Helen Jane explains, "Back when I was 22 , I wrote a list of exactly what I wanted out of a husband. Someone who would play guitar to our kids was number one on the list." … Mission accomplished, HJ!

For a couple more shots of James, and a poll about whether I should keep featuring DILFs, keep reading!

And now I want to know what you think:

Me and his dad (now my husband) got together just after my son's 2nd Birthday. I had NEVER dated a guy before who had a child, nor had I seriously thought about how it would be to date a guy with a child. He only had his son T every other weekend, so I figured it would be like any other guy … only every other weekend, instead of it being just me and my guy, it would be me, my guy, and his son. No biggy.

A couple years went by and an incident came up where my husband got primary custody of his son (…long story!). So, T came to live with him full time. This turned BOTH our worlds upside down. This new way of life was new for all of us — T's mother (my husband's ex wife), me, and my husband had to adjust — and it was hard.

I eventually moved in with my husband to help him out. He worked early in the morning so I would get T up in the morning, get him dressed and take him to daycare, since I worked too. Boy, let me tell you how hard that was. I became a full time mom with a blink of an eye.

Did I adjust fast? Hell no! … and neither did T. He went from having his real mom there 24/7 to having someone he only saw every other weekend there taking care of him. It was hard for both of us. I had no idea what it would be like taking care of someone else's child and didn't know how challenging it would be once he was here every day.

But eventually we began to bond, and we started getting into a routine. I married his dad, and eventually got pregnant, and T became a big brother. We became a family. T is almost 7 now.

Having a non-biological son is difficult. But I have support. I have my husband and T's mom (my husbands ex). They play a big role in helping raise him, even though T's mom only sees him every other weekend. I can honestly say I am friends with my husbands ex, which is a blessing because most ex's (from what I've experienced) do not get a long with their ex's significant others.

She and I are very civil, we talk at T's soccer games and when he comes home from her house on the weekends. We don't hang out or anything, but we aren't haters either. I am very blessed to have her in T's life.

The reason I say it takes a village to raise a stepson is because there is lots of emotional baggage that comes with divorce, with parents separating. It's not easy for a child to comprehend why mommy and daddy aren't "together" still. It's hard to explain to a child at such a young age that mommy and daddy just didn't get along and weren't meant to be together because they fought all the time.

Children's hearts are so innocent they don't understand hate, or anger or separation. Which is why it takes a village — everyone plays a role in seeing that this child grows up in a loving environment. Most stories Ive heard of divorced families are very negative. And I can honestly say we aren't one of those families.

I love my stepson. I'm not sure if he loves me … he doesn't say it, but he respects me, which is a form of love in my eyes. Of course there are times when we butt heads (because hes just as stubborn as his father) but every parent will experience that with their child biological or not. He is a great big brother and my son loves him so much.

Some of you may remember Jesse Bartke's post about he-nesting as he waited for his son. Here's his partner Ashby's story of their water birth!

Ashby and Jesse welcome their son, Miles

"You look beautiful when you’re in labor,” I heard my midwife say from somewhere far away. Looking back now, I wish I had been present enough to thank her, to smile or to even recognize that I heard her words. I did hear them, somehow, from the soft blue place I floated. I heard them but they hovered somewhere outside me, like the lights and the noises in the hallway and everything except my belly and my breath and the water.

I floated through my labor, literally and figuratively. I spent seven hours in a big round tub, making my own waves as each contraction made waves through my body. I rolled sideways and clung to the edge and kicked against the pain and swayed in the wake and then floated again. I sank deeper and deeper into the water, into the tub and into myself as my baby kicked hard to come to the surface and I dove down to meet him.

On “land” while I waited for my cervix to dilate enough to get into the tub (5 cm), I had paced the floor and rocked on the edge of the bed, breathing hard and finally seeking refuge in the hospital shower, where I closed my eyes and pretended I was swimming. I moved quickly, racing the pain in my bare feet and hospital gown, mentally urging my uterus to contract, murmuring “open, open” to my cervix each time another contraction swelled.

