What Do You Say When . . .

What do you say when . . .


-your six year old son says, "WOW mom!  My penis is sooooooo big right now."?

- you discover that your three year old has a secret hiding place under the dining room table where she has hidden her babies, your cell phone, and an old banana?

-you discover that said hiding place is also where your 3 year old goes to pick her nose in "pwi- vate."?



What do you say when . . .

-you are looking for your favorite pair of tweezers and your nine year old daughter remarks, "Yeah mom.  I was going to tell you that you needed to tweeze."?

-your three year old declares, "No panties!  I don't like panties!!"?

-your husband explains, "I thought that I would help with the laundry.  I put a load of my sweatshirts in the wash . . . on delicate."? 



And finally . . .


What do you say when . . .

-you discover that your team name at the local watering hole's trivia night is Crouching Woman, Hidden Cucumber?   (Stop laughing!  I am not making this stuff up, and it gets worse.)

- you find out that you have been selected to represent team Crouching Woman, Hidden Cucumber in a trivia game musical tie in front of the entire population of the watering hole?

-the trivia game's emcee asks, "Are you THE Crouching Woman, Hidden Cucumber?"  (See.  I told you.)



Yeah.

I am speechless too.

I LOVE MY JOB . . . (Really, I Do!)

10 Reasons Why Being a Stay At Home Mom Rocks!

1.  I get to pick which superhero that I want to be . . . first. ('Cause I'm in charge.)  Depending on my mood (or my PMS level), I can join the dark side and be Darth Vader or if I am climbing the walls, I can be Spiderman.  My favorite is Mrs.  Incredible because, let's face it, she's elastic girl, and what mom wouldn't love that superpower?

2. I get to pick what's for dinner.  So, even if I don't bring home the bacon, I still get to fry it up in the pan, nightly, if I want.  And, breakfast for dinner is, well, yum!

3.  I get to play CSI when I find a dark spot on the carpet.  I swab at it, sniff it, and then finally, taste it.  (And, FYI,  smooshed dark chocolate tastes just as good as unsmooshed dark chocolate.)

4.  I get the opportunity to hear my own voice over and over all day long.  And, who wouldn't want to hear their own voice all day long? 

5.  I get to take baths with boats, Dora the Explorer, and a stray kid or two.  Daily.  Bubbles are purely optional.  They do, however, enhance the experience.

6.  I get to laugh at Martha Stewart's idea of a "good" home. A good home is not perfectly clean and decorated.  Instead, it is a place that has smudgy fingerprints on the wall and glitter in the cracks of the wood floors.  It is a place where laughter is heard and hearts are warm.  That's a "good"  home, Martha!

7.  And speaking of glitter . . .I get to make huge messes with glitter and glue and sparkles, and I have the kids and their art time as an excuse. 

8.  I get to play. Yesterday, we had a water fight in the back yard.  Enough said.

9.  I get paid in hugs and tickles and sloppy wet kisses.  And, payday is every day.

10. I get to experience the world and all of its wonder through my kids' eyes, and that, my friends, is priceless!


*****I am linking this to Mama Kat today!  Hop on over to read more prompts.  :)  Go on.  Go!  

The Writing is on the Wall . . .or How I Stopped Yelling to Get the Kids to Cooperate

There are times when I sound like a broken record.

Pick up your shoes.  Put away that toy!  Please. . . please,( for the love of God,)  lift up the toilet seat before you pee.  If you make a mess, then clean it up!

You get the idea.

I say these phrases or others like it, over and over and over, until I am, quite frankly, sick of saying them. 

Sick of instructing. 
Sick of directing. 
Just plain sick of hearing my own voice.

And honestly, my kids are probably sick of hearing me whine, complain,bitch and moan, order them around incessantly.  They are kids, after all, not recruits for the army, but  I was at my wits end trying to find a solution that would get them up and moving and contributing to the family without making me hoarse in the process.

And then it hit me.

I just would take myself out of the loop.

Simple.

And, how did I do it, you ask?

Well, I am hear to tell you that this solution is so blatantly stupid, so ridiculously idiotic, that, at first, I was hesitant to try it.  Because surely, surely, an answer this easy could not work.

But, I am here to tell you that it did work.  And it still does!

All I did was assign each kid a chalkboard.  The chalkboard is in a very visible spot in our almost-but-not-quite-finished kitchen remodel. (side note . . . I saw a photo in a magazine somewhere of a wall of differing size chalkboards, and I tried it in our kitchen.  The idea is not new to blog land.  I know Thrifty Decor Chick used a chalkboard in her kitchen awile back, but it is new to me.  I love the chalkboards!  They have been a hit!  It looks cool and the kiddies have fun coloring on the wall while I am busy ordering making dinner. Score!)

