Peeling An Orange With A Screwdriver

There is only now.

2012-01-06T22:09:00.000-07:00

Today my youngest son, Sam had to go in for hydrocele surgery. Hydroceles are caused during prenatal development when the processus vaginalis ( I don't know. I can't pronounce it either.) membrane fails to close completely. It causes fluid to drain from the abdominal cavity into the scrotal sac then the scrotum swells. If it's not surgically repaired, it can cause a hernia.

Sam couldn't eat or drink anything after 5:00am and his surgery wasn't until 11:15am. Which was probably a good thing, since he got car sick and threw up twice on the way to Denver. And I thought I was the one with the nervous stomach.

After the four hour hike out of the parking garage and into the hospital, we finally found the admissions desk and signed in. The doctor was actually running early, which was very possibly a world record, and we waited less than ten minutes before we were taken back into the pre-op area. Dressed in his little gown and socks, Sam looked so small on the bed they had him on. But he was smiling and laughing, oblivious, which I think, was a good thing.

Only one of us got to go back with him when they administered the anesthesia, and I won because I was the only one that would fit in the gauzy jumpsuit. I could tell Sam was starting to get a little freaked out when the nurse started rolling him through the hallway. I tried to keep up, but the nurse was also trying to set a new land speed record. In the operating room, Sam kind of whimpered; all the lights and equipment were overwhelming. I may have whimpered, too. They switched him onto the operating table and I was able to lean down next to him while they put the mask over his face. He fought and fought it. One nurse had to hold his hands down, while one held his head, trying to get the mask over his face. I tried so hard not to cry, but I couldn't help it. I had no idea how hard it would be to watch your child be forcefully put to sleep like that. And then having to turn around and leave him? I hope to God that is something I never, ever have to do again.

The surgery was surprisingly quick and only took about 45 minutes. The doctor came out, said everything went well and that someone would be out to get us when Sam woke up. No one ever came...each time the door opened, both my husband and I would look up hoping it was someone looking for us. Their few minutes turned into an hour before a guy in a football jersey and a sleeve of tattoos came out to get us.

"I've never seen a kid not want to wake up like him," he said, leading us back. "I thought that maybe he'd be more responsive to familiar voices."

He wasn't.

Sam just outright did not want to open his eyes. The man with the dragon tattoo finally unhooked all Sam's monitors, IV, etc. and my husband held Sam, trying to wake him up a bit. We stuck a straw in some apple juice and held it to Sam's lips and all of a sudden he was drinking. With his eyes shut. The grape Popsicle, however, got those eyes open. They sent us home with a prescription for Tylenol/Codeine.

Sam slept on the way home and I sat there, so thankful that it was such an easy, successful surgery. It was a simple problem that was treated in a single day. It made me do some reevaluating of my life. No matter how bad it is, of course, it can always be worse and while that's the absolute last thing you want to hear when you're dealing with your personal issues, it is also so true. I thought about all the parents' that take their kids in for surgery, kids whose lives depend on it, kids who spend more time in the hospital than at home. Kids that will never live to see their teens. Parents' that have to accept that and deal with it the best way they can. I was crying over the simple process of administrating anesthesia. My heart goes out to all the families that know that without the hospital, the doctors and the medicine, that their child would be dead. My heart aches for the families that know every nook and cranny of that children's hospital, having walked the halls over and over while their child undergoes another procedure.

The several hours spent there today, made me look at my kids and realize that, yes, I take them for granted and that is

the most harmful thing I could do. "In a minute", "I'll play in a second" or "Later". I'm guilty of saying those often, but I don't have a guarantee that there will be a minute or a second or a later. So tonight, we pulled out the games and sat on the floor, eating cheetos and goldfish. There were no "in a second" or "in a little while".

There was only now.

11 Fear That Are Holding You Back (Guest Post from www.PinkBikerChic.com)

2012-01-05T09:10:00.010-07:00

Eldonna Lewis-Fernandez, an engaging motivational speaker known internationally as The Pink Biker Chic - a brand developed to empower individuals to take control of the handlebars of their lives through the power of PINK: Power, Integrity, Negotiation and Knowledge. Don’t let the pink fool you. Retired Air Force Master Sergeant Eldonna Lewis-Fernandez is a force to be reckoned with. She trains women and men how to re-think and re-direct their energies for higher performance and better bottom-line professional and personal decisions. She may be reached online at www.PinkBikerChic.com.

11 Fears That Are Holding You Back

By Eldonna Lewis-Fernandez

It’s been said that FEAR stands for “Forget Everything And Run.” It’s that uncomfortable, disconcerting feeling that causes us to take a back seat in our own life and prevents us from proactively moving forward to reach our goals and aspirations. Instead of facing a personal, business or workplace situation head on and taking control of the proverbial handlebars of life, fear causes us to turn the other way, freeze in our tracks, or poke our head in the sand.

One way to counteract fear’s adverse impact on your life and career is to recognize the type of fear that might be defining you and driving your actions – or lack thereof. In fact, there are many “types” of fears that will prevent you from achieving in both your personal and professional life. Recognizing the specific fears that are be holding you back is the critical first step toward breaking free of the emotional paralysis and living a more carefree, uninhibited life. As the saying goes, “No guts, no glory.”

Below are 11 common fears that hold people back from that which they desire both personally and professionally:

1. Fear of Success – This is actually a fear of achieving your dreams and standing out. Fear of the attention you will receive should you actually realize success. Yes, people might look at you, and talk about you, which can make you feel self-conscious. Sometimes, it’s the fear of taking the steps necessary to work toward your goal, or knowing what to do first when all seems daunting at the onset. We all have things we want to achieve in life but, by giving into this particular fear, you lose faith in yourself and your abilities, and also faith in those who truly have your best interest at heart and want to see you succeed. And, remember that even baby steps are forward momentum.

2. Fear of Leading – With leadership comes responsibility, and many are afraid of being responsible for an outcome that impacts not only themselves, but also the people they are guiding. Many with this fear worry and wonder, “What if I lead them the wrong way?” This is where you need to trust your intuition to guide you and have faith that you will make the right decisions – the same faith others have instilled in you so they may follow. Letting go of the outcome and its various possible impacts brings freedom and, with it, releases you from fearing the unknown. It allows you to trust your leadership skills and be an example for others.

3. Fear of Speaking – Many people fear public speaking more than any other activity. Speaking requires a palpable level of confidence and ability. In our lives and careers, we are sometimes required to present thoughts and ideas to others. Whether it is ideas at a school PTA meeting, a speech at a wedding or funeral, a briefing during a staff meeting or a full-scale conference keynote, it’s all public speaking. Being a confident speaker requires training, not talent. Master this skill and you will command the attention and respect that you deserve and the successes will ensue.

4. Fear of Encroachment – Many women and men today are working in fields that were once traditionally a gender-specific field, such as the military, manufacturing, construction, automotive, nursing, fashion and beauty, culinary arts, etc. Working in an environment with a gender-based stereotype has its own challenges and requires a high level of confidence in your abilities and a strong voice to be heard, and even supported, among others who may not regard you as a peer. If your desires are unconventional or non-traditional - or simply go against what is expected of you by family members or friends – dig deep and stay true to who you are and what you want out of life. You don’t have to be loud and aggressive; just be unwavering in your vision and persevere.

5. Fear of Power – Power is your proverbial fuel source – where your inner strength emanates from, your passions burn bright. It’s the juice that allows you to keep going in the face of adversity. Without power, you simply cannot move forward amid life’s seemingly endless road blocks. For all of its importance, power is simply a mindset – a genuine, heartfelt belief that you can do anything you set your mind to. Period. If you aren’t tapping into your authentic power, take some time to dig deep and cultivate it. It’s there and fully available for you to use, and it’s ready to make your dreams come true. Start small, achieve, and savor it. Then confidently aim a little higher, achieve and revel in it. Before long, you’ll be powerful enough to shoot for the stars.

6. Fear of Inadequacy – Feelings of inadequacy can come from inherent low self-esteem or past negative life experiences. If someone has told you that you couldn’t do something or shamed you into believing you weren’t capable of doing something “well enough,” you may carry that feeling of ineptitude and not even realize it. This subconscious stronghold can be truly debilitating. The best defense against a fear of inadequacy is to learn and master the specific skill, subject or activity in question and, in doing so, you will become self-assured in your execution. If it’s more about fundamental self esteem, seek out the emotional support to help you value and believe in your own capabilities.

7. Fear of Failure – All too often we stop short of attempting something new for fear we might embarrass our self or, worse, fail all together. Any given undertaking has the possibility of resulting in failure, which is never a desirable or welcome outcome. But, when facing something new, a fear of failure can be amplified as anxiety, nerves, and our “fight or flight” instinct kicks in. These intense feelings can cause us to put our aspirations on the shelf where they can languish in perpetuity. Mary Kay Ash perhaps said it best: “Fail forward to success.” Indeed, failure is part of the road toward success and should not be feared but embraced as an opportunity for growth.

8. Fear of Compromising Integrity – Integrity means doing the right thing even when no one is looking or will ultimately know. Many fear that, in order to be successful in a career, we have to compromise our integrity and go against what we believe to be right. Overcoming this concern requires nothing more than establishing a specific set of boundaries within yourself and knowing exactly where and when you will draw the line – and sticking steadfast to that plan of action. It’s a commitment to making belief-based decisions in all aspects of your life so that, when success is realized, there is no guilt or angst involved about how that success manifested. It’s important to recognize that you CAN be successful while adhering to your personal value system.

9. Fear of Vulnerability – While it can be uncomfortable and downright scary to open your self up and expose your true inner self and your ideas and aspirations to others of importance in your life, doing so can be cathartic - and a true turning point in effecting positive change. Letting down your guard takes courage and strength, and allowing yourself to be vulnerable can help you better relate with people on a more intimate and personal level.

10. Fear of Being Alone – Many people stay in abusive relationships or negative career situations because they are afraid of being alone, breaking away from the pack, or being isolated from a situation and people they once valued. It’s impossible to be completely content in life if you are uncomfortable being by yourself, or if your positive frame-of-mind is contingent on anyone or any thing else - whether personal relationships or professional affiliations. Such co-dependency allows your attempts at happiness and success to be controlled by external third parties, which will rarely bear optimal results.

11. Fear of Appearing Selfish – For some, it feels selfish to do anything for themselves so, instead, they do for everybody else and either burn out, harbor feelings of resentment, or both. To neglect your own needs and focus solely on those of others can make you feel overwhelmed, stressed out, under pressure and weighed down. Often, it can be difficult to find a way out of this quagmire once people have developed expectations and have come to depend on you – and you’re not one to disappoint. However, taking care of your needs first is not a selfish luxury, but rather a psychological imperative to ensure you’re emotionally nourished in your own right. Only then should you tend to the needs of others, which should be in addition to and not in lieu of.

The best way to combat any fear is to hit it head on, keep moving forward and stay focused on achieving your goal. There will always be obstacles that make reaching your goal seem impossible, and you must be disciplined and tenacious enough to stay focused and on track toward your goal. You must also be committed enough to not only make a promise to yourself, but also see it through even when the going gets tough. Only then can you keep the fear at bay and hit the fast track toward success.

My Son is NOT Contagious

2011-11-19T19:27:00.001-07:00

I blog because I like to write. I blog as a stress reliever. I blog because I have read so many blogs that have inspired me and helped me through another day. I blog because I have received so many amazing emails and comments from people telling me that many of my posts have inspired them and helped them through another day. I blog because it helps me remember that I'm not alone. While there are a few, the majority of the people who pass through my daily circle, don't understand and can't empathize.

I don't blog because I'm looking for sympathy or pity. I'm not looking for "poor me". And when I talk about my son, his suicidal thoughts, his issues, my bipolar...I'm not necessarily looking for advice, but I am hoping that maybe my words will find someone else dealing with the same thing and maybe keep them from feeling so alone.

Unfortunately, the recent posts where I mention my son have become "controversial" in the tiny farming town in which I live. I realize that many people who grow up in towns where the cows and corn fields outnumber the residents have major misconceptions about depression, bipolar and most other mental "disabilities". Old fashioned values and beliefs are often more prevalent than modern research and science. I am by no means referring to everyone, but it has recently come to my attention that several fellow parents are offended by what I have written. Apparently, several have requested that their children no longer play with my son. While I only have a handful of facebook "friends" who have children in school with my son, I have a very good idea about who these people are. And quite honestly, they disgust me.

We live in America. It is 2011. Mental illness is not contagious, or any indicator of a child's behavior. His suicidal drawing will not doom their children. I'm sure that they would be amazed to learn that bipolar is not, in fact, caused by angry demons. It is caused by chemicals in the brain. It is not possible "to snap out of". More often than not, it will need to be treated with medication. It is not curable, but is most certainly controllable.

From http://www.everydayhealth.com/health-report/bipolar-depression/bipolar-disorder-misconceptions.aspx "Suresh Sureddi, MD,(is) an assistant professor of psychiatry at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas and a director of Lifepath Systems, a community mental health clinic in Plano, Texas. Dr. Sureddi explains that it helps to remember that bipolar disorder is a chronic illness, like congestive heart failure or diabetes, which sometimes results in patients having to be hospitalized and needing ongoing treatment."

Bipolar is an illness and it absolutely does not define who you are. Misconceptions abound about about bipolar, and these misconceptions are far more harmful than people think. While they remain secure in their ignorance, they may be missing signs in their own children, or filling their children with hate and fear for those who think differently. Bipolar children and adults in general, are more creative and intelligent.

"I must admit that oneof the reasons why I have specialized in bipolar disorder is because it seemslike nearly every single person with bipolar disorder I see is unusuallycreative or intelligent or charismatic or something. Quite a few have beenreally profoundly intelligent to the point where I have trouble keeping up withtheir minds," Jim Phelps, M.D. Per http://www.psycheducation.org/BipolarMechanism/introduction.htm

The point? Read a book, do some research, know what you're talking about before you feel the need to judge.

“You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”

2011-11-08T10:39:00.000-07:00

Granny hasnot improved. I brought the kids to see her Sunday and they each went over tohug her, she touched Delaney’s face and Sam lay down on the bed next to her fora few moments and let her hold him. She cries, she smiles, she laughs…whetherout of frustration or humor, I’m not sure. I bent over the bed and told her Iloved her. Saturday night she responded with an “I love you.” This time shelooked at me like she didn’t understand. I made the sign for I love you with myhands. She managed to get her fingers in the same sign and very carefully pressedour fingers together. I tried not to cry.

Medicareonly covers 4 days in the hospital, dying or not. They’d rather pull the oxygenright out of your nose and rip the IV from your skin and push you down thestairs before they would work with you. So they have to move her elsewhere,meanwhile the speech therapist is trying to explain to her that she is going tohave to move, but no, she’s not going home, like she thinks. She will probablynever go home. Her little dog will continue to race around her apartmentlooking for her.

Sometimesyou have to stand back and say, “Seriously? Seriously? Is this some kind offucking joke? Really? REALLY?”

I took Samand Delaney to the doctor for wellness checks yesterday, and Sam has a lump in histestical. The doctor said it was most likely a hernia but he referred us toChildren’s Hospital for an evaluation.

Have Imentioned that our house is in foreclosure? The auction date is the 23^rdof this month, if anyone would like to come and bid. I figure that’s one way toget rid of all our junk. Let them throw it the front yard and let theneighborhood scavengers dig through it. At least I wouldn’t have to clean thehouse again. Let the bank deal with the missing chunks of linoleum, where Iripped them up in a frantic, manic state. They can deal with the broken kitchencabinet that I punched or the closet door that I kicked. I’m “working” with WellsFargo to get a loan modification and have been for the last 5 months, with noresult. They continually ask for the same paperwork, over and over and overagain. The first “specialist” we had never returned phone calls. Yesterday, our new one called to say that ourpaperwork EXPIRED THURSDAY. And I have to send it all in again, with current information.Unfortunately, we don’t have another 5 months to wait. Wells Fargo sucks.

“You may askyourself, well, how did I get here?”

Room B467

2011-11-04T21:43:00.000-06:00

“If I didn’t take care of myself, take my pills, I’d be in apsych ward,” The man in to room next door is loudly explaining to his nurse. “I’m 65,” he says. “I’m not going to live thatmuch longer.”

I’m sitting in the corner of an uncomfortably cool hospitalroom, in an uncomfortable leather chair. The heart monitor beeps somewhere isin the hallway. I sit, waiting for the nurses to bring my grandma back to theroom. Echocardiograms, CAT Scans. She’s being submitted to those and everyother kind of imaginable scan and grams that they can conjure. They’re tryingtheir hardest to make her uncomfortable. Good intentions that are seriously annoying the 89 year old woman that I callGranny. She can’t speak. The stroke earlier today has stolen that from her. It’staken her ability to comprehend what people are saying. It’s taken her abilityto say “yes” or “no”. She struggles tosay something, moving her mouth and lips to make words, but is unable to makethem materialize as sound. She gives up, putting her head back down on the pillowwith a hand over her eyes. She cries, butcan’t wipe her nose because of the lines streaming oxygen into her veins. Sheshakes her head, shrugging her shoulders, surrendering to another battery oftests.

Mom called earlier, saying that she had called Granny and shewas completely incoherent and then she hung up. Mom babysits my nephew 5 days aweek, so I packed up Sam and Delaney and headed to my brother’s house towatch the baby while my mom went to be with Granny. By then the ambulance had taken her to thehospital emergency room. She was unableto recognize anyone, even my mom and dad. She couldn’t function, or even followsimple directions. When she was able to produce her full name, she beamed, herface transformed into that of a child, so proud she was.

As soon as I was able, I got myself to the emergency room. Sherecognized me immediately as I reached the side of her bed. I grasped her hand,and even in the ER she was classy, a giant moonstone ring on her left hand, ablue-stoned silver ring on the other. A little red lipstick. I held her hands tight and leaned down to hugher. I kissed her cotton-candy hair trying not to cry, trying not to be tangledin the wires and tubes that encased her like a strait jacket. I held her against my chest like a child, sheheld me back, and we sat there for a while in silence. She looked at me,forming her lips into shapes, moving her mouth to speak, but was unable to saywhatever she wanted to say. The look in her eye flashed from hope, tofrustration, to fear. She covered her face with her hands and buried her facein the sheets, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back tears. I heldher, and cried, too. I looked at hertender pink scalp peeking through her thinning white hair, the age spots on herface, neck and hands. I imagined it was me standing at that brink…knowing that I’m89 years old. I’ve already lived long past my life expectancy and suddenly I’mfacing death. Do you want to let go? Doyou want to stay? The oxygen tubes are half lost in the crepe paper skin aroundher neck. She looks at me, her giant blue eyes rimmed with red.

