The Day I Sold My Soul for a Sandwich

"The Day I Sold My Soul for a Sandwich" by Mrs. Gore

It all started with a sandwich.

Grilled ham and cheese with a side of potato chips, accompanied by a cold can of Dr. Pepper.

I just needed 20 minutes.

The morning had been challenging, but I was proud of myself for maintaining an upbeat attitude and tending to the children with a patient heart, even though one was feeling under the weather, one was grouchy and whiny, and one was a boy with 50 hands and a penchant for the dramatic.

Oh! And I can’t forget the one that was kicking me from inside my belly. There was that one, too.

Here, Betsie (not sick) is crying because she WANTS to take medicine. Rebekah (sick) is crying because she DOESN’T want to take medicine…



If I could just join my husband in the living room and regroup over my sandwich and some Jimmy Fallon, I knew I could handle the rest of the long summer day without snapping.

Speaking of long summer days, what is UP with long summer days? At 8:00 p.m. when we start bedtime, my daughter always asks “Why are we going to bed when it is still morning?!” And I’m like “Morning, my dear, was at least 3 days ago…”

Anyhow, my sandwich.

I wanted to spend some alone time with it and treat it right. The baby kid was still safely tucked inside me and the grouchy kid had gone down for her nap…

that left two kids, the slightly sick kid and the boy-kid.

So when my son asked if he could play with his camo war paint, I felt I had struck gold. “Yes!” I answered brightly, “but you have to do it on the porch.”

The kitchen erupted in cheers and, after retrieving 3 tubes and one palette of paint from the craft cabinet, two sets of feet scampered out of the house.

“Take your shirts off!” I yelled, right before the door slammed, leaving my husband and me in utter silence.

Us and my sandwich.

We proceeded to eat our lunch and every once in awhile the children knocked on the living room windows to show us their progress.

Gideon painted a beautiful necklace on Rebekah. I clapped from my chair and gave him a thumbs up.

Next, he painted his belly.

I gave an exaggerated laugh and waved to show him I thought it was super funny.

Then Rebekah came and showed us her completely painted legs. They were bright green, just like the Incredible Hulk.

I genuinely laughed this time. “That’s pretty awesome…” I said to my husband, so happy the kids were having fun…

and that I was eating my sandwich.

But just as we were finishing and Mr. Gore was preparing to return to his office, Gideon stuck his head inside and said “You know what would be perfect? Some feather hats.” He looked at us expectantly, and before I knew it, Mr. Gore and I were crafting Indian-type headdresses out of construction paper and tape. The kids were in and out now, gingerly opening the screendoor with their painted hands. I don’t know how many times I said “Watch out!” and “Don’t. touch. anything!” Every five seconds, at least.

Finally, we joined them on the front porch to give them their headdresses. They looked pretty fierce and were so pumped…




So you know what happened next…

Visions of a summertime blog post started dancing merrily through my head: “Surviving Summer: How to Keep Little Kids Occupied While You Eat Your Sandwich”.

I would fill it with brilliant ideas for making it through these lengthy days, complete with anecdotes and action photos and everything! I ran to get the camera for the first idea on my list: give your kids war paint and let them loose. While you eat your sandwich.

That’s when I noticed the doorknob felt funny. Looking down at my hand, I noticed that it was covered in paint.

“Well that’s not cool…” I thought to myself.

I looked around me for the first time.

Our completely white front porch was a war zone.

Paint everywhere.

“Oh man…” I muttered.

But I needed to snap those pictures, so I decided to deal with it later. I followed the kids through the yard, taking unscripted pictures of them prowling in the grass like sneaky warriors, hiding next to a tree from passing cars…


“Well, this might have been kind of messy, but it was fun,” I decided in my head. Totally worth it.

But as I walked back into the house, I looked more intently at the damage they had left behind. Tubes of messy paint were lying on a white blanket I had drying on the porch rail. The white door was covered in handprints, as were all five white rocking chairs, and camo footprints on the concrete showed me just how many times they had come in and out of the house.


I sighed.

