Mean Mommy Musings

My name is Sarah, and I am a Beta Mom.

2009-07-22T23:02:00.004-08:00

There is an unspoken, unwritten rule in the modern "stay at home mother community" that says the image of perfection must be maintained at all times, and at any cost. One must always portray oneself as blissful, calm, in control and above all else, successful. One must follow strict protocol in regards to creating and maintaining a thoughtful and properly planned schedule of daily, weekly, monthly, seasonally, yearly and once-per-childhood activities.

One's home, however grand or modest, must always be cleaned, organized, smelling of Lemon Verbena Infused Air Dried Linens, and ready for spontaneous house guests and play dates. One's appearance should always reflect the fact that one is consumed with pleasing one's husband and staying atop current trends, lest one should be labeled "One of Those Ponytail and Sweatpants Moms Who Has Really Let Herself Go."

Children of a "stay at home mother" must always be dressed appropriately (in boutique clothing, or at the very least Gymboree) for the weather and events of the day. They must play together as best play-mates, and work cooperatively to clean up after their developmentally appropriate art projects are finished. They must maintain a demanding and rigorous roster of extra-curricular activities for academic and social enrichment.

And I say: What a diaper-load of crap!

I'm going to wager a guess that this hyper-focus on pseudo-perfection comes from two distinct areas of pressure. One is that stay-at-home-moms still have not recovered, as a whole, from the pendulum swing of feminism. We've come a long way, baby, but we can't quite figure out where we're going. First we could not work outside the home without raising eyebrows, then we had to work outside the home to feel of worth, and now we are (supposedly) finally in the time and place where we have the liberty and social approval to choose to be at home or to have a career, or anywhere in between. Unfortunately, many stay at home moms are hesitant to be proud of their individual choice. We often label ourselves with what we imagine the rest of the adult working world sees; naive, uneducated, idealistic, weak, and old-fashioned. And sometimes we really are labeled by others. I was once (wrongly!) accused by another woman of choosing to stay at home so I could be lazy and control my husband by "forcing him to work" and therefore "trapping him in marriage." Yes, that really was said. No, I am not exaggerating. And no, I did not physically harm her after she made her statement, although I sincerely wanted to.

The other reason we put on the mask of perfection is competition and a craving for approval. We don't want to be the one woman in playgroup who doesn't have her act together. We want to be the best mommy, the best home manager, the best cook on the block. If we're the best, then we'll impress everyone else. And if we impress everyone else, they'll praise us for a job well done. Maybe it'll be through a comment about their envy for some skill we possess, or maybe a wistful look of disbelief as we deftly handle something they don't do as well. And then, only then, can we feel pride in our choice and our ability. When we get a figurative pat on the back from someone else who knows our role and responsibilities well... from someone on the inside. We crave that approval, that feeling of having conquered the task better than anyone else, when we don't have a manager or supervisor to give us positive feedback and a raise.

Well, I am here to tell you that I, for one, am not anywhere close to being SuperMom. And I don't think it's in my heart to even desire that label any more. Being SuperMom requires too much pride. Too much fear in failing. Too much anxiety and conditional approval. Too much being responsible for our children instead of being responsible to our children. I'd much rather be a Beta Mom, as I've heard it termed. I have a friend who wisely says, "I just want to be a happy medium." I absolutely agree. I want my house to be clean enough, organized enough. I want to be pretty enough. I want my kids to get along well enough and to have their time be occupied just enough. That leaves wiggle room for development, change, honesty, spontaneity, real life to occur. And Lord help me to have humility and empathy for others, so that I may see them for their true, unique selves, and not for a mask they might wear. We need to celebrate all the varied and wonderful ways of mothering, and mentor younger moms with a heart for acceptance and authenticity.

It is not within my power to change the views of society, the influence of feminism, or our tendency as women towards self-paralysis without approval. But I can stand proud for my own choices and abilities as well as be humble enough to show my faults along with my strengths. And I can accept the fact that we all do things differently in life, but we have the same goal in mind- to learn and grow as we raise healthy, happy, well-adjusted children and to make our own unique mark on the world in the process. One of my favorite quotes: "There is no one way to be a perfect mother but a million ways to be a good one. (Jill Churchill)."

Spanish Inversion

2009-04-07T23:01:00.002-08:00

Sammy: "Mama! I can count in Spanish! Uno... dos... thrays... what-ro... think-o..."

Me: :)

Home Sweet Home

2009-04-07T15:54:00.005-08:00

The town we live in is small and quiet. Most people would call it quaint, artsy, or friendly. Some might call it redneck, but only because they haven't spent much time here to know any better. We love living here and raising our children here and I wonder what it might look like when my boys become grandfathers someday. Here is a view of Palmer in it's golden olden days... Both the brick building and the log church are still standing today. Now it's a thriving metropolis. Well... not. But it's still a great place.

Serenity Now! Serenity Now!

2009-04-04T14:01:00.003-08:00

I don't know if it would be considered a "quote" or just a simple prayer, but the Serenity Prayer always seems to apply in life, doesn't it? Right now in the midst of depressing news on the state of the world and on those days when everything seems to go wrong- from little things to big things- this calms my brain. If you find yourself stressed out, take a minute to read it and let it really sink in...

Lord, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

It's not only Christmas... It's Groundhog Day.

2008-12-25T23:02:00.002-09:00

So I haven't written anything for a while because life's been busy... But here's a run down of Christmas eve/morning for your amusement (or sympathy, depending on which end of the child-rearing spectrum you fall):

4:30pm kids begin begging to go to bed so Santa can visit.
5:00pm kids get whiny that they are bored and it makes them think about Santa too much.
7:30pm kids hurry and get ready for bed with NO FUSS!!! I tell them not to get out of bed to wake us until their alarm clock says "7" something. I tell Isaiah, "It has to be a 7 or greater to get out of bed."
8:00pm They're out like a light. Paulo and I busy ourselves with last minute wrapping, baking, etc.
12:30am We're still up and the kids come bounding up the stairs, wild eyed and squealing with excitement, "Did Santa come yet?!?" We intercept on the stairs and send them back to bed. There is much crying and gnashing of teeth. I realize where the confusion lies- the number was greater than 7. I remind Isaiah of how the clock works and that it goes to 1 and then counts up again.
1:30am The kids get up again. I don't get myself to bed until 2:15 with all the junk I'm trying to pull off last minute.
3:15am The kids get up again.
3:45am The kids get up again.
4:30am The kids get up again.
5:30am The kids get up again. This time I stomp downstairs and say (in my quiet scary voice) through gritted teeth, "Do NOT get out of this bed AGAIN until the light on your alarm clock comes on... DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?!?" They nod yes and I cheat and set the alarm for 7:30, desperately hoping to squeeze in another 30 minutes of much needed sleep.
7:00am The kids get up again. "Mom- it says 7. I see presents under the tree! Santa came!" *sigh*

Lately, Especially...

2008-12-18T16:30:00.002-09:00

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"A child is a curly, dimpled lunatic."

Christmas Red Cake (ala my mom)

2008-11-24T19:21:00.006-09:00

Cake:

1/2 c. shortening

1 1/2 c. sugar

2 eggs

1/4 c. red food coloring (2 oz.)

2 Tb. cocoa

1 c. buttermilk

2 1/4 c. sifted cake flour

1 tsp. vanilla

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. vinegar

1 tsp. baking soda

Frosting:

5 Tb. flour

1 c. milk

1 c. sugar

1 c. butter

1 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour (or use cut parchment paper) two 8" round cake pans. Cream shortening, sugar, and eggs in a mixing bowl. Make a paste of cocoa and food coloring, and blend into shortening mixture. Add buttermilk to mixture alternately with flour and salt. Add vanilla. Combine together the baking soda with vinegar and carefully blend into the cake batter (do not beat). Pour into cake pans and bake 24-30 minutes. When completely cooled, split each layer in half. Prepare frosting by combining flour, milk, and sugar in a saucepan over med. heat. Heat, stirring constantly until thick. Remove from heat and cool completely. Cream butter and vanilla together. Add to cooled mixture and mix completely. Frost top of each layer and sides of cake with frosting. Enjoy and repeat every year!

What a Wonderful World...

2008-11-24T19:11:00.002-09:00

A flock of birds swooping and soaring in unison over a harvested field,
a cheery purple door on a simple old 1930s house,
my littlest son's wrinkly soggy thumb,
a deli counter lady with an infectious smile and twinkly eyes,
a big brother beaming with pride at the fact he made his little brother giggle.
Life is good.

Top ten funniest things my boys have said lately...

