New Writings

Hello, all - I am back into writing a little more regularly now so I plan to do more postings...Yes, I know I have said this before but hey, give a girl some grace...These next few postings are coming from the newsletter I write for my MOPS group (Mothers of Preschoolers) so you will see a more spiritual side of me since this is a faith-based group. I try to tie my subject into our theme for the day and add a relevant verse from the Bible so enjoy! I am continuing to write in both the secular and non-secular so don't pigeon-hole me! :) Enjoy!

The Stockings WERE Hung

‘Tis the season has officially begun and as always, the day after Thanksgiving my hubby and I decided it was time to pull out the Christmas decorations and get the tree up so the holiday cheer could spread throughout our family. It was like a walk down memory lane as I unpacked the many decorations and ornaments that made me think of people I love or events, such as the first Christmas with my hubby and “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments, that forever changed my life for the better. I am a lover of traditions—my mother always made sure that I, as an only child, had plenty of holiday traditions and this desire has carried over to me as well. Needless to say, now that my oldest is almost four years old, it is becoming very fun to discuss the holidays with her and begin our own family traditions. With this in mind, we put the tree up on Friday afternoon but waited until Missy Moo was home (she was visiting my mother) to decorate it. After our pizza dinner, we all retreated to the living room where we had holiday music on the iPod (my husband is particularly fond of “Mele Kalikimaka” so this kicked off our tree-decorating event) and a fire burning in our fireplace—it was all very “Norman Rockwell-ish”. Or so I thought…
Quarrels began to break out over various ornaments (Bubba Boo wanted to look at the Cinderella ornament and Missy Moo would not allow this because, God forbid, he is a boy and boys don’t look at Cinderella ornaments) and where they would be placed. Bubba Boo, having just mastered the word “ball”, began to pelt the glass Christmas balls around the living room while delighting in the fact that he could say the word associated with the object and Ellie, our five year old yellow Labrador Retriever proceeded to let out what we like to call “green smoke” after a particularly tough day on her digestive system. As I realized that my Norman Rockwell moment was just not really like I had planned it to be, I remembered that I did have a fun new tradition tucked in the closet called “The Elf on a Shelf”. It is a cute story accompanied by an elf that sits on a mantle, or anywhere else, in your house and I thought this would save the moment for sure. Hubby and I rallied everyone up to take baths and put on jammies because we have a “guest” coming (the elf) so they did so eagerly and happily. When it came time for us all to pile on the couch and read the story, it was wonderful—just as I had imagined. After the story, I then got up to place the elf on the mantle and Bubba Bool followed me, curiosity in tow. The stockings were held in place by wrought iron stocking holders in various Christmas shapes and Bubba Boo, with the curiosity of a 19 month old, pulled on one of them only to send the iron Christmas Tree stocking holder straight down on top of his little face that had been looking up at it so innocently. Blood began to spurt, tears began to fall, and screams could be heard, I am sure, for miles. Not quite how I had planned to end our evening, but after I got the children down for the night, I had to chuckle at the quote for the day from my motherhood inspirations calendar I purchased from Jill Savage (love it and highly recommend it) - Julie Barnhill stated “Motherhood ushers in (often with trumpets) a dawning awareness that things just aren’t going to go as we’d first planned or imagined.” Doesn’t God have the funniest sense of humor? Bubba Boo now has two big gashes on his left cheek - just in time for our family Christmas card picture! Regardless, that little face is beautiful no matter what so it will have to suffice for this year and make a great story in the future.

“For unto us a child is born…” Isaiah 9:6

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you...

During this period in time in which we all reflect on what we are thankful for in our lives, I find my mind wandering to one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, a sometimes controversial, VERY liberal writer who tells it like it is with such gifted use of the English language that I can oversee some of her ideological views that clash with my own. Anne is a devoted Christian and regularly attends a gospel church in Marin County, California. She is in constant conversation, or so it seems, with God and I must admit, her faith is such a solid rock to her that you can’t help but find yourself trying to focus on doing the same. Two years ago, I had the pleasure of attending a lecture she gave at St. Luke’s United Methodist Church in Indianapolis and a small group break-out session the following day with just Anne. To say it made me love her even more is an understatement—there were so many great pieces of wisdom that flew out of her mouth that I decided to stop trying to write it all down and just focus on listening and being in the moment. Perhaps the most wonderful thing I walked away with was the simple prayer she says throughout the day of “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” I realized that, hey—I can do that! Prayer does not necessarily have to be a time in which we isolate ourselves from everyone and sit down to meditate though it is certainly wonderful when I am able to find the space to do so. Prayer and being thankful to God can come while rinsing off the breakfast/snack/lunch/snack/dinner dishes or while we fold another load of laundry (assuming that you fold laundry, of course!). It can be as simple as talking to God about the difficult concept of grace and how God gives us so much that we cannot possibly fathom his ability to do so. It can be while we are changing yet another stinky diaper and it certainly can come when we are drying tears from a skinned knee or hurt feelings. Thanking God is easy to do when we remember that he is always there—his omnipresence allows us to know we are not alone when we think we are and assures us that he does indeed have a plan for us. The other aspect of this prayer that I love is just the sheer gratitude that saying “thank you, thank you, thank you” expresses to God. It is a short breath prayer but yet communicates so much. You don’t even have to list specific things you are grateful for as God knows your heart and He knows what you value and cherish in your life. So during this sometimes overly-scheduled holiday season when we feel a little overwhelmed by cookies that need to be baked, turkeys that need to be cooked, and potatoes that need to be whipped, let’s remember to stop and simply say “thank you, thank you, thank you.” After all, to put things in perspective, we are all far richer than anyone could ever imagine. I once read that if you don’t ever have to worry about where your next meal will come from, you are blessed beyond belief—wouldn’t it be so wonderful if we all just remembered that simple thought throughout the busy holiday season? Breathe in, breathe out, and “thank you, thank you, thank you.”
In everything give thanks; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
1 Thessalonians 5:18

The Good Enough Hostess

I remember a time in my life when I so looked forward to entertaining friends and family members in my home—good food, good wine, good music, good conversation... What’s not to like? Back in those days of yore, I would have a clean and well-decorated home, Diana Krall could be heard wailing from the iPod, and I had red wine and white wine glasses, fancy cheeses for appetizers, and candles in the guest bathroom. As I prepare to host my book club in my home at the present day, I must chuckle at the difference between now and then because, well, back then, EVERYTHING HAD TO BE PERFECT. Now, it’s OK if things are just “good enough”. Today, you will be a lucky guest in our home if you are not served your beverage in a sippy cup and you do not accidentally roller skate in our foyer due to random Matchbox cars underfoot. Laurie Berkner or Raffi will likely be our featured entertainer and instead of the fancy cheeses I used to purchase at specialty stores, you will most likely be munching on the Mickey Mouse cheese from Wal-Mart. It’s a possibility you could leave with a splitting headache from enduring an evening of the loud screeching my 18 month old is fond of and you may even be treated to a lesson in fashion and nail polish color selection by my three year old daughter. You might find a sticker stuck to your hind end after sitting on our couch (as was the case recently—I actually had a woman in Target stop me and tell me that I had a Cinderella sticker stuck to my seat) and if it gets too intense, I might thrust a four month old baby into your arms and allow you to feed him. He will then likely vomit on your shirt thus giving you the pleasure of smelling like my favorite fragrance, Eau de Good Start Formula. You will be a lucky guest if I am not in my pajamas/bathrobe when you come to the door and even luckier if I have brushed my teeth for the day. As crazy and unglamorous as this all sounds, to be honest, I would pick it any day over the childless hostess I had once been. I now know the value of handprints on my sliding glass door and purposely don’t dust them off. I realize now that no one really noticed if I had red wine glasses for red wine and white wine glasses for white wine. The fancy cheeses could have been replaced with more economical versions and no one would have known the difference. Though the screeching might make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, I prefer his natural music to Diana Krall (though I do still love her…) Maybe it is because I am older and therefore wiser (HA!) or maybe it is because I have little people in my life that show me what is really important—regardless of the reason, I try not to put my family through misery before we are hosting guests in our home. Though I like the house to be clean for you, it won’t be perfect. You might have to tell me to replace the toilet paper in the guest bathroom or that there was a dirty diaper left in the kitchen trash can. You won’t leave our house hungry but you may not have the most gourmet meal on the planet. It’s really all about spending time together and at least you will know that we enjoyed your company and you will get a glimpse into the real life of our family. I stopped trying to be Martha Stewart and now just try to focus on enjoying our guests—the “good enough” hostess is “good enough” for me.
Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling—1 Peter 4:9

