Writer-Mommy

What Happens When I Surf Parenting Articles

2009-11-06T19:10:00.000-08:00

I'm not big on parenting sites or books or blogs, mostly because the little bit of time I have to devote to reading the written word I want to save for impossibly thick books that keep me up until the wee hours of the night.

But after a week ~~or two~~ of boundary-testing, limits-pushing, and heels-dug-in tempers from little Tom, this headline on Yahoo! caught my eye:

The Top 6 Reasons Kids Have Tantrums.

I skimmed it and noted that the article did not mention The Top 2 Reasons *My* Kid Has Tantrums:

1. Because he, like my dear departed father-in-law before him, is wired for words. I see a Debate Club championship trophy in my dear boy's future, or at least some very interesting report cards; and,

2. Because it's fun to make mom crazier than a loon. Let's face it - smart kids figure out that tantrums give them momentary power in a situation over which they have no power. While I am very good (finally, after three kids) at keeping my voice neutral and my words light but terse in a meltdown moment, by the --- oh, I dunno --- fourth or fifth of the day, I am frayed like a piece of cheap twine. And the little bugger knows it.

So I scrolled up from the text of that article, intending to click over to my inbox, when this link caught my eye:

I lie about my son's age at the playground.

And of course I was intrigued; I had to click and follow that because all sorts of wacky scenarios were popping into my mind. Don't worry, it's nothing too nutto, just more of the competitve mom crap (the my-kid-is-racing-through-his/her-developmental-stages-at-light-speed-why-isn't-yours?! crap ) that always happens when mothers of young children converge in public gathering places. Oy.

But wait, there's more!

Just as I rolled my eyes remembering what life was like when Huck 12 months old and the size of an average 2 year old (oh, the things total strangers have said to me about that sweet boy), I saw this link:

Octomom's Halloween Costume really scares us.

And I made the final mistake of my surfing session by clicking on it.

Oh, my eyes! My eyes!

I know as a Catholic I should be enraged at the pregnant nun costume but my mind was too busy doing basic math.

Let's see, 8 octuplets + 6 siblings = 14 grown adults who will one day need major therapy to deal with their mother issues. I'm betting we'll get to watch those sessions on a reality show around 2030 or so. Double oy.

Clearly it's time for me to shut down the computer and go grab one of those uber-thick-keep-you-up-until-dawn books instead.

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Top 10 Inappropriate Halloween Moments of 2009

2009-10-31T18:35:00.000-07:00

The sugar-high that is Halloween is done here at my house; our town's trick-or-treat ended at 7:30 pm and my three kiddos were more than happy to peek at the full moon as they headed up the stairs to bed shortly thereafter.

I have little experience with trick-or-treating; my dad's birthday falls on Halloween (happy birthday, Dad, and I hope you're feeling better soon). Except for two years that I can remember - once when I was five and then again when I was around ten - my family turned the lights out on Halloween and headed out to dinner.

Knute, who grew up on a few acres in a country neighborhood, doesn't have much experience with trick-or-treating either. As he remembers, walking a quarter of a mile to get a piece of candy from the house down the road wasn't a barrel of monkeys, especially on cold and pitch dark Ohio nights.

So neither one of us has much to fall back on in terms of trick-or-treat expertise. This is why, dear readers, I am listing my Top 10 Inappropriate Halloween Moments of 2009 for your reading pleasure.

You can holler back in a comment and let me know which one you think was the worst, or - even better - if you have an Inappropriate Halloween Moment which trumps mine, do share.

Top 10 Inappropriate Halloween Moments 2009

10. Two little girls who couldn't have been more than six wearing matching wigs and go-go girl outfits. The wigs were so long, covering their eyes, that they couldn't see as they ran full speed into my driveway where one wiped out, scraped her knee, and began wailing. Her Mom or Dad? No where to be seen.

9. The couple pushing a baby that didn't look to be even a year old in a stroller collecting candy for....the baby? No, that little one was quite happy with it's pacifier.

8. The boy dressed like a pimp. His mom must be so proud.

7. The four boys, all around nine or so, who weren't wearing ANY costumes at all. They were, however, well equipped with backpacks they wore over their chests to hold their free loot.

6. Adults in Disney character costumes better suited for toddlers.

5. Teenage boys trick-or-treating.

4. Teenage girls trick-or-treating.

3. Teenage girls dressed in slutty costumes trick-or-treating with their teenage boyfriends. Their moms must be so proud.

2. The large number of extra cars parked on our neighborhood streets - what is the etiquette on trick-or-treaters who neighborhood hop?

1. Me, wondering if I am the world's biggest prude.

So, tell me, is it me? Or do you see the same scene where you live?

And yes, my kiddos did trick-or-treat. The boys made it for a street and then wanted to come home; Becky and I walked one more street over to see some friends.

I'm all for childhood fun and I'm glad my children get to enjoy this once-a-year ritual. But the time is coming soon (2011, to be exact) when Becky won't be trick-or-treating. When she turns 10, we'll let her know she can have a big Halloween party in the garage for her friends with a late night movie or something fun, but that will be it. Ten years old is my upper limit for trick-or-treating.

Enjoy your extra hour of sleep tonight and if you're looking for an interesting post about Halloween asking for input from Christians who celebrate it and those who do not, click over and read Celebrating Halloween - Why Not? and all the comments from both sides of the fence at Conversion Diary. Good reading to nosh on with a side of candy corn.

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A Book to Shove You Out of Your Comfort Zone

2009-10-29T19:16:00.000-07:00

A little while back, one of my once-just-bloggy-but-now-real-life-too friends, Andrea posted about meeting some other fabulous bloggers (Angie and Jessica) at the national MOPS conference. (FYI: If you haven't stumbled across Angie's blog, take tissues when you click over and be ready to be awed by her faith and grace.)

When I saw that both Angie and Jessica had started an online book club, Bloom (read their introduction here), I knew I'd have to click over and see what they were reading. The book they're discussing right now is Crazy Love by Francis Chan.

"You'll love it," Andrea assured me after I told her I'd looked for it at my library only to find it already checked out.

And she's right - I did.

I found it checked in this Monday and raced through my first reading of it; I'm now going back through different chapters and reading them more closely.

Why do I love this book?

It's certainly not an easy book to read if you're living an comfortable and safe (and by safe, I mean planned and in-control more than actual physical safety - a zero-risk type of living) life as a Christian. The chapter about "Lukewarm Christians" hits close to home for me.

But this is exactly why I love this book - it has challenged me to look honestly at my own faith and how I'm living it. I think it's good to be shoved out of our comfort zones.

The crux of the book is in the title; living a life that's driven by a love of God looks pretty crazy in our secular, me-me-me, Super-Sized American Dream culture.

What's even crazier?

That a Holy God could be crazy in love with us.

Go see what's up at Bloom and read some of the great posts and discussions on each chapter. Thank you, Angie and Jessica, for taking the time to start something good.

