The Dirty Mommy Club

Mother's Day

2012-04-25T12:42:00.005-04:00

This Mother's Day, I'm working with Clever Girls in support of Macy's Heart of Haiti to shine a light on the "trade, not aid" program, which provides sustainable income to Haitian artisans struggling to rebuild their lives and support their families after the 2010 earthquake.

I grew up in the ‘70’s. A pretty average childhood really. My Mom, who quit nursing school to marry my Dad and stay home with my brother and I, my Dad, who was the sole provider for our family, our three bedroom house in a little neighbourhood, our one car, our one television, and my little brother.

No travelling around the world, we had homemade meals and clothes compliments of my Mom, but we didn’t know the difference. We played in our sandbox, we rode our bikes in the street, we played in the ‘woods’ near our house until the street lights came on. All was good. And then it wasn’t.

When I was nine, my parents divorced. We had to move and learn to live as a different family unit. Things weren’t easy, and in retrospect, I’m not sure how we did it. But we did.

My Mom started working more, as she was now the provider. Our Grandma was around more to help out. And sooner than later, we settled into a new routine. A new unit.

Fast forward thirty some years, and I’m a married Mom of three. Somewhere between then and now, I have learned a few things. I have learned that the greatest gifts I have ever been given are my children. I have learned that the greatest gift my Mom ever gave me was herself. I have learned that our biggest choice is the method in which we choose to react to situations. And I have learned the true meaning of love. Love for my children, of course, but a new level of love for my Mom.

My Mom taught me how to be a loving Mom, a forgiving Mom, a patient Mom, a nurturing Mom, a crafty Mom, a stay at home Mom, a career tracking Mom. And that is a gift I can never fully repay.

I love you Mom. Happy Mother’s Day. xoxoxoxo

Thank you to Macy's Heart of Haiti for sponsoring my participation in this “Share Your Heart" promotion. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions expressed here are my own.

'Dem Bones

2012-03-21T16:32:00.002-04:00

I have what most would call an 'athletic build'. That's a nice way to say 'she's not skinny'.

I have always wanted to be a size six, five foot ten girl, but my gene pool scoffed and said 'keep dreaming'. Thus, I'm a five foot six girl with some muscle.

My daughters had the luck of the genetic draw, pulling mostly my physical attributes. Not my husband's beautiful thick hair, full lips, or fast metabolism. That, of course, was all saved for our son.

While I don't think there are two more beautiful little girls on the planet, I know, at some point, they will doubt their beauty. It's a terrible thing because, as children, they are self assured and unaware of their bodies being about anything else other than playing.

The other night, while on the potty, my oldest daughter looked down at her thighs. Because she isn't tall enough to have her feet touch the ground, her legs dangled and her thighs were squished against the toilet seat. I am all too aware of my own thighs, and am determined not to pass on my body insecurities to her.

As she gazed down at them, she said 'look how big my femur bone is Mommy. Short, but big'.

I smiled, choking back the laughter, and agreed with her statement. And now, thanks to my big girl, I think of my thighs are just having big femur bones.

Cheers Dirties.

Sucker? Why Yes I Am

2012-03-14T09:54:00.002-04:00

Give me any kind of candy, and I will chew it. Hard candy, chocolate, gummy candy, it doesn't matter. I'm even that annoying person you can hear chewing a popsicle.

Whatever the reason, I'm always the first person done eating my treat, and then spend the next five minutes picking it out of my teeth. My dentist continually reminds me that I have extremely good oral genes, as I do eat a lot of candy and have yet to have a cavity.

Easter is coming up, so I have started stocking treats for the bunny to deliver Easter morning. This poses a bit of a problem. First, there is the whole 'hiding the goods' thing so that the kids don't find the stash. Second, there is the 'I won't eat the chocolate' charade I play with myself. And finally, one chocolate egg is the equivalent of having a four year old finish her dinner or a two year old pee on the potty. It's like these eggs were laid by the golden goose herself.

Yesterday was a particularly trying day with my kids. I am so happy with my decision to not return to work and stay home with my kids. A bad day with my kids is better than a good day at the office. But that's not to say that they lack the ability to wear me down. By the time dinner rolled around, I was pretty tapped out.

Cue dinner time battle. The kids were tired and not entirely happy that their dinner involved peas.

Cue chocolate egg. I placed one chocolate egg in front of each child and told them that if they finished their dinner, they would get to eat the egg.

