who drives a wrecker, honey.”

I probably should have stopped there, but just couldn’t end the insanity until I got my answers. “What’s a wrecker?”

“Well, you know, honey, it’s the thing that people call when they’ve been in an accident or their car broke down.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, a TOW TRUCK!”, I responded feeling so enlightened.

She then replied, “What’s a tow truck?” I saved her the humiliation and explained, “It’s what the rest of this country calls a wrecker driver.”

Well surely this WalMart cashier must have been the more misinformed person because even the best of the best wrecker drivers call their museum the “International TOWING Museum”, not the “International Wrecker Museum.” I took pride in myself tonight for knowing more than the old WalMart checker about wreckers. Surely she doesn’t know about the wrecker museum or this website that I found tonight while searching for a picture of a wrecker to post.

Do you think I can pass as a true Southerner yet? I guess I’ll have the ultimate test when my car breaks down. If I look under the T’s in the yellow book before I look up the W’s than I will have failed. But, if I go straight to the “wrecker section”, well, then let’s just say that then y’all will know that I am at least one southern vocabulary word closer.

Knoxville Symphony

Abigail’s class went to the Knoxville Symphony today. It was so fun! My favorite piece of music was definitely Bernstein’s West Side Story. Why is it that I wait for my children’s opportunities to force me to bring culture into my life? I had a blast today. Now, if I can just get to the Symphony without 800 school children there at the same time. hint hint

On a side note, I have discovered a great new aspect of the blog. (thanks lori – she gave me the idea with her etsy find) Blogging is a great way to leave subtle hints for stuff that I want from my husband. Someday I am going to post a picture of a 2 karat diamond!

Anyhow, Abigail really seemd to enjoy herself today. Because she has been at the “No Child Left Behind” school, she has never been on a field trip before. She is in 3rd grade…about time, don’t you think? She was totally intrigued by this thing called “the bus” and loved the symphony. She asked all kinds of questions; the only one of which I had an answer for was, “Mom, what is the name for the guys with the big drums?” I actually could sound smart when I said, “Percussionists”. Can’t spell the word, but lucky for me, she won’t know the difference.

The experience wore her out, as you can see from the yawn. It wore me out too, but no one had a camera to take a picture of me yawning throughout the experience. I now know why I refused to let my kids be carted to and from school on a school bus. It was crazy and the nauseousness was nostalgic as I thought back to my school days.

Self Check OUT

I have searched high and low on the internet for a picture of self check-out in action. This picture was with an article found here.

I wanted a point of reference as I tell you one of my most HILARIOUS embarassing life experiences. This is a good one, I promise, you want to keep reading.

O.k., much has been said about self-check out. Everyone has their own opinion about whether or not self check out is a good thing for society. My opinion of self checkout should have changed after my experience yesterday, but I have to admit that I will still be a frequent user of self check-out. I LOVE it.

I am addicted to self check-out. In fact, I HATE it when the workers who oversee the self checkout kiosks try to get too involved with my check out process. There is this one elderly employee at Wal-Mart that will stand by my side the whole time giving me tips, telling me how to unload my shopping cart, and what the codes are on the produce, and so forth. I want to shout at her, “Would you let me be? I am in the self checkout because I don’t want to deal with people like you!” I guess she just doesn’t understand that I am completely capable of scanning bar codes and swiping my own debit card. What she really doesn’t get is the sheer joy I feel when “pretending” that I am the cashier(a job I always wanted to have as a child). “AND I REALLY WANT TO DO IT BY MYSELF…o.k. grandma!”

Well, there is my take on self checkout. Now let me tell you of my experience at Wal-Mart yesterday. [Don’t you think I should start to tally how many times I write about Wal-Mart.] I guess it is a funny place. Let me tell you what, you would have been laughing hysterically if you were anywhere near me at Wal-Mart yesterday. I literally CHECKED MYSELF OUT!

Well, a friend offered to take my children for me so that I could do some heavy duty shopping. Bless her heart, there is NOTHING more painful than doing heavy duty shopping with three children under 6, unless you want to add more children to the scenario. I was in a HUGE hurry. Abigail started first grade today, and yesterday from 3-4 p.m. was the “meet the teacher” day. I dropped the kids off at one and vowed to be back by two; this would give me just enough time to get the groceries home, clean Abigail up, and drop Phia and Bella off at the other babysitter. I knew I would have to hurry. One hour is just not enough time to do heavy duty “I have nothing in the house” shopping.