2008-11-19T23:36:00.003-09:00

10. Sammy: I want uncle-cado on mine. (avacado)
9. Isaiah: Dude, it was sweeeet. He had to go through the booty trap and then he almost got attacked by a mommy. (He also refers to "nissles")
8. Sammy: Turn me up-slide-down!
7. Isaiah: Does this take thriple A? (as in batteries)
6. Sammy: I see the American round! (merry-go-round)
5. Sammy: Can I have a he-weed? (took me along time to figure this one out: kiwi)
4. Sammy: See my hat?!? I'm Kid-diana Jones! (He thinks that's the actual name)
3. Sammy: (Upon recieving a "bug vacuum" for his birthday) I'm sucker-up-bug-Sammy. Sorry, Dad, but I'm gonna suck up all your bones and balls and blood, 'cause you're a bug.
2. Isaiah: Dad, why don't you have a list? (Dad: What do you mean?) You know, like Craig?
1. Isaiah: (To his brother, eating a mint) You can only have one of those a day, Sam, 'cause those are made in China.

Things I've Done

2008-11-18T16:13:00.002-09:00

To participate just copy and paste in your own blog, and bold all of the things you have done. Happy discoveries!

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch-hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance (no, but we should've)
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

Super Yummy Salmon Chowder

2008-11-15T17:33:00.003-09:00

I tweaked this recipe from a mommy-group cookbook in my town. I'd give due credit to the original recipe author, but I don't know her or how she would feel about me putting her name on here- so just thank "that other mommy" for this really yummy, quick, and nutritious recipe. I've made it 3 times and it's a huge hit at our house...

1 pint canned salmon (*no self respecting Alaskan fisherman's wife would used commercially canned nasty pink salmon- so I substitute and use left-over flaked grilled Copper River red salmon and add extra chicken broth in place of liquid from can)

1/2 med. onion, chopped

2 stalks celery, sliced

1 clove minced garlic

2 T. butter

1 large potato, diced

2 carrots, diced

2 1/2 c. chicken broth

1 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. dried thyme leaves (I used fresh from my garden this summer... yummy!)

1/4 tsp. pepper

3/4 c. chopped broccoli

1 can evaporated milk (13 oz.)

1 can creamed corn (8.5 oz)

minced parsley

Drain salmon, reserving liquid; flake. Saute onion, celery, and garlic in butter. Add potatoes, carrots, reserved salmon broth, chicken broth, and seasonings. Simmer, covered, for 20 minutes or until veggies are nearly tender. Add broccoli and cook additional 5 minutes. Add flaked salmon, evaporated milk, and corn. Heat through and sprinkle with parsley. Serve with crusty bread- yum yum.

How to be a Cruel Parent- Part II

2008-11-15T15:27:00.005-09:00

Never say yes to anything. I inherited this tendency from my own mean mother. It took an entire childhood of studying this ancient dialect to get it down pat and be fluent at it myself. So allow me to translate for you so that you can inflict this upon your own children. It's the least I can do.

Take this simple question: "Mom, can I go bowling with so-and-so?" Hmmm... seems straight forward, right? WRONG! Pay attention, people. "No," of course, means no. But any other response to the request gets a little more complicated. For instance, there's "we'll see," which means Yes, but I don't feel like consenting at this exact moment and if you hound me about it I'll eventually say no. "Maybe" means Yes, but I'm going to think of something to make you do first, such as clean your room. "Let me talk to Dad first" means I can't make up my mind whether it's a good idea or not, so I'll let your permissive father say yes and then he can get the blame when you act like a spoiled brat later and I won't have to feel guilty for it. And then of course, there's "I guess," which is as close as a mean mommy ever gets to actually saying ye... ye... ye... the Y-word.

Your personal safety is of utmost concern. How long could you survive chained to a bunk bed with a velociraptor?

2008-11-14T23:58:00.002-09:00

32 seconds

Created by Bunk Beds.net

I want to eat him up.

2008-11-14T00:34:00.003-09:00

I understand where that expression comes from. I look at all the rollie-pollies (I mean, really- there are like 40 gazillion rolls on that squishy little leg) and I just want to nibble on his neck and blow raspberries on the Buddha belly. Just in case you think Mean Mommy has lost her grip and gives giant lollipops as a regular meal, don't worry. I have a reputation to uphold and children to torture, after all. Jake is a year older now, and has maintained the same weight (32 lbs at 8 months and still the same at 21 months) but grown so much in height that he's lost a lot of his baby blubber. Now if I could only say the same for me. And something tells me it's not quite as endearing. *sigh* One day at a time...

My 'puter caught fire.

2008-11-14T00:10:00.004-09:00

No joke. I was sitting there sorting email when the screen went black. No blue screen of death, no nothing. Just as I was beginning to get indignant (I take it personally even though I don't have computer skillz), I saw smoke out of the corner of my eye. The power unit inside our computer had caught fire and it was pouring smoke from under the desk. So I did what any sane, rational, calm person would do. I flapped my hands up and down and stuttered for a good 15 seconds before I blurted out "Fire, fire, fire!" And then Paulo looked at me all smiling and confused-like for another good 15 seconds before he realized I was serious. From that point on, though, he was a blur. He hustled pretty fast for a guy who just had surgery on his spine. Learn from us, people. Don't leave your computer running all day! And for goodness sake, definitely don't leave it running at night! I used to leave ours on all day and check it periodically- even leave it running when I left the house for errands. Can you imagine if I'd not been sitting right there? And our whole loft/art studio/ office area? Talk about a fire trap! Our file drawer was a mere 2 inches under the computer. This is on the heels of a fire this summer in a house belonging to some acquaintances of ours down the street- their clothes dryer caught fire and literally melted. So be fire safe! I mean- I have a thing for firemen and all- but not that much of a thing. Having them walk through my house to check our alarming CO detector and seeing my dirty laundry on the floor was humiliating enough for one year, thankyouverymuch. At any rate- save the earth, cut your electric bill, save your home and maybe your babies lives, and prevent your hubby from having to piece together a new computer by turning off your computer unless you are using it.

Soul Mate.

2008-10-22T14:27:00.003-08:00

Why do I love him?

His smiley, crinkly eyes when he laughs

His "Kid Freeze" funky dance moves (he's a break dancing extraordinaire)

His dimples (and the fact that he passed them on to all 3 of our boys)

His spontanaity and sense of adventure

His little boy charm

His grown up sense of responsibility

His dedication to his family

His ability to understand me and patience with me, despite our opposite-ness

His attempts to slow dance with me in the aisles of Costco or wherever else the mood strikes

His macho "You better not mess with my woman" attitude when there are jack-asses nearby

His giggle

His muscles

His dedication to his career and knowledge of science

His inventiveness

His wild imagination

His romantic inclinations

His embrace

His ability to cook (and I mean the man can cook)

His inability to hold a grudge while stripping me of my ability to do so

His duck dance with his boxers in a wedgie (guess you'd have to be there)

His hand holding mine through 50+ combined hours of labor

His neck being cinched by my pulling and twisting his collar during 50+ hours of labor

His diaper changing abilities

His ability to know when I've reached the end of my rope

His ability to take over when said end of rope is reached

His blend of vulnerability and strength

His pampering me with bubble baths and candle light

His willingness to search the magazine racks for a Mary Engelbreit magazine when I'm sick or cranky, followed by a cell phone call: "You don't have this one yet, do you?"

(but there's no purse holding or tampon buying for him, no indeed)

His refusal (even though I want to hear it just once) to say he'd swim through shark infested waters to bring me a lemonade ("That's just stupid" he says, "unless they were sand sharks- then I'd do it.")

His enjoyment of playing with his children

His unending efforts to be the dad he always wanted

His undying love for me

I think I'll keep him.

How to be a Cruel Parent- Part I

2008-10-21T23:18:00.004-08:00

One of the most deliciously wretched things you can do to your child is require an early bedtime. Most of the time I put my children to bed at 7:30 during the week, so that they are asleep by 8:00. My oldest complains they miss all the "good shows" and commercials on t.v., none of the other parents make their kids go to bed early on school nights, and all I want to do anyway is have quiet time (say that in a snotty tone to get the real effect) and a date with Dad. Early bedtimes. Just another way to be a mean mommy.

Greener Days

2008-10-21T16:33:00.004-08:00

I'm not ready to face winter yet. And since it snowed today (and stuck), I thought I'd revisit my garden pictures from this summer. See?!? I'm not Mrs. Brown Thumbs after all. Other than forgetting to thin out the plants, spinach that bolted before I knew to pick it, and having a crummy summer with little to no sun, it did pretty well. We ended up with edible/usable lettuce, peas, beans, dill, onions, beets, carrots, and cabbage. This garden shot shows its progress about halfway through summer. But the gargantuous cabbage and Chorus Line carrots are from the end of summer harvest. Next year my goal is to try lasagna gardening and see how it does.