Given the day I had, I was proud of the fact that I had not consumed the entire bag of chocolate and that there was still vodka in the house. But I had eaten my dinner, so I peeled the foil off of an egg and popped it in my mouth. The chocolately goodness was unmistakable.

Just as I geared to sink my teeth into it, Ella shouted 'Suck it Mommy!'

And that just about sums up my day.

Cheers Dirties.

I'm Outta Here

2012-03-07T10:48:00.002-05:00

I did something today that scared the shit out of me and elated my heart simultaneously. I quit my job.

Due to a whole list of circumstances I won't bother you with, the Hubster and I decided that not returning to my job would be in the best interest of our family.

So there you have it.

Cash donations will now be accepted.

Cheers Dirties.

Unmentionables

2012-02-29T10:36:00.001-05:00

You'd never know it by the seventeen loads of laundry I do every Saturday, but my kids spend the majority of their time playing at home in only their underwear. Whenever they get a chance, they strip off their clothes and go about their business.

This happens so often, in fact, that we had to implement a couple of rules. The first rule is that they are not allowed to leave the house without clothing. The second rule is they must wear clothes in the house when we have company.

Yesterday morning we were neither heading out the door, nor expecting company, so naturally my kids were strutting their stuff in their unmentionables. I take as many pictures as I can of them playing in their underwear in an effort to build a substantial blackmail case against them in the event they turn into asshole teenagers. Regardless of my motives, they were playing, they weren't clothed.

It was a beautiful afternoon, so I announced that we would be heading outside to play after lunch. This of course entailed getting dressed. Prior to getting dressed, I change diapers, do potty breaks, and so on. Ella took advantage of going to the bathroom unencumbered, washed up her hands, walked back into her room, and sneezed.

Not just any sneeze. If I had not witnessed it, I would have thought her sneeze to be that of a four hundred pound man with sleep apnea, not a four year old girl. It was huge. So big, in fact, that her underwear fell down.

'Mommy, I sneezed so hard, my panties fell off.'

Huh. Let's hope this doesn't happen in high school.

Cheers Dirties

Get Your Rocks Off

2012-02-27T14:14:00.002-05:00

Since the inception of this blog, my eldest daughter has no doubt held the spotlight. That's not to say that I love my other kids any less, it's just that, being the oldest, she has started everything before the others. But, as my son nears his third birthday, he is definitely starting to forge his own material.

After walking Ella to school last Wednesday, we stayed outside and played in the yard. Currently, our yard is strewn with tonka trucks, sand buckets, and shovels. Add to this our covered piles of topsoil (didn't quite get that sod laid before the frost), and we have a fortified construction site for little ones.

One of Hunter's favorite things to do is to gather rocks and put them in his dump truck. He then drives his truck over to another spot, dumps his rocks out, and lines them all up. Well, last Wednesday I thought it would be fun for me to grab the other dump truck and play along with Hunter at moving all of his rocks.

We had filled and dumped two loads before Hunter determined it was time to line up all of our rocks. To introduce a little learning, I had Hunter count his rocks out onto the ledge. Then it was my turn. And then we counted all of our rocks together. Edge of your seat fun, I tell ya'.

Hunter then decided we should go back for a third load, so off we went to scrounge up some more rocks. After bringing his rocks back to the ledge to unload and count, it was then my turn. I picked out my rocks one by one, counting them as I lined them up on the ledge. Hunter watched as I did this, and upon placing my last rock on the ledge, Hunter swooped them all off the ledge, announcing "Get your rocks off Mommy".

Since Dirty Daddy wasn't home, I decided to eat some left over Valentine's Day chocolate instead. Chocolate is the next best thing to sex, right? Or is it the other way around?

Cheers Dirties

Jesus & The Easter Bunny Walk Into A Bar

2012-02-23T09:09:00.003-05:00

Ella started school in September. Catholic school. Which had me brushing up on all things papal so I didn't come off as a total atheist when she started asking questions.

I was born and raised Catholic, attending Sunday school, Catholic elementary and secondary schools, convinced that I would go to Hell for hitting my brother (not as big as deterrent as you would think), and knowing that God is always watching (cue showering in my bathing suit).

You would think with all those years under my belt, I would know all Catholic holidays, parables, and Bible passages. You would be wrong. Nonetheless, I want to answer Ella's questions, promote a loving and forgiving view of mankind, and have her know that Easter is about more than chocolate (it really is you know).

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, which is the first day of Lent. Lent is the forty day season of preparation for Easter. Traditionally, Catholics give up something for Lent as a symbol of fasting and repentance (that about wraps up our Cathecism lesson for today).

