Monday, October 31, 2011

Last Minute Writing

I am terribly, terribly, terribly tired and yet I feel like I need to write something today. That's good, right? YES. Especially since I'm challenging myself to take part of National Blog Posting Month on Monday - where I write daily for 30 days - and have a spot on the blog roll for the event. I've written much since I began this specific blog but never every. single. day.

Here is hoping this goes better than the one I challenged myself to last year. Remember? The 30 Day Writing Project that took me 75 days to finish?  Classic Melissa right there.

Following up: We did get our hair cuts this weekend - and I love, love, love it. Abby loves it, too. I'm much too vain and blatantly unphotogenic so you will just have to take my word for it - It looks great. I went from very long hair, to a shoulder length bob and I dig it. Abby went much shorter, and looks even more beautiful, if that were even possible.

 Off to bed - big Trick or Treat Day tomorrow!

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Blogging WON, Internet ZERO. At Least For Tonight.

Oh, my.

Bear with me on this post, I don't know where it's going or where it will land. But, if you stick with it, I'll share a mind blowing surprise. I'm even shocked at it myself. Rules are - you have to read the whole thing or it won't appear! So, no scrolling. And, no I'm not pregnant. There. I ruined that for you, didn't I? You shameful lot.

I don't know what it is in my nature that allows me to aimlessly surf the Internet but, man oh man, it sure is an ever present struggle. I promise you, if I were able, I could watch those YouTube videos of soldiers surprising their families and the "We're going to Disney World!" videos ALL. NIGHT. LONG. If I happened to tire of the joyous, I'd just get started on the gross. You know, the worlds largest pimple, cysts that talk and worms that bury themselves in your brain and then have to be pulled out millimeter by fascinating millimeter. Absolutely disgusting and yet...yet...I can't look away. And, that's just the videos. I only visit the videos when I'm tired of reading valid articles and thought provoking blogs; Only after I can't stand to see one more Person of Walmart, Lamebook becomes too..lame, and FML starts to describe how I am feeling.

I started to fall prey to my mindless surfing when I realized that I do indeed need to write while I drink this cup of coffee. Why? The coffee or the writing? The coffee helps because I am up before 6am every day. The writing is creative and uses my blindingly bright brain. (Extra point for awesome alliteration?)

Let's see.

I had to deal with a very unexpected parenting issue yesterday. I must keep it private, but I also must admit how thankful I am for God's Holy guidance and this mothering instinct He designed. Isn't that awesome? God created us with a very valid, very real, very perceptive, natural instinct that cannot be defined, measured or proven effective. But, if you are a mother, you know it's unarguably real. When you pair that with prayer, faith, and people He puts in your path -  you just know you are doing the right thing, or handling something in the correct manner. I believe that occasionally He will put things in our path that require our all out trust in Him and if you cling to that, you cannot lose. He ALWAYS proves Himself faithful.

And it's just not mothers who are special to Him; God has a special place in his heart for ALL women. Often times people are quick to take certain scripture out of context and leave people with the impression that God expects women to be shrinking violets stuck solely on submission. This is not true, Sisters! God has made us differently than men, obviously, but many times in the Bible, He called women to display their inherent strength, unshakable faith and complete compassion as a way to accomplish His tasks. The same goes for today. God can most certainly use women to further His Kingdom and foster His incomparable love.

One more thing about God and Women - I read an extraordinary book once. Twice, actually. It is one of the few books that have really changed my life and my perspective. It's called Captivating. If I were wealthy, I'd buy you all a copy.

In the book it talks in depth about how uniquely God designed women and His special relationship with us. The author begins by describing a beautiful scene where God - the Master Creator, The Artist above all other - is creating the earth. In vivid and lucid detail she explains the days of creation. When the Heavenly Artist is finished - after He created all else in it's grandiose splendor, He stepped back to review His work. He was not finished. His Ultimate design was not yet perfected. There was something missing. He needed the Pièce de résistance, if you will. And then...He created Woman. The world was now complete.

How special does that make you feel?


