Mommy Snark

One final reminder...

2013-03-11T10:42:00.001-04:00

Have you made it over to the new blog yet?

Here's my latest post, where I get ridiculously sappy while talking about my Dad.

More than Genetics

The main blog address is www.jennyproctor.wordpress.com, and the sidebar is full of ways that you can keep up with the new blog--add it to your feed reader, subscribe via email, or follow my author page on Facebook. All are quick and completely painless. (I think, anyway. I don't subscribe to myself via email so I'm not sure if that one hurts or not. Probably not.)

See you there!

Mommy Snark has Moved!

2013-02-27T12:11:00.001-05:00

I hope you won't stop visiting.

Here's the new blog:

www.jennyproctor.wordpress.com

See you there!

In which I discuss the future of Mommy Snark

2013-02-25T12:40:00.001-05:00

Guess what?!

Mommy Snark is going to move! Or maybe just evolve?

As I prepare for the release of my book this summer, I've felt a need to transition my blog space into something that feels like a better fit. The new blog will still be me, still my thoughts about motherhood and life and writing, but it will be simplified a bit, and will also be designed to mesh with my new website.

SO. I love Mommy Snark. It was where I really learned how much I love writing. And most importantly, it's been the medium through which I've met so many incredible people that have become friends I will cherish for life. (Does that sound dramatic? I promise I'm not exaggerating. I love my blog friends!) But I also know it's time to transition.

Will you please come with me?

The new website is here:

Jenny Proctor's Blog on WordPress

Also, I would love it if you would click over and visit my new webpage. You can get to the blog through the webpage too, if you click on the "Blog" Tab up at the top. There isn't much going on over there yet, cause the book hasn't been released yet, but Google won't acknowledge that my page exists until it gets some link love, so I'm linking. Help me show Google that I exist?

Jenny Proctor's Home Page

Starry Starry Night

2013-02-13T09:28:00.001-05:00

A few nights ago, my family arrived home late after being out of town at a baptism for two of my nephews. When I pulled Ivy from the car, she looked up into the sky. It was dark. Our outside house lights were not on, and because we live in the middle of the woods, the only visible light came from the twinkling stars overhead. It made for quite an impressive sight--a sea of stars so beautiful, it took Ivy's breath clean away.

"Mommy!" she said, pointing upward. "What is in the sky?"

Photo courtesy of National Geographic.

Her voice was sleepy and small, an impression I felt keenly as we looked at the vastness overhead.

"Those are the stars, baby. Aren't they pretty?"

"I've never seen them before," she said, her eyes full of wonder.

It was the sweetest acknowledgement, honest and sincere. This world is a mighty big place. Except for Ivy, it really hasn't been. And rightly so. She's not quite three, after all. She wouldn't think to go outside and look into the dark night sky unless someone prompted her to do so. As each day passes though, she'll experience more and more of the world, and notice more of the beauty that exists in so many places. And not just in the natural world around her. She'll see beauty in people too.

Last weekend I went to my Aunt Jane's funeral. Jane was too young to die. Her cancer was fierce and painful, so much so that her death was a tender mercy to end her suffering. Had my sweet Ivy gotten to know her great Aunt Jane, she would have known a person that was full of beauty. She was remembered well at her service--by her children, her siblings, and a room brim full with people that loved her. There was beauty all over that room.

As I think the words before I write them, they sound trite and cliche. (But I'm going to write them anyway.) I hope Ivy always remembers to look up and see the stars. Because life can be hard and death can be hard and clouds can seem heavy and thick, but the stars are always there. I don't ever want her world to be too grim, or too busy, or too narrow for her to take a breath and look heavenward.

Because we do live in a beautiful place. By watching the news, you might think we are falling apart at the seams. And I won't argue that many things do seem to be unraveling. But for every story that makes you clench your fists, that makes your heart stop as you think to yourself, "What is wrong with this world?" there is another, as heartwarming as the other is awful, to encourage and inspire and remind you that people are beautiful and stars are real and God is everywhere. He is in the stars. I'm certain he was in the room while we celebrated Jane's life. He is in Ivy. He is in me and you and all of us. Amen.

Book Year is HERE!

2013-01-24T13:00:00.000-05:00

I just got an email from my editor letting me know she was getting ready to start work on my manuscript and wanted to make sure she had the most updated version. The date on the most updated version? August, 2011. It made me laugh to think about how long ago that seems. It was March of 2011 when I got the most fabulous email ever that let me know my manuscript was being picked up for publication. I'll never forgot running out onto the back deck to yell the news to my kids who were in the backyard playing. They still make fun of the dance I did. I don't remember exactly what it was, but they tell me it involved lots and lots of jumping.

When my publisher told me they anticipated a 2013 release, it seemed so very far away, but all of a sudden, here we are. I guess it helps that I tried to keep myself busy. (Have a baby, anyone?) I'm also 3/4's of the way through novel # 2 and feel fairly certain I'll have it to my publisher before novel #1 is released. (I'll be honest though... writing with six kids? Way harder than writing with 4. It's almost shameful how much longer this one has taken when compared to the paltry nine months I took to churn out the first one.)

So 2013 is here and I'm gearing myself up for all that goes into the release of a novel. I'm so very excited! If you'd like to keep up to date with the progress of the book, and you frequent Facebook, will you click over and like my author page? I'll share blog updates, as well as news, cover art, and anything else book/writing related.

Here's the link:

My Author Page on Facebook

The Kids in Review: 2012

2013-01-05T16:03:00.001-05:00

I didn't blog much in 2012. In retrospect, I'm sorry I didn't because I fear there are moments that I failed to capture that now might slip away from my memory forever. That happens, you know. I'm certain because I've visited my archives from 2007 and read stories I know must have happened to someone else. Except it was me, and I've only forgotten.

There is much in 2012 that I don't want to forget.

2012 was the year of our last baby. Jack was the baby that was meant to join our family last. He is the feel good baby--the kid that makes everyone smile simply for being around him. My mother calls him the balm of Gilead baby because who ever holds him feels better, cured of whatever is ailing their hearts. There is something special about him--his constant smile and sparkling eyes a reminder that we have so much to be happy about.

Even Ivy has decided to keep Jack around. I'll be honest. The first six months of Jack's life? I didn't like Ivy much. Is that a harsh thing to say about a two year old? Even so. TOTALLY TRUE. I never stopped loving her. But since her life was basically one giant tantrum, I'm not going to lie and say I liked being around her. And then one day, she came up to Jack who had just finished nursing, put her sticky little hand on his forehead and said, "Mommy! The baby is so cute!" I'm pretty sure this is the first time she'd actually acknowledged his existence. Suddenly, evil Ivy was gone. We've welcomed her back into full fellowship with the family and she's assimilating nicely. Tantrums are few, and love for her baby brother is near bursting at the seams.

