We're not rednecks

My husband wore a NASCAR shirt each time I gave birth. That doesn't make us rednecks, does it? We have all our front teeth, we don't smoke or drink, we both were in the national honor society in high school, we don't live in a trailer with the tires still on it, and we can hold our own in a nice restaurant. Unfortunately anybody interested in NASCAR or any type of auto racing seems to be put into a category by outsiders-and it's not a flattering one. Not to say that there is not some truth to this stereotyping. We have been to two races at Watkins Glen International Raceway, and we have seen the proof. Men and women......no, males and females, with their bodies barely covered, hooting and hollering, stumbling with a beer in their hands, toting kids by leashes. The only clean thing on them is usually the beer cooler-which looks like it is their pride and joy. At one race, there was actually someone so drunk, he vomited all over, then stood up and kept cheering his favorite driver. Yes, it is understandable how a person can be so blinded by that image that they can't see past it to the rest of the crowd: the families, the father and sons, the couples enjoying a day on their own. Yes, I drive a truck and I wear cowboy boots. My husband drives a bigger truck and wears jeans to church, but we consider ourselves to be much more civilized. But, I'm sure to some other breed of race fans, we might as well be rednecks. I'm just not sure if I should be insulted or not.

Don't ask

I haven't slept well in about a month. The reasons are simple-I have three kids and my husband and I have connected much lately. First I was sick with pleurisy and he had a sinus infection, then he had two molars pulled, then I got my period. So let's just say snuggle time is down to a minimum. I thought I would do ok last night, we both fell asleep pretty quickly and I don't think either of us was snoring. Then came the teeny voice over the baby monitor. "Moooooommmmyyyyyyyyy...........................Moooooommmmmmmyyyyy......." It wasn't the usual, but I still knew what it meant. I looked at the clock. 2:40 a.m. I went down the hall and Megan explained very matter-of-factly that she had "tinkled in my bed." Thankfully somehow the way she was curled up, none of the blankets or the dozen stuffed animals got it this time. So, I stripped her bottoms off and carried her to the potty. At this point, I knew I had to go also, but my husband was on his way down the hall and I thought I would just change the sheet on her bed, then I would go use the bathroom and come back. Before I knew it, Mommy had tinkled in her underwear. Seriously. I am 32 years old and I have no bladder control. I guess it happens with having children. Megan was born by cesarean so apparently that just did me in after two vaginal births. So of course, I slip off my panties and throw them in the laundry and sneak back to our room to put clean ones on. Just as I locate a pair in the drawer, my husband walks in and just looks at me. "Don't ask," I tell him.

Hospitality

I have never been very good at entertaining, but I have often thought of inviting different someones over for dinner once a week. I think I have started. I had invited my mother-in-law over for dinner two weeks ago, but she had plans and we had to reschedule for last week. Of course, then I got sick, and was on the couch for a week enduring the pain of pleurisy. She called and offered to bring a pizza and since my plan for supper was to let three kids raid the pantry, I readily accepted the offer. She showed up with my father-in-law ("so what" you may think, but they have been divorced for years), and the 6 of us had pizza. Not a candlelit dinner party, but it was a start. So yesterday I called my dear Aunt Ann and invited her to supper. She agreed and made the 1/2 mile drive from her house to ours. I fixed a lovely pork roast in the slow cooker, boiled potatoes, and green beans. I used my good plates which happened to be the same pattern that Aunt Ann and Uncle Wilbur had at the beginning of their marriage 41 years ago. Each of the kids said a prayer, and we shared family conversation throughout the meal. I made apple cider donuts for desert. I didn't really like the recipe, but the kids gobbled them down. Aunt Ann refused to leave until she helped me do the dishes, so I washed and she dried while the kids played with their dad. It was a poignant moment for me. Aunt Ann is very special to me. Almost like a second mother who isn't critical. I grew up next door to her. She used to do my hair before school. She was the one that took me to get my immunizations for school. I can tell her anything in confidence  and know that she will not share it with anyone.  
The Bible tells us to open our homes to those in need. Aunt Ann isn't exactly in need of anything, but since Uncle Wilbur died, she is alone in her house on the hill. So, I'm sure she appreciated the conversation and a warm meal. I'm sure it's very hard to cook for just one person, and I cannot imagine being alone every night. So, who will I ask to dinner next week, and what will I cook? Good question.