Trouble A-Foot

2009-10-22T16:20:00.000-07:00

I am a mostly barefoot mom; my kids run around the house barefoot during the summer and winter, even when it's so cold outside that their thin-blooded mother is wearing two pairs of socks and fuzzy slippers from LandsEnd.

When they were younger and learning to walk, I made sure their feet were protected outside on the sidewalk. But other than that, I let them toddle around with their piggies au naturel. A friend of mine who had been a physical therapist in her life before mom told me once she wished more parents would let their kids walk barefoot as toddlers since it aided in the development of their muscle tone.

I shrugged and laughed in reply. I wasn't trying out for superstar mom status, I was just a former barefoot girl myself, much to the consternation of my parents. Despite their ~~demands~~ pleas (mostly my dad) for me to put on some socks already, I never once got pneumonia via barefoot exposure.

So barefoot is how we roll here, mostly indoors but sometimes outside, too. Yes, because I can hear my dad sighing somewhere in the future when he reads this, I do remember the time I ripped my big toenail off when I was seven and climbed the back fence barefoot, snagging it on a jutting nail. The problem is that while I send them out in Crocs or flip-flops to play in the summer, I look out the windows a few minutes later to see them running around on the grass barefoot. I don't think it would go over well with the neighbors if I started duct-taping their footwear on their feet.

But all this naked foot time has led to some issues. Specifically three little plantars warts, one for each of my kids. How perfectly fair and just is that?

Of course, little Tom no longer has his wart; his appeared this spring. Knute and I tried the duct tape method of removal (it actually works) but he refused to keep it on. Then, I took a wart removal disk and bandaged it to his affected toe, putting a sock over the whole she-bang-bang. Within minutes, I found the sock and the bandage discarded in the office...but no little disk.

Upon being asked where, oh where, the little disk was, little Tom smiled.

"I ate it."

Two phone calls later, one to Knute at a Wright State Basketball game and the other to Poison Control, I was headed to the emergency room with all three kids in tow. After being poked and prodded, little Tom turned out to be a-ok. Me? I'm not willing to risk a second trip to the ER for the exact same scenario.

Little Tom's wart disappeared with a little help* after a while, but now the big kids are dealing with them and I have to decide how to attack the pesky little buggers.

I'm sure we'll succeed.

Just as I'm sure my kids will still ignore my ~~demands~~ pleas that they wear some shoes already.

*Do you really want to know this? Ask yourself before continuing. The little bugger chewed - CHEWED - the damn wart off one day while watching TV. Yet another "Mom of the Year" moment for yours truly.

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A Blog Deferred

2009-10-20T03:36:00.000-07:00

What happens to a blog deferred?

Well, it doesn't dry up and it hasn't exploded (props to Langston Hughes), but it does tick-tick-tick on waiting for me to drop in and stay for a while.

I've been blogging less and less here and the primary reason (after this) has been simply because I've found myself asking why?

Why am I blogging here?

Why share this story?

Why would anyone but me find this interesting?

And now that I've why-why-why-whined, I can of course answer all my own questions.

Because I'm driven to write.

Because I want my kids to have these stories as a legacy when I'm gone.

Who cares? Get over yourself.

And thus ends the pep talk portion of this post.

-------+++++++-------+++++++-------

Life has been whirling here, the winds of busy-ness swirling a little faster each week it seems until it feels like the whole lot of us will be picked up like Dorothy and thrown down in a land far-far away.

Sometimes I think that's just what we need - a slapping shock, an earth-shaking change to get us to just slow.the.hell.down already.

I'm hoping I can put my foot on the brakes before God decides to do it for me.

-------+++++++-------++++++++-------

A snapshot of an evening spent quietly at home a week ago.

Me: Reading Fearless by Max Lucado in the recliner.

Becky: Playing Webkinz online.

Huck: Reading through the kids science books I bought this summer.

Little Tom: Asleep in bed early (thus the peaceful evening).

Knute: Playing softball (pre-injury, but he's better now; thanks.)

Huck, who can read any book he picks up, a fact that is both thrilling to me as a mom/book-fiend and also mildly alarming (Was there an F-bomb on that page? I've asked myself more than once as I scramble to see what book he's grabbed), wandered over to where I sat to see what I was reading.

Leaning over my shoulder, he started to read aloud from the page, stumbling a bit over the longer three or four syllable words but still getting pretty close to pronouncing them correctly.

"What's your book about, Mom?" he asked.

"God," I told him. "And why we shouldn't be so wimpy about living life."

He looked at the front cover and his eyes grew wide.

"Max Lucado!"

"Yup," I told him. "He's written lots of books for grownups and books for kids, too. You guys have a few of his books."

Before the words were out of my mouth, he'd raced into the family room to where I'd put a small bookshelf just for some of the kids books.

"I FOUND IT!" he hollered, and ran back in holding Just In Case You Ever Wonder.

He laid down on the floor, opened the book, and read it out loud to me, cover to cover.

I put my own book down and just listened to this boy of mine, one by whom I sat worried and praying in the hospital not quite a year ago, and all I could do was smile.

God is good.

Life is good.

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Saved {Almost} by Willie Nelson

2009-10-06T19:03:00.000-07:00

Of course it wasn't really Willie Nelson, you should know that from the start.

In the interest of full disclosure and all that. ;-)

Fred, our trusty Ford Taurus, is getting up in the years. We bought him new (yes, a name and a gender for both our vehicles - we dance just on this side of nutto around here) in 1999, those long, lazy days before diapers, pacifiers, and tantrums.

He's been a very reliable car, mostly because both Knute and I are OCD when it comes to vehicle maintenance (once again, that just east of crazy thing) but after ten years, little things wear out and break.

Knute had mentioned some stuttering in the engine late last week but he didn't get a chance to take Fred in for a looksee because he was too busy with that whole earning a living for us thing as well as physical therapy three times a week*.

So I was not at all surprised when my cellphone thrummed on Monday morning as I pulled out from dropping the big kids off at school.

"Fred is dead," Knute said. "At least, his battery is."

I headed down the highway to where he was stranded at the physical therapist's office**. The PT is in a nice little township not far from us, one of those places where every green-green-green blade of grass bends in the same direction when the wind blows and every house is tastefully accessorized with seasonally appropriate lawn decor.

When I pulled in to the parking lot, I saw Knute next to Fred. Fred's hood was up and Knute had his jumper cables ready. The parking lot was about half full of cars; people who looked just as neat and tidy as their diagonally cut lawns walked from their cars to the building, from the building to their cars, their cell phones firmly attached to their ears.

I parked Claudine next to Fred and popped her hood, explaining to little Tom that jumping a battery had nothing to do with jumping rope.

"Remember when Candace had to fix the spaceship on Phineas and Ferb?" I asked. "Positive to positive, negative to ground."

Unfortunately, unlike that episode of our fave cartoon, the jump did not work. Click-click-click went the engine when Knute tried the key.

"You need bigger cables," said a voice. "Hang on."

