“WHY is Mommy wearing her scarf and coat and shoes? WHY?!” The question comes from my small man wrestling on the couch with his dad. It’s one of his favorite games to play. “Wrestle with me, Daddy!” He’s as joyful as he gets, rumbling around dictating points and I wins and no, that’s a tie. As happy as he gets so long as we’re all there, together, in the room. “Mommy is going to go finish up some work, Buddy.” The answer send him screaming to the kitchen. “NO! I WANNA GO WIFF YOU! NO! I WANNA GO, TOO!”... Read more
“Actually, I don’t wear boobies right now because I’m a little kid. You wear boobies because you’re a mommy. When I grow up and are a Mommy I will wear boobies, too, right? And OH LOOK my race cars just crashed that was funny. Whoever gets to the side of the closet first wines. Are you still getting dressed? Oh, you’re wearing a red shirt like I am! Look I’m wearing red, too! Did you see? Now can you see? I’m wearing red, too! SEE? IT IS RED? DID YOU SEE IT? RED. RED. Oh, can we do pizza tonight. Now can you play race cars with me? Why are you still... Read more
We were at the dinner table the other night, when the conversation turned surreal:
“No, look, Elmo and Zoey would never get along as a married couple. Zoey is way out of Elmo’s league.”
“You think? I dunno, Elmo is pretty famous. Maybe she’d marry him for the money.”
“Do you think people without kids even know who Elmo and Zoey are? And why do we know this shit so well?”
“You think if you asked someone without kids which Wiggle they thought was the hottest, they’d think we were on... Read more
My daughter came home with her usual bouncy, free spirited, attitude. She usually rolls through the door like an electrically charged ball, so when she flopped through the door with the daily spastic energy I’m used to, I didn’t think to ask if anything could be wrong.
It’s been a few weeks of this now, assuming things are going well, listening to her stories of school, until last week the little girl that usually sits by her on the bus chose to sit six seats back from my daughter. I asked her about it later that day, “Why didn’t Liv sit with... Read more
Wow, y’all. Was that a week or what?
The week started out as usual. Monday morning came with the... Read more
My young son sat on the log outside waiting for snack. The older kids poured out from the Kindergarten room and I see his eyes follow a little blonde girl. He stands up, runs to her and says, “I’m here, Piper!” The little girl, Piper, doesn’t hear him. She has another friend of ours talking to her and my young son is standing behind her. “Here, Piper, I’m here!” I hear Piper ask where he is and finally she hears him, the third time, and turns around. “Oh! There you are! I missed you!” She sits down and pats the seat next to her. My son... Read more
Have you ever noticed how sometimes a certain theme will pop up in your life at one time? Like when you ask a friend for a DVD she borrowed and she mentions that perhaps you let another friend borrow it and that friend, without prompting what-so-ever mentions that DVD and brings it back? It’s like just by saying the DVD title out loud, all of the universe collectively worked with some weird underground energy current and subconsciously effected the mind of your friend?
Or is that just way too new age bullshit?
It’s happened a lot to me. Ok, maybe not “A... Read more
It’s in their genes. The minute a baby cry is heard and a man becomes a Dad, the gene “give your child a ton of shit” is activated. It’s fact, Dads all over the world will suddenly say lines like, “If you eat toothpaste, your butt will fall off.” And, “That makes hair grow on your chest.”... Read more
My daughter was born after 24 hours of labor, both of us struggling to bring her in to this world. I posted photos via moblog in 2004 to update a small and friendly community waiting her birth. They read the day I went back to the hospital sick with infection and read my struggles of post partum depression.
A million years ago, it seems. Or, exactly, six.
We are making homemade ice cream today. It’s part of my clean eating movement. I involve the children so they feel empowered to create their own food.
I feel proud and motherly.
We mix the ingredients and begin to poor the solution in to the ice cream maker but I notice the sugar isn’t dissolving. “What’‘s dissolve mean, Mom?” my oldest asks. Something from 1996 and my chemistry minor comes bubbling to the surface.