Mommy Sorority

Perfect Momma

2011-12-07T11:49:00.000-07:00

"The most important thing she'd learned over the years was that

there was no way to be a perfect mother and

a million ways to be a good one."

~Jill Churchill

Obedience through Bribery and Other Advice

2011-12-05T21:44:00.000-07:00

Mama guilt is a peculiar thing. It follows us Mamas around and yells at us when we're trying to sleep. I have discovered that it can be stifled by - at least occasionally - resorting to Things We Said We'd Never Do.

Things We Said We'd Never Do Before We Had Kids Back When We Were The Perfect Parents With No Kids To Ruin Our Perfect Parenting Streak:

1. Bribe them. The experts say you cannot do this or chaos will ensue: the world will be consumed in fire, followed by death, maiming, soiling of quilts, and the stepping on of chickens. But here's the truth (shh!):

If a purse full of candy means your toddler will let you roam the aisles of Ross twice per year, then get a bigger purse.

2. Count to three. Back before we had our own little nose pickers we said we'd never do this because "it only gives them three more seconds to be naughty." Well, I'm here to tell you this:

We have already been programmed to count to three when we're upset. You can't help it. You're already doing it in your head, so it may as well come out your mouth. Plus, it will buy you three seconds to get yourself under control so that you don't do something you will regret later, like snarf a carton of Oreos in despair. Go ahead and count to ten if it helps. I won't tell.

3. Potty train later rather than earlier. Who ever said potty training = freedom was smoking something, and I'm not talking about salmon.

Potty training means two years of your life you will never get back, plus an intimate knowledge of every public restroom from here to Topeka. Every errand you run will take fourteen times the amount of time it would take had your little muffin been wearing a diaper.

4. Give in when nagged. I always said/thought/read/heard that if you NEVER give in on a battle with a toddler, then YOU WILL WIN FOREVER. That is a big, fat lie and whoever told you that is laughing it up. Saying "no" only makes stubborn little gremlins more stubborn and more gremlin-y. They really, REALLY like a challenge.

So, do yourself a favor and just give in next time.

5. Never let them become a picky eater. I don't like picky eaters. I don't like your picky eater and I don't like that picky eater across the street and I don't like my picky eater. But they didn't become that way because you "let" them. They just are. Like spiders and high bridges and wedgie-prone underpants. So, accept them. Let them be. Give them cereal for lunch (instead of steamed quineoa) and Nutella for breakfast (instead of vegetable stir fry).

I won't tell.

6. If you don't read to them, they won't become readers. Yeah, well, sometimes you read to them and they still don't become readers. Set that example all you want and it still might not work. I read all the time. I read so much I forget to change my socks or mop the floor or parent my children! And all I have to show for my stellar example are a bunch of kids who tell me they'll wait for the Xbox version.

So go ahead and sink into that bubble bath with the latest romantic mystery...but don't expect your sacrifice to rub off into literate children.

7. Have a strict bedtime.

Yeah. Good luck with that one.

8. Don't allow them to have a "sleep crutch." You know, those things like binkies and babas and blankies and other things that begin with B. Well, I'm here to tell you, surround that little angel with every sleep crutch you can possibly find.

We used to surround a snoring infant Cora with upteen pacifiers in the hope that when the one in her sweet angel mouth would fall out (which it would the second we hauled our tired bodies into our own bed), she would magically have enough power over her own limbs to grab the nearest one and pop it in herself. This doesn't work. But I still recommend the Circle of Binkies.

9. Purify their water, boil their pacifiers, use non BPA bottles, give them organic food, use cloth diapers, etc.

At least when someone is looking. This is key. When you're home alone with Baby, do whatever the heck you want.

10. Your turn.

What rule do you break when it comes to parenting?

Melyssa writes over at The Daze of Us and, we cannot tell a lie, she's awesomely funny. Go visit! Enjoy!

Mean Guy

2011-12-01T21:59:00.000-07:00

Just in case you're traveling this year for the holidays, here's a glimpse back to 2009 and an extended car trip with a 3 year old and 2 year old. It was awesome.

*********************************

We’re almost through with 2009 – it’s been quite a fun journey!

We have spent the last week visiting our families. Overall it’s been a wonderful trip and we’ve enjoyed every minute.

There has been a little bit of a toll on us as we stay an extended period away from all that is familiar to us. The girls are still trying to figure out what’s going on with their nap schedule since we’re on a different time zone. We’ve been taking advantage of car rides in order to lull them to sleep.

Today drove a few hours to visit friends and Dos took a nap on the way up but Uno refused. After a full afternoon and fun adventures Lizard and I realized that the trip home was a necessary time for her to nap.

Dos, for her part, had an allergic reaction to the soap at Bath & Body Works and so we had given her a dose of Benadryl. Previously Benadryl knocked Dos out – but today it had the opposite effect. She was wired!

So... On the way home we told both of the girls that they needed to take a nap while we drove. They were quite resistant to this idea, but Uno was the more vocal of the two about her disinterest in our napping plan.

Finally Lizard put his foot down.

“Do not talk, Uno!” he said in his firm, “don’t mess around anymore” voice.

Uno began to wail. “But I have words inside of me and they want to come out!” she protested.

“They are inside of me saying, ‘Please, let me come out!’” she continued with her voice pitched almost to the height that only a dog could hear. “And I promised them that they could come out... But you say, ‘No!’”

Lizard and I were both cracking up in the front seats, trying to hide our laughter from Uno since she was howling and moaning as we drove along the highway.

Uno decided to give one last opinion:

“You mean guy!” she moaned a long “ooooooh” moan. “You mean guy!”

Then it got even better. Because Dos, the Dizzy Devil, began to chime in.

“Mean guy! Mean guy! Mean guy!” she chanted in her little 2-year-old voice. Then without pause, “Santa Clause is coming to town,” she warbled.

That sent us over the edge and I began to write down the conversation so that I could share it with you without messing it up.

Things calmed down a bit and we thought that the fun was over. But then Dos piped up again.

“Uno... Mean guy!” she said.

“I am not a guy,” Uno corrected Dos with passion. “I am a girl!”

Then Uno stopped to consider. “I am a lady!” she amended.

Dos' response?

“I’m Santa Claus!” she crowed.

Juggler blogs daily at StealingFaith about life, parenting, and poop or other bodily fluids likely to arrive in a house with three children and three dogs.

What's In My Head and On My Lips

2011-11-27T22:42:00.000-07:00

yirsh/stock.xchng

Coffee tastes best when it's stolen out of the pot before it's done brewing and it makes that little sizzling sound when the liquid hits the warmer.