I peered past the opened hood and saw long, long hair over the back of a Harley Davidson jacket. Cigarette smoke swirled and parted as the stranger walked back toward his car and fetched his own cables.

For the next ten minutes, Willie Nelson's doppelganger fiddled and fussed with the cables between our cars. When it became clear that the battery wasn't the issue, he pulled his hair (seriously peeps, twice as long as mine) back and peered into Fred's engine block, poking until he found the starter.

"That's your problem," Willie said. "I'd tear it out of there for you, but I just had surgery."

"That's ok," Knute and I said at the same time. "Thanks for helping us."

Willie told us how we could jump the starter using a screwdriver to bridge the charge between the posts ("Just be sure you're real clear of it.") but as both Knute and I had no desire to make our Monday any more challenging with the addition of electrocution, we called a tow truck instead.

While we were on our phones, Willie packed his cables back in his trunk and drove off. I never did get to really tell him thank you, not just for trying to help us but for putting his day on hold to do so.

It came as no surprise to me then, when Becky - while unloading her backpack to start on her homework after school - said she had some big news for me.

"Guess what? Third grade has morning prayer on the twenty-sixth and we're doing a play and I get to be the person who helps!"

"You mean you get to be the Good Samaritan?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's it!" she said, her brow furrowing. "How did you know?"

Because my dear Jesus loves to have a good laugh on me, my dear girl.

*My man plays softball with the passion of a kid hoping to catch the eye of an agent; this is good for his mind and spirit but it's hell on his body. He nearly broke his kneecap sliding for a catch - which he made - last week.

**Given how much we've paid the PT lately, I feel a misguided sense of pride in ownership for the brand-spanking new PT office building I'm funding. It's quite lovely, thank you.

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Llama Drama

2009-10-02T17:31:00.000-07:00

Image courtesy of American Girl.

Tonight my dear girl Becky is having a sleepover - her first ever here at our house - with one of her best friends. They're snuggled on the couch as I type this, watching Chrissa Stands Strong.

I won't spoil the movie for you or your girl, but I will tell you that it's about all the devious and conniving ways girl bullies operate, from the Queen Bee who rules the hive to the butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth way said Queen Bee lies to every teacher and parent who questions her when things go awry.

It's a tough movie for me to watch.

The parent in me wants to throttle the Queen Bee bully and wonders where, oh where, the little darling's parents may be? Surely, I think, after a rash of trouble making incidents at the school, the parental units would have been required to meet with the principal?

The girl in me, that knobby and scabby-kneed girl with the doofy glasses (look here and see if you can find me - and yes, elementary school fashion in the early 80's was still recovering from the nuclear fallout of the late 70's) , shivers. I remember all too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of girl bullying, how one girl can fly under the radar of all the adults and terrorize you.

Psychologists say that the cruelty of bullies stems from feelings of inadequacy, that they batter and belittle others to make themselves feel better.

All true, maybe.

But I hate the idea of excusing bad behavior with psycho-babble. I've known people who've suffered far greater pains than not getting enough attention at home who never once felt the need to reduce another human being to tears in order to lift their own spirits.

Bullying is just wrong on every level - physical, emotional, and spiritual.

The ending of this movie is a little too easy, a little too filled with bright and shiny rainbows for me to believe. Bullies rarely change their ways; they might lie dormant like a seed from a nasty weed, but given the right conditions they will blossom and flourish once again (hello internet trolls!).

I'm not so naive as to hope that Becky never gets bullied; she had one little girl in her kindergarten class at the Catholic school in our last town who delighted in breaking her headbands, taking her supplies, and even pushing her down on the playground. It stopped when I met with the principal the next day holding a sheaf of photos of the contusion on her chin from where the girl shoved her down on the hopscotch (which no one had noticed but me given that it was on the bottom of her jawline) in one hand and a letter cc'd to the Archdiocese listing every offense and how each one violated the no-bullying policy in the other.

My hope is that if/when Becky finds herself in the cross hairs of a bully again, she'll stand tall, square her shoulders, and face her down.

What about you? Have your kids been bullied? Do you think bullying has gotten worse since we were kids?

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LOST: One Ring, One Temper, One Weekend. FOUND: Faith.

2009-09-23T21:14:00.000-07:00

We had plans this weekend, big plans.

The messy garage? It was going to sparkle and shine when we were done putting away the bikes and summer toys.

The messy basement? It was going to be the most organized storage/play/writing/exercise area EVER once we tackled the chaos.

Oh, and then Sunday, after church, we would have taken a big break and had some fun at the Reds game with some local Cincy bloggers. I had the tickets and everything.

Instead, my weekend looked more like this.

Oh, don't be envious my dear friends. There was no last-minute jetting off to a sandy beach for my family. My digging in the sand this weekend was much more menial and, after all is said and done, meaningful.

On Saturday, while Knute and a few of his teammates finished up their softball practice, Huck - who had gone with Knute to the practice for the sheer delight of hanging with his dad and the big dudes and unfettered access to the soft dirt of the bullpens (dig, dig, dig!) - lost one of Knute's teammates' wedding ring.

His platinum wedding ring.

Did I mention that the chief reason why Huck was thrilled to go to the softball field for Knute's practice was because the infield is like ONE GIANT SANDBOX?!!!

Oh yeah, you'd better believe it.

Our weekend evaporated into hours of digging, raking, and metal-detecting (there's a joint near me that rents them; if you've ever had the desire to act out that cheesy late night infomercial with the dude that finds like 27 rings for his wife with his handy-dandy Metal-O-Detecto, I can totally hook you up), punctuated with bouts of random questioning, door slamming, and tears (mine and Huck's).

It's a whopper of a tale, my friends.

I could tell you the white-hot fury version, wherein I find my missed calling as a CIA interrogator.

I could tell you the funny version, starting with how Saturday was National Pirate Day, and apparently a mass email was sent to little boys everywhere to get hustling with that buried treasure already! Arrrgghhh!!

But I'll just tell you the truth, the same way Huck did when we first asked him where the ring was.

The truth is that Knute spent over ten hours at that field this weekend, so determined was he to make right his son's mistake.

The truth is that our friend and his extended family were so gracious and forgiving of what Huck did.

The truth is that I have a temper and I need to learn to shut up and listen more.

The ring, which Huck eventually - after being questioned up and down and inside out by both myself and Knute - told us was buried in the dirt, instead turned up exactly where Huck had told us it was in the first place: on the steering column of Knute's teammate's Jeep.

Huck had found it in the cupholder and placed it on the steering column so our friend would find it; he was worried, you see, that it might get lost. (The irony in that statement is suffocating me.) By the time the ring was found, it had become lodged in the dashboard between the steering column and the odometer.

But we didn't know this until late Sunday, until well after Knute had come home covered in mud (because of course it had to rain, too).

He had looked at me, that man of mine, his face smeared with dirt and sweat, and said, "We just have to let it go, Mare. If it's meant to turn up, it will. All we can do now is keep praying."

