The Fish Egg

It sometimes amazes me when I reflect on the various tasks I am called upon to do in a typical day at the home of Missy Moo and Bubba Boo. For instance, Missy Moo found a very small bead on the floor today that the sweeper failed to retrieve after she snuck one of my elaticized bracelets out of my drawer this past weekend and decided to experiment on how far it could stretch. "Look, Mommy! It's a fishy egg!" she excitedly shrieked and went on to explain that this MUST be Nemo's egg as it was the only egg left after the mean fish came and took Coral and the rest of the fish away (if you can figure out the movie then you too probably have a children at home). She then proceeded to make every attempt to carry this bead that is about the size of a chocolate chip around the house and of course, lost it about every 2.5 seconds. As I was lying on the kitchen floor face-down trying to peer under the stove and reach under that impossibly tiny crack that seperates the stove from the floor to retrieve the "fishy egg", it dawned on me that absolutely no one on this planet would ever predict what I was doing at that given moment. Upon further reflection, it occurred to me that there were many times throughout my days as a mommy that this could be true as well and I certainly suspect that other mommies have some unusual stories to tell as well. However, I must also admit that this is exactly how I want Missy Moo to think - she is creative to an extreme and can see things in everyday objects that we as adults would never see. Admit it - when was the last time you looked at a bead and said, "That is Nemo's fish egg"? This then made me start to wonder at what point do we get evicted from this innocent fantasy land that so many children reside in thus allowing them to see things that adults simply cannot? What else do they see during the day that they don't even vocalize or maybe they do but we are so practical and cerebral that we just think they are babbling about nonsense? I quickly caught myself and offered Missy Moo a snack ziploc bag for her fish egg, which is where it is now waiting until it is time to hatch. She is also sleeping with it as we speak and while the serious adult in me is a little worried about this the child development side of me is telling me that this is all good. She is "thinking outside the box" because for her, there simply isn't a box. I plan to encourage this unlimited thinking for as long as she will allow and even when she doesn't, I will push on. Though I will silently hope that she never loses this way of viewing the world, I fear the reality is that she probably will as she grows older each year. Meanwhile, I will continue to be Cheer Bear and Princess Aurora, I will take care of fish eggs and risk my life to find them, and I will be Bella Dancerella whenever I am called upon to do so. After all, it is through my child's eyes that I am able to see the world that I learned about through life experiences and it is fun. Very fun...So fun that I might stay in this fantasy land for a while because, quite truthfully, it is a whole lot more exciting.

The Green Chair

As cliche as it sounds, love truly knows no boundaries and can be felt for things that are not even living as I recently came to terms with while rocking Bubba Boo the other night. There is a sage green glider rocking chair that is currently residing in Bubba Boo's room that used to take up with Missy Moo while she was still a little peep. Once we moved to the new house, Missy Moo took the distressed white antique rocker while Bubba Boo scored and got the comfortable green glider with the matching ottoman. Luckily, this went unnoticed by the sassy elder which is quite a feat in itself considering that she recently has taken to getting angry when Bubba Boo simply looks at her let alone touches something that belongs to her...Since Bubba Boo is now on his fifth ear infection for the season (he has impossibly tiny ear canals and yes, he will be getting tubes most certainly), I was spending some time quietly rocking him so he would calm down and maybe allow us all to get some sleep. I began to think of all I had experienced in this chair - this was where I rocked my first baby, nervous, scared, and filled with the apprehension that I could not possibly take care of this little being and how in God's name did the hospital personnel allow her to leave with me? I remember thinking that I could actually die if I did not get some sleep while Missy Moo threw several of her colic fits during those first few months home. I remember wishing I had one of those "U" shaped pillows they sell in airports so I could sleep in the chair while I rocked both babies. I remember reading Missy Moo her first few books that hooked her so much that "reading her stories" is one of her most favorite things to do today. I remember rocking Missy Moo as she cried from a broken heart when we lost "old bunny" and thought he would never be seen again (he showed up later - thank God). I remember holding Missy Moo while I was pregnant with Bubba Boo and marveled at the incredibility of him kicking while she rested on my tummy - one inside, one out. I remember comforting the same colicky baby in a male form two years later that was just not ready to be born yet and wanted to go back to the womb. I remember sitting in that chair and, after talking with my hubby, handing over to God the mystery of whether or not we would have a third baby. If that chair could talk, I am certain it would say, "For the love of God, I am TIRED!!!" but yet it is always there and instantly calms anyone down who chooses to sit in it for just one moment. We purchased the green chair off the floor - it was the last of its style and had some smudge marks on the ottoman, so we bargained a discount and took it home the day we ordered Missy Moo's crib and dresser. Being first time parents, we excitedly threw it in our SUV and promptly set it up in the corner of Missy Moo's bedroom to patiently wait for its little friend to arrive. I loved passing by that room and seeing it sitting there just waiting for mommy and child to plunk down and chill during a long, sleepless night. It filled me with anticipation and longing to meet my little peanut that was so close to me yet still such a stranger. So I guess what I am coming to realize is that I love that chair, darn it. I will never be able to rid of it and can see me sitting in that glider when I am living in a retirement home waiting for each of my babies to come and take me to lunch. Oh, and God's answer to the third baby dilemma? He or she is coming in July...