2012 was the year Henry started kindergarten. I worried over Henry. He's a sweet, sensitive, boy--timid to a fault and did I mention how much he loves his Mama? I worried sending him off to school would be traumatic, to say the least. But then, I watched him clamor out the door, following the footsteps of his older siblings, his backpack slung over his shoulders and his lunchbox gripped tightly in his hand, and I realized he was going to be just fine. And not because of me. He was fine because even though I couldn't go to school with him every day, Sam and Lucy could. Lucy walked him to class for the first couple of weeks, and Sam, who had Henry's teacher when he was in kindergarten, was quick to ask about circle time, or center time or any other variety of activities that he remembered experiencing when he was Henry's age.

There are many moments when having a large family feels like a tremendous sacrifice. It is expensive and chaotic and overwhelming and exhausting. But then I see my kids rallying together, supporting each other, loving each other, and I am so glad that we are many.

2012 was the year that Lucy got her ears pierced. It was the year that Sam read the entire Eragon series in record time. It was the year we got a kitten and I cured myself of a cat allergy. It was the year that Ivy climbed into her Daddy's lap and told him over and over again,"I lub you Daddy.. you mah best fwend." It was the year Jordan started recording his free throw percentage in a notebook, (65% and improving) working to get better by shooting 100 free throws almost every single day after school. It was the year Jimmer Freddette turned our entire family into Sacramento Kings fans. "DAD!! They put Jimmer in!!!" (NBA Basketball. I know. Never been on my list before.)

2012 was a year full of brush strokes--tiny moments that will (hopefully) contribute to what I want for my family long term. I want us to love each other. I want my children to be friends. I want my children to know God--to know that He loves them and knows them individually. I want them to know that it's okay to be different, and that in this world, where self indulgence and an excessive focus on pointless entertainment is the norm, they better be different.

I'll keep making those brush strokes as we move into 2013. At least, I'll try. It will be a different year, I think. Jack will start to walk. Ivy will throw out her diapers. Jordan will turn 12. I feel our family shifting, growing... changing as we learn and love and gain experience. I hope, more than anything, we'll all remember what Jack's eyes tell us every time he smiles. Really, truly, we have so many reasons to feel joy. For that, I am humbled, grateful, and hopeful that in 2013 we will use our able bodies to remember God, to be His willing servants in all that we do.

Meat and Gravy

2012-11-27T12:30:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon, I went outside to retrieve something from the car. When I came back to the front door, I paused, realizing that the children were having a conversation about me. The door was slightly open. If I leaned forward, I could hear, without them knowing I was there. It went a little something like this.

Lucy: "Guys, do you ever think about the fact that our Mom is an author? I mean, a real author?!"

Sam: "I do. When I told all my friends, they couldn't believe it."

Jordan: "My friends believe it because she came and talked to my class about writing..."

And suddenly I felt like a rock star. I'm not ashamed to admit it was an amazing feeling hearing my children speak of me with such admiration. Since the book hasn't been released yet, and honest to goodness readers are still a few months away, it feels good to know that at least my children think I'm awesome for what I've done.

Except, here's the thing. I'd be lying if I told you I didn't care about the hoopla that comes with being published. I'm excited and proud of what I've done. I'm looking forward to the book release, book signings, promotion and all the fun stuff that goes along with it. BUT, and I want my children to hear this loud and clear, I would still be awesome if all I ever did was be their Mamma. I don't expect I'll ever overhear my children having a conversation about how impressive it is that I cooked dinner for them the night before, or that I made it three whole days without yelling. They won't marvel at finished laundry, or respect how hard I work to sort out the logistical nightmares that come from basketball practices and karate classes and everything else that children do and need and want. Because that's what Mammas do. We work and help and work and help and work and help. That isn't to say there aren't moments that make it worth it. Hugs and kisses and heartfelt thank-yous are more than enough to make me feel like my efforts are appreciated. I don't mother because I want everyone to tell me I'm awesome. I mother because I love my kids and I love my husband and being a part of a family that loves me back is an incredibly wonderful thing.

Perhaps what I'm trying to say is that I hope my children know that this is my most important work. It's the most important, and it IS ENOUGH. We live in a world where the efforts of women in their homes are largely taken for granted. Society needs individuals who are happy and stable, but largely forgets that happy stable people mostly come from happy, stable homes. Women who choose to stay at home and raise their children are diminished and belittled because, "really, that's all you wanted to do with your life?" But not in this house. I want my children to know that while I love my writing, it's just gravy. They are my meat. They are my substance. Of course, gravy makes stuff taste better, so please don't ask me to give it up. But also don't think that it's what I care about most. I'm really proud that next year my book will be released and I'll be an honest to goodness published author. But really truly, I am more proud of being a Mom.

(So I totally just re-read this post and decided it sounds like I'm tooting my own horn. I thought to change it, but then I decided that Mothers don't toot our own horns enough. So. Let it be said. I'm a Mom. And I am awesome.)

Use your Imagination

2012-11-15T22:47:00.000-05:00

So, yesterday my two year old told her Dad that he needs to use his "imagination." It came out more as "i-ma-hi-na-hon," but still. That's a pretty big word for her little tiny mouth. She's so funny. She's been using lots of big words lately, mostly completely out of context, but it's hilarious seeing her try. She said to me today, "Hey Mom, we get some chicken and go to a park. That be a good idea?" She cracks me up.

********

So I've started a new book project. I figure, there are probably a lot of books in the library that never get read. So I went to the A section and took the very first book on the shelf. I figure the worst thing that could happen is that it's terrible, and then I just stop reading it. But also, it could be good. And then I'll be happy because I randomly selected a book that happened to be good. I'll let you know how it goes. I think I'll take the first book out of the B's next, and so on, and so forth.

*********

And now for the most important item on the agenda, I totally need a favor. See, my Mom is an incredibly amazing quilter. She's got an eye for color like no one I've ever known before and her attention to detail and overall skill is truly remarkable. Her house is full of the most beautiful quilts. In fact, I have one of her masterful creations sitting on my couch right now. So she just entered a national quilting competition and was selected as one of ten finalists. How can you help? You can go and visit this website below and vote for her quilt. It will only take a second, so do please, help out. It wasn't that long ago that the blogosphere and Facebook network sent a friend of mine on a cruise because of the power of their votes. Surely we can help my Mom win $1000, no?

