Tag Archives: family

Mom’s the Rotten Egg

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” one of my kids screams as they all scramble into the backseat of the Subaru.  Then the debate begins on which one is truly the rotten egg.  Is it the last one physically in the car?  Or the last one to get buckled?  I settle the debate: “Mom’s the rotten egg.”

“No! You can’t be the rotten egg!  I love you!”  My littlest one can be sweet to a fault.

But, being Mom, I really am the rotten egg.  I’m first one up in the morning, but I’m the last one to bed.  I’m the last one to sit down at the breakfast/lunch/dinner table.  I’m the last one to be ready to go when we’re on our way out the door because I’ve been busy getting everyone else ready.

I’m okay with being the rotten egg though.  Parenting is tiresome, frustrating, and sometimes even confusing, but I can’t imagine not doing it.  So when the kids are racing across the yard, I’ll gladly stand back and be the rotten egg.



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The Big Red Button of Life

I did it.  I pushed it.  Twice.

How could I help myself?  It’s round, and red, and says, ‘Do Not Push on Pain of Parenthood’.  But once you push it, you can’t go back on it.  You’ve created something that you can’t stop and you can’t control.  That’s a pretty powerful force.

They will grow up, fall in love, get their hearts broken, fall in love again, go to college, get jobs, get married, and probably push that big red button themselves.

There will be so many other things about their lives that I can’t control, such as who they like, who they hang out with, and what they hear and see when they aren’t with me.  Sometimes even when they are with me.

It’s best that I accept this indomitable force right now instead of wondering, later on down the road, just how it all happened.

So good luck, kids.  You’re going to need it, especially if you ever push that big red button.

Big red button

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The Life and Times of Bunny Blanky

Without bothering to do any research on it, I would say the majority of us grow up with some kind of security item.  I had a blanket that my great aunt made me, and I used it until there were big, gaping holes in the poor thing.  Linus from Peanuts said he would turn his blanket into a sport coat when he got older so he never had to give it up.  “Comfort objects” are mentioned in The Giver.  My oldest daughter absolutely adored her pacifier, which was incredibly difficult to get her to give up.  My youngest daughter, however, has Bunny Blanky.

While I was pregnant with my first daughter I cross-stitched a baby blanket, with a cute picture of a bunny in pj’s sitting on the moon.  She liked it, but the only thing she was really, truly attached to was that dang pacifier (thank you, hospital staff, for not asking me if it was okay to give this addictive drug to my child).  I made another cross-stitched baby blanket when I was pregnant with Claire, but this time with a scene from Peter Rabbit.

Ignore how awful I look.  I'd just had a C-section.

Ignore how awful I look. I’d just had a C-section.  Claire came a couple weeks early so I was still working on Bunny while in the hospital.

Claire was not a very happy baby, but from the very beginning there was something special to her about this blanket.  She spit out pacifiers like they were poison, but as she got into her toddler years her bond with Bunny Blanky only grew stronger.

I had to have some rules about this, though.  It sounds mean, right?  To tell your child she can’t take her most precious item to the pool?  Or to the grocery store?  Well, do you have any idea how long it took me to make all those stitches?  Bunny Blanky is pretty much irreplaceable.  Besides, it would make an odd looking business suit at her first job interview.

Bunny Blanky isn't as young as he used to be.

Bunny Blanky isn’t as young as he used to be.

Claire is 5 now, and just started kindergarten.  She is used to the rule about not taking Bunny anywhere with her, but as soon as she gets off the bus she wraps her arms around him and tells him how much she missed him.  She even made him a Valentine’s card this year.  Bunny has been washed many times (often when Claire isn’t at home, because according to her he takes f o r e v e r to get clean).  When a thread works loose, Claire is devastated until I fix it.  She knows she has to get rid of her clothes when they don’t fit her anymore, and has asked me countless times if she’ll have to get rid of Bunny since her little feet stick out from under the bottom edge now.  (I always tell her no.)

Am I concerned?  Well, no.  I still have the cow pillow my mom made me when I was little, and the teddy bear Santa gave me in 1st grade, but the cow lives on a shelf in my closet and Fudge Bear has made his way to the room my daughters share.  Claire will only give up Bunny when she’s good and ready, and it’s nice to know that she feels the love I put in all those stitches.



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Tea for Three, Please

You ever decide you want something, and you get so obsessed over it that you just can’t stop until you have that precious object in your hands?  For some people it’s a puppy, a baby, or that fabulous job with a corner office, but for me it was a tea set.

I’d been thinking about buying a tea set for several years.  My two daughters had a pretty good mishmash of several plastic tea sets that no sane person would ever put their lips to (except perhaps after a really thorough washing), but I wanted a real tea set.  One in which I could serve real tea, maybe with real little cookies (because the plastic ones aren’t very appetizing), and my girls and I could act like ladies.

I suppose I’d been waiting until the girls were old enough, but what really gave me a kick in the pants to go for this was this sneaking suspicion that my 8 year old was pulling away from me, perhaps encroaching on the pre-teen grumpy-with-attitude hormonal thing.  I didn’t think I would ever write words like that at the ripe old age of 8, but there it is.  I decided a tea set would be a great way (excuse?) to sit down with my daughters and make sure we stayed super close.

So, like anyone looking to buy crap they don’t really need, I headed for eBay.  I spent hours poring through listing after listing of tea sets.  I found new ones, old ones, extremely expensive ones, and a few that were pretty darn cute.  I finally settled on this one.

Our fancy new tea set

Our fancy new tea set.

