"This is the virus that doesn't end... yes it goes on and on my friend..."

We've had a rough week. Hail, in efforts to prove he's been paying attention to our lectures on sharing, gave our entire family his stomach bug. The vicious virus took us out, one by one. Hail probably had it the worst. He was sick from Saturday until Tuesday and is having some potty issues even now.

On Tuesday, just as Hail was showing signs of recovering, I began to feel like an armadillo who had tried to cross
I-65 with game day traffic heading home from the Iron Bowl. Later that afternoon, Flash Flood joined me, in typical baby armadillo fashion. One of the times I gained consciousness to run to the bathroom, I over heard Bert asking Thunder why he wasn't eating dinner. Just a few hours later, Thunder and Lightning both joined the road kill party. Of course, Her Highness being the sweet and motherly caretaker, couldn't avoid the inevitable and got sick on Wednesday. My prayer had been for Bert to stay well until I could physically take care of him. I say physically, because I always lose my mental capabilities when Bert gets sick. God answered my prayers and held Bert off until Hail, Thunder and Lightning were all healed and back... full force. The Storm reunited, though I still felt as if I had been run over by a mac truck.

There's something kinda sweet about being sick together. Minus the yucky parts. Having everyone napping in different places and quiet while looking at books and watching old movies we've seen 84,000 times. Listening to Her Highness tend to her biggest fans made me tear up more than once. In a soothing voice she would ask, "Buddy, do you want me to get you some more gatorade? Another book? Another toy? Your blankie?" Several times Hail said, "Just way down wif me, kay?" And she would do so, happily. She would fight with Bert over bringing me a drink or changing out my DVD. "Daddy! I wanted to take Momma her drink! Well, let ME do it next time!"... "When did Daddy turn this movie on for you? Well, next time tell ME and I'll do it for you." She would say as she tucked me back under the covers. So sweet. Thunder and Lightning were happy for her attention as well. She's going to be such a good Momma someday.

Bert being sick was like... well... since he reads this and will take offense, I will speak in code woman talk: Bert being sick was like a man being sick.
There. You get my drift.

We're all still recovering slowly. Man cannot live on bread alone, but after a stomach virus like this one, we are living on saltines for a little while longer. It's taken a while to get everything back on track.

Though Hail is fully potty-trained, I've kept him in diapers this week because he's still dealing with some Peptobismol-ish issues. Hail has been most displeased. He throws huge hissy fits every time I put a diaper on him. I was tired of cleaning up the messes, and I'm already behind on tons of sickly laundry, so I told him when his tummy was all better, he could go back to undies full time. Yesterday, Hail and I ran to Wal-mart for more pedialyte and saltines. He was furious I made him wear a diaper out in public. I tried explaining that no one would know since he had shorts over his diaper. I also pointed out that he's barely 2 1/2 and not many (if any) of his friends wore underwear yet anyway... "Okay, Honey? And nobody laughs at Luke when he's out places 'cause no one even knows he's NOT wearing underwear. So no one will know that you're back in a diaper. Or care for that matter so hush about it." Every single person we passed in the store Hail would greet with, "Hey. I'm weawing a diapa 'cause I got diaweeah." And if they didn't acknowledge him, he would say it again. Louder. "Hey! I got on a diapa 'cause I got DIAWEEEEAAAHHH!" Most people just smiled. Some humored Hail and spoke back, "Aww, hope you feel better!" or "Okay.?." I jogged out of there as quickly as possible. I'm sure the public was happy. I looked like a pile of diaweeah myself. Or a dead armadillo.

We are all on the mend and appreciate so much the love and care we always receive from our dear friends and family. Your prayers and sweet messages are such a blessing to us. And, a word to the wise... if you live in our area, stay home for the next few weeks. Don't go anywhere. At all. According to Facebook, everybody in our town has had this virus, or has it currently.

Here's to no more diaawweeahh!

"This is the worstest weekend and it's ruining my life!"

Her Highness has a flair for the dramatic.

Bert claims she gets this from me. Not sure why. At all.

But, as far as her statement regarding this past weekend, I almost have to agree with her.