I knew, somehow, that the water would make everything right, so I begged my body to move faster, to get me in that tub! My husband knew it too, and reminded the nurses often that I wanted the water. I felt strong and tough, maybe too much so. I fought against each contraction, struggling to find a way to bend my tense muscles around the pain.

Finally it was time to get into the water. Immediately my body melted, and instead of tightening against the waves, the rest of my muscles were soft and weightless and all I had to focus on was my womb, the center of everything.

Without having to think, I found the right way to breathe through each contraction and then, the moment that I suddenly knew breathing wasn’t enough anymore, to hum and then to moan and then to scream. I didn’t have to choose these things – it wasn’t about being brave or tough, it was just about being, period. The water showed me that right away.

From the moment I lowered myself into the water, my memory is a blur of murmured conversations and gentle hands and cranberry juice. I floated in an incredibly private place, naked in the water in a room full of people. I was barely aware of the things going on around me – my husband pouring warm water over me (and accidentally squirting my with the icy faucet), the nurses checking the baby’s heartbeat, my midwife whispering “she looks like the quintessential woman in labor, look how she floats in it!” It all found its way to my hormone-drunk brain, but by the time it got there it was diluted, dimmed and not very important anymore. I was somewhere else, somewhere primitive and dark and wet.

Why hello there, Miles!

When I finally met my boy, I lifted him out of the water with pruned hands, and he opened his eyes and looked at me, and we were both surprised to find ourselves on land.

What's so great about this project is that you can use materials around your house as the backdrop boxes: old jewelry boxes, shoe boxes, scraps of paper, ribbon, decorative paper and any ephemera you have laying around from your little kiddo's life so far. They can be as gigantic or as teeny as you want, and would be a great piece of art to hang above a crib or nursery table.

I' m just in love with the simple color and visual appeal of this project. The options are endless, the result is CA-UTE y'all! Simply divine.

PSSST: She has a long list of original DIYs and an adorable shop populated with kid and babe accessories that are making me SQUEE!

While I think it's kinda weird to dress your kids like mini-me ALL the time … sometimes it's super cute. My husband and my daughter own matching orange crinolines, for instance.

This in mind, I bring you Supersweet Creations and their cute matching tie shirts. While the picture is of Dad and son (a hottie dad, at that!), I see no reason why Mom and spawn couldn't wear the tie shirts and look cute, too.

While were staying gender unbiased, lets also check out these cool retro apron sets for kid-and-parent cooking adventures from  Aprilforshee!

And as long as your still here, go look at the matching tutu set offered at TheGirlyPlace.

The program also included some relaxation exercises that felt gimmicky, with lines like, "You can feel yourself becoming twice as relaxed." I kept thinking, so what's twice as much feel like? What about ten times more relaxed? What about 8 to the 12th power more relaxed?

Oh, and the music on the included CD was stereotypical twinkly new age stuff.

BUT! Despite our dubiousness, Andreas and I were both immediately recognized that the concepts and methods were going to be super valuable. It makes a lot of sense to me that anxiety and fear of pain are some of the biggest mental blocks in natural childbirth, and I know from personal experience that when I'm dealing with fear and anxiety, focusing on my breath is the best thing I can do for myself. It's not really hypnosis — it's just breathwork. Meditation, really.

So while I knew right away that hypnobirthing wasn't really about hypnosis, it took me a while to recognize that it's not really about birthing either.

Ok, let me back up. What is hypnobirthing? Basically, the program is just a series of scripts of guided meditations that you use during your pregnancy and labor. Ideally, your labor partner reads you the hypnobirthing scripts, but there are also CDs that you can use if your partner isn't into it. The idea is that through the use of relaxing music and these scripts, you can keep yourself in a calm, meditative state during your labor, better managing your pain and having a smoother natural birth experience.