“I…don’t…know, “ shestuttered. “I…don’t…know.”

HUGE Emotions

2011-11-02T19:28:00.000-06:00

The evening I found Nick's note and drawings I panicked, obviously. I called his therapist, after hours, hoping that by some off chance she'd answer the phone. And thank god she did. If she hadn't, I think I would have been a blubbering mess all night. She moved his appointment up so she could see him sooner and gave me suggestions on how to deal with it right then. Ask about the drawing, she said, tell him that I am proud that he is able to express himself so well on paper, ask why he chose that particular topic. His first answer was because I wouldn't play chess with him, and that was indeed what set him to his room that afternoon. He blew up at me and went to his room. But obviously, it's about more than chess.

I loved how Michelle, his therapist put it. "Some people are born with HUGE emotions, while others are born will smaller (more manageable) emotions." We just have to learn how to handle them. Nick has often commented to me about the echo in his head. Sometimes it will take him and extra long time to finish his sentences because he waits for the echo to stop before he starts talking again. They've been digging into that one a little bit. Apparently Nick told her that it's not his voice, but it is a voice She says that Nick is a candidate for their "intensive out-patient" program. She said it's in its beginning stages, but right now gives the kids priority access to all the therapists and doctors, at any time. There are also other groups that they can join for extra support and different techniques on how to deal with their emotions, etc. Sounds like a class I need to take...It might also involve more hours of therapy. "Therapy" sounds so...harsh, but in reality, he has a lot of fun. They paint, play games, go outside and play. She says she picks up "nuggets" while they play and he talks. Unfortunately, she is moving to Hawaii and yesterday was his last session with her. But she paired him with someone she thinks would work. We meet him next time. He mainly uses art therapy, which I actually have a lot of faith in. It's an excellent outlet for all those "HUGE" emotions. I guess time will tell. And I'm hoping it tells us good things.

How we covered Nick's writing on the wall about how hard of a world it is for him. With a little bit of everything.

My seven year old wants to kill himself.

2011-10-20T18:38:00.000-06:00

So, here I am. Back on Blogger. Reuniting myself with the girl with flour in her hair. Granted, most of you have no recollection of who I am anyway. After that year long tropical vacation, I didn't have a lot of time to blog. At least they told me it was a tropical vacation. They handed me a fruity drink with an umbrella in it, I gulped it down. I felt a little dizzy, but hey, you know. Alcohol, right? I didn't really question the white jacket with the straps on it, I just thought it was nice they were helping me to my room. The view was fabulous...palm trees, blue waters gently lapping the white sand. It seemed a little small, but my vision never has been all that great. Several months later, I woke up and realized that the palm tree poster was torn at the edges and it hadn't been a hammock I'd been laying in. The bars over the window weren't very encouraging either.

No tropical vacation, unfortunately. The past year has been a haze of depression, bipolar diagnoses, manic-depressive episodes, disassociative disorder diagnosis...chemical cocktails, medications, antidepressants...Lamictal, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Valium, Clonipin, Seroquel, Trazadone, Atarax, Cymbalta, ... many at the same time. 7 therapists, a drug pushing pyschiatrist...weekly appointments, recommended electroshock treatment. Surprised they didn't offer the lobotomy at a special price. 1/2 off the procedure if the electroshock fries your brain.

And all that would make fine blog fodder and perhaps will once I get back into the swing of things. But all that has been pushed aside. Why?

Because my seven year old wants to kill himself. He had written on his wall with a marker, "this is a hard world for me". At school, apparently, he's an angel. Struggling with every academic aspect and very likely to see second grade again, but he has beautiful behavior. At home, he's an aggressive, violent monster. Screams, throws things, hits...he ran to his bedroom the other afternoon after school and I gave him a few minutes to cool off. I went up and knocked, opening the door just in time to see him stuff a paper under his pillow. I asked him about it, and he reluctantly gave it to me. It said he was the "wrong kid", he was a "jerk", etc. Then the very carefully drawn picture of him, being shot. Then the next frame is a tombstone with his name on it. And beneath a line of dirt, he's drawn himself with x's over his eyes and mommy crying over his grave, with a flower.

He's already in play therapy with an amazing therapist, because his mom is a fucking lunatic. So, now I discover I passed down my twisted brain to a wonderful, amazing, creative child. Who wants to kill himself. Who cries if he isn't in a violent rage. He's seven. SEVEN! Life is not supposed to be so hard. My grandpa was in his early 80s when he shot himself. But Nick...Nick is seven.

What do you do when your seven year old wants to be dead? Seriously, what would you do? I can be with him, I can watch him 24 hours a day. But I can't change his brain, his emotions. What do you do? What do you do???

Dawn Rutt - ArtTakesLondon

2011-05-16T13:42:00.000-06:00

Dawn Rutt - ArtTakesLondon

Take a look at vote! Pretty, pretty please?

"Don't Stand at my Grave and weep...I am not there..."

2011-03-17T22:55:00.001-06:00

Six years ago, today March 17th, in an old cemetery, my grandpa, or "poppy" as we called him, shot himself in the head.

This is what I wrote in the days following. It was definitely a form of therapy for me. I read it about once a year, usually on the anniversary of his death. As sort of a tribute maybe? I'm not sure, but here it is in all it's raw glory. It's very long, so feel free to skip over it...I'm not going to claim it's well written, it was composed quickly and passionately, and that's how I've left it. I feel like fixing it or editing it somehow takes away the emotion.

The shrill ring of the phone rudely jarred her from her sleep. She turned over to glance at the clock, it was before six am. A subtle wave of panic washed over her. It was too early, it was Sunday. Whoever it was wasn’t calling just to say hello. Maybe it’s a wrong number, she thought and rolled over to answer. She was a second too slow and the call skipped to the machine. No message, just a dial tone. Relieved, she laid back down. The bed was too warm and comfortable. The baby was still asleep. Immediately after, her husband’s cell phone rang. Suddenly, her heart was in her throat. She knew it was going to be bad. With shaking hands, she took the phone from her husband. It was her mom and she sounded so distant, so mechanic. Then her mother started crying. Through her mother’s tears, she managed to painfully pull the words from the receiver and piece together the story. Her grandpa, her mom’s father, Poppy, had shot himself. Is he ok, she asked? Visions of the thin, old man in the hospital, white sheets, a mass of tubes and wires...but no, there would be no hospital stay. Because he had shot himself. In the head. And he was dead. He was 83 years old, but he didn’t die naturally and peacefully in his bed while he slept. He drove his 1964 ½ Mustang, the one that he bought off the show room floor, brand new and shiny, out to an old graveyard and put the gun to his head. And he pulled the trigger.

Her husband, knowing something was wrong from her end of the conversation, had propped himself up on his elbow and as soon as she put the phone down, asked what was wrong. On the phone, she felt calm and in control. Strong. Stable. But now, now, she found that each time her mouth opened to tell him what happened, tears threatened to assail each syllable and she couldn’t seem to make the words make sense. To her ears, it sounded like gibberish. Not sure if he followed a thing she said, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom. She turned the shower on and as soon as the water began to beat against the porcelain tiles, her tears assaulted her with an uncontrollable insistence. She cried for the old man who was in so much pain, that a bullet, he thought, would be the better alternative to another day. She cried at the thought of his desolation, his loneliness, his anguish. She cried for his daughters. And she kept crying. For herself. Wishing she had known him better. Wishing she had been better at keeping in touch with him. Wishing her son had the chance to meet him. Later, she learned that in his wallet they found a tiny scrap of paper with her son’s name, date and time of birth scribbled onto it. And she cried again.

There was a Minnesotan snow storm and his body wasn’t found until the weekend. Did his spirit soar through the air, free at last from the aches and pains of old age, free from the addicting effects of alcohol? She wondered. Free at last, did he swoop down to peer through the blood smeared car window, to look at the ruined shell that once housed him? Or did he immediately see that blinding, white light where he was at once reunited with his mother, his sister, his father? She envisioned him young and spry and handsome, the way he looked in all the black and white pictures she had seen, proudly wearing his military uniform. Never too serious, the fun young man with a goofy expression, posing humourously. Always a smile. She saw him happy and carefree, like he did in his wedding pictures, his arms around his beautiful new bride.

She tried not to envision the last few moments of his life, but she couldn’t help but replay it over and over again in her mind, like a movie reel. The gun, the blood. She wondered if he had felt anything. She prayed he had not. She wondered what he thought about those last few seconds. If he changed his mind, after the trigger was pulled. She hoped he never faltered, that he never had a doubt. It would be a horrible thing, she thought, to have last minute qualms about the decision to take your life.

The next morning dawned, tinged with a heavy fog of disbelief. In silence, she secured her son into the car seat in her parents diesel truck and climbed in beside him, wedging herself in between the seat and a stack of luggage. Her parents were riding up front and they pulled out onto the highway, beginning the 15 hour trip to Minnesota to arrange a funeral and pick up her grandpa’s things.

The scenery outside the window slowly changed from the familiar Colorado landscape to snow flecked plains and endless farmland, spotted with the occasional antelope and coyote. As the miles were dully kicked out behind the truck’s wheels, she grew very thankful that her son’s attention was intent on the lap top computer that continuously played Sesame Street DVD’s. Constantly perched on the edge of tears, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to continue feigning the calm and collected act if the baby grew restless and started crying. She felt like she had to be the strong one, the stable one. The one her mom could rely on. She didn’t want to dissolve into a useless, weeping heap.

The continuous jostling of the rough riding backseat, combined with the slight diesel fumes that invaded the interior induced her old childhood nemesis, car sickness. She popped a couple of pills made for that purpose and thankfully, they quelled the sickness. They also made her extremely tired. When her son fell asleep, despite the seatbelt digging in her ribs and the cold glass window against her head, she was able to fall asleep as well. When she woke up, she had a kink in her neck and it had grown dark. Even in the truck, she could feel the drop in temperature. They were finally in Minnesota.

They reunited with more family once they reached the hotel. Her brother, her aunt and uncle, cousins and her grandma, even her grandpa’s ex-wife. For them, according to her grandma, it had been a very difficult 40 years of marriage and a very bitter divorce. She wondered why her grandma had come at all. Perhaps, she thought, the relationship hadn’t been as cold as she’d been lead to believe. When people are hurting, she knew, they tend to say things they don’t mean. Maybe that had been the case. That thought was one step closer to being confirmed when she saw that her grandma’s normally immaculate make up was smudged and tear streaked. Her grandma had grown up in Welcome, the small Minnesotan town where they had found her grandpa’s body. The graveyard in which the car had been parked was the same one that held the graves of her grandma’s parents. It was were her grandparents had grown up together, threw crab apples at each other, courted, fell in love, got married and had two daughters. It was the setting of all those black and white pictures she had, the ones of the young, happy couple. The handsome soldier in his uniform, the glowing bride in her impeccable white suit, the artfully crafted waves in her hair. With a jolt, she realized that she was older right now, than they were in those pictures. They were just kids. Now her grandpa was dead and her grandma was left with memories, even the happy ones clouded with bitterness. It was terrifying, she thought, to fathom the passion with which one could convince themselves that their lives had been nothing but a succession of terribly unhappy events. Is that possible, she wondered, to live every second of a 40 year marriage in misery? Even in the beginning? The wedding pictures, they seemed so sincere. Were they unhappy from the start? If she was going to learn anything from this, she concluded, it was how a good man’s fight with alcohol and the many poor choices he made along the way taint every single positive thing he’d ever done. Even after death, for her grandma, the bad decisions he made continue to cancel out every good and kind thing he ever did. Her mom and her aunt seemed to remember only the good things, her grandma remembered only the bad. She loved both her grandpa and her grandma, but it was difficult for her to understand how deep her grandma’s bitterness seemed to run. She tried to withhold judgement, knowing that from her perspective of "outside looking in" she’’d never understand it. She wasn’t there, she hadn’t lived it. She hoped she would never have that particular insight.

Her and her son retreated to the dingy hotel room they would be sharing with her mom and her grandma. Her parents and her aunt and uncle had gone to the house her grandpa had lived in, with a very wealthy old woman whom he had known since his school days. She was hunchbacked old woman who dyed her sparse hair bright red and drank beer with her breakfast, her grandmother told her as she joined them in the hotel room. That woman was always ugly, her grandma said. And she had her eyes on your grandfather from day one. That woman couldn’t wait until we got divorced. And he rushed right to her, didn’t he? Her grandma laid on the bed, suddenly turning the tv on, pushing the volume to the max. The blaring tv limited any further conversation, but she personally thought that her grandpa’s relocation had more to do with the opportunity for food and cheap shelter, rather than any long hidden desire, but she let it go.

Her brother and her three cousins had immediately converged at the hotel bar to drink. To her, it seemed like a flagrant and disrespectful way to deal with her grandpa’s death, in light of the way he lived his life and of the way he died. She was disgusted with them. And she wished with every ounce of her being that she could join them. But she had a baby, responsibilities. She was slightly heartened, because picking your responsibilities over a shot of tequila, didn’t that mean that she wasn’t an alcoholic? Wouldn’t an alcoholic leave the baby in the room and go to the bar anyway? Or take the baby to the bar with her? That was almost as bad, she thought. Reassured, she decided to take her son to the indoor pool instead.

That’s where her parents found them an hour later. Her son was splashing happily in the kiddie pool and she had actually laughed nonstop since they got in the water. She kissed her son on the forehead. There is nothing like the innocent antics of a toddler to make you smile, she thought. She whispered a quick request to the sky, please let the bad genes in this family skip over him. Please. Please let his life be untroubled. Let his mind be peaceful. Give him his father’s sturdy sense, not her own self-indulgent, melancholy dreaminess.

She heaved her exhausted son from the water and wrapped him tight in a towel. He was asleep before she could pull a up a chair. Her parents joined her. The trip to the house to collect her grandpa’s meager possessions, they said, did not go as planned. The old woman had been drunk and hurled curses at them, physically shoving and pushing and refusing to let them in the house. The woman accused her mom and aunt of killing their father, because they knew he had a drinking problem and did nothing about it. Her heart ached for her mom, she knew how deep that accusation would have cut. She knew how guilty her mom already felt.
In the years prior, her grandpa had been in numerous rehabs and although it’s a great concept, she thought, they don’t work unless the patient is willing. And she knew that when they are brought in under the power of a wheel chair because they are too weak to stand and walk out, well, that then there’s even less of a chance of recovery. She clearly remembered that particular attempt at sobriety. They visited him once and she could recall the little cell that had become his temporary home. A bed. A lamp. On his small well-worn dresser lay her most current school picture, taken her freshman year. In the picture, she was wearing her favorite red rayon shirt. She had been trying out religion that year and a small Marcasite cross hung around her neck. Her grandpa had seen her looking at it and weakly told her one of the male nurses had seen it and remarked on the pretty girl in the picture. I told him the pretty girl is my granddaughter, he had said proudly. She remembered standing there, not knowing how to respond. Her mom had prodded her to say thank you. Thanks, she had mumbled awkwardly. Her grandpa had just smiled at her. Because of those few moments, every little inconsequential detail of that school picture remained etched in her memory. She had stood there and focused on that picture, studying the wrinkles in the shirt, the too long bangs that were falling into her eyes, the crooked collar. It gave her something to examine without ever having to lift her eyes to the old withered man in the wheel chair. Normally a tall, already thin man, alcohol had reduced him to flesh covered skeleton, so weak he could barely hold himself up. It hurt her to look at him, to see him reduced to a husk.

That was the last time she had visited him in one of those places.

In the few weeks prior to his death, her grandpa had disappeared for several days. Her mom had received a call from the old woman demanding that someone come and find him and take him back to Colorado, because she couldn’t handle the drinking anymore. Unfortunately, his disappearing really wasn’t that uncommon and he’d usually return in a couple of days. Somehow sensing that maybe it was time to move him closer to his family, her mom had found him an apartment and tentative plans were made to make the trip to pick him up. And now, just like they’d planned, they had made that trip. But he wasn’t going to be coming back with them.

The funeral was held the next morning. Before the service, she was given a stack of photos and was asked to arrange them on the large boards provided. With a shaky hand, she placed each picture on the board, each picture a slice of her grandpa’s life. In one, he was just a boy holding a gun, standing proudly beside his father and the deer he had killed. In another, he sat on a pier overlooking a local lake, a cap shading his eyes. There was his senior picture, his wedding picture, pictures of him in his military uniform, pictures of him during family gatherings. There was a picture of him taken the very last time she had seen him. It had been taken at her wedding, and he was decked out in his best suit, grinning at the camera. She wished she had spent more time with him then. She wished she could have said good bye.

As the funeral home slowly filled with strangers and she started overhearing scraps of conversations, she wondered why people who attended a funeral always pretended to be so happy and jovial. Wasn’t it ok to be sad? Why make such an effort to be so merry? She was sad, she couldn’t help it and it was exhausting, smiling and shaking hand after hand, meeting cheerful person after person. But really, she was touched by all the people who kept filtering through the door, dressed in their Sunday best. The elderly men who had been her grandpa’s friends gracefully shook her hand and offered quiet words of comfort, their wives all carefully dressed and made up, offering their own words of condolence. There were friends and there were twice removed cousins, great aunts and uncles, family that she had never met. Her grandpa’s family. The people he grew up with, the people he loved. The people who loved him and would miss him terribly. People who knew him better than she ever had. They were full of humourous stories about her grandpa’s life that always started animatedly and then ended with quiet, awkward pauses. No one mentioned the way he had died.

The actual service was a blur to her. She didn’t cry. Every word the pastor spoke seemed to disintegrate in the air long before it reached her chair. She stared hard at him, trying to make his speech make sense, but found she couldn’t concentrate. Her eyes started wandering to the expressions on the faces of the people around her, but watching their grief quickly made her feel like she was observing something she had no right to see. She hurriedly looked away. She sat beside her brother in the row behind their parents, aunt and uncle and she was thankful to be sitting where she couldn’t see her mom’s face. Her brother held her sleeping son and she clenched tightly to her brother’s free hand and studied the legs of the chair in front of her. The service ended outside with the twenty one gun salute, the simultaneous shots making her jump. Her son slept blithely through it. People quickly dispersed and a large majority of them converged at a small café, where her grandpa had his coffee every morning. His cup hung on the wall. With extreme reverence, the café’s owner removed it from the wall and presented it to her mom. That small gesture was so personal, so final, it hit her harder than the entire service had.. She went outside and stood on the vacant street so no on could see her cry.