When the kids return from school, each kid has a list of things that need to be accomplished before they can do anything that is more fun.  They go through the list one at a time, crossing off chores as they go.

And that's it.

No.  I am not kidding.

I put up a chalkboard.  I listed their chores.  They do them.

Ridiculously stupid, no?!

Yet, for whatever reason, I am not yelling or complaining or repeating myself, and things are getting done.

woohoo!



Share your successes!  What have you done in your home that has been a smashing success?!?



PS  Yes,  this is a little hint of the after pics of my kitchen.  In the pictures you can see part of the island that I created and the lovely granite counter (that I got as a remnant) on top.  Sooooo pretty!!  :)

The First Time My Mouth Got Me in Trouble . . .(or Coffee is a Dish Best Served Cold)

I was a pretty good kid.


I did well in school,  worked hard at my activities, and rarely got in trouble.  I was pretty much your typical first-born, over-achieving kid.


But one time, being the snarky girl that I am,  I got in trouble.


Big trouble.


I think I was probably about 8 or 9, and mom and I were sitting on the front porch of our house.  We were each eating a piece of pie that my mother had made for dessert the night before . . . from scratch.  


Now, you should know that my mom . . . making a pie . . . from scratch . . . was a miracle in and of itself.  Mom is, to this day, a fabulous cook,  but, she never did quite get the hang of baking.  (This is because  a) she doesn't like to follow directions and b)  her creative mind wants to tweak the recipe, just so, and that usually results in a disaster. )  She has blown up cakes and created congealed brownies.  In fact, one time my dad actually forbid her to ever bake again.  Her baking skills were that bad.


So, the fact that mom actually rolled out dough and made an honest to goodness edible pie was momentous!  And, on that afternoon as we sat and munched on her successful dish, I just couldn't bring myself to award her a compliment.  Instead, my sass bubbled to the surface, and I slyly commented,  "Mom, this is good, but . . ." (You knew there had to be a but, right?)  I paused and then finished, "But this crust just isn't flaky like the crust on the butter commercial."


I remember I smiled to myself, thinking that I was pretty darn funny.


Mom smiled too, but said nothing.  Instead, she picked up her cold cup of coffee, held it up high, and poured it over my head.


Then, she laughed.


And laughed.


And laughed.


Now, I won't lie.  I was mortified.  Not only had my humor not gone over so well,  I was also sitting on my front porch dripping cold coffee from my nose in sopping wet, coffee-stained clothes.  It wasn't pretty, my friends.  Not pretty at all.


But, looking back, I wholeheartedly deserved it.


And the lesson?  Did it have a lasting impression on me?


I'd say so, considering that I have my cold coffee ready.


Bring on the snark, I say.

Bring it on!


********I'm linking to Mama Kat today.  I used the prompt  . . . "The craziest reason I got in trouble as a child. . ."  Hop on over to Mama Kat and check her out!********

Twenty Things I WILL NOT Do (And You Can't Make Me!)

20 things I vow NOT to do this summer . . .

1. I will not cry when I inadvertently kill my tomato plant.
2. I will not mutter under my breath grumpily when I am forced to buy tomatoes from the local farmer's market after I kill my tomato plants.
3. I will not lie when others taste my fabulous tomato sauce and ask if it was made with tomatoes I have grown myself. I will fess up, even if it kills me.


4. I will not cry because my kitchen remodel is still not done.
5. I will not become impatient with the kitchen's progress and hire out the rest of the work to a local handyman.
6. I will not give up the friendly pestering of hubs to get the job done. (Love you hubs! Smooches!!)


7. I will not cry when I drive all three of my kiddies 10 hours, by myself, in our yearly quest to see the ocean.
8. I will not leave my bickering and fighting children on the side of the highway, despite my overwhelming desire to do so.
9. I will not drink myself into a coma when I arrive at our vacation destination out of sheer relief that the road trip is over. (I will have at least one drink, however. Or three. Just sayin'.)

10. I will not cry when I put on my summer bathing suit and check myself out in the mirror, despite any stretch marks, cellulite, flab or the like. I will embrace my womanly body, and be proud of my health without apology. (So there! sticks tongue out . . .)
11. I will not worry about what I look like in a bathing suit when I am at the pool or the beach. ( I have invested in some fabulous rose colored glasses for just this problem.)
12. I will not sit out of the fun of summer just because some magazine tells me that I should look a certain way. I will swim and jump and sing and dance and frolic (OK. OK! Maybe not frolic . . . but definitely the others.) this summer. I will enjoy this season to the hilt!