At the Pump

Since I can remember, one of my "most-inspiring-hall-of-famers" is Annie Sullivan, teacher of Helen Keller. I love her because she took a child who had been labeled as "unable to be educated" and actually did just that - educated her to go on to be one of the world's most brilliant minds despite the fact that she could neither see nor hear. That aside, Annie Sullivan used real-world examples and context to teach little Helen so that it was meaningful instead of relying on the drill and kill method that is so often utilized in this obsessively mandated test-taking world. My favorite scene of "The Miracle Worker" is when Annie takes Helen to the water pump, runs water over her hands and signs the word "water" directly into her palm. I love the lightbulb that goes off for Helen as she frantically runs around her lawn touching everything and holding out her hand for Annie to sign the word for her. So the other day I was dangling Bubba Boo over our kitchen sink in an attempt to wash his grubby paws before lunch. As the water poured over his chubby little fingers, I said "water" and his little face beamed as if to say "Cool mommy - I am getting this word thing” and I immediately thought of Annie and Helen at the pump. This then led me to reflect on what exactly I want to teach my children as well as HOW on earth am I going to do it and a few things popped into my head. First of all, there is no canned program, method, or theory that can educate your child more effectively than your actions. For this reason, I make sure that my children see that I am indeed human. I speak about my emotions freely, in fact, almost to a fault for just the other night as I was helping Missy Moo set the table for dinner she said, "Mommy, are you feeling grouchy?” I lose my cool and say things that make me feel like a horrible mommy that will psychologically damaged my children for the rest of time; however, I know that the right thing to do is say that I am sorry and admit that mommy was wrong. The world is not perfect and neither are we - we have good days, and days that are almost comical they are so bad. There are people who will wrong you, people who will put you down and make you feel like you are less than you are, and there are times when an hour feels like the longest period of time on earth. But on the other hand, there are more people who will right you, more people who will build you up, and days when you think an hour is just not enough time to do anything because it goes so fast. A moral compass cannot be changed or rocked in any way - regardless of the trials and tribulations one experiences, that core, that foundation should remain the compass and drive who we really are. No outside occurrence can shake this or take it away from you as it is your soul which was molded in your early years and is constantly shaped throughout your life. I remember telling the parents of the students in my classroom (yes, before I became a SAHM I was a second/third grade teacher) that they are their child's first teacher but I never really understood the power and magnitude of this statement until I had my own. Emotional core development occurs between the ages of zero to three years old so how can any teacher mold this part of my children? It's up to us to guide this development which is probably going to be my most valuable contribution to this planet after I am gone. To know that my hubby and I will work fervently to encourage our children to always do what is right makes me believe that it will sink in along the way somewhere and then when THEY have their own babes, they will do the same. It is how the cycle continues and the only way that I can foresee to truly leave the world a little bit better than how I found it. Life experiences take us back to the pump every time and force us to continue to mold who exactly we are and who we strive to be.
One generation will commend your works to another; they will tell of your mighty acts.
Psalm 145:4

Under the Big Top

Well, it’s official—this past summer I birthed my third, and last, installment of the Snapp Family. It is also official that I am now operating a full-blown three ring circus as many mom’s do; however, the entertainment at each ring seems to be so much more intriguing and demanding when the featured acts are three and a half years old, 16 months, and seven weeks. Upon reflecting on this year’s theme for MOPS, Adventures in Mothering, I had to chuckle—isn’t everyday a new adventure for each of us? God has entrusted us to bring up His little beings for such a short time and though I am often exhausted, disheveled, exhausted, scattered, exhausted, flighty, and did I mention exhausted?, there is no other adventure I would choose to take. Each of our homes are the “big top” that house our circus rings and girls, we all have rings regardless of if we have one child or ten! One never really knows what may happen in the course of a 24 hour period but the wise mom knows to begin each day with a “general outline” (never use the word “plan” - it is the quickest way to put that said plan into derailment) of what the day may entail but allow for some “excursions” to occur as well. In fact, my circus troop and I experienced a welcome excursion this past summer that became one of our biggest blessings. Bubba Boo, my very busy 16 month old, took hold of his daddy’s car keys one summer evening and unbeknownst to us, pressed the “lock” button on mommy’s key. The next morning, as my two children (third was still in my tummy at the time) and I went to the garage to embark on a myriad of errands, we were unable to get into our van since mommy always leaves her keys inside (I would never be able to find them otherwise)! Yes, our little Bubba Boo had successfully locked mommy’s keys in the car and our day of many errands had been halted! I irritatingly called hubby at work and expressed my frustration of not being able to do the one million things I needed to do before number three arrived, then went to Plan B—finding entertainment. We ended up just playing—no plan or structure—just playing. We blew bubbles. We played cars. We colored and did Play-Dough. We ate cookies. We splashed in our alligator pool and we had a picnic lunch. When my sweet hubby appeared during his lunch break to unlock our van, no one, especially me, was motivated to do anything other than what we were doing. God had planned for us to have fun that day, not run around in a hot car. Once my third little person, Spencer, arrived, I was grateful for that “last day of fun” that my other two children and I were able to have. Though I love my last baby dearly, my adventure with two children was about to change for a just as sweet, but different, adventure—an adventure with three children. God always has a plan for us and as we serve as the “Ringleader Under Our Big Top” it is best if we just acquiesce to His plan and follow his directives. He loves us and always works for the good. Here’s to a wonderful new year of adventure—new friendships, new discoveries, and most importantly, strength in our relationship with God, our husbands, our children, and love for all.

Are You a Follower?

Yes, I know I have been a slacker lately and have not kept up as much as I would like with my blog, but gosh darn it, I am trying to get better. There is now a new feature which allows you to follow my blog and post it on-site - simply look to the side and click on "Follow this Blog". I would love to see you!

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

When Classic Old Spice and I met, I immediately knew he was "it" - he was the "one" and I began to fantasize about our wedding and the adorable children we would create before the Chicken Picatta was even served. Since he is a dentist and works with all women and was raised by a single mom, we laughed about the fact that we would very likely have all girls and he would continue to be the lone soldier in a female-dominated world. Truth be told, I was secretly thrilled with the thought of this - I love little girls. I love pink, princesses, Tinkerbell nailpolish, tea parties, dress-up games, glitter lip gloss, and pigtails. Since I was a little girl, I have wanted a sister and dreamed of having all girls that would forever be there for each other - what could be better than built-in best friends? When I became pregnant with our first child, I couldn't wait until the ultrasound to confirm my dream of a pink-dominated world and lo and behold, on September 20, 2004 our ultrasound technician confirmed that we could indeed decorate a pink nursery. It was happening - Classic Old Spice WAS going to be the lone soldier and I could begin shopping for girl clothes with reckless abandon because ALL of our little girls would be able to wear the cute frocks I was spending way too much money on. After Missy Moo arrived, I was unsure I would ever have another child again as she was unbelievably colic and I was so unbelivably tired to the point that I thought I really just might die. Of course, we moved through that stage and she soon became the joy she continues to be to this day (well, for the most part...:)) We forgot about the difficulty of the newborn phase (I am pretty sure this selective amnesia is God's way of ensuring we will adequately continue the human race) and began to discuss trying for the second when Missy Moo was 18 months old. Much to the dismay of my husband who will forever bemoan the fact that he never got the "luxury" of having to try to conceive, we scored a goal after the first try and I found myself pregnant. Since I had pretty much planned on having all girls and was certain this was going to be our fate (I mean, really...Looking back on this, what was I thinking? Who am I to think I could actually predict this?!) I assumed our second would be another bundle of sugar and spice and everything nice. As with the first, I looked forward to our ultrasound to confirm this and couldn't wait for Missy Moo to have a little baby sister...Of course, you probably know where this is going - when the ultrasound technician revealed I was carrying a baby boy, I was dumbfounded. What on EARTH was I going to do with a BOY of all things? I was a former elementary teacher and while the boys in my class could melt my heart like you wouldn't believe, they made me tired. Really tired. They were OH so active and truthfully, just never stopped. They were forever falling over in their chairs and well, just wiggling. They wiggled all of the time - it was a constant state of perpetual motion and good Lord - they were loud. Very loud. Not that the little girls were not, but for the most part, all you had to do with a little girl was either raise an eyebrow or give a gentle reminder to get back on-track and you were pretty much back in business. Not so with little boys. I spent the rest of my pregnancy constantly reminding myself that I was going to actually have a SON. I was going to be responsible for raising a little boy and truthfully, terrified at the thought. What would I ever do with a boy? Imagine my pleasant surprise when I realized that, just as I had felt with Missy Moo, I would literally die for this little bundle the second he was born. I loved him with a depth of my soul that only another mother could even remotely understand. His dimples melted me and now, as a toddler, they still do. His eyes are so dark they look black, his lashes so long he looks like he is wearing the best mascara on the market, and of course, those darn dimples. Oh the dimples... Before I had a little boy, I never understood why reinforced knees in pants would be a good thing. I never realized that couches were for climbing and bookshelves for scaling. I never knew their unique ability to let out Tarzan-like cries when excited and I never stressed about what to do when he started to hit everyone in sight. I never had a Matchbox car in my house nor a tractor or a Dumpy the Dump Truck book. I never had purchased a pair of Osh-Kosh overalls and I had never had to be sure that I cleaned around the top ring when I did a diaper change (mommmy's of boys know what I mean!). I never had to take Missy Moo outside and literally make her run down the sidewalk to get her "wiggles" out but of course, this is a daily occurence now that Bubba Boo is 18 months. I never knew about the Island of Sodor or that Emily was the lone female among Thomas and his friends. Sir Topham Hat sounded more like someone I might have seen at a Phish concert from days of long ago rather than the man who runs the trains on the Island. Before I had boys, I did not realize that they ate all of the time. It seems as soon as I finish with breakfast, it is time for snack, then after snack, it is time for lunch and so on...I did not know that I would fall for him in a way that makes me want to just stare at him while he sleeps, kiss him so much that he sometimes wiggles away from me, and actually makes me WANT to buy boy clothes. He is my child and as with Missy Moo, I would die for him. I would put my own needs aside so that they could flourish and grow into healthy beings. I loved him instantly even though he was not clothed in pink. When I unexpectedly became pregnant last fall, I had it all planned again. Her name would be Susannah Evelyn and three years would be a perfect amount of time between sisters. I could FINALLY see all of those cute clothes I had once put on Missy Moo again! You would think I would have learned as our last baby, of course, was another baby in blue. And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way. Though I will be insane from having two boys 15 months apart, I will be able to keep my sense of humor in check and myself young. I will have my Missy Moo to clothe in pink and paint fingernails with. I will be her mommy but I will also do the best I can to be her sister, too, without being too much of a friend. The boys, well, let them be boys. I love them for it already.

