Ever Have One of Those Weeks?

Have you ever had one of those weeks? Maybe a little like this?

Monday: You need to go pick your child up at school during a tornado warning. Actually, it's the extended warning. You were going to let her wait it out because her little brother was scared, but once the extension was added you decided to go get her (the tornado was nowhere nearby) since they would not even be putting her on the bus until 5 pm and then she would have another 40 minutes or so before getting home. It is a torrential downpour and you are all soaked to the skin and stripping the moment you set foot in the house. (Hooray, more laundry! Not.)

Oh, yes, did I mention that it's your birthday? There's no dessert because you didn't make any. You ask your husband to clean up since you made dinner. He puts the left over food away but leaves the dirty dishes in the sink (which was really what you meant for him to do but weren't smart enough to specify in your request). You realize you need to be more precise next time.

Tuesday: Your kid swipes 3 Hot Wheels cars while you are shopping at Kroger -- and you don't realize it until it's time to check out. By then, of course, he has torn open the packages. So you buy them, force him to pay you back, and charge an extra dollar for emotional duress.

In grocery shopping-related news, you are annoyed that today was the last day that your Kroger will be doubling coupons. Boo!

You go home, put the groceries away, transfer laundry from washer to dryer, change your clothes (can't wear the grocery shopping ensemble for yardwork!), and ask your four-year-old to help you apply sunscreen to your back (because it's over 80 degrees already and you are now wearing a tank top). Then you pop in a Disney film and manage to get the lawnmower out of the shed, mow the entire lawn (just a hair shy of an acre), and then put the lawnmower back -- entirely on your own! (Take that, husband who said he didn't think you could do it.) You later realize you have probably been duped. He knows you hate being told what you can't do!

You go to bed kind of miffed because hubby has asked you to stop and buy ice cream after your evening meeting at church. You are kind of tired but oblige because he has a sore throat. (You're cool like that even though he didn't buy you ice cream on your birthday.)

Wednesday: The same child has a tantrum the following morning at Walmart because you won't buy him -- wait for it -- another Hot Wheels car. So he runs off screaming like a banshee and you chase after him through approximately 15 aisles of the store before he slows down and you can finally grab him by the collar of his shirt. And then you wonder if wearing the skinny jeans and cute ballet flats was really the best choice for shopping with a four-year-old boy, which is starting to seem like more of a competitive sport each day.

Later, you step into the garage as you are headed out side to play "hardball baseball" with your boy. (Clearly, he has energy to burn off.) The moment you set foot out the door, you slip backward, nearly falling. (Thankfully, you do not get hurt. The floor of the garage is concrete, after all!) On closer inspection, you realize that you have stepped in a pile of dog poo. IN the garage. And by the way, you were still wearing the cute ballet flats, which aside from not offering much in the way of traction, are now coated in a layer of smeared dog poo. You are wondering why you have a dog...

To top off the day, it is your night to work the dinner at church. After 2.5 hours of running like a made woman (there were not enough hands!), scarfing your own dinner, and eventually stealing a potty break, it is over. You go to retrieve your little dude from the nursery (where they eventually had someone to help out, which is good, 'cause he started out in the kitchen with you, which for obvious reasons was not good). At this point, he smiles at you angelically and asks, "Mommy, is there any food left?" Um, yeah, you just spent several minutes packing it all up. Also, you have officially lost "Mom of the Year" status. That is reserved for people who remember to feed their children.

In other news, this is the second day this week that you have had to wash the cover from one of the couch cushions -- because a certain child has peed on it. (Hooray, more laundry! Not.) You are convinced that if you could just get all of the people and animals in your household to do their business in the correct location, your life would suddenly seem so much easier.

Thursday: As soon as you get out of the shower, you discover that your son has wet the bed. Only he wasn't in his own bed -- he was in your bed. You don't have a plastic sheet on this bed, obviously, so that means that when you strip the bedding you find a puddle of urine on your mattress. You head down to the laundry room to start a wash load, nearly tripping over a pile of in front of the laundry room door. It turns out that your other child has also wet the bed. (Hooray, more laundry! Not.) Next, you sprinkle baking soda all over your mattress and cross your fingers that it will sop up the liquid and get rid of any odor. You remind yourself that it could be worse -- at least one child wet her own bed and not yours!

After you are in bed (which now has fresh sheets, at least), your husband informs you that he read online that your daughter's school is doing away with Spanish and art. He tries to make you feel better, saying, "She still has you for art." Obviously, this is not the same. She loves those special classes. You have trouble getting to sleep because you are upset -- not just for the kids to miss out on these classes, but also for the teachers who may be losing their jobs.

Friday: Your son just pooped his pants for the fourth time this week. (Hooray, more laundry! Not.) You wonder how much diarrhea is considered "normal" and debate whether or not to call the pediatrician's office. (It's always tricky to find the right balance between being that mom -- the one who calls too often for every little thing --and that mom -- the one who never takes things seriously enough.)

Well, you make a decision and call the doc's office. He isn't having diarrhea, the nurse tells you. He's constipated. Well, okay, that makes sense. Not really, but kinda sorta. Anyway, you hang up and are immediately informed by your son that he has pooped his pants. Again. So make that five times this week. (Hooray, more laundry! Not.)

A letter comes home in your daughter's Friday folder confirming that there will be no Spanish or art classes next year. They are, however, offering some sort of before or after school art club. You still don't see how that makes up for cutting the programs!

Later, your son tells you that he has forgotten to lift the toilet lid, and so he has peed all over the bathroom floor. Actually, compared to the other potty accidents you have dealt with this week, you really don't care. At least he was in the bathroom attempting to do what he was supposed to do.

At bedtime, you are faced with two tired and cranky children. It turned out that it was a bad idea to go out to dinner to belatedly celebrate your birthday. Also, that big chocolate chip cookie for dessert was a huge mistake. Don't they know that you're supposed to bake them all the way through? Ugh. Everyone had a tummy ache. Your husband informs you that you didn't need to eat your whole piece. Right. Like you considered not eating the chocolate to be an option.

Feeling worn out, you turn to your faithful blog for a nice venting session. (Here you feel the need to add a final note that this was meant to be tongue-in-cheek. You lead a very blessed life, and happen to think that you are funny, even if nobody else may agree. And, your husband is pretty great most of the time. You don't want people to think that you have no faith in him, but like every normal person you occasionally feel peeved at him -- this week more than normal!) That said, you pray that the weekend of double birthday parties goes much more smoothly than the rest of the week!

I've been Deceived (and There's a Dead Fish in My Purse)

Yesterday started off as a great family day. We had the last swim lesson, and we had promised the kids way back on the first day of class that they would earn an ice cream treat at the completion of the five-week session. So, we went to Dairy Queen and had Blizzards -- for lunch! (We had never had ice cream as a meal before, but it made me feel like a pretty cool mom.) Then, on the way out of the mall, we were passing through the sporting goods store and Logan wanted to ride the escalator. So we did. Up and then down. Just because. I went home on cloud nine, absolutely convinced that we were the most awesome parents in the world.

It turns out that this may not be all that accurate.

Let me back track a bit and mention that on Friday, Mia's first fish, Bluey, had gone to the big fish bowl in the sky. (If you're keeping track, this meant we only had him for four days.) Of course, she was very upset, and I was frustrated. I thought we had done everything correctly. We had set up the tank last Sunday according to the directions given by the kid at the pet store and then had gone back the next day to get the fish. He was happy for about a day and then he started to look bad, and then he looked worse, and then by Friday morning, he was barely hanging in there. I prepared her for the worst and dropped her at school, returning later to find that Bluey was dead.