13. I will not cry when the kids say, "I am bored!"
14. I will not find things for the kids to do when they cry, "I am bored!" Instead, I will let them wallow in their bored-ness in the hope that their little minds will wander and their creativity will flourish. (Just not flourish enough to create a big honkin' mess in the house or yard.)
15. I will not succumb to the kids' cries of desperation by turning on the boob tube. It will stay off!! (except of course for my dvr'ed episodes of Glee and Modern Family . . .)


16. I will not cry when I see my kiddies grow up before my eyes.
17. I will not put a brick on Abbie's head in order to stop her from growing (like a weed I might add) into a young lady, despite the fact that I am not quite ready for it.
18. I will not put a leash on Ellerie to restrain her energy despite the fact that her zeal for life zaps the energy from my life.
19. I will not put a piece of tape over Ethan's mouth in order to acquire a moment of silence in my crazy day. I will instead try to listen to all of E's 6 year old theories and appreciate each and every one of them (to the best of my ability and my sanity).

20. I will not take any day for granted this summer. I will appreciate each and every day that I get to spend with my kids, hubs, and extended family. . .

. . . even if it kills me . . .


*****************This post was a variation response to one of Mama Kat's writer's prompts this week, the 30 Things You Will Do This Summer. Hop on over to see her and check out some other great responses. *************************

To Ethan on his Birthday

Dear Ethan,

Six years ago you made me the mom of a boy. What a wonderful (and exhausting) experience! Just so that we keep our records straight, I thought we should peruse the list that I keep in your baby book. I want to make sure that we are in complete agreement when it comes time for you to make arrears. I have enclosed the list below.

Ethan's Expenditures . . .

1. One cell phone. Flushed down the toilet. The verizon people were not happy when I told them it had been swimming in poo.

2. One cell phone. Thrown in the washer when you were "helping" with laundry.

3. One toilet. After you flushed the spring loaded toilet paper holder, it "sprung" open in the toilet causing a poo dam. No snake or plumber could figure out what exactly you had flushed and why it was causing such a backup. Only after your father removed the toilet, brought in in the backyard, and had at it with a sledgehammer did we find out about the tp holder. We had several beers over the shards of porcelain that night in the backyard.

4. One dvd player. This died a very violent and painful death after you stuffed a peanut butter sandwich in it.

5. One bedroom door. After you locked yourself in your sister's bedroom and we could hear your wicked giggles through the door, we tried in vain to remove the doorknob. When the 70 year old knob proved to be unremovable, dad was forced to break down the door. You clapped in delight.

6. One bathroom door. I really should have realized how much you liked your previous experience, because soon thereafter, you did it again. This time it was the bathroom, and when we called to you to unlock the door, you giggled and said, "Nooooooo!" We tried the lock, again, to no avail. Finally dad used a running start and broke down the bathroom door too. Your sister said, "WOW! Dad looks just like Mr. Incredible!" You laughed even as we put you in time out. From that point on, we put dry washcloths over the door hinges to prevent you from closing the doors.

7. One 39 inch TV. I should have realized that it was your target after I found 11 DVD's shoved into the slit that held the door to hide the power buttons. I did not, however. Once the dvd's were removed, you stealthily stuck your straw from your juice box in the same slit and you juiced the TV's electrical board. I didn't notice the damage until the TV turned on by itself and then randomly turned channels and increased and decreased its own volume. At first, I thought it was possessed, but then I remembered the skill of my baby boy. You had struck again. Dad wasn't too upset, because he got to purchase a much-too-big flat screen TV to replace the one you destroyed.

8. One phone line. This was discovered one day when our phone was dead. Our internet connection was also non-existent. Imagine my surprise when the phone repairman followed the line from the wall behind the furniture to the place where you had cut right through it with your lefty safety scissors. You said you were "Practicing" for school. You were such a good student!


So, all in all, at 6 years old, you have probably cost us an extra $2000. You can pay me back by having a few adorable grandchildren that will raise hell and torture you just as you have done to me and your dad.

And always remember, that no matter how much you have cost us, the joy, the laughter and the smiles that you bring to our life are priceless my boy, priceless.

We love you!

Happy 6th Birthday!

Love,

Mommy

I Never Thought I Would . . .

Things that I never imagined that I would do . . until I had kids . . .

1. Sing "Pee Pee on the Pot - ty!" while dancing around to celebrate my child's urinary success.

2. The above . . . while in public.

3. Wear Dora the Explorer band-aids on my nipples to signify that my boobs were "broken" and no longer working and nursing boobs.

4. Accept (and eat) a half-licked sucker in order to avoid having it stuck in my toddler's hair, or worse, my own.

5. Change a poopy diaper in an airplane bathroom.

6. Squirt hand sanitizer on a sketchy looking table at a restaurant rather than take the chance of having one of my kids lick a dirty table and then come down with some hideous virus.