It's been one of those weekends where I've laughed, a ton, but only to keep from crying. And let me go ahead and say, that yes I do realize in the grand scheme of things this past weekend is a breeze compared to those who are suffering with truly ill children, and tornadoes and such. I honestly shouldn't even have to state that, because it's obvious and you all know that I'm not at all trying to compare my weekend to those in Yazoo City.

Am I overly whiny then?? Sure.

Bear with me.

Recently, Bert and I reached a stale mate. We do this from time to time. And it's always over super important issues such as whose turn it is to sweep. Our last one was a real doozy. Thunder spotted our Apples to Apples board game, which has about 84,000 cards in it. Thunder has asked me a million times to get it down out of the closet. Each time I've explained it was a grown-up game, so he didn't need it. Thunder finally wore Bert down and got the box he had been coveting for days. As soon as I saw Thunder with the box I asked Bert why he had given in and stated, for the record, "The boys don't need that! They will just make a huge mess and the cards will be EVERYWHERE." Bert insisted it wouldn't be a problem. Within moments, there were 84,000 cards EVV. REEE. WHAAREE. That's my southern exaggerated spelling, 'cause that's exactly how I said it when I called Bert to tell him he was just plain WRO. UNNN. GGG. That and a few other choice words, plus my promise stating not one single solitary card would be picked up by moi. For days I stepped on those cards, which were scattered from room to room. Friends stopped in to say hi and would offer to help pick them up. Threats were made on their lives if they dared to help Bert's cause. Finally, after almost an entire week, I came out of the shower one evening and saw Thunder and Lightning picking up the cards fast and furiously. They grinned ear to ear when I bragged on their behavior and excitedly spilled the beans, "Daddy said he'll give us FIVE DOLLARS if we pick up all the cards!"

Thus our stale mate ended for a mere ten bucks.

This time, however, I don't think Bert got off so cheap. Our dishwasher died. Like two weeks ago. And when it did, I reminded Bert as to why I would never ever again wash the dishes. Bert and I have lived in two different apartments without a dishwasher. Our first place together was a studio apartment where you could literally touch the refrigerator, stand in the den, and put your other hand on our bed. Tiny. And we would often argue over whose turn it was to wash the stinkin' (literally) dishes. At times it would get so bad that we were eating cereal from mixing bowls, so we would take all the dishes into the bathroom and wash them in the bathtub. Ridiculous, I realize. The other apartment was after we had Her Highness, so I was washing tons of bottles, plus all the dishes we used on a daily basis. When we finally bought our first house, a dishwasher was the #1 thing on my list. When we moved in I made a promise, Scarlett O'Hara style, to never wash a single dish again... with God as my witness... for as long as I shall live.

So, when our dishwasher died with at least two whole dirty loads already in our sink, I told Bert he'd better get to washing. He didn't listen. Instead, he bought paper plates, cups and bowls to get us by until Lowe's could deliver and install our new one. Seven to ten business days later. Business days. Even now, our kitchen smells like a rotten sippy cup. This morning with several more business days left, Bert decided to bring our stale mate to a halt and picked up our dishwasher himself. It's hard wired to the house, so he thought it would be best to let a professional do the work and hired a plumber. I love my new dishwasher, but it will take at least four loads before the kitchen smells good again.

On top of horribly smelling dishes, Hail had a stomach virus, which of course started after midnight. Saturday night, Hail and I fell asleep together on the couch. I woke up feeling something wet all in my hair and around my body. Quickly, I recognized the pungent smell and ran with Hail to the bathroom. I gave him a bath, then woke Bert to watch him while I took a shower. Hail vomited from 12:30-5:30, then played all day long like nothing had happened. I just hope I feel that good when I catch this stupid virus. Then, as quickly as it had stopped, it started again yesterday afternoon. Poor little guy. He asked me several times, "Can you just git dat fro up outta my tummy? Pwease!" I knew each time he was going to vomit by the way he would smack his own little stomach. He said, "I'm twyin' to hit dat fro up and make it come out." At one point I could tell he was going to vomit again so I asked, "Honey, do you want to throw-up in the bowl or the potty?" To which Hail replied, as if I were stupid, "Momma. I don't wanna fro up at all anymur!" He seems to be better today, though he is milking it for all it's worth. Thunder and Her Highness have given him tons of attention and babied him greatly. If you look closely at the pic below you will see Thunder carrying Hail across the backyard. Hail told Thunder he was "too swick to walk." Such a stinker pot.