So, of course, I found the time to be 2:05 and I hadn’t even had a chance to navigate through the frozen food aisles. I made a mental note to do the frozen stuff later and hurried my way to the self-checkout, knowing that I had to make it real fast if I was going to get to the school by 3. O.k., so here is the crazy part:

I was unloading one shopping cart, checking items out, and loading them all into an empty shopping cart on the other side. I was crusing! I got my six gallons of milk scanned and set in the bottom portion of shopping cart #2. I then, proceeded on to my 12 pack of diet caffeine free dr. pepper. As I came back up (still, in a rushed mode, remember) I went to quickly grab the next item from my original shopping cart. Except my aim was WAY off. I slammed the top front part of my head against the corner of the scanning device. I heard a loud POP sound, and couldn’t believe that I had slammed my head that hard in front of all those people. How embarassing. Little did I know that the slamming noise was the least of my worries.

I stood upright and brought my hand to my head, just hoping that I wouldn’t find blood. I am unsure of what happened first, me feeling blood trickle down my face, or looking at my hand full of blood. I got dizzy and sat down on the “bagging” section of the self checkout. Thankfully there were no groceries there, leaving me a perfect little recovery bench. I am also thankful that the weighing device didn’t shout out “weight not found” or “get off the scale”. I sat there, put my head down, and held pressure on my bleeding head. How mortifying! There was blood all over my hair and face, the floor, my hand, and arm.

An older Tennessee native (who was missing most of her teeth) was walking by with her grandchildren right as all of this conspired. Normally, she would not be the kind of person that I might associate with, but yesterday before she left, I gave her a huge hug and told her, “Thank the Lord for Mothers!” She stepped right into action, grabbed a travel size kleenex off of the shelf and started handing them over. At one point she held them on my head for me. What a woman. She didn’t know me or my blood history at all. In fact during the confusion I did promise her that my blood was clean. I probably stressed her out, as I am the kind of paranoid person that worries about blood diseases and so forth and she probably hadn’t even thought of it.

Finally, the Wal-Mart workers became aware of what was going on. The first one on the scene questioned my new older friend, “What happened?” I shouted out, “She beat me up!” You gotta make light of the situation, right? How else does a person survive such an embarassment? Everyone had a good laugh and more and more Wal-Mart workers came out of the woodwork. (Why is that when you need a worker you can never find one? And, if you ever need customer service, you have to stand in a line for at least 15 minutes?…….Because ALL Wal-Mart workers feel the need to respond to a little emergency like a lady bleeding all over their floor in self checkout) One of the workers commented to the other, “She is bleeding like a stuck pig.” I don’t know if she was looking at the scale that I was sitting on or if she was trying to make any reference to my weight, but golly, do you think that was what I needed to hear at this horrific moment? Like everyone couldn’t see the blood for themselves!

So, I started to regain consciousness, and threw out a request to my Wal-Mart fan club….”Can someone please get the Wipees from my purse?” (a good mom always has the wipees within arms reach) I started wiping off my head and hands and at this moment, the nicest worker, who happened to look a little like my husband, said, “Oh, here, sweetie, let me clean up your eyes.” I closed them so that he could take care of me, unlike the rest of the staff who just stood around staring in awe. Someone did bring me some ice which was really nice. Then, the short little manager (you know he is a manager because he wears a red vest) asked me if he could take a statement. The nice guy that looked like my husband proceeded to check out the rest of my cart (or buggy as they call it here in TN). I stood up and proclaimed to the crowd of 8 that I would not sue Wal-Mart. It was totally my own clumsy fault. The short man said it was protocol to have me sign something.

I said, “Can you make it quick? I have to go and meet my daughter’s teacher right now.” This brought a roar of laughter. I guess I looked pretty awful and holding that bag of ice on my head didn’t help the situation. I then got a stroke of genius. I said to the crowd, “Come to think of it, maybe I could get Wal-Mart to pay my husband’s way through LAW school.” Everyone laughed and the short serious manager replied with a worried tone, “Your husband isn’t really in law school, is he?” I loved to get his goat and said, “Yes he is, and maybe I should call him before I sign anything.” He tried to play it off like he wasn’t worried, but what he was probably thinking about was the little sign that they keep in the break room that will now proclaim 0 days since an accident on the sales floor. I laughed and told him I was kidding, and reasurred him that I wasn’t going to sue. He informed me that I had only 24 hours to let Wal-Mart know if I was in need of anything.

I then tried to awkwardly push my VERY heavy shopping cart out of the store while holding a bag of ice on my head. I smiled to myself because I was on my way, and maybe would even make it to meet the teacher on time. And, I had to laugh at myself. How many people on the internet have a self checkout story that even compares to mine? I survived checking MYSELF out at Wal-Mart. (and I am not talking about in the dressing room mirror) I can never show my face there again, but hey, I survived.