7. Pray (literally) that my kiddies don't get sick before the last set of puked on sheets gets clean in the washer and dryer.

8. Use a sanitary napkin as a makeshift diaper (because we had run out) while I high tailed it to the drugstore to replenish the supplies.

9. Defer a paticularly pointed question about the birds and the bees until my husband gets home so that he may serve as back up (or at least share in the humiliation with me).

10. Make up stories about how Santa doesn't deliver animals at Christmas for the sheer fact that I can not handle a dog and a toddler at the same time.

11. Watch the Disney channel.

12. Sing Hannah Montana songs.

13. Have Mama Mia as my ring tone.

14. Drive a minivan. (By the way, I still hate driving it, but it is sooooo darn practical.)

15. Forgo buying the latest cute shoes so that my kid can wear pants that are not up to his ankles.

16. Enjoy a Tball game.

17. Laugh until I pee my pants.

18. Eat ice cream in the middle of the day, just because.

19. Lay on the back deck and watch the clouds pass by over head and be perfectly content.

20. Say the words, "If I catch you picking your nose and eating it one more time . . ."


So, what have you done that you never thought that you would? Hmmm? Let me know that I am not alone in my craziness!

My March Madness

I need some advice. Or sanity. Or both.

My problem?

Simple.

Ellerie will not sit in her car seat.

Now, I know that some of you out there will just say, "Strap her in! " I, too, am OK with that approach if it weren't for the fact that Ellerie can undo the buckles. And, not just any, run of the mill seat belt buckles, mind you. These are tough for me to get undone without some concentration. The girl could probably figure out a rubik's cube if it meant that she could get out of her car seat. She is a flipping Houdini, I tell you!

Maybe she has a future in magic?

Hmmm.

At least I know that she won't be into bondage.




Any ideas to help? Duct tape?? Bungee cords??? I am pretty open to anything.

Caught in the Tentacles of Life

I don't think that I am cut out to be the mom of a little boy.

I mean . . . when Ethan ran his hand along a car's bumper in a mall parking lot and then licked his hand, I was utterly grossed out . . . but OK.

When Ethan pulled dirt, grass, sticks and stones out of his jeans pocket and then placed them on my dinner table . . . during dinner, I was repulsed, . . . but I didn't flinch.

When my boy removed every stitch of his clothing to use the bathroom, despite the fact that we were in public, despite the fact that we were in the Atlanta airport, I was horrified and wanted to douse him with Chlorox, . . . but, I survived.

But, when it comes to the birds and the bees, and boys . . .

I am not so good.

Recently, Ethan plodded into the bathroom to use the facilities. After a few minutes, I heard his familiar, "Mom!" so I trudged to the bathroom to see what was the matter.

"What's wrong buddy?"

"Mom, what are these things?" he said pointing to his male member.

"What things?" I asked innocently.

He fired back, "Maaaa- ooom!" with exasperation. "These things! There are two circle things under my pee pee. What are they?"

"Oh," I said, figuring it out. I decided to just use the correct terminology and be very matter of fact, even though the last thing that I wanted to be doing was discussing his male anatomy. "Well E, those are your testicles."

"Oh," he replied.

"Oh?" Maybe I was home free, I thought. But, I was wrong.

"What are they for mom?'

A thousand inappropriate thoughts flew through my head . . . but I reigned them in, and went with, "Well, they are boy parts that someday will help you to be a daddy." Then, I busied myself with folding a fallen towel, and I scurried out of there.

Later, when hubs got home, E, hubs and I were in the living room alone. I thought about our birds and bees conversation and decided to get hubby in on the action. After all, he deserves to be just as uncomfortable as me, right? I am a good parent like that.

"Ethan. Why don't you ask Daddy what you were asking me about today in the bathroom?" I figured it would be better coming out of his mouth.

Ethan's face lit up when he realized what I was talking about, and he said, "Dad, I have tentacles on my pee pee!"

Tentacles?!?!

I almost wet myself from laughing!

Hubs, however, remained composed, and said, "Tentacles? I think you mean testicles, right bud?!"

E laughed and nodded.

And I thank God for two things.

1) I have a hubby that is OK with the birds and the bees.

and

2) He did not teach E any other choice euphemisms for testicles.


Tentacles are bad enough.

Confession Wednesday 1/13

Bless me my bloggy friends.  It has been 1 month (gasp!) since my last Confession Wednesday post.  Since I am obviously wracked with guilt from all of my impure thoughts. . . onto my free therapy.

