Have you exhausted your Santa Clause manipulation techniques? Click HERE to visit my sister Jen’s brilliant and evil blog. She continues to introduce innovative and sometimes disturbing parenting techniques that I love to emulate.

It’s time to be honest. We’ve spent three days driving through the southern states, all five of us crammed into the pick-up truck (although in Louisiana we decided to let Harrison ride in the back since that seems to be the acceptable thing there), and we’re still not home.

I would like to whine and complain a little, because three days locked in the truck with small children and a husband who hates to pull over sounds absolutely atrocious. Yet, I have to admit, I’m with my four favorite people on the planet (Mom, Jen, you’re five and six–I’ll let you fight over who’s who).

Of course,passengers on the family train routinely poke each other in the eyes and pee their pants, spill sprite and root beer every chance they get, and cry at regular intervals. But when nap time rolls around and my blond babies are all snoozing in the backseat,  the entire experience seems deceptively pleasant.

One thing that’s been driving me nuts is car food. I hate car food. Chips, cookies, crackers, donuts–it’s miserable. To me, car trips should include limited amounts of diet pop, H2O, and non-water retaining thoughts.

My children seem to have other plans.

They think they’re hungry every seven seconds. There is no detering their rumbling tummies (although I’m highly suspicious that the sound is coming from the massive quantites of cheez-its mixed and carbonation and not hunger).

After eleven too many convenience store stops in one day, I finally buckled yesterday morning and loaded up at Walmart. We have spawned junk food termites. I’m not even going to tell you how many calories of salt and sugar they consumed. And don’t ask me how all those cookies and chips kept finding their way into my own non-carb friendly mouth. Suffice it to say, I won’t be able to eat carbs until 2010 to make up for yesterday.

Lastly, because the weather continues to be on my side (did all you Utards notice that the snow didn’t start until AFTER I left for Florida?), we hit this huge snowstorm that’s ravaging the south western states as I write. Unfortunately (Yes!) we’re stranded in Alburqueque until tomorrow morning, roughing it at the Hilton (because the feds are paying our way home).

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go snag a few more sausage links from the complimentary breakfast. Free food is such a bother.

We drove across Florida, Alabama and Louisiana yesterday and boy was it obvious. The first hint that we weren’t in Kansas anymore came as we barreled down the freeway (speed limit 70 MPH) and three children ran across all three lanes RIGHT IN FRONT OF US. Jason slammed on his brakes and we barely missed them.

I wanted him to pull the truck over so I could spank their naughty bums, but like all men, he was in a hurry to get where he was going and refused me.

As we continued down I20 at a brisk 76 MPH, an old thrashed pickup truck flew past us–with a ten-year-old kid in the back bed of the truck, hair flying and cheeks flapping. He waved.

And just before we hit the Texas border, we saw a truck pulled over to the side of the busy freeway and witnessed three men peeing alongside the road.

I have to admit, all three incidents happened in Louisiana. I will try with all my might to block said memories from my mind. Jason assures me that New Orleans isn’t all that bad, but as we left I made him punch up the cruise control to 80.

We’re leaving Witchita Falls, TX  in 15 minutes. Westward ho.

The strangest thing has happened. My sweet little June Bug has suffered a massive personality switch. It apparently occurs every time she gets near her father.

For the past year, she’s been the happiest, sweetest, and basically loveliest girl in the world. But the moment she gets around him she turns into the bossiest bit of goods you’ve ever seen, demanding that he bend to her every whim and obey her every command.You’ve heard of being wrapped around a finger, right? She’s kind of wrenching him around hers. He now calls her, “The Boss”.

I don’t know where she gets it.

I do have to add that she’s also kind of brilliant (this she gets from her father). I left a bowl of mac and cheese on the coffee table in our condo with a fork and went to get a drink. When I turned around, she was EATING WITH A FORK. Not just once, repeatedly. The kid’s never held a utensil (because I’m way too lazy for that) and yet she was spearing those noodles like a pro.

And she can now say “Harrison”. Who is this wonder girl?

Let me tell you something about “the happiest place on earth”.

(But first, I must admit that I am kind of addicted to Disney. Not the overpriced paraphernalia, the place. Disneyland, Disney World, we can’t seem to stay away. I have three children five and under who poop their pants and scream at strangers, and I still can’t get enough of these magical, public places.)

I was sitting with sleeping Junie at the Magic Kingdom on our first day at the parks, observing other parents. It was quickly obvious that despite Disney’s mantra, most parents of small/medium/large children aren’t particularly happy. Eveywhere I looked I saw kids complaining and parents scolding. One parent in particular caught my attention (since she was located about a foot and a half away from me).

She had two children, about eight and ten in age, who were just being kids. Translation: they wanted everything, were hopped up on sugar, and couldn’t stop arguing with each other/hugging each other. This poor mom was beyond frazzled. At first I watched her with empathy, but after a moment I couldn’t help stopping myself and taking a more objective approach.

She was yelling at them, telling them that they were horrible and ruining the day for everyone because they were pouting. She was so angry, she finally hauled off and slapped her son.

This was the point where I realized something crucial: I could be this mother. Potentially, if I am not careful, I could let my children and their public display of childrenness seriously impair my judgment. It made me think, how would I handle this? How will I handle this?

