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I was sitting on the back porch swing one night, hanging out with my dad when he said:  ”You were an easy kid to raise.  I can’t think of One bad memory; you were a pleasure growing up.”  Well, the first thing I thought, was he needed to be checked for Alzhemers.

I smoked my first and only cigarette at 6, never ran from an argument I didn’t believe in, didn’t take baths for most of year 9, stole the family car at 16, and most evenings, it was my dad’s job to be the family mediator.  And I was EASY to RAISE??  Is there a Dr. in the house?

We often reflect on the good, forget the bad and change our life story.  Milestones are memorable, boring stuff … ‘em, not so much!

You can be in labor and think you’re pushing a bowling ball out your wahzooooo and a week later, you’re looking into those sweet baby eyes thinking, “When are we going to do this again?”  Oh how quickly we forget.

Growing up, I lived a pretty normal life and like most, we remember those major events: our first date, first kiss, broken bones, stitches from a bike crash, graduating from college, the day you got married, the time you ran out of water hiking the Grand Canyon and we make our own story as if life is “Connect the Dots.” Except our story is constant.  We often live for the next BIG THING, the next big event or mile marker, and life never really stops; it keeps going.

There are certain things that stand out in life, but there’s a ton of stuff in between that we forget.  And they are just as important as the blinking lights along the side of the road.  All the events, great or small, led us to the place we are today.  If we forget, it’s as if we have deleted those files, making them obsolete, as if they never existed.

My dad has some of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard.  Growing up with 7 brothers and sisters, he could have you laughing for days and never repeat a story.  Often, the memorable stories are those that include drama, heart ache or surviving a situation by the skin of your teeth.  It was a story that was exciting.  Every day humdrum life is not exciting, but it’s valid.

My mom and I took a trip to Miami once and had a blast, but the one thing I remember most was being chased by a crazy taxi driver, who thought we owed him money.  Now I’m sure we had some great conversations and exchanged heart felt moments, but that’s what I remember.

Write it down, keep a journal of the funny things your kids say, moments enjoyed on a fishing trip, a story your dad told, meaningful conversations with friends.

Let’s face it, as we get older, we get further from our story. In the movie “Australia” the little aborigines boy tells his friend that he has to go on a journey, a “Walkabout” to get his story.  If he doesn’t go, he will have no story and will never Belong.

Getting a D on a Geometry paper or riding the bus home everyday is not memorable.  Having someone spit Redman Tobacco out the front of a bus and have it hit you in the face, as it came through the back window, now THAT’s memorable.  That’s my sister’s story.  And I’m sure one that stands out in her mind.

Life is slow and long and there are incredible moments that happen in our lives that tend to stand out more than others, but don’t neglect the small things, the mundane stuff, the laying in the floor with our kids on a rainy day, hearing them laugh.  The time you climbed a tree and secretly wished you lived there, listening in silence to the wind blowing quietly through the leaves.

Write it down.  Record those giggles; they won’t always sound like that.  Write down the little moments that seem so insignificant.  We can go on the journey and find our story, but if we don’t write them down to pass along to the next generation, it’s as if they never existed; they never belonged.  Go write your story.

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Do you ever take your kids shopping with you, thinking – “It can’t be as bad as last time.  Hmm.  You might as well put your finger on the stove girl, cause you are fixing to get burned . . . again!

Why we think something so horrible will get better, I don’t know.  The minute you walk through the doors of the Mall to make a quick run for that cute blouse, Timmy has a melt down, Mary has to go to the bathroom and Sam can’t sleep in public.  Dear Lord.  It’s just sheer “Will Power” to really want to go shopping, for us to take our kids, after repeat offenses.

When I was 7, my mom took me shopping at a department store.  While she was in the fitting room, I saw this mannequin on a platform.  My 1st thought was – Is it wearing underwear?  So, while I waited for my mom, I climbed up the ladder onto the platform; as I was putting my head under the skirt to see what was under there, the W-H-O-L-E thing fell 10 feet . . . and I came down with it.

The older ladies ran and got my mom, who was embarrassed beyond belief.  My mom grabbed me by the ear (remember that trick?) and hauled me out to the car, hollering, “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?  I said:  I wanted to see if the mannequin was wearing any underwear.  She looked at me with those stern mom eyes (the kind that puts chills down your spine) and I said:  If you were wondering, it WASN’T.