I confess that in order to keep my layer of fat healthy to survive the winter with no end, I ate sweetened condensed milk straight out of the can.  No.  I am not kidding.  I just opened up the can and dug right in with my spoon.  I won't say that it was pretty,  but, it was yummy  . . .and sweet . . . and delicious.  It was especially good on pretzels, too.  You know that salty, sweet combo can't be beat! (And if you have not ever tried this fine confection, go get yourself to the nearest store, buy a can of the Eagle brand sweetened condensed milk, and then you can commence eating yourself happy.  I know.  I know.  You are welcome.)

I confess that rather than resorting to sitting on my two year old to get her clothed, I allowed Ellerie to wear her princess pajama top for two days in a row.  Night. Day. Night. Day. Again.  By the end of the wearing, Snow White looked a bit tanned from the hot chocolate spilled on her, and Cinderella definitely looked like her before pic. . . minus the birds and mice mulling around.  No matter.  Ellerie had clothes on and frankly, in my world, that is what mattered.

I confess that I have been systematically pulling hubby's dirty clothes out of the shared dirty laundry pile.  No.  I don't want him to go to work with a rank aroma.  And, no.  I am not trying to teach him a lesson. (Although I should after he recently tried to "help" with the laundry and washed a few loads with fabric softener instead of detergent!)  I am actually trying to conduct an informal science experiment.  I am trying to prove that the majority of my mountain of laundry is made by hubs himself.  He, of course, seems to disagree.  We'll see who wins when he is out of clean socks.  

I confess that if my daughter auditioned for American Idol and she sounded like a cat having sex, I would be the first person to put her out of her misery.  Mothers everywhere, listen up! You should be ashamed of yourselves for letting your babies think that they can actually sing. Isn't your job as a mother to periodically dash the hopes and dreams of your offspring thereby causing them to go to therapy?  Hmmmm???  By shirking your motherly duties, you have now hurt people's hearing across the nation.  Fortunately, it hurts so good, as bad singing makes for great TV.

I confess that I did not brush my hair at all yesterday.

I confess that I love my short hair do.

I confess that I hate the gray hairs that are popping up everywhere, despite my recent trip to the hair salon for color.  I confess that I am still armed with my trusty sharpie marker for just such hair related emergencies, and I will use it at will to keep those gray hairs at bay.  

I confess that I am fighting off an overwhelming urge to visit my local Krispie Kreme.  The store owners must have sensed my burning desire as they had the Hot Now sign lit up in red neon.  They obviously are the devil's spawn.

And with that, dear friends, I am off.  

By the way, would you like to link up your own confessions?  Let me know in the comments if this is something that you would like to do, otherwise,  I confess I have no desire to figure out how to set up a MckLinky.

Happy Wednesday!

Confession Wednesday 11/18

It's Wednesday, and I am ready.

For what?  You may ask.

Well, my lovelies, I am ready to confess my insanity sins.  

1. I confess that I hate to mate socks.  I have a basket of approximately 10,000 unmated socks. ( Okay.  Okay!  I am exaggerating. . .  but . . . not by much.)  I think that this is a hereditary trait, because I remember my mother had a pile of unmated socks just like mine when I was growing up.  Obviously, it is in my genes.

2.  I confess that I steal my hubby's socks in the winter time, because I don't want to go through the sock basket for mine.  He hates this.  

3.  I confess that despite the fact that I know he hates me stealing his socks, I still do it, and when I do, I secretly smile at my naughtiness.

4. I confess that if hubby stole my clothing, I would ask him to get some professional help.  Quickly.

5.  I confess that I let Ellerie eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

6.  Consequently, I confess that I sometimes eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

7.  I confess that I let the macaroni that lands on the floor dry for at least a few hours before I attempt to sweep it up. (Have you ever tried to sweep up wet macaroni?  Yuck!)

8.  I confess that there have been days when lunch rolls around and the macaroni is still on the floor underneath Ellerie's chair.

9.  I confess that on those days I try not to let the drying macaroni bother me.

10.  I confess that, often, it doesn't work, and I get on my hands and knees and pick up the macaroni.

There!

Much better!

Happy Early Christmas

Recently, I have been scouring the Sunday ads and circulars in the hopes of finding some good deals for Christmas presents. Last Sunday, a store in our area had Star Wars figurines for $3.00 each. Ethan is a complete Star Wars nut, so, I was excited to get such a good deal on something that I knew that he would love. After scouring the store shelves, I found a few of the figurines left waaaaaay in the back, and I purchased three of them. Then, I left the package in my van's stow-n-go area under the seats, well concealed from Ethan's prying eyes.

That is . . . I thought it was well concealed.

But, apparently, it was not.

Because today, while out running errands, Ethan shouted with glee from the back seat.  "Mom!  There are some Star Wars men back here!!  Thank you mom!  Oh thank you!"