So if it's just breathing exercises and guided meditation, why do they call it "hypnosis"? My theory is that the author doesn't want to scare away people who might balk at the words "meditation" or "yoga." Hypnobirthing is yoga breathwork for the mainstream; focused meditation that you can buy at the strip mall. I mean, it was on Dr. Phil and Good Morning America for godsake!

I doubted that Hypnobirthing would result in the "PAIN FREE BIRTH" that the hypnobirthing(tm) marketing materials claimed. But the way I saw it, focusing on grounded breathing exercises was an excellent practice for me regardless of the eventual outcome during labor. So while I hoped it would make the delivery process smoother, I recognized that my monkey brain could benefit from focused breathing.

I started doing the breathing exercises at night during my second trimester to help myself fall back asleep after getting up 6+ times a night to pee … and lemme tell ya, that shit worked LIKE A CHARM. Usually, my midnight wake-ups would find me spiraling into a brain-warp of little anxieties and fretting over work or the pregnancy. But thanks to the twinkly new age music that I thought I'd hate, I was able to reign my brain in and focus on my breath. I almost always fell back asleep within five minutes or so. I still woke up a million times a night, but I really did fall back to sleep quickly. I mostly used my own little mantra to follow my breath: Breathe, release. Breathe, release.

When, at 37 weeks pregnant, I tried doing External Cephalic Version to flip my stubbornly breech baby, I used the hypnobirthing methods to stay calm and focused through the 20 minutes of the doctor digging his hands into my belly and trying to wrestle the baby into position.

When it was clear the Version had failed and I would not be having the natural childbirth I wanted, I used the hypnobirthing methods to stay calm. There are those that say the mother's state of mind influences the fetus, and I didn't want my anxiety over a breech presentation and a hospital birth to stress out the fetus. Breathing, breathing. I just kept breathing.

And when I ultimately ended up with the most sterile, medicalized hospital birth imaginable, I used my hypnobirthing breathwork to stay focused and centered through all the beeping and fluorescent lights and masked medical workers. Spinal anesthesia? Breathe, release. Breathe, release. The eerie sensation of my numbed lower body being sliced open and jacked around as they pulled the baby out? Breathe, release. Breathe, release. The nausea that came when the doctors pulled my uterus out of my body to sew it up? Breathe, release.

It wasn't the natural childbirth that I'd prepared for, but there was no denying that the hypnobirthing helped.

And in the months since Tavi's birth? Waking up at 3am for the third nursing of the night, trying to fall back asleep … breathe, release. Breathe, release. It still helps me fall back to sleep easily. In the moments when he's inconsolable, despite being nursed, changed, swaddled, and snuggled? Breathe, release. Breathe, release. The breathing helps me stay calmer. (Not always calm. But calmer.)

So, while I don't think hypnobirthing is hypnosis, and I didn't use it in the context of natural childbirth, it was definitely beneficial to my pregnancy, birth, and even parenthood.

Thanks to Monroe's Dragonfly for submitting this gorgeous shot to the Offbeat Mama pool!

This tutorial is actually ultra simple and uses just a few inexpensive crafting supplies that you may already have laying around: felt, buttons, embroidery hoops, yarn, needle and thread. And don't stop at flowers… think of spaceship shapes, circles and triangles, bugs and birds, monsters, jungle animals. There are just SO MANY possibilities!

And really, this mobile could be used for anyone anywhere. Felt fruit shaped mobile in the kitchen? Yes please! A more grown-up felt planet mobile for your big boy's room? Uhhh.. YEAH. And this craft does double duty as a project your little guys and gals could actually help with.

Thanks to Holly, for sharing this rad and super funkin' easy DIY mobile. Please, Offbeat Mama readers, if you make this sweet little baby mobile SHARE YOUR PICTURES! We can't wait to feast our eyes on more variations and colors of this baby beauty.

Congrats to Jess, who left comment #129 on the Glittersniffer giveaway! Jess, check your email.