Standing on the snowy sidewalk, her tears cold on her cheeks, she found her mind wandering to the book she had so carefully picked out for her grandpa that past Christmas. It was about a downed war plane and the survivors of the crash. As soon as she saw it, she knew it was exactly the kind of book he would enjoy. She wondered if he had ever had the chance to finish it. When you’ve decided to die, do you even bother finishing the book you were reading? Do you really care what happens in the end? She decided that her grandpa would have finished it. Like her, he had a passion for books and she didn’t think he would let one go unread. When her grandparent’s were still married, her grandpa’s bookshelves lined the walls in their basement. She remembered just sitting there, in awe, looking at all of the books. The shelves were populated with Zane Grey, Steinbeck, Hemingway as well as hundreds of authors she had never heard of. Some were so old, bits of cloth would come off in her hands if she handled them. Some had elaborate gold curlicues along the spines, some clothed in crumbling dust jackets. One was affectionately inscribed to her grandpa from his long dead mother, others were stamped from libraries and schools. There were also new ones, but it was the older ones that she was drawn to. All those stories were told before she was ever born and she was eager to read every one of them. When he grandparents had divorced and he had moved to Minnesota, he entrusted all those incredible books into her care. It had been so overwhelming at the time, to realize that she now was the owner of all those little bits of history. And she had intended to read everyone of them. But life, like it has a tendency of doing, got in the way and she actually read very few of them and the books remained boxed and stored away. Standing there in front of the café, thinking of all those books, growing musty in their boxes, she felt like she had somehow failed her grandpa. She made a vow that as soon as she got home, she would buy as many bookcases as it took to get all those books out and display them with the dignity that they deserved.

That afternoon, she crunched through the snow and stood in the freezing wind along the banks of the lake her grandpa had always fished at. She huddled with her family and silently cried as she watched her mom and aunt pour her grandpa’s ashes out of a plastic bag into the frigid waters. The water clouded and as the ashes swirled around the rocks, they slowly dispersed, leaving the water clear once again. She wondered if he stood unseen among them, watching his earthly remains twist in the water and slowly disappear. Maybe he stood beside his daughters, who held each other and cried, his arms tightly around both of them. Maybe he was already gone.

Before they left Minnesota, her mom and aunt had managed to retrieve his things from the old woman, who would herself die several months later. But for her, there would be no mourning family. Just an auction that sold all her belongings to the highest bidder and quiet talk around town about how she had died choking on her beer.

The Mustang, her grandpa’s prized possession, was sold to a local man. As important as the car had been to him, one gunshot managed to turn it into a crypt. It would forever echo with terrible images and painful memories. No one in the family wanted to keep it.

That left one piece of unfinished business. On their way out of Minnesota, her dad pulled the truck off of the freeway and onto a bumpy road that led to a small, unattended lake. Tall cattails swayed in the wind, dipping into the water. Her dad got out of the truck and walked to the bank, a small gun dangling from his hand. She tried not to look at it, but suddenly it seemed huge, monstrous and it was all she could see. It made her feel faint. Her grandma who was sitting in the front seat, saw it. Is that what he used? Her grandma asked. It’s just a small gun. I would’ve kept that.

Her grandma never failed to surprise her, but those few words paralyzed her with shock. She had no idea how to respond to such a callous remark. Then, quietly, her grandma spoke. No, she said. Forget I said that. I wouldn’t want to keep it."

She put her hand on her grandma’s shoulder, her grandma reached up and squeezed it tightly.

Her dad threw the gun into the lake. As soon as the water closed around it she pictured her grandpa. But it wasn’t the same terrible image that kept replaying in her mind the last few days. It was her grandpa healthy and well, stretched out on a sofa reading a well thumbed Louis L’Amour book.

And he was smiling.

Cakes!

2011-03-06T11:15:00.000-07:00

Lots and lots of new cakes on my cake blog!

My Dog Ate My Blog...Guest Post!

2011-02-21T21:03:00.000-07:00

5 Ways to De-Stress on a Dime

Joy Paley is a guest blogger for My Dog Ate My Blog and a writer for the Guide to Online Schools. Check out the site for a list of online schools currently accepting applications.

When you become a stay-at-home mom, your options for de-stressing become a bit more limited. Instead of vegging out in front of the TV with a glass of wine and the latest George Clooney flick, you find yourself watching Sesame Street, surrounded by juice boxes and Goldfish crackers. But being a full time mom and trying to save some money (who isn’t these days?!) doesn’t mean you’re resigned to reading the backs of cereal boxes for entertainment and rejuvenation. Check out these accessible options that bring good bang for the buck.

Join a Local YMCA

The YMCA gets a bad rap from people who think it’s just a half-way house or a gym with old, broken down equipment. The Y’s mission is actually pretty cool: to bring the awesome benefits of mind-body health to everyone in the community, including you, the cash-strapped mom. You might think a membership rate of $40-60 a month is pretty high for a gym, but most Y’s come with child care, dozens of classes from Zumba to yoga, a pool, and a jacuzzi—a real value, if you take the time to find the programs and activities that are fun for you.

Learn a New Skill

Most people live in close distance to a community college or university extension, two types of schools that offer interesting continuing education classes. Bring a friend along and learn how to cook a new cuisine, make pottery, or do graphic design. At $120-200 for 6-10 weeks, these classes are a good way to get out of the house, take a breather, and learn something new in the process, at the same price that you would pay for a weekly movie and snacks or a restaurant meal.

Hike a Trail

It’s nice to have a relaxing activity that you can turn to, even when you’ve got the kids in tow. Load them up in the car or jump on the bus, and ride out to your local regional or state park. For a few dollars entry fee you can get a little exercise while being relaxed by the beautiful, quiet scenery. Bring a kite, frisbee, or badminton set along, in case your kids need more fast-paced entertainment.

Start a Weekly Culture Club

What’s a culture club? It’s like a book club, but not restricted to discussions about one specific book, and with an added element of sharing. Get some friends and friends of friends together, and tell them to bring along a movie, CD, book, DVD, article, or another cultural goodie that they particularly enjoy. The weekly meetings are like a low-key swap, where you can exchange some of the favorite media in your life with someone else. At the next meeting, spend some time chatting with the item’s original owner about the film, story, etc., and return their item. It’s great because it can be a money saver—instead of blowing money on iTunes or Amazon, you get some new, free entertainment each week. Plus, the meetings bring a fun social element, and let you bond with friends.

Go On A Winery or Brewery Tour

One of the most stifling things about being a full time mom can be feeling like you never get to do “adult” things, because you’ve gotta entertain your kids and keep an eye on the budget. While a weekend spa getaway or a three-course meal on the town might not be reasonable to you, a winery or brewery tour can be a fun alternative. Find a sitter for a few hours, and grab your spouse, partner, or some friends and take a local tour. These tours are usually free or very cheap, and they come with free wine or beer samples along the way. Spend some time assessing the bouquet in a local wine, and you’ll be feeling sophisticated and adult again, without wasting your hard earned cash.

Baby Sign Language

2011-01-18T08:34:00.000-07:00

Baby Sign Language: When Should I Start?
Guest Post by Misty Weaver
Chief Editor, Baby Sign Language

“How old should my baby be when I start Teaching Baby Sign Language?” This is a common question! Parents don’t want to start too soon, and some parents fear they’ve already missed their window of opportunity. In reality, baby sign language is not an exact science, and you can start Teaching Your Baby To Sign whenever you are ready!

Most experts recommend that you start introducing signs to your baby when she is six months old. However, there is certainly no harm in starting earlier than that. It’s mostly about expectations. If you expect your eight-week-old to start signing back, then yes, you will get frustrated. But if you just think, “Hey I’m going to play with my baby and throw some signs in just for fun,” then you can just think of it as a head start.

Now, if your baby is older than six months old, that does not mean you are too late. Many signing babies sign well into their toddler years, usually until they are comfortable speaking in complex sentences. There are many benefits to toddler signing. Signing reduces toddler tantrums and can be a lifesaver (or at least paper towel saver) when it comes time for potty training.

There are a few signs to look for that will indicate your baby is ready to start signing. First, she should be starting to develop her fine motor skills. So, if she can pick up small objects with her thumb and forefinger, then she is physically ready to start making the signs.

If your baby makes eye contact with you when you speak, this is an excellent sign that he is ready to take his communication to the next level. If you see evidence that he can understand what you are saying, e.g., you say you need a pillow and he toddles over and gets you one of his, then that is a great sign that he is ready (and also an indication that he is an absolute sweetheart!)

If your baby is pointing at objects and saying “eh!” or “ack!” as a way of telling you what he wants, then that is definitely a good sign!

So, if your baby is younger than six months, you have some time to get ready! You can take your time learning some signs and perusing the Baby Sign Language Dictionary .

Or, if your baby is older than six months, then you can get started whenever you’d like!

Remember, this is not an exact science, so just relax and try to make it fun! No matter what age your baby is when you start teaching him baby sign language, the benefits are numerous and the bonding you will experience will be well worth your efforts. Happy signing!

Music Key to Raising Kids' IQ

2011-01-03T14:07:00.000-07:00

Music Key to Raising Kids' IQ
by Sharon Burch

In past generations, singing and playing instruments was an integral part of family life. A great way to express and entertain yourself and others. We did not realize it, but we were also exercising our brain while we played, causing us to be creative, more vibrant, smarter, etc. In our current generation, we tend to be passive listeners and consumers as a society, and as a result, shorting our mental development and our children the opportunity to reach their mental potential.

Humans are "wired" for music. Until recently, scientists did not know how music affected the brain. The advancement in technology allows scientists to actually "see" brain activity via PET scans and MRI imaging scanning the blood flow in the brain. Our brains are "wired" with neural pathways. Most activities only cause a portion of the brain to "light up" with activity; thus, the saying, right brain/left brain, etc. But there are actually four parts to the brain and music makes ALL of the areas "light up" and create new neural pathways as a person is learning and playing an instrument. Those neural pathways remain in tact and can be used for other things besides music.

Norman Doidge, in his book, The Brain That Changes Itself, shares case after case of people forcing their brain to change and adapt either voluntarily with discipline, or involuntarily due to odd incidences. Studies confirm that our brain has plasticity. "You can't teach an old dog new tricks" is proven to be a case of "can't want to," rather than too old to change.

Daniel Levitin passionately explores the connection between Music and the Brain in his book of the same name. Google his name, watch video clips on YouTube, or go to his website. It's an exciting time of discovering how little we know and how much there is to learn. There is definitely enough evidence to recognize it is not in a music teacher's imagination. Music has a huge impact on activity in the brain. You can physically/visually see the growth and changes that happen inside the brain. The possibilities are endless. The implications for music therapy and music education are profound. Just check out PBS video "The Music Instinct." Neurologist and author, Oliver Sacks relays a true story from his book, Musicophilia, where a man was indirectly struck by lightning through a telephone and three weeks later composing and playing the piano for the first time. Sacks believes the man was "re-wired" through that experience. The list goes on and on.

But even if you are still skeptical about music making kids smarter, let's look at the other benefits. Socially, music is an ageless hobby creating interaction with great people. Take a look at any school band or orchestra or top-ranking choir and you will find a huge percentage of the members are in the top 10 percent of their class and college bound. Striving for excellence is a given in a musical group. Everyone has to perfect their part for the group to perform at their best--NObody "sits on the bench." Everyone has to pull their weight or the whole group suffers. Creativity, especially in jazz groups is developed, honed and embraced. Who couldn't use more creativity in their workforce? Creativity is what makes the difference and gives any company the cutting edge.

There are many benefits of being involved in making music, but the neural pathways drives home the point and gets our attention. Scientists are reluctant to state that playing a musical instrument makes you smarter, but all the indicators are there, so let's look at it from the opposite angle. Instead of trying to prove that music makes you smarter or good for you and your child, try to prove that it is not. I can't think of a single reason how learning a musical instrument is detrimental, can you?

Give your child every opportunity and advantage you can. Enroll them in music lessons and watch them grow and mentally develop as they play, create, express, and struggle through the rigors of the discipline mastering an instrument. You will discover a more creative, brighter and mature person in the making.

Freddie The Frog® Books
Nationally regarded music education teacher and advocate Sharon Burch is the author of Freddie the Frog® - a fantastical 4-book with companion CD series that helps young children learn musical concepts while they are duly immersed in Freddie's colorfully illustrated adventures. She may be reached online at www.FreddieTheFrogBooks.com.

Wrestling...

2010-11-13T19:48:00.000-07:00

Today was Nick's first wrestling meet...we got up early. Way early. Too early. And we left for the school before I even had my coffee. I had to wake up Delaney and Sam and drag them out of bed. It was ugly. It was rough. But we got there and walked into the gym. Nick made a beeline for the bleachers.
"No...Nick. You need to go and sit with your team."
"But...they're wrestling," he says.
"Well, yeah. That's what the practices are for."
"But I don't want to."
So, we find a spot in the bleachers and get his wrestling shoes on.
"Why don't you go down and sit with your team?"
"No."
Okaaay. How about we just sit in the bleachers at this obscene time in the morning and watch all the parents drink the coffee they were smart enough to buy on their way over.
"Can I play the DS?" Nick asks.
Sigh.
"Nick...we are here so you can wrestle. Not play the video game."
He's quiet for a minute.
"I don't think I'm ready for this kind of thing yet," he tells me.
Yeah. I don't think I am either.

The Miracle of a Hat

2010-11-11T22:34:00.001-07:00

I've been on a hat kick lately...I wear them all the time. I've discovered that with a hat, I don't even have to brush my hair. I get up, pull a sweatshirt on over my pajama pants, put a cute hat on and I actually look presentable enough for the bus stop. I may still have slippers on, but if I'm wearing a hat, I feel put together and fully dressed. From the waist up, anyway. It's a great trick. And fortunately, I haven't had to get out the the car yet. And now that we've had our first snowfall (YAY!), a nice warm hat becomes even more necessary for cold mornings. And bad hair days. And days when your hair might not be so bad, but you don't want to take the time to find out. And days when the alarm says that you have to get up and you don't want to and then you realize that if you wear a hat, you can sleep that extra minute or two that it would take you to brush your hair. See? Hats are amazing.

The Winter Hats Boutique website has a ton a cute hats; hats for kids, men and women. They have Winter Hats and Women Winter hats. And they have so many to choose from. Delaney will wear a hat if I have one on, but only for about 10 minutes and then she rips it off and I find it in the bathroom sink or on the floor in the car. Which is too bad, because look at this one...

It's painfully cute. And this one...

So darn cute. Really. I'm tempted to have another baby, just so I can buy this beanie hat for him.You should check out some of the amazing hats on this site...adorable.

I have a pair of pajamas that would go quite nicely with this one...

I think I know how to start my Christmas wish list this year...and it's going to be a long one!

For 15% off, use the code 15OFF at checkout!

Halloween!

2010-11-05T15:01:00.000-06:00

Granted, Halloween was almost a week ago, but like usual, I am a bit slow. It didn't help that my Internet was down for. Four. Days. FOUR DAYS! It was terrible. I actually got laundry done, I cleaned bathrooms and changed sheets. Horrible. Thankfully, it's back up and I won't have to do any of that stuff again. So, of course now that I'm back online, I have to present the obligatory cute kids in costume picture.

Nick was a pirate (like that sneer he has going there?), Delaney was a princess and Sam was "Superman". We tried to tell him he was actually Spiderman, but he didn't believe us. We went trick or treating around the neighborhood and there are a few houses that were decorated a bit scary. I worried about how Sam would react, because when Nick and Delaney were that age they were terrified. The first scary house had a skeleton guy hanging in a tree and Sam stopped short and stared at it. "Uh oh," I thought, waiting for the crying or screaming. But no...he spits at it.

"Spit at scawy (scary) guy," he said. And then he spit again. Superman, indeed.

Then we came home to find the dog laying in the middle of the living room, surrounded by lollipop sticks and candy wrappers. And that can make even the toughest of kids cry.

Parent/ Teacher Conferences

2010-11-02T22:13:00.000-06:00

Nick's parent/teacher conference was last week. I've volunteered in the classroom several times, so I knew the teacher and her assistant and already had a pretty good idea of where Nick stood in class.

Or so I thought.

In preschool and kindergarten, Nick was always at the top of his class in all the subjects they were learning at the time. Apparently, within the first few months of first grade, his reading level is no longer at the top of his class, but has dropped so far below grade level that the teacher recommended sending him to the special reading classes the school offers. Now, I have to admit I was a little taken aback. While I am not opposed to anything that will help him out, I just question the judgement of his teacher. At the conference, I had a few questions for her that she couldn't answer. I wasn't impressed. They have these math sheets that are all simple addition problems. But the kids are timed. They have two minutes to fill it out. Looking at Nick's work, I can see where he starts to get stressed out and just starts putting in numbers so he won't be left with an empty page. To me, this seems really silly. They're just learning this stuff. Do they really need to be timed? I asked the teacher what the benefit of this was. She stuttered around and little and then told me that she didn't really know. "It's just the way we always do it. " She lost all my confidence, right there.

I am going to put Nick in the special class and see if there is an improvement, because it can't hurt, but I doubt the necessity. She told me he is advanced in math and sciences but needs to work on his spelling. Which brings up another issue...when we go over the words at home, he can get every single one of them correct. Then he brings home his test and I find that he has missed nearly all of them. I can't figure that out, either. I wonder if he's just a bad test taker and what, if anything, can be done about it.

I have a feeling school is going to be harder than I thought.

I Made a Friend!

2010-10-20T07:05:00.001-06:00

The lobby at Delaney's dance class is full of three different kinds of moms: there are the ones that sit together on one side of the room, talk loudly and avoid eye contact with anyone not in their yoga pant, designer purse-clad group. There are the moms that drop their kids off and make to the nearest exit as fast as they can. Then, there's the lepers. The moms that scrounge for whatever chair is leftover, or they sit on the floor at the back of the studio in their jeans and dole out goldfish crackers from non-designer diaper bags. The moms that are always late with the payment. The moms that never seem to "fit in". You know, like me. Maybe it's because I'm always drunk. Hmm.

But anyway, today, I made a friend with a fellow leper.

When you stay at home with your children full time, meeting a new person with whom you might actually have something in common with is an event. A celebration. It's like a freakin' date. Do you ask for her phone number? Or does that make you sound too desperate? Will she think you're a stalker if you find her on Facebook and friend her? Should you follow her home, get her address and send her flowers? I just don't know...This friendship thing is hard.