Gianni, this is my bath. You can take your own in twenty minutes after Mommy is raisin-y. Get your toes out. Get your fingers out. Quit stealing my bubbles. Ok, you can take the bubbles with you. Don't drip.

Yes, Anna, you can have a dark chocolate ginger truffle for breakfast. It is the season. Dark chocolate ginger truffles; they're not just for dessert anymore.

I miss the easy friendships I had when I was in my twenties, but I wouldn't go back because they were too easy and not tried by fire yet. I love knowing that our little band has been through everything possible that could happen to humankind (well, almost) and one by one, we've helped raised one another out of the pits of it, dusted off our big girl pants, and squeezed our entwined hands.

When Thanksgiving dinner arrives I wonder why we only eat such a fabulous, perfect, flawless meal once a year. Then, after upteen leftovers, I remember why. No one will want it again for 360 days.

And it all tastes a little bit better when your Mom makes it. I can't taste 1988 in my stuffing, or 1992 in my mashed potatoes. Mine are all 2011 and they are lacking somehow. My mom's food tastes like memories on a plate.

Yaaah, we're finally out of that all natural, green, eco friendly dishwasher soap and we can go back to the hole-in-the-ozone-layer, harsh, plastic-y packaged, dish tabs that I so very much love. It was like I had a collection of faux milk glass for a while there.

This is the only time of year I like cookies.

Measure your butter when making shortbread, don't just eyeball it.

Why is the laundry never done? I hate seeing the bottom of the hamper only to have my view obscured by someone tossing in their underpants, completely and effectively dampening my warm, fuzzy feelings.

I'm so excited to chop down my Christmas tree tomorrow I can hardly stand it. I'm a little nervous to be living in such a tree hugging state now though. Especially if they find out about the Cascade dish tabs. And that I only recycle when I run out of room in my trash.

I love that my man is obsessed with lights on the house and that I can't let him go into any drugstore or department store or grocery store because he will buy more.

Why is there a fly in my kitchen? Shouldn't flies be dead in November?

Gianni's skin is so soft. Maybe I should rub almond milk, dirt, tears, mud, twigs, oatmeal, salad dressing, Windex, dog food and car oil, on my face too. Maybe I should make a Toddler Facial Smoothie and sell it on QVC.

No, Anna, one truffle is plenty.

Gianni, it's time for your bath now. What do you mean you don't want one anymore? Can I at least remove the twig from your pants and rub the oatmeal into your skin a little bit better? Can you spare some of that mysterious grease for my T-zone?

Melyssa blogs at The Daze of Us. Be sure to drop on over and compliment her on the results of her Toddler Facial Smoothie!

Beautiful Mess

2011-11-23T12:58:00.001-07:00

courtesy of confessionsofakitchentable.blogspot.com

By now you've probably seen the viral video of the two boys demolishing their living room with a 5 lbs. bag of ordinary flour.

I watched it, stunned at just how much flour is in a 5 lbs. bag (I had no idea!) and listened to the mom make small gasping noises while chanting, "Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my."

She held her cool amazingly, which may have been because she realized she didn't want to inadvertantly tape a video Child Protective Services could use against her later, but let me tell you... if my ruffians had done such a thing there is a price and it would be paid.

I was thinking of how quickly things go sour when you add a preschooler into the mix and trying to come up with some new strategies for keeping a lid on my temper and dealing with the kiddos with kindness.

I thought about that 5 lbs. bag of flour and its mess.

I gave thanks it wasn't me and my kids have never come up with something like that.

And then I dumped an entire 32 oz. (hello, watered down challenge!) glass of water on myself, the floor and into the Goldfish carton.

Goodness. Just can't take me anywhere.

Juggler is a daily blogger over at Stealing Faith where she writes about her three daughters, three dogs, charming husband and living life among chaos.

Someday...

2011-11-22T06:48:00.000-07:00

agastecheg /stock.xchng

Someday…I will get to sleep through the night.

Someday…I will get to drink an entire cup of coffee in one sitting, while it is still hot.

Someday…I will get to run more than three consecutive miles, without stopping to feed/change/comfort/play with someone.

Someday…I will get to go to the bathroom in peace.

Someday…I will get to eat a meal without picking something up off the floor.

Someday…my facebook status updates will involve my own accomplishments.

Someday…I will get to lick the beaters.

Someday…I will get to make one meal, instead of turning into a short order cook at dinner time.

Someday…I will get to nap when necessary.

Someday…I will get to enjoy more than a fleeting moment of silence.

Someday…every conversation won’t involve negotiating.

Until then…I’m just ‘mom.’

Heather is the mom of two boys. She blogs over at (G)O'Donnell. Isn't this a beautiful look at motherhood?

Watered Down Challenge - Update

2011-11-21T07:41:00.000-07:00

asifthebes / stock.xchng

Well, It's now been a fortnight + since I began the Watered Down Challenge.

(I've been looking for a place to use the word "fortnight" for approximately a score of years. Today is my lucky day.)

I don't know how it's gone at your house with the challenge, but every morning I stumble out of bed, head to the bathroom, weigh myself on that horrible self-esteem device called a scale and then choke down water.

I become water-logged in fact.

The next three hours are then filled with answering demands from my children, breakfast, and at least sixty rushed trips to the bathroom as my body processes the enormous amount of water I've consumed with abandon.

All of this was something I cold accept, keeping my eyes on the prize: the demise of the lump of fat that has been spending an inappropriate amount of quality time with my belly button lately.

Here's my experience:

Many, many trips to the bathroom.
Much less desire to consume my beverage of choice, Coca-Cola.
General sense of well-being.
Absolutely no weight loss or change of shape to the lard baby.

It's a toss up for me right now. I'm going to keep doing the challenge but I think I won't be so rigid about the rules. If I want to eat a piece a toast before drowning my woes in 32 oz. of tap water... I'm going to do so.

I think it will help with the burping.

What's your take? Have you lost weight while on the Watered Down Challenge? Felt healthier?

Juggler is a daily blogger over at Stealing Faith where she writes about her three daughters, three dogs, charming husband and living life among chaos.

