Wal-mart fan...

I'm averaging somewhere around a post a month, which is pitiful.  This fall has been a circus, and my blogging has definitely suffered.  Sigh...

A few weeks ago, I attended one of the only home games I'll be able to go to all season.  (Insert frowny face.)  It's really hard for someone who used to go to every home game, but that's what happens when you grow up, I guess.  (I just wish the Bulldogs could've held on against the Gamecocks, but that's another story for another day.)

I've been sewing and appliqueing--is that even a word?--for almost a year now, and I had Sam's gameday clothes all ready to go.  I had myself and Sam packed up, and as soon as Anthony got home, we hit the road.

We stayed with some family in Starkville, and we were having a lovely, laid-back evening when the following happened.

Me:  "I need to put Sam to bed.  Did you get his bag out of the car?" 
Anthony:  "I haven't seen his bag.'
Me:  "What do you mean you 'haven't seen his bag'?  You packed the car."

And panic ensued.

If you all will remember, this has already happened once, and I swore that I would never be rushed out the door without checking for Sam's things again.  Wrong.

Mother. Of. The. Year.

If you could've have heard the blue streak of words rolling through my mind at 10:00 on a Friday night, I'm pretty sure you would be shocked.  Or not.  Depends on how well you know me.

So there we were, in Starkville, at 10:00 p.m., with no clothes or supplies for our 3-year-old.  The game was at 11:00 in the morning, and I knew that traffic would be H-E-double hockey sticks the next morning.  Our solution was to roll on out to Wal-Mart in our pajamas. 

We may have been the best dressed people there.  Friday nights at Wal-Marts across the country bring out our nation's finest.

Was I hacked?  Yes.  After I had made a super-cute outfit for the kid to wear to the game, my child was going to be wearing a run-of-the-mill t-shirt and shorts from Wal-Mart.  And believe me, I am not above putting my kid in Wal-Mart clothes--we have plenty of things from there.  But having to buy all that after I had spent time making him stuff did not make mama happy.

And you know what they say...If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

Tyrannical toddler...

So Sam had his tonsils and adenoids out last Tuesday.  The doctor was fabulous, Blair Batson was great, and the surgery went well.  We were told over and over beforehand that we would have the worst end of the deal--recovery. Boy, were they right.

I thought the past week was going to be spent cuddling a tired and sick toddler, feeding him popsicles, and doing whatever I needed to help him feel better.  Don't get me wrong--we've done all of those things.  What I didn't know was that the recovery was going to turn my sweet, fairly laid back 3-year-old into a mini Moammer Gadhafi. 

It's been a little over a week since the surgery, and this mama is ready to oust my tiny tyrant from his position of dictatorship.  Fingers crossed that my sweet Sam will rebound sooner rather than later.