Lord Help Me.

2008-10-19T20:26:00.002-08:00

I will not beat my child.

...But this little punk is going into solitary confinement.

With a toybox, some trash bags and a vaccuum cleaner.

Lucky for him, he's cute.

I'd be Fabulous, Daaaahlink.

2008-10-18T15:07:00.008-08:00

I don't dress up for Halloween anymore. But if I did feel in a costumey mood, I'd want to wear a hat. You know, just to run down to the grocery store for some milk or whatever. Or maybe to my son's parent-teacher conference. Unfortunately I was born in the wrong era. But if I were a hat wearing kind of person, I'd wear one of these fabu noggin covers...

The first three are from ladydianehats.com Just in case you want to order for your next tea and crumpets/bunco social.

And this one is from ahead4hats.co.uk I think it'd be perfect for mowing the lawn. It would make all the neighbors envious. Maybe we should all just start wearing them and then we'd be all be in style. They are seriously cute. I say my sister goes first.

A Cherished Visitor

2008-10-15T16:27:00.005-08:00

I don't buy into the idea of ghosts being lost between worlds, angry, vengeful, mourning and skulking around dark corners and hallways, whooooooing away. Nor do I believe they are Casper-like, friendly little do-gooder spirits, looking for ways to lend a helping hand to the living. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't believe in ghosts at all. I believe in the Holy Ghost. I believe the Holy Ghost guides us, helps us, dwells in our hearts, gives us words to pray. But as far as "ghosts" go, I believe the dead no longer have use for our realm. They are in their places of eternity, possibly observing us, but more than likely having a great big ol' party up above, and getting ready to throw the confetti when we join them.

But what about those who never really had a chance to live, except in the dark peaceful quiet of their mothers' wombs? There is a little ghost who visits me sometimes. She wasn't done with our world, and we never had time to cuddle and chat. She formed miraculously within me for a few short months, she grew me into a mother, and then was taken away. Other than the ebb and flow of emotion she felt through my body, the warmth of my hands protectively cradling her, the lull of my voice and my heartbeat she felt through vibrations in water, she never knew of earth. It's been 8 years since she left and I've had my chance to grieve. I find peace in the fact that while I never had a chance to hold her, she's been rocked and embraced in the arms of Jesus himself. I've thought of how she's there with my grandparents and other loved ones, laughing at stories of my childhood calamities, learning all about the people she came from and basking in the presence of our Creator.

Every once in a while, though, I feel her here with me. I wonder if God gives a special privilege to these little ones- a kind of "visitation pass" to leave campus once in a while. You know, to have a little glimpse of what their earthly experience would have been like? Sometimes when I'm browsing the racks of a Gymboree store I'll glance up from the boy section and instantly spot a little polka dot sun dress or a soft Easter sweater across the store, and without thinking logically, realize that it would be perfect on Hannah. I can almost feel her tugging on my jacket to go over and touch the fabric. Or when my due date comes around each year, I feel a little bit of warmth, like a hug, that isn't due to the heat vents kicking on or a ray of sun through the window. It's accompanied by a sense of reassurance that it's still a day to celebrate. Every now and then I feel her in the living room, bouncing on the couch cushions and giggling at her brothers' antics. It's not that I can see her there, or even feel the sensations of the cushion moving. It's more of a day dream that catches me off guard. I'm not even aware that I'm seeing her until my conscious mind takes back control and she's instantly gone...until next time.

I didn't realize, when I was pregnant that first time, how common miscarriage is. I never imagined I'd have that experience to reflect on for the rest of my life. My doctors told me that 1 in 4 pregnancies ends this way and that it is "nature's way of taking care of abnormalities." They gave me the option of having the "fetal tissue" scraped out with a D&C or going home to wait for my body to take care of business. Some well meaning friends and family even told me it was "God's will." It seemed that everyone wanted to help by trying to make the loss less of a loss, to make it more sterilized, practical, non-human, or even a mistake to be corrected. The more they discussed how common it was, the more alone I felt in the experience. Instinctively, protectively, I took back the reigns 8 years ago. I left the hospital and its antiseptic smell. I cried buckets until my eyes were swollen shut, I sat on the couch in my robe for days with no shower, I drew the curtains shut and didn't eat. After weeks went by, when I felt my body cramp up and the cruelty of a labor for no baby, I held up my chin and got through it. The hardest part was not the cramping pain, but the emptiness that followed. It was both physical and emotional. I had a body that wanted desperately to hold on to a baby that couldn't grow. I had a heart that wanted to grieve a baby that needed to be mothered. Have you ever been to a funeral for an unborn baby? Unless it was your own, you haven't. They have an attendance of one. But as painful and lonely as it was, I said goodbye on my own terms.

I don't know what to make of it when I see the image of a "ghost" in a movie preview. The intent is for the viewer to feel pangs of terror. My brain instantly converts the image to one that is laughable- a white sheet controlled by a puppeteer behind a curtain. Kind of like the Wizard of Oz when he gets found out for who he really is and all the mystery fizzles away. Because I know a ghost who visits me, and she's not a vessel of terror and angst. She's a whisper, a flood of warmth, a soft brush against my cheek. She's come to see her mother, to hold my hand, to cuddle against me while I sleep, to join in on her brothers' fun and listen to her daddy sing. She's here to tell me that she misses me, but there's an amazing place where she'll be waiting to welcome me. It's her perfect, eternal home. She's there with so many other little ones, who come to visit their mothers once in a while. Mothers know all about ghosts.

*This post was entered in Scribbit's October Write-Away contest. If you'd like to enter, please visit Scribbit.

Reality Bites.

2008-10-13T23:30:00.003-08:00

Had my annual exam today... After stepping on the scale and flashing the nurse for my exam, I felt just like Barbie. Well, this Barbie anyway.

Girls Have Cooties. I Repeat. Girls. Have. Cooties.

2008-10-11T09:14:00.004-08:00

Isaiah was sitting on the couch this morning during Saturday cartoons. All of a sudden he yelled, "Aaaaaah! My eyes are burning!!! My eyes are burning!!!" I looked over to find him pressing his hands to his eyes like he had some kind of sudden affliction causing him searing pain. "What's the matter?!?" I asked, alarmed. "My eyes! My eyes!" he continued to moan. My mom brain instantly recognized that this was not real pain and that he was pulling my leg. I glanced at the t.v. and saw there was a commercial playing for a Barbie hair bead gadget. I asked him if that was the cause of his searing eye pain. His eyes peeked out and hands moved slightly up to the eyebrows to check the t.v. and see if the offending ad was still playing. Then he looked over at me and nodded yes, his face looking as if he'd just whiffed a rotten egg. Girls might have cooties for now, but I'm guessing he won't have searing eye pain from all things girly when he's a teenager!

2008-10-09T08:18:00.005-08:00

Well, I was tagged by my sister, so here you go.

I'm supposed to tag 7 others, but since I already did this via email, I won't pass it along again. Just be tagged if you want to! :)

1. Where is your cell phone? purse

2. Where is your significant other? asleep

3. Your hair color? carrots

4. Your mother? sweet

5. Your father? Sisu

6. Your favorite thing? massage

7. Your dream last night? blank

8. Your dream/goal? gallery

9. The room you're in? piles

10. Your hobby? painting

11. Your fear? loss

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? apprentice

13. Where were you last night? dishes

14. What you're not? lazy

15. One of your wish-list items? genie

16. Where you grew up? Alaska

17. The last thing you did? parented

18. What are you wearing? jammies

19. Your TV? Satan

20. Your pet? flushed

21. Your computer? mystery

22. Your mood? sleepy

23. Missing someone? Ali

24. Your car? comfy

25. Something you're not wearing? thong

26. Favorite store? fabric

27. Your summer? blip

28.Love someone? lucky-for-him

29. Your favorite color? yellow

30. When is the last time you laughed? Paulo

31. Last time you cried? likewise

Pickin' People

2008-09-27T23:19:00.002-08:00

Pickin' Place

2008-09-27T22:56:00.004-08:00

We went blueberry picking at Hatcher Pass with some friends this summer and took advantage of the late harvest from the cool temperatures. Paulo and I hadn't been picking since we were kids and it was the first time for our own children. It's one of the best memories I have from this summer. We picked until our hands and the seats of our pants were stained purple and it turned to dusk. Jacob was the "Great Blonde Bear" of the Matanuska-Susitna Valley, foraging for blueberries from my bowl. He ate them faster than I could pick them, the little stinker. We're looking forward to making blueberry muffins for breakfast some frosty cold winter morning. Looking out at the mountains surrounding us, I remembered why I love living in Alaska. I think this land is God's masterpiece.