My Paycheck...

Being a stay at home mom is a thankless job - don't get me wrong, I LOVE the opportunity to be home with my two children and thank God every day that I have been given the chance to do so. However, if I said that life was always rosy and I loved to play kitties ten times a day (or watch Mickey's Clubhouse repeatedly as I have been doing during the past four days) I would be lying through my teeth and you would know it... I once saw a segment on the Today show about how much a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) would make if compensated monetarily for their position - as you can well imagine, it was a six-figure income! Now this will shock you, but the big killer was the amount of overtime mom's put-in...HA! No kidding?!!! Really?!

So while I digress into sacarsm, I must admit that there are times when I am reminded how great it is that I am my children's caretaker. Missy Moo was diagnosed with the croup and bronchitis earlier this week and let me tell you, it has been a rough one. When kiddos don't feel well they must be velcroed to your person at all times and want you to know what it is they need before even they do...At which point, if I don't know exactly what she wants or needs INSTANTLY, it is a full-blown drama that you would not believe (more dramatic than our typical meltdowns) which of course, would be fine if she were the only child in the house but Bubba Boo has needs, too; however, I again thank God for the Jumperoo and hope that he will not be language-delayed or severely emotionally-handicapped. Anyway, this afternoon I scooped Bubba Boo up off the floor and asked Missy Moo if we could sit with her on her "couch bed" which is a mini-bed in the living room that I have created for her while she is sick. Her sweet, sickly face broke a smile and said that yes, we could indeed bless her with our presence on the couch bed. She then proceeded to pretty forcefully push Bubba Boo's hand off her leg as he DARED to brush it against her - touching her is a big no-no...At this point, I ask her if she thinks she will ever like her baby brother to which she replies, without missing one iota of a beat, "No." Lovely...As I stew for a moment over what exactly to do to make her start to like her baby brother who absolutely adores her and lights up as soon as she enters the room, she sweetly looks at me, let's out a refreshing sigh and says, "I love you, mommy." Now this may not sound like a huge deal but Missy Moo has never initiated this phrase - she has said "I love you, too" but never out-of-the-blue said these words, so innocent, to me. Of course, my heart melted and I instantly forget my anger over the fact that she said she will never like her brother...I can handle it for at least one more day...These are the snapshots I force myself to remember when I open the refrigerator door and am pelted in the forehead with four sticks of butter at 6:30 a.m. I am not lying - this is how I started my day today. However, the little "I love you's" and cuddles are my paycheck and the flying butter, well, that's just one of the downsides...Don't all jobs have them?

Is My Heart Broken?

As Missy Moo and I were sitting on her "hair chair" (shouldn't every 2.9 year old have a hair chair?) today debating on whether or not she wanted to wear her hair in ponytails or secured with a bow, she looked at me innocently and so sweetly said "Is my heart broken?"

Now let me give you the context here: Her "hair chair" is a pink and green rocking chair that has a neat little compartment on the side to hold books and a sweet little wooden heart that, when pulled out of the holder, plays a song while the string slowly slithers back into the holder until the song is complete. Missy Moo likes to call this her "heart snake" and gets a kick out of watching it slowly retreat back to its holder while playing a charming little ditty. I am not sure what happened but at one point, the heart stopped and the song glitched for a very brief, millisecond. With an alarmed look on her face, Missy Moo worriedly asked if her heart was broken. My reply to her was "No, sissy, it is not broken and I hope it never is."

As we went along our day, I got to thinking about my answer to her question and realized that what I said is not actually true. I DO hope her heart is broken at least one time in her life. As gut-wrenching as it is for me to say this about my child who, quite frankly, I will want to scratch the eyeballs out of any child who for one second hurts her feelings, I DO want her heart to break. I guess I feel that if her heart is broken, it means she has loved and has felt secure enough to take a chance and let her heart fly. As we all know, sometimes this is a great, life-altering decision such as when we just "knew" our life partner was the "one" and then there are the other times when your heart falls so instensely and so painfully that pieces of it remain at the scene of the crime to this very day. In addition, I believe that most of us have to have pieces of our heart left at the scene of the crime before we can find the one who takes it and does not ever let it fall.

I recently spotted the greatest quote in a catalog said by a VERY wise ten year old girl that very clearly has her head on straighter at ten than I did at 25. She said, "No boy is worth crying over and the one who is won't make you cry." Oh from the mouths of babes - could it be expressed any better? The thing is, there are so many kinds of heartbreak - how do we prep our own children for this? Can we? How can I describe that there were moments in my life that my heart hurt so badly that I had to live minute by minute, then hour by hour, then day by day? How do I reassure them that though those times really don't occur very often in life (THANK GOD) when you are in the midst of it, it feels like it will never end? How is it, too, that my heart broke in a different way when she took her first steps? Bittersweet heartbreak is that part of me that wants to pack her in bubble wrap and secure her so tightly that she will stop growing up so freaking fast. I feel it in my chest now with Bubba Boo - he is an official army crawler and no long unable to get places without help - my newborn is no longer and soon, he will be my toddler.