Her quilt is titled, Box Garden Blossoms.

Here's the link:

Morton Masterpiece

So go vote because you're awesome. And also because her quilt really is beautiful.

A Little Bird Told Me...

2012-11-14T14:35:00.004-05:00

It's hard to believe the holiday season is upon us. Or, mostly upon us. Every time I write the date on anything, I think to myself, "Really? November?" And also there's the fact that Thanksgiving is next week and then Christmas is just a breath after that, and I haven't given a single thought to what my plans are for Christmas this year...

I've just reviewed a website that is designed to help you and your kids manage wishlists with a little more ease. Click on over to my review page to find out more:

A Little Bird Told Me... Website Review

Dear Two Years Old:

2012-11-07T14:38:00.000-05:00

I am so OVER you.

(Yes. Yes she is sitting in the baby's exer-saucer thing. No, I have no idea why she climbed in. And yes, that is baby powder.)

****************
Last night I hated social media. Regardless of who won and who lost, of who you did or didn't vote for, there is never any justification for nastiness. I voted for Romney. When it was clear, he wasn't going to win, I visited Ann Romney's Facebook page. She's walked a hard road the past year, and has put up with quite a bit of negative attention. After all was said and done, my intention was to send her a brief thank you. I was mortified at the comments that were already showing up on her page. Filth, vulgarity, outright mockery. It wasn't good. Of course, I know there were things being said about President Obama by those who did not vote for him that were equally offensive. All over the internet, on every form of social media, hatred spewed forth. Why? Why when any respectable person would never encourage a child to push over a player on the losing team of a basketball game, then spit on him and call him a name, is it alright for grown ups to do so, in the name of politics? It alludes to another problem--the brazen right we feel the anonymity of the internet gives us. Surely people wouldn't behave in such a manner in person... or would they?

My guy didn't win the election. I wish he had. But I am far more concerned with the apparent lack of humanity that exists among the citizens of this nation.

So yes. I hated social media last night. But then when Ivy got into this mess, I decided I should like it again. Because pictures and messes this good? They deserve to be shared.

One Random Sunday

2012-11-04T23:50:00.000-05:00

After church on Sunday I decided to make a pumpkin pie from scratch. I had two small pumpkins sitting on the front porch and since I've never tried to make a pie using fresh pumpkin, and it was perfectly cool and crisp and feeling like fall, I figured today was the day to try. I did, and it was awesomely delicious. Want to know the best part? The cinnamon spiced whipped cream we put on top. (heavy cream, powdered sugar, cinnamon. YUM.)

While I baked the pie, the boys played a board game in the living room, the girls watched The Little Mermaid in the basement, and Josh sat on a bar stool in the kitchen, reading a book and keeping me company. Everyone piled around the bar when the pie was done and we all ate pie and drank apple cider, except Ivy who decided she didn't want pie. She'd have a hot dog instead. A most appropriate two year old thing to do, yes?

It was an ordinary day of the most ordinary sort. There were moments of loud and moments of funny and moments of chaos. But mostly, everything was just normal. And I loved every single second of it.

At one point Lucy asked if I thought she'd remember this day when she was all grown up. Of course, she probably won't. At least not specifically. But I hope she'll remember that home was a happy place, even when it was perfectly ordinary.

Because her question put me in the mood to do so, I grabbed my camera and captured us all, just as we were on this random Sunday in November.

Truly, this is the happiest baby ever. All smiles, all the time.

More smiles. Man, I love this baby.

Oddly enough, this picture was taken just moments after a full on two year old mind blowing meltdown. It's like she has a little switch she can turn on and off...

We generally have a no TV rule on Sundays. Unless your 2 and are having a massive big meltdown and Mommy is tired and decides you can watch one episode of My Big, Big Friend, which your brothers will find thoroughly captivating even though on any other day of the week, they would never admit to finding it interesting.

See what I mean? Thoroughly captivated.

I don't know what she's so excited about. I'd just taken a video of her telling me about her first basketball game, which her team won. Maybe she's still celebrating?

It's pretty much guaranteed that Sunday afternoon, Jordan will be sitting in the living room reading a book. He's predictable like that.

This is me making an effort to not always be behind the camera. Because Mom is a part of the family too.

And finally, my baby sucks on his middle fingers all the time. And I love it oh, so stinkin much. It makes me feel like he's telling me he loves me all the time.

Yes I did get my Daughter's Ears Pierced at a Tattoo Parlor

2012-11-02T08:00:00.000-04:00

And you know what? It was awesome.

So, we live in a small town. We don't have a mall. We don't have any jewelry stores of any sort that do piercings with the exception of WalMart. Now, I'm not saying you can't get your ears pierced at WalMart successfully. I'm just saying, you only have to witness, as an innocent bystander, one piercing gone wrong to decide NEVER to get anything pierced at WalMart, ever. (Think little girl... uneven piercing, done once, then taken out, and done again. With blood. Lots and lots of blood.)

Guys, I realize that things like that don't happen very often. But after a little bit of research, I felt much better about the open needle piercing that is typically done in piercing and tattoo parlors. Needles are single use, the piercing technician is wearing gloves, and they completely sterilize every single thing that comes in contact with what ever it is they're piercing. Piercing guns are used over and over again, and are at the mercy of whoever it is that is supposed to clean them properly. Are there people that do it the right way? Of course. But what's your guarantee that the person you come across behind the jewelry counter (that may or may not have any training when it comes to fast and even piercing) is doing things as they should?

As soon as I decided what I wanted to do, I called our local tattoo parlor and talked to the guy who would be piercing Lucy's ears. My first question was pretty up front. "Is this the kind of establishment I can be comfortable visiting with my 9 year old daughter?" He went to great lengths to reassure me, even agreeing to open up the shop on her actual birthday, a Saturday when they were typically closed, so the piercing could be done.

When we arrived, he was solicitous of Lucy, encouraging, and very, very kind. After marking her ears and letting me okay the position of where the piercing would go, he walked Lucy through the process and told her how it was going to feel. In a matter of minutes, the entire process was over. Lucy said it hurt a little, but not so much that she wasn't willing to sit perfectly still for the second ear to be done.

Here's what I know... piercing is a part of this guy's job. It's what he does every single day. He knows how to do it well, with precision and accuracy and as little pain as possible. While the idea of seeing the needle coming at you may seem a little scarier than a piercing gun at a big box jewelry store, general opinion is that piercing guns hurt more.

So. I highly recommend. Lucy's ears look awesome. The end.

Remember this picture? This is Lucy learning she is going to get her ears pierced.