It makes my heart EXPLODE and makes me feel so dignified, so lovely and oh so special.

14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well. 
Psalms 139:14 

OK -  Since you read all your words, close your eyes and the SURPRISE! will appear.

I'm getting my hair cut on Saturday. Yep. If you know me, you know this is a big deal. No, A REALLY BIG DEAL. My hair is always the same despite the rainbow of dark colors I've had the past few years.  I'm totally nervous but genuinely excited. I'm seeing the superstar of all superstars and fancy shamncing it up. No random stylist at Great Clips for me - I'm going with the PRO. I'm taking Abby with me too. Wish me luck!

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Innocent, Curious Perusing

I have a guilty pleasure.

No, it's not the one where I buy outrageously expensive coffee. Nor is it how I hide a bag of Reesce Cups in the highest cabinent with no intention of sharing them with anyone. My love for "The Bachelor"?, not the subject of this post. My affection for Gordon Rasmay? Not today.

Let's discuss: FACEBOOK.

More specifically - Facebook STALKING.

Now, I don't mean stalking in the creepy - follow you around, hide in the bushes, watch when you go pee, kind of stalking.  That's scary. And, weird. And, illegal.

I'm also not talking about checking out my Facebook friends - you can't stalk someone who lets you see their page. They invited you in, out of the bushes!

My guilty pleasure is "stalking" a few people I do not know and a few people I do know, but do not have as friends. I shouldn't really call it stalking. Maybe I should call it " Innocent Curious Perusing".  Don't you hate, because many of you do it too! While Wilo finds this all super strange and will surely shake his head at this post, I have a core group of girlfriends who assure each other that this is perfectly normal.

It's ALL Facebook's fault. How many times can it tell me I should be friends with someone I don't know without me giving in and looking? Apparently the 21 friends we have in common find it ok for me to sneak a peak. So why not?

What's this? A public page?


There is this one person who's page I check regularly because it's public and I enjoy the perpetual snarkiness they post. I don't know this person, but they sure do entertain me with their gloom and doom cynicism. I also find their outward, absurd political views completely fascinating.

There is another page that belongs to a virtual stranger, but since we have friends in common, facebook thought we'd be great buddies. This page is also public and I check their page solely because I am a jerk. They are a complete and total disaster and proud of it to boot. Their drunken antics and misspelled, outrageous status updates are like a train wreck that I just can't seem to pass by without gawking.

I have another page at my fast typing fingertips - of someone I used to know - who's life must always smell like roses. They must breed unicorns and sleep on piles of money. I am pretty sure blue birds fly around them praising them of their perfectness with song. So perfect that it leaves me pondering what the heck is secretly wrong with them, because you KNOW there is something.

My favorite people are the ones who put their page on lock down and then leave all 500 picture albums public. What? Seriously? Do you think I am just going to give you the courtesy of NOT looking? You don't want me to see what music you like, but you don't care about showing me your past 7 Christmas mornings?

There are people who air all kinds of drama on Facebook, and then become very snotty about people being "all up in my bizness". TOLD us. You don't want us to see your drama? Don't post it. You don't want people you don't know to look at your page? Don't make it public. Don't want people to see how bald you are now? Make that album private.

Now, I know that this all goes both ways. The "Stalker" can very easily be the "Stalked". I once had a Friend of a friend send me a message that said: "We don't know each other but I think you are pretty funny" and another one say, "Hey, your blog is pretty awesome!". Or another friend of a friend comment on a link.

I also had a mutual friend comment to a real life friend: "Wow, I really wish I was more like Melissa. She seems to have it all together." WOAH. While this was very sweet, and flattering, it made me review my updates - there are no unicorns around these parts! Am I being 'real' enough in my posts?

Maybe there is someone right now who finds this blog as their own guilty pleasure. Or maybe they need to feel better about how messy their children are and they check my page to see what kind of disaster my kids created that day. Maybe they say to their own friends, "Did you see what she posted today???" Perhaps they look in envy at how beautiful my kids are... I don't know. I do know that I open myself up for that.