Ella's days at school have provided her with a lot of knowledge of this time in the liturgical calendar. And I'm glad. I'm not sure I could pull off a full explanation. Enter parenting a school ager. It's really more of a fill in the blanks job. So I asked Ella what she was planning on giving up for Lent. After the ensuing tantrum and explanation that she did not in fact have to give away her most favored possessions, Ella decided she was going to give up suckers. I was very proud of Ella for this decision. Although she doesn't get them often, she loves suckers.

This conversation, of course, lead to the conversation of what I would be giving up for Lent. We batted around a few ideas, and then Ella said 'Diet Coke'. As I gasped for breath, as the very suggestion of this left me breathless, and I realized she was serious.

Note: Anyone who knows me knows I would choose Diet Coke over oxygen.

I recovered and suggested a few other possibilities, but Ella would not be deterred. She felt that giving up Diet Coke would show Jesus just how much I love him, and that was important to her. A lifetime in purgatory is less daunting that disappointing my daughter.

So, thank you Catholic school system, for totally shooting a giant hole through my parenting theory of do as I say. And for the record, that bunny is holding a Diet Coke under his trench for me. In thirty nine more days.

Cheers Dirties

Book Rentals and Other Amazing Things

2012-02-21T15:59:00.000-05:00

I was an English major in university. That meant a lot of books. A LOT. And a lot of books meant a lot of money. Sure, I could have checked them out of the library (if I didn't mind waiting for the 46 people who had it on hold in front of me to finish with it), or I could have bought it used (if I didn't mind missing pages), but generally I just bought them new. There weren't a lot of options in the early '90's.

I am far away from university now, and won't be re-entering that world, even if in a peripheral way, for many years to come (my oldest is only 4). But I do have friends that have kids who will be entering university and college in the next year or two (yes, you Mel), so this is for them.

Enter Campus Book Rentals. This amazing concept allows students to rent textbooks, saving between 40 and 90%. Not only can you save cash, but you get to determine how long you want to rent it for. Brilliant!

I took anthropology and still have my text book from the course. I paid $76.00 for that book in 1993. That equals $632.00 today. But if Campus Book Rentals had been around, I could have rented it instead, and saved myself some cash. You know, for important stuff, like my bar bill.

I am the Mama of three, so you can bet your dollar store pregnancy test that my kids will be taking advantage of this brilliance. Unless I choose to work until I'm 70. And since I'm working toward freedom 45, that likely won't happen.

In case saving 80% isn't enough to persuade you, Campus Book Rentals donates a portion of every book rental to Operation Smile. Smart, good looking, and generous. It's like looking in a mirror I tell ya.

So, for all you Mama's out there that have kids four and a half times the age of mine, this is something for you. After all, the last thing I want to be know for is ageist children's blogging.

Cheers Dirties.

Monster Mania

2012-02-11T13:27:00.000-05:00

We've got a problem over here. Every night, at 7:42pm, our problem arises. It has been so disruptive that I've decided to take action. No more messing around.

You see, each night as I put my sweet boy to bed, the monsters come. They don't hide in his closet or under his bed. These monsters are ballsy, and hang out (pun so intended!) for all to see.

There is no way I could fall asleep with monsters watching, so it's no surprise that my two year old can't either. Enter Monster Be Gone Spray.

Two sprays of this potent stuff and the monsters disappear. And my little man can rest his head in peace.

I whipped up this little label, taped it to a can of Febreeze, and became my boy's savior. And his room smells nice to boot.

So if you have monsters invading your littles' space, copy and paste the label, grab a can of Febreeze and call it a day.

Cheers Dirties.

Momcafe

2012-02-09T07:23:00.001-05:00

Hi ho, hi ho, grab a cup of joe and drop over to the momcafe Network.

You'll have fun. I promise.

Not the money back guarantee kind of promise. The other kind. That doesn't involve money.

Cheers Dirties.

The 26 Year Plan

2012-02-06T21:54:00.005-05:00

I am a planner.

I have two day, two week, two month, two year, and two decade plans. In fact, moving forward without a plan makes me uncomfortable.

I always have a plan. I didn't say I always had a good one, but I always have one.

I'm a 'who drank half my beer' kinda gal when looking at the glass of life. So not only do I have a plan, I have a contingency one too.

You know, just in case.

Some of my plans are small (put laundry away by Friday), and some are big (lose 25 lbs by Friday), but each stands as a reminder to me of what I would like to accomplish.

Not that life always goes as planned. Anyone who has ever awoke with only one shoe and can't remember how they got home will tell you that.