Just before going in... still very, very excited!

Lucy's best friend Bethany came along for moral support. She even held Lucy's hand during the piercing, cause my arms were full of baby, and also needles make me squeamish.

This is Brock... the guy that did the piercing. He thought it was hilarious that I brought Lucy all the way back inside after we'd already left to get a picture. But seriously, how I could I not document such an event?

The crime scene.

And finally, the finished product.

Happy Birthday Sam and Lucy

2012-10-31T13:41:00.002-04:00

People, my twins are 9 years old. I JUST had those babies, and now they're 9-year-old third graders that are SO. MUCH. FUN. You know what the best thing about parenting is? It's watching your kids turn into people that are like you in so many ways, and yet so incredibly, amazingly, uniquely different. Right here is a terrible quality phone picture I took of the two of them at a church service project on the morning of their birthday. It's a little deceiving because Lucy is actually a good two inches taller than Sam. She's just slouching, so you can't really tell.

So, we don't normally do birthday parties. Okay, that's not entirely true. We have parties with all of my extended family which is party enough because there are 25 of us. But this year schedules just wouldn't mesh for my family to travel up for a party, so we celebrated locally with friends instead. One friend over to spend the night, plus their families to join us for dinner before hand. It was crazy and loud, but so much fun. I should have taken a picture of everyone that was here, but you know what? I'm terrible at taking pictures. It's because I don't really love my camera and get mad when stuff doesn't turn out, which is a poor excuse to never take any pictures because ANY picture is better than no picture at all, yes? (And also, I could just get a new camera. Will start saving right now.)

Anyway.

Here's Sam and Lu opening their presents. Sam got a satchel, (to replace the one he built himself out of paper) full of tape and scissors and paper and more tape, and even more tape. I should post about Sam's paper weapons arsenal. Seriously. The kid can build anything out of paper and a little bit of tape. I'm in full support of this hobby, though I've been crazy annoyed at how quickly my tape disappears on more than one occasion. But no more, because Sam got ten rolls of his own tape for his birthday. I thought he might weep with the joy of it all.

Lucy's big present was a HUGE surprise. For months and months the girl has pretty much launched a full scale campaign to convince me she was ready to have her ears pierced. I was hesitant because I was 12 when mine were done and I just assumed I would do the same thing for her. Except, her campaign was really convincing. She is responsible. She's capable and committed to the care and cleaning of her ears. She is regularly hygienic. And really, truly, she's the most helpful, wonderful, incredible little girl I know. When it came right down to it, I couldn't actually think of a good reason to make her wait. I let her open the earrings at her party on Friday night, then we went to get the piercing done the following day. It was fun enough, the actual piercing story warrants a post all its own. But seriously... don't you love her surprised face?

And also, my friend Della made the kids some incredibly awesome birthday cakes. She free handed the dragon, (she freehand the other one too, but seriously, do you see that dragon?) which I thought was awesomely impressive. She is always so willing to do exactly what my kids want. When Sam said blue dragon, even though I know it wasn't easy, she did an awesome job. (And also, I could eat Della's butter cream frosting with a spoon, out of a cereal bowl. And that from a person that doesn't generally like cake frosting.)

So. Happy Day. Can't believe my kids are so old.

The WHY of what I DO

2012-10-26T09:10:00.001-04:00

So I've been thinking a lot about the post I wrote last week detailing the typical events of my day-to-day life. I worried that it might sound like I was looking for sympathy, like I wanted to say, "Look at how hard my life is!" Know what though?

My life isn't hard.

I have hard moments... sometimes I have hard days or hard weeks. But at the end of the day, even the hard days, I'm still living in a free country with a warm, comfortable house, clothes to wear, and sufficient food to feed my family. We are healthy. We are safe. We are happy. Such simple reassurances are completely out of reach for so many others around the world. I know this, I know it all the way into my bones and feel it keenly every time I look at my children--my happy, safe, sweet, wonderful children.

I was weary when I wrote that post. I feel weary whenever I think about the grind of daily life. I'm so very busy and rarely feel much of a reprieve. But you want to know what I remember most about the day I wrote about last week? I remember that Ivy told me I was her best friend. It was seven seconds of my entire day, and yet it was the one thing that stuck in my memory. It's funny to think that as mothers we do all the other stuff, the maintenance and the cleaning and the coming and going because those seven second moments make it all worth it.

I chose this life. Maybe sometimes when I think about how quickly the babies came and how consuming the care of them is, it feels more like this life chose me. But any way you shake it, even when it's miserably, disastrously hard, mothering is still what I want to be doing with my life.

(And also, writing novels. Book release! Next year, people! It's getting closer!)

Collage courtesy of Destinee Blau Photography.

One Day

2012-10-18T10:57:00.000-04:00

The alarm went off at 6:30, but I'd been up with the baby twice the night before so I pushed the limit and stayed in bed until just before 7. By that time, the kids were up. One needed help finding his shoes, and one couldn't find his sweatshirt, and one was anxious that I wouldn't have time to make lunches. I would hurry, I promised. And so I did. I found the shoes and found the sweatshirt and made peanut butter sandwiches, four in a row, then stuffed apples and pretzels and sandwiches into lunch boxes. I signed a behavior chart and a planner, I wrote a check for milk money, fixed hair twice, (It should have been three times. Yikes was Sam's hair crazy, but time ran out, so guess I should be glad he's got the personality to work the finger in socket look.) then took a deep breath as they headed out the door to school.

I hoped for a few minutes of quiet before the babies woke up, and sat down to update the budget and plan a grocery list. 8 minutes later, Ivy was awake. I finished the budget, but left the grocery list for later. I helped Ivy get dressed and fixed her breakfast, then sat her down to watch cartoons so I could get Jack ready to go. I fed him and got him dressed, then it was out the door to the gym, because heaven knows this baby weight isn't going to fall off on its own.

After spin class, I hurried home and put the baby down for a nap and sent Ivy up to the playroom to play. I unloaded, then loaded the dishwasher, moved a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer, then folded two more loads, distributing piles of laundry into six different baskets, one for each kid. At 11 AM, I realized I'd never eaten anything so I juiced some carrots, apples, and celery for my breakfast. (YUM.)

Realizing I wouldn't have enough time to shower before my visiting teacher came over, I decided she would have to visit me in my smelly workout clothes and sat down to type up a few emails, to my sister-in-law, the principal at the school, the music teacher. I remembered that Josh and I haven't seen a dentist in two thousand years, so I called and scheduled dental appointments for the both of us.