The Tired, Apolitical Mother

So apparently I have led people to believe that I actually am keeping up with this upcoming election because I keep getting emails from friends, family, and acquaintences that rail and support both sides. This leads me to believe that maybe I am somewhat of a social chameleon - do I change my opinions and ideas based on who I am with? How is that some people are believing that I am a staunch Republican while others think I am for sure a Dem? Upon further reflection on this topic this evening (this occurred after one glass of one of the best chardonnays under the sun that Classic Old Spice recently bought me for my 35th) I realized that no, I am not really a social chemeleon but rather the world's biggest fence sitter, swing-voter, non-political person out there. I cringe once political discussions begin because let's all face it - when have any of these ever gone well? Has anyone ever successfully convinced someone to cross to their side during on of these arguments? The second people start bickering and talking over one another on CNN or MSNBC, I have to change the channel regardless of how good they are because quite truthfully, I hear enough bickering during the day that I don't need to hear anymore anytime soon. Before you think I might be Maxine from one of those greeting cards, let me set something straight - I do care. Really, I do. I just don't have the time or the energy right now to really care enough. There is a difference and a distinction here and while this could launch many into a "Oh how pathetic and unfortunate...She used to be so smart and have so much going for her but now that she stays home her most pressing concern is the destroyed "Thomas the Tank Engine" DVD case from the library that Bubba Boo teethed to death and forced her to pay a $5 damage fee. How very sad that her little pea brain can't grasp today's policital agendas and plans. Another one bites the dust..." Why is it that I just don't really care right now? Well, let's look at Exhibit A...

I begin my day with my newest alarm clock, My Sweet One (name comes from my favorite Phish song called "My Sweet One" in which I now have all of my family singing and for some reason, I immediately began singing to my newest little guy as soon as he was born, hence why he is now called "My Sweet One") I get him fed and changed then have to get Missy Moo who refuses to leave her room in the morning until Mommy comes to get her. We change our pull-up and put on underpants while I juggle My Sweet One who just might at any moment belt out a frat-boy burp that shakes the walls and then we head downstairs to start breakfast. Notice that I did not get Bubba Boo at this point - this would be because he still cannot maneuver going downstairs yet and must be carried and while I can do many things, I choose not to carry both babies down the stairs at the same time (I am sure mom's of multiples are laughing at me right about now but hey, this is my world). Once I get some kind of peace going in the kitchen and get my coffee brewing (the holy grail to all mothers), THEN I can get Bubba Boo who is often about to catapult himself out of his crib and usually has a nice, fresh poo almost up his entire back ready to greet me. Once we get that little scene taken care of, he then eats breakfast and my day of herding cats and spinning plates begins. I am not going to drone on and on about the rest of my day because quite truthfully, while there is some semblance of a schedule and routine, there is really not what one would call a typical day ever. Plans often get derailed. Shoes get lost that slow us down. Sippy cups get flung across the room onto heads. Stinky pants emerge just as we are getting into the car. Ghost bottle feedings pop-up unplanned and halt everyone for about thirty minutes. In other words, stuff happens. Heck, I am just impressed when I can actually get out of my jammies and out the door with all three of my muffins also dressed, snacks and sippies in hand, and securely fastened to their seats. Let's just say that we have preschool, Mom's Day Out, tumbling class, and Parent-Infant-Toddler classes peppered with doctor's appointments, trips to the grocery store, and trips to the grocery store. Did I mention we go to the grocery store a lot? Suffice it to say, when it comes to the elephant and the donkey, I immediately think of my children's Little People farm - not the upcoming election. Am I stuck in my own little world? Am I pathetic? Am I going to hear from people who say "Well, don't you care about your children's futures?" My answer to those questions would be yes, probably, and yes. However, while none of my children have a completed baby book (you would not BELIEVE the looks of shock I get when I tell people this - talk about mommy guilt! Missy Moo has one that I wrote in sporadically and neither of the boys have them yet. I promise I remember everything...I promise...) and I often worry they will grow up to feel like they were not important enough to their mommy to warrant the time of filling one out, I am often jolted back to the fact that the time I would likely spend writing in their baby books is the time that I prefer to be on the floor playing with them. Rolling cars off the overturned chair in the play room that only an 18 month old boy would think to do. Playing Littlest Pet Shop. Coloring. Finger-painting. Dancing, laughing, baking cookies - you get the drift. Will my children be sad that they don't have a baby book or will they reflect and love their childhood memories of playtime with mommy? In a nutshell, this stuff takes time and lots and lots of energy (again, thank you dear Lord for coffee) By the time I flop into bed at the end of the evening, I really just want to read People magazine. Regardless, I am going to try to bone up on the Decision of 2008 once the debates begin - if I can stay awake long enough to actually watch them...Until then, I will be turning off my television once the bickering begins and changing the subject when friends start to go off on political tangents because really, life is just too darn short. I don't have a lot of spare time and I don't want to spend it debating over oil, health care, education, and, the hot-button of all hot-buttons, the war. I do believe we need to see some reform and change for the better but I also readily admit that I don't have the answers and may not be able to hammer any out anytime soon. Does this make me apolitical? Maybe. Do I not care? No - I am just tired.