For the rest of you, although I only had one pack of sparkly eye dust to give away, Glittersniffer's Etsy store is STUFFED with colors (she's introduced some new ones just in the last week!) and she's got a great package where you can order 6 colors for only $25 — which gets 'em down to about $4.50/pot. (I know what I'm doing this afternoon…)

Tell Lela Offbeat Mama sencha — now go git glittery!

Jenah Crump Photography

Last Friday, while at drop-in gymnastics, Oliver and I had stopped at the water fountain to get a much-needed drink of water. (I am aware that any germ haters in the audience are starting to get a little squirmy here). After Oliver was done his drink, I found myself starting into the face of a (really cute) silent little urchin (we'll call him Timmy), who seemed to be indicating that he needed me to hold the fountain button for him. So I asked Timmy (the little imp) if this was indeed the case. Timmy nodded so dramatically that I thought he must be dying of thirst. I started to hold the button down.

Just as little Timmy was bowing his head to drink, I hear from behind me a loud and (I'm not even exaggerating here) prolonged:

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I turn to see a mother-figure running towards us, practically mowing down little children in her way, a look of total and abject horror on her face. I, of course stopped what I was doing, afraid that the kid had some deathly allergy to water or something. Breathing heavily, the mother looked at little Timmy sternly: "we DON'T like water fountains," she said, before leading the little tyke a few feet away. She then pulled out a bottle of Purell and wiped little Timmy's water fountain-y hands off and gave him a sippy cup to quench his thirst. But not before looking at me like I was the most stupid and disgusting person ever to walk the planet.

The subject of germs seems to split parents into two factions. The ones who care (note here: the ones who care, generally seem to REALLY care), and the ones who are more, well, meh. You can probably already which camp I fall into. Meh.

I feel that I should point out here, that I know that there are germs in water fountains. Lots of 'em. Yes, I'm sure you could even get Hepatitis A, or something equally unfun. But you could also get Hepatitis A from eating in a restaurant. I like eating in restaurants. And every now and again, I like to drink from a water fountain. And so does Oliver.

While we are on the topic of germs, I also feel compelled to admit that I (and consequently my children) are lackadaisical hand washers. Yes, I'm trying to teach them to wash their hands after they pee, etc. But if we're out and about, you won't catch me wiping their hands with a bottle of Purell or diaper wipes.

I, for one, would rather my kids ingest a little park dirt (even dog poo tinged park dirt) than have them ingest say: Ethyl Alcohol, Isopropyl Alcohol, Carbomer, Tocopheryl Acetate, Glycerin, Propylene Glycol, Isopropyl Myrisate, which are the main ingredients in Purell. Or Propylene Glycol, Methylparaben, Propyl Paraben, Disodium Cocamphodiacetate, Polysorbate 20, and last but not least 2-Bromo-2-nitropropane-1,3-diol, which are commonly found ingredients found in baby wipes.

Call me crazy, but I'm feeding my kids dirt and pond scum and yes, even dog poop, before I'm feeding them 2-Bromo-2-nitropropane-1,3-diol. Because substances with names that have numbers and hyphens and are virtually unpronounceable do not belong in children. Hell, now that I've taken the time to write all of those ingredients down, I'm quite certain they don't even belong on my kid's asses. I'll take my chances with the dirt and grime and grossness from nature (and, I will admit somewhat sheepishly, from my house), thank you very much.

To tell you the truth, though, even if there were an all natural, perfectly edible hand sanitizer, I'd still probably let my kids eat the dirt. For one, I'd forget. I'm awfully absent minded about those sorts of things. And for another. I just don't care that much. And there it is, my dirty little secret. My kids get dirty. They probably eat dirt. They live in a usually dirty house that hasn't (and won't) see any antibacterial lotions or washes of wipes or sprays). I hose 'em down occasionally (along with the house). And you know what? They're pretty healthy little buggers. Almost never sick. So it seems to be working alright.

My partner's grandpa used to say "you gotta eat a pound of dirt before you die."

Now that's a philosophy I can get behind.