A Fair Time

2008-09-27T22:44:00.002-08:00

Our boys love the state fair and the begging for rides began the minute they saw the equipment being set up three weeks before it started. Only 11 1/2 more months of asking when they can go again!

First Day of First Grade

2008-09-27T22:36:00.004-08:00

New backpack... $15.00

Spiffy "guitar" shirt... $18.00

Buzz cut and freckles... priceless!

Vintage Children's Fabrics

2008-09-14T11:43:00.005-08:00

I came across the cutest website today called WarmBiscuit, through another blogger (Scribbit), that has really neat vintage children's fabrics. We have such a puny selection in Alaska- pretty much limited to 2 stores that move their inventory very slowly and don't offer much variety. But this site is so fun! My personal favorites are the Retro Rocket and the Dick and Jane series. They even have oilcloth (it would make a great tote bag for the van!). I started sewing this summer and now I am itchin' to make some things for my boys and my nieces and nephews. My youngest niece might have to have a wardrobe update via Auntie. Wouldn't a little pullover dress or apron made out one of the fabrics below be so cute? This is how I get my "pink" fix (aka I must have something that does not involve Star Wars, Superheroes, Dinosaurs or Matchbox cars). Check it out- it's sweet.

http://warmbiscuit.com/fabricsall1.html

Ah Ha!

2008-09-10T11:09:00.002-08:00

As a coincidence, I found this article on "the search for rational voters." This offers an interesting perspective on how the perceptions of voters influence our national policies...

http://www.newsweek.com/id/158224/page/1

Just for the Record.

2008-09-10T08:23:00.008-08:00

I do not care what Barack Obama's middle name is, or what color his skin is, or that his pastor is distrustful or angry towards whites, or that he is endorsed by Oprah, or that he used the term "lipstick on a pig."

I do not care if John McCain dated a stripper and drove too fast 50 years ago, or that his wife's hair is considered "too shelacked" or that he appeared to be checking Palin out or sleeping while reading her teleprompter.

I do not care if Sarah Palin was runner up in a pageant or that she doesn't like Harry Potter books or that she enjoys mooseburgers or that she posted the jet on ebay, but it ended up selling privately. I don't even care if she ousted the commissioner for not firing her deadbeat and dangerous brother-in-law. I don't care about Todd Palin's DUI from 20+ years ago.

I don't care about Joe Biden's... hey? How come I don't know the dirt on Joe? Never mind!

What I care about is the fact that my husband must use (as opposed to wants to use) public transportation to commute to work- and it adds an extra 1 1/2 hours a day that he can't be with his children, because gas prices are so high we can't afford for him to drive every day. Our only other option is to move closer to his work, in a town with more congestion, more crime, more traffic accidents, and less of the things we enjoy where we are.

I care that our country is teetering towards relying solely on foreign oil. Energy controls our lives- the small day to day things like the cost of a gallon of milk, as well as the ability for an airline to stay in business, or the security of our nation. I care that I live in a state that is full of untapped oil. And also the fact that we are awfully close to Russia, China, and North Korea, and our relationships with these countries is- well, not so good.

I wonder how long it will take for our country to begin exploring, developing, using alternative energy sources so that we don't have to use as much oil.

I care that we are in a precarious position being a one income family and that I may have to go back to work and dump my children in subsidized day care for 10 hours a day in order to pay our bills. And we're not talking iTunes fees, hair extensions and a new car- more like a 22% increase in natural gas and expensive groceries and $4.26 for a gallon of gas (and that's after prices dropped).

I care about my friend's son, diagnosed with cancer at age 6, who will not be eligible for medical insurance when he turns 18. Or the fact that, although she wanted to quit her job to spend time with her son and care for him during his treatment, she couldn't afford the $5,000 per month premium for carryover insurance until her husband's insurance kicked in.

I worry about my 3 sons and whether or not they will be shipped off to war in one of a dozen places that we are currently battling or will battle with in the near future. Are we fighting these wars for the right reasons? Are we spread too thin? Do we have a president who really understands and supports why we are there in the first place?

I wonder how long our children will be stuck in a mediocre education system, where we have to cross our fingers for our kids to win the lottery for the school of our choice, or we have to hope that the latest bond passes for our kid's school that will buy them a new roof to repair the one that leaks on their desk. Will our kids recieve the education they need to function in the career of their dreams? Will we be able to afford skyrocketing college costs to get them there?

These are the things that plague my mind as a mother and a wife and a citizen of the United States of America. I may not have a degree in political science or history or law. I may not keep up with all the latest news. But I do have a desire to tell the media "SHUT UP! WE'RE NOT THAT STUPID!" So I'm on a mission. It may be pointless, being only one individual. But my mission is this... To stop listening to the news when they circulate the same insignificant story for 72 straight hours. To trash (or recycle!) the newspapers and magazines that analyze to the nth degree the things that don't matter and yet ignore the important issues. To ignore websites and blogs and emails that talk about things like "faked pregnancies" and "anti-Christ in disguise." It's not that these things don't deserve some bit of thought. It's just that they don't deserve all the brain cells that are being wasted on them at the expense of the bigger, more relevant ideas. I'll be waiting to hear the candidates speak, in their own words (so long as you can call pre-written speeches by others "their own words") during upcoming interviews and debates before I make my final decision. So join me, people! Let's have a common sense revolution! :)

Dear Bristol...

2008-09-08T16:39:00.004-08:00

Dear Bristol,

I don't know you personally, but I was a 17 year old once, too. I remember how hard it was to feel confident in my own skin. I always felt I was a little bit less than everyone else; I wasn't a straight A student, I wasn't particularly athletic, I wasn't super popular or the prettiest girl in school, I wasn't the most talented or voted the most likely to succeed. I thought my legs were too pale, my tummy too flabby, my nose too big, my essays not eloquent enough, my car- oh, wait. No car. I worried if this boy liked me or if that boy didn't, and if my zero on my last math assignment would get found out by my parents. If I could relive my teenage years all over again, well... I wouldn't. Ever.

And so I cannot imagine what must be going on in your beautiful head. The normal high school angst that helps us all grow into the adults we need to be has been replaced by what must be an agonizing sense of criticism and guilt regarding your own "failures" as well as your mother's "inability to control" you. Today I read a statement in a magazine that quoted, "It is possible that the entire GOP has just been toppled by a 17 year old." Such blind and ugly blame to place on such a young girl. You have cameras capturing your every expression, outfit, flash of emotion, awkward attempt to hold hands with your boyfriend and protect your growing belly. All for the benefit of millions of people to speculate on your mother's ability to parent and lead a nation. Or your own ability to turn a moment of weakness and poor judgement into a life that is carved from the context of your faith. Like wolves feeding on a moose calf carcass- everyone wants a bloody piece of the story.

I remember hearing about "spotlight syndrome" where someone becomes overly and unnecessarily self-conscious, thinking that everyone around them is focusing on their short comings. Well- you unfortunately and literally do have the spotlight on you right now. Is this your mother's fault? No. I believe John McCain and your mother honestly thought that Americans would be more concerned with our families having homes foreclosed on them or losing jobs, or our young men and women losing limbs and lives overseas, or the kid down the street who has cancer and whose parents are going to have to declare bankruptcy to pay his medical bills... I guess they were wrong. All Americans want is a quick fix, like a druggie- to feel they do life better than you, or your mother, or her party. That if they were in charge- perfection would reign. They are searching for the speck in your eye.

All this hits at a time when you should be embraced and nurtured by your loved ones and your community. It should be a time to get serious and make hard decisions about your relationship with your child and his/her father and what your adulthood will bring. Will you have an epidural or not and who will be your birth coach? You should have the time to sit and ponder whether you will breast feed and how to balance that with taking classes. Who will babysit and throw you a shower? Where will you and Levi live and how can you best support yourselves? Instead, you are left worrying about what millions think of you and your young love, what millions think of your mother and her parenting and whether or not you let her down and ruined her career- the first potential Republican woman vice president. You don't need the weight of the world on your shoulders- you need to be lifted up.

Let me shoot some straight talk with you... You're gonna have to square up your shoulders, stick your chin out, and be proud of who you are. You know all those self righteous, stuck up kids at school that sneer when you walk by? Or the ones who throw litter out their car windows and shoot up highway signs? Or the ones who turn everything into a joke, even when it's important? Or the ones who gossip about their friends behind their backs? Or the ones who use other people's mistakes as grounds to humiliate them? Well- they rarely change. They just become adults who continue to do the same thing. And what you get is a person who wants to use your pregnancy as a chance to tout their other political party with its better sex education stance (as if it's only possible for teens from conservative or religious families to get pregnant); You get people who claim to be open minded and educated on the issues, but stop talking about solving big problems in order to chat about the latest supposed conspiracy in a blog or tabloid and pass it along like wild fire; You get people who want to see the ugliest thing they can find in any situation.