There is also another kind of heartbreak - the one I referred to when I mentioned that I might possibly scratch the eyeballs out of anyone who DARES to hurt my children's feelings...There is a heartbreak for someone you love when they experience heartbreak themselves. See, when we give our heart away, that is a little fringe benefit we never know about until it is too late to try and take it back. When someone has your heart, they carry a piece of you and you of them - when they hurt, so do you. But the nice thing is, when you hurt, they do as well. Isn't it worth it in the end? Now how to explain that to my 2.9 year old whose biggest concern is when she can have her Disney Princess snack? The mommy instinct tells me to wait on this one...

Living with Borderline Personality Disorder

I really hate to say this but parenting Missy Moo has been a bit of a struggle lately...She has recently decided that the world DOES indeed revolve around her and we are all here simply to accomodate her specific, needed-it-yesterday needs RIGHT AWAY. Here is a typical dialogue with my elder child:

Me: Good morning, sunshine! Are you ready for a great day!?
Missy Moo: Hi, Mommy!!!!! (good so far, right? Just wait...)
Me: Let's get up and get dressed so we can get downstairs and have our DinoEggs oatmeal!
Missy Moo: I don't want to get dressed.
Me: I know sissy but we have to get dressed because you are going to school.
Missy Moo: I don't want to get dressed.
Me: Same thing as I said in the last line.
Missy Moo: tantrum begins
Me: OK, sissy, I will go on downstairs and when you decide you want to stop crying and throwing your fit, I will help you get dressed.
Missy Moo: I want to get dressed (said in a tone that implies I am absolutely nuts for thinking she did not want to get dressed in the first place)

So we get dressed with just a few reminders that we do indeed need to complete getting dressed and there is about three minutes worth of peace until we walk down the hall to descend our stairs. Here is the next dialogue:

Me: Come on, sissy - let's go downstairs and get our Dino Eggs!
Missy Moo: I want you to carry me. (This is simply because I am carrying Bubba Boo, who, may I remind you, cannot yet walk let alone walk downstairs).
Me: I know you do, but mommy is carrying Bubba so you will have to walk downstairs like a big girl.
Missy Moo: Tantrum
Me: I am sorry that you are sad but please come down and eat your Dino Eggs when you are ready.

Missy Moo continues to scream and cry at the top of her lungs just outside our bedroom door where Classic Old Spice is attempting to get a few more precious minutes of sleep before he has to go off and be SuperDentist. I am fully-aware of the fact that this is now a power struggle so I make downstairs so irresistable that she has to cave - Dino Eggs, Flinstone vitamin, OJ, and as a special treat, we get to watch Clifford the Big Red Dog during breakfast!!!! As expected, she is downstairs within seconds and when I tell her how good it is to see her, she looks at me like I am the crazy one...Oh and by the name of the title, I am in no way insinuating that I know what it is like to have Borderline Personality Disorder or live with someone who does, I am just simply imagining that this might offer a small glimmer into what this disorder might entail.

I will spare the details of our other conversations but suffice it to say, NOTHING, I repeat, NOTHING is easy. You can ask her to do anything and she will respond with "I don't want to." This response has become so automatic to her that she now says it without thinking - such as "Let's have a giant ice cream cone" and she will immediately say "I don't want to." In addition, I catch myself uttering the exact phrase that used to irritate me completely whenever my own mother used to say it - the dreaded "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do," phrase. Before I could even think about it, these words were falling out of my mouth faster than I could pull them back in.

Since it can be almost guaranteed that anything is going to be a struggle, I have decided to have a sense of humor (most of the time) and remind myself that I am pretty sure this is how I was at the age of 2 years, 9 months. I guess I also have to admit that this is how I want my little girl to be - strong-willed, able to think for herself, independent, and free to speak her mind. Certainly a perfect example of the old adage, "Be careful what you wish for..." Would I take her any other way? Of course not - I wished for her to be exactly how she is and by golly, I got it.

All in the Gang...

Missy Moo with some of her pals in the 'hood...

Look what came out of the dryer!!!

Found in the dryer: One adorable (if I do say so myself), giggly, smiley, SO laid back little man who, despite double ear infections, continues to think that life is always good. With his sweet disposition, it always will be for him! Samuel continues to be hysterical and BIG - he is working off some of his 20 pounds (yes, he is just coming upon seven months and yes, he really does weigh 20 pounds) since he discovered a few weeks ago that he can get anywhere by doing an army crawl. Hates baby food, loves anything mommy makes from scratch but will only eat it if he can feed himself - we are going through three outfits a day. Hence why my little muffin got mixed up in the laundry...:)

Ear-Infected Sleepyhead

Here is my sleepy little pumpkin-head the day he was diagnosed with double ear infections...Trust me, I wish I could have been in that seat - I was up all night, too...:( He is wearing his "Jester Hat" which Missy Moo thinks is hysterically funny and he looks so darn cute. Of course, I am sure he will be bitter with me someday for putting it on him but it is so worth it...