I have been told planning is part of being a type A personality. And it would seem that it is also genetic.

The other day, while driving home from playgroup, Ella says 'You know what Mama?'

I didn't, so I said 'What baby?'

Ella responds 'I know when I'm going to be a Mommy.'

'You do?' I ask, attempting, albeit poorly, to hide both my shock and humor at the conversation topic.

I'm fully expecting Ella's response to send me into out loud laughter, as her concept of age is surrounded by the fact that she has to be eight to ride a scooter. 'Yes,' Ella says. 'When I'm thirty.'

Enter stunned silence.

I'm all for having a plan.

Cheers Dirties.

What Happens In The Bathroom...

2012-02-01T17:01:00.001-05:00

It never fails. The minute I step out of the shower, three little beings are waiting for me to participate in the beautification (I use that term loosely) process of Dirty Mommy. It doesn't matter that I set them up with a book, a puzzle, or a tv show prior to jumping in the shower. The water stops and the pitter patter of little feet commences.

Dirty Daddy was wise enough to put in a double vanity, so at least there is a little elbow room for me and my littles. Emerson hangs out in her jolly jumper in the doorway, which makes her easily entertained. All I have to say is 'jump, jump, jump' and she begins laughing and jumping. The other two though, that's a little harder.

So I have come up with a few bathroom games that will allow you your hands to make yourself pretty and still keep your littles busy enough your makeup bag will be left alone.

Q-tips. Not only are these perfect for cleaning ears and helping your eyeliner, they are perfect for making shapes. I give Ella about eight of them, then ask her to make me a square, rectangle, triangle, and any other shape with a straight line. This buys about ten minutes of time, plus she's honing her shape making skills. A win-win, no?

Tampons. That's right. I said Tampons. While not my favorite product to use because I don't welcome Aunt Ruby's visits, turns out they are fantastic to use for counting. Especially when you have a Costco size box. Hunter dumps the box and then starts counting them. And Ella counts them into groups of fives and tens. Not only are the kids sharing (gasp!), but they're learning a thing or two. Or three or four.

L'Oreal Preference LB02. Okay, I'm not completely a natural blonde. And by completely I mean I was born a brunette, but have considered myself a blonde since the early nineties. Regardless, there is a learning opportunity here people. The box lists both numbers and letters. Which is great. I ask Ella and Hunter to find particular numbers and letters, which promotes their recognition. I heart you L'Oreal on so many levels.

Well, there you have it. Some bathroom fun that doesn't involve stuffing toy cars down the toilet or busting your Aveda blush into a million pieces. And Mama gets spectacular in the process.

Cheers Dirties.

Boob Jobs & Other Renovations

2012-01-25T11:14:00.002-05:00

We spent last year renovating our house. Countless hours and dollars were spent to make our home just the way we wanted it. A process I wasn't sure I'd survive, but the end result has been more than satisfying. Turns out, the previous two sentences are applicable in more than one scenario.

I have hot Mama friends. Seriously. These ladies are beautiful, confident, and inspiring. Like any woman balancing her own life with that of her family's, they need to be reminded of these things. Three women of this particular group did a little something extra for themselves this past year. One opted for rhinoplasty, one for Botox, and one had her breasts augmented.

Now, I would have traded my body for anyone of theirs in a sleeping baby minute. But rather than dreaming about self improvement, as seems to be my new favorite pastime, they did something about it. That's kick ass!

As I wallow in baby-toddler body dissatisfaction, these ladies looked it square in the eye and said enough. I admire that. Grown women doing something to make themselves even more confident and happy. Ain't nothin' better. What I don't agree with is passing on the idea that this is the right choice for everyone, including our daughters.

Enter Sarah Burge. Sarah is world famous for having over 100 procedures done, and spending an estimated one million dollars to make herself into the 'human Barbie'. Sarah has her own reasons for doing what she has, but when you give your 7 year old daughter a gift certificate for liposuction and a boob job, well, that's something else entirely.

I understand that Sarah is a Mama, making choices she feels are right for her daughter. No different than the rest of us. But what are these gifts relaying to her daughter?

I spend an inordinate amount of time teaching my eldest daughter that the definition of beauty starts with kindness, intelligence, a smile, generosity, confidence, and somewhere down the line, prettiness. During her 4 year old interview, I asked Ella what were 3 words to describe herself. And she answered, in this order, 'smart, beautiful, and snuggly'. That was a proud Mama moment for me.

So what do you think Dirties? Harmful or helpful? Would it matter if Poppy was 7 or 17?