He was right, of course. My white-hot fury had burned itself out early on during this ordeal; I might get madder than the proverbial wet hen, but I can't sustain that kind of anger for long. It's exhausting and counter-productive.

We had a quick dinner and then I grabbed my keys to head out to Kroger for dog food. Just as I was hugging the kids goodbye, the phone rang. Our friend had taken the dashboard of his jeep apart as he searched it one last time and there sat the ring, twinkling away.

I have never felt the weight of answered prayer hit me with such force.

There was a point late Saturday night where I found myself lying on the bathroom floor, talking to God. I pray for our well-being, and I pray for others, and I pray for all the usual beauty pageant question things like world peace, end to hunger, and freedom for all.

But I never, never, ask God directly for something specific.

I'm too afraid, you see, that despite all my prayers, He might not be listening to little old me.

So, as I lay there on that cool bathroom floor (Amy is right; it really is a good place to think), I finally asked God for something.

I asked God to bring back that ring.

And not because Knute and I didn't want to pay the replacement cost of the ring; we would have found a way to work it out I'm sure.

I asked God to bring back that ring because if you're lucky, you get married only one time in your life and the rings you give each aren't just pretty jewelry. They are symbols of your eternal commitment. I couldn't bear thinking that one of those had been lost at the (well-intentioned) hands of my son.

And He answered.

I won't lie to you; as thunderstruck as I was when that phone rang late Sunday night, as deeply humbled as I was by the realization I had doubted that Huck was telling the truth from the get-go, as lifted as I felt driving down the road to Kroger, the days have turned and I am still fundamentally me. I'm still kvetching about over-volunteering and the messy house and all the stupid little stuff that doesn't really matter.

But that mustard seed is planted, my friends.

And I can feel it's roots digging deep.

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Learning to Say No

2009-09-18T20:52:00.000-07:00

September quickens the year.

The skies here in my piece of Ohio are flooded deep blue-indigo; when I catch the sun glinting on a new patch of gold or russet in the tree tops as I crest the hills around my town in my trusty van Claudine, I am literally stunned at how beautiful this season is.

But I barely have time to process it in this month of fits and starts, of crowded schedules, of homework and lunches and fundraisers. I'm too busy racing to the next thing.

And that, my dear friends, saddens me. The beginning of "Pursuit" by Stephen Dobyns keeps ringing in my ears:

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass -
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?

Despite my best laid plans - plans no doubt made in years past as I changed diaper after diaper and tried to mentally push the clock a bit further toward nap time - we are creeping perilously close to becoming an over-booked family.

What I didn't know then was how much there was out there, how many sports and activities and enrichments and school events and volunteering needs would be arrayed in front of me like a feast.

This one is WONDERFUL! These are DELIGHTFUL! And THAT one, well, you simply MUST have some of that - it's GOOD for you!

I attended a parent information meeting last week for yet another activity, this one for Huck, and I spent the entire time sitting off to one side, my hands tucked underneath my legs. No errant hands raising up on a cloud of guilt for me, no ma'am!

Tonight, Knute had an event at church that he co-chaired; he took both Becky and Huck with him to see their friends and to get them out of my hair so I could run several errands with just Tom. When I walked in the door, lugging bags of water softener salt behind me, and Becky wanted to know if we could head right back out the door for a second event at school that night.

"No!" I snapped, then softened. "We can't do everything, honey."

"Okay," she said, the corners of her smile turning down.

It's so hard to say no to helping out.

It's so hard to say no to worthwhile activities.

It's so hard to say no to my children and thus be the source of their disappointment.

But it's so necessary.

Time is a slippery fish, my friends. No sooner than you wrap your hands around it, it flails, passes through your fingers, and is gone. All you're left with is the memory of how it shimmered in the sun.

While I race through my days, from one busy thing to the next, pinning my hopes on that shiny, glorious, and ever-happy Someday, today slips through my grasp and is gone.

Today is the treasure.

I want to embrace that, to live it, but I know that first I need to learn to say no, and not just to my children.

I need to learn to say no to myself, to that small voice that urges me to grab all the goodies I can from the Feast of Busyness.

Your plate is already full, I remind myself. Enjoy it.

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

This song reminds me to just slow down. I big-puffy-heart* Third Day.

I'm linking this up to Then Sings My Soul over at Signs, Miracles, and Wonders; go visit Amy and get inspired.

*That's a total Jenny-ism

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Like Caddy Shack for Pre-Schoolers

2009-09-11T19:24:00.000-07:00

Little Tom is a man obsessed.

Tom has discovered a deep and life-guiding passion for golf.

He has two golf clubs that are just his size (a gift from a co-worker of Knute's who was delighted to get them out of his basement), a chipper and a driver. Most days, after we drop his big brother and sister off at school, Tom heads out to the back yard where he happily whacks his collection of golf balls (including his highly prized and treasured blue and yellow ones) across the grass and through the trees.

His obsession with golf doesn't end with merely playing the game; no, my little wanna-be-golf-pro-like-his-great-uncle* knows exactly what channel on our cable service is the the Golf Channel (59, for those of you in the Lebanon area). After he comes in from his morning tee time from the back yard greens, he snacks on Cheez-Its while he gets his daily fix of golf (or golf infomercials) on tv.

My trusty van Claudine drives past our local public golf course (it's really quite nice) at least twice a day so Tom can check on the greens and heckle whoever might be unlucky enough to be putting at the hole closest to East Street.

"See THAT, Mommy?! He MISSED it!"

I've learned to keep the windows up with the child locks engaged as we drive by.

Yesterday, on our early morning pass of the golf course, Tom peered out the window at the dewy grass and asked, "Where's Tiger?"

"Still sleeping," I answered. Hey, it might have been true, right?

Last Friday, when the big kids had off from school and Knute was home burning up some personal days before the insanity of Q4 hits, we surprised the kids with a trip down to our fave mini-golf course. It's just down the road from us (a pleasant country drive) and once you've paid for your round of mini-golf, you can play as many times as you like.

We decided to give little Tom and his siblings a chance to really swing the sticks on their driving range. While I went in search of a bucket of balls**, Knute set the kids up and let them hit a few that were left on the range. As I walked back over to them, I looked up just in time to see Tom lay one out over a hundred yards.

Wow.

While it would be nice to dream of an early retirement (say, 45ish?) spent whisking from one PGA Tour event to another, I have no such delusions. Golf is a tough game, one that frustrates me because my muscles want to swing the club like a field hockey stick. Though many parents may dream of raising the next Tiger, I'm just trying to raise a good man.

I'm glad Tom loves golf and I'm glad that our small town has so many places where he can play in youth leagues as he gets older; if something evolves from it, something bigger and better, so be it.

For now, I'm happy that he's happy.

And I'm finding during those oh-so-fun moments when tiny tempers flare that the threat of no more golf for today is a fabulous negotiating tool.