And that’s why you don’t take kids shopping, if you REALLY want to joy yourself.  Get a babysitter, trade play dates with a friend, go shopping in the evening or on the weekend, mow somebody’s lawn, just get time alone, Girl!

Then you think, “I’ll take “laid back” Johnny with me and leave loud Suzy with Dad.  Forgetaboutit!  It’s like trying to loose weight.  We work out hard all week and eat junk food on the weekends and never really get where we wanna go.

Keep the kids all day or all week, but when it’s your turn to enjoy PEACE and QUIET, get that Star Bucks coffee, find your favorite music on the ipod, jump into the car (ALONE) and head out to that “Well Deserved” time away.  You can’t do it half way.  Oh, No!  As the song says:  Go Big or Go Home!  Here’s to Peaceful Shopping!

When I was 6 years old, my friend eh eh “Tammy” stole a pack of her Grandma’s cigarettes that were sitting on the window ceil.  I can remember her Grandma saying a few choice words that morning, while looking for the pack of missing cigarettes. After 10 minutes of searching high and low, she headed to the store to buy another pack and we headed to the barn to smoke our first.

For reasons unknown to us, maybe boredom or just wondering what it was like to smoke a cigarette, we headed out to the barn and lit one up.  We were 6 years old.  I can’t imagine my 6 year old doing something like this today.  I still hold his hand to cross the street.  But way back when, we ran around barefooted, explored the back country and the world was our oyster.  If you had a bike and a buddy, you ruled the world.

There were 4 of us in the barn that day.  We had a “look out man” a “cigarette lighter”, a “cigarette smoker” and one, whose job was to double dog dare us into more shenanigans than we were prepared for.

The barn was creepy.  It was full of huge pieces of meat hanging to dry from the rafters; there were 40 or 50 jars of can goods (green beans, slimy okra and tomatoes) sitting on the shelves and about 10 jars full of something clear, not identified at this point.

The barn had a dirt floor; between the smoking and coughing our lungs out, my friend “Sara” placed a jar full of clear liquid in the middle of the dirt floor and double dog dared each of us to pee in the jar. Sounded reasonable to me!  One by one, each girl pee-ed in the jar. NO problem.

When it came my turn, I wasn’t one to loose a Double Dog Dare, I mean, I AM a Southern Girl and you can’t back down from those.

As I was squatting down to pee in the jar, one of the girls lit a match to light her cigarette, something we had all done.  But this time, as I squatted down to pee, she flicked the match into the jar.  As if in slow motion . . . the match hurled toward the clear liquid.  When the match hit the jar,  the force of the BLOW shot me out the front door.  I just remember holding on to my pants as I flew through the air.  I had no idea what happened, I was just IN . . .  The AIR.

When I hit the ground, I flew across wet grass as I scrambled to pull myself together.  When I got myself in order, I realized the barn was ON FIRE!!  Two of the girls ran, one was on fire and I (sorry to say, at 6 was scared to death) I ran too.  I ran home as fast as I could.

My mom, barely 23 years old herself, looked at my smutty little face and singed eyebrows and said:  Did you have ANYTHING to do with this?  I froze in fear and said:  “NOoooo!”  And that was the end of that.

By the time the fire department arrived, it was too late.  The barn had burned to the ground and my mom never mentioned the incident again. I later learned the jars of clear liquid contained 100 proof liquor, Moonshine, to be exact.  Did you know that when Moonshine ignites, it produces a Blue Flame.  That explains what I saw when I flew out of the barn that day.

Tammy’s Grandpa had hidden it on the shelves.  It almost killed us.  As a matter of fact, no one ever mentioned the incident again.   Grandpa kept in on the down low because he was hiding Moonshine, and we kept it on the down low for fear of going to jail or WORSE, getting our butts whipped.

Little things can turn into big things.  I mean, I was just bored that day and we went from stealing cigarettes and smoking them, to burning down a barn and running for our lives.

It’s important to have a Life Plan, goals to strive for.  I didn’t wake up that morning and think:  “I’m gonna smoke a cigarette.  But I woke up with NO PLAN and ended up following others who DID have one.

Where do you want to be in 5 years, Mentally, Physically, Financially, Spiritually?  Are you gonna let people peer pressure you into things, or are you gonna be the Peer Pressure?