Shake a leg (or a boob), and let me know your thoughts.

Cheers Dirties

Kissing Ass & Other Foilbles

2012-01-20T08:44:00.002-05:00

As I near the end of my maternity leave, I have been working furiously on my morning routine. Soon enough, I will have to have myself and three kids four and under up, dressed, clean, fed, and ready for the world each morning. Throw in Dirty Daddy's shift work, and I have to fly solo everyday, half the time in stealth mode to let hubby sleep after work. A daunting task to say the least.

I am feeling pretty confident about it all at this point. For the most part, I can do it in an hour. Which lays to rest my fear of having to wake at 4 am each day, as this seems to be the time that I drift off for some zzzzz's.

The other morning I was getting each of the kids dressed and coiffed. Ella is always the last to do both as she likes to choose how she will wear her hair each day, thus taking the most amount of time. Ella chose braids that morning (yet another task I'm working on perfecting). After two attempts, I finished her hair. It was probably my best braid to date. Feeling proud, I announced to Ella she was done and gave her a smack on the butt with the brush. Cue feeling not so proud.

Ella burst out into tears, crying that I hurt her butt. I hugged her and told her I was so sorry. That I didn't mean to hurt her, and that I had intended to be playful, not hurtful. Ella continued to sob into my shoulder as I held her and then told me I needed to kiss it better. 'Your butt?' I asked. 'Yes' replied Ella.

So I got down and kissed my little girl's butt. The tears instantly subsided, and off she skipped to pick which craft we were going to work on. Just like that, the tears ended. Which got me to thinking. Was she really skipping off because it didn't hurt anymore, or was it because she got her Mama to bend over and kiss her ass?

And this got me thinking a little more. This probably won't be the last time I'll be kissing her ass, just to end up watching her walk away smiling.

Cheers Dirties

Resolving

2012-01-06T14:41:00.000-05:00

I had a great big post written about resolutions for 2012. It was really good. You would have liked it. But, with both the blessing of technology and the curse of it, I lost it. For good. Which sucks.

Lucky for you I had written one for the Momcafe Network as well. You lucky buggers. Here you go.

Cheers Dirties.

Elves Gone Wild

2011-12-24T13:12:00.000-05:00

We have finally joined the Elf on the Shelf extravaganza, albeit a little late in the season.

Apparently our elf, Miss Holly, has been busy drinking and recording with the Elves Gone Wild crew.

Of course, that's to be expected of Dirty Mommy's elf.

Merry Christmas Dirties. Wishing you a holiday season full of happiness and health. And if you're lucky, a little dirty time too.

Muah!

Look Out North Pole!

2011-12-22T12:30:00.001-05:00

Ok, again, I'm not here. But I am here. And you'll want to read it. Really. It's about my 'discussion' with Santa.

And now, for your viewing pleasure.

Cheers Dirties.

Not Here

2011-12-21T13:42:00.000-05:00

Today I'm there. Which means I'm not here. But at least I'm not there. But it wouldn't be bad to be here. It all balances.

Cheers Dirties.

Santa's Village My Ass

2011-12-20T12:51:00.000-05:00

Every year I take my kids to get their pictures taken with Santa. I spend about an hour getting each of them dressed, cleaned up, and spiffed up to make the fat man proud. We park the car, talking as we're walking, about what each of them will say to Santa when they sit on his lap. And each of my kids are super excited. Until it's actually our turn. Then it's a hot mess of craziness.

Exhibit A

Note: before Megan Fox's elf double sat down with my oldest, she too was screaming her Jack Frost head off. My littlest babe was shocked into a state of cooperation.

Come blizzard or high ice float, I want that Christmas picture. So, my kids will either get over their fear, or they'll be screaming at the beginning of December in a Canadian mall for the next fifteen years.

But this year's photo fiasco got me thinking. There has got to be a better way. So I turned to the holy grail of information, Google, and found this. Thank all that is holy! An alternative. I am a huge fan of Amy and her blog, The Idea Room. I constantly turn to her blog ~~and hack her ideas for my family~~ for inspiration for my own family. But Santa pictures without Santa, freaking brilliant.

Happy ho ho Dirties.

Makin' A List...

2011-12-16T10:17:00.000-05:00

Christmas is almost here and I just realized that I haven't prepared my Christmas wish list. Hopefully I made the nice list cut this year. Either way, here goes:

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas this year is sleep. The kind of sleep that happens after a full night of tequila.

Thank you.