Pee Pee Treats

2011-11-20T14:47:00.000-07:00

every weekend or prolonged period of time anthony is home, mason ends up with chonies on. which of course is extremely helpful to me and if he could, anthony would take over all undesirable duties i face like potty-training, childbirth, and teaching art. he loves me like that.

but come monday, mason is typically back in a diaper. i just haven't had it in me to focus on potty training while i'm busy homeschooling my other 2 children and trying to do everything i can to not get up and run to the bathroom every 25 seconds.

but let's face it. the clock is ticking. there is a newborn coming and mason will one day get a drivers license and go off to college and i can't avoid potty training forever.

so on my way home from my doctor appointment last week (the one where i was officially given the green light to not be on bedrest (unless of course there is laundry or cooking to be done) and the hopeful possibility of not facing the dreaded c-section (yay!)) i stopped to pick up gummy worms.

when i got home i pulled them out of my purse and announced with great enthusiasm "pee-pee treats!" to which everyone danced around and squealed in excitement. (really, you can trick your kids into being excited about almost anything at this age. it's a correlation between level of expressed exhilaration and amount of sugar at hand)

and here is the real trick in making sure the pee-pee treats work.

enter my brilliance: "ella and bennett, you can get one too, each time mason goes in the toilet!"

potty training on my part? done.

therapy for my older children who will one day look back and say, wow, my mom actually had me potty train my little brother... only just beginning.

(i have no idea what mason is doing here...)

so now mason will be happily playing with his cars on the floor when he'll suddenly stand up and yell, "me pee-pee!" and ella and bennett will jump up from the table, pencils and math worksheets flying and grab him by the hand and race down the hallway and he'll squeal in delight as they open the potty chair lid for him and he'll say, "yay, me pee-pee party!" because, after all, who doesn't want a party in their honor every time they have to empty their bladder?

then he'll sit for a little while and everyone will expectantly watch as pure exuberance breaks across his face and he proclaims, "ME! PEE! PEE! YAAAYYYY! YAH-HOO!" and then he'll glance up at me and ask with an adorable, expectant, proud smile, "me worm treat?" and ella and bennett will jump up and down and tell him how proud they are of him and then they all race to line up in front of the pantry door to receive their reward.

this, people, is the secret to potty training.

it has gone amazingly smooth. my sister asked me if i make them wipe him. i laughed and said of course not. then i got to thinking... maybe for 2 worm treats?

kidding, kidding...

we ran out of worm treats yesterday. i figured, hey, we have the hang of it now, should it really matter anymore? so i told mason when he was getting the last one and that now he can have stickers.

this made logical sense to me. but i, of course, don't have the mind of a 3 year old.

so an hour later he jumps up, screams "me pee-pee!" and runs to the bathroom and i'm helping him get ready but before he'll go he looks at me very serious and says, "worm treat?" and i remind him there aren't any left but he can pick out whatever sticker he wants.

he just stares at me, pulls back up his chonies and says, "me no pee-pee." and just like that he went on a pee-pee strike for the next couple of hours.

i then caved and started giving him chocolate chips. and right behind him are ella and bennett with their hands out. the family all sticks together over here. i'm just encouraging sibling unity when i keep handing out sugar.

you know, this is why we homeschool after all. while other kids are at recess or music class or conjugating spanish verbs at the public school, my kids get to watch their brother pee in a plastic chair for sugar.

but for sure, i'm gonna pick up some more this week and when i get home i'm going to announce with gusto, "laundry/mopping/cooking/sweeping treats!"

and then i'm going to show them the cleaning supplies.

hey, i'm onto something here.

Stephanie blogs at There's More To Life Than Sleep... and she's amazing, huh?! Here's to Pee Pee Treats for everyone!

Invisible Mothers

2011-11-19T23:37:00.000-07:00

phillipp13 / stock.xchng

I feel a little guilty posting this since it’s an email forward that has circulated around the internet for several years. BUT… no matter how many times I read it I find myself misty-eyed and I think the author nailed it right on the head.

As one author wrote about this piece of wisdom: “On a day when I was wondering why no one had nominated me for a major award because I was able to get three beds stripped and cleaned and remade, a colorful and balanced supper on the table, a toddler entertained on my own from 7:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., an entertaining column written and submitted, and a first grader taken to school with everything he needed and brought home with nothing that he didn’t, I received this in my inbox.”

So tonight, because I’m still absolutely exhausted, I’m going to post one of the pieces of writing that has given me comfort over the years. Enjoy!

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’

Obviously not; no one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I’m invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more! Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this??

Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’ I’m a satellite guide to answer, ‘What number is the Disney Channel?’ I’m a car to order, ‘Right around 5:30, please.’

Some days I’m a crystal ball; ‘Where’s my other sock?, Where’s my phone?, What’s for dinner?’

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history, music and literature -but now, they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going, she’s going, she’s gone!?

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. She had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.

I was feeling pretty pathetic when she turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, ‘I brought you this.’ It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: ‘With admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.’

In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.
2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
4) The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A story of legend in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, ‘Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof, No one will ever see it.’ And the workman replied, ‘Because God sees.’

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, ‘I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.’

No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn, no cupcake you’ve baked, no Cub Scout meeting, no last minute errand is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, ‘My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table.’ That would mean I’d built a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, he’d say, ‘You’re gonna love it there…’

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible mothers.

From a sketch performed by Nicole Johnson at a Women of Faith conference. This book is available on Amazon: The Invisible Woman, When Only God Sees: A Special Story for Mothers. The book referenced here is Cathedrals of Europe.

A Dose of Sarcasm for the Day

2011-11-18T11:17:00.000-07:00

Study Shows Breastfeeding and Cloth Diapering Increases Self-Esteem in Mothers

Click through to Insert Eye Roll for the full story.

A study published by The Brooks Institute of Parenting and Medicine, asserts mothers who breastfeed for an extended amount of time and cloth diaper their children have a higher sense of self-worth than mothers who do not.

Dr. Leon Grant, who spearheaded the study, says of the phenomenon, “We’ve known for decades breastfeeding and cloth diapering have health benefits for the child and the environment as a whole, but now we have proof that these activities have the added benefit of making mothers feel morally superior. Simply by breast feeding for longer than anyone else they know, women have been shown to overcome deep-seated insecurities like teenage acne and being told they look chubby by their own mothers.”

Read the Full story at Insert Eye Roll

As a cloth diapering, extended breastfeeding mom, I had to laugh at this satirical take on "Natural Parenting." If you're up for a good dose of sarcasm, click on through... if not, we'll be back with another take on Mommy Sorority tomorrow!

Running In Circles

2011-11-17T22:34:00.000-07:00

So, if any of you read my message on Twitter yesterday, you will know that I am convinced my treadmill is possessed. It tried to break my finger. I have a bruise under my fingernail now. It had nothing to do with me being impatient while trying to open it. I’ve decided to call it The Dreadmill.