And, before I could say anything, he ripped into the packaging and started to play with those men.  Those Christmas presents.  He was so very excited and animated that I just didn't have the heart to tell him that he would have to wait for Christmas.

Sigh.

Happy Early Christmas E . . .   now, I am back to square one with my shopping.  

I guess Santa Claus and I will just have to be a little more clever this Christmas.

Any ideas on hiding places???

There is Tall Man

Dear Crazy Man in the Blue Sedan,

Thank you so much for speeding by my van today.  I particularly like how you hung out the window with your middle finger extended.  I can definitely say it sparked an interesting discussion in our car.

For instance,  my lovely little five year old boy wondered why you were so angry while singing the  Where is Thumbkin?  song.  And, rightfully so.  How could you be so angry when you obviously were singing about the Tall Man?  We concluded that you were probably  just emphasizing your love for the song.

Why else would you extend your middle finger like that?

Sincerely,

Annie

P.S. Because of your generous spirit, I was treated to Where is Thumbkin? approximately 27 times later this afternoon.  So, thanks once again!

To Abbie on her 8th Birthday

Dear Abbie,

I have had a very hard time writing this letter to you, and I don't know exactly why.  Maybe it is because words are just not enough sometimes to describe the love that I feel for you, my girl.  Maybe it is because there are just oh so many things that I love, love, love about you and the young lady that you are becoming.  And, maybe it is because I don't like to admit that my baby is growing up.

Seriously girl.  How is it possible that my first baby, the one that baptized me into motherhood, is already 8 years old?  I look at you as you work on your own blog, and I am truly amazed that you are the same person as that screaming, chubby, drooly bundle.    Amazed.  And, blessed.

Just a few months ago, you had a program at your school.  You were supposed to dress for your future career.  You, of course, picked to be a fashion designer.  Considering your flair for your hair, your clothes, and even your room, I thought that it was a totally appropriate choice.  But, when you walked down the stairs with your head held high and a big smile plastered on your face to show dad and I your outfit, I was floored.  You wore your black and white graphic smock with black leggings.  On your feet were too cute flat shoes, and on your head was an ultra cool scarf.  Your blond bobbed hair was super chic and you topped off your fashion designer outfit with oversized sunglasses.  You were perfect, my girl!  You looked oh so grown up, and I realized that your were not a little girl anymore.  

I remember that I felt oh, so proud of you, but at the same time, I was a little sad too. I know.  I know.  That sounds crazy, but it's true.   I think that I was sad to think that my baby, the one that would never let anyone but me hold her, the one that would run around in her diaper with her Jessie from Toy Story outfit on, that girl . . .  that girl didn't quite need me in the same way anymore.  It was a hard thing  for me to realize.

But, as I think about it more and more, that realization was a good thing. It was a good thing for me to realize that while you are growing, I am growing too.

So, as you grow each year, my Abigail, remember that I am growing as your mom also.  Be patient with me, my first born, as I am with you. I am still learning everyday how to be the mom of a young lady that is eager and ready to learn about the world.  And, although I don't know what the future will hold for you, I am excited that as your mom, I get to be a part of it, as we learn and grow together as mother and daughter.

I love you, my Abigail.  I thank God for his precious gift, you, everyday.

Love,

Mom

P.S.  Remember, you are never too old to snuggle with your mom before bed.

****Yes, I know that this is not your real birthday, but we'll consider it a "celebrate" birthday as Ethan would say.

The Cost of Fun

Pink Lemonade for Lemonade Stand  : $2.59

Dixie Cups  : $1.99

Assorted Papers and Markers  for Signs:  approximately $2.00

Total: $6.58

Keeping kiddies occupied for 3 solid hours on a summer day :  Priceless!

The Dishwasher

Summer has only just begun, but Ethan is already at full speed.

My key to managing Ethan's energy - keeping him busy.

Yesterday, I decided to start him on the dishes.  After all, at 5, he still thinks that dishes are "fun," and  he "wants" to wash them.  I figured I might as well get on board before he changes his mind!

Here is the dishwasher himself!

It took him an hour and 1/2 a container of liquid soap to wash approximately five bowls and cups.  Paul and I had to use bath towels to clean up the water on the counter and the floor. 

A mess?! Yes!

But well worth it when you take into account that E was happily busy for an hour.  

Tomorrow's plan:  weeding and then dishes.

That way he can play in mud, and then he can wash off the dirt while he washes off the dishes.

Happy Monday!