I am perfectly aware of what I share online. I have a blog for goodness sakes. I invite people to take a look into my life. I'm not upset when people are curious. But, I'm also savvy to knowing that anyone, anywhere can read what I write.

So, take a peak. I left you some blankets and some snacks in the bushes.

Don't want me to look? Lock that page up!

Of course, if you do it now, I will know that you totally read my blog.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

200th Post

My 200th post of 2011!

It's also the 365th post on this specific blog - do you realize what that means? You could read one post of mine, every day, for a whole year! I'm one step away from becoming a desktop calendar! 

No, really. There is dancing in the streets, confetti in the air and all over merriness.

Thank you to every single one of you who has taken the time to read this here blog of mine. I've said it before, but I really mean it. I appreciate you so much. It's probably a good thing that I can't tell who visits this site, because I'd have to come over and hug you.

Creepy? Maybe.

Fun? YES!

Who couldn't use a hug from me?  I'm a fantastic hugger - top notch, even. It's all the love I naturally have, all the trees I've had to practice on, and all those years I spent being a hippie giving them away for free. 

To those of you who have ever left a comment on facebook or sent me a message following a post, extra hugs for you. You have no idea how much it brightens my day to hear from you and how much your support makes me keep writing.

Speaking of writing - a professional writer friend posted this sentiment last week:

Becoming a good writer is 3% talent and 97% not being distracted by the internet.

Clever, no? And, OH. SO. TRUE.

Despite being a very intelligent woman - hearing the simplest, most obvious things really motivate me, sometimes.  Like when I was a 19 year old, unmarried, unemployed new mama. I was complaining to my dad about not having any money. He said, "Melissa - the fastest way to end not having any money is to......GET A JOB."

Shocking revelation, I know!

(I had a job by the end of the week, and then worked for that same company for the next 7 years.)

Same goes with that quote. It's painstakingly true wrapped in a sheet of amusing words. It's straightforwardness has me currently motivated to spend less time pointlessly, though enjoyably, surfing the splendor of the internet, and more time doing what I love.


The readership of this blog has grown exponentially, year over year. That sounds impressive, doesn't it? Albeit true, that's not hard to do because once I had two readers, I had already doubled my audience. While it does not compare to the blogs that draw millions of visits a day and allow their authors to roll in the dough in addition to leading brands begging to sponsor their writing - it is accomplishing exactly what I had intended to do.

Share my life, develop my hobby and connect with you.

So, again. Thank you. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.

And, please come answer your door.

It's cold out here....


Saturday, October 22, 2011

El queso está viejo y pútrido


p.s. Will Encino Man ever STOP being funny?

Clear Communication

I hear him babbling in the wee hours of the morning.

I'm able to pick out a few words, words like mama, night night and ball amidst his chatter.

He suddenly starts laughing hysterically, perhaps his monkey shared a joke or perhaps he is devising his menacing plans of the day.

He becomes irritated. The monkey starts to bore him and his "Mama" chants change tone and become very direct and demanding.

The sun is not yet up but I know it is time for me to rise.

I tip toe past his bedroom to the bathroom, hoping he doesn't see me.

He does.

His cries are now hysterically loud and full of emotion. I can tell his feelings are hurt. He thinks I have forgotten him.

This breaks my heart over the 30 seconds I am occupied. "Hold on, Buddy!" I proclaim. "I'll be right there!"

I peek my head into his room and he giggles, his tear stained face now completely lighting up, his smile taking on the role of the sun who has yet to make it's appearance.

Everyone else is still sleeping and it's terribly early on a Saturday. So I take him into my room, into my bed.

He lays by me, strokes my hair, traces the contour of my face with his little hand. Kisses my mouth and tries to pick my nose. More kisses come and he pats my back.

I am tired but my heart soars. I love him so very much. I want to stop time so that I can relive this intimate heart felt affection over and over and over.

This goes on for a while. His patting slows and his breathing changes. I think to myself - he's falling back asleep!