The Misguided Label

So I have recently been pondering the question of how we all get labelled the way we do in this crazy life - I remember teaching second and third grade and being branded as the teacher who was good with children who had emotional problems and therefore needed some extra TLC. You know what happens to teachers who get that label? You got it - Clockwork Orange from 8:00 a.m. until 3:30 p.m. One of my co-workers was a phenomenol reading teacher - can you guess the struggles her students had? Yep - not one of them could read "Sam the Sea Cow" with the fluency we expect of a second grader. My point is that I loved each of my students wholeheartedly and I know my colleague did as well - it is just that we would prefer to not have 25 of them altogether in the same room for eight hours. I guess my thought is, how did I come to be known as such a teacher and as far as that goes, how do we as people build pictures of who we all are? My reason for broaching this subject is that there is a person that I am forced to play nice with that I don't really want to play nice with anymore but I absolutely have to - I can't go into anymore details without divulging my source, so let's leave it at that. This person has me pegged as someone who gets her nails done, works out with a personal trainer, and plays tennis, which truthfully, I am all of those things - but that is not what defines me. Though on paper I do engage in the forementioned activities, though admittedly the nails thing is a special luxury treat for when I really need a mental health day, it does not mean that I have forgotten the heartbreak of hearing the voices of a young boy and his brother say they don't want to go home because they are tired of the beatings, or that I have suddenly erased the pain of knowing my father resided in a homeless shelter for about a year while I was in college, or, while I am on my Debbie Downer horse, forgotten the lifeless fall of a hand being held while it crosses from among the living to the non-living. Not for one second do I take my life for granted because, truth be told, I have travelled a path that would make your skin curl. So the thing is, I have endured snide comments from this person one too many times and quite frankly, it makes me mad at myself for not recognizing the fact that this person's insecurities are what drives her ridiculous negativity. But at the same time, dammit, why do I allow HER issues and crap to suddenly become mine? I am in no way suggesting that I do not have issues - in fact, I have enough to have loyal yearly subscribers and special give-aways. I have worked hard over the past 34 years to figure out who I am and trust me, I am still working on it- one of the best quotes about life was said by the great Michelangelo at a very old age (80 something) " I am still learning". Yes, I continue to learn and yes, sometimes the learning I do is painful and not fun. However, I do know that 1) I am real, 2) I am not going to bullshit you, 3)Integrity wins over anything else and 4) We are all going to leave a legacy based on how we model for our children. I believe in a whole lot more but you will have to read "This I Believe" to see the rest. I guess the moral of this little story is the age-old adage of "Don't Judge a Book By It's Cover". Do so and it will end up biting you in the arse every time. OK, off my soap box and moving on to more pressing issues like which Disney princess dress-up outfit to buy Missy Moo for Christmas...

Growing an extra arm...

I have this very weird theory/idea or whatever you would call this - it is very science-fiction-y and I am not a very science-fiction-y kind of person...I think I am the only person on the planet who has not seen Star Wars nor do I have any desire to do so...Anyway, I have always thought that the only flaw I can find with God's work of the construction of the human body is that a woman does not grow another arm while she is pregnant. I have consistently found that I am one short - there just simply are not enough hands to do the various things I am called to do throughout the day. Once Bubba Boo was born, I realized that I was now two arms short of the ideal so I am thinking we need to grow/gestate another arm throughout the nine months we are pregnant. Yes, I realize this could mean that some women have upwards of four arms or more but necessity trumps vanity here...Shirts can be altered and if we are all growing these arms, clothing designers would cater to us - just think, the two arm shirt (for those without children), the three arm shirt (for those with one), and so on...The arms do not need to be permanent - they can gradually grow shorter as they are not needed as much...This would be kind of like a lizard's tail that regenerates - we lose it but we can grow it back as soon as we need it again...
Yes, very weird thought...I know it but I guarantee the moms who are reading this won't think it is such a bad idea...

Bubba Boo, Classic Old Spice, and Missy Moo

Here are the two boys in my life and the sweet Missy Moo who makes me giggle more and more each day...Tomorrow she is allowed to wear her Princess nightgown to school (instead of wearing costumes the children are going to wear jammies - what a PC thing to do in this weird anti-Halloween world we live in...) and she is beyond excited. Of course, I am not sure how I will explain why she can suddenly wear her jammies out of the house since we have recently entered a phase in which we only want to wear our jammies all of the time...