Not Me! Do Over Day

I am fairly certain that it is Monday again. (Although there are times that I do forget which day it is, and honestly, I never know the actual date.  ) This week's Monday brought several early a.m. wake ups from a sick kiddie, a trip to the doctor's office, and no clean undies that I could find in my mountain of laundry.  An auspicious start to the day, don't you think?  Anyway, today is a Not Me!  Monday, a post idea made famous by the fabulous blogger MckMama.  On a Not Me!  Monday, you are supposed to be brutally honest about all of the craziness that occurred in your life the previous week.  In doing so, you will feel cleansed, refreshed, and ready to start the insanity again.  Try it!  It's almost like a do over when you were a kid playing kickball.   Even if you flubbed your kick and completely missed the ball ( and what a loaded metaphor that is!), you can call "Do over!" and try again.

Wouldn't life be nice if we could employ the do over more often?

Alas . . . I digress.

Onto my therapy . . .

It was not me that burned the garlic bread at dinner last night.  Clearly, I would have used a timer after burning approximately 4,792 other loaves of garlic bread.  I would also have not turned the broiler on HIGH instead of the gentler, less likely to burn, LOW setting.  Nope! Not Me! It was also not me that was applauded by my family for my uninterrupted run of burning the bread record.  Ridiculous!  Who applauds burnt bread while the smoke alarm is wailing in the background?  Not me!

It also was not me that decided to wear a tanktop sports bra to the gym the other day to show off my beginning-to-be-sculpted shoulders.  I would never be so vain!  It could not have been me that when taking my weights class at the gym that day did  an overhead press and noticed that while my shoulders were looking better each day, I had forgotten to shave my underarms in the shower that morning.  Clearly, I would have remembered such an important task and I would never have exposed my fellow exercisers to the forest that was growing in my pits.  I am more polite than that!

I most certainly did not ignore the smelly diaper aroma emanating from El's little bottom after realizing that my hubby would be home in five minutes and that he could change her.  I would never postpone a diaper change and risk a rash on my baby's cute little bottom, because I just couldn't stand the thought of one more poopy mess.  That would be so very selfish and un-mom like for me to do.  It couldn't have been me!

 It was also not me that decided to clean out the back of my van and then left the trunk open for the entire evening, and the entire neighborhood to view.  I clearly have enough space in my brain to remember to close the van door after I was done cleaning it.  Therefore, it could not have been me!  Silly!

Finally, it was also not me that blamed the kiddies for the said door when my nice neighbor came by to let me know it was still opened at 10 PM.  I would have taken full responsibility for my actions!  

There!

Much better!

And now to begin my do over for this week. . .

Mom's Clone

****The following is a repost of an earlier post about me, my mom, and how much I love the fact that I am slowly turning into her.

I am turning into my mother.

I came to this realization as I was plucking my eyebrows in the vanity car mirror as I waited for Ab after school today. You see, the only place that I can actually see to get those pesky stray hairs that make me resemble Bert from Sesame Street is in my magnified vanity mirror. While this may seem strange to you, this was a completely normal activity to me until Ab hopped in the car and threw me an intense seven year old glare.

"What are you doing, mom?" the utter horror she felt dripping from every word.

Still not getting it, I answered, "Plucking my eyebrows, Ab. Geez. You've seen me do this hundreds of times."

"Mom, . . . people can SEE you!"

And, instantly, I knew. I knew exactly how she felt because my mom had done it to me, hundreds of times over the years. She was embarrassed about me. I was the embarrassing mom! I was my mother.

Now, mind you, I had yet to wear multi-colored converse sneakers to match my skirt in front of Ab's friends, nor did I blow up the gas grill at her 7th grade boy-girl birthday party. I had demonstrated no public displays of affection for her (or . . . gulp, for my husband), and I had yet to go out of the house with one of my armpits shaved twice and the other sprouting a veritable forest that peeked out from a summery tank. Those were things that had mortified me about my mother. My mental checklist assured me that I had done none of those things, yet . . .

I had embarrassed her.

Quickly, I had to do something, anything to rectify the situation.

So, I grabbed her perfect little hand in mine, looked her deeply in her eyes, and said . . .

"Suck it up, Ab! Your Grammy embarrassed me daily. I expect I will do that to you too. Get used to it."

And with a smile, I placed my favorite tweezers in their coveted car cup holder, and maneuvered my way out of the parking lot, while my daughter stared at me with an open mouthed gape.

I have decided to embrace my embarrassing ways.

My mother would be so proud.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

I love you and your embarrassing ways.

This post is part of a world wide blogging tribute to Moms led by TheBlogFrog

The Artist

I am in search of a bumper sticker.

You know, the one that reads, "My fabulously gifted child attends . . ."

That one.

You see, today I discovered that I have been blessed with one such child.  Apparently, Ellerie

 is, shall we say, an artiste.  She has discovered the pure bliss that is creating. She has reveled in her creation by posting it for the world to see.  Obviously, she has talent.