I called the pet store, trying to figure out what the problem might be so that we could fix it before plunking another betta into the tank. The guy on the phone said bring in a water sample to have the pH level tested. So, I did that Friday night and he said the pH level was actually good, but there was another issue: the nitrite level was way too high and he said nothing could have survived in that water. (Correct me if I'm wrong here, but wouldn't this have been good information to give someone before her kid spent her own money to buy a fish?!) Then he told me to take out about 1/3 of the water in the tank (our well water) and replace it with spring water. (Again, shouldn't they have told us this in the first place?!)

I told Mia I would get it sorted out, and we went back on Saturday afternoon. (Remember, this after the swim lesson, ice cream lunch, and escalator ride that had me feeling like Super Mom so I was feeling cautiously optimistic.) Fortunately, I was also thinking ahead a bit and I took both the dead fish (with receipt, for exchange) and another sample of water, just to be safe. Turned out that the water was still problematic, so it was good that I thought to have them test it again. (The only downside was that I then had a dead fish in my purse.) We returned home, and Mia was weirdly okay with still not having a second fish. She has taken this whole thing better than I have, so maybe I am doing something right with this parenting business.

Later that day, things took a turn for the worse.

I was busy with something when I noticed that familiar odor coming from the living room. (And no, it wasn't the dead fish. He was secure in his Ziploc bag inside my purse.) "Logan," I asked, "Are you poopy?" "Yes!" was his immediate response. Wonderful, at least he was honest. This is progress. At this point I am just hoping to have him fully toilet-trained before he is ready to head off to college.

So, I carried him into the bathroom to get him cleaned up, at which point he informed me that it was diarrhea and it had been running down his legs. The. Whole. Time. He got a bath, and so did the the floors.

That was exhausting. I was pretty sure that things were going to be looking sunny again after dinner, though, because we had purchased Frozen while we were out shopping. We were going to have a family movie night! (This is something I am told that good parents do.) We had not actually seen this movie before (and yes, I realize that we are practically the only people in in the known universe who hadn't -- except for some people in some obscure place like Timbuktu or something.) Anyway, our kids tend to be scared by new movies, and thus, we hardly ever go to them.

I was sure it would be fine, though, because ALL of America had told me so. "It's such a great family movie!" you all gushed. "Your kids will love it!" you claimed. "Full of positive messages!" you declared. Lies. All lies. I've been deceived, people! 

The kids were TERRIFIED, and not just once, but numerous times. In truth, the actual plot of the movie is very intensely frightening at times. While I will agree with you folks about the positive messages, I have to say that they are rather mature themes, and really are more appropriate for older kids. That said, who cares about the positive messages when each parent is holding a crying child (one of whom is half-hiding behind a couch cushion because he simultaneously wants to watch and doesn't want to watch) and making him or her to endure in order to get to the happy ending?

I went to bed feeling like crap because I had forced my kids to watch a scary movie because everyone else said it was okay. (And, also, I had just received a permission slip in the Friday Folder because the first grade teacher is planning to show it to the class this coming Friday, and I wanted her to have the experience of seeing it with us first!) What kind of messed up peer-pressure parenting is that?

Now, back to that dead fish in my purse... The Sunday school teacher told me after class that Mia announced, "My mom has a dead fish in her purse!" (Luckily, she has a good sense of humor and found this amusing, adding, "I love how brutally honest she is!") She noted that Mia had spent most of the time diligently working on a card that read, "Dear Blooeye the fish, I am praying for you! Love, Mia." I couldn't help but think that she should have invested some prayer power into Bluey II.

After church, we took a third water sample to the pet store after church, and I was relieved to hear that it was acceptable. (I did one thing right, at least.) Mia finally has her replacement betta, and nice orange fellow aptly called Orangey.

{What? You didn't expect a picture of the purse fish, did you?!}

After getting Orangey acclimated and then released into his new home, I returned down stairs and discovered that Ritzy was pulling things out of my purse -- including that Ziploc bag containing the remains of Bluey -- now not so fresh since we had made multiple trips to the pet store just for water sample testing. Thank God that dumb dog didn't figure out how to open the bag. (And God bless my child who let me unceremoniously flush the poor thing who apparently never stood a chance of survival.) I had dealt with enough messes for one weekend!

Morals of This Tired Mom Rant Story:

1. Don't believe everything you hear! (Be it movie recommendations, or how to properly care for a betta fish. "They're really hardy," means squat if the water is uninhabitable.)
2. Dead fish should not be kept in one's purse. Or, if you must keep a dead fish in your purse awaiting "burial" at least keep it out of the dog's reach.
3. Being a mom is hard. I think this bears repeating.

3-Ingredient Homemade Sugar Scrub

This week is making me a teensy bit stressed out and it's only half over. Mia has a new pet, Bluey, that we brought home on Monday. Remember what it was like to have a newborn baby? How you constantly kept checking to make sure the baby was still breathing? Well, I have a newborn now, too, except my "baby" is a betta fish and at least a dozen times in the past couple days I have checked to make sure that he was still kicking -- I mean, swimming!

Then there was yesterday, when Logan announced, "I pooped my pants!" (Darn! He was doing so much better lately, too.) Of course, this was right as we were about to head down to the bus stop. And, of course, the bus was running early for like the second time all year. Yes, that wild woman running down the street holding a little boy upright, neither of them in hats or coats despite the never-ending winter weather... That was me.

Fortunately, I was able to take a nice relaxing bath after the kids were in bed. I soaked in some homemade lavender bath salts and then I pampered myself some more with this skin-softening sugar scrub that I made a few days ago. After that, I nearly felt like a new woman. Having smooth and soft knees, elbows, and heels feels really great, and I can't help but hope that the weather will turn soon and I will get to show them off a bit more!

When my friend Jaci shared this recipe for homemade sugar scrub that she had guest posted on The Blessed Nest, I knew I would have to give it a try! (Thank heavens I did. It's just one of those simple but wonderful indulgences that keep this mama from losing her mind.) This is super quick (think under 5 minutes!) and easy to pull together -- with ingredients in your kitchen!

The only item you may not already have is the essential oils. For this batch, I used orange essential oil purchased from a nearby health food store. You can also buy essential oils online. Here's how to make your own little bit of heaven in a jar.

{Pretty Bow + Label = Easy Gift Idea!}

Ingredients:

• 3 cups white sugar
• 1 cup + 2 tablespoons oil (I used EVOO.)
• 35-40 drops essential oil (I used orange.)

Directions:

1. In a good-size bowl, combine sugar and oil. (I like extra virgin olive oil.) Stir until well-blended.

2. Add essential oil of your choice, and stir some more. I used 40 drops of orange essential oil, and I found this to be nice for several reasons. First, it is one I already had. (Others were tea tree, lemongrass, lavender, and peppermint, and orange just seemed to fit with this homemade beauty item.) Orange essential oil is relatively inexpensive. It smells lovely, and I think most people will enjoy the refreshing citrus scent. As a added bonus, it goes well with the color achieved from this particular brand of olive oil I used. (The color of your sugar scrub may vary according to your ingredients.)

{Freshly Mixed Sugar Scrub.}

3. Store in air-tight containers. This makes enough to fill about 4 half-pint mason jars, perfect for gifts! I just added a ribbon and a simple hand-made label to the top of the jar.

4. To use sugar scrub, rub into skin and then rinse off. If using it on your hands, you may want to do it over the sink. For other parts of the body, apply in the bath or shower. 

Note: I've noticed that the oil starts to seep to the top of the container after a few days, so you may need to mix it up before each use. This is easy and quick to do with your hands -- although a spoon would probably be better to help prevent any contamination.

Back in the Running!