So Unhip I'm Hip

I can't exactly put a finger on when I started to somewhat lose my "coolness" factor but I am thinking it was somewhere in the past five years...I must admit that while I won't blame this entirely on my children, there is somewhat of a correlation between when I had my first child and when I started to slip a bit on the "cool" barometer. Though I certainly don't want to sound like I am ridiculously full of myself, I must confess that there was indeed a time in which I was a pretty cool chick. I enjoyed my free time sipping good wine, doing some fun shopping in which I wore pretty trendy, cute clothes, and jetting around the Broad Ripple area of Indianapolis in my convertible Cabrio with the stereo up and a not a care in the world. In those same days, I would often stop in at La Jolla for an after-work margartia, go home and read People magazine before drifting off for a nap and then get ready to hit the scene for the evening by 9 p.m. I would then eat a late dinner and hit the bars in which one could always count on a somewhat lengthy evening. I mean, come on - there was an entire circle of us that did the same thing every weekend and we were indeed quite hip and fun. In other words, I had a darn good time in my youth, dammit. So now fast forward to about eight years later and I find myself recently walking through a Walgreen's with Missy Moo and Bubba Boo about six days after giving birth to my third child. For starters, I am a bit sore but so completely excited about getting out of my house that I am actually really jacked to go to the drugstore - not to mention proud of myself that I could get both of my older kiddos out the door and leave my newbie behind with our wonderful sitter for just an hour. As those of us who have given birth know, there is sometimes a problem with being able to go to the bathroom after delivery - and I am not talking about urinating. Docs often recommend that one take a stool softener for a while until things begin to "regulate"*. Let me also mention that I live in a Big Ten college town in which there are always very cute, innocent (at least they look that way to me) students who call me "ma'am". So here we are walking through the aisles of Walgreen's and I am looking for Colace. Well, wouldn't you know I can't find the dang aisle of "laxatives" and here I am by the pharmacy anyway so I decide that I just really don't care what people think. Let me just state that this is the first sign that you are getting along in years - you just don't really care what people think. Truthfully, I am going to admit that I like this about being in my mid-thirties - it is very liberating to just simply put yourself ou t there and whoever doesn't like it, well, so what. La di freakin' da! I am who I am. On the other hand, I do want to shake the shoulders of these youngin's and say "Stop looking at me that way just because I drive a Honda Odessey and am looking for laxatives with my two babies in tow! I once went to the H.O.R.D.E. Fest, played Quarters and ate "burritos as big as your head" at three o'clock in the morning, too! You will be here someday!" Thankfully, I have a small amount of a filter left and to date, I have yet to do this to a poor unsuspecting soul who is simply trying to just do his or her job. So here we are looking for Colace when I stop to ask the very cute 20-something male pharmacy technician where I might find this wonder-drug. Instead of flirting with the darling boy as I would have done in my carefree twenties, I now look at him and think of either of my two boys and what they will be like when they will be in college and then I also think that he is someone's son and his mom is probably wondering what he is doing and wanting to squeeze him so hard that he shirks away in embarrassment though he will secretly love it... Of course, said cutie has no idea where the Colace is located and must ask someone else, thus getting another person involved in my laxative hunt at Walgreen's. Once the cutie emerges to escort me to the laxative aisle (could there be anything more humbling? I mean really...), Missy Moo begins to turn this little quest into her newest littly ditty - have I mentioned that she is a budding songwriter? "Colace, Colace, mommy needs her Colace!" begins to be sung at top volume as we journey through the aisles behind the darling technician. It is not until we reach the checkout line that I realize that I didn't even care - in fact, it gave me a much-needed laugh at my own expense. Yes, there was a time when I would have been mortified at this but now, I have to relish in the fact that frankly, I don't give a damn. I have caught myself looking so scary and smelling so funky and yet still piling the crew into the truckster to go on an outing because there is just no time to attend to anything other than getting snacks, drinks, diapers, formula, pacifiers, and shoes. One must is my travel coffee and this always outweighs the need for primping, therefore, when I do catch sight of myself in a passing mirror, I am a little scared but hey - who has time for that? I like to think I look more real now and this would reflect who I am now in the inside of my soul - more real. The reality is that we are not always going to look perfect and care who is dating who and wearing what. At some point, we all grow up to realize that there is just so much more than that and my so much more is the world of snacks, boo-boo's, sippy cups, Laurie Berkner music, princesses, and trucks. My "so much more" is so much more that I am content with the new "unhip" of me. Besides, isn't it always the mortifyingly unhip that eventually becomes hip again? Well, here I am...

Excuse Me - Where is my Red Tent?

So I had a baby a month ago...Needless to say, things in this world have been a little on the, shall we say, chaotic side. Classic Old Spice and I are now officially outnumbered as adults - there are three small charges to our two older beings which certainly makes it interesting when everyone is screaming at the same time as was the case yesterday and will certainly happen at least a million times before we die. During my pregnancy, I read a great book entitled The Red Tent by Anita Diamant in which she tells a somewhat fictionalized account of the biblical story of Dinah, the only daughter of Leah who was the wife of Jacob. Leah's sister, Rachel, was also married to Jacob who in turn raised Dinah as well. Since Jacob seemed to really enjoy his right as a husband, it seemed as though someone was always pregnant, which of course, I can relate to since I feel as though I have now been pregnant for four years...The Red Tent was literally a tent in which women were required to inhabit while menstruating or for the month following the birth of a child. During either of these times, the women were expected to rest, eat well, and generally do nothing but just wait out their menses or heal from the vigors of childbirth. When a new baby needed to nurse, someone would simply take the baby to the mother, let them nurse and cuddle for a bit, then send the little person back to whoever was taking care of him or her for the month in which the mother is in the tent. So this gets me to thinking, as I was experiencing throbbing pain in the perineum and my breasts were so sore that I would have hissed like a rabid raccoon should someone accidentally brush up against me, where the h&^% is MY red tent? I think the women in the biblical era were on to something that we as a modern society we now get jipped on - our world moves so fast these days that we can only spend 48 hours from the time in which our baby is born in the hospital then we are expected to go home and jump right back into the swing of things as if we just had a little tetanus shot instead of actually delivering a watermelon through a straw-hole. Now I know I am not one to moan too loudly as I have been blessed with a lot of help; however, let's face it - having a newborn is freakin' exhausting. No one tells you how incredibly difficult it is for the first couple of weeks and if they do, for some reason you thought this would not apply to you. The thing is, when one is so sleep-deprived that their contacts are pasted to their eyeballs and their speech is slurred and distracted, nothing good can happen. Small things that would not even be a blip on my radar screen suddenly become huge issues of drama in which I feel that I will only be able to work through with intense counseling. My fuse is MUCH shorter with my other two children who are also trying to figure out what this new little person means in their world - Missy Moo has decided that she loves Number Three so very much but she still cannot stand Bubba Boo and likes to make little songs up about how much she does not like him. She is now obsessed with being a cheerleader and wears her cheerleading costume ALL of the time and insists that everyone call her PomPom. When I mistakenly referred to her as her birth-given name the other day it was a full-on meltdown that would have put my post-partum weepiness to shame (this would be good work) then pushed Bubba Boo because he had the unfortunate timing to round the corner and tug on her hair a little at approximately that time. While on the subject of Bubba Boo, he thinks it is funny to hit the new baby and poke at his eyeballs to see how he will react. Classic Old Spice is hot and cold as am I - we are a great pair but nothing upsets the equilibrium of our relationship more than a new baby. Some days we are on the same page and other days I think I am going to poke his eyeballs out (maybe this is where Bubba Boo gets this desire to do so to Number Three?). We will get back on-track as this is our pattern following childbirth but in the meantime, we take it day by day. It would be so much easier if I could simply escape to my red tent - in fact, I would just now be emerging! Now that we are approaching Number Three's fifth week of life, we are starting to see glimmers of a new norm that will someday feel like this is the way it has always been. In the meantime, Classic Old Spice has begun construction on his "mini-house" as I am referring to it though it is technically a shed. This "shed" will be wired for electricity and will have heat and air conditioning so I am thinking, could this be my red tent? If I put a bed in it, do we think I could go there once a month for a few days while my menses decide to pay a visit? Do we think anyone would believe that a mysterious condition might develop and cause me to have my menses a few times a month thus requiring me to have to go to the red tent? Something tells me that this is not going to be an option even if I change my name to Leah or Rachel..