In any case, today I figured I would talk a bit about my slow journey toward becoming a runner…

In the summer, after reading Mary Ostyn’s post about starting the Couch to 5K running program, I decided it was time. Time to stop making excuses. Time to stop wishing and start doing. My husband sent me to the running store for my birthday and I came home with a pair of (gasp!) $100 running shoes: the Vibram FiveFingers — by far the most expensive (and funny-looking) pair of shoes I have ever owned. Surprisingly though, they are also the most comfortable pair of shoes I own.
See what I mean? They are really funny-looking. I’ve had multiple strangers stop me to ask about them…

Four months later, I haven’t actually run a 5k yet. I tried to, which was when I discovered that I have exercise-induced asthma. Enter the jet-propelled chemical remedy! Then it got really cold here in a hurry. Enter the treadmill! (I got my hands on a used treadmill for $15 from Juggler’s ever-present stash of cool stuff. It’s great. The display works intermittently, the plastic trim is hanging off in places and — the best part! — it changes speed arbitrarily! Today the belt got so misaligned that it melted the plastic running board on the side where it was rubbing. I’m going to have to figure out how to fix that before tomorrow.)

This goal of mine (to get healthy via running) hasn’t made me slim and toned yet, but I am still determined to finish the program and make a running part of my life. (I have to justify all the money I’ve spent so far on shoes, an inhaler and The Dreadmill!) Couch to 5k really is a great program and — up until I nearly passed out — I was having great fun. For the first time in my couch-potato life, I felt strong and healthy!

So, after taking a too-long hiatus from running, I’m jumping back in at Week 4. Would any of you be interested in joining me? I’ll be posting my progress here, so we can laugh together about how ridiculous I look in spandex.

P.S. When I find the right fabric (and time), I’ve decided to ~~spend more money~~ treat myself and make one of these dresses!

PlainJane is the mom of three and blogs over at Plain Jane Living about treadmills, food, parenting, and other such things.

This is a Concert - A Symphony

2011-11-16T13:48:00.001-07:00

mglinski/stock.xchng

“Mom, you came back!”

This is the quote my twin sons yell at me everyday as I return to the house after a full day of work. This wasn’t always the case for my 4-year olds, but my workload and commute wasn’t always this way, either. After a welcomed yet unexpected recruitment to one of the world’s top hospitals, my commute time quadrupled. My primary work responsibilities went from supporting the efforts of a small office to providing assessment and educational training support for a department of about 5500 healthcare professionals. While I love my work and have always loved working, it’s not that encouraging to have your young children remind you of how long you’ve been away from them, by yelling “You came back!” in incredulous voices… daily…

Regardless of commute time and work load, however, my assumption is that all working moms go through, what I can only describe as heart-wrenching guilt. And yet, I also have other working moms, moms of multiples, aspiring mothers, moms of color, and young female professionals exclaim to me often, “How do you do it!?” Well… “to do ‘it’ is not an option,” I tell them. And this is why…

I am a 34-year old Filipina-American, born to Filipino immigrants who came here in the early 70s, leaving all of their family behind to give their unborn kids the quintessential “American dream.” I am completing my PhD program in Educational Leadership. I am the founder and CEO of a consulting and training business in diversity, cultural competency and change management. I work fulltime at one of the top pediatric hospitals in the world. And last but not least, I am the proud mom of 4-year old twin boys and the wife to a great husband (who also works one full-time and one part-time job). I say all of this not to brag. Actually, having written all of that, I feel close to nausea – but I start off by listing the nuances of my life to state with strength that ‘it is possible.” “How?” you ask? My simple answer is,” You don’t make ‘not possible’ an option.”

Another working mom once told me that she has a conversation with all of these so-called crystal balls that we working moms juggle. The conversation basically goes like this: “We are going to work together. This is a concert – a symphony – that necessitates all of us figuring this out together, daily, and consistently. Eye on the prize, people. Not working together is not an option. Not making this work is not an option. We will make this work. And it will be fun.”

Directive? Yes. Decisive? Yes. Sadistic? No, it’s not. And it’s not sadistic, simply because you’ve had the conversation. It would be sadistic and self-sabotage if you weren’t having this conversation with yourself and all the crystal balls that are floating precariously above your head. This is what working moms call “control” and is something all of us strive to have and maintain. I’m not arguing that it’s always possible, but if you have already decided what crystal balls you want to include and juggle, then go the extra step and have that conversation with them. We do this with our kids and our colleagues at work, right? We direct behavior, influence feeling, incept control, and bypass passivity. This is what occurs in self-directive conversations like the one above.

I believe fully that working moms are the ultimate symphony of control in unparalleled grace. For me, at least, much of that symphony starts with a simple conversation with myself. The next hurdle is making sure everyone else around you is listening to the same music…!

Eloiza is a mom balancing work, twin preschoolers and entrepreneurship.

There Was An Old Boy Who Swallowed A Frog...

2011-11-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

frecuencia/stock.xchng

Gianni: Mommy, I swallowed a frog.

Mommy: Huh? What?

He places my hand on his chest and says solemnly: See? Feel that ribbitting?

Mommy (feeling relieved): Honey, that's your heart.

Gianni (looking relieved): OHHHH! It's just my fart?

Melyssa writes over at The Daze of Us and, we cannot tell a lie, she's awesomely funny. Go visit! Enjoy!

A Natural Planning Birth Story

2011-11-11T07:46:00.001-07:00

mokra/stock.xchng

When Elijah was about 6 months old, I had a long time friend tell me some disturbing information about birth control pills. I spent quite a bit of time doing my own research and came to the same conclusions she did. It was then that I knew God had opened my eyes to this realization for a reason and I could no longer take the pill.

When you've always been on the pill, you're not really concerned with what your body is doing. You just know that your chances of getting pregnant are very slim. I was always told that you don't ovulate when you take birth control pills. One of the things I learned is that's not 100%. In the event that you do ovulate (which is very likely) and an egg does get fertilized, the pill works to make sure that the baby cannot implant in the uterus and survive. I believe life begins at conception and taking a pill that would prevent that life from living was unacceptable.

We knew we wanted to have more kids, so doing something permanent was out of the question. Out of all the options we had, we chose to become educated on Natural Family Planning. We took classes at the local hospital and met with a nurse for the first few months. We were even able to get our insurance company to pay for it (minus our copay). I was in complete amazement of my body and my fertility! This was the first time I was being educated in depth on how my fertility cycle works. This may sound strange, but I was excited about it!

I received a lot of opposition from people when I told them we were doing Natural Family Planning. Most people laughed and joked saying, "You know what they call people who do Natural Family Planning, right? They're called parents!" Those who didn't laugh at me, yelled at me. The nurse at my obgyn was the worst. I couldn't believe how many people were against a natural form of birth control! I was determined to prove them wrong.

It was a leap of faith to give Natural Family Planning a chance. What if I messed up and didn't chart properly? That was my main concern. We weren't ready to get pregnant again yet. If you've read my first two birth stories, then you know I'm pretty fertile. But, I felt educated enough to know what I was doing and trusted that this was the path God wanted us to take.