Good news, everyone! I am officially back in the running for Mom of the Year. Yesterday, I figured out that if I arranged the grilled cheese sandwich slices in a pyramid shape and then nestled fruits and veggies into the compartments, the little dude would nearly make it into the "Clean Plate Club." (Not that I ever force the kids to eat everything, but you get the point, right?) This was huge, like 3-point-shot-from-the-half-court-line-nothin'-but-net HUGE. Go, Team Mommy!

{Mommy shoots and scores! Everyone wins!}

To make the pyramid, first cut the sandwich in half on the diagonal to get two triangles. Set one aside and cut the other in half to make two smaller triangles. Place the large triangle upright, with the flat side as its base. Then, set each of the two smaller triangles flush against the big triangle, so that the flat cut edges serve as the bases and the sides that rest against the large triangle. It should look like the two small triangles are pieced back together, with the other sandwich half dissecting them. This sounds slightly complicated as I am trying to explain it, but it is truly simple!

Luck under Pressure

Generally speaking, we don't make a big deal out of St. Patrick's Day. We have a few decorations that get put out at the beginning of the month. Most of the family will wear something green on St. Patrick's Day. Occasionally we do a craft or make a special treat, but nothing has become a tradition for us when it comes to March 17th.

So, you can imagine my surprise when one excited little girl clambered into my bed yesterday morning, inquiring whether or not the leprechauns had come. Huh? I didn't know this was something I needed to make happen. I've got the Santa act down pat (except for that one time) and I am becoming a pro at finding fun (not naughty!) new things for our Elf on the Shelf, Coconut E. Butterfly to do. The Easter Bunny always visits our home each year. Our newest special friend, the Tooth Fairy has even put in a couple of appearances.

But leprechauns? They're not really in my repertoire -- although I did make rainbow cupcakes for St. Patrick's Day a couple years back because Mia kept asking about leprechauns and wondering when they were going to bring her some gold. At least then she had given me some advance notice so I could come up with a plan! This time, she gave me no warning that she was expecting leprechauns. She simply believed that they would show up and cause mischief at our house because they had done that last year in her kindergarten classroom.

Well, one thing was for certain. There were not going to be any shenanigans! If some leprechauns did happen to come to our house, they were not going to make any big messes for me to clean up. (Remember, Coco doesn't do naughty things because that sets a bad example.) Why would I make my life unnecessarily harder?

I thought about this off and on throughout the day. I alternated feeling guilty for not making a bigger deal out of St. Patrick's Day and feeling like I shouldn't have to make a big deal of it and that maybe it was okay to let it slide because if I did make a big deal, then it would become an expectation to always make a big deal. (See, being a mom is so hard! There's always something to feel guilty about and blow completely out of proportion.)

At the end of the day (Think 5 minutes before we walked down to the bus stop!) guilt won out. Logan was busy eating a snack, so I grabbed the green paint and ducked into the bathroom where I dashed off two little "leprechaun foot prints," using my fist and finger tip. It didn't seem like quite enough, but I was not about to make a whole bunch of foot prints. I didn't have the time, and it would have violated my no-BIG-mess/no-shenanigans policy.

Then, I realized I had a couple small items set aside... that were probably meant for Easter baskets, but I'll deal with that later. Next to the leprechaun prints, I quickly set an Angelina Ballerina Uno game (from a garage sale) and a Lightning McQueen pencil pouch (clearance find). All that was left to do was wait for a lucky little lass and a lucky little lad to discover what the leprechaun left for them. And, speaking of luck, I was lucky that I was the only one who noticed the green paint on the cuff of my sweatshirt!

{Quick, simple, and cheap solution to an unusual problem.}

When in Doubt, Eat Chocolate

In case any of you were wondering, Why hasn't Meg updated her blog in a few days?... I have created a list of excuses reasons. In no particular order, they are:

• Two words: snow days. Oh my word, am I ever sick of these! Ten for this school year -- two this week --and it is still officially winter. In other words, I am not exhaling yet...
• The dog had surgery this week and she is trying to make me feel guilty. See Exhibit A:

{Fur baby guilt trip}

• I already have a heaping load of guilt on my plate, thankyouverymuch. Everybody else is talking about how they are signing their similar-aged kiddos up for kindergarten, and we are redshirting Logan. He truly is NOT ready, but still, it makes me feel like I have somehow failed.
• I was honestly avoiding my blog for a bit because I was thisclose to writing a snarky post about how much it stinks to be the classroom volunteer who counts and sorts the Box Tops. I do try to keep it positive around here, but I just have to show you this Exhibit B and I think you may understand why I am going slightly bonkers and will never again volunteer for this job. EVER! 

{Why would anybody tape these to a random piece of paper -- front and back -- why?!}

• I've been kinda busy coordinating meal deliveries for a couple of mamas in my MOPS group. Note, I am not complaining about this, just stating a fact. It is part of my job as hospitality coordinator, and it's one of the few things that has made me feel useful and good this week. So there's that.
• I will do just about anything for my children. This now includes scooping a rabbit carcass (and assorted innards) out of the road immediately in front of our house, tromping through the huge drifts of snow in the back yard, and burying it under a mound of snow behind a tree -- all so that when Mia gets off the school bus, neither child will see any evidence of the Easter Bunny's demise.
• The time change is kicking my butt. (And if I ever meet Benjamin Franklin, I will be sorely tempted to kick his butt! I think all the moms will understand.)
• I am doing 40 Bags in 40 Days as my Lenten sacrifice. Truthfully, I have not given up anything for Lent in years. I used to do this in the BC (Before Children) era of life, but since doing 5+ years of pregnancy and breastfeeding, I have a hard time wanting to give up anything. I am making pretty good progress -- only missed one day -- and I have completely sorted through both kids' wardrobes and already given a bunch of things away! So, this worked out well as a way to purge things I don't need without having to give up chocolate, and let's face it. If you just read all that junk I just unloaded up there, you can probably guess that I have been hitting the chocolate.

And that brings me to the happy point of all this. Chocolate. Mia was bummed last night because Brett told her that it was Pi Day, and I had not made a pie. (Obviously, I was tied up with all that other stuff, but how do you get a seven year old to understand that?) 

{Chocolate Strawberry Pie! Isn't it pretty?}

I went shopping and got a few things to pull together a pie today, but I wasn't really sure what type of pie I wanted. I had gotten both a graham cracker crust and a chocolate graham cracker crust plus strawberries. I was waffling between making strawberry pie or making chocolate pie. Then, this phrase popped into my head, When in doubt, eat chocolate! Yes, of course, chocolate was the way to go. 

After I made a batch of chocolate mousse, I realized that it would not be enough to fill the pie shell. Disappointed, I turned to Brett and asked now what? His suggestion was to add strawberries, (They are the bottom layer.) which made for a tasty and beautiful pie. (Prettiest I've ever made!) Perfect! I love when he comes up with the perfect solution to my kitchen quandaries. We're a pretty good team -- not unlike chocolate and strawberries.

{Somebody finished hers and then sidled up, hoping for more.}

Notes to self: This recipe for whipped cream came out better than previous attempts. Might be the stand mixer, or the use of powdered sugar over granulated sugar. Or maybe I just rocked it! Next time, try sandwiching strawberries between two thin layers of mousse.

Winter Blah Blah Blahs

I just need to rant a bit and get it out of my system. Feel free to check back in later if you're just here for the crafts and my usual sunshine. I'm fresh out of those at the moment.

Yep, this mommy is dead tired of this winter. It. Needs. To. End. The sooner, the better.