My visiting teacher arrived with a beautiful bunch of fresh herbs from her garden--parsley, basil and rosemary that would be an excellent addition to my dinner plans. While we visited, Ivy grew tired of playing and decided instead to head into the bedroom where she dumped all the clean laundry out of six baskets into one big pile on the floor. Awesome. Then she started throwing wooden blocks over the banister of the loft upstairs, into the living room. Where I was sitting with my visiting teacher. Then she poured an entire container of Nestle Quik on the floor of the kitchen. Then my visiting teacher decided it was time to go. Heh.

After I picked up all the laundry and cleaned up the quik and took the wooden blocks back upstairs, I defrosted chicken for dinner and piled everything together in the crock pot. Chicken and herbs and zucchini and tomatoes. I finished another load of laundry, then finally got around to making my bed. I fixed lunch for Ivy, nursed the baby one more time, then sat back down to finish the grocery list and dinner menu for the upcoming week.

At 2:00, it occurred to me that I was STILL wearing my work out clothes. (Um, gross?) so I turned cartoons back on for Ivy and jumped in the shower, finishing just in time to race out the door and pick up kids from school.

I grabbed my own, plus a few extra 11-year-old boys so Josh could take them, and Jordan, to the store to prepare for an upcoming camping trip when he got home from work later that evening.

4 PM. That's when the real fun begins. I nursed the baby one more time, while simultaneously helping Jordan with his homework, and encouraging Lucy and Sam to get their piano practicing done. I helped Henry with his chores, then scolded the others for not doing their chores, then helped Jordan with another homework problem, then scolded the others for not putting their laundry away before Ivy could dump it all out on the floor, AGAIN.

I finished dinner just in time to feed Jordan and his friends. They ate, then Josh ate, standing at the counter because even though he'd just walked in the door, he had to go do scouting stuff and would momentarily walk right back out again. After they left, I fixed plates for the younger children, then ate my own dinner sitting on the floor next to Jack's bouncy seat because this late in the day, he's not happy unless he can see his Mamma. every. single. second. After I finished, Lucy took Ivy upstairs to give her a bath while the boys helped me with the dinner dishes. After Ivy got out of the tub, I put Jack in the tub, then into pajamas. I rounded all the kids up for a prayer, then put Jack in his crib, hoping he would stay happy long enough for me to get Ivy settled in bed. I lay down beside her, tickled her back while I sang the ABC's seventy thousand times, then kissed her sweet little head.

"Mom," she whispered, "You're my best friend." (sorta makes it all worth it, doesn't it?)

I went back in to get Jack and called down to Henry that it was his bedtime. After a conversation about why he didn't want to go to school, even though he likes it (because he doesn't like being away from me all day... because he's totally my boyfriend and I love him) we decided we needed some special Mommy/Henry time over the weekend to make up for all the time he spends in school. This was an acceptable plan, especially when I told him our special time could include Twizzlers.

With Henry finally in bed, and Sam and Lucy reading, I sat down to nurse the baby so that HE could go to bed too. While I nursed, Ivy wandered out of bed and lay down beside me. I put Jack to bed, then put Ivy to bed one more time. Then a second time. And a third time.

Before Sam went to bed we had a long conversation about the perceived injustices of being a younger brother when Jordan is allowed to do so much and he is never allowed to do ANYTHING. Once he was sufficiently mollified, he and Lucy finally headed off to bed.

Just after 9, I sat down.

When Jack graduates from high school, I'm going to go to sleep for three years.

Writing Here and There

2012-10-08T00:05:00.002-04:00

Hello.

So, a couple of things to tell you about.

First, I've got a guest post over on What to Expect, where I talk about Moms helping other Moms out. You're ever so welcome to go and read.

We Moms Got Your Back

And also, I just received a beautiful book in the mail that was extra exciting. Exciting because it's a lovely book, and also because there's stuff in it that I wrote. I've always loved the Power of Moms website because it does so much to empower Moms--to encourage and lift and inspire them to do and be more. I've guest posted on Power of Moms a few times, and was more than happy to contribute to their latest project, an amazing book on Deliberate Mothering. So now the book is done and you can buy a copy by clicking on this book. Ebooks and hard copy books are available. The ebooks are extra cool because you can buy the entire thing, or you can just buy the chapters that look particularly interesting to you. (I love technology.)

Buy the Book (or just check it out, yo)

Because You're Probably Saying to Yourself, Let's make an Egyptian Pharaoh Head out of Paper Mache

2012-10-02T00:19:00.003-04:00

When Jordan told me he wanted to make an Egyptian Pharaoh head out of paper mache, I was pretty much sure it wasn't going to happen. I made a few alternative suggestions...

"Can you just draw a really cool picture of a pharaoh?"

"That wouldn't be near as cool," he said.

"Can you just dress up as a Pharaoh?"

"That would be really dorky."

"Do you even know how to paper mache?"

"No, but we can Google it."

Of course we can Google it. Google knows everything. But can Google come into my kitchen and actually MAKE the project? I think not.

Really, who am I to squelch the academic and artistic desires of a sixth grader. Know what we did? We totally made an Egyptian Pharaoh head out of paper mache.

And now I will tell you how we did it.

The first thing we had to figure out was what we were actually going to paper mache in the first place. We needed the frame, the skeleton if you will, of our pharaoh.

This is what we came up with: A Styrofoam ball with a Halloween mask secured on with finishing nails, stuck onto a stick, secured into a box, (the bottom of the stick is stuck into another piece of Styrofoam, wedged into the bottom of the box) and stabilized with extra sticks and string. That's also a Styrofoam beard stuck down there on his chin, (the bottom half of a Styrofoam cone available in the craft aisle of Walmart, which is also where we bought the head) also held in place with a small finishing nail. You may not think he looks like much now, but we had to start somewhere, didn't we?

This isn't part of my totally ridiculous tutorial. I just think my boy is cute. And he drew some good pyramids, no?

If I were good at making actual useful tutorials that might teach you something, I would have photographed a few more steps... like the cutting out of the poster board headdress. I might even include a link to a template you could use to draw your own headdress. Except, we just sort of freehanded it, and then trimmed until it looked right. Then we started the paper mache. (Josh was totally in charge of this part, and I'm glad, cause um, gross. It's pretty messy stuff.) Since we are not experts and were on our maiden paper mache voyage, I think our pharaoh turned out a bit wrinkly. We decided we were making an old pharaoh, which made the wrinkles totally appropriate. Really, we were just excited that our plan was working.