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Know what you want – and go for it; otherwise, all it takes is one person to “Double Dog Dare YOU” into something you really didn’t want to do in the first place; and then small lies becomes big lies and the truth ends up on the “down low” and you end up on the side lines of life – missing opportunities and wishing you had stayed true to yourself.  Send me your story!  I Double Dog Dare You!

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One day after hearing my girlfriends talk about shaking things up a bit in the bedroom, I thought I’d go get a Brazilian Bikini Wax. Not thinking very clearly, I decided to make an appointment with the full service spa next door to my video production company.

What I should have done was made an appointment with a spa in the next county and walked in mysteriously under an assumed name with a bag over my head and just went for it.  But oh no, I had to go next door to my office, where everyone knew me.  I walked in, not really knowing what to expect  It’s kind of like having a baby.  You go in smiling, you come out bargaining with God, promising anything if he’ll just make the pain go away.

I walked in, they put me on this waxing table and asked me to put a thong on.  Hmmm.  Red Flag. . . Next thing I knew she’s poured honey on everything and when she goes to Snatch, I shot off the table crying “Mother of God!”

She tried to distract me by asking questions, like  – how much does it cost to have old reels transferred to DVD?  Yank!!!!!!  and as I was giving the answer she snatched again.  She snatched twice before I could take a breath.  “Oh Lord Jesus, I can’t take this anymore.”  You can fool me once, but not twice.  I told her I didn’t care what it looked like down there, if the honey stayed or went, I was outta there.

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I grabbed my clothes and left.  I’m sure they had a big laugh that day, as I headed next door to my office.  At the end of the day, I made sure I parked in the back just to avoid passing the front of their store.  There’s got to be a better way to shake things up in the bedroom, because I can assure you, no husband will ever appreciate the pain you go through, getting a Brazilian Bikini Wax.

When I told my husband what I had done, he fell off the bed laughing.  You know, men are not complex.  He said I didn’t need to go to all that trouble to Shake things Up.  But was wondering if I brought home the thong.  I said honey:  I think a piece of it is still down there.

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Many of my friends are cleaning out closets, drawers and finding interesting discoveries in their kid’s rooms.  From rocks and muddy shoes to stinky underwear that was thrown in the top of the closet to fossilized socks under their bed.  It’s interesting, the aromas that can come from a child’s bedroom, making its way into the foyer.

When I first got pregnant, it was around Thanksgiving and I couldn’t stand the smell of turkey, ham or the dog.  Poor Max, he lived outside for about 6 months and was scrubbed with bubbles and pretty fragrances until his fur was just about rubbed off.

That must have been God’s way of preparing me for what was to come.   Do you ever jump into the car or walk through the front door after a L-O-N-G day and think . . .  “What … Is THAT SMELL?

And it’s never the good smell, like a friend coming over to bake a pie.  Yeah, Right!!  It’s a weird smell, like a bottle of curdled milk hidden under a recliner or a forgotten poop diaper that made its way behind the couch. . . hmmm.

Smells can be slightly subtle but enough to keep the neighbors away.

That’s when you say:  Hey Kids, We’re Gonna Play a Game:  It’s Called: “The first one who finds the smell gets a Prize.  They’ll turn into little hound dogs sniffing’ and looking.   Promise of a reward equals a guaranteed find.

When I was 5, my birthday was on Easter.  I was lucky enough to find the Golden Egg, and with it, came $5.  It was a real egg and I didn’t want anything bad to happen to it, so I hid it in a little bucket on my book shelf.

By the time May rolled around, my mom had every family member on the look out for the smell coming from down the hall.  A week into the hunt, a line of ants marching up the wall, led us to the disaster in the bucket.

So, I’m going to follow in my friend’s footsteps, clean a few drawers, closets and turn those “What IS that Smell” into the “Smell of a friend baking pie in my kitchen.  So thanks for the incentive girls; And as a Bonus, Max may be getting a bubble bath!!  Here Boy!

After giving birth to my 2nd child, my husband gave me and my mom an 8 day trip to Europe.  I was beside myself with excitement.  He agreed to watch the kids, a 2 year old and 4 month old, and I agreed, for a greater cause, to take the breast pump and keep pumping while I was there.