I am tired of the cold. I cannot remember another winter when it has been so cold for so long. It got above freezing, what, twice this calendar year? Yes, it was nifty to make frozen bubbles, but this whole polar vortex thing has gotten quite old. The wind chills have been unreal. I am sick of school being canceled due to extreme cold. I am sick of being cooped up inside due to extreme cold. Thank heavens we have natural gas because I know there is a propane shortage, and I should not complain. Even though we're running the furnace higher than we ever have before, at least we are keeping warm while we are inside. Mostly. We've run through a lot of hot chocolate mix...

I am dreaming of a tropical vacation. Heck, I'd even take the kids if it meant getting away from this winter that never seems to end.

I am tired of the snow. Really, three more inches? And the snow blower is broken again?! We just had it fixed. I shouldn't even complain since I have barely done any of the shoveling, but seriously, we have had snow, snow, and more snow for two months straight. While it was fun for a while, and it was cool to finally get a snow ice cream recipe to turn out properly, I am over the snow.

The children are over it, too. They keep asking when spring will come. Even Ritzy is sick of winter. Our poor little dog hardly knows what to do. She gets stuck, so she hardly ever leaves the porch or the deck any more.

Snow, snow, snow! But no packing snow. We have not made a proper snowman all winter long, which is frustrating. I kept hoping that it would happen, but at this point, I am so sick of snow, I hardly care any longer. I've been around the house putting away all snow-related decorations that were still up: snowmen, snowflakes, the snow-covered Christmas village. I can't stand to look at it any longer!

Most of all, I am sick of things being canceled due to snow -- too much snow, blowing and drifting snow, snow that makes the roads treacherous. I have driven into two snowbanks this year, which is two more than I have driven into in my entire life prior to this winter! This means that there are two parts of the front end of my van that are in less than perfect condition now. (The most frightening part was when my van was hanging out in the road, Logan was in the back seat, and the school bus was coming. Thank God there were three gentlemen who came along and helped me out.) I have also driven through two intersections because my van did not stop even though I was going slowly and braking. So scary! And, it freaks Logan out when we leave the school, and the van brushes against the ginormous snow mound at least once a week. You'd think he'd be used to that scraping noise by now.

I am tired of the ice. We've had "snow days" that were really ice days. Do you know how much I hate that? They can't play outside when it's icy. And once more, things are canceled because there is no power, so there's more being cooped up. (I should not complain, of course, because we have been blessed with power at our house all winter, but still...)

We are out of salt. Everyone, everywhere is out of salt. It is insane.

The ice is my real nemesis. I have lost so much traction this winter! One morning, after hearing the cruuuuuuuuuunch all the way into town, I knew I had to stop and get the ice out of the wheel wells. So, I parked in the Walmart lot and proceeded to chisel away at the ice chunks -- they were solid, all the way around every single tire, filling the entire wheel wells!

I broke my ice scraper while trying to remove the ice, a casualty of this winter's extreme conditions. The good news is that Walmart had ice scrapers so I was able to replace that, at least. Also, the broken end worked better, anyway, so I'm keeping in case I have need of more ice removal. Yet another casualty of this harsh, harsh winter was my favorite dangly silver earrings. They must have slipped out while I was chiseling away in the Walmart parking lot -- where I may or may not have been the subject of photos or videos -- some weirdo appeared to have had his cell phone on me the entire time. What is wrong with some people, anyway?

I am tired of all the damages. While backing out of the driveway last Tuesday morning, I bumped into the trash can. Instead of flipping down, the rear view mirror snapped off, and is now dangling by a wire. (Brett had taped it back in place, but he bumped it again today, and it is flopping around again.) I don't even know what is to blame exactly. The snow -- driving into snow banks? The ice? The extreme cold? Neither of us could believe that it just broke like that! It's been a rough winter for my van -- and for me.

If you see a YouTube video of a frustrated lady trying to get ice off her tires with a snow scraper in the Walmart parking lot... It might be me. Also, if you happen to find a pair of silver earrings, I am still mourning their loss, and would love to have them back! In the meantime, I am still dreaming of that tropical vacation...

A Request

I have already shared the sad news with my Facebook friends -- several times in fact. The Livingston Parent Journal is in trouble and they may not be printing any future issues! Yes, this is the same publication that has run a few articles for me recently, but please read on to see why I feel compelled to make one last public request on their behalf.

When I became a stay-at-home mom four years ago, I felt lonely and isolated. I no longer had opportunities for regular adult conversation. To make matters worse, our finances were much tighter, making it difficult for me to feel like I could wisely take the children to very events. It seemed like everything had a price tag, and I was worried that the cost was too high.

Enter the Livingston Parent Journal. This FREE publication became my lifeline for family-friendly events in the area, and most of them were free or very low cost! Suddenly, I was connected. We were going places, and the whole family was so much happier. I know that there are many, many other families who are being impacted in this way, and I would hate for them to lose a vital resource -- the Livingston Parent Journal!

I recently read an article about a couple that claimed to have had the first crowdfunded baby, following a successful in vitro fertilization made possible in this fashion. While I am not asking you to help me make a baby, I do want you to consider supporting an important cause! You may be wondering, How can I help? #1 Click here to go to their crowdfunding page. You have until January 31 to make a financial difference. #2 You are, of course, welcome to share, share, share. I've always believed in the power of one person to make a difference, but truly the real power is when many people join together in support of something they believe in. Thanks for listening.

In other news, since we are experiencing another polar vortex, I thought I would also share a picture of something that we tried the last time the temps were so frigid: frozen bubbles! (Yes, it is easy to make a bubble freeze. The tricky part is getting a photo of it!) We used our favorite homemade bubble solution, but I assume any bubble solution will work. In my opinion, it's a whole lot safer than throwing boiling water into the air. Of course, you will need to make sure that everyone is properly bundled up, and that you don't remain outside for too long. Stay warm, have fun, and please consider making a donation to the Livingston Parent Journal!

{Here it is! A frozen bubble!}

What's the Opposite of the Midas Touch?

Today was not my day. The dog threw up on the carpet. Logan peed on the sofa. (Some day, I will tell the story of what a pain it has been to get him fully toilet trained, but that tale will have to wait.) I had a pomegranate catastrophe. (That video I saw a few weeks back in which the guy claimed he had an "easier" way to cut them without having to have your hands in a bowl of icy water... and I thought, must try that. Yeah, let's just say I am glad this worked for him, but it was NOT at all a good idea for me!) Did I mention it was beyond freezing and we were cooped up ALL DAY?

So, obviously, almost all the activities we tried went wrong. I don't know if there is a word for the exact opposite of the Midas Touch, but I think that is what was going on. We couldn't find the bird identification book because I wanted to set up a bird-watching basket, so of course, that would be unavailable. (Although, Mia did make some nice drawings for the cover of our bird watching notebook, so even though we can't tell what we're looking at, at least we're on the right track to having our bird-watching basket...)

I have a brand new roll of finger paint paper somewhere in the house, but it was nowhere to be found. I realized this after I got all the powdered tempera paints mixed up. I had (or attempted to make) four new paint combs (inspired by this). When I got the kids set up to paint on some brown kraft paper, Mia was excited, "Mrs. M. (the art teacher) has some of these!" Almost immediately, though, she was disappointed because my homemade version -- made from two Cool Whip lids -- just wasn't the same. I guess it's one of those "good idea in theory" moments, not a total craft-astrophe, but still it was a let-down. They eventually got the combs to make some scratchy marks in the paint, but it was pretty anticlimactic at that point.

We waited all day -- 8 hours -- for some glue to dry. This was my BIG brilliant idea for the day, the one I was sure would work. I had wanted to do some Styrofoam art prints. Instead of carving out a design like we did before, I thought we could make a relief using glue. Actually, I still think this would have worked. If only the glue hadn't flaked off from the surface of the Styrofoam after it finally dried.

