tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17637271025278830282011-11-27T15:40:13.241-08:00Calm down people, it's only parenting!Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125mamasutrabloghttp://feedburner.google.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-48118930520777836822009-08-07T21:00:00.000-07:002009-08-07T23:32:01.832-07:002009-08-07T23:32:01.832-07:00

A few nights ago we got a sudden and unexpected influx of money. Not thousands but enough to get excited. We were in dire need of everything: food, shampoo, deodorant and, most importantly, Kotex. Where does a family go when they need everything? Target, of course.Since there are six people in my family, all with different interests, we tend to scatter the second we’re in the store. That day Noah

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-16972825609188207012009-07-26T18:15:00.001-07:002009-07-26T20:58:55.275-07:002009-07-26T20:58:55.275-07:00

At the tender age of two my youngest son became a suave billionaire vigilante who dressed in all black and rid the city of criminal clowns and arctic fowl. Though emotionally, financially and physically taxing, we, as his family, have supported his decision.It all began when my husband decided the boy was old enough to partake in some ritual male bonding.*Fictional account my memory has accepted

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-44686623635354688012009-07-13T02:16:00.000-07:002009-07-13T10:05:47.928-07:002009-07-13T10:05:47.928-07:00

I remember being a little girl riding in a car with my chain smoking Grandma, all of the windows rolled up. Correction, not all of the windows were up. She had kids in the car after all. Her window was cracked...about a quarter of an inch. A hug from her wouldn’t have been complete without nose burn and watering eyes. All of my childhood memories of her are cigarette scented.My grandmother wasn’t

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-8485973934129868762009-07-07T12:00:00.000-07:002009-07-27T10:23:50.505-07:002009-07-27T10:23:50.505-07:00

It doesn’t matter what store we go into, what we’re buying or how long of a lecture I give them before we go in, my children can’t help but beg. Begging is encoded in their genes. They beg for anything and everything they see, even if it doesn’t make sense…especially if it doesn’t make sense.Aisle A1Them: Mom, I think we need to buy some cat food.Me: Honey…we don’t have a cat.Them: We might

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-36605494418023730492009-06-30T21:37:00.000-07:002009-06-30T21:52:40.356-07:002009-06-30T21:52:40.356-07:00

An unexpected side effect has occurred from breastfeeding my children: the total and complete loss of ownership over my breasts. It’s something the parenting books don’t warn you about and nothing your mom friends talk about. The moment that tiny, precious, little leech first latches on you’ve officially handed over the deed.You might be thinking, “This news isn’t surprising. When you choose to

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-28839664805467965512009-06-29T20:48:00.000-07:002009-06-29T20:53:37.331-07:002009-06-29T20:53:37.331-07:00

Things I Never Thought I’d SayYou tried to flush it, you fish it out!So, take turns biting your brother!I guess you’ll just have to pee your pants! I’m not pulling over again!Ruby! Run and get me a knife from the kitchen. Hurry! Run!If you have to kill each other, could you please take it outside?Why? Why would you paint your walls with poop?You want to run away? Great! Hope you like Foster Care!

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-56428532684079170582009-06-22T15:04:00.000-07:002009-06-22T15:59:38.845-07:002009-06-22T15:59:38.845-07:00

Waiting for long periods of time in the car with all of the kids is like a visit to the 7th circle of hell. After a minute and a half the whining begins. Such was the afternoon that we had to sit in the car for two hours waiting on a cop.My husband’s car had been stolen from in front of our house. Three days later our next door neighbor knocked and said that she thought she saw it parked five

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-35057982071206477242009-06-18T20:43:00.000-07:002009-06-18T21:03:50.190-07:002009-06-18T21:03:50.190-07:00

Ruby: “Mom? Where’s Dad’s car?”Me: “He drove it to work honey.”Ruby: “No he didn’t. He rode his bike today. I saw him leave with it.”Me: “Well I guess not because it’s gone.”Ruby: “No, really! Dad rode his bike! I saw him!”Me: “OK, well maybe he put his bike in his car and took it to work to fix it.”Ruby: “NO! I SAW HIM RIDE AWAY ON IT!”Me: “Ruby! Stop arguing with me! Obviously you’re wrong

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-70132250876410024992009-06-16T13:08:00.000-07:002009-06-16T14:53:04.335-07:002009-06-16T14:53:04.335-07:00

"Check the seat for pee before you sit down! I guarantee nothing!"This phrase is saved for only the best of guests visiting our home. At least they're allowed to use the bathroom. Most people's visits to our house start and end at the front door.We're not anti-social or rude. We're actually trying to spare a guest from a disgusting surprise while saving our family's collective face. You see, our

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-7349548450646985512009-06-14T20:40:00.000-07:002009-06-15T14:56:13.660-07:002009-06-15T14:56:13.660-07:00

Around the same time that each one of my kids requires a potty chair they gain the gift of profanity. Now the hubbs and I are no saints. We won't feign innocence. We know precisely where they pick up their shiny little obsenity gems. From us.We are closet cuss connaisseurs. We pepper our daily language with swears words both common and refined. We revel in outdoing one another in abstract uses. A

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-62411154975746464672008-07-26T22:15:00.000-07:002008-07-27T08:28:48.235-07:002008-07-27T08:28:48.235-07:00

Every time my husband or I sit down to eat we are converged upon. Instantly there are four little open mouths crowding in, each angling for position. They look like sad little starving baby birds, beaks wide, chirping: Noah: That sure looks good!Ruby: Whatcha eatin'?Violet: Can I have some?Hank: Bite!It doesn't matter if they've just eaten a five course meal. It doesn't matter if they have full

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1763727102527883028.post-32774510995055359002008-07-23T13:15:00.000-07:002008-07-25T18:51:46.147-07:002008-07-25T18:51:46.147-07:00

"It's time for the tea party! Here, put your bracelet on! Mommy, mommy, mommy! The tea party, right now! We're going to miss the tea party!" Violet is desperate to have her tea party, RIGHT NOW! The intensity of her need feels more like eminent and total global annihilation as opposed to a 3 year olds tea party. I guess, to her, it feels immediate. She's in a race to have her tea party before her

Mama Sutrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06690619743089619171noreply@blogger.com2