As we’re checking into the Four Seasons, my mom, in all her excitement, agrees to watch the luggage while I check us in.  Upon my return, I lean down to grab the breast pump, inconspicuously hidden in a black back pack, and IT’S NOT THERE! I panicked, because you know women, you can’t quit pumping cold turkey, or your boobs will inflate like a Macy’s Day float; and then you are in big trouble.  I searched the lobby, asked my mom if she had seen it and even spoke with hotel security.  I didn’t care if I lost all my clothes or money, but I needed that PUMP, not only for my son, but I knew in about 2 hours, my boobs were gonna be coming out of my sweat shirt and then what was I gonna do?  I was looking at little kids on the street, in a different way.  Hmm, does anyone need milk?

We reviewed the hotel security tapes and much to my amazement, you can see a hand slip next to my mother’s legs and a back pack is slowly removed, while my mom is looking around with anticipation and excitement that she’s really in Europe.  Say good bye to the breast pump, it’s gone!!  The security camera didn’t pick up a face, only a hand grabbing the bag; so now what?

We called every hospital in town, looking for a breast pump.  My mom was on a mission to save her daughter and her grand baby!  She called a pharmacy a few miles away and they had a “hand pump.”  Oh dear God, what was I gonna do with a little hand pump on these boobs.  At this point, we’re 8 hours into no relief and my boobs are practically touching my chin, “no lie, I was scared!”  It’s 2am when she called the hotel lobby and requested a cab to take her to the pharmacy.

My mom said (in her Southern Accent ):  You won’t believe who showed up. It was Mohamed Al Fayed’s personal driver, you know, the owner of Harrod’s in London.  The guy shows up in a stretch limo; that’s right, a stretch limo.  My mom looked around as if the “Candid Camera Crew” was filming.  So off they go, mom in a stretch limo heading to the pharmacy at 2am to pick up a $20 breast pump! Dear Lord!  I couldn’t believe it.

At this point, my boobs are so big, I can’t move.  It was like carrying two huge boulders on my chest.  It was insane.  I had no idea that something so great could “TURN ON YOU” so fast.  Here I was, lying in bed at the Four Seasons Hotel, watching those crazy English Channels, you now, the ladies with blue hair and fast cars, while my mom and I took turns pumping.  That’s right, bye bye pride, we took turns pumping.

That was an unforgettable moment.  I never dreamed I’d been in a situation where my mom would be hand pumping my boobs.  “Mother of God” we pumped 18 ozs that day, as we laid in twin beds laughing our butts off at the situation we found ourselves in.  One of us would snicker, which turned into a “pee in your pants”, giggling fest.  I prayed that day, that whoever stole my breast pump would find no comfort or rest until they asked Jesus to Save them.  : )

AAHHA Moment:

Carry Your Pump at All Times.  Never let it out of your site, or you may find yourself in another country, feeding little children that you don’t know.  : )

What is Baby Brain:  Stephanie’s Dictionary defines it as:  a temporary brain fart caused by baby hormones.  It’s when your brain sparks but doesn’t quiet complete communication, leaving a pregnant mom trying to think of words like:  vehicle – but instead you say:  that thing full of cheerios in the driveway.

I was on my way to a Birthday party last year and noticed, after I had run errands that morning, that my black pants were inside out. Ok, my excuse is I’m pregnant and my brain cells had temporarily left the building.  The obvious one inch seams running down the sides of my pants were a dead give away. I took them off and changed during a red light, trying to hurry as a rather large truck pulled up along side of me. I think I gave myself a hair lip in the process. Oh, the joys of baby brain.

I heard Michael J. Fox on David Letterman once describe the difference in how the first child was treated, vs. the 4th.  Paraphrased:

With the first baby, when you drop the paci, you boil it before handing it back to the baby.  With the 2nd child, when you drop the paci, you place it under the facet and rinse it with hot water.  With the 3rd child, when you drop the paci, you lick it and hand it back. With the 4th child, when you drop the paci, you let the dog lick it and hand it back. Isn’t that the truth?!

Stephanie’s View:

With the first child comes home from the hospital, you make everyone wash their hands.  If anyone coughs or looks like their gonna cough, they don’t get to hold the baby. They are one step away from wearing surgical scrubs or being banished from the room. By the time the 3rd and 4th arrive, and the oldest says”  Mom, little Henry is eating the dog food, you stop and think “well, if it’s good for the dog . . .