Classic Old Spice

It is truly amazing how easy it is to start taking someone in your everyday life for granted as I realized this past week when some recent drama unfolded in our family. Like it or not, your spouse and your mother are the two people in the world who are typically the ones who see the good, the bad, and the REALLY ugly and love you just the same. I admit that I have at times settled into the fact that I am completely comfortable with my husband and can be snippy and short when I am tired or just plain cranky. No, he does not deserve this but I will say that I am also that person for him - he is secure enough in my love for him so I am also sometimes his punching bag when life gets a little too tough to handle. The thing is, he is correct - I am always going to love him and accept him for who he is regardless of how irritated he gets at me for leaving my thousands of water bottles throughout the house or when I lose my keys, sunglasses, and cell phone around 30 times each day...So here is the latest Dynasty drama (this is what I call the episodes in my life that resemble a soap opera): I am pleasantly enjoying an afternoon of playing with Bubba Boo while Missy Moo continues to nap peacefully in her bed. I let Ellie Rose the WonderDog out to tinkle and pop some popcorn while simultaneously turning on Oprah, my guilty pleasure for the afternoon. It was a windy day and it did occur to me that possibly our ridiculous gate, a part of the "Million Dollar Fence" that was never constructed correctly, could have blown open but then, being a mommy, I got distracted by a projectile vomit and a diaper change before I was able to get back to that thought...You probably have guessed where this is going and you are correct - the gate was open and Ellie the WonderDog was long gone for the tenth time since April. You would also think that since this has happened before we just might remember to put a collar on her each day but of course, that would just make too much sense...I frantically run around the houses around us yelling for Ellie but of course, she is out enjoying her new-found freedom while I start to envision someone picking her up and taking her home where they will abuse her and not ever feed her or let her nuzzle in bed with them every now and then...Once Missy Moo wakes up, we pile in the truckster and slowly drive through the neighborhood yelling Ellie's name out the windows - of course, Missy Moo thought this was hysterical as she concluded that we must be playing a game with Ellie and she was going to pop up any minute. Bubba Boo contentedly chewed on his Who-Zit because of course, being Bubba Boo, nothing fazes him. Defeated, we returned home to begin dinner preparations and edure what I recently read is "suicide hour" for all mommies around the world. Just as I was putting the potatoes into the boiling pot and Missy Moo and Bubba Boo were playing in the playroom, the phone rings. It is a credit agency calling on behalf of Southwestern Bell and by golly, they want to collect on an outstanding balance of $189.92 that I owe them from when I lived in Dallas. Dallas? Why, I have never lived in Dallas - how could this be? As the person on the other end of the line asked if it was possible that maybe my identity had been stolen, my wheels began to turn...Sadly enough, there was another husband in my life before I found the soulmate to whom I am currently hitched and yes, he had used my social security number to obtain an apartment in Dallas and set-up his phone service. Lovely... As I question the "Dog the Bounty Hunter" of the credit agency as to what I can do, he simply just said there was nothing I could do - it is on my social security number, so sorry about your luck. I promptly get all of the information I can out of my newly-found friend and immediately dial the number of my ex-mother-in-law to obtain the phone number of my ex-husband (yes, I am Linda Evans at this point) while Bubba Boo grins at me from the Jumper-Roo and Missy Moo sings the "Being Together" song from Barney at the top of her lungs. After a quick convo with the ex-MIL, I then leave a message for my ex and return to the potatoes, seething that yet again, I have been faced with his financial irresponsibility. If this were the first time this had happened, it would be one thing, but this is about the third time I have gotten a random phone call from someone claiming that I owe money on his behalf. Tired of constantly looking over my shoulder, I decide to call my friend at the collection agency to ask a few questions that had come to my mind since our prior conversation when hubby walked in to find me near tears. Looking bewildered and possibly a little concerned that Missy Moo had, at this point, decided to strip down to her diaper but left on her socks and was wildly running around our house screaming "Daddy's home!!!", I ended the conversation with my buddy and tearfully briefed him on the latest Dynasty drama. "That's it," he said. "Where is the number of the collection agency?" I gave him the piece of paper that contained the requested number as well as the current phone number of my ex-husband. Still sporting his work-clothes, he bounded up the stairs with the phone and a determined yet peeved look on his face that quite frankly, I was a little scared of. There are times in your life as a wife when you just step aside and this was one of them...So back to the potatoes I go and in between adding the margarine and milk, I hear a conversation that does not really sound like one would have with a collection agency. Lo and behold, my knight in shining armor really HAD had enough as he was talking to my ex-husband and the conversation did not sound like they were discussing the joy of being married to yours truly.
Once this lovely tete-a-tete was over, he then called back the collection agency and discovered that to remove this permanently from my credit, which impacts him of course, we would have to file a police report and claim a stolen identity. While I am not a huge fan of the man I was once married to, I realize there were reasons why he made bad decisions a few years ago that I am not going to go into here - let's just say that while there is no love lost, I also have compassion for what the man went through. I do not want to have to file a police report against him, but I also want to protect my credit as well. I will do what I have to do for my family.
In the meantime, Ellie the WonderDog has not returned and I continue to envision the corrupt and evil people who have dog-napped her. When hubby finally returns downstairs, he is dressed for his scheduled workout and as he leans over to give me a kiss, I catch a whiff of the new shower gel he purchased recently - Classic Old Spice. I have often thought of this scent as one that my Industrial Arts teacher in sixth grade always wore and was not always too fond of it but for some reason, today it made me feel secure. I loved the classic aroma - a tried and true scent that has stood the test of time and is still sold today. It is worn by men who do the right thing even when it is not the popular thing to to do, who stand up for their families, and fight for their wives. It is worn by my husband, who is all of those things. While I give him a kiss and my red eyes fill with tears, he says "Don't worry - we are going to get all of this cleared up." I know we will because he said so but I wish I could say that was why I was weepy - I was weepy because our four-legged firstborn baby was missing and I needed to find her but was unsure of what else to do. "I know honey, but this is the longest she has ever been gone and she probably isn't going to come home," was hubby's response. Sadly, he was probably correct as it was almost 6 p.m. and it gets dark now at 7 p.m. - of course, this brought on a whole new crop of images of what was going to happen to poor Ellie. Hubby had to go, so I hugged him again and got the potatoes, mashed and ready at this point, on the table for Missy Moo and Bubba Boo. Just as I was tearing into the green beans, I hear the front door open and my husband say "Get in there and go say hello to your mother!" The WonderDog happily bounds through the kitchen with a grin that tells me she just had the time of her life and my Classic Old Spice winks at me and rides away on his horse.

