Dear...

Dear School Fundraisers,

No thank you.  I understand the importance of raising money for your school which will in turn, better my child’s education.  However, could we space them out a little bit?  Does every school in the district have to sell the same crappy items in the same two-week span?  I don’t need any more overpriced candles, wrapping paper or frozen tubs of cookie deliciousness.  I can’t even pawn off the buying responsibility on grandparents due to the impossibility of shipping the afore mentioned frozen treats out of state.  And to the other moms of fundraising children, I won’t even buy crap from my own child.  Why would I buy anything from yours?  With that said, anyone wanna place an order from my adorable 4 year old so she can get her worthless prize for selling something you don’t need and can’t afford?


Dear Lady Who Cut Me Off In The McDonald’s Drive Thru,

Why is this such a difficult concept to grasp?  There are two drive thru lanes at McDonald’s to help speed the flow of traffic.  It is important to be aware of your place in the ordering process.  You don’t just speed around and cut me off just because you think you have the right of way.  First of all, you almost totaled the front end of my car.  Secondly, you thoroughly confused the 12 year old at the window.  Did you wonder at all why he asked you for $9.67 for a cup of coffee?  Pay attention and wait your turn!  If you can’t wrap your brain around this, perhaps you should buy yourself a coffee pot and keep your McMuffin at home.


Dear Size 0 Supermodels At The Gym,

I think you’ve reached your goal.  Go home.  This is fat lady time at the gym.  I was feeling pretty good with my 4 mile workout until your anorexic group surrounded me on the treadmills.  I’m sweating my booty off, gasping for air and you run at a speed that makes me look like I’m standing still while looking like you stepped out of a magazine.  They should really make a schedule.  Anyone under a size 6 can workout during mealtimes, since you obviously don’t eat anyway.

Satan is an A-Hole!

While driving to school this morning, I was having a typical discussion with Megan about God and Satan.  She's always quite chatty in the car in the mornings, reciting memory verses and stories she has learned from school.  She was telling me all about how good God was and that He see's everything.  She began mumbling then blurted out "Satan is an A-hole!"  Shocked, I asked, "What did you say?"  "Satan is an A-hole!", she repeated.  I proceeded to explain that word was inappropriate and we don't say that.  I asked where she learned that word and she said her teacher.  I knew that wasn't possible.  I scolded her again and told her we should talk about God and how good He is and not about Satan.  He wasn't worth talking about.  She continued babbling happily as my thoughts drifted.  

Megan has a habit of repeating words even after she knows they aren't allowed.  She will say something like, "We don't say Stupid.  Stupid is a bad word."  Contemplating this possibility, I felt it may be wise to warn her teacher of her new found vocabulary.  I wouldn't want her caught off guard by my daughter spewing profanity.  I walked Megan to her classroom and pulled Mrs. C. to the side.  I begin to explain, my eyes filled with shame.  She stopped me mid-sentence, her eyes wide and a smile forming.  She begin to chuckle as she explained she had been teaching that Satan was an ANGEL!  An ANGEL!  Of course!  Why hadn't I thought of that?  I was so relieved.  We laughed for a moment before I slinked out of the classroom and down the hall, practically jogging to my car.  

Embarrassed but elated, I started the car already forming thoughts of another inevitable discussion this afternoon.  I must now explain to Megan with precise pronunciation that ANGEL is not a bad word!

DIY Project With My Kiddo

With Megan now learning to perfect her handwriting in Kindergarten, I have been searching for inventive ideas to help her.  I came up with a project we could do together.  A perpetual calendar seems like an antiquated idea in this age of technology, but I still find a wall calendar both charming and necessary to schedule my weekly activities.  I can never find a store-bought calendar that appeals to me.  Lighthouses and kittens don't really fit into my home decor.  I felt a home-made perpetual calendar would be both a fun project for Megan and a low-tech way to track the days forever and ever (i.e. post zombie apocalypse).

Gather your kids, supplies, and creativity and get started!

What you will need:  card stock paper, markers or crayons, magnetic tape, magnetic dry erase board, clear packing tape

1.  Have child write number (1-31) and months onto cardstock.  

2.  Cut numbers into squares and months into rectangles and have child color or decorate.

3.  "Laminate" numbers and months with packing tape, placing paper in between two pieces of tape.  Press firmly and trim edges.

4.  Cut magnetic tape into pieces and paste on back of laminated numbers and months.

5.  Position numbers and month onto magnetic dry erase board or calendar.  You now have a masterpiece created by your little one that can be used for many years to come.