We did Natural Family Planning successfully for 3 1/2 years to avoid pregnancy. We then used it to get pregnant with baby #3, and did so in the first month we tried. I'd say it works just fine :)

Erin is a Colorado mommy who loves her family is taking an unusual path - even with four kiddos she and her husband are living debt free! She blogs at Life with the Radcliffs.

Paint Chip Matching

2011-11-10T10:20:00.000-07:00

Idea/Photo from http://therigneys.wordpress.com/2011/08/26/toddler-busy-bag-swap/

I am not a crafty person. No doubt about it. In fact, crafts have the potential to make me break out in hives.

I am a bargain hunter and homeschooling mom, however. I've been having constant problems getting outside the work pages box to make things fun for the kiddos.

Last week I saw this link on Pinterest and decided maybe, just maybe I could make this... and I did! And the kids love it!

So, here's how to make your own.

1. Go to the paint section of your local store and select a few paint chips. Get two of each color.

2. Visit the laundry supplies section and get a bag of wooden clothespins. I went to Target and bought mine for $1.50, last night I saw a bag at the Dollar Tree, so it can be pretty inexpensive wherever you go.

3. Cut one of the paint chips to fit the tip of the wooden clothespin and glue the paper to the pin.

4. Watch glue dry.

5. Throw the wooden clothespins into a gallon bag with the untouched paint chips. Let the kids match the colors together... gives them good practice with discerning different colors, manual manipulation, and you may possibly find clothespins attached to their ears and noses, which is always fun.

Cheap, easy, effective and something you can take wherever you go. That's my kind of thing!

JJ is the mom of three girls ages 1, 4, and 5. She is always on the lookout for bargains and things to keep her children from emptying the flour bucket.

Change Your Story

2011-11-08T17:51:00.001-07:00

Photo courtesy of ©iStockphoto.com/btoldi

Michael Hyatt wrote a great post today about the soundtrack that runs in our head. He applied it to business but with just a few tweaks it could be the soundtrack we play in our heads about being moms.

Here's an excerpt... then click on over to his site to read the whole post.

I was in over my head. Or at least that’s the way it felt. I was just waiting for other people to come to the same conclusion.

I struggled constantly with anxiety and fear—anxiety was the daytime version; fear was the nighttime version.

This manifest itself in my body in two embarrassing ways: First, I sweat profusely. Second, my hands were always cold—ice cold.

Read the Rest at Michael Hyatt's website: http://michaelhyatt.com/change-your-story-change-your-life.html

Ben Franklin's Brainchild

2011-11-07T20:11:00.000-07:00

Oh, Daylight Savings Time - Why Do You Hate Me So?!

A decade before I was born several historic events occurred.

The first artificial heart operation was performed.

Walt Disney died.

The U.S. Supreme Court ruled that Miranda rights must be read at every arrest.

David Bowie released his first record.

But why, you may ask, would I be mentioning 1966? Because, my friends, in 1966 something become official that has significant effects on my life right… Now…

Daylight Savings Time.

Benjamin Franklin's little brain child (not quite so useful as electricity) was formalized in the U.S. in 1966 and lives on today to make life difficult for all non-farmers and parents across the country.

Growing up in Arizona and going to graduate school in Indiana, places that don't recognize Daylight Savings Time (although Indiana has since caved to peer pressure. Suckers!), I did not have to mess with clocks every fall and spring until I was a quarter of a century old.

It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks.

It's also hard to help your kids know that in the fall we get a whole extra hour to do what Mama and Papa love best these days… Sleep!

My 3-year-old doesn't get it. She's been waking up an hour early. And when she discovers that no one else is awake she has no problem waking us up, one by one, so that she has company in the pitch black of the pre-dawn world.

It makes me want to cry, beat my chest, and gnash my teeth.

I remind myself that I love my child. And that I was a morning person before I had children. And that I can catch up on sleep when they go to college.

But I still want to cry, beat my chest, and gnash my teeth.

I mentioned to one of my students after teaching class this morning, that I was very exhausted because the kiddo was up way too early.

This gal literally stopped walking and, in all sincerity and with wide eyes, said, "Wow! I didn't realize that you still don't get much sleep after your kids are babies. I thought it was only when they were just born that you don't sleep all night."

This statement made me want to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze. Mostly because I'm jealous of her. I restrained myself and giggled a little at the thought of what other surprises lie in store for her when she has little kiddos of her own.

Mwah-ha-ha!

Daylight Savings Spites Me

2011-11-06T08:08:00.000-07:00

: johnnyberg/stock.xchng

My husband has put a show about larvae on the t.v. It's one of the more disgusting things I've seen in my life.

In order to avoid watching this retardation of all things pretty I'm going to take a few minutes to discuss why Daylight Savings Time is a tool of the Devil.

(That's Devil with a capital "D" rather than devil with a little "d" which equals a slight inconvenience or a term of amazement ie: "what the devil?!")

Last time I checked the U.S. is not a predominantly agricultural society any longer. And, going out on a limb here, even if it were a country ruled by the farmers I think the farmers are smart enough to adjust their business rules without changing the time on every clock in the country (minus Arizona and parts of Indiana.)

No, no. We have this whole Daylight Savings Time thing take place and do you know what happens?

If you're single or minus kids you get an extra hour of sleep. Cool beans.

But if you're a parent you end up with shrieking lessor demons living in your house.

They're tired, they're whining, they're not sure which way is up or if they are potty trained.

There's a week-long lag around Daylight Savings Time that is purely evil. In a perfect world everyone would just take the week off and acclimate in a gentle fashion.

This is not reality. Instead everyone is stressed, tired, and out of whack.

And yet we continue to do it. Maybe someday we'll have more sense.

Does Daylight Savings Time messes with your internal clock? Would you like to move to Arizona to avoid it all?

MOPS Field Guide

2011-11-05T12:29:00.000-07:00

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Yesterday I attended a MOPS meeting.

If you're unfamiliar, MOPS stands for "Mothers of Preschoolers", a.k.a. "The Blind Leading the Blind."

When you attend a MOPS/Blind Leading the Blind meeting, there are a few things to keep in mind:

1. The Food. Oh, the blessed food! Such a wide array of egg-based casseroles and breakfast breads, intermingling with bananas and luscious grapes! At the MOPS food table I eat well and visit often.

And then the day came when I was asked to provide a dish. {cue spooky music}

Suffice to say a mother with small children trying to present a hashbrown casserole ends with a mad dash to the Cracker Barrel and deep sense of shame for this mom of three.