Not that I'm completely anti-social. I do have friends. Just because no one can see them doesn't mean they aren't real. But believe it or not, I have real ones, too. I have several acquaintances and a few very close friends with whom I cannot imagine not having in my life. Friends who forgive me, no matter how bad of a friend I am. And I love them to pieces...but I've discovered that as an adult, for me anyway, making a true friend is really, really tricky. I don't know how to do it.

But today, I managed to control myself and after class, I resisted following my fellow leper home. Only because I know a restraining order would make it difficult to take Delaney to dance class. Maybe next week I'll just bring her a small gift...like a life-sized portrait of her, done in macaroni noodles. I'm sure I could get Delaney to help.

It starts early...

2010-10-18T22:00:00.000-06:00

This is my daughter's bed. Yes. The one she sleeps in. If I try to take anything off of it, she screams and cries until I put it back. Exactly where it was, or she gets angry, stomps over and puts it in it's proper place. As disorganized as this looks, apparently, there is a system. The books are sorted to her liking...doctor books by her head, a select few rotating books propped against the wall. The stuffed animals and babies all have their own place, and God forbid I move one. I accidentally uprooted "Baby Koala" from his place in the covers once and it was another ten minutes before she would go to sleep because she had to get him comfortable again.

She has several different blankets, that are only to be used for certain dolls. She has an assortment of crayons and paper, in case she feels like drawing in the middle of the night. She keeps her plastic rings and bracelets next to her, right beside her barrettes in the pink, plastic bedside bucket that we once brought home from the hospital. She has a place for all the junk mail that I tried to throw away but she thought she had to keep; the flier from the dentist with the tooth fairy on it, a princess picture from the Disney movie club advert...very important things. All close at hand. Two different water bottles. In case she gets very thirsty. Birthday cards, pennies, a squirt gun...

I'm afraid that one day she will be featured on Hoarders...

Midnight snacks

2010-10-08T10:53:00.000-06:00

I was rocking Sam a few nights ago, trying to get him to go to sleep. He as being very stubborn. He kept looking up at me and asking for a cracker.

"Cracker?" he'd ask.
"No."
"Cracker?"
"No."
"Cracker?"
"No."
He decided on a different approach.
"String cheese?"
"No, Sam. Go. To. Sleep."
"String cheese?"
"NO!"
He was quiet for a few seconds.
"Hangbooger?" he asks.

Sure, kid. It's almost 11:00 pm. You can't have a cracker, but I will run right downstairs and grill you up a hamburger.

I guess it was worth a shot.

Definitions

2010-10-02T08:28:00.000-06:00

Delaney came in crying and screaming that Nick kicked her in the face.

"Nick! Get in here!" I shouted. "Did you kick Delaney?"

"Yes," he says, sadly.

"Was it an accident?" I ask.

"No. It was on purpose."

"Then you need to get to your room right now! We do not kick each other."

"No, no...wait! Wait!" he pleads. "What exactly does "on purpose" mean?"

Playstation Move

2010-09-30T17:23:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of PlayStation MOVE. All opinions are 100% mine.

Maybe family game night used to mean a game of Sorry or Scrabble, but with the new PlayStation Move you can take your game night to new heights! This new gaming concept combines the PlayStation game system, their PlayStation Camera Eye and the PlayStation MOVE remote for extremely realistic game play. There is a unique sphere at the end of the remote that allows the camera to pick up your position from anywhere in the room.

From the website:

The combination of technology from the PlayStation^®Move motion controller and PlayStation^®Eye camera allows you to see yourself holding an object in your television or interact with a character right inside your living room.

Now, that sounds fun! I would love to see that! My kids would love that. There is a game available that we would have to buy, called EyePet. The pet is actually projected into the room for players to interact with. You feed him, care for him, play with him...you can even draw pictures and then have them come to life as 3-D objects for the pet to play with. How cool is that? I would never get my kids away from the screen!

They have several other games that look like they would be a lot of fun and there are many more in the works. For those with a PlayStation 3, all it takes is the purchase of the MOVE Bundle for $99.99 to adapt the system. Currently, to purchase the entire system and bundle it will cost $399.99. Definitely something to look into if you're in the market for a new gaming system!

SmartKnitKIDS Seamless Socks and Giveaway!

2010-09-30T15:28:00.002-06:00

Sponsored by Tomoson.com

When we were given the opportunity to try out a pair of SmartKnit Kids Seamless Socks, I jumped at the chance. Free socks! Of course! These particular socks are seamless, which they claim makes them more comfortable than your average socks.

I requested them in pink, Delaney's favorite color. I decided to test them out on her, because she refuses to wear socks. Her flip flops are welded to the bottom of her feet. Every time I make her wear socks, minutes later I will undoubtedly stumble across a pile of sweaty girl socks, ditched in the middle of the floor somewhere. She hates socks and that might be fine if we lived in Florida, but Colorado's weather is not so mild and she cannot wear flip flops year round. SmartKnits sent one pink pair, sized medium and one white pair in large.

She glared at me when I showed them to her.
"I hate socks!" she hissed at me.
"I know, but look! These are pink!" I finally persuaded her to put them on and wonders of wonders...she wore them all day. All day. I'm a believer. Designed for children with sensory processing diﬀerences and hypersensitivity, they work equally well for kids who just don't like socks that bunch in their shoes. Maybe it was the lack of seams, the bumps or the texture, but these sock were absolutely a hit with my daughter. They are designed without a heel, so they can't be put on upside down because both sides are the same! This also keeps children from outgrowing them as quickly as they would regular socks.

I was instantly struck by how soft they were. They are made from 97.3% polyester and 2.7% lycra and are antimicrobial which helps inhibit odor-causing bacteria. And really, my kids smell bad enough. These socks are designed to wick away moisture and the form-fitting design is snug on the foot, keeping them from slipping and bunching in the child's shoes. Their patented non-binding Halo-Top keeps the sock up, without pinching or binding. After wearing them all day, she didn't have the elastic marks left on her leg like other socks leave.

I am absolutely impressed with these socks and so is my daughter. She may not get frostbite this winter after all.

They are also going to send a pair to a lucky reader! So, in the comments, tell me why you'd like a pair of these and you're automatically entered to win!

This Product Was a Free Giveaway

Liberation!

2010-09-25T20:30:00.000-06:00

My saintly neighbor watched my two youngest so I could go to the grocery store. Alone. That hasn't happened in years. On the way there, I cranked the music up loud without the shrieks and whines that usually accompany that. I sang. Loudly. To Nine Inch Nails. I exceeded the speed limit by 4 miles an hour, I swore at the man who turned in front of me.

"What!? You &*#(@ moron! Did that year not come with a %&(#@%$& turn signal?" without having to worry that the little sponges in the backseat would repeat it back at some inopportune time. Preschool conferences are stressful enough. And all this excitement, all this liberation before I even entered the store.

I selected the first cart I came to. There was no crying and begging and searching for the one cart in the store that looks like a car. There were no arguments about who was going to ride up front, or who got to sit in the basket, or was going to hold the list. I got to hold my own list. I had time to look at my coupons and actually compare items and prices. I was able to examine the strawberries and the apples. I picked the best avocados. No one was crying. I wasn't constantly pulling on little arms, trying to get them out of the way of the other shoppers. I didn't once have to smile at some stranger in an apologetic way. I didn't even have to talk. For an entire hour, I didn't once say anything. It was...nice. Because I don't really like to talk but that's all I do, all day long.

"No! You can not spray the dog with the hose!"
"Why, may I ask, are there Benderoos hooked to the ceiling fan?"
"What is in the TOILET??"

So, it was refreshing. Not having to speak. To leisurely stroll the aisles of the grocery store, checking items off my list with satisfaction. If they offered champagne at the door, it would have been perfect. They really should do that, while they wipe your cart down with their velvet towels and bow graciously.

I was stalked through the produce aisle by an over-enthusiastic older man and I realized with regret, that my wedding ring was at home. Fortunately, I avoided additional contact and was able to lose him in the frozen foods. Elderly gentlemen can't quite get it up to speed sometimes...you know, their cart?

But all good things must come to an end. Who would have thought I'd ever say that about Wal-Mart? Eeegads. But I hurried home to get the kids with plenty of time to get Nick from the bus. And dare I say? It was nice to see their smiling little faces.

Early Childhood Education - Acquiring Sign Language

2010-09-24T10:00:00.001-06:00

Co-written by Emily Patterson and Kathleen Thomas
Emily and Kathleen are Communications Coordinators for the network of Texas child care facilities belonging to the AdvancED® accredited family of Primrose child care schools. Primrose Schools are located in 16 states throughout the U.S. and are dedicated to delivering progressive, early childhood, Balanced Learning® curriculum throughout their preschools.

Early Childhood Education – Acquiring Sign Language

One of the keys to surviving in a tilted economic system in which opportunities to achieve a decent standard of living will be limited is versatility – and the ability to communicate articulately in a variety of ways with the widest possible audience. This includes bilingual ability as well as the ability to communicate in non-verbal ways for the benefit of the disabled – primarily the deaf.

At the same time, a growing shortage of qualified interpreters fluent in American Sign Language has led to more career opportunities – and if current trends continue, it's likely that skilled ASL interpreters will have little problem securing lucrative employment in a society where such a commodity is destined to be in short supply.

Signing Before They Can Speak
A great deal of research has clearly demonstrated that the early years – ages 2 to five – are the best time to educate children in different modes of communication and language. This goes beyond the spoken word (though it is an optimal time for children to learn a second language); many young children have an aptitude for signing as well.

This is not as odd as you may think. As you know, many indigenous peoples around the world, including American Indian nations, have used sign language for centuries to facilitate communication with other tribes with whom they do not share a language. Some paleontologists and anthropologists theorize that Neanderthals – who apparently lacked the vocal mechanism to produce many spoken words – depended a great deal upon hand gestures to communicate.

In fact, recent research suggests that sign language is innate. An article published in the Boulder Daily Camera in 2003 presented strong evidence that babies as young as six months old communicate with their hands:

            "...by 6 to 7 months, babies can remember a sign. At eight months, children
            can begin to imitate gestures and sign single words. By 24 months, children
            can sign compound words and full sentences. They say sign language reduces
            frustration in young children by giving them a means to express themselves
            before they know how to talk." (Glarion, 2003)

The author also cites study funded by the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development demonstrating that young children who are taught sign language at an early age actually develop better verbal skills as they get older. The ability to sign has also helped parents in communicating with autistic children; one parent reports that "using sign language allowed her to communicate with her [autistic] son and minimized his frustration...[he now] has an advanced vocabulary and excels in math, spelling and music" (Glarion, 2003).

The Best Time To Start
Not only does early childhood education in signing give pre-verbal youngsters a way to communicate, it can also strengthen the parent-child bond – in addition to giving children a solid foundation for learning a skill that will serve them well in the future. The evidence suggests that the best time to start learning ASL is before a child can even walk – and the implications for facilitating the parent-child relationship are amazing.

Do the Reuse Challenge!

2010-09-23T12:52:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Aladdin. All opinions are 100% mine.

According to the Aladdin challenge we spend approximately $2,350.00 a year eating lunch out or purchasing take-out. We spend $636 buying regular drip coffee from a shop, when it would only cost us $165 a year to make it at home. By the end of this year, 23 billion disposable paper coffee cups will have been thrown out. But the statistic that really floored me? In the United States, we use 50 billion disposable water bottles a year. That breaks down to 137,000 a day and 1,585 per second. It takes seven million barrels of oil to produce all these bottles.

That is why I've decided to participate in the Aladdin Do The Reuse Challenge It is a thirty day commitment to give up disposable products, like water bottles, paper cups and take-out food containers. By accepting the challenge Aladdin will give a discount to those participating, good for items on their site. And they have several items to choose from, from traditional food containers to artsy coffee mugs. You can even design your own with photos and personalized text.

Nine families will be blogging about their experience with the challenge on the Aladdin website and you can keep updated through Aladdin on Facebook

Personally, I'm guilty of using the disposable water bottles. Even though I use and reuse them, I know that I shouldn't use them at all. So, that's my focus the next 30 days...no more plastic bottles. Now I have an excuse to buy one of those cool water bottles.

When the Going Gets Tough...Guest post

2010-09-23T09:08:00.000-06:00

This guest post is contributed by Alisa Gilbert, who writes on the topics of bachelors degree. She welcomes your comments at her email Id: alisagilbert599@gmail.com.

When the Going Gets Tough: How to Deal with Your Kids When They're Annoying You

No parent wants to admit it, but we all know deep down inside that our young children aren't the little angels we talk about when we update our relatives on the phone. While your kids may not exactly be holy terrors, there will inevitably be moments when it seems that they're making a career out of testing your nerves. The constant questions, the whining, the poking, prodding, car-seat kicking all comes with the parenting territory, and we must, of course, suck it up and deal with it. Here are a few ways to maintain your sanity.

1. Think twice before exploding.

It's easy to want to snap when your children are driving you up the wall. However, remember that while you cannot control an external situation, you can control how you react to it. Sometimes the best way to diffuse a situation is by keeping your cool. If you find yourself about to yell, take a deep breath and count to ten in your head. You'll be much better prepared to deal with rambunctious tykes if you have taken a few moments to calm yourself down.

2. Talk to your kids as if they were adults.
As adults, we often don't give kids the credit they deserve. Sure, they can be annoying, but many times childish behavior results from talking down to your kids. If you instead talk to them as if they were mini adults, you'd be surprised by how adult-like they can be.

3. Sometimes its better to let them carry on until they tire themselves out.

If you're a parent of young kids, chances are you are something of a control freak. A situation gets out of hand and the first thing you want to do is to make it stop immediately at whatever cost. Whether it's whining because they aren't getting their way or teasing and poking a sibling, you want to stop bad behavior before it gets out of hand. Sometimes, as parents, we have to face the fact that we must pick our battles. Kids will be kids, and we can't expect everything to go our way either. Save yourself future ulcers, and let them do their thing until they realize they aren't going to get anywhere acting as such. They'll eventually tire themselves out. Trust me.

4. Be reasonable in the face of irrationality.
It's tempting to want to fight irrational behavior with threats or "because-I-said-so" proclamations. While these may work some of the time, more often than not they only serve to escalate situations. Related to tip number two, by maintaining a voice of mature reason, you are subtly influencing your kids to imitate how you behave. Kids learn exponentially faster and more effectively by example, not words.
While every mom and dad has a different parenting style, the most important thing to remember when your tots are being annoying is that they are young children. And we should enjoy them as they are while we can, because before long they will develop into completely different creatures with different challenges. In the blink of an eye, they will be teens, and then we will wish for that annoying tantrums were all that we had to worry about.

Rambler's Way Wool

2010-09-22T11:28:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Rambler's Way Farm. All opinions are 100% mine.

Let's say I was given $200 to spend on wool items. My first thought? No thank you. I've owned beautiful wool sweaters in the past. Sweaters that have never, ever been worn because they are so itchy, bulky and uncomfortable. When I'm shopping, I may fall in love with a sweater but if the label lists wool in any percentage, I instantly put it back on the rack.

Now, if I was given $200 to spend on Rambler's Way Wool? Well, that would be a different story.

I would definitely want one of the Henley shirts.

And a camisole.

These look so light weight that I'm hesitant to believe that they are wool. But they are. They're made from Superfine American Rambouillet 18.5 micron wool which makes a breathable fabric that can be worn year round and directly next to the skin without the irritation that standard wool would cause. The natural fibers repel odors and moisture. They are chemical free, machine washable and dryable. They resist shrinkage and the breathable fabric remains comfortable, whether the sun is shining or the cold snows are blowing. They also feature flat, chafe-less seams.

Best of all, these products are made with a focus on low environmental impact. Rambler's Way Wool is made in America and sustainably farmed, with special attention paid to the care and the humane treatment of the animals.

All wools are definitely not created equal.

Four years old...

2010-09-20T11:59:00.001-06:00

Delaney turns four today. We had a party for her Saturday, at a park in the rain. It was supposed to clear up by afternoon, but it never did and I was disinclined to move a party with 16 children into my house. So they played with wet behinds from sliding down the slides. But they didn't care. There was cake! And ice cream! And goody bags! And kids! Woo hoo!

Unfortunately, there was not alcohol. Unless you count the Bailey's I slipped into my coffee.

Delaney had requested a Hello-Kitty-Princess-Doctor cake:

When we were cutting it, I asked her what part she wanted.
"The Hello Kitty part."
Nick wanted the pills. I hope that is not a precursor of things to come.

She was satisfied with an ear and the bow.

Sam and his noisemaker. That didn't work because it was full of slobber.

Fortunately, cake is one thing that does not require teeth to be eaten.

Mom and Sam!

This morning I filled her room with pink balloons and streamers, decorated the house and made her pink, heart shaped pancakes for breakfast. I told her she could have (just about) anything she wanted for dinner. She thought long and hard.
"Macaroni and cheese."

You know, the gourmet orange kind in the box? Fancy.

Happy Birthday baby girl!

Poop

2010-09-15T19:18:00.000-06:00

Last night I was alerted to a possible problem when I didn't have any hot water to wash my face. So, I head down to the hot water heater.

There's a fountain gushing from the top and pooling around the base of it. While I'm not an expert, I was pretty sure that it wasn't supposed to be doing that. And of course, I also had a major migraine and had finally got all three of the kids to sleep. I didn't want to play with the water. I wanted to go to bed. So I called my husband. He told me to shut the water valve off on top. I did. It didn't do anything. He ended up coming home and having to shut the water off to the whole house because the shut off valve on the unit was broken. But it was night and I was going to bed. I wasn't too concerned.

Then came morning. We turned on the water long enough to take care of the essentials (you know, like making coffee) quickly, before the thing started to over flow again. Then he took the parts he needed (which meant no more water. At all.) and set off to find a new one with the money we just pulled off the money tree in the backyard.

I babysit the neighbor's adorable two year old in the mornings, so I had the three kids and we were happily playing in the backyard. Until the neighbor boy managed to find the one pile of dog poop in the backyard. But he didn't just step in it. He slipped in it. And fell. In it. Remember the no water thing? Yeah. A two year old, covered in dog poop. And no water. Except for my tears...

How come so much of my life seems to involve poop? People can no longer have a conversation without me mentioning it at least once. Before I had kids, I don't think I ever even said "poop". Now I say it 50 times a day. At least. I'm so much fun.

Happy Anniversary to me! Oh. And my husband, too.