Mmmmm.....cheese.

In an effort to continue on my never-ending weight loss journey, I was online researching fat/calorie content of my favorite restaurant foods.  I took a little detour when I stumbled upon this...

Denny's Mac 'n Cheese Big Daddy Patty Melt

http://www.dennys.com/#/menu/menu-13

Wow!  A whopping 1,690 calories and 99g of fat!  Are you kidding me?  Could anyone, in good conscience, read the nutritional information and continue to stuff this greasy mound of artery-hardening substance into their pie hole?  Now, Lord knows I'm no health nut.  McDonald's sweet tea and Hershey's chocolate bars keep me going most days.  But this is just too extreme.  

Family Photos

I don't know why I continue to have visions of Norman Rockwell style family photos.  Every holiday and special occasion I envision us all nestled together in front of the camera, smiling sweetly, producing images worthy of the cover of a magazine.  This has never been the case, nor will it ever be.  While most children turn into smiling, posing little hams at the sight of a camera, mine run fleeing in the opposite direction.  Maybe I took too many photos of them as babies.  Maybe I scarred their little retinas with flash after flash of every milestone in their lives.  Maybe their Native American ancestry is coming through and they are afraid the camera will steal their spirit.  Whatever the case may be, they hate to have photos taken.  I usually begin bargaining with promises of ice cream and candy then quickly resort to threatening and beating between snapshots.  (Screaming and tear-free cries can sometimes appear as beautiful smiles in a photograph...a little memory editing may be needed.)

We haven't had the dreaded family photos taken since Jackson was born more than two years ago, so I felt a torture session was in order. I enlisted the help of my dear friend and photographer, Audrea White.  With camera in hand and armed with the patience of Job, she proceeded to snap some beautiful images of our family.  

Here are a few of my favorites...

The Good Wife's Guide

This is an actual article from Good Housekeeping 1955.  Wow!  I won't say I disagree with the entire concept, but let's just say, I'm NOT a good wife!

Sarcastic Optimism

For the most part, I am an optimist at heart.  Definitely a "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade" kinda person.  There may be war, natural disasters and an economic depression going on around me, but I prefer to keep life in my little bubble pretty upbeat.  I smile at strangers and talk to the Wal-mart greeter (because Lord knows they aren't going to speak first).  In the evening, I pick out clothes for the next day for myself and my children because, I am quite certain, there will be a tomorrow.

I tend to balance this "life is a bowl of cherries" attitude with a hint of sarcasm.  Let's face it, when you wake up to room full of poop paintings by your enthusiastically artistic two year old, it's hard to jump up and say, "It's gonna be a great day!"  I've heard it said that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit and have been criticized by friends and family in the past for my sarcastic tone (usually encompassing descriptions of motherhood).  No doubt my mommy brain has been sucked clean of all intellectual ability,   However, your inability to understand my humor should more adequately reflect your inferior intellect.  I would rather depict my life in a humorous tone than to wallow  in self pity and criticism of others.  I would much rather exchange poop jokes than potty training tips.  It's just they way I am, take me or leave me.

So, I leave you with this pearl of wisdom:  "When life hands you lemons, squeeze them into your eyes to blind you from the horror ahead."

If Mama Ain’t Happy, Ain’t Nobody Happy

It has been a trying couple of days, weeks, months.  With hubby's work schedule in overtime, I have been barely keeping my head above water these days.  The kids have pushed me to the limit and I am drowning in half-finished tasks and housework.  I've noticed an unusual amount of yelling in our home lately.  Mommy has been...well, cranky, to say the least.  Today, when I dropped both kids off at school, I should have gone home and worked endlessly in the child-free environment.  However, I did not.  I did the unspeakable.  I took (gasp) a day off!  I grabbed by purse (the small one, not the duffle bag filled with sippy cups, snacks and wet wipes) and headed out the door.  I kidnapped my also overworked, under-appreciated cohort, Tina, and we headed out on the town.  A child-free breakfast in a quaint little bistro, followed by two hours of child-free pampering at the nail salon, a child-free lunch and a little boutique shopping (with no whining or pawing of sticky little fingers).  Just what the doctor ordered.  I am a much happier Mommy this evening.  The fact that I burned my dinner because of a popsicle emergency, barely phased me.  So what if I slipped and fell because someone had a tea party in the dog water.  (Picturing my happy place...hot stone leg massage)  Dog vomit, not a problem.  The dishwasher door is slammed shut by my helpful two year old, gashing open my shin...okay, perhaps I need a week off!