I'm sorry you have to find this out so young and in such a big way. But I hope and pray that it makes you a stronger, more resilient mother who can stick up for your child... Like your own mom. I hope it helps you find your calling in life and to seek out those who love you. I hope it bolsters your faith and allows you to feel the true power of Christ's unfaltering love and forgiveness for you. I hope it helps you to develop a strong sense of confidence and peace with who you are. My own grandmother had my dad when she was only 16, and she led a wonderful life and was greatly loved and admired by her children and grandchildren.... I wish the same for you, and as a mom, I am so proud of your decision to nurture your baby.

He gives beauty for ashes, strength for fears, gladness in mourning, peace for despair... Adapted from Isaiah 61

Hang in there, kiddo.

Love, the other Sarah

Writer's Block...

2008-08-26T11:00:00.003-08:00

ABC Tag
A - Attached or Single? Happily married!
B - Best Friend? My hubby (and Alisyn and Tori and Kristy and numerous other great friends)
C - Cake or Pie? Yes, both, thank you.
D - Day of choice? Saturday (r&r)
E - Essential item? Burt's Bees peppermint chapstick
F - Favorite color? Soft sunshiney yellow or refreshing springy new-leaf green
G - Gummy bears or worms? Bears- I like to bite their heads off. And they remind me of Germany.
H - Hometown? Palmer, Alaska- "Alaska at its Best!"
I - Favorite Indulgence? Massages (good ones), bubble baths in silence with a new magazine
J - January or July? JULY! Outdoor time, sunshine around the clock, no schedule... ahhhhh...
K - Kids? 3 boys and one angel I'll meet some day
L - Life isn't complete without? Hugs
M - Marriage Date? February 12th
N - Number of Bros & Sis? 1 sister, 2 brother-in-laws, 2 sister-in-laws
O - Oranges or Apples? Oranges (I'm allergic to apples, darn it)
P - Phobias and Fears? Spiders, my family being hurt
Q - Quote? What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Creator calls the butterfly.
R - Reason to smile? Grubby hugs and strawberry breath kisses
S - Season of choice? Summer- sunshine and warmth, long days
T - Tag? Anyone who reads this.
U - Unknown fact about me? I want to learn to salsa and swing dance like a pro.
V - Vegetable? Squash (any kind)- yummy.
W - Worst habit? Staying up too late.
X - X-Ray? Only on my teeth, and an MRI on my brain (It's all good- except for that giant space for rent sign)
Y - Your favorite food? Homemade bread
Z - Zodiac sign? Stop, yield, one way, right turn only, speed limit 20, no entry, huh?

Goofy Google Experimentation

2008-08-10T22:11:00.002-08:00

I just read a blog that passed on a little Google game that is apparently quite popular, according to what I came up with. You are supposed to type in your first name and then the word "needs" and you'll find a list of all that is necessary to make your life complete (well, maybe not, but it's still fun)...

So here's what Sarah needs...
1. a cold shower
2. a date (mentioned numerous times)
3. your vote
4. answers (Yes, Lord.)
5. some love (that's why I need the cold shower, I guess)
6. more love lyrics
7. you
8. a wii
9. her man to lean on (how true)
10. to kick him in the nuts (there are days... nah, just kiddin')

There must be some truth to it all... kind of like horoscopes. Haha.

Mean Mama Mia!

2008-08-10T10:54:00.003-08:00

I went to see Mama Mia last night with my mom, sister and friends. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. We left the theater making up our own lyrics to ABBA songs- something about not wanting licorice and wanting ice cream instead? If you haven't seen this movie, you MUST go. It is definitely a chick flick, but some men might enjoy it, too. Nobody could resist laughing at the red sock flower thingy scene. :) Sing it with me, now:

You-ou can tyyyyype...

You-ou can scooooold...

Wash all the laundry and fo-o-ooold...

Whoah-oh-oh

Dancing Queen, Mean Mommy, you are Thirty Threeeeee!

Another Fabulous Quote...

2008-08-04T21:39:00.003-08:00

It is a mystery why adults expect perfection from children. Few grown-ups can get through a whole day without making a mistake. ~Marcelene Cox

Perspective

2008-08-04T21:22:00.004-08:00

My 6 year old nephew came running inside the other day to show us the latest find he and his cousins uncovered in the yard. "Mom! Look! I found a Hairy Butt Flower!" It's really a budding poppy- but in Brandon's mind it was a Hirsuiticus Glutimus Crackipod- or something like that.

sigh... The sweetest shoes ever.

2008-07-30T20:49:00.004-08:00

I'm the opposite of a label snob. I shop at Wal-mart and thrift stores and garage sales. But these make me want to take out a loan or sell a kidney for a pair of shoes. How cute are these? They have poppies all over them. If you ever see these Minolo Blahnik shoes at a garage sale, let me know, okay?!?

A Wonderful Quote...

2008-07-29T20:26:00.005-08:00

There is no way to be a perfect mother

and a million ways to be a good one.

~Jill Churchill

We interrupt this blog for a word from our sponsor...

2008-07-25T23:39:00.003-08:00

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder. No more itch and no more scratch. No more junk and no more funk. It's Anti-Monkey Butt Powder. Now that I use Anti-Monkey Butt Powder, I'm as fresh as a daisy and smooth as a baby's butt, too. How did I ever do without it? Available now in a Sportsman's Warehouse near you. Only $5.99, plus shipping and handling. Available in badonka-donk baby powder or junk-in-the-trunk jasmine.

Global Warming... the Great Conspiracy

2008-07-25T22:50:00.007-08:00

It's been the absolute pits for weather this summer in southcentral Alaska. We've had record amounts of cool temperatures and rain, and even with our "midnight sun" during the summer months, it's been gloomy and gray with all the constant clouds. I think we've only had 2 days over 75 degrees and it's been in the upper 40s and low 50s forever. Without much of a summer it kind of feels like we've had 12 months of fall, winter, and then fall again (22 months if you count this coming fall and winter)! UGH! HARUMPH! #&*%^$!!!

Okay- enough of my grumbling and boo-hooing. I've been trying to be optimistic about it and take advantage of this time to work on some projects indoors. I've made aprons, sewn curtains for almost every room in our house, and painted/redecorated our bedroom (a.k.a. love nest). I've still got lots and lots of ideas, things that need to be finished, and things that need to be started. I'll post some pictures after a bit. In the mean time, here's a glimpse of some summer fun our kidlets had on Independence Day- one of our very rare sunny days of the chilly summer of 2008! (The girlies are family-friends-and-with-any-luck-future-daughters-in-law, Abby and Lilly)

Paulo dubs these: "Ghetto waterslide"

Moniker Abuse

2008-07-25T22:45:00.002-08:00

Oh, heck no. There's being a mean mommy... and then there's just cruelty. I cannot believe this trend. If you think my kids have slightly unusual (I prefer "less common") names, you should see this.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article1468610.ece

A Modern Version of "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother"

2008-07-10T13:27:00.003-08:00

This morning my two oldest boys were playing a two-person monster truck racing video game, sitting side by side in chairs with cords dangling to the boob tube. I braced myself for the inevitable squabbles and whining between a "big boy" and a preschooler who are on way different playing levels and cannot EVER seem to get along lately. Instead, I overheard this conversation...

Sammy: (Helpless) Zaya! Help me! Help me! I'm stuck, Zaya! Come get me!

(A split screen shows Isaiah's truck racing around the track and Sammy's truck sitting motionless on the side of the road, "stuck" in a guard rail. Not surprising, since preschoolers aren't usually adept at using video game controllers.)

Isaiah: (Urgently) Hold on, Sammy. Zaya's coming! Hold on!

(He always refers to himself in the third person when he's feeling heroic.)

Sammy: Oh, no! Zaya, hurry! Help me!

Isaiah: Here Zaya comes, Sammy! Just hold on! Zaya's coming to save you!

(The split screen shows Isaiah's truck zooming around the track back to Sammy's location. Isaiah backs his truck up and then steps on the virtual gas pedal, ramming Sammy's truck out of the guard rail and back onto the track.)

Sammy: Yesssssss! You saved me!

Isaiah: Zaya has to go now! Hurry, Sammy!

Sammy: I'm twying! I can't know how to do it!

(Isaiah proceeds to lap Sammy and then ram his truck into Sammy's, sending the hurling fireball off the track and ending the game.)