Sunday morning as I walked around in a drunken stupor, (wishing it had been alcohol induced) I noticed water seeping through the cracks of our hardwood floors in the kitchen. Screaming and crying began. And not from my vomiting two year old. Bert tried his best to calm me down, then got busy fixing the sneaky leak under our kitchen sink.

Afterwards, Bert kept playing the role of world's best husband, and took Lightning to the grocery store to get a few things. On his way home, Bert called and said, "Don't get mad at me. I couldn't help it." He then explained why Lightning was the proud new owner of a Jeff Gordon teddy bear.

Our kids are always begging for quarters to play the claw machine in Kroger's entry way. I hate those dumb things, and their strategic placement, and always warn the children of their ability to steal money since they do NOT work and can NEVER be beaten. "But, Momma! I just wanna try and win that doll/stuffed animal/cell phone." (No joke, recently I saw a claw machine with a real cell phone as a prize. What is this world coming to?) Bert, in efforts to show Lightning that those things are a waste of money stuck 50 cents in the machine. Lightning pointed to the Nascar bear. Bert centered the claw over the redneck bear, mashed the red button, and watched in dismay as the piece of southern heritage went up, up and away to the opening. According to Bert, Lightning went bananas. A few store clerks cheered and nodded to Lightning, since they had heard Bert's warning of the claw machine being a shyster. Lightning loves the stupid thing and hasn't let it out of his sight for the past 36 hours straight. It even came with a certificate of authenticity. Yes, I'm serious.

I've never been so happy to see Monday, though Her Highness is home from school today with a sore throat and fever, and Lightning just announced that his "froat huwts" too.

Since Hail is now punching himself in the stomach again, I had better bring this novel of a post to an end. Perhaps I am a little whiny, though I've admitted before, I'm a horrible nurse to say the least. I appreciate you sticking with it, for it's therapy to me. And as my dear friend Dana says, much cheaper too.

Hope you were happy to greet your Monday too, though for different reasons. Here's to Tuesday!

Tears of the Saints

Someone very dear to me sent this my way. These images are haunting. And I can't get the final quote out of my head:

"Having seen all this you can choose to look the other way, but you can never say again, 'I did not know.'" -William Wilberforce

Even though I can't make a difference financially, because let's face it, we're already on a super tight budget, I can do something that is even more powerful. And guess what... it's FREE. Please PRAY with me for these lost souls. And those who are trying so hard to reach them. The missionaries that head to those areas are some of the bravest people on this planet.

As you head to your place of worship over the weekend, please think of how blessed we are as a nation, to have the freedom to worship any where and any way we choose. All without being persecuted. Or even having an eyebrow raised in your direction. Freedom-- to love the Lord. And as you head to your Church service on Sunday morning without worrying who may see you, and arrest you, please say a quick prayer for those who aren't allowed to do the same.

Perpetual Procrastinator's Post

Our house is upside down. We're moving Thunder out of his room with Lightning, and into his own room, which has served as our "catch-all" AKA: Office, for the past two years. Think Hoarders, but just in that one room. Is it sad that I watch that show and understand just how an entire house can look like that?? I don't have the emotional ties those folks do, matter of fact, I would LOVE for a team of experts to come and throw away 27 bags of our junk. But, to the people who suffer with hoarding, I do understand how quickly trash can mate and multiply to create a black hole effect on a house. Which is exactly what our "office" was to our home.