It's a travesty, really. Mia had a cool snowflake design and Logan had some interesting abstract art that would have looked cool with the white paint on blue paper that I had in mind. This is the only one that sort of kind of worked out, although it looks nothing like what we were hoping for. If you squint, you can probably make out the tree and the falling snow, although who can really tell with all that other "snow" all over the sad looking print? This one definitely counts as a craft-astrophe in my book.

{"Christmas Tree" by Mia}

I know what you're probably thinking. Why didn't she just take it easy instead of trying to direct all of the activities for the day? I should probably mention that Netflix was not wanting to stream anything. And, left to their own devices, the kids created a couch cushion/blanket fort, which ordinarily would not be a problem. But once this became a "bounce house" and they were "boinging" down the "slide" repeatedly, I had had enough of that activity. Couldn't I catch a break?!

It's days like this when a mama really appreciates bedtime. So, if you need me, I'll be soaking in a hot bath with some homemade orange bath salts. And, I may also treat myself to some of our Dragonberry Bacardi. I think I've earned it.

What NOT to Ask a Mom

A couple of weeks ago, the code popped up on my van letting me know that my oil life is at 15%. This digital display is super convenient for busy moms who don't have time to keep track of this sort of thing. I got pretty darn sick and kind of forgot about it until I was back to driving, by which point the van was telling me I was at 10% oil life. This was fine, it just meant that it was time to schedule the appointment. I waited until I had some quiet time when Logan was at preschool so that I could make an un-interrupted phone call. Fortunately, I was able to get it in this morning, which was perfect since I had realized that it was one of the few mornings that we weren't already booked.

There were other codes that had popped up on the dashboard display, too, so I knew we were going to be there for a while as they took care of some other maintenance stuff (which I promptly forgot the specifics of just so long as I knew two things: How much? and How long?). I wasn't too concerned, though. He's been awesome at the dealership in the past. (I'm specifically thinking of the loooong appointment last December when after all the other fixes were found and corrected, ended up being a $1400 oil change!)

Just in case it turned out to be a lengthy appointment, I tried to be extra prepared. I had packed three snacks for Logan plus a coloring book and crayons. And there were plenty of toys there to keep him entertained. (I just tried to read my book and not think about how visibly dirty most of them were! Really, I am not a germ-a-phobe. I never used one of those fancy pants shopping cart covers that lots of moms have, and I don't even bother with the wipes for the shopping cart because I am more concerned about the chemicals in them than the germs that the kids might be exposed to. It just bugged me that the toys were so filthy looking.)

Then, an hour and 15 minutes into this morning's oil change (plus whatever), the service technician comes to me and asks, "How are we doing?" My first thought was, Uh oh, what's wrong? This is one of those rhetorical questions that I absolutely hate, because I am always so tempted to give an honest answer, when really I know that is not what the other person is looking for.

I looked around at the toys strewn everywhere in their play area and thought, Well, he seems happy. As you can see he has gotten out every. single. toy. you people have. Besides that, He has scarfed down all three snacks and has been asking for more food. Also, I am exhausted and in case you can't tell, my backpack smells like feces, but don't worry! At least it's not mine.

I tamped down the urge to tell him how we actually were doing. Logan was pleased as punch and completely un-phased by the fact that he had messed his pants -- about 5 minutes after I had asked him (for the umpteenth time) if he needed to use the bathroom. I was feeling less than happy about having to clean him up -- with paper towels -- because I didn't have enough wash cloths. Plus, I had to send him back to playing -- with no socks -- because I didn't have any in my now-stinky wet-dry bag. I did, however, have several short sleeved shirts-- which are of little use to him now that it's the middle of October in Michigan.

And, if that wasn't enough, I was reminded of how he had wet his pants after his soccer game last Saturday, and Brett had been frustrated by the same type of thing: no pants, but plenty of those same short-sleeved shirts! Ooops! Guess who didn't re-stock the bag? And it's almost been a week. The only saving grace is that I had the foresight to grab a pair of jeans before we left this morning, because guess what else was not in that wet-dry bag?

By this point, I was feeling like a BIG failure as a mom, and I was truly looking forward to heading home. However, I realized that something else was up with the van. I lifted a brow and waited for the service man to tell me what exactly was wrong with my vehicle. How much? How long?

So, I forced a smile and told him, "We're fine," even though I wasn't really feeling that way at all. Thankfully, the news was bearable. The tires were just wearing unevenly and needed to be realigned. It was less than $100, which while not good news, was much better than it could have been. Thank goodness for that 15% off all services coupon! He told me it would take 45 minutes to an hour, and I thought, It has to be now. When else will we have time? And, Will I really want to do this all over again any time soon?! 

And, that was when I realized the irony that once again, I was seated in this dealership, reading yet another a self-help book, exactly what I found myself doing the last time I got bad news about the van. Why is it that I am always reading a book on how to be a better wife, a better mother, a better person? And I never see men reading books on these things. I was tempted to ask the guy why that is? Why am I always reading these books? My husband doesn't read these books. And, I bet he never beats himself up like I do.

Well, obviously, I didn't ask him these questions. He would have thought I was nuts if I said all the weird things that jumped into my addled mind after being asked one simple, rhetorical question. Instead, I told him to just get it done!

And then an hour later, he came back to tell me that the van was finished, as I was on my hands and knees trying to pick up some of the mess. Normally, I would not have left that play area looking like a natural disaster zone. Normally, I would have made Logan pick up every last one (or I'd have done it myself). But, I just didn't see the point. I already felt like one BIG mess. That's when I decided to pay the bill and walk away.

So, I drove away in my freshly-washed-on-the-outside, totally-messy-on-the-inside van, which mirrored how I felt about myself right then. I did my best to put on a good show, but inside I was feeling defeated. For some reason my response the phrase, "How are we doing?" didn't sit well with me at all because I felt like a total fraud. On the other hand, just think about all of the stuff I could have said in response to that dumb rhetorical question... He would have been sorry he asked!

On Letting Go

I was really, really looking forward to this day. I had talked about it for months (occasionally with random strangers at Kroger or Meijer, anyone who was within earshot and might appear to care even slightly). As soon as Logan started preschool, I was going grocery shopping WITHOUT KIDS!

So, when his first day of preschool came, it didn't occur to me to be sad. I had spent so long dreaming of a couple of hours in which I could actually hear myself think -- whatever that means. We had done our best to prepare him for school, but little did I know that I was the one who should have been preparing.

The drive to school ended up being more than I anticipated and the whole time I was focused on getting him there in one piece. The fog was dreadful that morning, I was still getting over being awfully sick, and to make matters worse, I had completely forgotten about the detour in downtown (which can happen when one is in a mental fog).

It goes without saying that we were a bit late. Of course, this didn't phase my little dude one bit. He was seriously excited to start school. His only upset that morning was when he learned that he would not get a lunch since he wouldn't be staying the whole day. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?

Not caring about being behind schedule, he ran right in and sat down on the colorful alphabet rug. I was slightly disheartened to not get even a fist bump and I must have voiced this because the teacher told him I needed a fist bump and he obliged before heading back to the rug. I left the classroom feeling deflated. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?

Weirdly enough, that is when it finally dawned on me that my baby was headed off to school. This was the last time that I would go through the first day of preschool. Even though he will always be my baby, he's not actually a baby any longer! Then, I felt a twinge of sadness, the emotion that I hadn't prepared myself for. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore?

Someone once told me that parenting is a process of letting go. I think that this definition is apt because oftentimes the littlest things suddenly take on a monumental quality -- dropping my baby off at preschool for the first time -- but if I stop and think about it with more perspective, it all seems more reasonable, more like something I can take on. All of a sudden, he doesn't need me anymore? 