2010-09-15T11:12:00.000-06:00

My husband and I celebrated our 9th wedding anniversary this past week. It's strange to think it's been that long. I'm surprised that anyone could put up with me for that long. We've been together for 12 years...plenty of time, really, for him to realize that I'm not completely normal and take off to parts unknown. But he hasn't. Yet. In fact, he even took me out to dinner.

We went to The Melting Pot, which was a ton of fun. Without the kids. It was a three hour dinner...without the kids. Did I mention that? It was like a real date. Bliss.

We had all kinds of good food...

But dessert, is of course, always the best part!We had chocolate/passion fruit fondue. Sooo yummy.

Oh...and the wine. There was a lot of wine.

Here's to many, many more...Happy Anniversary D. Love you.

New cake!

2010-09-11T10:24:00.000-06:00

There's a new cake on my cake blog. It has subtle, unintentional pornographic elements.

I haven't been doing many cakes lately, but had two orders this weekend! And another call for a wedding cake. Yay!

Battery Bugs

2010-09-03T07:54:00.000-06:00

I was dreaming that I had to jump another car. So I get out my battery cables and attach them to the battery in my car. But on the other end there turns out to be tiny iridescent bugs and I have to squeeze their wings together, like clamps, to get them to stick on the battery. But then they kept flying away.

It was very annoying.

I hate tuna!

2010-08-31T10:48:00.000-06:00

I don't like to lie to my kids. No, really. I don't. But sometimes it's a necessary evil. Like when it comes to food.

Nick hates tuna. Hates it like it wronged him in another life. Hates it with a passion. But he's never actually tasted it.

So, the other night, I made tuna noodle casserole.

"What are you making for dinner?" he asks.
"Food."
"What kind of food?"
"The kind you can eat."
"Mom!"
"I'm making noodle casserole."
"Oh. Why do I smell tuna?" he asks.
"Um...I don't know. I can't smell anything."

Dinner is served.
Delaney and Sam dig in.
"I hate this!" Nick complains, which is the usual dinner refrain, no matter what I cook.
"At least pick out the parts you like."
He very carefully separates the tuna from the rest of the casserole, until he has a nice little pile of it on one side of his plate.

"I'm just going to eat the chicken," he informs me. And proceeds to eat all the tuna.

I still haven't told him it was not chicken.

Phone Phobic

2010-08-29T14:23:00.000-06:00

I hate talking on the phone. Hate it. Despise it. If it rings, I most likely will not answer it. You can leave a message, but I probably won't listen to it. My husband will see the light flashing on the machine and listen.
"You have 17 new messages," the stupid thing will announce.
"Do you ever check this?" my husband asks.
"Um...sometimes?"
He sighs and checks the messages. I'm pretty sure he didn't realize how neurotic I was when he married me.

I looked it up and found out that it's called telephobia. It's actual real thing. I'm not afraid of the phone, I'm well aware that it won't strangle me while I sleep (at least now, since it's cordless), but that doesn't make me like it anymore. It's always been like that...even in high school. I was never one of those teen girls that would spend hours on the phone. (Except to my boyfriend. But that was different. We couldn't bear to be away from each other for more than a few hours, so we had to talk often, to ease the pain.) I read the common reasons people are telephobic, but I don't know if they necessarily fit. I'm perfectly capable of being ridiculed and misunderstood while not on the phone. If anything, I think I come across less of a freak on the phone than I do in person. I just hate it.

Bad things can happen when you're on the phone.

I would much prefer to email, or write a letter, or use smoke signals. Just because I don't call you back doesn't mean I don't love you.

First Grade Casanova

2010-08-27T17:16:00.000-06:00

The first full week of first grade has come to a close...and Nick has already come home with a girl's phone number. He gets off the bus and hands me a scrap of paper with big, sloppy numbers written lopsidedly across it.
"What's this?" I ask him.
"Oh, that's Hope's phone number. I'm supposed to call her," he said.
Oh. Of course.
What exactly do six year old children talk about on the phone?

Otherwise, things seem to be going well for him. When I ask how his day went, I usually get a "I don't remember." But he really likes recess and the fact that he had pizza today for lunch.

Sounds about right.

Hampton Chain-of-Friends Sweepstakes

2010-08-26T15:33:00.002-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Hampton Hotels. All opinions are 100% mine.

We all need time away now and then. Mostly now. And then. And again. So how about entering to win a free weekend stay at a Hampton Hotel? During their current Hampton Chain of Friends Sweepstakes they are giving away free weekend stays for the winners and three friends, daily. And the grand prize? The entire hotel for the weekend, just for you and 100 of your closest buddies. Yep. The whole hotel.

Personally, I'd grab my husband, my brother and his finance and spend the weekend in the Denver Hampton. Maybe have some cheesecake at the Cheesecake Factory and wander up and down the 16th Street Mall. And with the money I wouldn't be spending at the hotel, maybe we could take in a show at the Buell Theater. I think I'm going to go enter right this second...OK. There. And if I win the grand prize, I've already decided that I will be hosting a blogging convention there. Since I've never been able to make it to any of the other ones, I guess I'll just have to sponsor my own. You'll come, right? Please?

Now it's your turn. Go, enter. Everyone and anyone is eligible!Where would you go? Who would you take with you?

He who castrates...

2010-08-23T11:10:00.000-06:00

Delaney and Sam were playing together the other day and I could hear them talking.

"Sam," Delaney said. "You can be the castrater."

Um...what? I decided it might be time to check and see exactly what game they are playing.

They are playing store and Sam is the cashier. With the cash register. Cash register. Castrater. Close enough.

Woodrow Wilson Teaching Fellowship (sponsored post)

2010-08-23T11:00:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Woodrow Wilson. All opinions are 100% mine.

The Woodrow Wilson Teaching Fellowships seeks to recruit, prepare and retain effective teachers for the students and schools who need them most.

The Woodrow Wilson Teaching Fellowship is offering recent college graduates and those who would like a career change with a $30,000 stipend to complete a master's degree program at one of 14 different universities. Applicants must be in the science, technology, engineering, or math fields and have completed an undergraduate degree in one of these STEM fields before June 2011. Candidates must have graduated with a GPA of 3.0 or higher and demonstrate commitment to the program.

Those chosen will complete a field-based master’s degree in teacher education, be required to teach for at least three years at the high school level and will receive considerable mentoring and support in the classroom.

It is a highly selective program and the 2010 fellowship competition drew in 7,000 applications for the 80 available spots. Fellowship spots are contingent to passing the required state certification tests.

This year's application deadline is September 1, 2010, so act quickly! Visit www.wwteachingfellowship.org

for more information and to apply.

Lions! Tigers! Thunderstorms! Circus fun!

2010-08-23T10:58:00.000-06:00

My mom bought the kids and I tickets to the Merriweather and Culpepper circus. While I am not a circus fan, I knew the kids would have a good time. It rivaled Christmas, they were so excited. We opted for the 5:00 showing and showed up just after 4:00 to enjoy the "Fun for All Ages!" midway. As we approached the field, the tent loomed into view and I realized why they push "pre-sale" tickets. If you were to see it before buying tickets, you wouldn't buy any.

The tent was a wreck; filthy and ratty, filled with holes and more patches than original material. And the midway? Non-existent. Then it started to rain and a thunderstorm warning was issued. They canceled the 5:00 showing and re-scheduled it for 7:30.

We took sad kids back to my mom's house, 20 minutes away. The rain let up and we headed back to the tent of doom. Walking to the tent, you could suddenly hear the roars of the big cats and Sam started crying. Delaney stopped walking, screamed that she was going back to the car and started crying. So, I ended up carrying two crying kids into the tent. Inside, the poor tent's condition was even more apparent and the bleachers were covered with water from the leaks. Nick immediately starting begging for a cheap, plastic light stick. Or an expensive blowup animal. Or...or... I bought him cotton candy so he'd stop talking. The show started and they had a lion and 2 tigers that kept spraying everything, a juggler, unicycles, a clown, a girl on a trapeze (Delaney said, in awe "She's wonderful!"), a girl with hula hoops, ponies, peanuts...circus stuff. We had conveniently chosen seats directly behind a support pole and a lot of neck contortion was required. A little girl in back of me kept hitting me in the head with her blow up snake. Accidentally, I'm sure.

Sometimes, I wish I was little again. To be able to overlook the tawdry and crass and see the magic beyond the ratty tent. I failed miserably. At least Delaney and Sam enjoyed themselves. Nick is still mad at me because I wouldn't buy a light stick...

Boost Mobile (sponsored post)

2010-08-23T10:56:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Boost Mobile. All opinions are 100% mine.

Boost Mobile is a no-contract wireless company and is part of the Sprint pre-paid group. They have a wide selection of phones to choose from, including the Sanyo Juno, the Blackberry Curve, the Samsung Rant and the Samsung Seek. All the phones they offer are "social in nature" making it simple to update a status on Facebook and Twitter. They offer a variety of easy payment plans, like the "BlackBerry Monthly Unlimited" service which is unlimited nationwide talk, text, Web and email for $60 per month. They also offer the "Monthly Unlimited" service plan offering unlimited nationwide talk, text and Web for $50 per month.

An impressive feature is the Re-Boost program which makes it simple to make payments. You can pay online, on the phone, in person or set up an automatic payment plan. When you set up an automatic payment plan, you are given $20 in credit for ringtones, wallpapers and downloads. Plus, you get a $2 credit every time you use the Auto Re-Boost plan. If necessary, friends or family can even make payments for you.

Boost Mobile phones are available at over 20,000 major retail stores, including Radio Shack, Best Buy, Target and Walmart.

School For Husbands

2010-08-04T09:47:00.000-06:00

I just finished reading "The School for Husbands" by Wendy Holden. Unless you like weak, whiny characters I wouldn't suggest it. It annoyed the heck out of me. But the premise of the book is a husband who tries to save his marriage by attending the "School for Husbands" where the courses include things like closing the toilet seat after peeing, helping with housework, general hygiene and the importance of keeping chocolate in the house. Basically, it says that it's the little things that end up being the one big thing that will end a marriage. And I do see the point. On the cover, it asks "What Would You Teach Yours?"

It got me thinking...what would I teach my husband? He always closes the toilet seat and his aim is perfect, he showers daily and he doesn't leave hair on the soap. I know people whose husbands demand dinner at a certain time everyday; my husband doesn't care if we eat at five or eight and he usually cleans up the kitchen after I cook. Even if dinner ends up being a experiment and it goes horribly wrong, he will eat it and say it's good. If I need wine, he will go to the liquor store and get some for me. He always puts his dirty clothes in the hamper. He's been known to borrow my car simply to put gas in it, because he knows that I hate doing it. He's never criticized me and only once in our 12 years together has he laughed at my shoe choice. He knows that I'm a slob and he knows how disorganized I am, but he tolerates it without comment. Even when I misplace important paper work or forget to make an vital phone call, the most I get is a sigh and an eye roll. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how...dare I say it?...lucky I am. ( I hope he doesn't read this...we don't need to inflate his ego.)

My biggest complaint is that he works too many hours, but I know that he's doing it for us, so we can afford what we have. How can I be mad at that? (Actually, depending on my mood, it's pretty easy to get mad at that. Right now, however, I'm feeling grateful.) He's compassionate, thoughtful and usually manages to say exactly the right things. Most the time, he's more patient with the kids than I am. And he almost always takes the trash out without asking.

If I decided I wanted a puppy, he'd go out and find me one. If I decided I wanted another baby, he wouldn't hesitate to unzip his pants... He's supportive of this blog, even if he doesn't quite understand it and he wouldn't hesitate to hand over the TV remote if I were to ask. He even loves to go grocery shopping.

So...what would I teach him? Wow. I don't know. Maybe he could take a cooking class...it would be nice to have someone else cook for me now and then. Oh. And actually, it would be great if he could figure out how to turn on the vacuum. And give me pedicures. But aside from that...I'd have to say I'm pretty lucky.

So...what would you teach your husband? (Or wife! )

Bipolar

2010-08-01T00:00:00.001-06:00

Inspired by a recent conversation at a family gathering...

My brother is Bipolar. It does not make him less of a human being. It does not make him a loser or a criminal. He may have made many manic-induced bad decisions over his lifetime, but that doesn’t mean that he’s stupid or deserving of ridicule and eye rolling.

I don’t claim to be an expert and sometimes I get just as aggravated at him as everyone else, but I am tired of the judgment and criticism of him. From members of his own family. From people who have never taken the time to learn anything about it. People who equate “not feeling good” as being hung-over. Being manic does not equate being drunk.

In my experience, people who are not familiar with mental illness, bipolar or otherwise, tend to have skewed images of the issue. Perhaps the view they have is due to the numerous shows on TV which portray the mentally ill as criminal or dangerous. Maybe it is just ignorance. Either way, it’s not justifiable. If there is someone in your family, immediate or extended, someone at work, or maybe just a neighbor, there really isn’t any reason not to learn a little about their affliction. There are countless sources online or at the library. http://www.nami.org/ is an excellent source of information.

Bipolar Disorder, also known as Manic Depression, is characterized my major shifts in mood, energy and the ability to function. The cause is unknown and it effects men and women equally. The shifts can be subtle or dramatic, last for days or for weeks. While manic, behavior may include elation or extreme irritability, increased physical and mental activity, racing thoughts and increased talking at a much faster speed. In my brother’s case, his vocabulary also changes when he’s manic. Risk taking and impulsiveness are also characteristics. While in the depressive stage they have low energy, have no interest in anything or anyone are often easily annoyed. They suffer prolonged sadness, worry excessively, have abnormal feelings of guilt and worthlessness. They often contemplate suicide.

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, approximately 10 million Americans suffer from bipolar. It’s more common than you’d expect. This number does not, however, take in account all the families of those who are effected by bipolar family members. Spouses, parents, siblings, who all try their best to “be there” and to understand. And there is nothing more disrespectful than the uninformed who undermine the family’s intentions.

While that sounds harsh, it is exactly what happens when someone says something thoughtless. It puts the family member on defensive and they immediately feel to need to protect and explain, which often falls on deaf ears. Due to my brother’s rapid cycling, he is often absent from family gatherings, either because he is too manic or has fallen into a deep depression. Trying to explain his absence is very difficult to people who have not taken the time to understand. To his immediate family, when one of us say “He had a bad night”, we instantly understand. You say that to someone else and they smirk and comment about his drinking and give each other knowing looks.

Even in this day and age, when technology and the medical field have advanced so far, there is a stigma to bipolar and mental illness. It’s really inexcusable.

If you want to be a help to the family, the main thing is to be understanding. Ask questions only if they are an honest attempt to understand. Be there and be willing to listen. Do not judge and don’t offer advice.

Sometimes, the only thing the family may need is a compassionate, fellow human being who will not judge and make assumptions. Someone who makes an effort to understand.

What if the sun burns out?

2010-07-31T10:29:00.002-06:00

I was a worry wort as a child (umm...OK...maybe I still am.) I would lay in bed and fret over all the things that could go wrong. What if my parent's died? What if our house burned down? I had a list in my head of all the things I'd want to save in case of fire and a trash bag in my room that I could shove it all in, just in case.

I remember one of my favorite songs by T'Pau (anyone else ever listen to them?):

Don't wish too hard
Because they may come true
And you can't help them
You don't know what you might
Have set upon yourself

This song gave me panic attacks because I told my brother that I wished his head would fall off and I spent the following days convinced that I had killed him. Be careful what you wish for because it just might come true. Then you go to jail. I may have been a strange child.

Unfortunately, Nick seems to have taken after me. He always has "bad thoughts" and I remember saying that same thing to my mom when I was little. She used to tell me to think about other things, like rainbows and kittens. It didn't work, but I tried it on Nick anyway. I tell Nick to think about monster trucks and dinosaurs. But that was a mistake. You don't use the word "monster" or "dinosaur" when trying to get a kid to think happy thoughts. Because then he wanted to know if a T-Rex could look through his window. I should have stuck to the kittens.

But our current dilemma? Nick is afraid that the sun will burn out. He already has plans to get lights and grow plants in his room. (Which sounds illegal.) He's afraid we won't be able to eat or have oxygen. The kid is only six. He has way too much stress. Can't he just play with his trains and not worry about the end of the world? He's going to have an ulcer before he's eight.

Mooo!

2010-07-29T10:44:00.000-06:00

A two year old is so much easier to please than say, a 6 year old, when it comes to birthdays. The older they get, the more they want. At two, you can give them a helium balloon and they are happy for hours. The wrapping paper is more interesting than the toys inside. Then suddenly, at 6, they want ponies, jump castles, 50 kids...or worst case scenario? Chuck E. Cheese. Nick has already decided that's where his 7th birthday will be. Then he lists off the 400 kids he wants to invite. I just let him ramble. I'm not going to burst that bubble just yet.

But Sam...last night to celebrate, we just took him to the Cozy Cow Dairy for homemade ice cream. It's a local small dairy with a plastic cow on the roof and in December, that cow is decked out in his Christmas finery. They have goats and a couple of baby cows that the kids can pet. There are peacocks and chickens that the kids can follow around. There is a tractor for the kids to play on. It's simple and better yet, free! Except for the ice cream, of course.

Sam had an excellent time. So did we. There was a moment (while eating my dark chocolate chunk, bing cherry ice cream) when I looked up at my three kids sitting on the tractor, so content with their ice cream, smiling and laughing with each other, my husband on the bench beside me and I realized I was truly and completely happy. In that moment, there wasn't anything else. No bills, no money problems, no dirty house or laundry...just us. And I was content. Blissfully content.

It's the small things...I spend hours wishing we had the money to go on vacation, the money to pay all our bills, wishing I was a better mother, wishing, wishing, wishing... and sometimes I forget to be grateful for what is right in front of me. But of course, we had to come home. As soon as we step through the door, the kids are at each others throats and my husband's phone is ringing, his fire pager is beeping, the dog had pulled the loaf of bread off the counter and eaten it...

...but for a moment, it was all OK.

Happy, Happy Birthday Baby!

2010-07-28T13:50:00.001-06:00

Two years ago today, Sam joined the family. He entered the world at 12:24pm after about two hours of labor. (Yeah, yeah, I know. Please don't hurt me.) After having the first two kids drug-free I decided that with Sam I would be drugged to the hilt. I wanted the epidural. I wanted two epidurals. I wanted to be so numb that I wouldn't be able to walk for a week. I didn't even want to know I was having a baby. So after my water broke and the contractions started getting bad, I requested the epidural. And then Sam came. And then the epidural kicked in.

At least I tried. I guess the good thing is that the labor was that fast. The bad thing was that it was too fast for pain relief. But either way, Samuel was coming out and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it.