After he dried over night, it was time to give Pharaoh a face. Jordan was pretty determined to do it himself. Josh and I offered minimal assistance, and Sam picked up a paint brush and pretended to help for the picture below. We used acrylic paint which worked really well. Oh, and those spiky things coming out of his head? Those are nails we had to stick in to keep the poster board from collapsing under the weight of the paper mache. In hindsight, we probably could have used paper mache for the head and face, and then added the headdress later, since it was already white. Make sense? (You know, for when you decide to build your own pharaoh.)

The finished product? I'm pretty impressed with how well it turned out.

It only freaked me out a little when I walked into my kitchen in the middle of the night for a drink of water and saw a head staring at me from the corner.

All in all, it was well worth the effort to help Jordan complete the project just as he wanted. He was so proud, and so excited to turn it in. It was fun to see him get creative about the "how" of what we were doing. And also, it made him happy. Which makes me happy.

Afternoon Chaos

2012-09-27T12:45:00.003-04:00

My husband called me yesterday afternoon and asked me how things were going.

"Everything's great," I replied. "The chores are all done, I'm starting dinner, everyone is still alive and I've only said one swear word, so all in all, a good afternoon."

Heh.

So, my afternoon groove? I totally can't find it. School dismissal at the elementary school is twenty minutes later this year than it was last year. (3:10 instead of 2:50) People, I know it's only twenty minutes but it is completely throwing off my afternoon. After picking up the littles, then picking up Jordan, it's near on 4:00 before we are home. After the kids do their chores and their homework, which holy cow, is taking forever for Jordan cause I guess sixth grade is where that sort of thing starts, and I nurse the baby and try and get someone (Anyone? Please? Anyone?!) to practice piano, and wade my way through the colossal meltdowns that my two year old has every five minutes for the last half of her day because she is chronically sleep deprived, then try and get dinner going while holding the baby that has suddenly forgotten how to take naps because he's used to sleeping on his belly but now he can roll over so he gets to his back and then just lays there like a turtle, wondering why he's so uncomfortable... I COMPLETELY run out of steam. Then dinner winds up later, and bedtime winds up later, which does nothing to help the sleep deprived toddler.

I'm thinking I need to change some things around. Like maybe I could prepare dinner in the morning so I don't have to worry about it in the afternoons. Or maybe I'll just spend my afternoons in the bedroom eating chocolate covered strawberries and ignoring the chaos in my living room. Okay, maybe I don't mean that last part. Seriously though... I've got to take back the hours between 4 and 6 PM. Seeing my eight year old stand with her hands on her hips and say, "Mom. YOU just said a bad word."? Not my finest parenting moment.

One of my favorites, by Destinee Blau Photography

It's all good though. There are so many things about my afternoons that I love. If I focus on those, it feels easier. I love, for example, seeing my bigger kids help Henry with his homework. Their love and attention bestowed on him so openly is one of my favorite things about having a big family. I love how willing Lucy is to recognize a need, and help, even if she isn't asked. That girl is often the only reason stuff goes smoothly around this place. If she hears Ivy having a meltdown and knows that I'm holding Jack, she instantly comes running. She'll hold the baby. She'll straighten up. She's a rock star. My boys are willing helpers too and I mean no slight against them in praising their sister. But Lucy? There is a natural grace about her--an awareness that I can only explain by identifying her as a female; a born nurturer, already in tune with the needs of those around her. I make a conscious effort to make sure Lucy never feels burdened or pressured to help unnecessarily. She is, after all, not quite 9 years old. At the same time, she is so happy when she is with her younger siblings. She is one of my greatest blessings. What else do I love? I love watching Jordan do his homework, independently and willingly. I love that he enjoys school and is willing to put forth the effort. I love watching Sam build and create and invent, something the he NEVER stops doing. I love hearing the sound of the basketball bouncing against the side of the house. I love the laughter that floats up from the trampoline.

You know what? Even though I started this post feeling a bit grouchy, now that it's coming to a close, I think maybe I do love the chaos of my afternoons. It's loud and hard and crazy, but also, it's us. And I love us.

My oldest and my youngest, the first and last. Love these two boys. And love them together.

********
And also... a great company called Simply Bags just sent me a wonderful customized tote bag to try. It's a beautiful orange-y autumn color, with strong canvas handles and a roomy interior. It's perfect for groceries, for hauling library books to and from the library, for packing a lunch for the park, or for any other thing you're sure to need a bag for when you're a Mom. I love mine and am so happy to try it out. Please do check out their website and see if their is a customized tote that would work for you.

Here's my bag. My crappy photography hardly does it justice. Those are my initials
there on the front. The wonderful orange color makes me want to take it outside
and fill it with leaves from my front yard. Would that be a weird thing to do? And also,
I totally had to spend five minutes cleaning off my stairs so I could take this picture.
I just thought you should know.

Date More, Divorce Less

2012-09-21T01:20:00.000-04:00

Obviously, I realize it isn't actually this simple. But it was the argument I used for Lucy last week when she was lamenting the fact that her Dad and I were heading out for a date and leaving the kids behind with a babysitter.

"But I MISS you when you're gone," she argued, with her sad, pouty face.

"I miss you too, sweetie," I said.

Okay, so that part was pretty much a lie because even though I LOVE her deeply and intensely with a mother heart that is big and grateful and so happy to be with my children when I am with them... This Mamma needs to get out every once in a while. When I do? There is no missing of the children. There is MUCH loving of the husband. Which is the point I was making to Lucy.

I told her that for her Dad and me, staying in love is a serious business. And it's a business that affects our entire family. We don't go on dates because we don't like being with our children. We go on dates because we LOVE being with our children. Both of us, all of us, together.

With so many kids and so much to do, it's easy to forget that there's a man I fell in love with long (or not so long but a still completely appropriate amount of time) before we became parents. But dating helps. (Dating and kissing in the kitchen, especially when those kisses are punctuated with your children making gagging noises behind you.)

So we DID go on a date last Friday night. We went to eat incredibly delicious and authentically wonderful tacos (corn tortillas, fresh cilantro, fresh onion... apparently this is the way you are supposed to eat tacos, say my friends from Mexico. Sign me up, please and thank you.)

After dinner, we were excited to try out the one and only place still open in our little tiny town after 8 PM. Not really. I think there are maybe four places still open after 8. But this place was new to us so we were excited to give it a go. There was live music in the corner, homemade desserts available for order, and much to my delight, a collection of board games on the back shelf just begging to be played.

So we sat and listened to good music and ate cheesecake and drank an incredibly good milk shake and remembered that yes, actually, we are in love and all this work that we do and all this time that we spend growing children is worth the effort because it's him and me and me and him and together, we're pretty stinkin' fabulous.