From this fantastic learning experience (at some poor woman’s expense) came a little game we’ve been playing with Harrison all week. He’s five. He wants everything and isn’t afraid to pull out the big tears and massive pouts when he doesn’t get what he wants. Normally, a small dose of this behavior sends me into fits of irritable rage. A few hours at Disneyworld and he was in poutation overdrive.

But after seeing this mom reacting sadly and badly to her kids being kids, I quickly thought up a new strategy.

And it has saved Harrison’s (and my) life.

The second he starts to cry or pout, we celebrate. We have been very clear about the fact that we do NOT want to see him happy, no sirree. Tears? Fits? Pouting? Yee-haw! This little charade every time he starts with the waterworks has made it impossible for the kid to keep the grin off his face the entire week.

And I have to say, our stress level is non-existent with him because of it. I am actually enjoying being a parent (to Harrison).

Now if only Rex would stop pooping his pants.

I would like to write about our cross-country voyage, but it was so bad that I’m going to have to save it for the column. Here’s a short preview:

No diaper bag. I crossed the country on a 12 hour journey with two diaper cladden kidlets and NO DIAPER BAG.

Kill me now.

In other news, Junie survived her first birthday and is now so attached to her father we might as well rename her Velcro. You know he’s loving it.

Have I mentioned that we’re finally together as a family and it so totally rocks? I don’t think I’ve been this happy since ever. My arm is covered in bruises because I keep pinching myself in delirious happiness to make sure this is all for real.

So we’re off to Orlando today, but before I go I have to say something.

I could have never done this without the help and support from some critically placed people. First, my mom and sisters/in-laws, who have answered almost every phone call with, “Annie’s help line, how may I be of service?” over the past months. And to Jason’s family who watched the kids during my trip to Georgia, you totally rock.

Next, Jason’s amazing sister Tiffany who came every single Tuesday afternoon to give me a full night off. I lived for that, thanks Tiff. And to the Fristrup Family for farming out their underaged daughter to help with my kids when crisis called, you’re the best.

To my dear dear friend Tricia. She’s been surrogate parent to my children and closer than family to me. We’ve ran tandem errands, she’s never said no if I needed to dump the children, and she’s always there to laugh/cry with my daily list of “stuff to lament about”. You have been an angel to me, thanks.

And lastly, my blog family. I call you family because so many of you have listened to every snivel and whine, laughed me through my dramas, and held me up when I didn’t think I’d make it. Thank you for every single comment of love and support, you don’t know how much it strenghthened and entertained me when times were tough.

Okay, enough with the weepy gratitude. I’ve got kingdoms to conquer.

Today is the June Bug’s birthday. Just think, one year ago I weighed 197 pounds. Wow.

She’s constantly pestering me to put this movie on so she can memorize the dances from the orphanage scenes. And she can read my name on the front and thinks it’s really cool.

 What woman doesn’t love pearls? She’s such a classy gal.

I hear these words from my three-year-old regularly these days. I’ve been so loyal to the show that every time he tells me I’m not a loser, I feel bad about myself. So warped up here in the head.

First, let me say that being thin does not make a person pretty. If weight loss and a makeover was the compilation of attraction, Vicky would be on her way to hottness. I made myself really scrutinize her last night from an impartial, “let’s pretend I’ve never heard her speak” stand point, and I had to admit that the girl has some fantastic hair. 

But pretty is as pretty does, and that woman does not do pretty things. And what was with her whole, “Oh please give me attention, I can’t jump into the water!” act? That was possibly the lamest attempt to make people feel sorry for you I’ve ever seen. 

I don’t think there is a soul in America who wants to be that woman’s friend at this point. I (being the evil person that I am) get great satisfaction knowing that she’s watching every episode and SEEING just how awful she is. What do you bet she comes to the finale all sweet and gooey, hugging Amy C. and the poor bald guy, pretending to have a heart that isn’t five sizes too small? 

I really hope Michelle wins.

*If you haven’t read the two posts before this, now’s the time.

After spending most of the day lamenting to My People about the harsh side effects of holding a calling and working with women in general, I have had a moment of clarity. It came while I was wiping Junie’s bum. 

This is the thing. Right or wrong, these things happen for a reason. I am so grateful for all your comments, but especially Pat’s. Pat reminded me that forgiveness is a skill and we either use it or lose it.

In all honesty, if I had to choose an exercise in forgiveness, this would be it. No one stole my house or kicked my kid, I still have food to eat and friends who use Verizon to talk to. I’m blessed, it can’t be denied. 

We all have room to improve, and there is no doubt in my mind that while her methods were insensitive and not particularly well thought out, I could certainly be a better teacher. Besides, like my mother reminds me, we’ve all done something like this to someone at one time or another. And if you haven’t, I promise that you someday will. 

While I was changing Junie’s diaper this evening, I was internally monologuing about the bitterness this situation has brought with it. In one of my rare moments of silence (because I seriously don’t stop EVER), I heard the still small voice tell me, clear as a bell, “Look, you have a choice here. You can be bitter, or you can be better. Which one is it?” 

So I choose to be better. To be better at teaching, to be better at forgiving, to be slower to take offense and more careful with my own communication methods (because Heaven forbid I ever do this to anyone). 

And to my loyal friends who aren’t ready to forgive her on my behalf, and have friends in low places (Tanya), I’ll be happy to pass her address on to your sources. But you didn’t get it from me.