Today, Ellerie was inspired to create her first poopie painting.  Knowing that watercolors or oil paints were just too mainstream, my gifted little one chose to paint in an all too familiar medium.  She just reached her chubby little fingers in her diaper, found a warm and squishy surprise, and thought, "Eureka!  This is it!  I will use this for my creation."

What a precocious girl!

I can't tell you the words that sprung to my lips as I realized that she had, in fact, painted with feces.  At first, I thought it was chocolate, but my eyes deceived me.  Thankfully, my nose was alerted to the wonder that was her artwork.  Tearfully, I reveled in this new found calling for Ellerie.  

And her canvas you ask?  Well, that darling child chose a lovely canvas for her feces to decorate.  A wall, a sheet, or even paper clearly did not meet her high standards.  Instead, she chose to adorn herself with excrement.  What an exhibitionist! It was a special moment for the two of us when I realized just what a blessing she is to our family.

And if someday you see in lights,

 "Performance Art Tonight Starring Ellerie," . . . 

you know that you read it here first. 

Bring your room deodorizer.

I can hear him laughing

God has a sense of humor.

He must, because he made me, the lady who hates dirt, the germ-a-phobe, the clean freak . . . he made me  . . . the mother of a little boy.  My adventures with Ethan probably provide him with his recommended daily allowance of laughter.  

Today's joke occurred as we were walking into the mall.  Because he has the boy gene that requires him to touch every single possible thing that he encounters, Ethan proceeded to touch the bumpers of each and every car in our path in the parking lot.  At the end of the aisle, he held his hand up to his face and looked at its blackened hue in amazement.  "Look ma!  I cleaned the cars," he stated proudly.

Immediately, I shrieked one of my high level decibel shrieks, "Ethan!  Gross!  Let me get a  . . ."

But before I could get out the word "wipe," Ethan proceeded to lick the palm of his hand clean. Yes, that is right.  He stuck out his tongue and just lapped up that bumper dirt.  (He is either vitamin and mineral deficient, or just plain yucky.  I vote the latter.)    As mortified and disgusted as I was, I couldn't say that this was out of character for him.

You see, the licking shouldn't surprise me.  After all, this is the kid that has licked, in no specific order, the dining table at a local McDonald's restaurant (eeeew!), his sister's back (gross!), the bottom of his tennis shoes (stomach turning . . .), and the banister at the football stadium during a crowded rival game (There are just no words.) None of these were too sanitary a place, but apparently, just right for this four year old's discerning palate.  If it is gooey, filthy, or just plain disgusting, no matter.  It seems that my boy is up for the challenge, even if his mother is not.

Case in point, lately, we have been having a bathroom challenge, Ethan and me.  For some reason, Ethan feels that it is necessary to strip down to his birthday suit each and every time that he has to poop.  Now, even with my fabulous persuasion skills, (Read: "Ethan, puh-leeeeeeese!  For the love of God!!!!) I can not convince him to remain in his clothing to do his daily deed.  Hubby thinks that he is afraid that he will get his clothing soiled.  You know . . . fashion a la feces, but I have a problem with his theory.  If the kid is willing to lick dirt, why should a little poopie be a problem?

Now, normally, this little personality quirk would not be a problem.  I would just follow the trail of clothing, daily, to discover my naked little boy perched on the potty.  But, when you throw traveling in the mix . . . well, it makes it a bit more challenging.  Our recent trip through the Atlanta airport almost did me in.  As Ethan began to perform his striptease in a public restroom, it took every ounce of sanity I had not to pull a "Mommie Dearest" in public.

Wanting to ignore the obvious, I questioned, "Ethan!  What are you doing?"  to the closed stall door.  

"Pooping ma.  Why?"  he answered nonchalantly as I watched his shoes then his pants hit the grimy floor.  All I could think of was how many times those open toilets had flushed poop particles onto every surface in that bathroom.  

Softening my tone, I started in again, "E buddy.  We talked about this.  You don't have to take off ALL of your clothes to go to the bathroom."  It was at this point that I heard several snickers and giggles waft out of other stalls.  Silently, I cursed them with the worst curse I could think of, "Bitches!"  I thought.  Unoriginal, I know, but at the time, it was what I was feeling.  E's words brought me right back to battle.

"Ma!  I have to take off my clothes!"  he answered stridently and with no explanation.  And, since I could not get into the stall with him, I knew at that moment I had lost the battle.  E was naked and touching poopie and pee pee germs all over the place, and  I could not do one thing about it.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and heard it.

Laughing.

It was God, and his sick sense of humor.

He is such a man.