No! Of course, he still needs his mommy. At four years old, though, he simply doesn't need me to hold his hand when he goes off on a new adventure. While this was very unexpected -- Mia has always been much more cautious of new experiences, a quality she comes by quite honestly -- it's not at all bad. So, he doesn't need me quite as much as he used to. This change is not as sudden as I might have thought. We have worked toward this, taking baby steps toward independence all along the way. If anything, this is my biggest success story as a parent: helping to foster his autonomy.

The funny thing is that it's harder on me, this letting go. Today, as I pushed my shopping cart around Kroger (a regular cart, not the ridiculously unwieldy race car model that I would have been forced to struggle with had my little dude been along), I felt kind of alone. It wasn't the dream "vacation" that I had mentally built it up to be. It was just a trip to the store -- minus the 3-foot-tall dictator whining for a second Dum Dum sucker because he had finished it before we even made it out of the produce department.

While it was a much quieter shopping trip, it took me that same amount of time, and I spent just as much money. (And here I was thinking that I would really up my coupon game without the distraction of my noisy little guy.) As I went past the end cap with all the Hot Wheels cars, I noticed it was quite picked over, and I was reminded of my favorite little boy who had swiped two cars on two separate shopping trips in the past few weeks -- while I was busy fussing with said coupons. As frustrating as those trips to Kroger had been after I discovered the torn-open packages, seeing that display made me smile.

It turns out that shopping without kids isn't all it's cracked up to be, at least not until I get the hang of it. For now, I am just trying to embrace my mixed emotions about Logan getting older. Excitement turned to sadness at the drop of a hat. Who knew that growing up would be harder for the mommy than it is for the little boy?

{NOT a baby, but always my baby!}

My Name is "Mom" (and I am Tired!)

Initially, I was a train-wreck, full of apprehension about my husband's impending business trip. It had been over a year since he had gone away for work, so I didn't remember how smoothly (or not!) things had previously been while he was gone. I did my best to take care of the things I could control and tried not to worry so much about the rest (easier said than done!).

Then, I realized that I would have all sorts of time to myself in the evenings after the kids were in bed. (Okay, maybe not tons more time, but at least I wouldn't feel torn between being a good wife and doing what I want to do.) So, I decided that I would use this time to do some writing, and I even made a fairly lengthy list of potential blog post topics. Yeah!

Or maybe not? This post wasn't on the original list, but sometimes life feeds me other things to write about. Also, sometimes I just plain get sick and don't have time to write. (In case any of you were wondering why I hadn't posted anything in a bit... I was pretty out of it.) Although, for what it's worth, I was drafting this in my head while in a feverish delirium, so I think that has to count for something.

Mommies don't get sick days. That is a sad fact of life. And, unfortunately, I didn't pay attention to my body's signals until it had gotten out of control.

See, the Monday morning before last, I had a dizzy spell and I needed to sit down. I thought That's weird... I'll deal with it.

Then, on Tuesday, I woke up with my left ear aching. That's really weird... I'll deal with it.

I waited two more days. Brett had left for Nashville. My ear was still hurting, but thankfully, I hadn't had any more dizzy spells. I took Mia to school, came home, and started scratching things off my to-do list. Pretty normal, boring stuff. Then, around 11:30, it dawned on me: I am sick! I have another sinus infection.

I tried calling my "regular" doctor, but I couldn't get in. No big surprise there. That's why I had seen an urgent care doctor for the past 5 sinus infections... Yes, I have been getting a LOT of sinus infections, and I really did hope to see the "regular" doctor.

Feeling kind of annoyed, I called Brett's doctor's office since I had been meaning to switch over to them, anyway. Of course, they couldn't get me in either. I had called "too late in the day." I get it. It was nearly lunch time for these office-type workers, so by their calculations the day was nearly done. Not so for this stay-at-home mama who was flying solo. (To be fair, the receptionist kindly pointed out that if I had been an established patient she could have gotten me in at 10:00 -- because time travel is one of the skills that she apparently assumed I possess.)

Having no other options (other than to wait until the following week when they could have fit me in, by which time I would have keeled over), I got Logan into the van and we headed for the urgent care. The great thing about the urgent care is that they almost immediately took me to a room. On the way the nurse chatted with Logan, asking him all of the most important little person questions. (What's your name? How old are you?) He eagerly answered her, "My name is Logan and my mom's name is... Mom."

I told the doctor I was pretty sure I had a sinus infection and he immediately confirmed this fact. "Oh yeah, it's messed up in there." (This was after jokingly accusing Logan of making me sick, and I told him that I randomly got sick so I guess he could be let off the hook this time.) Well, obviously, I don't pay these people for their sparkling bedside manner, but I was in and out in 30 minutes, with a script for antibiotics in hand, which at the time seemed so very important!

Also, Logan left with three Hot Wheels stickers. When the receptionist asked him if he wanted a sticker, he looked over their stash, and quickly replied, "No. You don't have any car stickers!" Of course, I am trying to joke away my embarrassment and his bluntness, saying "Got that? My name is 'Mom' and you don't have any car stickers." Then, she reached behind the desk and actually produced those more desirable car stickers! I was relieved when he then said "please" in order to get the coveted stickers. Lucky little dude -- he made out better than I did.

At the Kroger pharmacy drive-through, they told me it would be at least an hour. We headed to a nearby park and he found some boys about his own age to play with. I did my best to enjoy the little detour, but mainly I just wanted those drugs.

Once we were able to pick up the Bactrim and Claritin D, I was relieved, assuming I would start to feel better in a couple of days. (Usually, that is how it goes.) Boy, was I wrong this time

By that evening, I was really spacey during soccer practice. I didn't even realize that Logan was crying because I was staring off into space, in the opposite direction.

The following morning, I felt worse, and I was so relieved to hear that a meeting was canceled since there was no way I was making it. Plus, Mia complained that her stomach was hurting -- never a good sign. I called and excused her from school, but after a couple hours she was bouncing off the walls and wrestling with Logan. She begged me to take her to school, and I wasn't sure what to do. I knew that I wasn't really up to driving, but I also knew that I wasn't up to having two kids going bonkers ALL day. I wasn't in my best clarity of mind when I decided to drive her to school.

She was fine for a couple of hours and then I got the call: she had thrown up in the classroom! Well, I felt guilty about that since I had known it could happen. Then, I felt worse upon picking her up. She was crying and worried that I would be mad at her since I had made a point of saying that I hoped I wouldn't be getting a call later in the day. Not my best parenting moment.

Never mind the fact that there was so much pressure in my head by that point, about 1:00, that my eyes were insanely bloodshot. The thought of changing out of my cropped black workout pants and putting on decent looking jeans was just too much. (Normally, I never leave the house in my yoga pants unless I am, in fact, going to work out.) My hair was a frizzy heap, and I was laughing inside because I was just cognizant enough to know that I looked truly dreadful, kind of Bride-of-Frankenstein-ish and that is when I knew for sure that I.Was.REALLY.Sick.

Somehow, we made it to school and back in one piece. Mia changed into pj's just in time for the refrigerator repairman to arrive and finally fix that darn thing. I had plugged both kids into the TV, and I was just trying to stay awake as the guy worked. (I can only imagine what he thought of me and my household, but I honestly felt like the living dead, so I didn't even care.) At some point during that Friday, Brett had informed me that had had caught an earlier flight and he was on his way!!! Refrigerator guy left, fridge fixed, and Brett got home about 3:30! This was awesome because I was barely able to hold my head up by that point, never mind think about fixing dinner...

