NAPPIN' WITH THE CANNED GOODS

Sara Evans travels with her three children on the bus. She once told me that she requires 8-9 hours of sleep a night in order to keep her voice rested so she can perform. Makes sense. She has a nanny travel with her who gets up with the kids in the morning after Sara performs late into the night.

As for me, I get about half of what Sara sleeps. I've gotten used to getting by on an average of 4-5 hours of sleep.

That reminds me of the time I drove home from the morning show and stopped at the local wholesale club to get some groceries. I was checking out the cans of peas and green beans while leaning over my cart.

Soon, I felt someone tap me on my shoulder. Then, I heard the words "excuse me."

I had fallen asleep! Nothin' like dozing while standing up.

I acted as though I was just deep in thought over the canned goods selection before me, and stepped aside.

Next time, look for me in the mattress section at Sears.

THIS LITTLE PIGGY WENT TO...

I'm officially bummed.

I went to buy new running shoes recently, and left feeling like I walked out with a pair of skis. Let me explain.

I've been told in the past that after women have a baby, their feet tend to grow, or STRETCH, a 1/4 inch. I used to think that was completely bogus. Then I had Griffin, and sure enough, my toes began to hang over my 9 1/2 sandals. Not the hottest look. I'm pretty sure I haven't seen Jennifer Aniston sportin' that look in the fashion magazines.

Then, I had Hayden, and sure enough...I'm wearing size 10's. Thrilled, I am not.

Fast forward to last night. The employee at the running store asks me my shoe size, I mutter "a 10" under my breath. I'm a little surprised to find that all of the 10's are too snug. And the 10 1/2's. And the 11's. WHAT IS GOING ON?

Come to find out, the more you run, the longer one's feet can stretch. So, with no other choice but to keep moving up the scale, I am now the proud owner of size...

11 1/2's.

I'll probably have to start paying double for a pedicure.

BABY WATCH !

My little sis, whom I call "kid," is expecting her first baby. Ok, that's the nice way of saying it. SHE would tell you that the baby's in the oven, and the timer has done GONE-OFF. She's due this Saturday. She was ready last month.

I'm feelin' her pain.

There's nothing worse than that last month of pregnancy. You're walking like a penguin. You're swollen. And you'd give anything to see your feet. That's the ironic twist about pregnancy. My sister is tired of wearing those oh-so-stylish pants with an elastic band. I, on the other hand, can't wait to throw on my comfy sweats that don't require me to suck in my "extra curricular." (That's code for stretched out stomach.)

Soon, my sister will realize all of this discomfort was worth it. I can't wait to meet my nephew, Jackson. My boys have already announced they get to "boss him around."

On second hand, you may want to hang out in there a little longer, baby Jackson.

And if you're wondering, those feet in the picture above belong to my sister. She showed the pic to her husband, who replied, "WHO'S ARE THOSE?"

WHAT'S YOUR COMFORT FOOD?

Carrie Underwood says she drowns her sorrows in a big ice cream sundae on occasion. We can all relate. We all have bad days. And sometimes the only thing that makes us feel better is indulging.

So, when I came home tired and realized I still needed to sit down with Griff and do homework, fill out Hayden's school picture order form, make dinner, walk the dog, wash my dark pile of laundry that's been sorted for 4 days, put away the clean dishes in the dishwasher, and write a check for Griff's lunch money, I needed a pick-me-up.

Nothing a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough can't fix.

I've always enjoyed baking, but over the years, I realized the real reason I like to whip these cookies up from scratch.

I eat the dough! And not just a bite here and there. Spoonfuls of the stuff, and I recall a couple of times where my stomach actually hurt. Smart, huh?

The irony is that I don't even eat the BAKED cookies when I'm done. I usually save some for the boys and wrap up the rest for our neighbors.

Everyone needs at least one indulgence. Maybe I should switch mine to ice cream, like Carrie.

With cookie dough on top.

ORDINARY CELEBRITIES

Martina McBride, Sara Evans, and Wynonna Judd may be famous singers who have sold millions of albums, but they are no different than the rest of us mothers.

Each one of them have shared parenting stories with the morning show that we have all been through. I thought I'd share some of the ones that made me feel like I'm not alone.

Martina McBride once told us even she has feelings of "mom guilt." That feeling that comes over you when you have to be away from your kids for work. She is proud of the fact that she limits the number of days that she travels. And when she's gone, the girls are usually with grandparents.

Even Brad Paisley told us he feels bad that his wife handles the majority of the baby duties when he's gone, so he tries to make up for it when he's home.