Signs you need a mommy day off:

• You schedule a pap smear just to lie down for a few moments in a child-free zone.
• You wonder just how long the kids could hold their breath underwater in the bathtub.
• You pick up the wooden spoon and everyone in the household runs in terror.
• You pull into the garage and debate whether or not to turn off the car.
• After a whole house search for the book you’ve been reading, you find it in the refrigerator next to a nearly empty bottle of wine.

Too Much Dr. Seuss

Image re-posted from:
http://childrensbooksguide.com/fun/
one-fish-two-fish-red-fish-blue-fish

It is no secret to my family and closest friends that I tend to talk to myself…a lot (and sometimes with a British accent). I have full on conversations with myself while getting ready in the mornings. Sometimes playing out possible conversations or confrontations with other people. Sometimes just making a verbal to-do list for the day. When in the car alone, I like to converse with myself in the rear view mirror and sing the wrong lyrics to songs on the radio as loud as possible.

Our nightly routine of bedtime stories with my children usually consists of a Dr. Seuss book or two. I can recite One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish and There’s a Wocket in My Pocket almost word for word by memory. Lately, I have noticed my usual mumblings to myself have taken on a rhyming tone. Like this one composed while folding laundry tonight:

One sock, Two socks, No sock, Missing sock

This one has a little hole.

This one must go, go, go.

This one’s partner has run away.

This one was white and now it’s gray.     

                                                         

Yep, it’s time for a straight jacket.

I do not like the way I am.

I think motherhood is a scam.

I can’t remember anything.

All I do is sing, sing, sing.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G

Next time won’t you sing with me?

My clothes are stained. My hair’s a mess.

My hair is falling out from stress.

McDonalds PlayPlace everyday,

My thighs weren’t meant to look this way.

Fast food prison, set me free.

A size 4 is what I’d like to be.

Yoga pants will have to do,

Until I lose a pound or two.

I do not like this lack of sleep.

It’s not working counting sheep.

Perhaps I’ll clean the house instead,

Before I lay down my head.

I’ll count the toys I put away,

Strewn about from all day play.

I’ll sneak a peek at little ones all snuggled in their beds,

With 15 toys around their heads.

Sleeping angels they appear to be

And for a moment I agree.

My morning begins again at 6 o’clock

And the crankiness is no shock.

We are not morning folk, you see

Coffee at sunrise is not for me.

And so the day’s routine begins,

Brushing teeth and wiping chins.

I’ll do it all again today

Wash and clean and sing and play.

And though motherhood may have fried my brain,

And I may be found legally insane,

I wouldn’t change a thing

No matter what today may bring.

Without a doubt, I am profoundly blessed

And being a Mommy is what I love best.

I'm So Over

I’m SO over this getting up with the birds stuff. Every morning when the alarm goes off at 6:00am, I want to sling it across the room and hide under the covers. Since my son prefers to sleep in, I have become accustomed to getting breakfast for my daughter, turning on cartoons for her and going back to bed. For the next couple of hours I lay there with closed eyes and answer “yes” to requests for anything she asks for before I want to get up…television, video games, marshmallows, you name it. However, with the commencement of the school year, this early morning laziness has now come to a halt. Now with drooping eyes and dragging ass, I scurry about packing lunches, picking out clothes, brushing teeth. Ugh! And forget about sleeping in on the weekend too. Once a two year old’s internal alarm is set for 6:00am, it’s all over!

I’m SO over mopping my floors. With two small children, two dogs and a husband, is it really worth the effort? Last Monday, I spent two hours sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, and steam cleaning every room in the house. You could eat off of them. Not five minutes later, I walk into the dining room to find my son shaking his “no spill” sippy cup of apple juice all over. Today, after another deep cleaning session, I turn around to see a shredded, soiled diaper littering the hallway and bathroom floors. Nope. No more. Next time I'll save my energy and take the open bottle of bleach into the closet and just sniff till I pass out!

I’m SO over Wal-mart. Enough said.

