Poor White Trash

I have often referred to myself as 'Poor White Trash'. You may be thinking that I just say this in just or to be kidding, but I assure you, I am poor white trash. Let me elaborate.
Last night for example, it being spring break and all, Savannah and Rheesah each had a friend spend the night. One of these sweet, naive girls asked me if she could wash her hands, after I helped her she held up her wet hands as if to say, 'Where are the paper towels at?' Why would she just assume that we actually have any? I proceeded to get her a dry dish towel to wipe her hands. Paper towels are a luxury in my house like kleenex and dinner napkins. Our little sleepover guest then said with surprise, "You don't have any paper towels??" I simply told her no and without even thinking asked her if she knew what Poor White Trash is. She is six. I get this voice in the background from my husband who seems to think he needs to remind me to not be myself, "Rheanna..." I then look at the little girl, as if to think I have said too much all of a sudden, and she assures me that I haven't with the remark, "No, I have never played that game before." Ha, ha, ha! I am president of that game dear.

Another perfect example is my need to shop second hand. When there is a suggestion to go yard-saleing, I think to myself, 'Why not just save all that gas money and go to the DI?? Which is what we did. Not only do I shop at the DI and other catholic thrift stores, I am, like today, waiting in line at the door, five minutes before they open staring at the workers right inside that can see the crowd gathering, yet I stand in amusment with the looks on their faces like, 'I see you waiting out in the cold, but I am not opening that door until exactly 10:00am, and you still have two and one-half minutes to go." So, there I am standing there with a crowd of sweat pants and messy-buns giving the crack-down look to some sixteen year old that they just made head cashier. Perfect White Trash example.

Last case for instance, when I am tired, who cares about being UN-poor white trash. 3:00am in the morning, Kehlton spits up (okay I will be honest here, Vomits!) all over the crib sheet and his PJ's. I am tired, the poor kid. So what do I do, change his PJ's, clean him up good, give him the suffiecent amount of sympathy, and instead of changing his crib sheets, I turn him around the other direction and put him to bed at the bottom of the crib. Lets be honest here people! The crib is four feet long, if he is 27 inches tall, which is only 1 foot and three inches, then I can turn him the other way that means he would have to be another whole foot long to actually be sleeping in ...spit up ...bedding! This eases my guilt of getting a good four solid hours of sleep with the conclusion that his bedding is the first thing in the wash the next morning. I totally know ya'll moms are guilty of this too!