Animals & Crackers

Shopping at the warehouse
It’s been a while. Sorry. Haven’t felt like writing much. I could use bipolarism as an excuse, but for more than one reason, I won’t. At least I will get one entry into my April archive.

A few weeks back, a good friend of mine and I ventured out to one of our favorite places….Sam’s Club. (We don’t have a Costco anywhere near here or that is the warehouse I would prefer.) Between us, we had three children under three year old. We joined the rest of the desperate homosapiens at the demo tables. Unlike other species, we patiently waited our turns at our chance for little pieces of pizza, smoothie demonstrations English tea cakes, and the chicken salad.

After Sophia complained of the taste of the chicken salad and spit her remaining portion into my napkin, the sweet elderly demo lady offered our girls just a plain Club cracker. They each were delighted as she offered them one for each of their chubby hands.

A few aisles down from the frozen foods, Sophia was trailing behind. She dropped her cracker on the cement floor. The lady standing close by her, yelled out to me that he cracker was now “dirty”. Dirty is a relative term. When you have three children, dropping a cracker onto a floor does not constitute dirty…..if it was a sucker and had been dropped onto the floor of the van and retreived with lint, remnants of cheerios, and other foreign objects then it would be “dirty”. Even then, if I had a bottle of water close by to wash it off, the sucker could still be salvagable(depending upon my childs’ desperation for it and my need to please the child at the time).

So, like any other responsible mother, I yanked the cracker from Sophia’s hand. I said, “No no, Sophia, it is dirty.” Sophia looked at me perplexed, but luckily she is my mild mannered child, and she didn’t yell out, “Mom, you always let me eat my stuff of the floor, it’s not that dirty, just brush it off.” As soon as we got around the corner out of earshot from the very paranoid mother I handed the cracker back to Sophia and said, “Here you go.” Letting her digest the cracker was much easier than hunting for a garbage can, and besides…it’s good for her immune system.

Poor Bambi

The Classic: Bambi

On Monday, I took the kids to Sam’s Club. I ever so slyly put the newly released Bambi in the bottom of the buggy (that is what they call a shopping cart in TN). I even turned it upside down, so that if the kids did see it, tbey wouldn’t know what it was. (I wanted to give it to them for Easter from the Easter Bunny)

I succeeded at hiding it from them for about 15 minutes. As soon as we stopped at the snack bar, it was over. Abigail, caught eye of it, picked it up, and announced to her sisters: “Look you guys, mom is getting us Bambi.”

About an hour later, after I had managed to put several other things in the buggy too (including Abigail and Sophia), I started to feel guilty about the money I was going to spend. I put several things back, including Bambi. The girls were sorely diasappointed, but I told them that we would come back and get it when dad was with us.

As we were going to check out, Abigail and Sophia glued themselves to the TV monitor that was playing Bambi. (Aren’t those Sam’s Club people smart?) It was at this point that all of my guilt subsided. (I knew that I would have to buy Bambi, if I ever wanted to get out of the store) I told Abigail to get Bambi off the shelf again, and after the girls cheered for a second or two, we were off.

Buying a new movie is HEAVEN to a mother. When we got home, the baby went down for a nap and Abigail and Sophia proceeded to glue themselves to our TV. I was able to get some cleaning and other household duties accomplished without any interruption.

Well, later, as we sat down for dinner, I asked Sophia what she thought about the movie. I fully expected some kind of reaction. I was totally traumatized by the show when I was little and Sophia is my most sensitive child. I was totally taken off guard when I heard her response.

Sophia said,”I like Bambi.” I happily said,”Good, what was your favorite part?” I thought that she would say Thumper or Flower the Skunk. No, this is what my twisted child said,”My favorite part was when Bambi’s mom died.” What in the world?!?! In a worried tone, hoping that she could redeem herself somehow, I asked her frantically, “Why was that your favorite part?” She said,”I just like it because I don’t want Bambi to have a mom.”

Who knows? Maybe my-three-year old was going for the reaction or maybe she needs some serious therapy. Maybe Sophia should grow up to be a hunter and join the Bambi Killers Club. I could only conclude one thing from the conversation, Disney has a conspiracy against mothers. First, they force us into buying their movies with their very skilled marketing. Second, mothers are allowed a false sense of relief when the kids happily sit and watch a Disney movie for hours on end. Then they pump anti-mother doctrine into our kids…think about it:

Disney killed Bambi’s mom. Cinderella’s step-mom is EVIL, and who knows what happened to her real mom. Belle doesn’t have a mom. Mulan wants to be like her dad. The only conversations between Ariel and her parents were with her dad. Sleeping Beauty’s mother poisons her with an apple. Tarzan’s mom got eaten by a tiger. Nemo’s mom…. well, you get the picture. Poor Bambi. Poor Mother of Bambi!!