Isaiah: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I destroyed you!!!

Sammy: (forlorn) Oh, maaaaaaan. *sigh*

Isaiah: Sorry, Sam. I thought you were someone else.

Sammy: You're supposed to cwash the purple twuck.

Isaiah: Oh.

Inconceivable! Incontinent! Inconvenient!

2008-06-16T12:08:00.004-08:00

When I was a stoodent teacher, won of my biggest pet peaves was when an educater would send out a newsletter too parents and it would be full of typos. You would be suprized by how many people goof up common words or terms. Too, to, two, their, they're, there, etc. Teechers are no acception- but we don't want to have to wonder if our childs teachers is capable of correcting there work. They should of double checked. So since this seems to be pet peeve weak for Mean Mommy (see my whining about back seat artists below)- hear's a great article to check out. (Thanks, Tori!)

http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/Features/Columns/?article=EmbarrassingWriting&GT1=27004

Now we can all check areselves for correct grammer and spelling- and can laugh at others, too. To. Two. Hurray for the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar (SPOGG)!

http://www.spogg.org/

*Mean Mommy reserves the right to disregard any and all comments that will be made on how many spelling and grammar mistakes she's made in her blog, both intentional and accidental. I am, after all, perfect. My sister says so.

The Anaphylaxis Chronicles...

2008-06-13T00:19:00.006-08:00

Well, most of you know that during the last two months, in between end of school functions and blog posts and t-ball games and house keeping and bill paying and cooking and boob-tube watching and picking my nose, we've had quite the eventful and frightening time with Mr. Jakers. He had developed this little habit of wheezing. Sometimes it was just a little whistling breathing and sometimes it was an all out, tummy muscles squeezing to get air, low oxygen rate, limp baby kind of wheezing. So we've had three emergency room runs, two unecessary runs of meds for pneumonia, a laryngoscopy/bronchoscopy, and a million different theories on what's ailing him, but yesterday we finally got our answer: asthma and food allergies. Jake is severely allergic to milk, eggs, and peanuts. Each time we'd gone to the ER he'd actually been experiencing anaphylaxis- and it was the steroid treatments that were enabling him to get better until they wore off and we'd start the same routine all over again. And there I was, not knowing, and giving him scrambled eggs and peanutbutter sandwiches- sometimes even right after an ER visit or a doctor's appointment as a quick and easy meal for him. I don't have munchausen syndrome, I promise!!!

So today was the first day of knowing and being able to have a sense of control over his health and how to care for him. The only problem- all day I felt frustrated and scared and a little bit self-pitying, thinking what in the world do I feed this kid?!? I know what not to feed him, but it's rather difficult to figure out what he can have. It would be so simple if labels simply said "milk" or "egg" or "peanut," but instead it's "casien" or "albumin" or "hydrolized vegetable protein" along with dozens of other descriptors that all mean the same thing: Danger. And did you know that refrigerated chicken and beef stocks contain milk products? And even saltine crackers can be cross contaminated with milk? And pastas that don't contain egg can still be contaminated with egg protein from the factory? And that even the term "caramel flavoring" means it contains milk? Since we don't know how he'll react, we have to avoid it all- especially since allergic reactions can happen faster and become more severe with each exposure. So Mean Mommy is becoming Neurotic Mommy and surfing the web, looking for semi-decent sounding recipes that don't require $479 worth of groceries to fix one simple meal for a baby. Just as grocery costs are shooting way up, we're shopping the expensive aisles for odd-ball items. $12 for a gallon of rice milk as opposed to $3.50 for a gallon of regular milk. And if I have to drive to Anchorage to go to a specialty food place, add another $20-25 worth of gas to the total. Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi....

Oh- and did I mention that I have to eat this way, too, since I'm still nursing him? I could just quit- but he's the caboose baby and he's not quite ready (neither am I, to tell you the truth). Add to that the fact that breast milk helps develop the brain, boost immunity and prevent allergies, and you've got a mommy who's not gonna quit just yet. Hey, maybe it'll help me finally start losing some weight! No ice cream, no butter, no cheese, no chocolate... I'm on to something.

But even though I've spent all day lamenting about how hard this is going to be, and boo-hooing over not getting to eat that last bit of butterfinger ice cream in the freezer, and getting carried away visualizing resentful parents in his kindergarten class packing a peanutbutter sandwich for their kid in the next seat anyway (insert horrible visualization of my son gasping, ambulance being called, epi pens jabbing...), I'm ultimately very grateful. I'm grateful that each time this has happened, we've been observant and responsive- and so were his doctors. I'm grateful that we live close to a hospital and that even though the doctors thought it was something else, he happened to recieve the helpful treatment he needed as a coincidence. I'm thankful for our neighbors who played ambulance driver for our last visit when Paulo didn't have keys and I didn't have my cell phone. I'm thankful that a little voice (mommy instincts? the Holy Spirit?) whispered in my ear to hold off on immunizations for a while (two of them are incubated in egg and could have caused big problems). I'm thankful that with all of his odd-ball symptoms, nobody gave up on my child and figured I was just a hypochondriac. I'm grateful that we figured this out quickly. And most of all, I'm thankful that Jacob is okay- he's happy and healthy and thriving, and he'll rise up to the challenge of living with this little quirk. And because I love him- so will his mommy.

Art Appreciation 101

2008-06-04T19:13:00.005-08:00

You all know I love art. I love to paint, to draw, to throw pots (duck!), to scrapbook, to decorate cakes and rooms and all sorts of things. I just love to create something and leave my mark and one of my biggest pet peeves is when someone tries to change what I've done. It's not that I believe I'm such a wonderful artist that my stuff is perfect. Not at all- it's that when someone changes what you've done it says that your ideas or view of the world is not as significant as theirs. I'm viciously protective of my kids' opportunities to create what's in their own little hearts. There is nothing so irritating to me as to watch another adult "edit" a child's attempt at creating something wonderful. Let them make a mess! Mixing the paint together doesn't just "make brown muck," it is what teaches them to experiment and to learn how colors mix and blend and change hues. Piling on "too many" bits of this and that helps them to learn how to leave exposed what they want someone to see. The most important part of creating art is the process, not the finished product. Color outside the lines, by all means. Why does a tree have to be a green triangle and a sun have to be a yellow circle with straight perpendicular lines all around? How kids really see the world and the interesting ways they find to express it is so amazing when we pull back and observe.

I wish I had more time and energy to really delve into creating artwork, but for now I steal little pieces of time to satisfy that urge to make something from nothing, and I try to facilitate those opportunities for my kids to have some creative fun. And I spend a lot of time getting inspired and enjoying other artists work. One of my favorite paintings is The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt. Why do I love it? First of all, because it is romantic and reminds me of my hubby. But also for its technical skill, rich colors, interesting textures and mosaic style, and the emotion that is represented. Klimt, during the art nouveau period of the early 1900s, was known for incorporating symbolism into his paintings. Here is a great summary of what the artist represented in this painting:

"The Kiss is a fascinating icon of the loss of self that lovers experience. Only the faces and hands of this couple are visible; all the rest is great swirl of gold, studded with colored rectangles as if to express visually the emotional and physical explosion of erotic love. (Nicolas Pioch)"

Can you imagine how this piece would lose its meaning if someone were to have edited Klimt's ideas for him... "No, no. It's too gaudy, you need to tone it down a little. It's out of proportion. You need more detail in the background. Make their figures more defined- it just looks like a big blob. Maybe you shouldn't even paint a picture of two lovers- that's not proper! Put them in separate beds!" It might be a great realistic/photographic representation of two people lying side by side- but it wouldn't carry the same symbolic strength and emotion as Klimt's original idea.

It is said that art is a means of personal expression. The next time you see a work of art that you enjoy, stop and ponder what it is that draws you to the piece. Then look a little deeper, and maybe you'll find something else the artist intended for you to see. Or maybe you'll find your own meaning! And give your kiddos a chance to express themselves without being "edited" down. Let them wow you with their quirky or moody or whistful or frightening or joyful style- who knows, you may have a future Master painter on training wheels.

Mrs. Brown Thumbs

2008-06-02T18:52:00.007-08:00

I'm at it again- attempting to grow something other than giant babies. My first attempt, two years ago, was summed up as a "learning experience." Let's just say that being pregnant doesn't mesh well with gardening duties. I spent more time snoozing on the couch or stuffing my face with graham crackers and chocolate milk than I did actually watering the garden or pulling weeds. I ended up with itty bitty 2" baby broccoli and pencil thin carrots and super spicy-hot radishes that had worms in them (we dubbed them "mexican jumping worms" because they jumped out of the radishes when we sliced them- but they were apparently rootworms). Ironically, the baby ended up 10 lb. 8 oz. Maybe I should have fertilized the garden with chocolate milk and graham cracker crumbs (and macaroni and cheese, and pizza, and coco puffs, and ice cream, and spaghetti, and cookies.)