*Knute's uncle was on the tour and has worked as a golf pro since then. Tom's obsession has a genetic basis.

**Knute and I have had more laughs at all the puns and double entendres that happen innocently enough when our 3.5 year old talks endlessly about his balls.

Smart Kids Change Everything

2009-09-05T04:32:00.000-07:00

I've found myself in a bit of a blogging slump lately.

It's not that I haven't had moments in my life worth saving in words (I have) or that I don't have firmly held opinions (oh, I do, on all sorts of things).

It's simply that I have come to the point as a blogger where my children all know about my blog and can easily find it online. All of them, including the mouthy little three-and-a-half year old Tom. Last week, he was happily clicking around Playhouse Disney online, doing some Ooh and Ahh CoCoNutty Bowling; I left the room and came back to find him staring at my Blogger Dashboard page.

"Buddy, what are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm wookin' at your picture, Mommy," he answered. "I missed you."

Um, dude? I was three steps away in the kitchen, I thought, but didn't argue my point with him. Apparently all of his screaming ninny tantrums (with bonus slapping hands and kicking feet!) over the years have just been a ploy to hide the depths of his undying devotion to his mother.

Still, it's unnerving to discover that my preschooler has the mad skillz needed to find me online; couple that with the fact that my older two have known where and how to find my blog for a while and the fact that both are excellent readers and I have a bit of a conundrum on my hands.

How do you blog when your kids are reading, too?

Despite my love affair with social media, I'm a private person at heart. I've always been careful about what I share here because every word, every potentially snarky moment or mini-rant leaves a trail, a big fat web footprint with my name on it. I've never wanted to leave an angry mess behind me.

I've also been careful about guarding my children's privacy (although my last post was a flagrant violation of my personal rules regarding pictures) because I think they should have some choice in how much of their life gets shared online; this blog is a living document, available 24/7, not a bunch of dusty papers tucked into a safety deposit box at the bank.

I'm not sure how this blog might evolve and change. I think every personal blogger who sticks with this gig for a few years gets to this point, this place where words and stories aren't just shared with family and friends and the internetz at large but with the main characters themselves.

For those of you out there with older children, how have you handled this blogging balancing act? I'd love to know.

Thanks for reading and subscribing to Writer-Mommy!

Absent Here; Present There

2009-08-31T12:01:00.000-07:00

It takes two weeks, I have just learned today, of blogging inactivity for BlogHer Ads to send you one of their gentle reminder emails to get off your tail feathers and start blogging again or else your ad code will be disabled.

I had wondered; now I know. ;-)

The past fourteen days have been a whirlwind, filled with our parish festival, my girl's birthday, two other classmate's birthday parties, the start of school, and my teeth-gritted determination to clean out closets, shelves, and cob-webby corners of my basement in an effort to be organized once and for all.

Add to that my usual uber-list of personal to do's humming at the edge of my consciousness (start planning some freelance writing queries, keep blogging deals here, book writing, and re-conquering Cardio Kick Boxing) and I've been running on caffeine fumes for days.

When I do have a moment to catch my breath, I'm usually out back watching this dude:

Little Tom has developed a passion for golf; I have to drag him away from the clubs as the sun starts to set over the trees. I should grab my video cam and get some footage of him chipping and driving, but I'm enjoying just being in the moment with him. Life happens in front of the camera, not behind it.

Of course, with a good-looking bunch like this, I couldn't resist a couple of shots from the first day of school. Watch as I keep breaking my cardinal rule of not posting direct shots of my kids...

Goofball the Elder with Goofball the Younger.

Our Mom {hearts} Uniforms!

I wish I had something profound and wise to share with you about the start of new school year or how quickly the years as a mom to small children slipped through my fingers, but alas, I am without witty prose to mark this occasion. I am simply too spent from the long summer days entertaining and refereeing three kids and too relieved to be back within the boundaries of a comfortable and comforting school year routine.

There is one thing, though, that swirled to the surface as I read the BlogHer Ads email this morning.

I'm glad I let this blog slide for the past couple of weeks. I'm glad that I spent time fully present in the brick and mortar world with my tribe as summer ticked down day-by-day.

I love social media and love blogging, but I love them more.

Thanks for reading and subscribing to Writer-Mommy!

Wordless Wednesday: It's The Best Recycling Ever!

2009-08-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

Q: What do you do with an empty shipping box from Lands End*?

A: Why, make your best friend ever**!

See more great pictures for today's Wordless Wednesday at Momspective.com.

*Thank you to Lands End and Social Luxe Lounge for the generous post-BlogHer cardigan sweater swag!

**If you have any knowledge of Spongebob Squarepants, you should have a certain song BLARING in your brain after reading that answer and post title!

A Writer Divided

2009-08-06T18:33:00.000-07:00

After a full school year of schedules, activities, and zipping hither and yon, I honestly believed that summer would bring me respite, a break from the frantic pace.

I honestly believed that this summer, I would finally get serious about my writing.

*A-hem*.

My hope was so large that I went so far as to create a dedicated writer's workspace in a corner of my basement. It still looks much the same as it did in that post, if a bit more cluttered with tiny Legos and little books that Huck wrote, colored, and stapled for me on his endless supply of index cards ($0.44/100 at Target).

At least someone in this family can claim the title of Author.

But something happened along the way to my plans of great work. The very fact of summer happened, days that begin at six and end around nine. Days that I filled initially with fun activities, day trips, and dedicated reading time for my older two devolved slowly into lazy and endless afternoons at the pool or the park or *gasp* in front of the d-a-m-n TV* when the rain fell by bucketfuls.

And me? My lofty goals?

They devolved, too, though I did start strong. I started with intent and that same desire to write still pounds in every fiber of my being. But I get weary, oh so weary, during these summer months. How my homeschooling friends manage day in and day out, I cannot fathom.

My pages-a-day goal dwindled and faded but I can't blame it all on summer and the days that stretch on and on and on.

The simple truth is that blogging is killing my writing.

Late one night this weekend I told Knute - with no whining or weeping or self-pity, just with a sense of utter calm - that I couldn't juggle it all.

He looked at me and said, No one expects you to, Mare.

Ah, but there's the rub. I expect me to.

Since I attended BlogHer in Chicago - and even a bit before then - blogging and social media in general have taken on a business tone in my mind. And while there can be no doubt that the business of blogging, when done well and with great dedication, can be successful and meaningful, I still am not sure where I fit in that paradigm.

If blogging becomes my business, if I throw myself at it with full intent, then where, oh where, will I find time for writing?

But then I flip that tarnished coin of despair over and ask myself this: if I throw myself at writing with full intent, will I ever succeed?

I scroll through the Post page of my Blogger Dashboard and wince as I consider the sheer number of posts I have written here, the days and months, and - come November - years I have spent chattering about my life. It doubles, that sense of time passing and rare bits of moments lost, when I peer over at the work I have done here.