Halloween Scaries...

Happy Halloween, Everyone! Here is my buzzing busy bee (SO appropriate) and my darling little scarecrow...

Who Knew the Terror of Headless Mannequins?

So I decided to be brave and, fed up with not having a sitter, thought it might be a good idea to get out of the house and go to the local mall with my two munchkins. I have found that when I do hire a sitter so I can shop peacefully or do whatever it is I want to do, I feel extra horrible about spending some cash because I then have to pay a sitter and sitters just aren't cheap these days. I kind of view it like this - let's say you find a great sale at Macy's and save a ton of money on a sweater (or whatever - you fill in the blank) but then you have to go home and pay a sitter so it's like you never found the sale to begin with...Yes, I know, it could be more if you bought the sweater at full price AND paid the sitter but alas, the stay at home mom in me would NEVER do such a thing. But, I digress...Luckily, I have befriended the sitter I often use, Ashlee, who is a student at the local college and absolutely wonderful. She called today to see if she could come over and do some laundry (remember the Laundro-Mat days of college? I gave her free-reign to do laundry at our house whenever she wants so she never has to do laundry in a Laundro-Mat again). Bubba Boo awoke from his TWO HOUR NAP (yes, if you read earlier posts, you are reading this correctly - TWO HOURS. He woke up after 20 minutes and cried for three minutes then went to sleep!!!!! PRAISE JESUS, HALLELUJA! Again, I digress...) as I was emerging from a fantastically wonderful and incredibly rare afternoon shower so I dressed and quickly went to scoop up my smiling peanut with the cute dimple and cover him in kisses for being such a good boy. Missy Moo, on the other hand, decided that today would be a good day to attempt a three hour nap and did not get out of bed until 4:30 - at which point I WOKE HER UP (yes, I know, Cardinal Mommy Sin #1) so she would be able to sleep tonight. Trust me, I have heard the child awake and playing "Keep Away From Nemo Fish" at 11 p.m. - it happens. After a long emergence back into the waking world at which I had to rock her in the rocking chair for a good ten minutes and bribe her with a snack of animal crackers and a forbidden Minute Maid juice box reserved for such occasions (OH- Cardinal Mommy Sin #2 - Do not use food to bribe your child) we piled into the truckster for a trip to the mall. Ashlee being Ashlee decided to join us as she did not really have any plans and I guess thought it might be fun to peruse the mall with a SAHM that doesn't get out much and her two babes. First of all, the production of going to a place such as the mall is exhausting within itself - I had to try to figure out my new Maclaren stroller that I hate so much I actually kicked across the garage last week...Yes, I know this does not sound like something I would do but I really hate it and it always seem to be a bear when I really need it not to be...I then must make sure that I am packed with all the essentials...Bottle filled with eight ounces of water? Check. Formula container with enough formula for eight ounces of water? Check. Sippy cup of water? Check. Continuation of animal crackers snack? Check. Size four diaper? Check. Size three diaper? Check. Cell phone, sunglasses, wallet, etc. - you get the drill. I am ready for bed before I even pull out of the garage. I do admit that I often love the travel time once I get into the car because I am guaranteed at least ten minutes or so of peace since we are driving in the car and I cannot find the Potty Power DVD case, turn on the princess movie, locate the bunnies, or any of the other various tasks that I am called upon to do throughout the day - I can actually have a completed thought! Oh the joy! So anyway, we arrive at the mall, park the car, get the hainted stroller out of the back and pack in Missy Moo and Bubba Boo side by side. Though the Maclaren is touted as able to fit through doorways, it does not navigate well through aisles of department stores - cannot even begin to tell you how many things I knocked over and bumped into - so much that Ashlee declared that she was buying me a new stroller...I simply wanted to check out the possibility of new pillows so my beloved hubby and I could trash the dust-mite infested pillows we have been using for far too long but are too lazy to do anything about. I also thought it might be nice to find one of those cute new jacket sweaters that are so en vogue right now and maybe a few other things...However, this was all halted after Sarah let out a wail that made me think maybe her foot was caught in the wheel of the devil stroller. I deciphered a "Mommy, I want to go home!!" through her sobs as she pointed hysterically to the headless mannequin modeling the latest goods in the store - and they were everywhere. Who in God's name would have ever considered the fact that a mannequin would be scary to a two year old? Ashlee and I both quickly concluded that they WERE indeed scary - why do some stores use headless mannequins? They ARE creepy and though I admit it is something I have never really thought much about or noticed before, seeing the world through the eyes of Missy Moo changes my own perception of the world, too. So, we decided it was to time to just exit but of course, avoiding the stores with headless mannequins was darn near impossible - EVERYONE seems to be on the headless manneqin horse these days! We did enjoy three iced pumpkin cookies and Bubba Boo got some good giggles from watching everything that goes on in a mall then we were pretty much ready to reload into the truckster. Of course, Missy Moo then began to ask if Bubba Boo was really going to turn into a pumpkin since I told Ashlee that he would if we were not home by his holy-grail bedtime of 7 p.m. Little did I know that the toddler ears listening in would take this literally and begin to worry that her little brother was in fact going to turn into a pumpkin if we did not get him home in time for bed. The good news of the night is that we did get him home in time so that we can confidently say that Bubba Boo did not turn into a pumpkin. The bad news is that once I got him down and thought a bowl of Grape Nuts sounded good for dinner, I opened the silverware drawer to find a drugged-out, sluggish fly hanging out in the corner. Yes, the fly had gotten trapped in the drawer and was most certainly buzzing around and crawling all over the utensils we use to eat our food with. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night washing its contents. And these are the days of Missy Moo and Bubba Boo...

