Mashed Potatos

Way back in the early years, before we had gray hair and I had a waistline not identified by its doughy appearance, Isaiah and I attended a Bible Study with other couples and a very wise mentor couple.  We talked about marriage. All of us got engaged, got married, had babies, and moved away.  We're all still married, too!

It was awesome.

During one of those weekly study sessions where we were so naïve we had all the answers and the world figured out, our much less naïve and kind, indulgent mentor couple told us that being married was like making mashed potatoes.

You start hard.  You get skinned alive.  You get dumped in hot water and turn up the heat.  You become soft.  You become seasoned.  You turn into a lovely, edible dish.

This weekend we had our own version of this adventure.

On Friday we dropped the kiddos off at Parents Night Out while wearing white tights.  We bolted from there to the college where we completed our costumes for Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head.

Without going into a lot of detail, may I just explain that at 7:38 a.m. Friday morning we did not have Potato Head costumes?  I have proof of this in the form of text messages to a co-worker and a friend where I, wish varying levels of hysteria in my tone, noted I was not ready and I was going to FAIL, FAIL, FAIL at my job as costume designer!

(I discovered Friday that yelling, "Ric Rac Frickasay!" is almost as good as shouting out other, more traditionally accepted profanities and gets less of a look see when muttered throughout the entirety of Hobby Lobby.)

This would also be the moment to mention that on Friday morning I was slated to accompany Maggie on her school field trip to the fire station.  I was a designated driver as well, which meant that I needed to head back to the carwash and address the toxic waste dump that had been building in the back seat of the car.

I dutifully arrived at the school at 9:45 in time to receive a slightly snarky phone call from the director that said they LEFT at 9:45 and I could just meet them at the fire station.

Which means that I broke my promise to Maggie to take her and the hazardous materials outfit I was wearing was suddenly unnecessary.

Ric Rac Frickasay.

After an enlightening time at the fire station where I wore Mikayla in the Moby Wrap and carried Maggie all over because she was frightened that the truck was going to honk I had an expansive 40 minutes to visit Hobby Lobby and create two potato costumes.

Here's the result:

We made it.  It wasn't exactly pretty, but we made it and it's all good.

As for the squashing and seasoning for the mashed potatoes, I guess that's coming all day, every day.  

I found this little excerpt from Rants from Mommyland that made me laugh about the possibility of becoming soft.  I can totally see myself having this conversation with my firstborn:

Argument #2: You May Not Borrow the Car until 2019
6 yr old daughter: Mommy, can I please drive to school?
Me: Of course! Hop in your booster and get buckled!
6 yr old: No. I would like to drive.
Me: Honey. Don't be silly. You can't drive a car. To begin with, you don't have a license.
6 yr old: (earnestly) Yes, I know. I understand. And I'm way too young. But I've been watching you very carefully and I'm pretty sure I know how to do it. You don't even have to tell me what to do because I already know.
Me: Um, wow. I'm sorry but no.
Thumbelina: (starting to get visibly upset) You're. Not. Listening. To. Me. I can do it. I know how to drive. I just need you to let me try.
Me: Well for starters, it's against the law. I would got to jail.
Thumbelina: (sobbing) You are not listening! I can do it! Please let me drive to school! Please! (anger and frustration coursing through every fiber of her small body)
Me: (stunned) No. I.... no.
Thumbelina: (eyes swell to ten times their normal size and glisten with extra large tears, heart-brokenly murmurs) Why don't you believe in me?

To make matters both worse and better, Isaiah and I had the bright idea to wake up this morning before the girls (which means at the crack of dawn) and drink coffee and do a devotional together.

Um, that was great in concept but not so great in practice.

Maggie beat us to the punch and got up when it was still dark outside and let me know in no un certain terms that she was in need of snuggling.  Isaiah slept… I made coffee…  I seasoned coffee with a creamer fit for Satan's coffee mug… All children were awake… Isaiah dressed them… And then the mad rush to get everyone to church commenced.

So much for that idea.  I think we're going to try tomorrow though.  It's got to get better with practice, right?

So, that's the story we've got from here.  Five days and we'll start the trek to Arizona for spring break.  Can't wait for the joy of 17 hours, three kids, two college students and the Suburban.  It's either the definition of awesomeness or insanity.  Can't really tell right now which one.