So, Bert and I rolled up our sleeves a few days ago and attacked. Now, everything that was in that room is out in the living room. Nice. Oh, and our dishwasher died last week too. Plus, you know I've never once been caught up on laundry, not since the day Bert and I said, "I do." So, what am I doing this morning... blogging. Needless to say, this post is filled with randomness, since it's actually just being used as a time killer, until Bert returns from taking Her Highness to school and asks, "What have you been doing while I was gone?" And I will lie and say something about how Flash Flood pooped every where and the boys were driving me crazy, which isn't necessarily a lie, but more of a stretch since all of those things have happened since he left, but it still hasn't kept me from wasting time on the com-pooter.


Flash Flood is doing great. As of yesterday, he is officially five months old, and working hard on holding his own bottle. Can't imagine why he would want to do such a thing. Do you think these pictures go against the rule "Never prop a bottle?" Thunder and Lightning both love to feed Flash Flood and are super sports about it when I'm trying to get 84,000 other things done. Flash Flood is also rolling over now, though none of us have actually witnessed it. There have been a ton of times that I've left him in one position, and come back to him in another. Stinker pot, one of these days I hope to catch him rolling.


Hail and Lightning have both given up their "assies." I know, I know. Waaay past time for that, but I didn't care. It kept them quiet and helped them go to sleep at night. And no, none of the pediatrician recommended reasons are why we quit. I'm such a rebel. We only quit because I'm lazy and got sick and tired of hunting them down, night and day. I quit searching for them, and buying new ones and suddenly we were down to only one. When it got down to the final passie, Lightning and Hail would hide it from each other, and then ask, "Hey Momma, where is Hail?" Once the coast was clear, Lightning would pull it out from under his mattress/couch cushion/sock drawer/etc and stick it in his mouth. Hail did this too. Hilarious, until finally that one disappeared too. It actually wasn't near as bad as I thought it would be. They've only asked a few times, mostly when they were super sleepy. I keep finding passies in silly places, but quickly stick it in my pocket until I can sneak it to the bottom of the trash.

Last picture of Hail with a passie. Which reminds me, Hail is now pumping his legs and can swing by himself. I'm a little sad, I'll admit. Why do they have to grow up so fast??


These last pictures are from a series titled, "Bedtime is Drawing Near." This is exactly what Bert and the kids do every night before they go to bed. And this is exactly what my living room looks like by the end of the day. And many times at the start of the next day. Clothes, dishes, toys, cereal, you name it.

Bert will lay on his stomach to watch something on tv and all the kids will pile on top of him. It's sort of like King of the Mountain. Who ever makes it to the top will holler, "I'm the winner!" Bert will start to roll over, which causes them all to fall down. And squeal. And giggle. And belly laugh. And squeal some more. Until some one gets hurt. Then, an all out brawl ensues. It's all fun and games until some one gets hurt.

Boys (and prissy girls) of Summer

T-ball Season is here again...

We love being at the ball park. Which is a good thing since it looks like much of my future will be spent there. Her Highness and Thunder are on the same team again this year. Which is nice, sine Her Highness is also taking tap and ballet lessons, and has a social life that tops mine at age 29. Taxi cab driver-- I recently updated my profession on Facebook.

Her Highness came to me before their first game and complained, "Momma, it's just not fair I have to wear these ugly gray pants and jersey! It's not my fault I have to play on a team with stinky ol' boys!!" After she threw her hand over her forehead and fainted on the couch from disgust, I told her that she may make a few slight modifications to the uniform...

She was much happier. Bert stopped her before leaving and said, "You know, it's called a UNIFORM for a reason." I told him not to bother. She would play better if she was more comfortable. And we all know Her Highness is most comfortable in pearls, a tiara, high heels, and a ball gown. She is a good little ball player though.

Thunder is having a ton of fun too. So far, he's only run the wrong way once.

He makes friends quickly, and is enjoying telling jokes in the dugout. I love that Thunder is not yet old enough to be embarrassed by me, and still truly seeks my applause. During one game, Thunder nearly made a play on third, turned to the crowd and hollered, "Hey, Momma! MOMMA! Did you see that??? I caught the ball and almost got him out! Did you see it???!" Oh, he melts my heart! These boys have a way with their Momma, just as Her Highness does her Daddy. Sometimes Thunder will be waiting his turn in the dugout and will come to the end and holler, "Momma! Momma!" Once he has my attention, all he'll do is wave. I just love it. Then, as quickly as he came, he'll go back to being silly with his team. Sweet boy.