He reads my mind and instantly proves me wrong. He is up and moving about the room. I pull him back on to the bed and give him a cell phone. He is hip to this distraction and tosses it aside. He's back off the bed, over to the windows, on his tippest of tippy toes trying desperately to see out - he whispers "oww-siiii", longingly. He finds his way over to the dresser and climbs into one of the small cabinets that is just the right size for folded sweaters or a nearly 16 month old baby. I'll pick the clothes up later. He laughs and sings something that sounds very similar to "Where are youuuuuu?", one of his favorite games.

He climbs back on to the bed unexpectedly. He dives under the covers next to me. Puts his arms around me and whispers: "Nigh, Nigh Mama". I close my eyes as he strokes my hair once again. I whisper, "Ok, John, Night Night. Let's go sleepy sleepy".  I peak and his eyes are closed ever so tightly.

I close mine again, hopeful.

He pokes me in the eyes. Both hands, both fingers, both eyes.

He scampers off my bed, over to that dresser. Pulls out a skirt and brings it to me.

I laugh. I believe he is trying to tell me something. 

Off he goes.

It is time to get up.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Mr. Casanova into Mr. Hell No I Won't Share.

About two weeks ago, I started watching a very sweet, very pretty, mostly pleasant little girl baby who is also the same age as John - minus a month. Her mama - a hard working mama of five - had a string of bad luck with daycare and sitters. While we were talking about her troubles, I felt really lead to offer my services to her.

(My services, ha. I don't typically go searching for extra kids to watch, or advertise, or anything like that. But, if someone in my circle need babysitting, I usually pray about it, and then if it feels like a good fit, I open my arms. Seriously, what's one or two more kids destroying things around here, really?)

Week one was pretty good, with the exception of Baby John being totally smitten with Little Girl Baby. Mr. Casanova would rub her back and give her kisses. He was very perplexed by her bottle (as our ba-ba's have gone bye-bye) but knew it was hers and would constantly try to feed her and sneak a drink for himself in there. I was most concerned with him being jealous of the time I would spend loving on another little one, but he was pretty cool about it. When he was bothered, he just climbed on to my lap, too.  They played together nicely, napped at the same time (delightful!) and generally complimented each other. I ended the week hurting myself by patting my back so much, constantly referring to myself as the baby whisperer and sporting my  "I PWN babies!" t-shirt.

Week two started off a bit tricky as early Monday morning, mom of said Little Girl Baby asked if I would still watch her despite her rather uncomfortable sinus infection. I totally appreciated the consideration of being asked, and honestly a sinus infection is basically a cold with nasty super powers. I knew she would require a bit more attention and I was prepared to care for her exactly like I would want my own sick baby coddled.  What I did not anticipate was Mr. Casanova turning into Mr. Stalker Boyfriend and wanting to spend every. single. second. right up in her face and then becoming increasingly irritated when I would move him away from her and immediately returning to wherever she was, whatever she was doing. Give a girl some space, yo!

Last week Mr. Casanova was embracing the "Sharing is Caring" movement and not only sharing but offering up his favorite toys to Little Girl Baby. This week, however, John has rebelled against that hippie nonsense and has dawned his dictator cap. NOTHING FOR YOU! has been his constant mentality. NO matter what it is, if she has it, he wants it and then yanks it out of her hands. One day, I took a play cell phone out of his hands to give back to her at least 38 times and everything "Ohh, look! Shiny!" I tried to offer him was thrown across the room with passion and precision.

He plays with other babies his age every Sunday for a few hours while we are in church, and they love him. He plays nicely and minds his developing manners. But...this...this is his Kingdom, and there is only room for one baby around these parts.

I am not sure what to do with this other than give it time, and give her stolen toys back over and over and over while actively communicating to him. He is only 16 months and I do not feel like there is any effective discipline beyond that at this point. If he was older, I would definitely enforce time out.

I did "try" time out - only once.  I put him on the Naughty Step (our time out spot) and returned him there approximately 567 times in all of two minutes. Each time he got up, he full belly laughed at me. It was extremely futile as there was absolutely no understanding of why he was there or what I was doing. It didn't work because he didn't understand it - to him, we were playing a fun new game!