Wynonna told us about the time she performed a show, in full makeup and glamorous clothes, only to walk off stage and have her son say, "I pooped. Change my diaper."

Sara Evans told me in New York City that her kids travel with her on the bus, which makes potty-training interesting. In fact, Sara was celebrating that day because Olivia "went-went" on the potty. That's code for number two.

These stars are just like us. Proud parents with countless stories to share.

PUT THE TOWEL WHERE???

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I get up abnormally early for work. I am always asked how much sleep I get at night, which usually isn't much. My alarm buzzes at 2:30, and after many snoozes, I'm in the shower by 3 am.

Over the years, I've tried to reduce the noise I make while getting ready for work. Nothing worse than a baby waking up in the night when I turn on the hairdryer. So, I've gotten used to doing a number of things more quietly so Greg and the boys can sleep.

For instance, I shower with the door slightly cracked, because shutting it can be heard in the other room. I blow-dry my hair on a lower setting. I've even ironed on the tile floor, to prevent opening the squeaky ironing board. I have the grout marks in my blouse to prove it.

So, Greg's request to stuff a towel under the bathroom door to "block out the light" seemed absurd. Sorry, honey, that's just silly.

I've fished around my sock drawer in the dark and worn two different colors in to work. I even keep my perfume in my car because the boys wake up to the scent.

As for the towel, I've got a solution if the bathroom light is keeping you awake.

Roll over.

THE BOYS

No, I'm not talking about Griffin and Hayden.

The other boys, the ones at work. Jim and Kevin. We have worked together on the air for many years, which means we sit together in a studio for several hours every day. We know each other so well that life at work gets a little predictable. Kevin sips from a glass of ice water each day, and likes all the pens in the studio to be placed caps up. Jim parks close to the door on rainy days because he's worried about his hair, and drinks his coffee with cream only. I am always cold in the studio and put my headphones on when my favorite song is playing.

They joke that I wear an invisible tiara and call the shots, but that's not true. We're a team. I don't ALWAYS get the final say on when to raise or lower the thermostat.

But, if I'm not happy, ain't NOBODY happy. Isn't that the way it should be?

TOOTH FAIRY INFLATION

What is the going rate for the tooth fairy these days?

Seems to me that she's all over the place. I got on the topic when talking to a friend last week, whose son had lost his fifth tooth. As a result, the tooth fairy delivered five crisp dollar bills. My friend explained that the tooth fairy slides two dollars for the second tooth, three for the third, etc.

Let's hope her son doesn't talk to my son anytime soon. My son will complain that he's not getting his fair share.

Griffin has lost 7 teeth so far. For each one, the tooth fairy has brought two dollars. I thought that was rather generous, and Griffin sure isn't complaining. Then there was the time that I was certain that the tooth fairy had forgotten to make a visit. I was supposed to "wait up" for her, but fell asleep. Panicked the next morning, I decided to cover for her, ran in and slid two ones under Griff's pillow. Greg was worried she didn't come, too, so he did the same without me knowing.

That was the tooth that brought four bucks! Had to laugh about that one. We explained that he lost a "special" tooth.

Whatever happened to good ol' coins?

A friend joked that at five bucks a tooth, kids will start knocking them out voluntarily.

WAX, HIGHLIGHTS, & BOTOX PARTIES?

Greg and I went to a gathering with friends in the neighborhood last night. Something one of the female guests said to me hit home. She told me she gets her hair highlighted a couple of times a year. She would do it more, but she doesn't want to sit in the salon chair for three hours. She'd rather spend that time doing something else.

That got me thinking...WHY DO WE DO THESE THINGS? Obviously to look better and feel good. Truth is, I get my blonde hair highlighted every six weeks. 2 1/2 hours of sitting in a salon chair every six weeks. That's 5 hours every three months. Or 20 hours of sitting still A YEAR!

The things we do as women.

Wax my eyebrows? Have, but too painful, so now I pluck. Botox? Never, don't know what's in it. Body wraps that promise you'll lose inches overnight? Alright, I caved on this one. Still had a muffin top on the beach that year.

My friend's comment got me thinking that I could be spending my time more wisely.

I'll give it some thought. In the meantime, I'm late for a manicure.

KID TALK...HUH?

This morning, we had our weekly "doughnut date." Greg and I take the boys to get doughnuts, then get our groceries. Makes sense, fill them full of sugar and hope they behave for an hour.

We returned home, and 3-year-old Hayden announces, "I want a squeeze thing." A WHAT? "A squeeze thing," he says, with irritation in his voice because I don't know what he means.

Normally, Griffin can decipher what his little brother is saying. Not this time. Greg shrugged his shoulders. Hayden said it one more time.