I love blogging and I love what doors have been opened to me through social media. And the friendships I've forged with smart, engaged, and pioneering women through comments, tweets, and meetups are amazing. Being part of such group is enough to keep my fingers tapping across the keys.

But I am deep in thought as I approach birthday number thirty-six. I'm no wrinkled crone but my twenties are long gone and my thirties are now whizzing by as well.

Time stops for no one, blogger or writer.

*The kids know my feelings about the idiot box; yes, I spell that one out on occasion in fits of pique.

Treading Water

2009-08-04T06:51:00.000-07:00

Summer has never been an easy season for me, at least not since I was a young child.

I worked during my high school summers, and spent my college summers working almost full time as well. The summer between my junior and senior year of college, I took four classes as well; the days from that summer, those looong days of waiting tables in Annapolis then racing down Route 50 to sit through four hours of class each night, are a blur in my memory.

Summer, in the years of our marriage before kids, was, well, summer. Just another season, more work to do in the yard, more hot days to swelter, more warm nights made for cookouts with friends.

Then we had kids.

And summer changed forever.

It wasn't too bad when Becky, then Huck, were tiny together. Those lazy summer days of babyhood and toddlerhood may have been long and tiring, but there was a definite schedule to keep and naps - oh sweet, blessed naps - for them to take. Bedtime came a bit later, but not much; they were tired lumps of kiddos at the end of those summer days.

By the time little Tom came along, the terms of summer had changed. Now there were three of them (oh, how I was outnumbered) and Becky had long since given up napping. Huck still napped, but not for long and was usually woken up by the hollering of his baby brother. Summer days were still long, longer than their bodies could really keep up with, but there was no telling them that; by golly, if the sun was up there would be no sleeping in or going to be early!

Now all three are older and summer, my friends, has become the season I try to simply survive. I love them dearly, those blue eyed kiddos of mine, and love spending time with them, but my summer days begin at sixish (because the sun is up and why should I sleep? says Huck) and end around nine when the oldest finally turns in for the night.

While I don't fret about someone toddling too close to the stairs anymore or sticking a finger into a stray electrical socket, the fact that they are older means no more nap times for anyone. I miss those quiet times, those times that have now evolved into the Late Afternoon Sibling Squabble Hour.

I know that summer will evolve again as they grow a bit older; little Tom is still young enough to be a grumpy mess by five o'clock and Becky and Huck are just starting to see the worthiness of spending a little alone time in their rooms during the end of the afternoon. Changes are always just over the horizon when raising children.

I'm not so naive as to hope for easy summers again, but I am hopeful enough to dream of summer days that don't leave me drained both physically and mentally.

And I am counting the days on the calendar, my friends.

Doing What I Know

2009-08-03T06:14:00.000-07:00

I wrote a post last week asking you if you'd hire a cleaning service if you had the financial resources to afford it.

We can't afford that sort of indulgence so the point is moot here at my household. But even if I could pay someone to mop the floors, scrub the toilets, and move the furniture to vacuum (something I myself haven't done in a looooong time), I wouldn't.

And not because I don't think my time is worth the money; oh no, my time is most definitely worth it. Or because I love cleaning; no way in hell will those words ever be uttered by my lips without a heaping dose of syrupy sarcasm.

The biggest reason why I wouldn't hire a cleaning service is because I'm a mom, and as a mom, I'm all about teaching my kids to do for themselves, to take care of themselves, and to fend for themselves.

Despite my intense dislike of cleaning (not so much the act of cleaning itself so much as the simple fact that what is "clean" does not remain so for long in a home with three kids and two dogs), I see value in it. I see value in teaching my kids how to do all those tasks - the laundry, the sweeping, the Swiffering, the bed-making - by themselves.

But when they're all grown and off at college...well, that's a completely different story.

;-)

Thanks for reading and subscribing to Writer-Mommy!

Treasure Trove

2009-07-31T06:21:00.001-07:00

The space between Huck's bed and the wall has some sort of sticky-gravitational pull for all the treasures he collects during any given week.

Consider what I pulled out this morning:

--> (2) Post-It pads, one yellow, one purple

--> (1) Spiderman book (from the library)

--> (1) Blue Dinoco Lightening Lego car

--> (1) Green helicopter blade (goes on top of a matching straw to spin through the air)

--> Numerous Post-It note-based bits of art, lists, and drawings

--> (1) Uncolored Wolverine stand-up card with markers (still in plastic wrap from the $1.00 bin at Target

--> (3) Bookmarks from Half Price Books

And this was what I found at the bottom half of the bed; I can only imagine what lies waiting for discovery at the top half of the bed.

When making the bed becomes akin to an archaeological dig, it's time to do some big cleaning. Think of me today, my friends, and know that I am digging deep with the vacuum, the Swiffer, and the mop.

And, because I just love tangentially-related questions, here's one for you:

If you had the financial resources, would you hire a cleaning service? Why or why not?

I'll add my answer later...aren't you just dying to know??

Thanks for reading and subscribing to Writer-Mommy!

Mere Words, Empowered: 25 Words of Social Media Wisdom

2009-07-29T19:52:00.000-07:00

Do you read Liz Strauss at Successful-Blog? Liz is one of those people in social media who just gets it, who gets that the value of social media lies in the relationships we build.

I didn't meet Liz at BlogHer; I don't even know if were in any of the same sessions or events. I doubt I would have had it in me to walk up to her and introduce myself; I probably would have stood to one side, eyes big as saucers. Yeah, I haven't gotten over that "little blogger" complex that plagues me; do I get points for honesty?

Liz has a great writing project going on over at her blog, 25 Words of Social Media Wisdom. As a writer, I encourage you to check it out and post your own because brevity and succinctness are the makings of a meaningful message.

Without further ado, here's mine:

Our words - transformed from static text to immediate voices - build bridges between us, opening doors to new relationships, friendships, and understandings. We are forever changed.

Visit the comments at Liz's post to read more; be sure to write yours and add your link by July 31.

Oh, and by the way?

I really, truly, and 100% believe in mine; social media is a game-changer, one I think has great potential for good.

What do you think?

Thanks for reading and subscribing to Writer-Mommy!

Looking Backward, Looking Forward: My BlogHer '09 Experience

2009-07-28T04:54:00.000-07:00

Going to BlogHer '09 wasn't an easy decision for me; I came home after one of our second BigDealMoms meetups in February (we ended the night at Steak and Shake where Emily shared with us her now infamous Spanx v. Public Restrooms story) and talked to Knute about how everyone that had gone to Blissdom was now planning to go to BlogHer '09. The conversation went something like this:

Knute: You should go, too.

{Nearly snarfing coffee out my nose as I laughed out loud}

Me: Yeah, right.

Knute: No, really. Just buy the ticket and go. You'll have fun.

{Dawning realization that this trip would be just me and would not involve planning and packing for any and every possible disaster that can happen when traveling with three kids}

Me: I'll buy the ticket tomorrow.

Which was really a mistake; tomorrow just happened to be March 1 and ticket prices switched from Early Bird Registration of $199 to Full Registration of $299.