And he wasn't really all that happy about it...but as time went on, he warmed up to it a bit.

Pretty soon, he was unstoppable.

Now I look at him and can't believe it's been two years. Two years. When I was little, two years was a lifetime. Now it passes in a blink of an eye. I try to remind myself how fast it's going by and how I need to savor each moment, how I need to hug them when I want to smack them. So I try to seize the moment and take pleasure in how Sam mimics the other two kids and learns something new every hour of every day. I laugh when he walks around the house looking for Delaney, calling "Laney? Honey? Laney?" and I try not to cry when he pulls the green tomatoes off the plants or squirts toothpaste all over the floor. It's only for so long. Before I know it, my baby will be all grown up and won't be hanging on my leg and crying to be held. He won't want to fall asleep on my lap and so I try and savor it. I look into his sleeping face and know that one day it will be covered with stubble and creased with wrinkles, but now, it's smooth and round and soft. And beautiful.

Love you, baby boy. Happy Birthday to you!

Charter Laptop-a-day Giveaway!

2010-07-27T20:10:00.002-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Charter. All opinions are 100% mine.

Charter has always offered promotions to reward customers and those looking to sign up for Charter service, but now Charter is giving back to the community! For their back-to-school campaign, they are giving away 50 laptops to 2 different schools. The laptops are Lenovo G555's with a 15.6" screen, 160GB drive and 3GB ram, with a Targus bag. You can even enter to win one yourself. Ordering any Charter product automatically puts you in the running for a laptop and up to $300 cash back. But purchase is not necessary and can be done online.

To nominate your school, go to the laptop-a-day giveaway. There is a short registration process and nominations need to be received by August 12. Voting is based on the nomination stories received and 50 finalists will be chosen and announced by August 16. Open voting starts the same day and ends September 20. Winners will be chosen September 27, 2010. With frequent budget cuts, staff layoffs and equipment shortages, it's a great opportunity for two lucky schools.

So, go. Go and nominate your child's school and "like" Charter on Facebook to stay up to date on the voting process!

What happened to my underwear?

2010-07-25T09:20:00.002-06:00

"What happened to my underwear?" Nick asks me.

"I don't know."

"Oh, wait. I guess I didn't want to wear any today."

"Maybe you should put some on before we go."

"Nah..." he says. "I don't want to. It kind of tickles."

Ta da!

2010-07-23T18:29:00.000-06:00

OK, I've decided on a design. I think I like it. I think. Right now, anyway. I may change my mind tomorrow. If you would be so kind, could you please let me know if you have problems with it? Does it load too slow? Do you hate it? Does it make you want to stab yourself in the eye with a pencil? I need to know these things. You may have noticed that I even added a few things...like pages. I have an Who I Am page, which is finished (and I might add, very profound). I also added a few other pages that are in the works. I could work on tweaking my blog all night, it's so addictive.

Unfortunately, I actually need to get some stuff done. Sam's party is Sunday and I haven't even made a cake yet. Partly because it's 87 degrees in the house and I don't want to turn the oven on. Actually, I haven't been able to do much of anything but mope around and sweat. Even the kids have been laying around like limp rags. I'm really, really looking forward to Fall...

Under Construction!

2010-07-23T14:28:00.000-06:00

Bear with me for a bit...I'm trying to find a new look for my blog. And it's not easy. So ignore the constant changing background. I'm sure I'll settle on one eventually.

Ashworth College

2010-07-23T10:14:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Ashworth College. All opinions are 100% mine.

After I graduated, I decided to take a year off from school and work. Just a year, and then I'd go right back. It never happened. I got involved in my job, left that one, found a better one, met my husband, got married, had kids...pretty typical story, I think. I don't regret any of those decisions, because they have put me where I am now. I have a great husband and terrible kids. Like I said, pretty typical. My life is where it's meant to be.

But I won't lie and say that I'm completely content. I have days when I wonder what could have been. What if I had gone back to school? What would I have taken? How would my life of differed? I know for a fact that the job opportunities would have been drastically improved.

From Ashworth College:

There are many reasons for Moms to further their education: set an example for their kids, personal enrichment, preparation to re-enter the workforce when the kids are older, transition to a work-at-home career.

Distance education is a family-friendly way to help you get the education you've always wanted. It's easy, affordable, and is as close as your home computer.

And it's true. For me, it would be the only way I'd be able to go back to school. They offer so many different programs you can study and receive your Online degree in. They have 100+ nationally accredited career diplomas, Associate Degree, Bachelor's Degree, Master's Degree and Certificate programs for today's hottest and most popular careers, including: Medical Billing, Web Design, Bridal Consulting, Interior Decorating, Human Resources, Marketing, Early Childhood Education and more. Research has shown that tuition at Ashworth is on average 50% less than other accredited online schools. Tuition includes all books and classroom materials, plus, they offer payment plans with zero percent financing! That's important to me. It's getting harder and harder to find a company that is willing to work with you and your financial limitations. You are guaranteed to graduate without a student loan debt.

There are so many benefits to this. Definitely something worth looking into.

Cuddly dinosaurs

2010-07-21T21:11:00.000-06:00

Nick's "lovey" is a stuffed blue dinosaur that he's had since he was teeny, tiny. His name is "Cuddly Dine" and he pretty much goes every where with us.

The other night, we were driving home from my parents' house. It's about a 50 minute drive, it was late and the other two were asleep. But not Nick. He was talking. And talking. I always kind of look forward to the drive home from there...the kids are usually all asleep and I have almost an hour to listen to the radio and not have to talk. It's kind of blissful. But apparently, Nick wasn't tired.

We talked (or rather, he talked. I listen and say "uh-huh") about all kinds of things. Rockets, music, how he wished the car had a button we could push and out would come whatever kind of food he wanted. We got on the subject of Cuddly Dine, who of course, was with us.

"Cuddly Dine talks to me, but he always whispers. He only talks to people he knows," Nick tells me.
"He knows me," I said.
"I'll tell him he can talk to you," he says and starts whispering to his dinosaur. "OK, he will talk to you. You can ask him something."
"Hmmm...OK. What's his favorite song?"
"No one has ever asked him that!" he says. "I'll ask."
Talking to his stuffed animal...
"No! No! No! Talk in words," Nick tells him. A few moments pass.
Nick sighs, exasperated.
"I don't know. He's talking in Spanish. I can't understand him," he tells me. Apparently, Cuddly Dine interrupts him. "Oh! He says his favorite song is Spanish KidsBop."

Si, senor, si...

All this time, I had no idea the stuffed animals in this house were bilingual.

First comes love, then comes marriage...

2010-07-18T19:05:00.000-06:00

This weekend my cousin married the girl he's been with since junior high...how often does that happen? They've grown up together and now, hopefully, they're going to grow old together.

It was a beautiful wedding...white and black, brightly colored daisies, outdoor ceremony...My mom bought Delaney a cute little dress and sandals to wear to the wedding. I got her dressed and even curled her hair. She looked adorable. Then she went upstairs for a few minutes...

And came back down in her shorts, t-shirt and flip flops, her hair all messed up.

"Delaney! You need to put your dress back on! We have to go!"
She glares at me.
"I. Don't. Want. To. Wear. A. Dress," she proclaims. "I wish I was a boy!"

Great.

"You can be a boy tomorrow. Today, you're a girl and you have to put your dress and sandals back on."
"NO!" she screams and runs back upstairs.

Delaney and I finally come to a compromise. She can wear her shorts under her dress and I'll bring her shirt and flip flops in my purse, so she can change after the ceremony. Fine. But she's not going to be happy about it.

"I'm being good and Delaney isn't," Nick informs me. "I have my nice shirt on."
"Yes, thank you Nick. You look very handsome."

The only thing cuter?

Delaney dancing with the bride. Or this:

Nick dancing with the bride.

And that's Sam...running away from the bride.

Apparently, he's not a dancer.

This is my new favorite picture of my brother and Nick.

And to the happy couple...I wish you the best!

Tea sets and tutus...

2010-07-15T20:41:00.000-06:00

Thank you everyone, for the great gift ideas! I think the hardest part of this is trying to find something that his older brother and sister don't already have, but something fun, just for him, that will actually get played with. I think I decided on this:

Sam loves Nick's remote control cars and is always getting yelled at when he tries to play with them, so I think this will go over well. It looks like it would be easy to control and it has a lot of good reviews. And of course, dad approved, being Fire Chief and all...I thought about getting Sam a tea set and pink tutu because he does like playing with Delaney's, but I can't even paint his big toe without my husband freaking out and I didn't want to give him a heart attack. We don't have life insurance. Maybe next year...

I might also throw in a big box, like so many of you suggested. Those are always a hit! And Sharlene suggested covering it in contact paper, which I think is a great idea. I had to throw the last one away, though, because Nick discovered that he could flatten it and then use it like a slide to go down the stairs. I had visions of broken necks and bleeding heads, so away it went. (In the dead of night. When no one was around to scream and cry and mourn it's absence.) Hmmm...actually maybe I'll skip the box. And just get a toboggan.

Now I just have to make a cool cake and get the invitations out. Not necessarily in that order. Of course, I realize that he's only two and doesn't really care or understand, so this is really all about me. Maybe I'll skip the toys and party all together and buy myself something nice. I do want another tattoo...

Help!

2010-07-14T17:39:00.000-06:00

Ok...this little guy here...

...is turning two, two weeks from today. And I can't figure out what to get him. I'm excellent at picking out toys that no one ever plays with. It's a gift. I will find something and get so excited because I just know it will be a hit. Then they open it and play with it for about 5 minutes. And it's never looked at again.

So...I need suggestions. Any good toys out there for a 2 year old? Something reasonably priced and something that actually gets played with...Help!

Scams

2010-07-13T12:17:00.000-06:00

My grandma just called me in a panic because she had received a call from my "brother", who had just flown in from somewhere and was in trouble, there was an accident and he needed $25,000 immediately. He was begging and pleading, crying for help.

First off, anyone that knows my grandma, knows that she does not have $25,000. She's in her late eighties, can barely hear and can be easily confused. And people that pray on the elderly like that make me sick. I reassured her that it absolutely was not my brother and that it was a scam.

"But it sounded like him," she said. "And he said I could talk to the police who were standing right there."

So I called my brother, who was safely at work, and he called her to reassure her that it was not him that had called.

As I was talking to her, I discovered that she gets a lot of similar phone calls. Although this is the first one from her "grandson", she said she does get a lot of them requesting money, or promising thousands of dollars if she could just send them $149.00.

"They wanted to know everything!" she said. "They even wanted my bank number."
"You didn't give it to them...did you?" I asked.
"Well, I started to, then realized that maybe I shouldn't, so I mixed up the numbers and told them I couldn't see it very well. Then they hung up."

Whew.

It's scary to think that my grandma, who is an intelligent woman, nearly fell for one of these. And then they bring in "family" who cry for help. It's despicable. It's infuriating.

Charter On Demand

2010-07-13T09:58:00.003-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Charter. All opinions are 100% mine.

I don't watch a lot of TV, simply because of the stress and commitment. Yeah, I know. That sounds weird. Stress? Commitment? But think about it...I'm the kind of person that doesn't even like to schedule play dates or appointments of any kind, because then, simply, I have to be there at a certain time, certain day and certain place. Stress. Commitment. TV is the same way...what if I like a show so much, that I have to see what happens next? Then I have to watch it the next time and the next...and before you know it, there's a standing date with the TV. A fixed time, day and place. Stress and commitment. It's too much to handle. So I just don't watch it. Removes that possibility. I will never have to reschedule a day so I can get home to watch TV.

Which brings us to the Charter On Demand home page where you can watch just about anything you want, anytime you want. Anytime. Like after the kids are in bed. Or when I have insomnia and am wandering the house aimlessly in the middle of the night. I don't have to watch the late night infomercials or the commercials for girls gone wild. Not only does Charter offer the latest movies, but there are literally thousands of shows and programs. There are kids channels, like Nickelodeon. Just think! Spongebob on demand! You can torture your spouse AND make the kids happy, anytime you want. There are workout videos (which I won't be watching), concerts, cooking shows and many, many more. It's a TV buffet. There is something for everyone. There's ESPN, ABC, and USA to the Disney Channel and the Discovery Channel, all offering shows and special programming all available anytime.You can even get the Karaoke Channel and amaze all your friends with your awesome singing talents.

On Demand is one of the most popular features of Charter TV in Digital - for good reason. It's not just a movie service; but a home for thousands of shows and programs just waiting for you to discover.

You should immediately check them out. You're sure to find something.
You will ‘Like’ their Facebook page as well

I won something!

2010-07-03T12:23:00.000-06:00

Awhile back, when the Duck Fest was in progress for Daffy's nephew, I entered several of the contests and actually won one! 3!A Charm was offering an adorable little girl's apron and it fits Delaney perfectly...

Isn't it cute? She was so excited when I pulled it out of the box.

"I can help you cook now!" she shouted.

Personally, I didn't see why she can't do all the cooking now. So I've handed dinner duty over to her.

We've been having a lot of ice cream...

Friendgftr gift cards!

2010-07-03T12:08:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of FriendGiftr. All opinions are 100% mine.

I know that Miss Manners claims gift certificates and gift cards are impersonal and impolite, but I personally love them. Is there anyone who doesn't? (Well, besides Judith Marin, aka Miss Manners, that is?) They're so exciting! They hold such possibility! I will spend hours browsing, making sure I pick just the right thing to spend it on. I would much rather someone buy me a gift card to a book store, than having them buy a book they think I'd like, only to find out I already have it. Or opening it, to discover Fabio on the cover. As much as I like to read, I do have my standards...

FriendGiftr offers cards to over 125 different retailers including Barnes and Noble, Applebees, Pottery Barn, Gap, Sephora, Williams of Sonoma and so, so many more. It would be impossible not to find something for everyone. They are available in $10, $20, $25, $35, $50, $75, and $100 increments.

From the website:

Friendgiftr was founded in October 2008 by Rob Carpenter as the first e-commerce 2.0 company to commercialize social media and mobile phones by introducing real, purchasable brand name company products to multiple social networking sites and smart phones.

Simply put, Friendgiftr lets you shop pretty much anywhere through the world's first ever virtual network of linked commercial applications.

But the really cool thing is that if you receive one, you can exchange it for any other one on the site. Say you don't care for seafood? Exchange that Red Lobster card for a Sephora card and splurge on some make up! Maybe you received a card to Macy's and you suddenly realize you forgot your best friend's birthday! You can transfer it over to her and no one will be the wiser! Even the original buyer won't know.

I can think of countless times that this would have come in handy. I know where I'll be getting my gift cards from now on! And the fact that the service can be used from their website, Facebook, iPhone, BlackBerry or Android certainly simplifies things.

Candy and popcorn! Oh! And a movie, too!

2010-06-24T19:35:00.000-06:00

Today I took Nick to the theater for the very first time. His attention span...is not, well, it doesn't span very far and so I'd put off doing it for a long time. I haven't even been in a theater in several years...I think the last movie I saw at the theater was the first Star Wars prequel. Yeah. It's been awhile.

So, today, my mom came over and watched the other two so Nick and I could go on a date to see "Toy Story 3." Since I'm cheap, I rejected the extra $5 to see it in 3-D and instead, frugally spent $20 on popcorn, pop and candy. (I went on a date once, where the guy smuggled in his own pop and candy. It would have been one thing if it had been drugs and alcohol. But candy and pop? Killed the romance.) Anyway, we were the first people there and Nick wanted to sit waaaayyyy in the back. He wanted the seats farthest to the left and back. I convince him it will be better if we are watching from the middle. So we trudge way to the back (but middle) and set up camp.
"Is that a speaker?" he asks, excitedly pointing at the wall.
"Yes," I say.
"Is that a speaker?"
"Yes."
"Is that a..."
"Yes! It's a speaker. They are all speakers."

After about a million questions later, the movie finally starts. My son gets emotionally involved in whatever he is watching. He feels what the characters feel, he gasps and shouts and argues with the characters. He shouts warnings and laughs really, really loudly. While I think it's adorable, I'm sure those sharing the theater with us did not. I did get him to talk to Buzz and Woody quietly, however, so that's a plus. He curled up into a little ball and covered his eyes during the trash part, but he had a good time and loved the movie. And the pop and candy and popcorn.

Nick, with a mouthful of popcorn.

As we were leaving, I asked him if he had a good time.
"And you got to sit way in the back!" I add.
"Yep, it was fun. But that's not where I wanted to sit. I wish you hadn't been so difficult."

Yeah. I get that a lot.

The average woman...does not live here.

2010-06-13T19:42:00.000-06:00

I recently read that the average woman wears $1,500.00 worth of clothing daily. The average woman on an average day. The price apparently goes up for special occasions. The average woman. I always thought I was pretty average...I live in an average small town, in an average-sized house. I have an average dog and an average cat, drive an average suburban. So I was disturbed to hear this. Apparently, I'm not average. I'm so far below average that there isn't even a word for it. I always thought I was stylish. Apparently not. Even with my wedding rings on, my outfits don't amount to that much.

According to www.stylist.com:

The total reportedly includes underwear, $39; a skirt, $44; top, $33; knitwear, $57; coat, $94; tights, $6; shoes, $75; watch, $112; and jewelry, $552. A woman's purse, $155, and its contents -- including a $155 phone and cash, tickets, and passes amounting to $213 -- were also reportedly included, resulting in a grand total of $1,534.28.

$39 for underwear? Really? Maybe before I had kids, I'd spend half that on a pair of cute panties and a fancy bra, but now? This average woman refuses to spend more than a couple of dollars on a pair of underwear and when I do buy them, I make sure they're comfortable...

I'll admit it. I'm cheap. If it's over $20 I won't buy it. (Unless it's a coat or jacket...) I'm a bargain hunter. But that can work against me, as well. I've purchased things I didn't even really like or need, because they're cheap.

"Hey! Look at this ugly shirt! It's only $2.00! I have to buy it! It's only $2.00!"

Of course, if I added all those $2.00 purchases up, I might be able to afford something for $21.00. So, needless to say, the shirt I have on right now did not cost $33.00 More like $8.00. My "knitwear", aka sweatpants (or yoga pants when I'm feelin' fancy) cost about $10.00. And my purse? I bought it at a purse party and I think I spent about $40 on it. I splurged. I felt like a real big spender. And I can guarantee that there is not $213.00 worth of stuff in it. There's some Kleenex, a crunched up fortune cookie, some crayons, gum, chapstick, a granola bar, sunglasses (which were $4.80 at Kohl's!), my generic leatherman (you never know when you might have to build something), a wet wipe from Buffalo Wild Wings and my wallet (which has about $6.00 in it). There's some other miscellaneous junk and some coins lurking in the bottom. But definitely not enough to equal $200.