I have to think, though, with as much comprehension he has demonstrated, there has to be a point where he naturally understands what he is doing is wrong.  Though, at the moment,  I think the best bet is to just be verbal and consistent and not let him get away with grabbing toys out of her hands.

Bu this has me thinking: I have no idea how to "discipline" a toddler. This is completely uncharted territory for me.  I was always working with my top two, and Little Miss Rae Rae of Sunshine has always been really eager to please, and mostly receptive to talking it out - she was having full out conversations at 12 months, so communicating with her has always been very, very easy. Now, once two hit, it became a bit more difficult, but by then she understood why she was being put in time out. 

If I have some free time this morning (I am already pushing my luck as the babes are totally enthralled with their cereals and the beauty of Dora Dora. Trust me, Anarchist John will revolt soon.) I might research what the "experts" say about beginning discipline. In the mean time, I'm gonna throw this up on facebook and see what all you expert mamas have to say about your experiences.


Free time? HA. Totally jinxed myself with even the mere thought of such. I wrote this post over 12 hours ago.

Though, in preparation to finish this, I did search Google a bit, and found that my instincts of just being consistent with my communication and not allowing the behavior to ever be tolerated is what the experts suggest. The articles I read all deemed any further discipline as too sophisticated for this stage of development and focused on communication being key.

What do you think?

We will see how it will continue to transpire and I am sure I'll share.

Wait. No, I won't.


Tuesday, October 18, 2011

One Of My Amazing Creations

Dude. I grew that.

Choosing Our Words

I used to work for a woman who was very well respected, very accomplished but also a wee bit intimidating.  Ok, that's an understatement. This woman could darn near call down the wrath of God with just one look of dissatisfaction. A stern reprimand from her equaled a big, fat, sucker-punch in the stomach and claimed many victims.

(Or so I hear. I was a total overachiever who not only respected her as a professional, but genuinely liked her as a person, so I absolutely made it my goal to not ever have to experience that specific tone....more than once. Once was absolutely terrifying and certainly enough for this good girl. )

Point being - her words and tone could knock the wind out of someone.

Words are more powerful than we often realize. Kind words can often bring us out of the worst of moods and leave us uplifted. Funny sentiments can leave us laughing for weeks to come. Harsh words can deflate and hateful words can destroy. I believe it was Buddha who said: Words have the power to both destroy and heal. When words are both true and kind, they can change our world.

Many times we don't even realize that our words are unintentionally hurting someone. Ways we speak to our children when we are irritated can cause them to momentarily doubt our interest in them. Sarcastic digs spoken in friendly jest can be misinterpreted as true feelings. Seemingly innocent sharing of gossip can devastate a friendship. A white lie can snowball out of control. We didn't set out to hurt someone's feelings, we didn't mean to bruise an ego, we didn't do it on purpose - none the less, our uncontrolled words wound.

There are also deliberate words that are spoken out of malice with the sole purpose to cause pain or stir up dissension or deflate an ego. I can remember proclaiming "I hate you!" to my mother in my anger, hoping to make her feel bad. I recall mean girls in High School who would make snide comments loud enough for their target to hear. A bad mouthing coworker have made many an unhappy workplace.  Marriages have ended over insults. These are words that we choose to say - intentionally, maliciously with complete disregard to our better judgement and total knowledge of the repercussions. Yet...we say them anyway.

This past weekend I received an email in which the words knocked the wind out of me, or punched me right in the middle of this unseemly soft tummy of mine. Those words made me sick. They made me cry. They made me angry. They left me confused and disheveled. It was mixture of the unintentional and of the deliberate causing so much injury. Everything about it was completely unnecessary.

I resisted the urge to sit in a dark room and drown myself into a peanut butter ice cream induced stupor. Instead I prayed, listened to music, cleaned furiously and counted down the minutes until my most trusted confident returned home to comfort me in my sorrow. He listened. We hugged. He fashioned his words to make me feel better. He designed deliberate comments to make me laugh. He watched me eat ice cream and finally, pried the carton of Velvet out of my hands.