Day Two of Naptime Boot Camp

OK, I put Bubba Boo down at 8:50 a.m. and he nodded off to a peaceful slumber...While I was rejoicing and thinking maybe he was going to get "it", I realized that I was breaking Super Mommy Rule #1 - do not EVER get too excited about your child's sleep patterns or lack thereof. Lo and behold, by 9:20 a.m., Bubba Boo was screaming incessantly in his crib as I began to nibble on my cuticles and ponder whether or not he was going to become a serial killer because I am making him cry through this...My persistant little man cried from 9:20 until 10 a.m...Needless to say, I was an emotional wreck and thought I might need to throw my "Sleep Bible" across the room - no crying for more than hour it says...He barely made it as he fell back asleep at 10:10 and is still sleeping...Let's hope for a peaceful afternoon nap but I feel we might be on to something since he was able to put himself back to sleep...Whew!

The Small Things That Count

I believe in the small things. When I think of the things that tug at my heart the most, I realize that what matters most of all are actually the small drops that lead to the whole cup of water.

- I believe there is nothing sweeter than a fantastic page-turner or a juicy magazine, a phone that is off the hook, a good cup of coffee or tea, a thunderstorm, and children who are napping at the same time.

- I believe that the best scent on this planet is that of a baby’s head. I inhale it deeply several times a day for as long as I can because I never know when I will wake up and the scent will be gone.

- I believe that I teach my babies how to navigate this life simply by my actions. I also believe that I am human and the best way for them to learn how to say “I’m sorry” is from hearing their mother say it to them.

- I believe that life is not meant to be easy so buck up and get ready! It sure is great and worth the bumps along the way.

- I believe that we are all learning together. Therefore, I believe in second chances and grace for one another. Most importantly, I believe in granting grace for YOURSELF. Being perfect is too much work.

- I believe that I did not understand my mother’s silliness over curfew, car-dating, good grades, and not having friends over if she was not home. Now my children will be adhering to these rules as well so I believe in experiences coming around “full-circle”.

- I believe you can’t say “I love you” enough.

- I believe that my inbox will never be empty.

- I believe that the best sound in the world is the belly laugh of a child.

- I believe it does not matter if you have the smartest child in the neighborhood but rather the most caring and compassionate one that will take the world by a storm and leave it a little bit better than it was before their existence.

- I believe I have my own learning curve and as a result, sometimes have to make the same mistake over and over before the lesson starts to creep into my thick skull.

- Lastly, I believe we should all live our lives with the philosophy of my Labrador Retriever: sleep when you are tired, eat when you are hungry, play a lot each day, cuddle, use your cute, sad eyes when you might need them, and for heaven’s sakes, don’t walk through your own stuff. What is done is done and we can only move forward.

The Seasons of Magazine Subscriptions

Who knew the importance of magazines? Yes, you read that sentence correctly – magazines. Though this may sound a bit strange to so passionately believe in a glossy set of pages that can be purchased at a supermarket, let me explain why magazines have shaped my journey through this life and have allowed me to reflect on the seasons we experience as people inhabiting this planet for a short while.
I will never forget the day when I was a newly-crowned official preteen and wandered into Cowan’s Drug Store to peruse the nail polish and possibly purchase some blue eye shadow that I could easily hide from my mother. Between the Maybelline and Cover Girl displays, I discovered the angled rack of glossy magazines beckoning me to take a look – who could resist Ralph Macchio on the cover of Tiger Beat? And so my relationship with magazines took off on this crisp fall day where the coolest thing going was me.
Soon after the discovery of Tiger Beat, I moved on to Super Teen, Teen Beat and of course, Seventeen. A twelve year old reading Seventeen? I was mesmerized by these fresh-faced, teenage girls who played volleyball in the sand, wore Body Glove bathing suits, and touted the products they used to control the inevitable teen acne. Living in Indiana, I could only try to imagine what their glamorous life entailed so I read Seventeen to dream of a place where someday I might actually be able to experience. My heart did a flip in my chest when these new magazines arrived in my mailbox each month and pity the fool who might accidentally splash water on my new copy or handle the pages a little too harshly!
Of course, like everything else, life moves on and new seasons emerge. I said good-bye to Teen Beat, Super Teen, and Tiger Beat and moved on to Sassy while keeping my sacred Seventeen subscription active. By this time, I was a full-fledged high school student and the coolness factor was off the charts. My mother knew nothing and I knew everything thanks to my escalating hipness factor. However, by my senior year, I had said good-bye to my beloved Seventeen and began to set my sights upon Glamour and, gasp, Cosmopolitan. College here I come!
During the grueling soul-searching period of my collegiate days, I soon discovered that sometimes you just need to not think about your philosophy of life and what you wanted to be when you grew up – enter People magazine. I loved reading about what Julia Roberts wore to an opening or the handbags popping up on the arms of celebrities everywhere – what a refreshing breather in between studying for finite math and biology!
Fast forward to my life now – I am a stay at home mom to two very beautiful babies with a husband who is so wonderful I still get a thrill when he walks in the door at the end of the day. What am I reading now? Good Housekeeping, Redbook, Real Simple, Parents, and Parenting. Need I say anymore about my current season of life? I know enough now to relish this one as there will inevitably come a day when I no longer feel that Parents and Parenting will be pertinent to my life. I still get a thrill when they show up in my mailbox and in fact, my very beloved grandmother, Meemo, and I recently discussed the challenges of being a stay at home mom and though her youngest child is now 50, she remembers like it was yesterday. Her favorite moment? When her issue of Good Housekeeping arrived and her four babies went down for the night.
So what is next on the horizon? Working Mother? Most? AARP? Though none of these appeal to me now, you can bet your bottom dollar that some day, with graying hair and hot flashes, I will put one of those in my grocery basket and relish it at home with a cup of herbal anti-aging tea. Oh, and People magazine? Still a loyal subscriber.