And I started to admit that maybe this hadn’t been the most brilliant idea after all.

But then I saw my little warriors sitting under a shade tree, talking and laughing, and I changed my mind again. Yep. Worth it.


But then I had to change my mind again when they came to the door five minutes later, whining and saying they were ready to wash the paint off.

No stinkin’ way, I thought.

It was at this point that the genius-that-is-Mrs-Gore remembered how difficult it had been to remove this paint from Gideon’s face the last time he’d used it…and it had just been on his face, and I had been smart enough to supervise his application.

Today, however, their entire bodies were covered in paint, thickly, from head to toe.

You know, because I had been eating a stupid sandwich.

Sighing again, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to get a head start on the clean-up. Then maybe I could let them watch a movie until their little sister woke up from her nap.

And this, my friends, is how the rest of the day went (and keep in mind that, in my 3rd trimester state, bending over to administer ONE bath to ONE kid pretty much exhausts me)…

  • I emerge from my air-conditioned cave, barefoot, in my maternity leggings and tank top, and start hunting for a water hose.
  • I finally find it clear on the other side of the house and across the gravel (ouch!) driveway.
  • I turn on the faucet and get sprayed in the face with water shooting out of either side of the hose.
  • That’s when I remember my expensive camera is still around my neck.
  • I return to the backyard and walk straight into the spray from the sprinkler that is apparently hooked up to the waterhose. Camera still around my neck.
  • I react like I’m getting shot. (I don’t like to play in the water…)
  • The kids crack up. I tell them to play in the sprinkler and wait for me.
  • I go inside, dry off, put my camera up and retrieve a bar of soap.
  • I return to the backyard. Both kids are gone. Rebekah is screaming in the front yard that she “can’t find me!!”.
  • I yell for them that I’m in the backyard.
  • Gideon joins me and I start lathering his body with soap. Rebekah is still screaming. She obviously can’t hear me.
  • Gideon immediately gets soap in his eye and starts running through the yard like a madman, screaming shrilly at the top of his lungs. I chase him with the hose, trying to wash the soap out of his eyes. He runs away from me while begging for me to help him.
  • I catch up and start spraying him in the face. He stops crying, mostly because he can’t breathe.
  • I leave him the hose and run to the front yard to find Rebekah. She is now screaming IN THE HOUSE, dripping paint and water everywhere, and all I can think is that, if she wakes up the baby, I will lose my cool.
  • I drag Rebekah out of the house, through the frontyard and into the backyard where Gideon (whose eye still hurts) has taken up running and screaming again.
  • I go ahead and lose my cool anyway and start Mommy shrieking that if they don’t calm down and learn to listen I’m going to “wear them out” when we get back in the house.
  • I realize that that is the first time I’ve ever said “I’m going to wear you out” and that our naive family has moved into the legit realm of the parenting world. Old-school, yo.
  • I look up and see that our neighbors are enjoying their afternoon on their front porch.
  • I start laughing and skip a little so they’ll think we’re having fun.
  • I scrub the first layer of paint off of each kid as Gideon continues to wail about his eye and Rebekah hysterically laugh/cries like she does when she doesn’t want to be in trouble.
  • I realize with a sinking heart that they’re still very green and brown and black.
  • I dry them off and carry them to my bathtub, warning them that if they move, play, or touch anything, they will die.
  • I start using wet wipes to clean their faces. Another layer comes off but…
  • they’re still green and brown and black.
  • I leave the bathwater running while I dash to the computer room to google “how to get face paint off”.
  • First answer: wet wipes. Next!
  • Second answer: baby oil or cold cream or butter. I don’t have baby oil or cold cream.
  • I retrive a softened stick of butter I happen to have on the counter.
  • I return to the bathtub, tell Gideon to stand up and I start greasing his body down with butter.
  • The kids crack up.
  • I’m not laughing yet. Mostly because I’m using dairy products to get my kids clean. I didn’t see this one coming.
  • Rebekah tries to lick Gideon’s leg because she “loves butter!”
  • I continue to scold them for screaming like “banshees” in the backyard and tell them the police might have come. Rebekah reminds me that I was “screaming like a witch.”
  • She is right.
  • Another layer of paint comes off, but they’re still covered in it.
  • I dry them off with dirty beach towels, put them in their swimsuits and banish them to the front porch.
  • I try not to look at the crime scene that is my master bathroom.
  • I call Mr. Gore and instruct him to come home with baby oil, shampoo and popsicles! A.S.A.P.
  • I hang up the phone and hear Gideon crying. He got bit on the finger by a turtle in the yard. Of course he did!
  • I retrieve alcohol and cotton balls and a bandage and take care of his finger.
  • Rebekah falls asleep on the front porch.
  • Betise wakes up upstairs.
  • Mr. Gore comes home from work for the day and I immediately burst into uncontrollable tears. “I just can’t do it all!” I wail.
  • Mr. Gore starts feverishly cleaning the house.
  • I retrieve Betsie from her bed. She has taken off her wet diaper and dropped it in the floor and is naked and crying.
  • I take her to the rocking chair and we cry together for 15 minutes. Well…I do.
  • I get Betsie dressed and we go downstairs, our tears wiped away.
  • I scrub all of the paint and dirt out of my tub with the heavy-dutiest cleaning agent I have.
  • I put Gideon back in the tub, slather him down with baby oil, and watch in wonder as the last of the paint wipes off. Then I fill up the tub and scrub him like he’s never been scrubbed before. He’s clean!!!
  • I dry him off. He apologizes for “being mean” and I say “me too”. We hug and make up.
  • Betsie comes into my room. She’s naked again. I put a pair of training panties on her.
  • I fetch Rebekah for her bath. I slather her down with baby oil and wipe the remaining paint off of her.
  • Betise climbs onto a stool next to me and tries to climb into the tub with her sister. She is naked again. I use my body to block her path, and she starts playing the drums on my backside.
  • As I fill up Rebekah’s tub, I take down her braid and notice that I missed something. Her hair is streaked skunk-like with green and black paint. Perfect!
  • I wash her hair with my shampoo. Paint pours into the water like I’m rinsing out a sponge.
  • I rinse her hair, drain the water and clean the tub again.
  • I wash her hair again. Paint still pours into the tub. I rinse her hair and the tub again.
  • I wash her hair again, this time before filling up the tub. No more paint.
  • I fill up the tub again and scrub her down. She’s clean!!! But the tub is somehow dirty again.
  • Betsie comes back, still naked, and starts making fart noises by blowing on my calf with her mouth.
  • I dry Rebekah off, give her some more Tylenol for her renewed headache and glance at the clock…