I’m SO over multi-tasking. Is it too much to ask to be able to do one thing at a time? As a mom, I am well trained in juggling activities. I have become all too familiar with eating dinner at the dryer while folding clothes. I can dislodge a matchbox car from what ever it is stuck in without ever looking away from my computer screen. I can carry on a phone conversation while refereeing my children in isle four of the grocery store. But is two minutes of “quiet time” on the toilet an unreasonable request? Must I truly negotiate peace and direct all household activities by yelling at the top of my voice from the throne? Before I even sit down, I hear screaming followed by the parade of little ones bombarding the bathroom. Why is it everyone is starving at this particular moment? Did the dog wait for me to walk out of the room before he ate my son’s Pop Tart? Must I find Strawberry Shortcake’s hat this very minute? Maybe one day I will get to poop in peace. Until then, that “whoosh” sound you hear next time we talk, that’s the sound of a multi-tasking mommy.

My Oh, My! How Time Flies!

The frequency of my posts may be some indicator of how busy life is these days. As the kids grow older and older before my eyes, we rush to and fro checking off milestones, it seems, on a daily basis now. I look at my "babies", now 2 and 4 years old, and wonder where did the time go?

Bucket has now officially entered the ranks of kindergarten. Though she is one of the youngest in her class, she seems so grown up. I walked her to class the first day with a lump in my throat and holding her little hand so tight. I watched as she sat down at her desk and began immediately to befriend the little girl beside her, totally oblivious to my presence. I kissed her goodbye and walked out. She smiled and waved, completely prepared to take on her day. Now, I am not a helicopter mom by any means, but separation anxiety set in. How could this happen? How is my baby girl so grown up? I am excited for Megan to begin this next stage of her life. No doubt it will be enjoyable doing things with one child in tow and spending quality time with Jackson, but I truly miss her.

Now that I have survived the emotional turmoil of the first week, we are concentrating on making our new routine more, well, routine. We are NOT morning people, nor will we ever be. The early morning wakeup has taken a physical toll on me. I'm praying that 6:00a.m. becomes easier every day. I'm happy to report that we haven't been late for school once all week (a sincere concern of my husband's).

The boy is truly a BOY now! Running, jumping, climbing...he is never still. Dirt just hangs off of him and a crust seems to form in various places on his body. I'm finding rocks in the dryer and hot wheels in my dishwasher. Yesterday, I followed a trail of muddy little footprints leading from the dog water on the patio, through the kitchen, and down the hall to the bathroom. He must have known what he had done and logically, was cleaning his feet with toilet water and the bath mat. Jackson is now in preschool two days a week. My separation angst wasn't quite as bad leaving him at preschool as he went periodically through the summer. And after all, he is the second child. Why wouldn't he get shafted?

Potty training has inevitably begun, despite my best efforts. With Megan, I was so excited to begin her training. Dreaming of days without diapers, we began before she was two years old. Being the stubborn child that she is, she took her sweet time and was nearly three before going in the potty. Number two is exciting, of course, but there just isn't as much time as there used to be because you're divided - your attention is divided, your patience is divided, your threshold for crap is divided (though, miraculously, not your love...that doubles). However, Jackson has decided he is ready and pulls his pants down at every opportunity (already the little man). He pooped on the potty for the first time today. I proceeded to cheer and jump up and down congratulating him on his victory. He flushed the potty and trotted out to get his reward (candy) and went on about his day. It may have been a fluke, but at least it's a step in the right direction.

At the end of each day, before complete and utter exhaustion sets in, I am thankful for my little blessings and the fleeting moments that burn precious memories onto my heart.

Itsy Bitsy Spider

Image re-posted from:  http://indomitablyirresistible.wordpress.com/category/just-for-fun/

As I was putting on my makeup yesterday morning, I hear Megan screaming, "Mommy, there's a spider!"  Anyone who knows my daughter knows she is not the little princess type.  She is a rough and tough little girl full of piss and vinegar.  However, this is one area in which she was predisposed to weakness.  Momma doesn't do spiders either!  We have been trying to teach her not to be afraid of bugs.  So, while still a room away (having not seen the spider), I told her to step on it and pick it up with a tissue.  After more screaming, I went to see.  Holy Mother of God!  It was a dinner plate sized tarantula (insert slight exaggeration here) under her bed.  It took 10 minutes, a phonebook, a fly swat, the broom, and half a roll of paper towels to kill and dispose of that thing...all while trying to wrangle my son away from petting the "puppy".  One of the single grossest moments of my life.  It didn't phase Megan much.  In fact, Itsy Bitsy Spider was the chosen song at bedtime.  I, on the other hand, did not sleep at all, despite the fact that I checked every nook and cranny before going to bed.  Yuck!