Piece I wrote from last year - "It's Happening Again"

It’s happening again. Though I am trying to deny that it is and I am wrapped tightly in a cocoon in my cozy bed with pillows over my head, it is happening again. After merely 45 minutes of naptime, my toddler has awakened in a fit of wails that sound as though she has been stung by a bee – multiple times. This would really not be a problem if this were an isolated incident; however, it’s now the third day in a row in which the bees have stung and I am tired. Yes, I know most moms use naptime to get other things done around the house however, I am now carrying my second child and in the first trimester. Need I say more? I still feel like I am running through Jell-O and can barely lift my head off the pillow. Everyone who talks to me sounds like they are speaking in those slow motion voices that were rumored to contain subliminal messages in the late sixties. This whole pregnancy thing was much easier the first time around but now I have the love of my life, a two-and-a-half foot, 22 pound, tiny Napoleon that demands energy that I did not have to expend the first time around. As the wails continue, I hear the voice of that Ferber guy saying you must let them cry it out and part of me knows this might be true. However, the real part of me, the part that is a mommy, simply can’t do it. I lay there for a little while longer…Maybe it will stop.

My nap companion, along with the 12 week old embryo developing in my body, looks sadly at me with dark brown eyes and seems to feel exactly the same way I do. She yawns and lays her head down on my shoulder as if to say “I agree with the Ferber guy – let her cry”, but then this may not be the most reliable of sources. After all, our 80 pound bundle of joy is our first-born even though she has four legs and tends to prefer lamb and rice kibble over ravioli and chicken nuggets. Though she does love her baby sister, there is still a longing that I see sometimes in her eyes that yearns for the glory days – the days when she was the baby and could demand that we throw a ball for her or take her for a walk.

As to be expected, the wails have now escalated and I tell that Ferber guy to do something that I can’t print here…Though I am tired and somewhat peeved, I go straight to her room and, sensing that she is still tired and possibly had a bad dream or her teeth hurt or she was lonely or whatever, I take her back to my cocoon. Yes, I hear the anti-family bed advocates yelling loudly at this point but I tell them the same thing I told Ferber and climb into bed. My first-born gives me a lazy, disdainful look that communicates what Ferber would probably say back to me: you sucker. She puts her head back down in an attempt to stop the madness while we get situated and I start my meditation of begging to get my child to sleep.

It actually works. Just seven short minutes pass before my mini-Napoleon is fast asleep and my first-born is as well. I lay there with eyes wide open, letting go of my frustration and gazing upon the sweet face that is now so at peace with the world. It is a Tuesday afternoon and I know where my child and sassy first-born is at this exact moment and I realize that this won’t last forever. There will be a time when it will be strange for me to go in and lift my child from her bed if she has a nightmare and have her sleep on my chest in an attempt to calm her down. There will be a time in the very near future when she will not even want to be seen with me – I will have to drop her off at the mall three blocks before the entrance so no one can see that she has a mother. There will be a time when I will not know anything and I am sure that at least once, she will roll her eyes at me. So I guess for now, I am happy that I decided to tell Ferber to…well, you know. My baby, who will always be my baby, is where she needs to be and so am I.

Another napless fit...

Well here I sit on a rainy Monday afternoon stuffing myself with a bag of microwave popcorn and listening to Bubba Boo wail incessantly in his crib as he desperately tries to put himself back to sleep...This is the first day of the "Nap Boot Camp" that is going to continue until he gets that we don't take 20 minute cat naps all day...Never mind that Missy Moo is asleep peacefully (or was) in the next room - sometime you just have to have a little training to help you along!

Of course I am now having the internal struggle of do I go get him or let him cry for a bit to see if he will fall back asleep...My sleep Bible says to make him cry for a bit and if I go get him I have just taught him to cry for that period of time but wow is it difficult to listen to your peanut scream as if they have not eaten in 12 days (no he is not hungry - I fed him right before he went down and truthfully, at 19.5 pounds at six months, I am not really worried about him starving anytime soon).

I give up - I am going in. We will try again tomorrow.