You'll Always Be My Baby

I often forget how spoiled I have become in the past year with having two children who predictably go to bed in the evenings and allow me to have time to myself and with Classic Old Spice but there is nothing that jolts that realization back into my brain quicker than a babe that for some reason (molars, allergies, ear infections - the list is endless) won't sleep.
Just last night my little guy (the one who is not occupying my womb) had the most difficult time sleeping and cried out at half hour intervals for about two to three hours. Each time I went to check on him, he was sitting straight up in his crib with the very most pathetically-sad expression while belting out a heartbreaking cry that would melt even the heart of Joan Crawford (remember the spooky "Mommy Dearest" movie? I think of her every time I throw away a wire hanger). You would have to be the most cold-hearted person on the planet to not pick this little muffin up out of his bed and cuddle and hug the daylights out of him. Yes, I am fully-aware that the "sleep experts", particularly the one I swear by (Marc Weisbluth, Healthy Sleep, Healthy Baby), say to never pick up a crying older baby from their crib hence they will simply be conditioned to your cuddles and love and do this each night, but sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind and go with what your mommy instinct tells you to do. Mine told me to pick that little Bubba Boo up and sit in that infamous green rocking chair until he settled down a bit so I did it. Immediately, I was shocked by the length of him - though my lap is pretty much non-existant right now since I am 40 weeks pregnant, I was still baffled by how much he had grown in just the past year alone. I was transported to a year ago when he was a little three month old peanut with acid-reflux and colic and cried constantly; it is amazing to think he is now this little being that laughs, claps his hands, dances to all kinds of music (particulary likes the "Happy Working Song" from the "Enchanted"movie and Dierks Bentley), walks, runs, runs some more, runs, and runs. He has recently taken to climbing on anything he can climb upon and has figured out how to open the door that leads from our hall to the garage - something Missy Moo just figured out how to do within the last six months or so. The physical prowess of boys is baffling - especially when your first child is a girl. Regardless, as I held this little guy who is trying to assert his independence from me but yet still needs me for love when his molars are hurting and will lay his head on my shoulder in the quiets of the night, I admit that I take advantage of the opportunity. He is so much on the go these days that to get cuddle time during the waking hours would alarm me - it would mean he was ill or injured because to hold him longer than 30 seconds invariably results in the arched back, "squirmy worm" pose, as Missy Moo calls it, and, if he is really angry, will add his high-pitched shriek that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. As he transitions from babyhood to the toddler world, to, eventually, preschool world, elementary world, preteen, God-forbid, teenage years, he will always hold the face I see now. The blonde curls that get curlier in the humidity and after running in the sprinkler, the chocolate brown eyes that replicate his daddy so closely it is scary, and well, the dimples. I have talked enough about the dimples but alas, they melt me. He will always be my baby - so much so that I am sure I will become one of those mothers that his wife/girlfriend will hand the phone over to him some wintry morning and say "It's your mother. She wants to be sure you are wearing your coat and that you have a scarf, gloves, and hat..." I am certain that later that same day, the same said woman will be having cosmos with her girlfriends and say things like "Samuel's mom is just so overbearing. For God's sakes, she called this morning to see if he was wearing his coat!" I know this because I have been that woman and said similar things about guys I have dated and the one I married. Now that I am a mommy, I get it - I will try my hardest not to become this (I am also fairly certain that if I do, Classic Old Spice will deprive me of all communication devices) but even if I don't make that call someday, it will be in my heart. And of course, not just for Bubba Boo. I marvel at the young girl Missy Moo is becoming - I love the sweet and funny things she says and I am astounded by her beauty and innocence, and yet, when I look into her eyes, I see the sweet face that greeted me upon exiting my womb and turned my world inside out by forcing me to wear my heart outside of my body. There is nothing like the birth of the first though you of course love all of your children and cherish each of their birth stories. What they all have in common? Even when they are 40, this mommy will still see the face of that baby...

Grossology

I will be completely honest and admit that I was not really prepared for the immense amount of occasions that I would be discussing bodily functions in such detail before I became a mother - I have found so many times recently that I am no longer caught off-guard by talking about bowel movements and their contents/shape/color/size or the fact that I would be having a discussion with my three year old about where and where it is not appropriate to wipe "boogers". Let's simply look at just this past 24 hours...As I have mentioned before, I have a small (OK, BIG) problem with bladder control (those keeping track, I am STILL pregnant and due next week) these days and the smallest sneeze, cough, or laugh can force me to have to change my pants (thank God Missy Moo is now potty-trained - she is the only person who is home during the day that does not require frequent change of drawers). So after my doctor's appointment today, I treated myself to a fantastic chicken salad sandwich and Sunchips from one of my favorite deli's in Indianapolis. While driving on 465 West, the smallest of small Sunchip went down the wrong pipe and forced me to cough deliriously and yes, you guessed correctly...Suffice it to say, I then was forced to put napkins in my panties in an attempt to absorb the small accident that had occurred (is this TMI - even for my blog? Oh dear...I have lost my filter). I can only imagine what the drivers around me were thinking as they saw an almost 39 week pregnant woman driving down the interstate reaching into her panties...Luckily, this was a small leak (I have learned to flex down there very quickly) and was quickly rectified so I was able to move on to finishing my lunch and retrieve Missy Moo from summer camp in a timely manner. We made it home only to discover that she needed to have a "poopie" and became quite alarmed when it appeared to be blue and truthfully, I did as well. Just as I was about to call her pediatrician since I was convinced she had some rare disease of the bowels, I remembered the cupcake she ate with fluoresent blue icing on July 4. There is was, making another appearance for us all! I was then able to get Bubba Boo down for his nap and moved on to Missy Moo where I read a quick story and tucked her in. I was sprinting for the door (I MUST sleep for at least an hour in the afternoons these days) when Missy Moo says "Oh mommy - I had a booger but it is gone now." Of course, I stopped in my tracks and calmly asked her where she placed this "booger" at which she replied, with a proud smile, "on top of my Dora Talking House." Sure enough, there is was in all of it's glory thus prompting me on the forementioned discussion as to where and where it is not appropriate to wipe our noses. I must admit that her response was priceless - she simply stated, in her three year old innocence, "Oops - sorry, Mommy." Now who could ever keep a straight face on this one? And while Missy Moo is the subject of most of this grossology just today, it is usually Bubba Boo who takes the cake in this category. A few nights ago, the poor little guy had a horrific-smelling diaper, was wet from playing in a bowl of water outside not to mention sudsy due to his fascination with bubbles, had a runny nose, and one could see actual dirt on his face. Yes, "all-boy" I know and of course, would I take them any other way? Now as far as Classic Old Spice goes, I plead the spousal confidentiality card on this one...

Much Ado About Well...Nothing...

Alright, alright, I admit it - I am a slacker blogger these days. I find that it is difficult to be as prolific as I would like to be with just the two children under three factor; however, I must confess that I am now 35 weeks pregnant and quite frankly, I am tired. It is the kind of tired that you are certain could possibly label you as clinically insane and even when I know I am being unreasonable and acting like a complete loon, I can't stop myself. For starters, I am huge. In fact, so huge that I turned around on my front porch the other day and knocked our sweet, petite little four year old neighbor straight down on her bottom with my ridiculously-sized abdomen. The worst part? I didn't even feel it - it wasn't until I noticed she had fallen that I deducted it was due to my sumo-style gut. Yes, I do realize that I am pregnant, and you better believe I love that I can bring children into the world but oh my, did I ever forget how brutal the latter part of the third trimester can be... I remember with my last pregnancy, my beloved OBGYN, who I am driving an hour away to deliver with in another city because I love him so much, said to me "Mother Nature sure has a sense of humor - just when you should be getting rest, she makes sure you get up at least every two hours to go to the bathroom so you can feel as unrested as possible." Amen, brother - it is constant. I stop intaking fluids usually around 6 p.m. yet the spring religiously begins around 11 o'clock each night...Where is God's name does all of this fluid come from? Oh yes - must be from the bags deposited under my eyes and the fluid pooling in my ankles... My poor husband is, quite frankly, just plain scared of me these days and I must admit that I don't blame him. While chatting in bed last night, he made me 1) wet my pants because I was laughing so hard and 2) then proceeded to make me cry because I could not control my hysterical giggles at something that was not necessarily that funny but struck me as so at that given moment. I had spent the day as I usually do with a whirlwind of emotions (all the while hoping I am not doing long-term psychological damage on my children) that follow no predictable pattern other than you can guarantee that "Momzilla" will come out if the energy level is low. One moment I am crazy mom and the next I am June Cleaver...The moral of the story is that mommy is crazy, a little bit unstable, but mostly just tired. I have missed writing and am not sure if anyone is even still reading since I have been such a slacker; however, I did realize that while I love to get feedback from other people who have the same thoughts (or even different) as I do, I do write this primarily as an escape and to practice the craft I love so much. So please accept my sincere slacker blogger apologies and know that I have big dreams to be a little bit better...Once the fluid gets out of my ankles, of course...

The Way He Loves Me...