The next couple days are not really clear to me. I was very, very confused. I was exhausted all the time, but ironically, I was also suffering from insomnia. I had no energy to do anything, and I spent so much time in bed, that my back and legs were starting to hurt. Brett kept using the phrase, "You're going to turn the corner soon," (like I normally would after a couple days on antibiotics) but it seemed like he wasn't really believing it after awhile. I know I wasn't. I just felt so run down.

Then, all of a sudden, the pressure was almost unbearable. I swore that somebody was concocting a Molotov cocktail inside of my skull. Then, despite the improbability, it actually got worse. The Molotov cocktail creator decided to get really cruel. He started drilling behind my left eye socket with a cordless drill. This continued off and on for the entire weekend. I laid in bed with my eyes covered, trying to block out all the light, and trying to avoid the kids, especially Logan, because he was unbearably LOUD. On some level, I realized these were migraine symptoms, but I don't have a history of migraines so it just didn't make sense. Not that I was trying to make sense of it, really. I just wanted it to end, preferably without a brain tumor diagnosis.

On Sunday morning, I woke up feeling almost human. I sat up and watched TV while everyone else was at church. (And, this in itself was HUGE. Prior to that, I couldn't watch TV, I couldn't read, I couldn't write -- Oh, my gosh, I really wanted to write! I guess that solidifies that fact that I am a "writer" -- I missed that most of all.) Then, all of a sudden, the drilling behind my eye was back. Oh, the agony! I was gone for most of the day, and then in a moment of lucidity, I pieced it together: It was the drugs. They were making me worse instead of better. Brett had come to the same conclusion that afternoon, and we agreed, no more Bactrim!

I called the new doctor's office first thing Monday morning. (8:00 -- not 11:00 -- I had learned that lesson the hard way.) Sadly, they couldn't get me in until Tuesday. Brett missed that first day of work, and Tuesday morning, taking care of the kids and everything else for me. Even though the migraine symptoms were under control at that point, the Molotov cocktail was still raging in my head. When I saw the new doctor, he was skeptical that it was a drug reaction, saying it sounded more like a migraine. (For the record, I am not disagreeing, here. I did have a migraine. And it really, really sucked!) All, I am saying is that I am positive that this was a result of the antibiotic. He said they would put a note in my chart to avoid Bactrim in the future, and in the meantime, I was just going to take Sudafed and try to beat the sinus infection without any more antibiotics.

Playing it conservatively sounded like a good plan. It just made it harder for me to get well. I am not 100% better, but at least I am getting back into the swing of things. Wednesday was my first full day without Brett's help, and I had to sit down because cooking chicken nuggets exhausted me (sad, but true!). I know he was relieved to not have to play Mr. Mom any longer, but it was a difficult transition for me. Friday was the first time I got some housework done, and I even made it through the day without a nap (or quiet time upstairs while Logan watched some TV).

Moments of frailty like this remind me of how much I usually take for granted, just being able to do all of the million little things that I do all the time, most of which I don't think about -- until I am no longer able to do them. Mommies really don't have time to get sick, and I hate when I do. I hate not being in control. It really ramps up the guilt factor. On the other hand, I think it's my body's way of forcing me to slow down. Message received.

When Exactly Does It Get Easier?

I often hear other moms say that "boys are easier." I usually just nod my head and smile, all the while thinking, Really? What's wrong with my son then? He is NOT easy! Or, more to the point, What's wrong with me?! I must be really messing up this business of parenting a boy... 

I understand what they're saying to some degree. I have a daughter, too, so I have experienced my share of  D-R-A-M-A -- and we are not remotely near the teen years. So, I get it, parenting a teenage girl likely leaves a mama with a few emotional scars that make parenting her son feel like a breeze by comparison.

And, my day of teenage girl drama will come...

But what about right now? What about these crazy-busy-can't-keep-up-with-him little boy days when I want to tear my hair out because parenting a boy is NOT easy. It's downright difficult and not at all for wimps. The list of mommyisms, things that I have said to my son and that I would never dream of saying to my daughter, is growing by the day!

• "NO! We don't play catch with a rock!"
• "Stop smooshin' ants and come eat lunch."
• "We don't put our foot in the toilet."
• "No peeing in the tub! No peeing on your sister!!"
• "Hey, Buddy, 10 minutes, and then you've got to get pants on." (Because, you know, I don't want the other people at the bus stop to think I'm a bad mom!)

So, been-there-done-that moms, I know you mean well, but I don't agree that moms of boys hold the monopoly on "easy." While these exchanges with my little man were very different from ones I have had with my daughter, they weren't easier in any way. (Seriously, I have never had to tell her not to pee on her brother or beg her to wear pants outside of the house!) Can we please just agree that boys are different? 

While different has meant more dirt in more places (Some of them very odd -- How do his ears get so dirty?), more noise (Oh.My.Goodness. It's like he has only one volume setting: LOUD!), and more phone calls to poison control, it's not better or worse than the experiences I have had with his sister. The main distinction in the relationships between my kids and me is how we relate to each other. I am starting the believe that the saving grace of boys -- those messy little monsters who swing from the curtains and climb on EVERYTHING -- is just how much they love their mamas.

Take yesterday for instance, I was insanely frustrated because Logan would just not listen to me and he refused to follow any directions. He was begging me to take him "somewhere fun," and I asked him how I could possibly take him anywhere when he wasn't being a good listener. While Mia would have just huffed off, he dealt with this in his mischievously charming fashion. He grabbed my head, turned it toward his face, and then he covered me with tons of sloppy little-boy kisses.

Well, naturally I melted. How could anyone stay mad at the little Don Juan? But still, I have to wonder, When EXACTLY does it get easier?

Mommy Holds It All Together (Barely)

I try to not write negative posts because really, who wants to read it? But then, I occasionally think, well, maybe people would like to hear the honest-to-goodness not-so-great stuff and not just the "highlight reel" that I typically broadcast. So, let's be honest here. This week has been loooooooooong and difficult.

Being a mom is really hard. Moms hold the entire family together. When I say "family" I mean the schedules for all children and pets PLUS household (and sometimes yard) maintenance. Of course, the mom also has to keep track of Daddy's schedule (and while this mommy thankfully does NOT need to do all the scheduling for her husband, I do at least need to know his meetings and appointments and have them noted on the master "MOM" calendar), in order to keep the family machine well-oiled and in working order. That is not counting anything that moms need (or want!) to do for themselves. Obviously this is a tall order, and even those of us who have you all relatively fooled by our exterior presentation don't really have it all together.

While I have tried to put a positive spin on some of the more challenging curve balls that life has catapulted my way, there are not too many silver linings that I can find at the end of this crazy week.

Let's start with my refrigerator, which had some crazy electrical or mechanical or whatever mishap that caused the light bulbs to remain on. All. The. Time. At first, this was just annoying. What's with the burning smell in the 'fridge? Then, when the cover actually melted and fell off, it became more obvious what caused the burning smell. However, we decided to just live with it. Who cares if there is no cover over the light bulbs, right? 

Wrong! Whatever underlying problem that caused the melting/burning/cover destruction continued until the point at which the refrigerator overheated and it actually cooked all the food! Yes, I spent Monday afternoon tossing out the contents of the refrigerator: milk, eggs, butter, cheese, yogurt -- all very questionable. Meat? Obviously not a good idea to keep. Condiments? Who knew if they were even safe. I erred on the side of caution and pitched it all.

Now, the silver lining here was that my refrigerator was very empty, which was convenient for giving it a thorough cleaning, likely the best cleaning it has ever seen since I became a mom. And, at least it happened on the day before trash day.

The bad news was all of the phone calls that I have had to make to try to get the darn thing fixed. I won't bore you with the details, but I had to make multiple calls to both the manufacturer and the repair company because ... honestly, I don't know why. These people must not have mothers manning the phones! If they did, questions would get answered accurately and promptly, and repeat phone calls would not be needed.

