It’s time to introduce you to the newest Sluiter Nation Recruit!
Don’t know what the Sluiter Nation Recruits are? Well go here and read up!
This week’s recruit is one of my very first bloggy friends…and I KNOW I have talked about her here. A lot.
Meet Sluiter Nation Recruit, Miranda of Not Super…Just Mom.
We are very twin-like.
We are both English teachers.
We both have blond, curly-haired boys who are only months apart in age.
We both have super awesome husbands.
We both love coffee and wine.
And the similarities keep going.
I would be remiss not to have Miranda as one of my first Recruits.
Hey y’all. I’m freaking PUMPED to be an Official Sluiter Nation Recruit. So pumped. When I got the email from Katie I was all “WOOT!” and then I forgot the date by which I was supposed to write the post. So Katie’s probably not so pumped she asked me. Not woot.
Today, I’m going to talk to you about toilet paper. And my childhood. And I’m not talking about potty training because I don’t remember that. But I’m told I took to it very well and I can only hope that my child does the same. But he’s a boy so I’m not holding out much hope.
ANYWAY. (Clearly, staying on topic is not my strong suit. Ahem.)
When I was young and growing up, we went to church. A lot. Like all the time. And on one Saturday night in particular, there was a benefit singing for a member of our church.
In case you don’t know, a benefit singing is a singing to raise money for someone. And by singing, I mean good ol’ gospel music. Bluegrass sometimes, but Southern gospel all the time.
For a 12 year old, this is not exactly the most amazing way to spend a Saturday night. But, as I could not drive, or really make my own decisions, I went. And I made sure to take along a posse of friends to keep me company. One of them was the boy I had just started “going with.” I was all 12-year-old giddy and excited to be holding hands in the back of the church.
The 4 or 5 of us who’d been dragged to this thing together sat near the back. And we didn’t exactly pay attention to anything except for the notes we were passing. And then the boy I was “going with” sneezed the most idiotic and ridiculous sounding sneeze I’d ever heard in my life. And we laughed.
The next thing we know, a deacon is walking over from about 10 rows up. A deacon with no teeth and overalls. And he tells us it’s time for us to be quiet.
And my Daddy saw the whole thing.
After the singing my cousin, who was living with us at the time, and I were told that Daddy would be dealing with us when he got home.
Y’all. This was bad news bears. My Daddy had never meted out a punishment on us in my life. Ever.
The whole ride home was spent in anticipation of the punishment that would likely be as bad as if God Himself had come down on us with all of his Hellfire and brimstone.
As soon as we walked in the door, we started scheming about how we could make the whippin’ we knew was coming hurt a little less.
And then we remembered the toilet paper.
Charmin toilet paper had this campaign going at the time where they had kids using rolls of their fluffy, white, cottony paper to soften the blows from football and dare-deviling and the like.
My cousin and I had an “AHA!” moment and started stuffing whole rolls of Charmin toilet paper into the butt ends of our shorts.
Whole rolls, y’all. And then we promptly sat down on the couch to hide our genius.
Daddy comes walking in and we’re sitting on the couch all twiddling our thumbs and looking like angels and he says “Y’all go into your room and I’ll be in there in a minute.”
And then we stood up.
And then it took him 15 minutes to come in to us because, as I later learned, that’s how long it took him to compose himself after seeing the genius plan we’d come up with.
I wish I could say that the toilet paper saved our backsides, but it didn’t. We were instructed to give EACH OTHER two licks with the paddle and then we had to sit with Mama forever and ever until he said we could sit somewhere else in the church.
Y’all, my Mama sits on the second row of the church. The SECOND ROW. That is spitting distance when the pastor gets going.
But, to this day, I cannot buy Charmin toilet paper, or even walk past it in the store, without thinking about that moment.
And I still sit with my Mama. On the second row.
Isn’t she deliciously Southern? She is like my own personal Paula Deen. Plus? She is cute even with a cleansing mask on. Trust me on this. You’ll want to get to know Miranda’s blog because it’s one of my favorites. If you want the funny, you will want to read Children’s Songs Hate Me, FAIL!!, and So I know why toilet locks were invented. But Miranda is also quite lovely with her words. I dare you not to get a little teary-eyed reading the story of the stars.