And also, I thoroughly kicked Josh's tail at a game of Scrabble. I just thought you might like to know.

He hasn't given up here, but by this point he
already knew it wasn't good.

That's the word right there, on my second turn that pretty much
won the game. Deviates. And also, that cheesecake was really good.

The Kindling, by Braden Bell

2012-09-14T08:44:00.000-04:00

So, my kids are still getting used to the idea that their Momma is a (soon to be) published author. It's not really real to them yet (Um, or real to me yet either. It's all the waiting that's tripping us up, I think. But it IS still happening. So yahoo!) so they frequently ask questions like,

"Mom, are you SURE you're going to get your book published?" (Positively Sure.)

"Mom, are you SURE you really wrote a book?" (I remember every word...)

"Mom, are you SURE you didn't make it all up?" (Maybe I dreamed the whole thing?)

Our most recent conversation was all about my author friends. See, my friend Braden Bell sent me a review copy of his book, The Kindling. It's a book geared toward the middle grade crowd so I was excited to let my kids read it. When Sam finished the book, he came up and told me he really like it. I told him I'd be sure to let Braden know. He replied, "You mean, you KNOW the author?! As in, he's your friend?!" I felt like a little mini-celebrity just for having exchanged emails with the guy. It gives me credibility I think, since it's taking a while for my own book to hit book store shelves, for my kids to know that I'm friends with people whose books are already available. (You know. Since they can't seem to stop questioning the validity of my own publishing process... "Mom, are you SURE they're actually going to pay you for your book?" Appreciate the vote of confidence there, kids. Really. I do.)

ANYWAY, the entire point of this post is to tell you that three of my children, ages 8,8, and 11 all read The Kindling and loved it. At one point, I asked Jordan, who is most definitely the toughest critic, what he thought of the book and he said, "It's Awesome!" Of course, I read the book too. It's not generally a genre I read, but since Braden is a friend, (and because I know he will be just as courteous when my book comes out even though I have no idea if he generally reads women's contemporary fiction with a hint of romance) and because my kids all enjoyed it so much, I couldn't say no. Guess what?! I liked it too!

The Kindling is a quick paced, adventure packed magical journey that kids are sure to enjoy. That sounds a little like a canned statement, but I promise it's true. I loved that the book had clear delineations between good and evil and spoke openly about how evil can make you feel. More intuitive (read: older) readers will pick up on the parallels of good vs. evil in their own lives on their own. The concepts aren't so complex though that younger readers wouldn't get it if a parent were to lead a discussion on the subject. And I think it's a great book for such a discussion. The book is fun enough that it's worthy of being read for nothing but the entertainment value. But if a book can make your kids think about good and evil and what it really means, AND be entertaining? You can't beat that.

The other noteworthy thing about The Kindling is it's full cast of intelligent, kind, well respected adults. Obviously the kids have center stage, but I appreciated the presence of adults the kids looked up to, loved and respected. I'm weary of shows and books that make adults look like morons all the time. It was refreshing to see kids openly admire the teachers/parents/parent figures in their lives.

So. The Kindling is available for purchase right now this very second. You can learn all about the book, the author, and find out where you can buy your own copy by clicking on this link, right here.

The Kindling, by Braden Bell

Oh. My. Mess.

2012-09-13T10:16:00.000-04:00

So I was sitting in the living room nursing Jack when Ivy comes running in from the bedroom.

"Mommy!" She shouted. "I all white."

Oh my, was she ever.

Okay, really that first picture does nothing to show how "white" she really was. Let's get a closer look, shall we? Pretty much her entire body looked like this. Arms, legs, belly... anywhere she could reach on her own.

It wasn't hard to figure out where she'd been sitting.

Again, terrible representation of just how much lotion was smeared all over my bed. That jar of expensive (but crazy effective, so if you've never tried it and you have a kid with eczema you totally should) California Baby Calendula Cream was pretty much FULL. So, yeah. My bed is going to have awesome skin for years.

I wanted to be annoyed, but seriously, she was so cute telling me about what she'd done. All I really wanted to to do was take her picture. So I did. This girl? I'm pretty much in love with her.

And also, Jack says Hi.

And he thinks you're funny.

Empowering vs. Enabling

2012-09-12T12:05:00.000-04:00

Last night Jordan had a bit of a homework crisis. After a busy afternoon and dinner out, it was after 8 PM before he was able to sit down and start his work. I don't generally like for it to be put off that long, but meh. Life happens. So he sat down to do homework and I sat down to fold laundry and all was right with the world. Except then Jordan realized that two of the notebooks he needed to complete his homework were still at school. And also there was a form that I had to sign by the following morning that was also still in his locker.

Grrrr.

I admit. I was a little annoyed. Jordan is a 6th grader. He doesn't have THAT much stuff to remember, does he? (Maybe he does?) Sixth grade is a big year. He's got a planner and a locker and is old enough now that teachers don't really hold his hand when it comes to making sure he's got what he needs when he needs it. As I sat there looking at his distressed face, I knew I could make a lesson of the moment, insisting that he would simply have to suffer the consequences from his teachers the following day.

And then I thought of my own Momma. I thought of the times she'd brought the lunch I'd forgotten to the high school, or retrieved the folder I'd left in the back of the van and brought it just in time for me to turn in my senior research paper. I remember her staying up late to help with papers and projects. I remember her driving and driving and driving some more to get her kids where they needed to be and help them do what they needed to do. My Mom? She always had my back.

That's not to say she didn't encourage and insist that I stand on my own two feet. She did, and I learned. But I knew that she was there to help me succeed. You know, Jordan's a pretty spectacular kid. He's a kid that helps with his siblings and helps with the yard and keeps his room clean. He's a kid that is sensitive and kind and so very good in so many ways. He's a kid that deserves to succeed.

It took a little bit of creativity to get his home work assignments complete. A generous friend texted us pictures of the math assignment Jordan had left at school (you gotta love modern technology!) and he stayed up extra late to retype the Memoir he'd been working on (and left at school) for language arts. Finally, I agreed to make an extra trip to the school the following morning, sending the smaller kids to school with their Dad, so we had enough time for him to grab the form from his locker and bring out for me to sign before school.

You know what? I don't want to be a helicopter parent. I don't want to swoop in and take control and deprive my children of the opportunity to grow and learn about truth and consequence and the realities of life and the necessity of being responsible. I had a conversation with Jordan that said as much and told him that if he continues to forget his homework, I won't be so willing to help. He DOES need to take care of things on his own and I know I CAN'T always rush to the rescue.