Tuesday was not too terrible by comparison. Mia was stressed out over school picture day, mainly because she did not want her photo to be taken by a "stranger." I didn't really know how to fix this one other than helping her get her hair right. A stranger? Maybe that was why she had such a weird look on her face for her kindergarten picture? It should be interesting to see how this year's school portrait turns out.

The following morning got off to a frustrating start. Things did not go as planned when Logan and I went in to help out at the elementary school. (Well, I went to help. He went with matchbox cars, crayons, and a coloring book.) Essentially, someone had finished a task that was meant to be done as a group, presumably because she thought that this was helpful. For some of us (okay, just for me, the one who showed up to help with the Little Man in tow -- after I had checked and received confirmation that this would be okay) this was not particularly helpful as he was ready to "play at the school" while Mommy worked. In four-year-old world, this meant a meltdown had to occur in the hallway, while classes were in session. Ugh! Plus, I had to come up with a plan B that was satisfactory him. This mainly included the playground (which we could not stay at for long, because like I said, classes were in session) and a consolation prize: a Dum Dum sucker. (Good thing I usually carry those!)

Thursday was quite educational. I would like to thank my husband for being the person to successfully collect the dog's urine sample, which was needed for her vet appointment. As you may have guessed, this was not a routine visit; it was a special appointment that I'd scheduled since she was urinating in the house. It turned out the be a urinary tract infection, which I was not even aware that dogs could get. Our previous dog, a cocker spaniel, never had any UTIs, but now I have learned that they are fairly common in bichon frises.

So, the good news, is that this is easy to take care of -- just assuming I can get her to swallow the antibiotics. I haven't found any partially chews tablets since yesterday morning, so I think we are okay, but have you ever tried to get a dog to take pills? I swear they have some sort of spring in the back of the throat to eject whatever is not immediately recognized as "food."

And the bad news? Well, naturally I feel guilty. (This had to come up at some point in this long venting post, right?) Yep. Guilty. She was peeing all over the place, little amounts, big amounts, all times of day and night, no rhyme or reason really, for about 3 months. And I was completely clueless that she was in pain. I actually thought she was mad at us for switching her food as we were trying out different grain free formulas to try to help her with her skin allergies (another breed tendency that I was aware of). Poor baby. I had even begun to wonder if she and Logan were conspiring against me. (That's a whole different story, but let's just say that potty training is VERY challenging with this child!)

Of course, that was not the end of the big to-dos. We also had to get through soccer photos. (This meant more irrational worrying about photos being taken by a stranger... and more anxiety about getting her hair just so!) Meanwhile, Mia has been complaining of pain in her legs for the past few days, so she was not all the happy to have to go to soccer practice in the first place. We have determined that this must be "growing pains" since she can't pinpoint a particular area and it seems to be pretty constant. Fortunately, she seemed more comfortable after a dose of pink children's ibuprofen.

We got through the photos, and the soccer practice, despite everyone being T-I-R-E-D. After practice, Logan's coach asked me if I could bring the snack for the game on Saturday morning. I wish she had asked sooner because I had already went to Kroger and Walmart this week and I don't really want one more thing on my plate! So, of course, I said I would. (Mom guilt. It'll get ya every time.) I turned to Brett and asked him to remind me to pick up a snack in the morning. In typical fashion he immediately replied, "Don't forget to buy a snack tomorrow."

Um, thanks, not what I had in mind. Then I told him, "Thanks for being the glue that holds this family together." The coach laughed, and said, "Ahhhh, sarcasm. I know it well." I told her, "I learned from the best!" So, truly, he shouldn't be surprised when I throw it back at him.

So, this morning we made the all-important trip to Walmart to buy soccer snacks. (And furnace filters, except they didn't have the size we needed. At least I don't think they did. That aisle was a bigger disaster than my life at present so who can tell?) In going from the furnace filter aisle to the snacks, I had to cross the desert of clearance clothing, and obviously I had to stop and look for things for the kids.

This is where things started to go downhill fast. Logan saw a shirt that he liked. It was several sizes too large for him and he had a hard time understanding why I wouldn't buy it for him. He tried to convince me, saying, "We can put in in my grow-into bin!" "Yes, we can," I agreed, "but it doesn't make sense to buy a size 8." So, we went around to the other side to look at the smaller clothes, which is about when he decided that it was okay to climb out of the cart. I didn't want him to, and a big hissy fit ensued. After some struggle, I got him back in the cart (not before being embarrassed in front of the other mom whose kid was not having a tantrum) and we made our way over to the grocery section to buy animal crackers.

Logan had another fit in the cracker aisle, and I don't even remember what this one was about. He wanted something and I wouldn't buy it for him, no doubt. I was very glad to leave Walmart.

Now, this is the point when I clearly lost my mind. Against my better judgment, I decided we should stop at the new resale shop in town to look for pants and sweatshirts for Logan. I knew he really needed fall/winter wardrobe items and I had not been able to find them at garage sales or consignment shops because boys wear their clothes! Amazingly, we found several sweatshirts that would work, and I had him help me narrow it down to one pull-over fleece, one hoodie, and a regular sweatshirt. He was even helpful enough to try on most of the jeans I found for him. They were all much too big in the waist, which is the ongoing problem we have, so I just got him the sweatshirts, but as I was ready to pay, he was not about to leave without the wooden excavator toy that he had found.

I tried everything in my repertoire:

• "Say bye-bye to the toy, and we'll come see it another time." (Heck yeah, I found clothes that fit him! We would definitely be back.)
• "Why don't we start a Christmas list when we get home? I'm sure Santa will be happy to know that you like that toy." (Yes, Santa is always happy to have ideas in plenty of time to find good deals.)
• "I don't have enough money to buy the toy. Sorry." (I'm kind of worried about everything else that is costing me money this week, especially the 'fridge and the dog's vet bill.)
• "When you put the toy down and we're out of the store, then you can have a Dum Dum sucker!" (What do you mean you don't want a sucker?! That usually works.)
• "You don't have enough money for this either, but why don't we save up and come back when you have enough?" (Please, please....)
• "Do you want me to call Daddy?" (I was running out of rational thoughts, and really, there is no rationalizing with a four-year-old. He might be able to help!)
• "Okay, you can offer her your dollar and see what she says." (Not surprisingly, this didn't work.)
• "Well, you've left me no choice. I have to yank it out of your hand and run!" (I know the owner understands what I am going through, but still, this is so embarrassing! And, of course, another customer would show up while I am in the midst of this...)

I managed to get out of that shop with only the items I had paid for, but not without several minutes of power-struggle. In fact, he was hitting me as we were heading out the door, so the other ladies may have heard me saying those age-old words, "No. We don't hit. Hitting hurts, and we don't hit..." By the time we got back to the van, Logan was so upset that I couldn't get him buckled into his car seat. We sat for a few minutes while he calmed down, but then I realized that he had taken off his shorts and underwear. Well, this was a first! 

On the way home, I had to pull over because he had managed to pull the box of animal crackers out of my shopping bag using his feet! (That's pretty clever, I've got to hand it to him!) Then, he had gotten a package out of the box and was trying to figure out how to open it when I noticed this in the mirror. Wow!

Despite it all, the tears, the yelling, the utter weirdness -- (Really? He took his underwear off to show me just how angry he was?) -- I am holding the family together this week. While I came close to losing it, I have managed not to let them "see me sweat,". (I finally get that expression now, because believe me, I was sweating after the resale shop incident.) Yes, this mama is the glue that holds her family together --
with a mixture of bubble gum flavored ibuprofen, hair elastics, and Dum Dum suckers --the tools of the trade, apparently.