After blank stares from his parents, he marched over to the fridge, pulled out the bottom bin, and held something up. His squeeze thing? A Go-Gurt. Yogurt you squeeze out of a tube.

Of course it is.

Kids talk in code and it makes perfect sense to them. Trying to figure it out is another story.

McDonalds use to be "Big Donalds" and "I want to play across" meant "I want to play lacrosse."

What's the code for sitting in time alone?

EBAY? I GOT NOTHIN.

"The average person has around $1200 worth of "junk" they could sell on Ebay." I read that in Entrepreneur magazine a few weeks ago. HOT DOG! Stuff just laying around my house that I could either throw out or get PAID for? Sounds good to me.

I've never given Ebay a try before. Not to buy, or list an item. Greg purchased some video games recently, and paid more for postage than the actual item. But, that's been our only Ebay experience. So, with digital camera in hand, I decided to give it a shot.

One afternoon, I went through the house and photographed anything I decided I could live without. There was the Pottery Barn surf decor that we no longer use in Griffin's room, the white faux fur coat I've had for about 15 years, or the rhinestone-trimmed stilletos I BRIEFLY wore to the ACM's in Vegas. (They killed my feet, and I walked as if I had to go to the bathroom.) They're outta here!

I posted my first item on Ebay with excitement. A purse was my first item up for grabs! Only used it twice. Nothing expensive, but cute. This would be a 10-day auction.

The first few days, I checked my auction several times, but 0 bids. I finally got discouraged by day 7, and day 10 came and went with no fanfare.

I'm an Ebay loser.

The magazine article said you may have to post things twice, but who wants to do that?

I haven't given up...but, my first Ebay trial was a dud. I'll still post the rest of my glorified junk in the near future.

As for now, there's a cute leopard-printed purse at the local Goodwill.

CRYING AND I DON'T KNOW WHY!

Both of my boys are fans of music, and The Jonas Brothers Band are their heroes. The brothers were guests on Oprah yesterday, so I set the tivo to tape their performance, despite knowing that having it on tape would mean we would watch it OVER and OVER again.

Before dinner, I went to the basement to check the tivo, and make sure it captured the episode. Sure enough, it was there, and I found myself watching a little.

Oprah explained that two teen girls sent several emails and video to producers begging to have their idols, the Jonas Brothers Band, on her show. The girls were later attending a Jonas concert when the guys announced, in front of thousands, for them to come on stage. In front of everyone, the band thanked the girls for their efforts and said they had been invited to visit with Oprah, and the girls were coming also. Of course, the girls started bawling...and SO DID I.

WHHHHHY?

I don't even know them! For some reason, I was tearing up that their wish had come true. I can't explain it, but I sure felt silly, and I found myself looking around to make sure I was alone.

I sure wouldn't have cried before having children. Whether its a baby commercial on tv, or video of the kindergartner getting a surprise visit from his military dad, the tears come easier these days.

I told my husband what happened. The look on his face? Priceless.

GOT JEANS?

Carrie Underwood graces the cover of InStyle magazine this week. She talks about her wardrobe, and admits to owning around 100 pairs of jeans! 100??? Oh my. After reading that, I came home today and counted the ones in my closet. A whopping ten. The actual number of pairs that fit, without having to lie on the bed to pull them up? Six. The others were stuffed in the back of my closet, obviously because they hadn't been worn since my pre-baby days.

I'll admit, I really only have ONE pair of jeans that I love. I paid way more for these than I ever do, but it was worth it. They're a better fit. Can't explain it, but I'd wear them every day if I could.

Here's a little secret I learned over the past couple of years. The lower the placement of the pockets in the back, the SMALLER your badonkadonk appears. Who knows why...but it's true.

If you can't buy 100 pairs, like Carrie, just buy one with low-placed pockets. But, do me a favor. Skip the ultra low-rise.

There's something not right about seeing one's undergarments sticking out.

A CALL FROM MICKEY MOUSE?

A 3-year-old who knows it all and likes to think they call the shots...that's my son Hayden. He even walks around the house with his chest out as though he's the guy in charge. Time to get in the car? "I can buckle my own seatbelt," he says. Pour milk? "I can DO IT!" Reach something on the top shelf? You can hear his stepstool being pulled across the wooden floor. Make it to the potty in time EVERY time? Wellllllllllllllllll...its baby steps.

Recently, at dinner, Hayden decided to gargle his milk. After being asked to stop several times, he continued to do so, with milk dripping down his treasured football jersey. We are traveling to Disney in June, so Greg decided to nip the behavior by mentioning that Mickey Mouse would be disappointed. Still nothing.