I woke up the next morning feeling not so disastrous and having a better, more accurate perspective. I also felt very convicted to examine my own words, my own tone and my own actions. I sought forgiveness for the many, many times I have failed to control my tongue. I need to be cautious of the way I speak to my children or the tone I use with my husband. I need to resist the urge to share a bit of gossip, or even listen to it for that matter.  I need to put some thought into my dialogue before just spouting off at the mouth or acting on impulse.

As I was reflecting, I remembered the following piece of advice I came across a few years ago.

“Before you speak, think: Is it necessary? Is it true? Is it kind? Will it hurt anyone? Will it improve on the silence?”


If each and every one of us took the time to embrace this, can you imagine the impact that would have on the overall atmosphere of our family, our work, our churches, our neighborhoods, our lives?

Yes, Buddha, It COULD change the world.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Words of Wisdom

  I discovered The Beatles when I was about 11. Since then, whenever I am feeling sad or blue or hurt, they just make me feel better.  Like Ice Cream without the guilt.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Under The Weather

 My poor baby is under the weather. We've been fighting off a cold all week and it seemed to get the better of him yesterday afternoon. He wasn't himself, but nothing too terribly miserable. However, today was awful - with a fit of uncontrollable crying where I felt unbearably helpless in my ability to soothe my precious little boy. He has never been in such a sad state. I was very concerned and heavily debated rushing him to Urgent Care. Thanks be to Jesus, he calmed down after a bit, ate something and then became seemingly fine. I am keeping a close eye on him and continuing my prayers, but here is hoping he feels much, much, much better tomorrow. I miss his non-stop antics and gladly welcome the return of his jumping, running and generally menacing ways.

Owww....Boo Boo!

One day last week, John was trying to escape out the front door the very minute Abby was coming in the same way. She swooped down very naturally to pick him up and accidentally caught his cheek with her thumbnail. It unintentionally drew blood, and while he whimpered for a short minute, she sobbed for at least ten. She felt awful; she loves him so very much. I tried to assure her he would be ok, and it has happened to the best of us.

To make matters worse for her, he took this opportunity to learn how to say:  "Owwww" and "Boo Boo" and would point it out pretty much every time he saw her. Every time she looked at him, she expressed her apologies and fought back tears. These pictures are proof he wasn't any worse for the wear, and is still ridiculously cute even with an, "Owwww... booboo."

Saturday, October 8, 2011

Nostalgia Slathered On A Piece of Homeade Bread

When I was growing up - and even when I was a young wifey - I could be caught expressing my desire to move far, far, far away from the small Midwestern town I called home. The town, in all it's niceties, just seemed too small for my tastes. I was certain I was missing out on exciting adventures and well, something better.

For several years, I did move away, though not 3500 miles like I had dreamed but rather 35 miles north, in an urban part of our capital city. It was....ok. I soon found, despite all of the conveniences of living in the city, I missed my small town. Things just seemed to move slower, the people seemed nicer, and the stars were visible, even in the "populated" parts of the area.

When it came time for my oldest to start school, I knew I had to move back. I wanted my children to have the same fondness for the simpler, slower moving minutes of my own childhood. Six years ago, we returned to this part of town.

There are many things I love about living out here, cornfield after cornfield after soybean field, included. One of my favorite things about this area, and this time of year, is the annual festival of Apple Butter Day.

(What? Apple Butter? I don't know even know what that is, let alone it has a day???)

Apple Butter Day is held each year on the second Saturday in October, located in the central part of the town. Apple Butter (a highly concentrated form of apple sauce, produced by long, slow cooking of apples with cider or water to a point where the sugar in the apples caramelizes, turning the apple butter a deep brown...thank you Google!) is churned and stirred in the same manner of the earliest settlers in a tiny, authentic log cabin, served on the thickest of fresh baked bread. Blacksmith demonstrations display an almost forgotten trade from long ago. Crafts abound and typical fair food is consumed. Bluegrass music flows from an old time, wooden stage which shares the spotlight with a old fashioned Spelling Bee.