Then last year it sounded so much more appealing to grow weeds than to even attempt to try a vegetable garden with a newborn, a toddler, a preschooler, a husband, a house to clean, bills to pay, and a tired rear end to plop on the couch (when it got the chance). So my "gardening" last summer consisted of swiping rhubarb and chives from my neighbor's back yard (Tammi: "I have chives?") The boys had fun for a full year, running their Tonka trucks through the weeds and creating roads and rivers in the "mud pit." It made for a lovely time of tilling for Paulo this last month. But my hero tilled it all up for me- by hand, and it was ready to go by the official start of the growing season here in the valley- Memorial Day.

I planted what I've noticed grows well around here- spinach, lettuce, zucchini, carrots, onions (at least I think these might do okay), beets, dill, beans and snow peas. Paulo also bought a few starts- two giant cabbages and two zucchini (what faith he has in me). They're in the ground and being watered well, so we'll cross our brown thumbs and see what happens by the end of summer!

The kids are waiting anxiously for the plants to grow so they can help harvest. Isaiah saw the seed packets and said, "MOM! I didn't know you could grow SAUSAGES!!!" Here's the packet of sausage seeds:

I'm even attempting to try gardening according to the moon cycles... Always plant when the moon is full.

If all goes well, you, too, could be the lucky recipient of a whole bunch of dill and sausage plants.

Love and Adoration.

2008-05-31T10:37:00.006-08:00

Baby neck nuzzles, tiny squeeks and sighs, ten perfectly scrumptious toesies, squishy baby bum... A little piece of heaven on earth. Congratulations to my sweet friend, Ali! And isn't she a beautiful mommy?

I love Paul Harvey!

2008-05-20T15:20:00.003-08:00

My mom sent this, by Paul Harvey:

We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better.

I'd really like for them to know about hand me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would.

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.

I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.

It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies born and your old dog put to sleep.

I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.

I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother/sister. And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he' s scared, I hope you let him. When you want to see a movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him/her.

I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom. If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.

I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books. When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.

I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boy/girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.

May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.

I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don't like it. And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.

I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbor's window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Hannukah/Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

These things I wish for you- tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.

Written with a pen. Sealed with a kiss. I'm here for you. And if I die before you do, I'll go to heaven and wait for you.

Do you haiku?

2008-04-30T15:33:00.003-08:00

Driving tad too fast
Bored trooper pulls me over
Donut scented luck

Snowflakes stacking high
Dammit, it's the first of May
Cabin fever reigns

Fat jeans much too tight
Chocolate chip cookies beckon
Where's my seam ripper?

Decibels too high
So hears the mother of boys
Peace and Quiet...Not

Organized, calm mom
How does she do it, the twit?
Locks kids in closet

The Meanest Mother in the World

2008-04-25T10:17:00.003-08:00

I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also.
But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was.
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us.
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did.
By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.
Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks.
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did. She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.
Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean. Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.

Written by
Bobbie Pingaro ©1967

*Mean Mommy agrees, give or take a few points. I don't necessarily advocate beating your child with a belt or squelching the formation of political opinion. But all in all, my goal in life is to be this mean to my boys.

I think it's going rather well. I got complaints from Isaiah at the grocery store last week. He wanted Cookie Crunch cereal and I said no. "MOM! How come you NEVER let us have stuff that's bad for us? You ALWAYS make us eat healthy food! It's NOT FAIR!" I shook my head and said sympathetically, "I know, son. It's so sad." An older woman overheard us and laughed as she walked around the corner. I bet she was mean once, too. Just like my own horrible mother.

This week my boys asked for celery with peanut butter and raisins and a cup of V8 for lunch. I obliged. Then they asked for seconds on the V8. Sometimes... it's good to be mean.

100 things you must know about me for your life to be complete:

2008-04-24T16:14:00.003-08:00

I love being the mom of 3 boys- I'm the queen of the house.
There is a fat woman who steals my pants and hides in my mirror to scare me.
I type my thoughts in the air when I'm lost in thought, and my fingers actually move.
I find myself having imaginary conversations with people in my day dreams and my face actually makes gestures/expressions as if it's real.
My husband calls me Sunshine- and I love it.
He serenades me with My Girl and She's Got a Way About Her and Love of My Life.
He wrote an original song for me once.
I always wanted to marry a man who would sing to me.
I used to hate my red hair and wish I looked exotic- like Japanese or Indian.
I think firemen are hot. I always blush around them. And my husband thinks it's funny.
I think (male) flamenco dancers and lumberjacks are hot, too. He thinks it's weird.
I used to spell my middle name Alien instead of Aileen.
I used to think horses had udders (hey- I was a little kid).
I have never used drugs, or smoked, or drank (except for one sip of champagne when I graduated college and one sip of a mai tai on our honeymoon- gag).
I hate the phrase "You're not living up to your potential."
My least favorite chores: laundry and dishes. They never end.
My favorite chores: Vacuuming (those nice little lines), cleaning windows (ahhhh!), organizing closets and drawers, and baking.
I hate the smell of molasses- I have to hold my breath and swallow back the puke.
I didn't recognize the smell of real butter in high school, because we always had margarine.
My favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip or Baskin Robins peanut butter and chocolate.
Carbonated beverages hurt my tummy. So does red meat.
I LOVE garlic.
I want to have my own gallery showing.
I want to be a midwife someday (when I grow up).
Car salesmen piss me off. I have never met one I liked.
I hate raw onions.
When I was younger, I envied my sister's blond hair, athletic ability, and flirtatiousness.
I always feel like a wallflower around new people and in crowds.
I almost always get agitated around large crowds of people.
I love to give speeches. I do not fear public speaking- I think it's fun.
I love all colors, but I like yellow because it's sunshiney, and light green because it's soothing.
I have a photographic memory.
I love the rain forests of the Pacific NW coast- it's one of my ideal happy places on earth.
I love Alaska's landscape and feeling like I'm "home," but I wish I could move somewhere warmer and brighter.
I'm afraid of the idea of being cremated.
I've never had a cavity or broken or sprained anything.
I watch too much t.v. and don't spend enough time doing hobbies.
I am afraid of turning 37 because of a nightmare I had as a kid.
I love driving a minivan and I honestly don't care if people don't think it's cool.
I didn't like teaching, because it was lonely.
My favorite tea is decaf Market Spice.
I love the smell of coffee, but don't drink it.
I love the sound of football on t.v., but I don't watch it.
I love suspense movies- but not gory or supernatural ones.
I know I talk too much.
I'm afraid of spiders. I ran screaming out of a pet store once (as an adult) because of a tarantula. It looked at me and hissed my name. I heard it.
I want to become a master gardener and be on the tour of gardens.
I know I cry a lot, but I can't help it and I don't think it's a flaw.
I am stubborn. Sometimes it's a flaw and sometimes it serves me well.
I am perfect. My sister tells me so.
I love sunflowers and poppies.
Every time we go to Costco my oldest son begs to buy me flowers as a "surprise."
Hello. My name is Sarah and I am a chocoholic.
I have had a recurrent dream, since high school, that the entire world is a giant sphere made up of balance beams and I have to walk on them and jump between them and if I fall I will fall down into the center of the earth in to dark nothingness between the beams. I can interpret that, too.
I think I complain too much.
I minored in sociology. What's a minor for, anyway?
Social studies used to be my favorite subject- but I'm horrible with History.
Math used to be my worst subject- but now I'm not so bad.
I have always loved art and at one time wanted to be an art teacher.
My favorite teacher was Mr. Kirk- and he once ran with the Olympic torch.
I read all the time. I check out half a dozen books at once for myself.
I know how to play checkers and chess- but not backgammon.
I taught my son how to play chess- and he was 5. Maybe he can teach Auntie. ;)
Many people have tried to teach me backgammon and I still don't get it.
Many people have tried to teach me to knit and I still don't get it.
Many people have tried to teach me to crochet and I still don't get it.
I get flustered trying to understand directions for sewing patterns.
I get overwhelmed by crowded/flashy websites to the point of not being able to read the information I'm looking for. I think I have ADD (without the H).
I'm distractable and disorganized.
I'm persistent and a perfectionist.
I love rain. One of my favorite memories is dancing in it with my sweetie.
I hate cleaning up after animals. I am not a pet person.
I like to color in coloring books.
I sing, loudly, in the car- but not if anyone is with me.
I used to be phobic of needles, but I'm okay with them now.
I have been to Canada, Mexico, France, Germany (East and West at the time), Holland, Belgium, Poland, and Russia.
I have been to Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Texas, Hawaii and WA. DC
I have a wish to see all of our country's national parks during my life time.
I like brussel sprouts, but not okra.
I love seafood- but not sushi.
I get itchy rashes from the sun- even if I'm only in it for 2 minutes.
I'm a child of former hippies.
I have a HUGE head- I like to say it's because it needs to hold a large brain.
I have never gotten a ticket.
Pet peeves: somebody changing my artwork, people whispering/talking to me about others when they are in proximity, rude customer service people, people who try to burst my bubble, ignorance, meanness, not picking up after oneself (especially littering), people who cuss or smoke around kids, tangled computer wires, tangled bed sheets.
I have always wanted to go to Greece, Italy, and Ireland.
I have never wanted to go to Africa because I once heard there are groups there who think that redheads are witches.
Sometimes I feel witchy.
I would never get plastic surgery (unless I was disfigured). Just deal with my "flaws."
I don't like attention from men I don't know.
As a kid I wrote down and memorized the lyrics to Eye of the Tiger. Don't judge me.
As a kid I once called a radio station to ask to hear Jesse's Girl, and the d.j.s laughed at me and replayed the call over the air. And then they never played the song.
I have lived in 8 different homes and gone to 9 schools (including college).
I used to want to be a pilot, a psychologist, a social studies teacher, an archaeologist, an art teacher, and an architect.
I'm horrible at video games and they make me dizzy- once I almost fell out of my seat playing a racing game because I became a little too one with the game.
Watching movies that are filmed underwater makes me feel like I can't breath- and I find myself holding my breath.
One of the most fun things I've ever done is go sea kayaking in Resurrection Bay.
I wish I was a morning person. I am becoming one only out of necessity.
I don't know how to burp on purpose.
My favorite saying: What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Creator calls the butterfly.