Next, Greg walked to the phone, and hit the button that locates the phone when its off the cradle. It began beeping, and Greg announced, "Hayden, Mickey is calling." After a brief make-believe conversation with the famous mouse, Greg hung up and told Hayden that Mickey can't wait to see him, but he needs to listen to his mommy and daddy.

Hayden's eyes were as big as saucers. That's all it took. He ate the rest of his dinner wide-eyed and in amazement.

The only sign of his misbehavior was a dried milk-stain on his jersey.

YOU DID WHAAAT?

Greg and I attended a party for one of our neighbors who turned 40. Our gift was a baseball hat that read, "In dog years, I'm dead." Meanwhile, my parents came to the house to watch the boys. They also have two granddaughters, yet watching boys wears them out a bit more.

By the time we had returned home, all four were on the couch and looked as though they had run a race. Except Hayden, who was still not happy with Papaw for telling him "no" on his strawberry popsicle request. Dad explained that he had already had a fruit rollup and popcorn. Hayden still wanted Pap to sit in time alone.

The highlight (tongue-in-cheek) of the evening for my parents had to be when the boys took them up to their rooms. 3-year-old Hayden loves music, and will put on a concert for anyone who will watch. Jamming to his electric guitar, beating on the drums, or sliding across the room on his knees in true rock-star fashion are all typical moves for him.

Not so typical is when my parents told me he tried something new with his trumpet. Evidently, Hayden attempted to put his "you-know-what" in the mouthpiece. Where does he get this stuff?

I normally blame Greg, but I can honestly say that's NOT something he learned from his father.

ICED TEA AND A BASEBALL HAT

My 3-year-old son Hayden has a mind of his own. I think it has something to do with being the second child, though Greg says he's stubborn like his mother. (Funny...I recall being shy. My, how things change.) The boy is not shy, and talks to anyone who will listen. Tonight, his older brother had baseball practice, and Hayden found himself a bit bored watching the older kids play. So, he decided to make some friends. Hayden marched his stocky little body over to another mom sitting nearby, plopped down and said, "What's your name? I'm Hayden." By the end of their conversation, she had learned that Hannah Montana is his girlfriend, he loves the Jonas Brothers Band, and he owns his own baseball bat. "Laura" was nice enough to humor him, and before I knew it, they were sharing her ipod, each taking an earpiece, listening to music together.

We hit Skyline Chili for dinner, and Hayden was in rare form. He attempted to break some sort of record for the most oyster crackers in a mouth at one time, squeezed a bottle of hotsauce so hard it shot up into the air, and decided to mock the gentleman sitting next to us. The man called out to the waitress, "two iced teas, please!" Hayden began shouting, "two iced teas, please! Yep, two iced teas!" The kid is a comedian without a stage. The grin on his face says he knows it.

Driving home, he thought it would be fun to stick his hand out the window. Soon, he's screaming for Greg to turn around. Our little monkey had removed his baseball hat and was holding it out the window when it blew away. Nothing like dodging traffic on a busy road to make a 3-year-old happy.

We were only out about two hours, but its always eventful. I wouldn't have it any other way.

YOU WEARIN' LIPSTICK?

I'll admit...I'm obsessed with lipgloss. Love it...love it...and running out is like running out of milk. My mother always told my two sisters and I that lipstick makes you look polished. "Put on a little lipstick," she would say. At the time, I didn't think anything of it. But, smearing on my favorite shade of MAC lipgloss does make me feel a bit better. Yes, its the small things in life.

My 3-year-old isn't too fond of lipstick. For the past 6 months, each time I go to kiss him, he stops me and says, "You wearin' lipstick?" It's always the same three words. YOU WEARIN' LIPSTICK? If I say yes, he covers his mouth with his hands and will only kiss my cheek. If I say no, I get to kiss the cutest 3-year-old in the world. I soon realized the cheek kisses were beginning to outnumber the others!

I decided the only way I was getting my way was to steal kisses. Now when he leans in to kiss my cheek, I quickly turn to face him and kiss his mouth. This routine of ours always ends in giggles from both of us.

This happens several times a day, and anymore, I'm not so sure Hayden really cares about the lipstick. He loves the game.

...And I love him.

I LOVE YOU

A phrase we say a lot in this family is "I love you." Not a day goes by that Greg and I don't tell the boys that we love them. Often, they hear it several times in a 24-hour period. They always smile and say they love us back. Both of our kids are rather affectionate, something I am proud of. Eventually, the boys began initiating the "I love you's" to us on their own. Sometimes we'll be playing a game of Monopoly, or looking at a photo scrapbook, when one of them will stop what they're doing and say, "love you, Momma." Instant smile on my face.