Bert is coaching the team again. I think he'll always want to coach in some capacity. He loves the game, he loves kids, and he loves playing outside. Once upon a time, Bert played some pro ball. That was before he decided to hang up his cleats and join the really exciting world of Certified Public Accountants. And who could blame him? CPA's have all the fun. And get the girls. Rock star status, most definitely. Bert didn't realize he was trading the life of a pro athlete for the life of a circus ring leader, but I'm sure glad he did. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me, along with the circus we've created to tag along.

Lightning, Hail and Flash Flood enjoy cheering on their big sis and bro. Lightning and Hail beg to sit in the "dug-wout" with the team. Hail drags his own bat to each game, in hopes of getting some playing time. Lightning is most happy if I let him go to the concession stand by himself (six feet away from where I'm sitting, with me watching like a hawk every second) to buy a ring pop for him and Hail. Best fifty cents I can spend each week. Ring pops keep their little mouths, and hands busy for a while. By the end they are covered in colorful, sticky goo, but I don't mind. They have to go home and go straight to the bath anyway, because after the game they like to go out on the field to run the bases, which leaves them covered in red mud.

Just like last year, we're having a ball and trying to soak up every moment. Hope your Spring has been as fun as ours so far!

Thunder, The Preacher Man

The things that come out of Thunder's mouth, or rather, that go through his mind (which is really one in the same, since whatever pops in his head, flies out his mouth)... never cease to amaze me. Or should I have said, never cease to embarrass me. After giving us the recipe for Button-Eggs, trying to help individuals who may be experiencing gender confusion, and serving on our local Voluntary Fashion Police Force, Thunder's uncensored mouth causes me to cringe and pray every time he opens his mouth in public. Fortunately, our latest verbal mishap occurred with only our immediate family present.


One of Thunder's favorite books is The Golden Children's Bible. He loves pouring over it's pages and studying each of the pictures, then re-telling each Bible story to his band of brothers. They listen intently as he goes into detail, adding some facts that even John the Baptist wasn't aware of. "And then, Jesus said, 'Let the little chi-rens come to Me, cause thems my favorite. Especially the red-headed chi-rens. Always red-heads are my favorites, so they can sit in my lap FIRST!".... I'm sure that minute detail was left out of the Bible accidentally.

Thunder's favorite story is from Matthew 4, when Jesus was tempted in the wilderness.
Mainly because of this illustration....

He studies this picture on a regular basis and asks tons of questions concerning the "debil."
"But, Momma. But, Momma. Why does the debil have a cape?? Like Super-Man, but he's not a super hero! He's the debil, and that's the worst you can be!!!" I've tried to explain a million times that those pictures aren't accurate portraits, just one artist's view.

"So, why does Jesus have blond hair?? I thought he had brown hair, like in my other Bible."

"Baby, again, none of those pictures are exact. Just what the illustrator thought. No body really knows what God or the devil looks like. Most likely, Jesus did have dark hair, but it doesn't matter. What matters is how much God and Jesus love us."

On and on we go.

"So, if the debil can fly, can he fly here and do bad stuff to us?" I wanted to say YES, so always mind your Momma and keep your nose clean, but he's only five years old, so I tried to ease his fears a little, "No, honey. He can't physically get you. He lives far, far away, and God and Jesus protect us from him. Remember the song we sing, 'And Satan was DEFEATED as the blood flowed down.' (My kids LOVE the song, "I belong to Jesus, I belong to HIM!" Great song.) And remember that's why Jesus died on the cross for us, to save us from our sins and the devil."

Thunder, who is rarely satisfied with a simple answer had to hear more about where exactly the devil was residing. I went into a very elementary explanation of Hell. It's hot, everything is on fire, and the devil, along with all the evil villains of the world will reside there forever and ever, Amen. Thunder's fears seem to ease knowing the "debil" was in a jail of sorts. And that was that. No more questions on the matter.