2. The Crafts. I can make a Tooth Fairy Pillow or ice pack bunny with the best of them but it begs the question: when you have a group of people averaging less than four hours of continuous sleep per night, why would you equip them with sharp-pointed needles, hot glue guns or non-blunted scissors?

That's a recipe for a gal going postal, my friends. Madness and Mayhem at MOPS!... the news story practically writes itself!

3. The Company. I've attended MOPS meetings in two states, different regions of the country. (Yep, that's because I just keep producing children. Those preschool years s t r e t c h the more children you have!) My experience with these groups tells me there are three types of MOPS attendees:

First Type: In each group there were the gals who looked fully put together, makeup done, bodies taut from many post-partum work out hours, full of conversations about how they just had their two year old playing Schubert Concertos on the piano for their husband's work friends.

I eye those women with deep suspicion.

Second Type: There are the other moms, the ones with bed head and bad breath, sweatshirt wearing, snot-on-the-shoulder-sporting paragons of motherly virtue. These are the women who are so sleep-deprived they have to think long and hard before answering hard questions like, "What's your name?" and "How many children do you have?"

Handle these gals with care. An offhand comment about potty training could send them over the edge of sanity and cause a floodgate of tears.

Third Type: Here you find the moms with a level head... these are the moms who realize motherhood isn't glamorous but occasionally you find the glamor and hold onto it with both hands. These women probably haven't showered in a few days but managed to put on clean underwear before leaving the house. They come to MOPS to get a short break from full-time childcare, meet other moms in the area, and not have to make breakfast.

These moms realize the fundamental freedom of MOPS: with so many women wandering around recently post-partum and currently pregnant, no one needs to suck their tummy in unless they want to!

That's my take on MOPS - what's yours?

Juggler blogs daily about life, college, and parenting at Stealing Faith. She is the mother of three girls birthed in four years and considers it a major accomplishment when she leaves the house clean and clothed.

Money, Money, Money

2011-11-04T11:41:00.000-07:00

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I was watching Oprah this morning as a good little stay-at-home mom does (actually it's the first episode of watched of that show in months and months but she had chefs on and I love those brilliant people!) and she was doing this show on saving money because of the recession (who really needs a reason to save money though? Well, besides Oprah I mean).

Enough with the parenthesis already, right? Sorry.

Anyway, I always watch those types of money saving shows and read the money saving articles and peruse the money saving books, looking for even more ways to shave the ol' budget.

It's just amazing to me though some of the things they come up with. Stop getting takeout five times a week? Are you joking? Make your own coffee instead of buying a $4 latte every morning? Who does that anyway? Do we really need someone to tell us to downsize the house and cars and entertainment? Seriously?

It boggles my super-thrift mind. I have yet to actually hear about something that could save me some bucks (except for those coupon cutting ladies who basically get their groceries for free: that still confuses me too much to try).

(Oops, more paranthesis.)

I have been cheap, cheap, cheap since I was a kid. Here's are some excerpts from my diary I kept as an eight year old in case you don't believe me:

7-3-86
'Today we went to the bank and I put in $11.17! Now I have $88.17!'

...and 6-14-86
'I am going to buy a colt from Jim and Carolyn for $153! It's a very good buy!'

...and 7-6-86
'I bought my cousin, Cacie, a bear from Ron's Box Store for $3.'

...and 9-23-86
'I got the cutest clip board from BiMart for .88! And a whole bunch of shoes for Barbie for .89!'

I could go on and on, but you get the drift and it's somewhat embarrassing besides.

I am the woman who has a drawer full of used ziplocks that I shake the crumbs out of and save, pieces of aluminum foil that I fold into nice symmetrical squares and reuse, and yup, even the twist ties get a second and third and forty-eleventy life at my house.

Lately it's the paper towels. Did you know they are totally not kidding about Brawny?! You really can rinse them and reuse them! I know! This is exciting stuff. Except for those of you who are so bored you're drooling on the computer right now.

The only problem is, no one else in my house does this, so I'm chasing kids around yelling, 'Don't throw that away! I can rinse off the egg and spilled juice and snot and we can use that paper towel to wash your face!'

For some reason, this does not thrill my kids the way it does me. I had visions and daydreams about never buying another roll of paper towels again. Alas. It was not meant to be, but at least they're bought less often.

I have had a job and a checking account since I was eight. I really did buy that horse. All with my own money and then I fed and sheltered him all with my own money for years. Then I sold him to pay for pointe shoes and tutus.

Oh, and that job I had as an eight year old? Some do-gooder turned me into Child Protective Services. For crying out loud. I was seriously annoyed. Laid off before the age of ten.

I am obsessed with thrift stores and flea markets and garage sales. If I kept a diary today it would be full of all my good buys and written on Brawny paper towels. I wear shoes from the boy's department because they fit better and are half the price of woman's tennies.

Besides the paper towel debacle, I wash plastic forks and spoons and reuse them for years. I drove my sister nuts when I was pregnant because she would bring over plastic table wear so I wouldn't have to wash it and thus save me some work. Then I'd load it all up in my dishwasher and she'd stare at me and say, 'I don't think you get the point...'

If it gets cold in my house, I toss everyone a blanket, cuz they're paid for. I am also the woman who will go to three different groceries so I can get the best buys on absolutely everything. Cheese at Safeway, canned foods at WalMart, coffee at Big Lots, clearance produce at King Soopers, etc. Of course I probably use more gas that way, but don't rain on my parade, ok?

The vast majority of my clothing is used and when Mike told me he didn't want to wear a shirt I bought him because I bought it used, back when we were dating, I almost broke up with him right then and there. I tell my kids they can have a new pair of jeans when they stop growing or when they get a job, whichever comes first.

We smuggle in our own candy and drinks to the $1 theater and although I don't plan on stopping, I do recall Cora being about 5 years old and telling me, 'Don't worry, Mommy, if the theater police ask me why I have this stuff, I'll just tell them I am allergic to their stuff!'

Maybe I am turning my kids into desperados, instead of teaching them that money doesn't grow on trees. You mean your children don't have nightmares about being chased by theater police? Oh well, with the cash I save through the years I'll have enough to pay for their therapy.

Lest you think I have it all figured out (what? you weren't thinking that? the drool is getting out of control and you're thinking about that instead?) I don't. We live check to check; such is the life and sacrifice of a stay-at-home mom. Mike is waiting patiently for the day when I pull out my secret brain surgeon degree and yell, "Surprise!" but until then, my love, it's recycled paper goods and dinners called 'goulash.' That's a fancy word for 'whatever's in the crisper drawer mixed with some eggs and a half a box of pasta.' Recipe to follow? No? Your loss.