The boys have now taken it one step further. Of course, they are typical 110% boys who rough-house, take a puck to the head while playing hockey in the basement, and share without fighting about 4 days out of the month. Yet, every so often, they will be playing together and I will overhear this:

"Love you, bubby." "Love you, too." Then they go back to getting the bad guys. It warms my heart to hear that they care about each other, and icing on the cake is that they aren't afraid to show it. On days when I doubt my parenting choices, three little words let me know I'm doing something right...

I love you.

I WAS A GOOD LISTENER!

I love moments that happen when they are least expected. I was getting the kids ready for bed last night, turning on their night lights, etc, when I found a note laying on Griffin's bed. His 6-year-old handwriting is rather good, so reading it was not a problem. It read, "I was a good listener today." Thinking back through our activities since he stepped off the bus, I had to smile and agree, he certainly had his listening ears on. It struck me as odd that he was compelled to write it down. Obviously proud of himself, I guessed. I told myself I had better acknowledge his good behavior so it wouldn't go unnoticed. He and his three-year-old brother, Hayden, were brushing the "sugarbugs" off their teeth in the bathroom.

About then, I happened to turn the note over. To my surprise, I found this written on the back:

"Hayden wasn't."

I laughed. Again, Griffin was telling the truth.

Hayden had his moments earlier in the day where he chose not to listen and sat in time alone. Gotta love a boy who tells it like it is. I'm guessing he gets that from his mother.

DANCE LIKE NO ONE'S WATCHING?

Driving in the car recently, my 6-year-old son heard a song on the radio with one of the lyrics stating, "dance like no one's watching." Griffin had an odd look on his face and said, "why in the world would someone do that?" The statement made no sense to him. I explained that sometimes people live their lives waiting for "something better" to come along, and dance like no one's watching is a way of saying be happy now. Live in the moment. About an hour later, we were sitting outside eating dinner, and loud music came over the speaker. Without missing a beat, Griff stood up and grooved to the tunes, showing off his best moves. He didn't realize it at the time, but he danced like no one's watching.

It's a phrase that is easy to forget because we all get caught up in life. One of my favorite poems is titled:

HAPPINESS IS A JOURNEY, by Rev. Crystal Lloyd (Thanks to Rev. Lloyd for her permission to feature her work.)

We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After that we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with, we will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage.

We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation, when we retire. The truth is there's no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when?

So stop waiting until you finish school, until you go back to school, until you lose ten pounds, until you gain ten pounds, until you have kids, until your kids leave the house, until you start work, until you retire, until you get married, until you get divorced, until Friday night, until Sunday morning, until you get a new car or home, until your car or home is paid off, until spring, until summer, until fall, until winter, until you are off welfare, until the first or fifteenth, until your song comes on, until you've had a drink, until you've sobered up, until you die, until you are born again to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy...Happiness is a journey, not a destination.

Work like you don't need money. Love like you've never been hurt and Dance like no one's watching. Right Now!

SAY IT ISN'T SO!

Many people who hear me on the radio have heard me say Boston Market is a weekly stop for me and the boys when my husband is working late. Whether dining in, or getting takeout, the boys LOVE Boston Market. A normal conversation before dinner goes like this, "Boys, your night to pick, where do you want to eat?" Most kids would pick McDonalds. Maybe even pizza. Not mine. They often skip finding fries in the bottom of the sack for a big slab of meatloaf and buttery corn. Mini cornbread loaves? Skip 'em. They don't like them, and would rather substitute a side veggie instead. What's wrong with them? Don't they know Mom would like some chicken nuggets dipped in honey every once in awhile?

Kidding aside, I go to bed knowing the kids got the next best thing to home-cooking. So, imagine my shock when I pulled my car up to the drive-thru speaker to order one family-size meatloaf to go (hold the gravy!) and found our favorite Boston Market was...closed. Not closed for the day. CLOSED. A note on the door thanked patrons for their business and stacks of chairs could be seen piled high inside the darkened windows. WHAAAAT? Say it isn't so! We drove 15 minutes across town to the next-closest Boston Market. I saw the sign and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, a familiar feeling came over me when I pulled into the lot. More stacked chairs. Another note thanking customers. And two hungry boys in my backseat. What is going on? This is a family tradition! I need notice so I can break it to the kids gently! Aaaaghhh!

Somehow, we survived. We found a Fazolis, I wiped spaghetti mustaches off their mouths and I spent the rest of the night looking up a good recipe for meatloaf.