Inexplicably, it is 5:30 p.m., and even though I still need to clean the house, take a shower, powerwash the porch and make supper, I confusedly emerge from this agonizing time-vortex of summertime horror a little sadder, a lot wiser, very grouchy and…


I’ll take anything but a sandwich.

Mrs. Gore Recovers from Magic Mike Madness 2012

As the words I wrote last Saturday afternoon made their journey across the illustrious internets, I was traveling with my husband to the state of Arkansas for his beloved Grandpa’s funeral.

I have much more to share on that in the days (or weeks) to come.

Thus, for two days of my sure-to-be short-lived blog “fame”, I had very limited internet access, and so, when we finally returned home late last night, I was most eager to spend a little time trying to soak in the explosion that had become my blog stats and comments (Ohhhhh, those comments), while the opportunity was still mine.

But we have these kids, you see.

And I make it a point to sit and watch nearly every minute of their growth and theatrics (that is, when I’m not escaping to the master bedroom to take deep breaths and beg God for patience).

And I had been away from them for two whole days…

In other words, my body was aching for them and my eyes were thirsty to drink in the sight of their ornery little faces. Even though I was positively dyin’ to get in here and watch my computer screen.

With the help of Mr. Gore, I was able to appease all of us, publishing the post I had written on our long drive home, occasionally checking stats and comments, and still somehow managing to play with the kids and read to them before tucking them into bed late that evening. It was something of a miracle, probably having much to do with the fact that my Mom had mopped all of my floors and tidied up the house while I was gone.