I know I'm not the only one, people! Let me know how you can rival me in the thrift department!

Melyssa originally posted this in March 2009 - but it's still funny toady. huh?! She blogs regularly at The Daze of Us and has become an expert at making people laugh!

Garlic Overload

2011-11-03T22:38:00.001-07:00

nkzs/stock.xchng

A Note About Perfume While Pregnant

For a few days I started to smell an odor I hadn’t noticed before. I’d give it a slight thought and flippantly go back to work, thinking one of my co-workers had forgotten their deodorant or had too much garlic the night before.

In our open and clean workspace of cubicles, all smells had to draft from an individual. The cleaners left the open area spic and span after their late night rendezvous.

The lingering smell persistently stayed past a week but, oddly, I noticed it once I’d gotten to work, cleaned and showered. I smelled my long tresses of red hair and sniffed my armpits when no one was looking. No signs of body odor.

More perplexed than ever, the smell continued to follow me.

Days turned into weeks and my co-workers enjoyed the light banter that this expecting mama was going crazy.

One morning in our office that annoying odor floated back into my senses. I’d had it; not again. I sniffed my hair, my pits, my clothes; finally looking at my co-workers and saying, “Do you smell garlic?

"I don’t smell anything out of the norm," they said, and good-naturedly chuckled and made pregnant jabs, yet again. My supervisor leaned over and said, “All I smell is heavy perfume.”

A light went off!

I sprayed “Pink” from Gap on my wrist and neck every morning before work. Many of my sweaters carried the light lingering of citrus, as I’d wear my cardigans more than once before throwing them in the wash. That made complete sense. It was the only smell that followed me even on days I didn’t spray.

As soon as I stopped wearing pink and washed my clothes, lovely waftings of garlic stopped comin’ a callin’. Thank goodness!

I wish I could say I have recovered and my favorite womanly scent is now wearable. Sorry ladies; I still smell garlic whenever I’m graced with “Pink.”

And, even now that I am not pregnant, I still loath the smell of garlic! Ughhh, garlic! Fresh garlic; not in my house. Garlic powder, in light doses, is about all I can handle.

I no longer wear perfume and highly recommend that if you have a favorite scent; do not ever, by any means, for any reason, even for a special occasion, ever, ever wear it while you are pregnant! You will only be disappointed to find another one of your favorite pleasures is not wearable with your new, oddly shaped body.

Kelly is a recent mommy of one and loving every minute of it. Her Savior, husband and little girl are the delight of each new day. Every unpredictable morning and moment only make life more precious. Editor of the blog, “Abiding.”

Watered Down Challenge

2011-11-02T21:58:00.003-07:00

Ale_Paiva/stock.xchng

Let's face it. After popping out three kids and living off a diet of Coca-Cola and Goldfish crackers, it's unlikely the bulge of fat in my middle is going to disappear because I wave my fork in the air like a magic wand and speak, "Begone!"

There is such injustice in the world.

So, in honor of the changing of the seasons, the departing of October and with a spirit of thankfulness I am trying something new.

I'll call it the Watered Down Challenge.

Many moons ago, before I had even one small sprout to call my own, a lady told me she lost all her baby weight by drinking 32 ounces of water first thing in the morning, before anything else.

It makes me a little shaky to think of postponing my morning caffeine hit but I've decided to do it.

This morning I gulped down a humongous glass of water before anything else.

And guess what? I didn't die!

I may have even enjoyed feeling a little more "clean" all day, if that makes any sense at all.

The sad truth is I'm probably going to have to dust off the Pilates dvd before the lard baby disappears but I'm going to start with the water challenge and see if those extra 15 pounds can be washed away.

Wanna join me? Let me know and we'll encourage each other along the journey!

Juggler is a daily blogger over at www.StealingFaith.com where she writes about her three daughters, three dogs, charming husband and living life among chaos.

This Is A Story About Worms

2011-11-02T16:51:00.001-07:00

“All you have to say is: this is a story about worms.”

So. This is a story about worms.

I spent most of the day on the phone because I have a deeply-seated desire to have a polka-dotted pattern across my ear lobe.

Not really, it just seemed everyone I wanted to talk to was long distance. I wore my cell phone battery out twice. I’m an overachiever like that.

So, I have to admit that I put a movie on for the ruffians to watch while I hid in the bathroom to have my conversations.

It’s not a proud moment, but I bet I’m not the only mother who has hidden behind a shower curtain in an attempt to evade the search and destroy team of their children.

I talked and talked and talked and talked and when I finished I found out the movie had ended and the t.v. had gone back to its regularly scheduled programs.

The channel: TLC.

The show: Something about unexplained medical mysteries.

Let me take a moment to state that, with a few exceptions, TLC is not an appropriate channel for the preschool demographic.

While I love me some 19 Kids and Counting and Jon and Kate plus Eight (of the past) just as much as the next mama, and What Not To Wear and Say Yes To The Dress are pretty innocuous, there are also the shows that are just a little too, ahem, real.

Which is why my friend’s six-year-old can tell you every single thing about the birthing process and when I say “every single thing” I mean every single thing. They’ve watched one Baby Story too many.

So, today my kiddos learned about worms.

Specifically about worms that were living under the skin of some unfortunate lady.

From what Uno tells me, this woman was attached to her worms and called them her friends.

“She loved the worms!” Uno said, with a gleam in her eye and dimple showing. She’s lisping a little bit because she’s missing her front teeth. “She even named them!”

Uno continued to give me the gory details of the doctor who was shocked to see a worm wiggle away from his inspection and how he caught it and “pulled out a worm, it was like five inches or something!”

“And the lady, she kept yelling, ‘My friends! My friends!’ and then, do you know what she did then?!”

Uno was intense in her retelling.

I said no.

“She said, ‘Those worms need DIRT! Give ‘em dirt!’.” This was the climax of the story. I laughed out loud as I rued the knowledge my kids have been exposed to a show I would NOT normally ok for them because I’d been hiding in the shower.

I told Uno I was going to write about the worms and her excitement over the t.v. in this post.

She nodded in approval and held up her finger as I got off the sofa to find my computer and start typing.

“Remember, Mommy, all you have to say is: This is a story about worms.”

So that’s what I’ve done. Hope you liked our story about worms.

What are your favorite TLC programs? Have you ever had a similar experience?

Flights of Fancy

2011-11-02T16:50:00.001-07:00

I was followed home from San Diego by red, flashing lights.

It was embarrassing. I hope it never happens again.

The lights said, “Mommy Fail!”

Uno lost her fourth front tooth while we were away this weekend. She crept up to my bed at about 1 am and said, “Mommy, I lost my tooth! What do I do?”