Dear Christmas Past,

I would like you to locate my ass circa 2006 and bring it back to me. I miss it terribly.

Thank you.

Dear Christmas Future,

Please bring all of my children home each year during the holidays until I die. After that, they can do whatever they want.

Thank you.

Dear Christmas Present,

Let the wonder in the eyes of my kids on Christmas morning be forever etched on my heart. And please don't let me burn the turkey. That would suck.

Thank you.

Make sure you get your lists to Santa before next Friday. You can mail them to

Santa Claus

North Pole

HOH OHO

Does anyone else find it funny that the words 'pole' and 'ho' both appear in Santa's address? Mrs. Claus must be a minx!

Merry Christmas Dirties.

Fergie, God. God, Fergie.

2011-12-13T08:10:00.002-05:00

I'm pretty sure Ella is going to be a dancer when she grows up. And I pray to God, the good kind. As soon as she hears any music playing, she's up shaking her little butt and gettin' down on the dance floor (aka our living room).

Every week, Ella looks forward to her dance classes. She loves to learn her ballet positions, but equally loves the energy of her jazz class. And each time I see her dance, I tear up. It fills my heart to see her do something she loves with such pride.

The other interest Ella seems to be enjoying is singing. She performs daily duets with Dirty Daddy singing everything from Journey to The Police to Lionel Richie. They're seriously good and I'm considering booking them to start touring in the New Year.

If you put Ella's two current loves together, you get dinner and a show everyday in our house. Not too long ago, Ella was shakin' what her mama gave her to one of her favorite songs, Boom Boom Pow. She's actually starting to learn some of the words.

So there she is, shaking her butt, and she starts belting out a tune that went a little like this: 'Boom Boom Pow, cause the Bible told me so'. Fergie, God. God, Fergie. Introductions done.

A Stitch in Time

2011-12-08T08:02:00.000-05:00

In the words of my husband, I'm 'not too domestic'. Pop by the Momcafe for further explanation.

Cheers Dirties

Down the Rabbit Hole

2011-11-23T21:39:00.000-05:00

I'm not a very outdoorsy girl, but I like to be outdoors a lot. Confusing? A little. Just be thankful you don't live in my brain.

While 'a camping we will go' has never passed through my lips, I do love to spend time outside. In all types of weather. And since I'm an all weather gal, so are my kids. Or they're going to be anyways.

In my efforts to have my kids enjoy all kinds of weather, I try to make things fun and, at times, educational. Puddle jumping, snow angels, flashlight walks, animal home hunting, anything I can think of.

We had a bit of freezing rain last night, so this morning everything was glistening with ice. To make our walk to school a little more fun, I announced that we would be going on an ice hunt.

My little sleuths found ice in tiny pinecones, on tall grasses, along fence posts. It was a lot of fun to watch them hunt along.

At about the half way mark on our walks to school is a little park. This little park doesn't actually have anything other than a grassy hill big enough to toboggan down. But when the snow isn't flying, my kids love to run to the top of the hill to simply run back down it.

This morning the kids spent a couple of extra minutes at the top of the hill, and then came running down it announcing that they found something. I assumed that they had found a new item in nature all covered in ice when Ella announced 'I found the beaver hole'.

Enough said.

Buzzin' at the Cafe

2011-11-16T13:47:00.001-05:00

I'm buzzing at the momcafe today. Come see.
Could be caffeine, could be something stronger. Just sayin'.

Scootin' Boobies

2011-11-14T20:09:00.002-05:00

My oldest daughter wants a scooter so badly. She is always asking when she can get one. Being as she just turned four, I'm inclined to wait until she's a little older. So you can imagine her delight when she recently saw an elderly woman driving what I referred to as a scooter. Ella's jaw literally hit the ground. And I knew exactly what she was thinking...'I'm over that two wheeled jobbie. I want one with a motor!'

I went on to explain that people with mobility issues sometimes use a scooter to allow them independence in getting around. Of course, using the term 'mobility issues' with a four year old prompted further explanation. So I went down the list - elderly people, people with hurt legs, amputees, and so on.

If I had to guess, I think Ella turned off her listening ears after 'elderly people', for as I finished up my explanation, this was our conversation:

Ella - 'When I get old, I'm going to use a scooter.'

Me - 'That might be a good idea to help you get around town when you're old.'

Ella - 'Yeah. I'm going to get a scooter and maybe wear a bra too.'

I was about to explain that by the time she reaches old age, the whole bra deal isn't so important anymore, but I figured why ruin a kid's dream.

Cheers Dirties.