But today, I planned to indulge a bit and spend more time than usual on the computer, for, really…things like this (meaning, blog explosions) don’t happen everyday, especially here at Mrs. Gore’s Diary.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity…” I told myself, as I ignored the dishes during my kids nap time so I could sit here and refresh and refresh and refresh and refresh and refresh and refresh my page, continuing to shake my head in disbelief as the numbers continued to rise to nearly 100,000 visits today, to blink away tears at the hundreds of precious and humbling comments from my brothers and sisters in the faith, and, admittedly, to scratch my head at the criticisms and anger of those who could so grossly misread my heart and the words that I shared here about Biblical manliness (or who thought I was saying John Wayne is the epitome of a godly man. Believe me, if I had known the entire world was going to read this, I would have made that point a bit clearer!).

Nevertheless, it was a glorious afternoon, entertaining and eye-opening and exciting and so. much. FUN.

And it just didn’t last long enough…

Because we have these kids, you see.

Naptime can only last so long.

So I walked away once more from the computer for awhile, my eyes readjusting to reality and the family life that I am immersed in every day.

We played.

We read.

We ate.

We were grouchy with each other.

We laughed.

And then finally, while Mr. Gore was helping some friends move in down the street, and I just couldn’t stay away from the computer any longer, I made a swift decision and called it an early night, taking the portable DVD player upstairs for the “big kids”, loading a Baby Einstein movie into the downstairs DVD player, and I was just bending over to sit Betsie down to watch it so I could have some uninterrupted blog time…

when she reached up and grabbed my shoulder with one hand and my right arm with the other.

You should know that, although she was my cuddliest baby ever, this rarely happens anymore.

I sank down beside her on the floor, afraid to breath…

and she nestled her soft little head down on my shoulder.

Still standing, she remained flush against me as I sat Indian-style on the hard floor, enjoying her warmth even as I planned how I would slip away from her once the DVD started, hopefully sneaking back into the office to once more bask in the unprecedented fun and drama that waited for me on my computer.

But the words that I had repeated to myself all day – “this is a once in a lifetime opportunity” – fell across my heart with the undeniable conviction of the Spirit, and I realized that yes, THIS, too, doesn’t happen everyday…

I took a deep and decisive breath, hefted both of us into my favorite leather chair and pulled her into my lap where she remained cuddled up on my shoulder during her entire 30-minute movie. We just breathed together, my baby and me, on our unusually quiet 1st floor, and my heart proclaimed it again and again to the God who hears me…

Thank you…thank you…thank you…thank you…thank you…

for all of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunities that I have experienced this week….this day…this very hour. But especially for this one.”

Life and life abundant.

It was a good 30 minutes for me.

It gave me time to step away for a minute and dwell on the wise advice my husband gave me (back on Monday when we were shocked that I had had 5,000 visitors) about “where to go from here”, and with confidence and joy in my heart, I’ve settled upon a wonderful decision…

These moments are what life is about.

These are the moments that I have been writing about since I started journaling in high school and blogging in January 2011.

And these are the kind of moments that inspired “Magic Mike Who?”

Real moments. Family moments. God-ordained moments.

And so, ridiculously fun as this has been, I’m not going to put pressure on myself to write another viral post.

I’m not going to look for the next controversial topic so that I might weigh in and keep the ear of Facebook.

I’m not going to try to work the system while the time is right for that long-coveted book deal or for sponsors or for “a following”.

I’m just going to keep doing what I’ve been doing, drinking in this beautiful life, and sharing it with anyone who wants to listen, whether that is 200,000 people, or 140 people or…my Mom and Aunt Bea (who always call each other after I’ve published a post to discuss it. So long as they keep doing that, I most certainly will keep writing!).

“Magic Mike Who?” has literally been the surprise of my life…quite possibly the most bizarre thing that has EVER happened to me…and an unexpected blessing that I will cherish forever…

but the star of that post and of every post I write is not John Wayne or the men of the church or my family.