The month of April tends to make me nostalgic because Classic Old Spice and I went on our first date on April 4, 2002 and became engaged on April 16, 2004. Without ever realizing the connection in the past, I tend to really relish in my luck at what a catch I have caught in the spring as the flowers start to bud and the air lightens a bit. So I begin this latest entry with a bit of a disclaimer - it is going to be a mushy, heartfelt ode to the most amazing man I have ever met. If this tends to nauseate you, well, I have given you fair warning. I will write more tomorrow so be sure to check-in.
I met my darling dear about one year after the most emotional year of my life - I had just finalized the proceedings of a yearlong divorce that rocked my world, my father passed away very unexpectedly, and I had an emotional roller-coaster ride with a lot of debt my ex left with me on top of a guy I was dating who was not the most emotionally stable of the bunch (not that I was at this time either but still...) The first evening we spoke on the phone we talked for three hours - how do you talk to anyone you have never met for three whole hours!? He envisioned me as a brunette with dark eyes and my scratchy voice led him to believe I was a bit of a smoker (not so). We had a great time chatting and of course were eager to meet one another so we went out the next night to a charming Italian restaurant in an old Victorian house in the neighborhood we would eventually inhabit two years later. To say he charmed me would be putting it mildly - in fact, I was not sure he was really for real. For starters, the man is drop-dead gorgeous and melted me with his dark brown peepers and that dimple that is so notorious that I have written about it in the past. This will continue at least for one more generation because Bubba Boo is the spitting image of his daddy with both the eyes and dimple to prove it...When the time comes for Bubba Boo to knock an unsuspecting young lady on her feet, I will know EXACTLY how she feels and can simply bond with her over this heart-in-your-throat-but-still-must-remain-cool feeling. Unfortunately, he was also in the midst of a divorce which led me to believe that he might need some more time in the emotional recovery oven before we could actually have a healthy relationship. It did take some time and some bumps along the way but we made it through and were married in July 2004. Now, after six years and 2.5 children later, I find it difficult to put into words the realization one acquires when you suddenly learn that there is a human on this earth that actually knows you better than you know yourself. It is incredibly frightening as this person of course holds a lot of emotional power over you but alas, I thank God I took the risk because who else would pass over, without a word, the curled tortilla chips that I love so much out of the basket at El Rodeo? Who else simply chuckles when he looks for something under the couch and comes up with three, half-filled water bottles or finds one in the shower, or lodged in a toy bin in the play room (yes, I know this is not an ecologically-sound practice but I lose my water bottles throughout my days and let's just say I am working on it)? It is these human foibles and idosyncracies that make us who we are and make us real. Most of them are not revealed until you have lived with someone for a while as they are an essence of your character and while we can hide them while dating, it is a whole new ballgame when you live under the same roof. I will never reveal my husband's own quirky quirks in a forum such as this but let's just say he has his fair share as well. Though sometimes irritating, the man possesses an uncanny ability to know what is going through my mind before even I do and can anticipate my every move. While this might sound somewhat dull to live this way, I find it incredibly safe and comforting as I know he loves me for who I am right now - not yesterday or in the future, but who stands before him right now. He encourages me to grow and stretch beyond myself more than any other person I have ever encountered and has even sat next to me in a therapy session with tear-filled eyes as I have dished some painful episodes of a life well-lived but with plenty of ups and downs. He is the man I want my children to revere, he is the one I want beside me for the rest of time, and luckily, he is the man that still makes my heart skip a beat when he comes home at the end of the day. The fact that he has one of the best buttocks I have ever seen makes me feel even more blessed...
Now before you feel you are about to get sick, let me put out there that there are certainly days that I would like to scratch his eyes out and most definitely, he would like to do the same to me. We are intensely passionate people and can have a doozy of an argument that would scare even Donald Trump. I say this because in no way do we have a perfect marriage - no one does. But I am in it for the long-haul no matter what and, hoping that I am correct in saying this, I think he is right there with me. Happy Spring, Classic Old Spice. I love you more than I could ever let you know or write with words. You are my rock, my home, my true north.

Too late to go back...

Have you ever opened a can of worms and wished you had not but it was simply just too late to go back to where you were before? This past weekend, Missy Moo, who has been potty-training for the past month and is doing a great job but of course, she is going to do things at her own pace and will do so as long as she is in control...(When I complain of this, my husband's response is always, "Hello, Pot...Meet Kettle"...) had a small mental breakdown over the fact that she is now wearing underpants and mommy will not allow her to put on a pull-up unless she is sleeping. Here's how it all shook down: Missy Moo and I are using the potty in our very small half-bathroom on the lower level of our home. If you have read earlier postings, you know that anytime anyone goes to the bathroom at our house, it is cause for all living beings under the roof to join him or her (this is especially enticing if it is mommy in the bathroom) for I guess maybe positive encouragement or to keep him or her company. God forbid we have privacy while using the restroom! However, if there ever was a cause for company in the restroom, it is during those early days of potty training because, like tying your shoe or riding a bike, there are steps involved that are just too difficult to verbally explain. Let me preface this by adding that I did not get home until 12:30 a.m. the previous evening due to an out of town dinner with Classic Old Spice with dental cronies and since he was attending a convention, he was gone until 5 p.m. on Saturday. If you are reading between the lines, this equates to a tired, six months pregnant mommy who is caring for a potty-training three year old and a pre-walker who cannot be left alone for even one second. When Missy Moo uses the potty, I quietly try to escort her to the bathroom so Bubba Boo does not catch-on and follow us in and as horrible as it may sound to hide from your one year old son in your own home, I know he is safe. Our house is completely baby-proofed (and will be for years) and I know we have a little bit of time before said son realizes we are no where within his visual range. This gives us enough time to jump-start the actually potty-process which could then prohibit him from attempting to play in the toilet or the small potty-chair (my skin curled each time I caught him doing this) or, as was the case last week, falling on the edge of the toilet thus resulting in his first black eye. In this small room are we with Ellie the WonderDog attempting to gain entry as well when Missy Moo throws out the "I want to put on a pull-up." I calmly answer back that pull-ups are only for when we go to sleep but she simply repeated her request again. I then said that if she chose to put on a pull-up, she would have to go take her nap (this is at noon - way too early for nap) and of course, this was also not what she had in mind. When it sunk in that she was not going to be successful with this endeavor, she began to wail. I don't mean a sad little cry but a full-on, shrieking fit with continuous screams that made me worry she was going to suffer from brain damage due to lack of oxygen for such a long time. When we get to this point, the options in our house are to stop throwing the fit or continue the fit but in the privacy of one's own bedroom. Since she chose not to stop, I took Missy Moo up to her room to recover where she proceeded to have one of the biggest meltdowns she has ever had for about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, Bubba Boo was beginning to grumble because, after all, it was about 12:15 p.m. at this point and gosh darn, where was his lunch? God forbid that he go without food for more than two hours, so I kicked into my lunch mode of dicing and chopping for a young eater while Missy Moo continued to melt. Once Bubba found his happy place, I went upstairs to check on the eldest only to find one of the most pitiful sights I have seen in a long time. There in the middle of the room with her head resting on her bunny, Floppy, wearing nothing but her new butterfly shirt and her bare-bottom naked as a jaybird, was Missy Moo making those heartbreaking whimpering sounds that come after major fits and for all mommy's I know, make us feel worse than Joan Crawford in "Mommy Dearest" no matter how "right" you knew you were. Her face was stained with tears and when she saw me she simply said, "I am not ready, Mommy." Of course, at this point, my heart had melted and I immediately identified with the feeling of not realizing that you had crossed a major milestone in your life that once crossed, was too late to ever go back. Things that came to my mind were starting your period, your first job, your first sexual encounter, paying your bills for the first time and I am sure a myriad of other "majors" that I can't think of right now but are monumental enough to chop your life into "before" and "after". Anna Quindlen, a writer that I think walks on water and expresses thoughts and emotions with amazing clarity, describes this "before and after" thing in her book "A Short Guide to a Happy Life" with her mother's death. She realized that there would always be a life she led"before" her mother passed away and then there was the "after" from that point on. Her life was divided in two and while I might be over-dramatizing Missy Moo's potty-training experience by comparing it to such a serious event such as this, in her young life, this is huge. She does not yet know the utter heartbreak of losing someone you love whether through divorce, break-ups, or death. She does not know that bad things often do happen to very good people. She does not realize that sometimes lessons do have to be learned the hard way. Truthfully, I am all for her keeping this sweet innocence for as long as possible as I know it will be robbed from her sooner than I will ever be ready. However, because of this sweet innocence, things I think are "no big deal" and she should just get over are actually monumental events in her own little life as well because this is all she knows. She can't go back to diapers and she can't wear pull-ups when she is awake - isn't this one of the first major milestones our children reach as they begin the process of sprouting their own wings? I can also identify with the feeling of being so excited for my newly-found independence and then being taken aback when I discovered that the grass was not always greener on the other side. Missy Moo has begun her life journey and while this should have been obvious to me three years ago when she was born, it is the actual heartbreak of life that molds us into who we are. The disappointments are the hands that shape our clay soul into who we eventually become and I can't help but think these hands begin as early as the potty-training years. Keep molding your soul, dear one. Don't ever stop because while your journey has just begun, if you are lucky, you will always be molding who you are.

Disclaimer...

Some of you friends have inquired as to why I don't write daily, or even weekly for that matter, so I thought I might explain...I have no freakin' energy! My only time to write is when children are napping during the day or in bed for the night. Since I must nap these days while they are doing the same (it is not pretty if I don't and I think for the sake of all of my family members we might want to prioritize this) and my brain is often tired and fried by the time I put them to bed, I must strike when the energy level is hot. This being about two to three times a month, for now, is how often I will post BUT I have good goals and intentions to do more. So what I am saying is that I hear ya pals and I will be giving it the good college try to be a little more prolific...:)

Nicole and I are Friends...