But I also know that at 11 years old, it's not fair to expect Jordan to be perfectly responsible all of the time. He's still learning, still working on thinking about the important things without being distracted by the not so important things. That doesn't mean I should be doing his homework for him. (duh.) But I DO want him to know that I got his back. I want him to succeed and I want him to know that, to trust that I'm in this game for him, with him, every step of the way. I want to empower him, without enabling him.

I fear as he gets older that's going to be much easier said than done. How do we know as parents when to be involved and when to step back? Because surely sometimes the stepping back is what gives our children the opportunity to grow, yes? I'd love to know your thoughts on the subject, most especially if you're in the "I've already raised my teenagers crowd."

When I Tell you About the Time I Thought Ivy was Lost

2012-09-09T14:44:00.002-04:00

I lost Ivy.

For the longest and most agonizing five minutes of my life, I was certain she had wandered into the woods and fallen into the lake that sat nestled in the mountains just behind the cabin where my family was staying. Kids were everywhere. Excited to see their cousins, they were running up and down the hallway, around the outside of the house and then back in again. It's hard to explain the feeling that possessed me the moment I realized that Ivy was no longer among the other children. Logically, I knew that she couldn't have made it very far on her own.

But I wasn't thinking about logic.

All I could think of was water. The lake was so close and she was so small and it was turning so dark so quickly. What if we didn't find her? That's all I could think. What if I never found my baby girl?

Of course, we did find her. My brother-in-law, having found her at the edge of the driveway and not wanting to leave her alone, took her along on a walk down a path that wound through the woods, then eventually circled back around to the lake. The path took them just far enough away that for several minutes they were unable to hear our frantic cries as we shouted Ivy's name into the trees surrounding the cabin. But then, he did hear us and I ran and ran and found them, and hugged her, and punched him and willed my heart to slow down.

Sometimes I am astounded at how deeply the roots of my children go. Pushed in deep, they are tangled and twisted and worked so thoroughly into my heart that they are me, and I am them. That's why I was so scared when Ivy was missing. I knew that if she were to drown in that lake, I would be drowning too. When my children are hurt or scared or discouraged, I feel it, keenly, intensely, desperately, even.

It's hard. It's hard because life is hard. It's risky to love so completely, to open your heart to others when in a moment, just a brief moment, everything can change. People can get lost or get sick. People can make choices that pull them away from us. Sometimes people can leave us for no reason at all. When I think about losing these pieces of my heart, I don't want to do it. I don't want to open myself up to that risk. Except, now it's too late. They're in there already and reality requires me to accept the possibility that while life is generally good and wonderful and joyful, it is also full of sadness and pain and loss.

It wasn't but five minutes that Ivy was missing. It was nothing, nothing when you think about what could have happened, what might have gone wrong. But it was enough to remind me to thank God for every single moment I have with my children, to hug them tight and kiss their faces and remember that their presence is a gift that should never be taken for granted.

The Kitten

2012-09-05T22:35:00.000-04:00

So, little known fact... I'm allergic to cats. Not seriously allergic. No hives or swelling or respiratory distress--just enough irritation to make my jaw line itch, and my nose to get a bit sniffly and sneezy. The frustrating thing is I grew up with cats. My parents gave me a kitten when I was 8 years old that I loved ever so much. She slept on my pillow and draped herself across my neck and was wonderful in every possible way. I wasn't allergic then, but something about moving away and having babies (perhaps?) triggered something and now... they make me itch.

This is why it makes perfect sense that I drove thirty minutes on Monday to a sweet lady's house that was giving away free kittens. And then I brought one home.

Her name is Juliet. The kids call her Jules.

Seriously, people. She is so worth a few sniffles.

I've done my research and feel fairly confident that since I didn't have the allergy as a child, if I expose myself slowly (as in, as the kitten gets bigger and grows more fur) I'll recondition myself and develop a kitty tolerance. Or so I hope. Because really.

My kids love this kitten. My husband loves this kitten. Even my DOG loves this kitten. They've been curled up together in the leather chair all day. It's the sweetest thing ever. The BEST thing about this kitten is that she passed with flying colors my requirement that all adopted pets come to my house already house trained. (I deal with enough mess as it is, thank you very much.) So, yay for adorable cuteness. (And for Claritin.)

Not for the Faint of Fart

2012-09-04T17:39:00.001-04:00

Earlier today, Ivy came walking across the living room with something in her hand. I should have been more prepared. She was, after all, stark naked from the waist down. It should have been a clue that I should have been more careful when she pushed her little hand into my face, mere centimeters away from my nose...

"Look, Mommy!" she said. "I pooped!"

Yes. Yes she was holding a ball of poop in her hand and yes, she did nearly smear it into my face.

I'd like to pretend that I have many wonderful and amazing things to tell you since I've blogged so little as of late. I'd like to tell you that I've been on trips and written chapters and chapters of my next novel. I'd love to show you amazing pictures or tell you heartwarming, witty stories.

But really, the poop story summarizes my reality right now pretty well.

I just knew you'd want to be a part of it. So, you know. Your welcome.

I'm pretty sure Ivy is ready to potty train. But you know what? I'm not ready. You know the parents that believe potty training is like the Olympics and the earlier there kid is trained the smarter they must be? (Insert a condescending voice saying, "All my kids were potty trained by the time they were 18 months with NO accidents" right here. Then call that voice a liar because anyone that says that? TOTALLY LYING.) Um, yeah. I'm not like that. I know I COULD potty train my kids at 2, but it just seems like when you wait until 3, it's faster, easier, and involves far fewer accidents. Seriously... if you wait until almost 4, all you have to do is throw the diapers away and say, "DUDE. Use the pot like the grown ups." They'll look at you and say, "Sure, Mom. Can I borrow the car next weekend?"

I'll admit... I used to be one of those parents. I used to think that surely there must be something wrong with my "maybe I'll NEVER use the potty" kid who shall remain nameless because I don't want to embarrass him but whose name rhymes with Shmenry. But then he turned five and started school and guess what? He's totally fine. Smart, even. He even uses the bathroom at school! By himself! The moral of the story is don't stress if your kid isn't potty trained, especially if they aren't even 3 yet. No, that's not the real moral. The real moral of the story is that Ivy is taking her diaper off and bringing me her poop in her hands and I am so completely not in the mood to deal with it.

I'm sorry. Were you thinking about having a baby sometime soon? And I've just completely ruined it for you? Maybe a gratuitous baby shot will help you feel better....

courtesy of Destinee Blau Photography

Good? Need one more?

courtesy of Destinee Blau Photography

I knew that would help.