Several days later, the whole family was getting into our van late in the afternoon. Since temps have been hitting the upper 80's, hot and humid air came out of the van door when Thunder opened it and jumped in. As he buckled his seat belt from his spot in the back, he said very matter of factly, "Man, it's hot as the debil's hell in here!"

Bert and I looked at each other, accusingly, then both shook our heads to say, "He didn't hear that from ME!" Bert asked, "Buddy, where did you hear that?" Thunder proudly responded, "Momma taught me about the debil and that he lives in hell forever since he was the baddest bad guy that ever lived. And he tried to fight God and Jesus but no body can beat Them!"

Maybe Thunder will grow up and be a Minister. I can see him now, standing at the end of the long aisle offering the invitation, waiting as the congregation sings the last verse (for the fourth time) of "Just as I am" and Thunder interrupting, "Before we finish this song, are you prepared to meet thy God? If you don't want to go to the debil's hell, then come, as together we stand and sing..."

Who are you, and what have you done with The Hudson Storm??

Not exactly sure what prompted this sudden bout of spring cleaning...

The Storm was outside by 7:30 this morning, which is no different from any other day. I think our swing set is where they hold their council meetings and plot ways to drive me crazy each day.

But today was different. Instead of coming in and jumping on the couches, as they continue their sword/light saber/fist fights, The Storm shocked me with the request for cleaning supplies.

Dazed and slightly confused I answered, "What in the world?... Well, sure you guys can clean!"

I keep expecting the Sheriff to knock on our front door and inform me that The Storm just held up our local convenience store... then burnt it down.

Until then, I guess I'll enjoy their sweet gesture.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor..."

"...would you be mine, could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor...."

"I have always wanted to have a neighbor, just like you...."

"I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you..."

"So, let's make the most of this beautiful day. Since we're together, might as well say...
Would you be mine, could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor?"

They just don't make shows like Mister Roger's Neighborhood anymore. Yo Gabba Gabba doesn't even come close. While corny, the intro to this post is most deserving. We have some wonderful neighbors.

With scenes like this being all too common, our neighbors could easily complain, or try their best to ignore us completely... (Yes, those are little cheeks you see.)

Fortunately for us, our neighbors love our kids and their crazy antics. Or, at least they pretend to. We live around two retired couples, one couple with kids in high school, one with kids in college, and one other family with two small children. They are some of the most patient people we could live near. There are always bikes left out in the road, toys strewn across the lawn, and sometimes children wandering where they shouldn't. More than once, I'm embarrassed to admit, Mr. Stan has returned a toddler who had escaped. The first time it happened, I could have died. Lightning was only 18 months old, and I had no idea he could work the dead-bolt. Mr. Stan knocked on the door and when I opened it asked, "You missing one?"

Sad thing is, I hadn't noticed yet that he was gone!

We are truly blessed by each of them.

They have brought us dinner when we were sick, trays of brownies and cookies "just because," put our stray bikes up by the garage, clipped coupons for baby products, and entertained our children for hours on end.

Recently, we came home to a freshly cut lawn and I could have cried. Being the tail-end of tax season, Bert hasn't had a chance to get around to the yard work lately, so Mr. Stan took care of that for us.

We have impromptu fish frys and cookouts. Some evenings when one set of neighbors are out talking, more will come out into the cul-de-sac and visit too. It's fun to catch up with everyone that way.

This weekend, "Mitter Nick and Ms. Kaffy" as Hail calls them, invited the kids over to swim. No, it's not a heated pool, but ever since Mr. Nick has been working on it, the kids have been begging him to swim. The temperature in the water couldn't have been over 58 degrees. But, my crazy monkeys didn't seem to mind one bit.


Hail's lips were literally blue. I kept asking him, "Are you cold, honey?" He would shiver and say as his teeth chattered, "Nanana no!" No one would admit to being cold, because they were all afraid we would have to leave.

We are so blessed to live around such a great group of people. We truly appreciate their kindness, patience, generosity and love for one another. They have taught us the true meaning of community.

We sure do love our wonderful neighbors!