Granted, it's Sunday and I'm more lax than usual, I am in a variation of my stay at home mom uniform. Yoga pants, t-shirt, sweatshirt, fuzzy socks (it's cold outside!)...my total outfit maybe cost $30.00. If I put shoes on, I'd still only equal about $50.00. So, I'm $1,484.28 away from being average.

Tell me I'm not alone.

New cakes!

2010-06-13T12:51:00.000-06:00

I have several new cakes on my cake blog!

Learning Online with USC

2010-06-13T12:42:00.002-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of USC. All opinions are 100% mine.

There once was a time in my life when attending a college campus for a degree was feasible. Now, with a husband and three kids, that absolutely is not an option. For me, the only way I'd be able to attend college would be online. There are so many options out there and if you're a teacher searching for a way to earn your advanced degree or if you're just starting out and aspire to be a teacher, University of Southern California may be for you. The USC Rossier School of Education’s MAT@USC offers current educators and those who long to teach, the ability to earn a Master of Arts in Teaching, conveniently online. Aside from the obvious benefit of flexibility, they offer interactive online learning as well as field-based experiences in your local area. They have an accelerated program that can be completed in as little as 12 months. Rossier and the MAT@USC have even been awarded by AACTE for innovative use of technology in education.

You would be earning the Master of Arts in Teaching from an internationally renowned school with a 100- year history from distinguished faculty who have long been recognized for their contributions to education. They've been ranked #22 in the United States and #9 among all private universities by US New and the World Report.

USC offers a groundbreaking tuition reimbursement program designed solely for MAT@USC graduates. Students receive full USC status and benefits and free lifetime Alumni Association memberships. Students also become part of the elite USC Trojan Family. For more program information, check out the link! You may be surprised by what you can learn at home, at your own pace!

Scary Mommy

2010-06-07T17:05:00.000-06:00

*I found this in my drafts and decided to publish it. I think it was originally written for the "Scary Mommy" contest last year*

I may look like Laura Ingalls Wilder, but despite my sweet and innocent exterior, I am a Scary Mommy. Yes I am. Don’t argue with me. Why? WHY? Because I said so, dammit.

Oh, yes. I’m a very scary mommy. And it has nothing to do with the way I look first thing in the morning. Although, I will admit that since becoming a mommy, I’ve become less…becoming. Before staying home with the kids, I groomed, I tweezed, I painted, patted, straightened and fluffed. I could spend 45 minutes in front of the mirror with assorted beauty products, tinting, smoothing, lengthening and glossing. I blew out my hair and then carefully re-curled it. I wore jewelry…tons of jewelry. Rings on each finger, bangles up and down my arms, dangling necklaces. I even wore clean clothes and real pants. Now I’m lucky if I brush my teeth and comb my hair before twisting it up into it’s customary knot. I actually wore slippers (Slippers!) to the bus stop the other morning.

You can’t deny that’s pretty scary. Terrifying, even.

I asked my 6 year old if I was scary. And he giggled. I don’t know if that meant, “Ha! You! Scary? I walk all over you! You’re about as scary as limp toast.” I suppose it could mean that, but I’m pretty sure that it meant that I’m so scary that he was afraid to answer.

Flash back several months…a thunder storm woke my children and mommy, who will admit to being a tad unstable anyway, flipped out and took it out on them. Screaming, crying, throwing things, shaking the bed like a mad woman. I had my “NO WIRE HANGERS” moment and the next day I called the doctor. But even now, while heavily medicated, I can be pretty scary.

I fed my kids Eggo Waffles for dinner last night. Scary stuff. Have you looked at the ingredient list on those?? Terrifying. And then I let them have ice cream for dessert. Are you cringing yet? No?

I let them eat cookie dough and lick the cake batter of the beaters. Just think…all those raw eggs swimming with Salmonella. Scary.

I’ve made my son wear the same filthy socks for two days in a row, because I was slacking on laundry.
Scary? No? You need more dirty laundry?

Ok.

I let my children watch Yo Gabba Gabba.

If that doesn’t scare the wits out of you then there is nothing more I can do here.

Looking for a place to go this summer?

2010-06-07T17:03:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Hiltons of Branson. All opinions are 100% mine.

Summer always makes me think of getting away and taking the family somewhere fun, somewhere kid-friendly and exciting. And I have to admit that Branson, Missouri never really crossed my mind. But after doing a little research on the area, I can easily imagine our family having an amazing time there.

The Hilton Branson Convention Center Hotel and the Hilton Promenade at Branson Landing both look like excellent places to stay. They offer amazing amenities, as well as great packages and specials like The Great Getaway, where you can save 25% if you book between May 10 and September 6, 2010. The Promenade offers the third night three and there is even a Romance Package. Oo la la. The Hilton Branson Convention Ceneter is located in historic downtown. The hotel is located across from the Hilton Promenade and the new Branson Landing retail and entertainment district situated on Lake Taneycomo. They are minutes from the area's 49 theatres, outlet malls, Table Rock Lake, Silver Dollar City, Celebration City and other attractions, like lakes, museums and theme parks. You can even enjoy 18 holes of golf at the new Payne Stewart Golf Course. And both hotels are pet friendly, too!

The Promenade is home of a $7.5 million dollar water feature, with daily shows that merge light, water, music and fire. Yes. Fire. I have to admit I'm intrigued. 120-foot water geysers and blasting fire cannons? That I would like to see.

Branson Landing offers a one-of-a kind children's play area, an interactive "pirate island theme" called Adventure Cove. Children can explore a miniature light house, climb and slide down a pirate fort, and find sunken treasure all within a controlled environment. I know my kids would like that. I'd like that. I've always had a secret desire to be a pirate...

Of course, Branson offers a ton of live music, like Travis Tritt and Tanya Tucker, as well as many other concerts. This summer they also have events like Branson Z Fest, National Kid's Fest, (which really looks like a good time!) Stage One National Dance Finals, and the Father's Day Bass Pro Boat Show.

Unfortunately, we aren't currently in the position for a vacation, but I can honestly say that when we are, Branson, Missouri will definitely be on the list!

Sunday in My City...or "Fy wooks scawy"

2010-06-06T14:26:00.002-06:00

This weekend was BBQ Days, complete with the Firefighter's Pancake Breakfast, parade and fireworks. The day starts at 4:15am when the firefighters race the trucks around town, sirens screeching and air horns blaring, a subtle reminder that the breakfast starts at 5:00am. But really, it's Saturday morning . Who isn't already up at 4:15 am?

So, sirens are wailing, dogs are barking and kids are crying...who's ready for pancakes?

Not me.

I finally get everyone back to sleep and we wake up again at 8:00am, which is a much more reasonable time. It takes more than pancakes and eggs to get me up that early. If I have to get up before the dawn to catch a plane to some exotic beach locale, I'm all for it. But for hash browns? Nope.

We did however, make it down to the fire station in time to join the parade.

Every year we ride in a fire truck with my husband and usually a few cousins. I've never actually seen it, because I'm always in it. Although, I hear it's a good one. It's one of the high points of Nick's year. He yells out the windows and waves at everyone. About half way through, Sam freaked out and decided to start screaming and crying for the remaining time. He also wanted to nurse and kept pulling my shirt. He must have known that nursing him was exactly what I wanted to do, while in the front seat of a fire truck, in a parade.

Fire Fighters in training.

The best part of the parade, is, of course, the water fight between the trucks. The entire crowd on Main runs into the road to get sprayed.

Although, it is recommended that women of a certain age, who do not wear bras, do not wear white shirts.

After the parade we head home where we had a rare family nap, where everyone, even the dog, falls asleep. Then on to the fireworks! The firefighters are stationed in the "fall out zone" in case of fire, so we had good seats, minus the threat of sparks, flames and singed hair. The "fy wooks" (as Sam says) were spectacular, but Sam found them "scawy" and screamed "NO" every time he heard a boom. So, we watched from the inside of the truck.

At least the other kids had a good time. When we got home, they were sure ready for bed! And in my book, any day that exhausts my children is a huge success!

DOVE Ice Cream Miniatures and "My Mini Moment" Contest

2010-06-05T17:58:00.000-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of Dove Ice Cream. All opinions are 100% mine.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret...I like ice cream. And I like chocolate. So, of course, I like Dove Ice Cream. What's not to like, really? There's chocolate! And ice cream! As I am writing this, it is 94 degrees outside and since our air conditioner is broken, it's 87 degrees in the house. There is nothing I would like more at this moment than a Dove Ice Cream Miniature. Or a whole box of them. (Well, and an air conditioner. I'd like one of those, too.) But really, yum. YUM!

For the weight conscious, it's nice to know that DOVE Ice Cream Miniatures are only 70 calories each. They have a new decadent Café Collection which features Java Chip and Cappuccino Flavors.

DOVE Ice Cream Miniatures is currently running a contest for women, called "My Mini Moment" contest.

All you need to do is share a favorite mini moment of escape, include a photo and short essay and send it to DoveIceCream.com/myminimoment by June 7, 2010. So, hurry up! Because one lucky winner could win one of three amazing mini-grand prizes, like a mini-getaway to Napa Valley, Spa services for a year or a mini-home makeover. Now, wouldn't that make your day? I personally can't decided what I would choose. They all sound pretty good to me!

DOVE conducted a survey of 400 mothers, and apparently 70% of them manage to take time out for themselves, everyday. The "My Mini Moment" Contest is meant to celebrate those moments. I, unfortunately, am not one of the 70%. So, I am off to write my essay and submit it, in hopes of winning the getaway to Napa Valley. Or, er, the Spa services. Or maybe the mini-home makeover? Ahh...so many decisions!

So, go! Go and write your essay! Maybe the winner will be you! (And if you lose, you can always buy some DOVE Ice Cream Miniatures to comfort yourself with.) Good luck!

Duck Fest!

2010-06-03T09:23:00.000-06:00

Recently, in this post, I wrote about Daffy who lost her sister, leaving her young son, Daffy's nephew, motherless. The blogging community has rallied together to help him out. A dollar gets you an entry into one of many, many giveaways or if you prefer, you can just donate.

This story is heartbreaking to me. A five year old shouldn't have to deal with losing his mother at such a young age. They should have had many more years together and I hope that through the generosity of all these great contributors, a little boy's future may be a little bit brighter.

Fire! Fishing! Firearms!

2010-06-02T14:41:00.000-06:00

In the Memorial Day spirit, this past weekend was spent doing patriotic type things...a BBQ by the lake, fire, fishing, firearms. Oh, and Budweiser...I have a twinge of fondness for Budweiser and even though it tastes like bathwater (You know, when you have three kids in the tub together and they've all peed? It even takes on the same color. Coincidence?), it is what brought my husband and I together, so I owe it something. My husband once told me that it stands for Because U Deserve What Every Individual Should Enjoy Regularly. I think it must have all been part of the brainwashing that they did at the Anheuser Busch company. But I digress...how odd.

Anyway...fishing! I went fishing this weekend for the first time in years and years and years and years and...you get the picture. Nick wanted to fish, so grandma's boyfriend got him all set up. We cast and Nick eagerly watched that bobber, clutching the pole for dear life. About 45 seconds later, he handed it to me. He'd had enough. The boy needs action! Immediate gratification! Fishing wasn't doing it for him so I ended up manning the pole (that almost sounded obscene..."oh,yeah baby, I'll man your pole..."). Anyway, it was quite fun. I didn't catch anything, but the anticipation was thrilling. The most excitement I've had in weeks. Then, THEN, if I thought THAT was exciting, the next day we went shooting.

Yeah, that's right. You don't mess with me. In case you were wondering, I have awesome aim. I once came in third in the woman's division of black powder shooting. Yup...little known fact, right there. I'm like an onion. Layers and layers...

I also discovered that when expended shells from a 9mm land in your cleavage, it hurts. A lot.

Note to self: wear turtleneck when shooting.

Social Spark

2010-06-02T12:32:00.002-06:00

This is a Sponsored Post written by me on behalf of IZEA. All opinions are 100% mine.

I started blogging simply because I love to write. After a few weeks and I started to build up a following, I realized that I also loved to read other blogs and to comment. And of course, I became addicted to the comments on my blog! I quickly realized that there is a camaraderie in blogging that I didn't realize existed. I have made some true friends through this blog. I have also made some money, which was an unexpected perk. While I have no intention of making this blog a medium strictly for marketing or advertising, I'm not against the occasional review. So I signed up for SocialSpark

So far, I'm impressed with what I see. Signing up was simple and quick; all that was required was the installation of a code in my blog's HTML and some general information. Soon as my blog was confirmed, I was presented with immediate opportunities! I'm excited to browse through further. What's better than actually getting paid to write and post on my blog? You can even donate your proceeds to various charities.

I'm looking forward to working with this company and contributing to their "Sponsored Conversations." It's just one more reason to love blogging!

Kid quotes

2010-05-29T12:10:00.000-06:00

Nick:

"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"When I'm grown up and have a wife, we are going to have Happy Meals for lunch everyday."

"I have a lot of memories in my head. I wish I could get them all out."

Delaney:

Said while dumping rocks out of her shoes...
"I have earth in my shoes!"

Watching me change the sheets on my bed.
"Did you pee in your bed?" she asks.
"No...daddy has been really sick and got hot and sweaty at night, so I'm just putting fresh sheets on."
"Oh...do you get hot and sweaty in bed, too?"

Umm...

He's home!

2010-05-28T09:29:00.001-06:00

This morning, Nick opened the door to let our dog out and Leo ran in the house so fast, he nearly knocked Nick down. He's been gone nearly a week and he was extremely freaked out. He howled for the first ten minutes he was home then hid under our bed. Poor guy. I have no idea where he's been. He looks ok; a little skinny and a lot dirty, but no blood. I had feared he had become a coyote snack. So, so glad he's home. He's been outside in near record winds, torrential rain and a hailstorm. I bet he doesn't go outside again...

Happy kids, happy cat!
Thanks for all your well wishes! :)

Coupon Chief Review

2010-05-27T19:58:00.000-06:00

When asked to do a review for http://www.CouponChief.com, I got excited. Yes, it's just coupons. But really, coupons! I love coupons. I love saving money. I've gotten to the point where I always make sure there isn't an online coupon of some sort when I shop. Before I hit the "checkout" button, I google coupon codes first and about half the time, I find one. Why pay more than you have to, right?

CouponChief has one of the largest coupon databases on the Internet with over 50k coupons for over 15,000 stores. Think of all the pennies you could save! And their are coupons available for stores ranging from Target to Advanced Auto Parts! You can find everything on here! The site layout is easy to read and well laid out.You can find coupons using their tags, or by searching the store. They even offer a Pays-2-Share program where you can make money off of coupons that you find and submit. I was also impressed with their Coupons-4-Causes:

"With Coupons-4-Causes, you can help support your favorite cause every time you shop. Just use our coupons for your online shopping, and we'll donate up to 20% of the purchase to your favorite charity, school, or church."

How cool is that? I can see myself spending a lot of time on this site in the near future.

For more information, they even offer a tutorial on how exactly their website works. You can find it here.

I did receive monetary compensation for this review, however the words and opinion are my own.

Pet Pic Contest!

2010-05-27T10:44:00.000-06:00

This is possibly my favorite picture, ever. This was taken several years back, when Delaney was just a baby. Leo adored her. And the feeling was mutual. Of course, they got along better when Delaney was asleep...

Unfortunately, this past weekend Leo disappeared. He's a strictly inside cat and I have no idea how he got out, or where he went. The kids and I went around putting posters up, I've run ads in the papers, and made obsessive calls to the Humane Society, to no avail. We've covered a lot of ground in our search. The kids are crushed. Losing a pet is hard.

Hopefully, he will turn up soon.

Waa, waa, waa...

2010-05-23T20:53:00.000-06:00

For the past year, I've been taking a parent-tot dance class with Delaney. She's old enough to join the no parent-tot class, but she likes me with her, which I will admit, makes me feel pretty good. I'll cherish these moments while I have them. During class we stick our feet together with "peanut butter and jelly" to do butterfly stretches and we make invisible pizzas during the straddle stretch. We do an obstacle course. We do "Wheels on the Bus" with a parachute and I "waa waa waa" like the baby and I "beep beep beep" like the horn. I even lay on the floor under the parachute at the end of the song with the 3 other tots and moms in the class. And that's all well and good.

Then this weekend, we had the recital. All the tumbling classes put on a circus themed production for parents, assorted relatives, family and various strangers. The older kids did acrobatics and jumped through flaming hoops, the younger kids stuck their heads into the mouths of ferocious lions. It's a small town. That's just what we do here. But most terrifying of all? Delaney's group had to do "Wheels on the Bus". And I had to do it with her.

In front of a gymnasium of people.

A lot of people.

I had to lay on the floor, with a parachute tucked under my chin like a blanket and pretend to cry like a baby.

In front of a gymnasium of people.

A lot of people.

Waa, waa, waa.

We were the opening act and I was far more nervous than Delaney was. I used to ditch class to avoid having to do an oral report. For days, if need be. I remember once in high school I was called up to participate in a pep rally and I fled the bleachers in a panic and hid out in the locker room. On our honeymoon in Tahiti, my husband and I were watching a dance performance and when they made all the women there get out on the stage, I walked down with the rest of the ladies then veered right and hid in the bathrooms. My poor husband, who had yet to discover what a lunatic he had married, came to find me. He stayed with me and watched the rest of the performance from the bathroom entrance. All the nice Hula dancers thought I must be pregnant.

But I digress...unfortunately, none of the aforementioned evasive maneuvers were an option at the dance recital. So, I just did it. I just got up there and did it. Kids make you do things you never thought possible and it all starts the minute you shove them out of that impossibly small exit between your legs.

I may have done it, but I didn't enjoy it. And every time we stopped it seemed like my rear end was facing the audience. Of course.

"I tried to take pictures," said my mom, after the performance. "But all I got was your butt."

Lovely.

And on to something cuter...

Ain't she adorable? She had a blast and with any luck I hid my terror at being there and she will never have to know how truly unstable her mother is.

I can't wait until the next recital...

Contemplation...it hurts.