To put in the most cliche of terms, it's just good, old fashioned fun.

Years ago, I would've shared the day with my own mom and dad following a Saturday morning football game. As a teenager, I would've visited with a group of my girlfriends. In, the later years it would've served as a date. Today, it serves a chance to share the tradition with my own daughters, my best friend and her daughter. 

I love it most for that reason alone.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

15.5 Months: Jesus & Football

You pick your nose with both fingers, you overachiever.

You fearlessly JUMP off of things like tables and chairs, couches and siblings, wearing a devilish grin.

You chase your sisters back and forth through the kitchen to the living room, running and laughing like a complete madman.

You climb enough stairs to make it around the corner and sneakily peak your head around to see if I'm watching, every time. As soon as we make eye contact, you cackle and scamper ever so quickly up the stairs.

You eat everything we do, but sincerely dislike pickles (don't blame you!).

You squeal with delight when you see an apple or chocolate milk.

You're adamant about coloring but relentlessly give in to the temptation of eating the crayons.

You're vocabulary has increased significantly week after week, with the latest words being: Jesus (sounds like cheesus), Football (sounds like bootball) and Hot (you whisper it each time you say it and draw it out to at least 4 or 5 seconds). 

You can point to your head, nose, ears, eyes, mouth, hands and feet, fully expecting me to kiss your toes every time you show me them.

You are currently rebelling against your diaper and twist like some circus contortionist each time I try to change you.

You are the reason people baby proof.

You received your first hair cut.  

You gave yourself a bump on the head for the first time - miraculously there had been no big bumps previous. This occurred due to you jumping backwards off of the coffee table. You Nutball. It scared me more than it hurt you, I think. You also experienced your first frozen food icepack. You looked at me like I had lost my mind and started laughing hysterically at the act of me putting food on your head. Your giggles calmed us both down.

You are my perfect, fearless, smart, silly, wonderful daredevil.

The Lamest Debate - Stay At Home Mom vs Working Mom

Remember all those previous posts where I offer excuse reason after reason as to why I don't blog daily? Just go visit those; I am tired of my same ol' slacking nonsense and can't bring myself to type it once again.

This mothering gig is tough sometimes and occupies most of my time.

Actually, it never stops! And, the payroll department here is disastrously awful because I have yet to receive any actual compensation during my ten year tenure. I mean, I treasure the hugs and kisses and insurmountable love but the last time I tried to pay for my Starbucks with those, mama received some pretty funny looks, drunk accusations and NO coffee. Who knew?

Working mother. Studying Mother. Stay At Home Mother. Single Mother. Married Mother.  Divorced Mother.

Motherhood is hard for all of us. 

Perhaps that is why I am so annoyed by this E-Book that recently hit the interwebz and earlier this week served as a topic in one of my favorite writers' blog. To be fair, I haven't read the entire book (just the free preview), but the very title annoys me so much that I'll never buy it: Welcome to My World: Stay-at-home moms vs. Working moms, 13 bloggers debate who has it easier.


(There is no adequate way for me to inflect all the ugh-ness in the above UGH, but trust me, it's plenty.)

This whole "debate" is so tired, so worn out and so LAME. A Google search of "Stay At Home Moms vs Working Mom's" produces over 173,000,000 matches. Countless arguments as to which side is better, which side is smarter, which side is easier, which side is safer, which side produces Nobel Peace Prize winners and which side produces con men.

Why is there even a "side" when there is no clear winner, no right choice, no magic equation?

When we separate ourselves into these classifications - division is defined where unity should prevail. We alienate ourselves from our greatest support systems - other mothers.

Women who, despite what they do during the day, understand what it is like to love someone so much that it literally hurts sometimes. Women who understand how hard it can be to turn down an exciting invitation to a fancy dinner in lieu of tickets to a first grade musical. Women who understand how easily the needs of others surpass the needs of yourself.

Women who understand simply because we share the same title, regardless of our chosen profession.

The title of MOM.

Stop this debate, yo! Be kind, be friends, be respectful. We all might learn a thing or two, when we stop debating the "other side".