Since she startled me to awake by whispering this about 3 centimeters from my face I had a few immediate recommendations of what she could do that wouldn’t be fit to say out loud, much less put in print.

But I woke up, congratulated her for getting out the nasty little tooth that had hung by a sinew for a few days, cockeyed and graying, and got out of bed to take the tooth to the bathroom. I put it by the faucet handle and assured her we would put it under her pillow for the tooth fairy when we got home, because that’s where the Tooth Fairy would be looking for her tooth (not in a hotel room in another state!).

(It might be fair to mention the stockpile of gold dollar coins are at home and most stores where you can get a gold coin are closed at oh my goodness in the morning.)

So we put the tooth by the sink and went back to bed.

The next morning we woke up, got packed and went to the beach. It was awesome, we watched some fighter jets take off and land and generally had an excellent time.

About 45 minutes after checking out of the hotel Uno said, “Mommy! Did you get my tooth?!”

And the blood began to pound in my ears, my stomach sank, and my legs went rubbery. Because, NO, I LEFT THE TOOTH ON THE SINK. AT THE HOTEL. IN ANOTHER STATE.

Epic Mommy Fail.

Lizard recovered. “It’s ok, we can leave a note for the Tooth Fairy under your pillow with the address for the hotel. She’s fast and can fly to San Diego to get your tooth, then fly back home to give you your coin!”

Uno was satisfied. Later a friend called and she talked to him on the phone:

“Guess what! I lost my tooth! But we left it in the hotel by the sink. But Daddy told me the Tooth Fairy can fly to get it and that will be fine and Daddy’s an honest man so I know that’s how it will be.”

and i died a little inside as my moral compass began to spin uncontrollably.

Since then things have only gotten worse.

Uno wants to make sure we use a small piece of paper for the note because the Tooth Fairy is so small. I only had 8.5×11 paper available so I told her the Tooth Fairy could open any size piece of paper because she used her wand to open it.

Uno wants to be sure she can read the note. I told her the Tooth Fairy was fluent in all languages and able to read letters of any size.

Uno asked how all of this can be possible. “Where does the magic come from?” she asked.

And the lies, the lies! They just kept dripping from my lips!

I committed sacrilege.

“God gives the Tooth Fairy magic. It’s special, just for her.” I’m lying to my child about the Tooth Fairy and now I’m bringing God into the equation.

“Oh, just like Santa Claus? ‘Cause God gives Santa Claus magic powers for his bag and his reindeer.”

“Uh huh.” I’m remembering all the times I said, We Don’t Lie. We Aren’t a Family That Lies. We Tell The Truth Even When It’s Hard.

“Yeah, I figured. God, Jesus, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, they’re all related and have magic power. But God is best,” Uno continued, completely oblivious to my internal distress.

“Um, sure. God’s the strongest.”

I was not intending to have a crisis of faith about the Tooth Fairy, but there you have it. What do YOU tell your kids about the Tooth Fairy?! (Or what were you told by your parents and how old were you when you figured it out?)

I'm Famous! And Alive!

2011-11-02T16:49:00.003-07:00

I went to MOPS today.

Uno believes that means I went to a church and mopped the floors. Because we all know how much I love to clean and everything.

On the way I almost killed myself by turning the wrong way down a one way street. I started to hyperventilate and might have lost control of bodily function when I saw a blue 4×4 truck coming straight at me.

I two-wheeled Stella into an alley and survived the head-on collision, only to discover my alley was a bit too petite for Stella’s broad Suburban frame. It was kind of like the first time you try on pre-pregnancy jeans after giving birth. You can squish and squirm, squeal and squash and get the zipper pulled up but then you can’t breath and your over-riding thought is, “Please, for the love of Jesus, please get me out of here!!!”

I think Stella needs to go on a diet but she’s already drinking unleaded fuel so I’m just not sure where to go from here.

Anyway, it was an exciting morning. Then I came home and it got even more exciting because I discovered I’ve won an award.

Well, maybe it’s not an award as much as it’s a recognition. I don’t fully understand it, but it seems there’s a destructive dog who likes to read. Or maybe he’s not totally destructive, just super sensitive to monsoon season and has an owner who writes about it.

(And, well, I certainly know about dogs who have special needs.)

Anyway, Bongo over at bongodogblog.wordpress.com thinks StealingFaith is pretty special and I’m not going to disagree. And I’m going to play the same game to pass the love on.

Here are the rules:

To pick up the awards you should:

Thank and link to the person who nominates you.
Share seven random facts about yourself.
Pass the award to five more blogger friends.
Contact and congratulate the blogs nominated.

Here come the seven random facts:

1. I was born with 11 toes. My parents had the extra toe on my right foot cut off at birth, something I’ve been forever grateful about. Actually, it was more of an extra lump of skin. (“And I discovered it was my twin…” whoops, slipped into My Big Fat Greek Wedding there for a minute.)

2. I think sugar snap peas are awesome and cauliflower is the vegetable of Satan.

3. If I could go anywhere in the world right now, it would be Malta. It’s a fabulous island nation and it’s beautiful. Plus, they speak English there which is a big plus if you’re monoligual.

4. I think Tinkerbell dresses like a tramp and has authority issues.

5. My dream car is a Toyota 4Runner or a Nissan Armada.

6. I carry a bottle of Lawry’s Season Salt in the glove compartment of the car so I can salt my McDonald’s french fries to perfection.

7. I smoked my first cigarette when I was 16 years old on Ogden Ranch Road. I bought the pack from a hotel vending machine and it didn’t agree with me. Then I was mad I had spent the money.

Now… my blog recognition awards go to:

Big Mama. I just love her and she does these Fashion Friday Editions that I pretty much ignore because I just want to hear her complain about the Texas heat, her bangs, and her husband’s hunting infatuation. When I’m not feeling funny, I read this blog and it perks me right up.

There’s More to Life Than Sleep. I actually know this writer personally, we toilet papered neighborhood houses together as youngsters. She’s funny. And I like her.

Because I Said So. So… Dawn has six children, a hilarious writing style, and has made $1,000 selling a baseball on eBay because she’s just that amazing of a writer. You should check her out!

StoryofJudson.com This blog isn’t full of humor. In fact, it’s started because their son, Judson, died of a rare disorder far too early. But the blog tells about Judson and how his parents are living with his loss, working through the whole issue, and just being. It’s a huge encouragement to me. But I also cry sometimes when I stop by.

It’s Almost Naptime. Confessions of A Homeschooler. Rants from Mommyland. I have only recently discovered these blogs but I’ve been really enjoying them. Maybe you will, too!

So, there you have it. Let me know what you think of my favorites!