2010-05-21T15:07:00.000-06:00

Several weeks ago, we attended the funeral of a friend and although she had health problems all her life, her death came as a surprise. 43 is just too young. And she left a 7 year old daughter behind. My friend Daffy is currently dealing with a tragedy of her own, involving her sister who has a young child. My heart breaks for these children who have lost (or may lose) their moms and for the families involved. I can't imagine losing my mom at such a young age. Even now, my mom is my best friend. Where would I have been without her to guide me all those years? I know my life would have been drastically different. And the thought of leaving my own children behind makes my chest ache. Missing their first days of school, first crushes, graduations, weddings. Of course, there's all the big stuff, but the there's the little things, too. The hugs and sticky kisses, the handmade cards that stick to the envelope from all the glue. Wiggly teeth and dance classes. T-Ball and birthdays. The hysterical giggling over a ridiculous joke they made up. ("Why did the chicken cross the road? So he could have chicken nuggets!" -Insert hysterical laughter here-)

Hearing about losses like these make me contemplate my own mortality. If I were to die, what would my children remember about me? Would Nick remember us playing out front, me teaching him to ride his bike? Playing Candyland by his rules, playing army? Or would he remember all the time outs and yelling? Would Delaney remember playing "mom, dad and baby" or "doctor/dentister" with me? Would she remember the times we played dolls? Or would she just remember the times we fought and all the frustrated crying? Would Sam remember anything at all? What if my husband remarried? Would he marry Mary Poppins, or the Super Nanny? Or would he take the skanky, bleach blond with the inflated boobs he meets at a bar? How would she raise my children? Would they call her "mom"? Could I come back and haunt her?

I know that nothing is promised to us, that there is no guarantee that there will be a tomorrow. It makes me want to hug my children tightly to me. To hold on so tight, that they can't get away from me. I want to hold on so tight that time stops, and we're all together, forever, our happy little family, sticky kisses, frustrated crying and all.

And my heart breaks for you, Daffy and your family. Thinking of you and hoping for the best.

Cake!

2010-05-18T19:44:00.000-06:00

New cake!

Kinderscares

2010-05-16T09:28:00.000-06:00

As a huge fan of children's literature and horror novels, I have become enamored with Kinderscares. This blog has author interviews and entertaining reviews of your, shall we say...less traditional... books for kids. They've turned me on to books I didn't know existed for children.

And they were kind enough to do a guest post for me. So after reading here, I dare you to immediately run to the Kinderscares blog and read some more there.

Unless you're too afraid...

Little known fact: for every kid who begs for a nice peaceful bedtime story, there’s a kid who wants a tale of things that go bump in the night. Okay, maybe the ratio’s not quite 1:1, but there are some tiny monster-lovers out there! We have one (and a second in training), and it’s been quite an adventure. Our hard-won expertise in the realm of ‘scary’ children’s books begat KinderScares (I never thought I’d find an excuse to use the word ‘begat’ in a blog post - this is truly a momentous occasion!), a blog dedicated exclusively to horror in children’s literature.

Don’t think you’re in need of our expertise? Not so fast! Here are some clues you may be raising future horror fiends:

1. Your kid goes to sleep with a Jack Skellington nightlight (because who wouldn’t enjoy a glowing skull face plugged into the wall when they’re trying to sleep?)

2. The little undead dudes from your Zombies!!! board game get played with more than Barbies.

3. Every so often you turn around to find your one-year-old pushing a two-foot Frankenstein down the hall in a doll stroller.

4. Your five-year-old’s most prized article of clothing is an Alice Cooper t-shirt (bonus points if he/she walks around creepily singing ‘Welcome to My Nightmare’ every so often).

5. Edgar Allan Poe keeps mysteriously finagling his way into the bedtime reading pile (enough times that Daddy has declared a moratorium on The Bells. No. More. Bells.).

6. Along with “Cows say moo” and “Dogs say woof”, your toddler announces that “Zombies say BRAAAAAAINS!!!”

7. Dracula is invited every time there’s a tea party, even though the jerk never shows up.

8. You regularly find notes like this lying about the art area:

That doesn’t happen to you? Okay, maybe it’s just us. But if you’re looking for some awesome children’s books - or even just a few laughs - we hope you’ll stop by KinderScares and say boo! Not literally...although if this guest post begets (ha! got begat AND begets in there!) a pile of comments that just say ‘boo!’, I suppose I can live with that.

Last but certainly not least, a million thanks to the fantastic Peeling An Orange With A Screwdriver for having us, it’s been a blast!

No, no, thank you! It's been a pleasure!

Flashback Friday: Prom 1994

2010-05-07T00:00:00.007-06:00

16 years ago today, I was getting ready for senior Prom. It almost hurts to say that. 16 years. 16 YEARS. Maybe I figured that wrong. That can't be right...let's see...1994 to 2010. That's only like...oh, 16 years. Hmmm. Anyway, Prom. It's a big deal when you're 17, even for someone who didn't like school dances, like me. I liked the idea of dressing up all fancy-like, and going out to dinner with my handsome boyfriend, who also happened to be celebrating his birthday that day which is why I remember the exact date. (Happy Birthday, K. I'll be thinking of you today.) I had the perfect dress, the perfect sparkly jewelry... We had dinner at the Greenbriar Inn in Boulder, where I had a rather revolting dessert that involved feta cheese. Then we headed to his Prom. We walked in, had our pictures taken, turned around and walked back out to his car. Then we drove. We headed up the hill and drove around the back roads. We stopped and may have made out a bit. I'm not admitting to anything. We drove around some more. We laughed and talked.We drove around. We might have made out some more. Until about 4 am. All in all, it was a successful Prom, without any of that actual "Prom" nonsense.

A few weeks ago, my mom gave me a stack of pictures that she had taken that night.

And here I am, with my date (whose identity has been concealed so that he may maintain his International Man of Mystery persona. I wouldn't want to compromise his cover.) I'm pleased to say that I can look at this picture without cringing. The hair could use some help, but my dress really isn't that dated. My husband went to Prom in the late 80s and his date's dress is a monstrous, pastel confection of ribbons and bows, lace, ruffles, poufs and unnecessary bits of fabric. And her hair! Tee hee hee. Snicker. But anyway, I wouldn't sink so low as to make fun of someone for their poor hair or clothing choices. I'm above making fun of others. Ahem.

I had flipped through the remaining pictures and found one of my dad, in his underwear sitting at the counter with a chisel.

"Um. Mom?" I ask. "I don't think this one should be in here."

"Oh, yes it should," she said. "That was taken that night at about 3 am. You still weren't home so your dad decided to get up and re-grout the kitchen counter."

Oh.

This terrifies me. I know what teenage girls and boys do. Before I know it, I will be the one sitting up all night, hopefully not re-grouting anything, but worrying, just the same. Sitting up at night while my babies are out on dates with members of the opposite sex (or of the same, I guess time will tell.). Kissing and...other stuff.

Chastity belts are sounding better and better. And what about the boys? Do they have something for them? Penis...inhibitors... or something. Hmm. Might have to look into that.

Ouch! There's a tire in my eye!

2010-04-18T14:11:00.000-06:00

I've worn contacts since I was 12 years old. I am 20/400 and while I'm not sure exactly what that means, I do know that without my contacts, I can't even see my reflection in the mirror. My optometrist says that I'm "legally blind". The first thing I do when I get out of bed is put my contacts in and it's the very last thing I do before I go to bed. So, I suppose, it shouldn't be strange to dream about them, right?

At least once a week I dream about putting my contacts in. But the strange thing, is in these dreams, they are never actually "contacts". They're always some kind of foreign object that have no business being in my eyes. Like sunflowers. Or fabric. I'll find myself standing in front of the mirror, holding my "contact" and I'll look down to discover that rather than the tiny piece of plastic that I expect to see, I'm holding a giant flower but I try to put it in my eye anyway. Sometimes they're still contacts, but they're huge and I have to fold them over and over again to get it to fit in my eye. Sometimes they're blankets, or any number of other odd items. Last night it was a tire.

A tire.

What the heck does that mean?

I almost made it...

2010-04-16T21:42:00.000-06:00

There is an unwritten law somewhere that states that something will go wrong every time I go to Walmart. Every time. But I keep going back. Why? WHY? I don't know. I suppose it's the same reason I had three kids and opted to stay home with them. I'm a glutton for punishment. I like pain. I'm making up for wrongs done in past lives. I'm completely insane.

I don't have any other explanation for it.

Last time, both Delaney and Nick were in school and it was just Sam and I. I figured, "Hey! This will be easy! Just the baby and me!" Yeah. Well. He screamed from the moment I walked in the door to the moment we walked out. I forgot half the items on my list because I was in such a hurry to get out of there. Then, before that, there was this time. And I'm sure there were times before that and before that, but my mind's defensive mechanisms have blocked them from memory.

Which brings us to today. It was going so smoothly. Sam was in the cart, not screaming, Delaney was in the basket, not crying or whining and Nick was walking along side the cart, not acting like a monkey. It was amazing. I was lingering over items, comparing prices, checking my coupons. All in all, a very successful shopping trip. Things started to fall apart at the check out, but still, nothing a candy bribe can't solve. I even remembered my canvas bags. Then we're walking through the parking lot, a kid on each side of the cart and one in the basket, contentedly eating their candy. The bags are arranged just so in the cart; heavy things on the bottom, soft, crushable things on the top.

At the car, I park the cart halfway in the grass to prevent it rolling away while I unload. But first, I get the kids in the car. As I'm pulling Sam out of the cart, his leg gets stuck and we struggle a bit. Not much, but just enough to jostle the cart towards the grassy side.

And then over.

Onto its side.

ONTO ITS SIDE.

All my carefully arranged bags are now spread out all over the ground, the cart laying on it's side. The hamburger buns were securely wedged beneath the orange juice. The milk did a fine job of bruising the apples. I hate loading my groceries onto the conveyor belt in the store. But I hate picking my groceries up off the ground in the parking lot even more. Now, I wish I would have taken a picture. It really was a sight to behold.

A nice couple witnessed my ordeal and came to my rescue. But come on! Really? I was almost free. I almost made it. I was so close...

A Beautiful Day to Poop in the Park

2010-04-09T16:33:00.000-06:00

The sun is shining, it's beautiful outside. So after picking Nick up from the bus, I decided to take my kids to the park.

I packed a lunch and we headed over to the "dinosaur" park. (So named because of the dino footprints in the cement and the large dinosaurs that you can climb on.) All was going well, happy kids on the swings, happy kids on the slides, happy kids eating peanut butter sandwiches. Happy, happy.

"Mom? I have to use the bathroom!" Nick suddenly declares. So we journey to the toilets. "Closed". Hmmm. After a quick look around, I make sure no one is looking.
"Just go over behind that tree over there," I say. Thrilled to have permission to pee in the great outdoors, he bounds over to the tree and I take the other two kids back to the swings. Minutes pass.
Then he yells.
"Mom! I'm ready!"
"Ready for what?"
"To WIPE!"

Oh. God. Really? REALLY? Did you just poop at the park?

Yes. He did.

Right in the grass. Like a dog. And he's standing there, with his pants around his ankles, looking at me expectantly. I throw my hands up in the air. What? You pooped!? On the ground!? In public!? POOP!? What?! Wipe? You? IN THE PARK?

"You said I should go behind the tree," he says.
"Yeah, but PEE! I thought you had to PEE!"
"I did that, too. Can you wipe me?" he asks again.

What?! You think I carry toilet paper every where I go?

Well, actually, I do.

I thanked whomever one thanks for such things, that we drove, rather than walked to the park today. I sprinted to the car, gathered up some wipes, hand sanitizer and an old rice cake bag. I ran back and cleaned him up the best I could. Then I disposed of the evidence in the rice cake bag. ( The bag which, I'd like to note, I would not have had if I'd cleaned the trash out of my car like my dear husband suggested. Then where would I have been? Exactly.)

Then I decided it was about time to come home.

Yet another chapter for the What You Don't Expect book...

I'm famous! Sort of.

2010-04-07T22:01:00.000-06:00

Today I am famous. FAMOUS, I tell ya. Famous. Please direct all autograph requests to my publicist. Thank you.

It is my SITS day! Woo hoo! So, I'd like to welcome everyone who followed that link over here. I'm happy to have you here! I dusted and even brought out the good china.

So, pull up a chair, have a drink and read a bit!

Here are a few links to my most popular posts...

What you don't expect about having kids...

Manscaping!

The medical field or murder?

Thanks so much for stopping by and reading! I'll return as many visits as I can!

Hippity hop

2010-04-07T11:26:00.000-06:00

One year, my brother and I woke up on Easter morning only to discover that the Easter Bunny had brought us real live rabbits! Yay! Mine was white, with red eyes. I named her "Fluffy". Very original, I know. My brother got a brown one, which he named "Flopsy". Of course, a few days later, the novelty wore off. Cleaning rabbit hutches really isn't the good time that it's made out to be.

In middle school, long after the passing of Fluffy, I got a new rabbit. A lop-eared named "Cisco" (named after the San Francisco poster on my bedroom wall). This rabbit actually used a cat box, so there was not a hutch to clean. Cisco lived in my room with me, using his cat box and doing rabbity things. Then he peed on my journal and chewed through my speaker wires. You don't mess with a 13 year old girl's music.

Cisco was kicked outside. And he took it personally. He had a huge fenced in area and I only put him in his hutch at night, so the mountain lions wouldn't eat him. You think he'd have been more appreciative. But no. He wasn't. He hated me. If I picked him up, he'd contort into shapes I didn't know rabbits could get into, just so he could scratch me. And that was when I could catch him. He learned many defensive maneuvers. He learned how to throw pinecones. Yes. He did. He picked them up in his mouth and then launched them at me with his front feet. Rabbits may have small brains, but apparently they hold grudges. And they're dangerous. My mom had to go to the ER once because of him. Well, not him exactly, but while trying to catch him, she hit her head on a tree branch and needed stitches. So, it was, indirectly, his fault.

Then this year, for a brief, oh-so-fleeting moment of insanity, I considered buying my children rabbits for Easter. Then it all came flooding back to me. The smell, the poop, the cleaning...I am, apparently, not as good of a parent as my parents are. I really don't want another thing in my house that eats and poops and harbors ill intentions. So, for Easter, my kids got kites and bubbles.

Much easier to take care of.

People suck.

2010-04-02T16:37:00.000-06:00

I was going to write a witty little piece on bunny rabbits, but realized that it wasn't going the direction I planned. Rather than the fuzzy little Easter Bunny angle, it was quickly swerving into boiled rabbit territory. So I scrapped it. Maybe tomorrow.

A local girl went missing Sunday, and apparently the police didn't even start their search until about Tuesday. Despite how strange I think that it, the thing that really bothers me are the people who comment on the related articles published on the news web page. Sometimes, I wonder if allowing people to comment on articles is really a good thing. Hiding behind an anonymous icon seems to give people all kinds of freedom to be cruel and say the most incredibly hurtful things. This is a 12 year old girl, for godsake, missing for almost a week and "adults" reading these articles find it completely appropriate to make comments about how easy it should be to find her because of her weight, and how they should follow the grease trail. They find it appropriate to criticize the mother and judge her parenting skills, to call her a "loser" because she doesn't have transportation for her children. I hate to break it to them, but even us poor folk love our children. Then they pat themselves on the back and applaud their good parenting because they're "not out looking" for their children. It makes me physically ill. I had to stop reading them because I was seriously getting sick. There is a desperate family out there, searching for their missing child and instead of offering their assistance to the search, these self-described excellent parents are sitting at their computers, insulting a little girl and her family.

I hope they never know the pain that the Wilson family is facing. And I hope she comes home safe. I can't imagine the horror.

Shameless

2010-03-30T09:51:00.000-06:00

Ok... I'm going to do some blatant pleading and begging. Please, pretty please, come and rate my Old Navy commercial so I can win $100,000! And you can rate it once a day... :) Thank you!!

Counter stools, bunk beds, bookshelves...oh my!

2010-03-26T15:12:00.003-06:00

I recently was given the option of reviewing a product from the CSN Stores. They have over 200 websites to shop from and there are so many great products, including counter stools like this one:

And since I'm in the market for a bunk bed for my two boys, I found their selection of children's furniture astounding! I kind of like this one:

And of course, as a book addict, I also enjoyed browsing the bookcases! This is the one that I get the opportunity to review!

I can't wait to give it a try! Stay tuned...

Fragmented Fridays...

2010-03-26T11:01:00.000-06:00

More fuel for my World War II plane obsession...

And another new obsession...

Blue nail polish on toes makes you look like you have some kind of strange toe fungus.

Weaning a 20 month old from breastfeeding is like forcing an unwilling alcoholic into rehab.

My son has a bit of a bully problem at school...he actually had to go the nurse last week because of one such incident. Argh.

Never let dad pick out a book at the book fair for the baby. He will always pick the most annoying one. In this case, the one that goes "quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack, quack..." and the people working at the book fair will applaud when you walk out the door with it.

Anyone have any tips for a 6 year old that wets the bed every single night??

Doctor, doctor, give me a cure...

2010-03-18T22:09:00.001-06:00

While my oldest son is obsessed with vacuum cleaners and infomercials, my daughter has a definite interest in doctors. And "dentisters". Both of which she wants to be when she grows up. She also wants to be a princess and a mom, so I doubt she'll have much time to come and visit me in the nursing home.

We have a chart in her room and every night she stays in her room earns her a sticker. A full chart earns her a toy (within reason) of her choice. She finally filled her chart and guess what she picked? A doctor's kit. I've been seriously ill every day since. I've had my blood pressure taken. On my wrist. I've been given shots, all over my legs, all over my arms, in my stomach and my head.

"This might hurt," she says and pokes me with her "syringe". "Did that hurt?"
"Nope!"
So she pushes harder.
I think she might have to work on her bedside manner.

She's also picked up on concept of the waiting room. We wait. A lot. She makes me sit on the floor. And wait.

And wait.

"Is the doctor in yet?" I'll ask.
"No."
"How about now?"
"No."

Sigh.

We read her dentist book over and over and over. The other day there was a show on about kids with cleft palates and the doctors that volunteer their time to fix them. She was mesmerized. She didn't move for the entire show. She'd freak out if a commercial came on.

"Are the doctors coming back? Are the doctors coming back??" she'd shriek. I'd assure her that it was just a commercial and she'd sit back down. Obsessed. Then awhile back, the news had a piece about some local doctors and again, she was hypnotized.

I have three blisters on my hands from scooping 6 months of dog poop out of the backyard and she keeps begging to look at them. She likes to poke them. Paper cuts are fascinating to her. My pretty little 3 year old with the big brown eyes likes to look at blood.

I figure she has a future in the medical field.

Or jail.