Her Highness, The Calm Before The Storm

While chatting it up with some good friends over the weekend, it was brought to my attention that Her Highness' blog name doesn't go with the meteorology flow. Of course, I have to mention here that this little detail was pointed out by a man. (Not trying to knock you here, Todd, but it's pertinent.)

It has been suggested we change Her Highness' blog name to something more "weathery."

And while Her Highness is a drama queen diva....

She's definitely not destructive, which means she's not a true member of The Hudson Storm.

Her Highness is my little momma: bossy, loving, nurturing, confident and sweet. She's got a huge heart, is a big rule follower, and tries her best no matter what she's doing. She makes up her mind about what she wants and goes for it, full throttle. She's the type of girl I want to grow up and be just like.

I found myself explaining to Todd just why I chose the name Her Highness....

I named this blog The Hud-SONS, for obvious reasons. Okay, so mainly because I was trying to think of something creative and when I told my BFF, Lindy, I was creating a blog she is the one who said "Your name could be your title, since you have so many sons!" And since we have only one daughter, and she is so girly, I added "And One Pretty Princess." (After all this time, Lindy, it's time to give credit where credit is due. Props for the cute title.)

When I first started this blog, I was using our children's real names. Both, Bert and my Mother expressed their concerns for having our children plastered all over the internet. I tried to comfort them with the facts: 1. Anyone who kidnapped my children would surely return them. Quickly. 2. There are thousands of blogs with super cute children whose names, addresses, blood types, and social security numbers readily available. Much less homework involved there. 3. Kidnapping by strangers should not be a parent's primary concern; parents themselves perpetrate more than 98 percent of all kidnappings. (Don't be too impressed with that last sentence. I didn't just rattle it off... I copied it from Time.com.)

But still, to ease the fears of my loving husband and mother, I decided to use blog names. My own children don't even know how they are referred to. So, some crazy day when that wal-mart stalker my Granny sent a forward warning me about, who carries a razor and a wig, along with a change of clothes just my child's size, I'll be prepared. When the abductor hollers, "Hey! Thunder! Come over here for a sec and let me shave your head to throw the police off. This black hair dye will definitely cover that red hair... wait, you no longer have red hair cause I just shaved it all off in the bathroom. Let's make a break for the get away car!" Thunder won't know who the heck she is talking to, since he's never actually been called Thunder. Well, not to his face.

But back to Her Highness.... She's all girl and LOVES anything pink. She loves every Disney movie ever made and pretends often that she's trapped in a castle, waiting for Prince Charming to arrive. The Storm gladly plays along, one serving as the knight in shining armour, while the other two take turns being the fire blowing dragon and the mean sorcerer who has her trapped. When the child was only three, her favorite movie was Sleeping Beauty. She had us call her "The Queen" for many months because Aurora's mom is referred to simply as "The Queen" throughout the movie and that's who she wanted to be. At times she would not answer us if we didn't call her by that name. I would laugh at myself in the grocery store, imagining what folks passing by must think as I asked, "The Queen, would you like strawberry or blueberry yogurt?... The Queen, please quit royally smacking your little brother."

During this same phase at age three, the following conversation took place:

Me: The Queen! Time for lunch!

Her Highness: YUCK! I don't want hot dogs.

Me: Excuse me, Miss Priss?

Her Highness: I said, I don't want hot dogs. And you're suppose to say My Highness.

Me: I think you mean YOUR Highness.

Her Highness: That's what I said, MY Highness!

All of this combined is why the name "Her Highness" was given.

And now that you have invested 20 minutes of your life you can never have back, I need your help. I want to know, how do you feel about changing Her Highness' name? Would it make for better/easier reading and flow of future posts? Do you think I should leave well enough alone, and continue with Her Highness? Or, do you just not give a crap and think I have way too much time on my hands and not enough concern for real current affairs, like the new lineup on TLC which totally stinks, by the way. I seriously want to know your thoughts. Even if you've never commented before, give me a shout. I would love to hear from you! And I may even have a name suggestion contest. The winner will get something great... like a donation to our local thrift store in your honor... But not actually in your name, because we like to deduct junk like that. Don't judge, every penny counts when you got this many kids!