So Nicole Kidman is pregnant and due the same time I am - at some point in July...Yes, I realize this is her first pregnancy and yes, I know she is eight feet tall, but if I have to look at anymore photos of her in the media, I just might hurl...If you compared me to her you would absolutely think I was either a) carrying multiples - as in more than two multiples, b) my due date had been grossly miscalculated or c) I must have gestational diabetes. Of course I know that I am five foot three and carrying my third child in four years but still...I find it horribly unfair that her breasts are not hanging down to her ankles or that her cleavage does not begin right under her neck making it close to darn-near impossible to find shirts that don't flash the general public the million times one must bend down and pick up one's soon to be walking one year old. I am also certain that she does not have the lovely "white lightning" as I like to refer to my new friends, otherwise known as the stretch marks that are extending on the top back of my hips...Oh yes, I know - I am being vain and of course I realize it is a small price to pay for the joys of my three children; however, I would love for one second to not feel like I should actually be in a primitive tribe in Africa living a bucolic life while serving as a wet nurse to all of the village babies and sporting my beaded lip disk. I recently spoke to someone who had had a breast "lift" of which I have no qualms about considering once junior arrives this summer but I must admit that the girls did flinch a bit when she described the procedure...She used the phrase "cookie-cut your nipples then re-attach" that made me think that maybe it would not be worth it - for about two seconds. Then I decided that this was a small price to pay for actually being able to wear clothes that look good instead of tents that Mama Cass from the Mama's and Pappa's used to sport back in the day (God rest her soul with all due respect). When you have a rather large bosom (doesn't that word remind you of something a home economics teacher would use?) and you choose to wear a looser-fitting shirt, you might as well select to wear a muu-muu or a caftan as this is precisely what becomes of the garment once it is slid over your head. I often decide to simply wear a sports bra which does indeed make them look smaller but is not always the most comfortable option, comfort of course having a lot of pull (no pun intended) these days. I have considered going to get fitted for a new bra just to hold me over until July but the thought of this makes me down-right giggle - I can imagine the poor sales associate instructing me to hold them up so she can measure them around the nipple as she is supposed to do and can also see tape measures and chalk getting stuck in crevices and cleavages that could be somewhat traumatic so I have decided that I will wing it and wait until baby has arrived and I have gotten to pre-baby weight for this fun experience. To add insult to injury, while I was complaining to a friend of mine today about the absolute lack of maternity bathing suits that contain underwire tops for support - I mean if ever there was a time to break out the extra stainless steel armor it would be to corral these girls during pregnancy - she informed me that it is now not recommended for pregnant and breast-feeding mothers to wear underwire tops because it could prohibit milk-ducts from forming and could lead to infection...Dear God, I say, give us the option to at least take the chance for in less than a month I will be going to Disney with the family and will have to sport a suit with a flimsy padded shelf bra that will be exhausted after being worn just one day. Regardless, I still say that Nicole probably does not care much about the fact that she will not have underwire in her maternity suit this summer - in fact, she probably won't even wear a maternity suit this summer or any maternity clothes for that matter...Lucky, genetically-blessed girl I say...

Then and Now

Reading through the various pieces I have authored, one can see that much of what I write about pertains to my current life with 2.5 children, a dog that is so human she should be considered a child, and a husband who, God love every inch of him and his greatness, is a child as well. That said, I have been thrust into a life where I am currently raising four children with one on the way while at the same time, not always feeling like I am a grown-up myself until I have to send off a bill or have some random family member reveal a deep, dark secret that was reserved only for those who are old enough to hear it, making you wish you were still all of 16 and considered too immature to handle the drama of real life. Once in a while, when I am allowed to listen to my music instead of Dora from the DVD player (love it when the headphones actually stay on...) a song from my college days/single post-college days will play and I am instantly transported to memories that don't even seem to belong to the same person that I am now. Now before we start to think that I have "lost myself" and could be suffering from depression, let me add the disclaimer that I truly to do love my life and love where I am.. It just always amazes me and stops me in my tracks when I think back to who I was before I became 34 years old with almost three children...I remember jumping off a bridge that connects Sanibel and Captiva Islands when I was 17 years old after an afternoon of consuming, shall we say, beverages that were not legal for someone my age to consume. We all laughed and had a fantastic time as we plunged to the ocean below and it was not until years later when I was relaying this story to my mother that I reazlied how incredibly stupid this was and how easily it could have turned out to have a not-so happy ending. My mother looked at me incredulously and simply stated that the undertow beneath that bridge was legendary and most people do not attempt to swim in that area let alone jump from the bridge to the water below...The mother in me wants to vomit to think of my own children doing something like this someday but yet I know they will because though I did have a mild wild streak, I was still your average teenage girl that had crushes on boys, made good grade (OK, decent), and was very active in extra-curriculars (the real ones,not boys and drinking, though I sometimes did indulge in these as well). One of my friends also loves to tell a story in which I wrote various words with my big toe on the windshield of a car in which I was riding in at 3 a.m. while eating a leftover piece of pizza...Lovely...I could certainly go on, but my point is to simply illustrate the fact that I often stop dead in my tracks and laugh at the fact that I am now raising children that make me wear my heart on the outside of my body - once they reach their teens, I will be fully-aware of what is going on and be sick with worry. Classic Old Spice likes to joke that when our children are trying to pull off all-nighters with friends (you know the drill - I am staying at Jill's house and she is staying at my house and bingo! No one expects us home...) or simply thinking that they concocted a good story that their parents just might believe, it will be me that will call their bluff rather than the much more tame and mild-mannered him. I do take issue with this as his halo is not quite as golden as he would like for us all to believe, but he is probably correct in that I have "been there, done it" with whatever they try to pull. What I do have now that I did not have before is wisdom and to be honest, fear. I used to ride roller-coasters without a second thought while now the idea of getting on one makes me nervous and clammy. I never gave flying in an airplane another thought until I realized how much I had to lose should my plane go down. I used to casually smoke when I was out with friends and the thought of it now makes me ill. I have recently become interested in my genetic history (long story on this one - let's just say that I was conceived through artificial insemination in the 1970's so there is half of my DNA that I am unsure of which of course, now affects my children) whereas I have never given this another thought though I have known this information for quite some time. I look at strange men (and women for that matter) who glance a little too long at my children with a look that is not the friendly smile that I might show a stranger but instead a scowl of a mama bear protecting her cubs from a hunter. This aside, I also must chuckle that I have, though this is difficult to admit, become not as hip as I once was. There are times when I look at myself after I have picked up Missy Moo from preschool, gone to Target, and stopped by the bank and the dry cleaners' and truly am stunned that I would ever even step foot out of my bedroom looking like I did let alone parade myself all over town. In fact, a few weeks ago, a woman (probably a sympathetic fellow mommy) stopped me on my way out of Target to tell me that I had a Cinderella sticker stuck to my arse...How lovely to bring attention to an area of my body that seems to be expanding along with my pregnant belly and who better to showcase it than Cinderella? What recently caused me to stop and laugh out loud was a radio report on "Max and Emme"...Feeling so cool that I knew the broadcaster was talking about the sister/brother combo on "Dragon Tales" and why on earth would they be talking about them on the radio?, I was taken down a few notches when he reported that these were the names that JLo and Marc Anthony had chosen for their recently-born twins. The fact that I know Max and Emme are the children on "Dragon Tales" astounds me but then I know theme songs to almost all major kid's programs and can rattle off all of the characters of Dora in my sleep. Scarily enough, I also have this amazing talent that allows me to create a made-up story following the exact pattern of the show (Who do we ask for help when we don't know which way to go? The map!) while jotting down my grocery list. This talent will not win me millions of dollars nor will it give me a first place on Star Search but if I must confess to a dirty little secret, this is my favorite newly-discovered talent I have yet to uncover. I also like that I am the only one who knows where the poms-poms are located, the one that possesses the great knowledge of how to paint fingernails, the one who can kiss boo-boo's and make the tears disappear, the one who knows how to do "Snug as a Bug" just right...No, I would not trade this version for what I was - OK, maybe just once in a while for a night or so...

At the Pump...