My ~~cheap ass~~ frugal self hemmed and hawed all day about spending that very large amount of cashoola on myself and myself alone for an event that I really wasn't certain I should attend. I mean, I am a small blogger; I had visions of being the tiny guppy swimming through a sea of much, much bigger fish.

I emailed some of the other #BigDealMoms - do you have room for me in the van and the hotel rooms? They did which meant the only other question I had to answer was this one:

Did I think of myself as a real blogger, one that would be doing this for a loooong time?

That, my friends, was a toughie I wasn't sure I could answer. This blog, my personal one, isn't terribly, well, personal compared to most mommy blogs. My other blog, while earning me a few bucks, is more to keep me on track with my own savings and deals. But my long-term blogging plan, my elevator pitch, so to speak? That I couldn't tell you.

So I kept my eyes on the ultimate prize (a four day getaway to a very cool city with my friends - woot!), gritted my teeth, and bought the conference pass anyways.

I'm so glad I did; I had a fabulous time at the conference itself as well as at some of the open invite parties I attended and the private invite parties where my friends were kind enough to add me as their +1.

I learned a little and laughed alot; I also find myself wishing I'd done a few things a little differently and thought I'd share those with you in case you're considering hoofing it to NYC for BlogHer '10.

1. Go to more techie (Geek Lab) Sessions.

I'm one of those people who likes learning details on how-to do stuff rather than just listening to debate about current trends and thoughts. I attended some of the Business of You sessions and did enjoy them but I have to tell you honestly that I would have killed for a PowerPoint presentation, even if it was just a brief one to use as a jumping off point into a bigger discussion. Yeah, I'm that kind of a geek - now you know, too.

From chatting with my friends who did attend a couple of Geek Lab sessions, there seemed to be more of a how-to focus in the Geek Labs than a let's chat focus. I like chatting as much as the next girl, but I got my fill of chatting outside the sessions. I'll pick and choose more carefully next year and be sure to attend only the let's chat sessions that really grab my attention.

2. RSVP to fewer parties.

Peeps, the parties were all over the place and all over the schedule. Most of them overlapped on the schedule so it would have taken super powers and/or a tricked out DeLorian Time Machine for me to get to all of them. There was just no possible way to hop to every party, and if you were there and you managed to do this, my hat is off to you (and to your clone).

Add to the simple facts of the space-time continuum and my inability to bend it to my will, I was fortunate enough to be invited to two private, invite-only parties. I enjoyed those, especially the Suave one, so much. Even at the two really big open-invite parties I attended, I gravitated toward hanging with a small group of people and just chatting.

My point: the parties are big and while loaded with swag which, while nice to receive (oh.my.goodness - the generosity of some of the sponsors has still blown me away), brought out some ugly swag-seeking behavior in a very small number of attendees. The best times I had were the smaller times, the smaller parties, the hanging out and chatting one-on-one, the grabbing dinner with a small group.

Big, my friends, is not always better.

3. Make plans before I go next year to meet people in person.

So, did I mention BlogHer was big?

Like holy-cow-1400-attendees big?

Yeah, that's a lot of people, and not all of them were bloggers. I met many, many PR, corporates, and journalists there as well.

The sheer number of people (add another bunch of supporting staff, sponsors, etc., on top of that attendee number as well) meant I was on people overload pretty quickly. I might be an extrovert but I can't be a totally-turned-on-and-ready-to-talk-all-day-and-night extrovert for three days straight.

I hit a point where I just needed some quiet every day and I took it by either just wandering outside to sit by the river, going out for a run in the mornings (oh, running by the lake is uber-awesome; thanks @PHATMommy for organizing the 5K), or just heading up to the room to grab some down time and check the wifi.

I saw lots of people I wanted to just walk up to and chat with, folks I twitter with and read and follow, but I honestly got burnt out on the socializing. Next year, I'll reach out to the people I want to meet before I go and try to make plans to find each other rather than just wait for a serendipitous meeting.

4. Bring my own wifi.

Loved the conference, thought the sponsors were awesome and the bloggers I met were wonderful but I have to be honest on this key element: the wifi was spotty at best and overloaded/non-functioning at worst. Since I don't have an iPhone (yet - *a-hem*) or my own plug in wireless card thingamajig, I didn't have much access at all up at the hotel. Not only is this a big bummer in the live-blogging category, it made it very hard for me to keep in touch, real-time, with my blogtourage. It also meant I was insulated a bit from some of the drama that was getting tweeted so it wasn't all bad.

On the flip side, my ~~cheap ass~~ frugal self is now sold on buying a iPhone. I was in deep iPhone lust this past weekend, y'all.

So there you go, everyone. My super-long-BlogHer '09 post; if you read this all the way to the end, you deserve a prize or at least a big chocolate bar or just my gratitude for listening to me ramble.

I'm going again to BlogHer '10 in NYC next August so if you're looking to go, too, let me know so we can meet up. I can't wait to do some more hanging out with some of my best friends in the world; no one gets bloggers like bloggers.

Love you girlies - thanks for not leaving me behind when I overslept and for making the trip so much fun.

Thanks for reading and subscribing to Writer-Mommy!

What Happens When You Sleep Like a Rock

2009-07-24T15:21:00.001-07:00

Despite my body's best efforts to keep me from coming, I am here, HERE, in Chicago at BlogHer 09.

And I'm having a blast - ain't no party like a bloggers party, peeps.

I almost didn't make it, a fact that got tweeted around about, oh, I'd say 6:30 AM EST yesterday by all the #BigDealMoms gang who were waiting on me to show up.

I was *a-hem* a wee bit late for our crack of dawn meetup.

Despite my best efforts (um...like four different alarms and three kids who like to get up at the crack of dawn as well), this intrepid momblogger did the unthinkable on BlogHer D-Day.

I overslept.

After a quick call to Andrea @MommySnacks at 6:20 which consisted of three sentences (me: Oh crap, I'm sorry. Andrea: Where ARE you? me: I'll meet you at Erin's.), I ran through the shower, jumped into my clothes, grabbed the car keys, and raced up the road.

I drove ~~like a bat out of hell~~ just a smidge above the speed limit and got there in time; we headed on our way to Chicago and haven't looked back.

And today? For that BlogHer 5K this morning organized by @PhatMommy?

I requested a wake up call and told Erin, Tricia, and Briana to throw something at me if I didn't grab the phone on the first ring.

Thankfully, I have no new bruises to report and I've had a great day here at BlogHer; there's much to learn and lots of great bloggers to meet.

I'm glad I came - thanks, Knute, for pushing me off the diving board.

Here I Am, Who I Am, Why I Blog - BlogHer '09 Welcome Post

2009-07-23T05:00:00.000-07:00

If you're visiting after meeting me at BlogHer '09, thanks for clicking over after meeting me in real life.