It is the God who makes our broken lives lovely and our sinful hearts holy…

The God who makes babies reach out for their Mamas at just the right time…

The God who uses our talents in sometimes very surprising ways…

The God who, through joy OR pain, makes life breathtakingly and heart wrenchingly beautiful.

One last time, before I move onto other things, and other posts that I have been working on well before “Magic Mike” came along, I want to thank each of you who shared my post on Facebook, who took the time to share your thoughts in the comments section (even knowing they would remain unseen), and who have found Mrs. Gore’s Diary on Facebook. (Oh! And I can’t forget Pinterest! We’re even pinning together now,  you and I!)

I feel so blessed to have helped any of my brothers or sisters who were struggling with this movie or who felt alone in their journey, I am broken for those who revile against God and His children, and I am hopeful, that the gospel of Christ has planted itself into the hearts of some who needed to hear it at this particular time.

I could, of course, go on forever, but…

I’ve got these kids, you see.

I would also like to add that I will be allowing comments* on non-Magic Mike posts from now on (including this one), although I can’t promise to always respond to them. (I’ve got these kids, you see…). I do LOVE hearing from you all, and can’t wait to get to know you better. God bless you.


*As ever, I reserve the right to allow only edifying comments for those who visit my site. 

What’s Cookin’ at Mrs. Gore’s House

Going through the thousands – that’s right, I said thousands – of pictures I’ve acquired over the last couple months, I came across a few from Mother’s Day that I forgot to post.

They made me laugh, because they perfectly sum up life as I know it right now.

On Mother’s Day weekend, Mr. Gore showed just how well he really knows me: my gift was a blog upgrade that took my site “domain” from to The amount of joy this brought me made me think I might have reached a new level of geekiness.

The other part of my gift was a full day of freedom to write and edit photos and work on customizing my blog (which you will hopefully be enjoying in the near future!). I was beside myself. I shut all the doors to the office, took a deep breath, and got to work straightaway.

But before ten minutes had passed, Mr. Gore rushed into the office to grab the camera and said “keep working!” before rushing back out of the room.

He had spotted a photo op:

Sneaking the camera back to me, I took a few pictures from my vantage point:

It helped me to realize why I’ve been having so much trouble getting anything accomplished…

Little minx.

I was telling a friend just yesterday that I don’t remember being this tired since almost exactly two years ago. After attending a friend’s wedding (I look like a zombie in the pictures, I was so bone-tired!), Mr. Gore and I flew to the Southern Baptist Convention in Orlando, Florida. We arrived at our hotel, laid our stuff out to leave early the next morning to hear the amazing Francis Chan speak, went to sleep…and woke up 11 hours later, closer to lunch than breakfast, completely missing the exciting morning session of the Convention.

It. was. heavenly…

There is one common denominator in this equation: exactly two years ago, we had a 1-year old Rebekah, and today we have a 1-year old Betsie.

And if you don’t know already, Betsie is that cute little booger peeking into my office window on Mother’s Day while I tried to “work”.

We’ve had three major birthday parties in the last couple of weeks, along with a ton of activities at church and at home that have kept us hopping, not to mention our daily chores like keeping Gideon from having meltdowns and keeping Betsie alive. I am about to BURST at the seams with excitement about all I have to share with you.

As time – and Baby Betsie – allows, I’ll be sharing it all.

But in the meantime, I just wanted to take a minute to thank you again for the love and encouragement you continue to send my way. I take what I share here at Mrs. Gore’s Diary very seriously, and truly strive to bring glory to God through my writings. The fact that you continue to read and share so faithfully just blows me away and causes my heart to overflow with happiness and gratitude.

Yes, I might be very sleepy. But because of you guys, I gladly give up my afternoon nap opportunities and have allowed my house and home to fall into disrepair and chaos. You’re welcome, beloved.

Because weren’t you just dying to know what was cookin’ at Mrs. Gore’s house this Monday afternoon?!

And speaking of cooking…I think we’ll be eating take-out for supper.