Being a former teacher, one of my "most-inspiring-hall-of-famers" is Annie Sullivan, teacher of Helen Keller. I love her because she took a child who had been labelled as "unable to be educated" and actually did just that - educated her to go on to be one of the world's most brilliant minds despite the fact that she could neither see nor hear. That aside, Annie Sullivan used real-world examples and context to teach little Helen so that it was meaningful instead of relying on the drill and kill method that is so often utilized in this obsessively mandated test-taking world of No Child Left Behind (whoa, let me get on my soap box for a minute...). My favorite scene of "The Miracle Worker" is when Annie takes Helen to the water pump, runs water over her hands and signs the word "water" directly into her palm. I love the lightbulb that goes off for Helen as she frantically runs around her lawn touching everything and holding out her hand for Annie to sign the word for her. Right before I stopped working outside of the home, I worked as a literacy trainer for an organization that used this clip to inspire teachers to be like Annie so of course, I have seen this part several times and think of it often. So the other day I was dangling Bubba Boo over our kitchen sink in an attempt to wash his "crawler" hands - as a little one who crawls, he picks up stuff off of our floors (yes, I sweep every day but we do have a dog and two children) and it makes my skin curl to think he would eat with those grubby paws, hence why I wash my baby's hands. As the water poured over his chubby little digits, I said "water" and his little face beamed and flashed the dimple that melted even the nurses' hearts in the hospital within an hour after his birth (for the record, Classic Old Spice has this trait as well and is one of the reasons why I knew I would marry him within a week after we met). He seemed to be saying "Cool mommy - I am getting this word thing - I am getting that everything has a label," and I immediately thought of Annie and Helen at the pump. This then led me to reflect on what exactly I do want to teach my children as well as HOW on earth am I going to do it...A few things popped into my head: There is no canned program, method, or theory that can educate your child more effectively than your actions. For this reason, I make sure that my children see that I am indeed human. I speak about my emotions freely, in fact, almost to a fault for just the other night as I was helping at Missy Moo's Book Fair at her school she said, "Mommy, are you feeling grouchy?" which I think is quite observant for a girl who just turned three (never mind the fact that she said it right in front of her teacher...For shame!). I lose my cool and say things that make me feel like I am going to suffer in the parenting pit of hell and worry that I have permanently psychologically damaged my children for the rest of time; however, I know that the right thing to do is say that I am sorry and admit that mommy was wrong. As a result, Missy Moo freely apologizes (usually) when she knows she owes one. In no way am I suggesting that I am "Parent of the Year" because of course, there is a down-side to this as well. Recently, Missy Moo started to say things like "I hate my coat" or "I hate to eat carrots" which for some reason, sounds really harsh and rough when it comes out of the mouths of babes. I was bothered by where on earth she could have picked this up until later in the day when I caught myself saying "Oh, I HATE when that happens!". You guessed it - Missy Moo picked this lovely trait up from me. This is not the only time that I will err at the parenting game but I also think that maybe when children see their parents mess up we are better preparing them for the real world in which they will be living (or maybe I am telling myself this so I feel just a little better). The world is not perfect and neither are we - we have good days, and days that are almost comical they are so bad. There are people who will wrong you, as we recently experienced as a family when a former sitter who owed us some money told us she would be at our home "in a half an hour" and was actually in Iowa (true story), people who will put you down and make you feel like you are less than you are, and there are times when an hour feels like the longest period of time on earth. But on the other hand, there are more people who will right you, more people who will build you up, and days when you think an hour is just not enough time to do anything because it goes so fast. A moral compass cannot be changed or rocked in any way - regardless of the trials and tribulations one experiences, that core, that foundation should remain the compass and drive who we really are. No outside occurance can shake this or take it away from you as it is your soul which was molded in your early years and is constantly shaped throughout your life. I remember telling the parents of the students in my classroom that they are their child's first teacher but I never really understood the power and magnitude of this statement until I had my own babies. Emotional core development occurs between the ages of zero to three years old so how can any teacher mold this part of my children? It's up to us to guide this development which is probably going to be my most valuable contribution to this planet after I am gone. To know that Classic Old Spice and I will work fervently to encourage our children to always do what is right makes me believe that it will sink in along the way somewhere and then when THEY have their own babes, they will do the same. It is how the cycle continues and the only way that I can foresee to truly leave the world a little bit better than how I found it. Life experiences take us back to the pump every time and force us to continue to mold who exactly we are and who we strive to be.

It's A Family Affair

There are so many things I was not really prepared for when I became a mother - the utter loss of any time to really do anything for myself, the powerful, animalistic desire to scratch the eyes out of anyone who hurts or insults my babies, the body's ability to survive on an amount of sleep that would have made me scoff in an earlier life...But perhaps the biggest surprise since becoming a mommy is my complete loss of any privacy while I am, nicely put, using the lavatory. I am astounded at how quickly every living being in my house can congregate when mommy tries to sneak off to the restroom for EVEN TWO SECONDS! Let's look at an example from just the other day...I must preface this story with the disclaimer that I am incredibly modest about bodily functions and do not really speak freely about what goes on when I DO use the restroom; however, for the sake of this story, I am going to have to sell myself out a bit and give you the fully monty. If you have ever been pregnant, you know oh so well the lovely side effect of constipation - one of my girlfriends claims that I must eat prunes and truthfully, I tried it and could not shake the feeling that I was eating an oversized gem from someone's nose. My point is that when you are pregnant and you feel that you might actually be able to get some relief in this area, you make a run for it. Luckily, I was at the end one of the best books I have read in a long time (The Used World by Haven Kimmel) and realized that since everyone in my house had just completed breakfast and my husband was peacefully reading the Sunday paper on the couch, it would be safe to steal away to the throne for a bit and take the rare opportunity to actually finish this book and read at a time of the day that I would not normally be able to read a photo caption let alone two to three pages of a book. I let said hubby in on my plan to steal away for a moment and retreated to the throne room with book in hand. Of course, a good half page into the last two pages, the door to the bathroom is flung open and there stands Missy Moo in her princess nightgown waving her magic wand and telling me that since we are going to church, daddy is coming up to shower and she will get to watch Dragon Tales. Quickly behind her was our lovable WonderDog, Ellie Rose, who beelined it straight to me and came pretty darn close to de-throning me while knocking my book to the ground. I take a moment to get off the throne and turn on Dragon Tales for Missy Moo and after I get back to the throne and into my book, hubby enters the bathroom and begins to engage me in conversation. And while I cannot recall the specific topic that Classic Old Spice was trying to cover, I do remember that it was not a light topic - it was not one of those that you can do an "umm-hmm" every now and then while engaged in another activity. I answered him shortly a few times and at about the fourth or fifth question, I lost my cool and said, "I am simply trying to read the last two pages of this riveting book AND attempt to go number two if I may. I can't have this discussion right now." Of course, Classic Old Spice replies with "Gah, you are a grouch - I'm outta here" and finally, leaves me at peace. What I wanted all along and at this point, there is no chance that the coveted release was going to occur. Perhaps it is not the pregnancy that is causing this problem...

Holiday Images

What could be better than reading with Aunt Debbie? Especially a book about "My Big Girl Potty"!

Look what was in my gift bag!!!! My favorite gift so far...

Santa visits our holiday gathering....Bubba Boo is intrigued, Missy Moo is mesmerized until she asked, "Where is Papaw Ted?"

How on earth did I get here and how did my life go so wrong?

Who me? No, Mommy, of course I am not about to grab the Christmas tree in my naked glory or attempt to play with the cord. I would never do a dangerous thing like that!

Just Fine

I am wondering at what point we lose the innocence and magic of childhood and become the serious, tired grown-ups we never thought we would be (or at least maybe I am speaking for myself). I love the way children think and if we simply listen to them, I personally believe that they are on to some things that we might want to take note of. For example, this evening, Missy Moo and I decided to take a bath together in mommy's "big pool" as she calls the bathtub in our master bathroom. Now currently 12 weeks pregnant with my third child in three years (dear GOD!) I had been feeling a little unattractive and somewhat scared to look in the gigantic mirror that allows every imperfection to be seen as you remove your clothing to shower or bathe. I regularly keep my head down and try not to look at the shape that is appearing in front of me - yes, I know I am pregnant but I also worked VERY hard to get all that baby weight off and had reached pre-baby weight when BOOM! I got two lines when I did a quick little test I was sure to be negative...I was really loving the fact that I could pull out old clothes and get some cute new ones, but enough about that...As we were getting ready to get in the tub, both of our naked bodies waiting for the water to stop, Missy Moo reached over to me and with her heart-melting smile simply patted my leg and said "You're just fine." Now how did she know? What kind of cosmic knowledge did she possess to know that that was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment? It got me thinking that maybe I am just fine - I guess to view yourself through the eyes of an almost three year old, I might be more than just fine. I am her lifeline, the closest person to her, her playmate, her disciplinarian, her ultimate caregiver, the kisser of boo-boo's, the driver to preschool, the snack provider, and probably another million things that I simply don't have the brain-power to produce at this given moment. I remember a time in my life in which I would have traded the firmer, not-as-saggy version of myself for the life I live now - I wanted desperately to be a stay-at-home mommy but instead I found myself in the throes of a divorce at the ripe age of 27. At a time when everyone else was either getting married or having their first baby, I was starting over. This thought jolted me into my reality now as I realize I DO have all that I wished for back then and no, I would not trade it for the much-perkier chest that I had back then. So I guess you could say I AM just fine. Of course, leave it to a three year old to have to point that out to me.