The picture really doesn’t do it justice.  (The lighting in the dining room is pretty awful.) It’s a gorgeous gold with little Victorian couples, and the bottoms say Western Germany.  It was easy to decide on this one when I showed it to my girls and they said, “Oh, it’s so BEAUTIFUL!  Can we have it?  Can we can we can we?”

The day after it arrived we sat down for our inaugural tea party.  The girls voted to have a hot cocoa party though.

Hot Cocoa Party

Complete with a sugar bowl full of marshmallows.

Sugar Bowl of Marshmallows

We sipped our cocoa with our pinkies in the air and called each other m’lady.  It was, in short, just as fabulous as I imagined it would be.

We didn’t have any cookies this time, but I imagine the next tea party will involve a baking party immediately beforehand!


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A Different Kind of Spa

Is there anything better than a day at the spa?  Well, if you get to do it all right from the comfort of your very own couch, and your five-year-old daughter is the one pampering you, then I think that’s about as good as it gets!

My youngest daughter, taking full advantage of the larger amount of Mommy-time available now that I work from home, wanted to get out the foot spa, nail polish, and all the accessories.  I thought she wanted me to do her nails, silly me!  She wanted to take care of me!

For the low low price of a hug and a kiss, I received a pedicure complete with being pumiced up to my knees and massaged with more lotion than my feet have seen in a really long time.  My toenails now have a, uh, beautiful coat of light purple on them, and my fingers are well coated in pink glitter.

She did finally relent and let me return the favor.

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Are those not cutest feet ever?

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And of course she couldn’t decide which color to use. Nothing better than time with the kids!


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Our Life is a Circus…

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….and Porkchop is our dog-face boy.


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The Progression of Public Pottying

As a mother of three, I feel like every time we go out in public I spend a great percentage of the time in the bathroom.  No, I don’t mean for myself.  It doesn’t matter that we make the kids try to go potty before we leave the house, or that they had just gone at the last store we were at.  There is always at least one child that absolutely must go to the bathroom, and take their sweet time.  Public pottying with children comes in stages:

Stage 1:  Babies in diapers present an entire bathroom problem of their own.  This is the stage when you realize that you frequent stores and restaurants that DO NOT have baby changing tables in the restroom.

Stage 2:  Toddlers in Pullups are an interesting challenge.  Sometimes they let you know they need to go to the bathroom, and you’re so excited that you don’t mind your steak is getting cold.  Other times, they don’t tell you, and you are stuck trying to figure out how to get them changed when they refuse to lay down on a changing table that they barely fit on anyway.

Stage 3:  Once fully potty trained, a young child is obligated to visit every single public restroom within throwing distance.  Every.  Single.  One.

Stage 4:  The widely-traveled tot decides they don’t want you coming in the stall with them anymore.  This leaves you standing outside the stall and wondering just what the hell is going on in there that takes so long.

So new parents beware!  Ditching the diapers is only a gateway into future bathroom hell.


photo courtesty of freedigitalphotos.net, by nuttakit


February 10, 2014 · 8:26 pm

Exaggerations of Christmas Past

It seems that each Christmas is known for something different. There was the year the presents completely filled the room at my grandma’s house, the year I made every single gift by hand, the year my sister accidentally beaned Mom with the tree pruners. I thought for a moment my kids might remember this holiday as The Year the Christmas Tree Almost Killed Mom.
I lived for a couple years with just my girls. There wasn’t a man around, and I did plenty of I’m-an-independent-woman-and-I-can-do-it-all-myself stuff. I got the Christmas tree in and out of the attic, ripped up and replaced the bathroom floor, and took care of the lawn. I moved furniture and fixed the sink. Some of the things I did were challenging and satisfying. Other things might have been a little stupid.
I guess there is a little bit of that independence still in me, even though I do have a man around the house to open jars and kill spiders. I decided this evening it was time to get the Christmas tree down, and since my boyfriend was asleep, it was a job for one. What you should know about our attic is that the entryway is above the basement stairs. This means that when you are climbing the ladder into the attic, you have nothing but a downward staircase underneath you should you fall. Considering how much I hate ladders, this is nothing short of terrifying.
Getting up into the attic was not so much the challenge as coming back out of it. With the gargantuan Christmas tree box poised above me, I slowly descended the ladder, while visions of injury and concussions danced in my head. I imagined that, as the weight of the tree box hit the ladder, the whole contraption would break. The box would snap my head back as it fell, and I would crumple to the Stairway of Doom below me. My children, hearing the crash, would rush in to find the bloody carcass of their mother on the concrete floor of the basement.
Isn’t that delightful? A beautiful holiday fantasy? Fortunately, the reality is that I got the tree down just fine. I’m sitting right across the room from it, all in one piece.
Now I just have to hope the cats leave the tree in one piece.


photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

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Small Things to be Thankful For


I am so thankful that my daughter loves me enough to write me this letter, and have it waiting for me when I got home last night.
I am thankful that I could give her a hug and tell her I wouldn’t be working on Thanksgiving.

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My Veteran

I know several veterans, but the one that I’m thinking about most today is my grandpa.  Grandpa spent his life with the Air Force, so growing up I heard lots of stories about the places that they traveled to and the things that happened there.

My favorite story is this:  Grandpa was in the mess hall overseas when the bombing started.  All around him, soldiers abandoned their food and dove under the table.  Grandpa calmly told his fellows that they might as well get up and enjoy their meal.

This little tidbit might not seem like much, but it explains my grandpa in a nutshell.  I never saw him get mad or agitated.  He was always calm and quiet.  After a battle with Parkinson’s, he passed away last fall.  I think about him a lot, but I’d like to dedicate my Veteran’s Day to him.


This picture was taken just before he presented my grandma with the flag.

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