I was tagged by my sister to create this list- now you have fun with it.

Cabin Fever...

2008-03-16T17:03:00.004-08:00

I'm restless. I'm bored. I'm anxious. I want to save the world. I want to sit on my butt and watch t.v. I want to get out and enjoy the sunshine. I want to finally conquer the dishes and laundry. I want to take time out for me. I want to rearrange the furniture. I want to do something creative. I want to spend quality time with my family. I want to veg out and eat cookies. I want to add meaning to my life. I want to simplify and chill out. I want to go socialize. I want to be alone. I want to learn something new. I want to be Supermom. I want to go back to the way things were. I want to sleep. I want to spend money I don't have. I want to be frugal. I want to clean my window blinds. I want to repaint the baseboards. I want to scrapbook. I want to lie down and read a magazine. I want to take up running. I want chocolate. I want to do it all at once.

I have issues.

Ten Silly Things I Enjoy About my Grandparents

2007-11-03T18:15:00.001-08:00

1. snicklefritz (as in anyone cute)
2. davenport (not couch)
3. supper (not dinner)
4. military time (supper is at 1700)
5. 2 teaspoons of leftover peas in the fridge
6. ice box (not fridge)
7. shower caps, "setting lotion," and cream rinse
8. washed and reused tinfoil scraps
9. on computers: "It's black magic. Just black magic."
10. on marriage: "Six from one, half a dozen from the other."

Super Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies

2007-11-03T13:05:00.000-08:00

Well, since every mother needs a good chocolate chip cookie recipe up the sleeves of her bathrobe... Here's my hands-down absolute without question favorite cookie recipe. Yes, I know some of the directions are kooky (that's kooky, not cookie), but follow it exactly or else.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Mix dry ingredients together and set aside:

2 1/4 c. all purpose flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda

Mix together in a large mixing bowl:

1 1/2 sticks melted and cooled butter or margarine (I use cheapo Blue Bonnet)
1 c. packed brown sugar
1/2 c. white sugar
1 egg + 1 yolk
1 Tb. vanilla (I like Watkins double strength)

Have ready:

1 1/2 c. chocolate chips (I like to mix semi-sweet with milk chocolate- it's up to you)

Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients and mix until just combined. Add chocolate chips and stir. It will look wetter than traditional cookie dough. Snitch several bites when your children aren't looking and pray that you don't get sick from the raw eggs. Yell at your children and husband when they sneak bites. Act indignant when they accuse you of eating it first. Place dough by the heaping tablespoon-full onto parchment lined (or Silpat lined) cookie sheets. Do not grease and do not use clay bakeware! Bake for 15-18 minutes, until just golden but centers are no longer "raw." Allow the cookies to cool directly on the sheet and they will retain their chewiness longer. Warning: do not make these cookies if you do not have milk in the refrigerator or your husband will pout. But he'll still eat the cookies.

Sugar and Spice... That's what Mommy thought she was made of.

2007-11-01T16:10:00.002-08:00

All my life I imagined having a sweet and sensitive daughter. I pictured a vintage 1930s cottage style bedroom, nouveau hippy chick braids, Pippi Longstocking tights, girl scout outings, and prom dress shopping. Growing up, I was a girly girl myself. I squirmed and gagged over bugs and blood and even the food trapped in the drain after doing dishes. When we went fishing, my dad always baited the hook so I wouldn't have to touch the fish eggs. I spent countless hours coloring, playing with Barbies, writing sappy poetry and collecting pictures out of magazines for my some day wedding to my some day groom and the some day house we'd live in.

Fast forward to some day. The only reason my oldest child gave a real smile for a family portrait was because he farted in his dad's lap. I trip over tiny dinosaurs and Star Wars figurines. I know the difference between rough housing and playing too rough and the eyes in the back of my head can see who started it. I get called into the bathroom to look at a "really cool poop." I know that silence is a bad thing. I know what kind of screams mean there is blood involved. I know that it is possible for a pee-pee to get caught in a pogo stick spring. In the last year I have fixed 5 broken drawer fronts, 4 cracked outlet covers, 2 broken light fixtures, 2 broken doors, and a broken toilet seat. Vintage cottage style has been forgotten for a Yoda poster, Tonka trucks, randomly flung dirty underwear, and whatever sheets are clean enough. Not clean- just clean enough. Ice skating lessons (for hockey, of course), soccer, little league, tarantula costumes for Halloween, "dirt fights" in the back yard, "pee fights" at the toilet (don't ask)... No- I definitely don't have girls. My life is all about being a mother of three rambunctious BOYS.

That's how I know there is a God. You see, if the universe simply hinged on evolution and survival of the fittest, I figure I would have had girls. Girls who would have been agreeable and calm and Mommy's Little Helpers. Girls who would have reflected a little bit of me as a kid. Girls I could have identified with. Discovery Channel could have featured our family of a dozen little mini-me's helping each other fold the laundry, starting up the crock pots, pushing multiple carts through warehouse grocery stores with well-organized lists in hand. We'd sit and paint and learn to sew while we homeschooled.

Instead, in his ultimate wisdom, God have me my boys. Boys who would take me out of my element and cause me to stretch and to grow. Cause me to take a stand, be heard, get tough, get over it. Boys who would melt my heart with their baby neck nuzzles and their silky hair and dimples. Boys who would bat their eyelashes adoringly at me and beg me to be their favorite audience and watch their antics over and over. These crazy boys of mine are always loud, always curious, always putting on a show. They've taught me to handle blood and bugars and puke. They've taught me to be a referee, judge, jury, jailer, night-time watchman, nurse, teacher, and pastor. The emergency room is as much a familiar place as play group and the library.

There is one thing I think God wanted me to learn the most from my boys. How to accept his life plan for me and how to have strength that is given from him and not of myself. I have a calling to grow into the person it takes to raise up 3 young men of strong character. I sure don't have it down perfectly, but I'm getting better every day at filling my job description and it's a job I never want to quit. These three might not sit still in the grocery cart, but they'll hold the door for the next 23 minutes when we leave the store because they like to be called "gentlemen." They might not have braids in their hair, but they'll brush my hair while I read a story. They don't need the latest doll or designer clothes or Tinkerbell lip gloss. Give them a stick and an empty cardboard box and they'll be happy all day.

One of these days the boys will be old enough for Daddy to take them on a boys weekend away. I'll hog the hot water in a long bubble bath, read chick lit, do my nails and eat chocolate and maybe do some shopping. But then the house will be too quiet and I'll miss them wrestling in the living room or sneaking bites of food off my plate. I'll take the snips and snails and puppy dog tails any day if it means getting hugs with grubby little arms and peanut butter kisses. Besides that I don't think the mini-me's would have been good for my mental state. I hear girls get PMS at age two.