I've owned this domain since 2004; when I first bought the domain Writer-Mommy.com, I had an idea that I might develop it into a useful website for writing moms. That never happened; what happened instead was life. You can read more about the history of this domain and the growth of this blog right here in my Intro post.

I started blogging in November of 2007; I had never read any blogs until my in real life friend Emily started a blog with her cousin Jenny; I read their posts, followed their links and my writing self was instantly hooked. Yup, you heard me, I consider myself a writer; you can read a bit more about that and my personal history right here in my About WM post.

I've come to love blogging and social media because I firmly believe in the good that can bloom when everyone has a voice and a platform from which to share what they know. I know I've benefited from the knowledge I've gained from the blogosphere, so much so that I started a second blog geared toward frugalista living, deals, and coupons; you can hop over here to visit me in my other webjoint.

So who am I?

A mom of three, wife to my best friend, dog wrangler, and former East Coast girl who loves life in the Midwest.

I'm also a writer which is what motivates me to blog more than anything; I'm wired for words. This blog is a labor of love for me, a link-laden time capsule for my children and their children to have and to read one day.

Feel free to leave a comment if you wish but don't sweat it if you don't. I'm not in this for the comments, although they are a nice treat; thanks to those of you who leave them regularly.

I'm just in this for the words...and the off-chance that it might lead to something bigger someday.

Thanks for visiting!

24 Hours to BlogHer 09 - Has Anyone Seen My Panic Button?

2009-07-22T03:00:00.000-07:00

In a mere 24 hours, I'll be rolling down the road to Andrea's (@MommySnacks) house (zooming past our shared landmark, BBJ) to leave for the big road trip to BlogHer '09.

I'm excited/overloaded/nervous about the trip, which is the perfect combination for good blog fodder; since stringing words into pretty paragraphs is a bit beyond my fried brain right now, I'm posting up my Top 10 list for going to BlogHer '09.

Promise to try not to fall out of your chair at my stunning post originality, ok?

10. Leaving at 6:00 am isn't a big deal for me, it's leaving and 6:00 am and looking good at 6:00 am that's gonna be a challenge.

9. I still haven't gotten my schedule down on paper yet so I'm thinking of getting @MommySnacks or @AmyinOHio one of those kid halter/leash things so they can just drag me along to wherever I'm supposed to be.

8. Signing up to run the BlogHer 5K organized by @PhatMommy seemed like a good idea at the time; now that I'm a couple of days away from the 6:30 am start time, I'm already yawning.

7. I've got "Paint Toenails" on my to do list but peeps? I am a runner and I have the battered and blistered feet to show for it; I can guarantee colorful but not beautiful, m'kay?

6. The schedule is jam-packed and makes me hyperventilate when I make direct eye contact with my planner; I'm worried about being late everywhere since I won't have my trusty van Claudine and her clock set nine minutes fast to trick me into being on time.

5. I am looking forward to seeing my friend Emily @MomminItUp's husband who's coming along for the trip since he and my hubs Knute have been best friends for the past twenty years; he'll have me laughing and he'll make Knute green with envy when he texts him from Wrigley Field.

4. I'm SO grateful that I get to room with blogging friends I actually know in real life although with four women sharing one bathroom, we're going to need schedules and a stopwatch.

3. I'm thinking that maybe it's a hidden blessing that I haven't loaded Skype on our desktop here at home yet for videochatting while I'm away; the kids are already clinging to me like sweetpea vines as I get ready to leave. Seeing Mommy on the computer but not having Mommy at home might be too much for their little emotional selves to bear.

2. I'm thinking it might be fun to stick a sign on Emily's back that reads Hug Me (see #1 here).

1. A weekend away with friends for the first time ever in my mommying gig - oh, the sweet taste of freedom on my tongue is making me giddy!

I'm looking forward to the parties, the swag, and the sessions. Most of all, I'm looking forward to the people. If you see me across one of the rooms, give a holler and we'll chat.

And if you happen to take a shot of cute shoes and my blistered and Band-Aid ridden feet are in the frame, promise me you'll delete it before it ends up in your Flickr stream.

Looking forward to meeting you!

Day Tripping: Dayton Vectran Air Show 2009

2009-07-20T20:23:00.000-07:00

We spent Sunday in Knute's old stomping grounds as we visited the Dayton Air Show (with seriously good tickets courtesy of Big Giant Corporation where Knute works).

I am at a loss for words as I have a list longer than my arm to tackle before I leave for BlogHer at o'dark-thirty in the morning on Thursday; here's some pictures from the day.

One of the show planes; we had seats right on the flight line.

Future aviator #1

Future aviator #2

Knute and the gang checking out one of the cargo planes; Huck was a bit obessessed with the tie-down clips (see him bending over to spin them?).

It was a great day with perfect weather but the kiddos did get tired out after walking all over the airfield.

A big thanks to Big Giant Corporation for the tickets!

I'll be posting a quick get-to-know-me post tomorrow 7/22/09, pre-BlogHer; feel free to skip it if you're not attending. ;-)

Like Goldilocks for Motherhood

2009-07-20T11:10:00.001-07:00

I find my mothering self divided into thirds on these long summer days, each third of me trying it's best to mother each child as an individual rather than part of a herd. It's not been too successful thus far; it's hard to dole out one-on-one time when they all clamor for the spotlight.

By the time the day is ~~mercifully~~ done and I am finally lying in bed, I wonder back at the highs and lows of the day, especially the lows, and how I handled them.

Was I too hard?

Too soft?

Just right?

I'm never entirely sure; I don't even know if there is a Just Right in this mommying gig, especially when you're balancing the needs and wants of three different individuals across a wide age range.

I hope that my kids will come to know - when they are older and likely parents themselves - that their mom did her best every day, and that some days tired and frazzled was the best she had to give.

And I hope they will look back on their summers and remember having lots of fun together with their siblings and their mom.

Because peeps? I am churning out the fun as fast as I can while I count down the days until school starts.

Hand in Hand

2009-07-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

It's summer, meaning no school for Becky and Huck which therefore means - since they both attend our local Catholic school - no weekly school Mass on Wednesday mornings.

During the school year, I try to make it to those Wednesday morning Masses with little Tom in tow but we don't always last more than a few minutes. Little Tom was born with his volume knob set to "11" and it's difficult to convince him to use his quiet voice which for him comes out as a shouting stage whisper.

I did manage to make it through a few Wednesday Masses last school year and I was glad I did; Father B really knows how to talk to the kids at their level and keep them engaged, no small feat for a parish priest.

What I like best, though, about the school Mass is just before communion when the kids stand to say the Our Father. Like many Catholic churches do these days, our church encourages holding hands during the Our Father at Sunday Mass but doesn't get pushy about it. It really is an optional thing that some people participate in while others choose not to do so.

But at school Mass when the Our Father begins, the kids stand in their pews then step down toward the center aisle until the whole school is standing as one big group. Then they hold hands, the big kids with the little kids, and pray as one.

It is beautiful to see, a moment of unity in faith that is priceless to this mom's eyes.