Dear Mother Nature

When did you turn on me? I thought we had an understanding. I would not taunt you or test you, and you in turn, would not make me too miserable. I gave you my expectations; mild winters with little or no ice. Mild summers with as little humidity as possible. I begged to be spared natural disasters. I followed through on my end of the deal. I did not doubt you when you threatened me. When the heat was too much, I went inside. When it was too cold I added more layers. It was all a vain attempt to keep you happy. You are a fickle woman. So fickle in fact, I wonder if you are a redhead. Somewhere along the way, you became jaded. You mock me and my attempts to appease you and your affects. I am through trying to change your bitter ways.

While growing up in Missouri you gave me mostly mild winters with only one memory of an ice storm. This storm provided a welcome break from school for the young girl I was so I let you get away with you mischief. My time in North Carolina provided me extremely humid summers, summers so sticky I often wondered why I even took a shower or left the house. I looked beyond this little character flaw with a mountain escape so close that I could smell the cool air. The floods of Hurricane Floyd did not even deter my love for the Tar heel state. I stayed, after drying out, and continued my love affair. Although my time in Connecticut was short, I thoroughly enjoyed what you offered in the spring, summer and fall. Connecticut’s shoreline is still one of my favorites and I think of my time there fondly. I decided it was best to get out while things were good, and before you turned on me in the winter. As I headed south to my paradise in Florida I was warned of potential dangers. I was informed there had not been a hurricane in that area in almost ten years. Upon arrival to the Sunshine State you gave me a slap in the face with Hurricane Charlie. Once I recovered you decided to test my loyalty to you and my new home. More than five hurricanes in two years and an untold amount of threats I was done. I began to doubt you. I would watch the weather and pay close attention to “the cone of uncertainty” as the meteorologist explained the next one could hit anywhere from Naples to Pensacola. Too much of a risk for a gal with a new baby.

Back in the great state of misery I was told you had been behaving. The winters had been mild and summers were the usual humid sauna. Why did you follow me? I thought we had let bygones be bygones? The unprecedented ice storm in January of 2007 was enough to send me to Arizona. During our move to the new house in February of this year, you thought it was clever to follow last year’s storm with another one that would render us powerless for a week. You evil, evil woman. Now our fair city has recovered and you are back with more. This time the moisture is not in the form of ice, but rain. So much rain in fact, if it did not rain anymore all year we would be well ahead of schedule by two years. The rain overflows in our gutters and causes rivers in the streets. The lakes are flooding and the docks are underwater. Cars are swept away in what seems to be only a few inches. Each time you tell us you are done, and provide a few days of reprieve you come back.

The night Daddy took the video above, the boys and I were hunkered down in the "most inner room of the house" which happens to be a bathroom. Funnels had been spotted only a mile from the house.

I am starting to think you need to get laid.

Dear Mother Nature

When did you turn on me? I thought we had an understanding. I would not taunt you or test you, and you in turn, would not make me too miserable. I gave you my expectations; mild winters with little or no ice. Mild summers with as little humidity as possible. I begged to be spared natural disasters. I followed through on my end of the deal. I did not doubt you when you threatened me. When the heat was too much, I went inside. When it was too cold I added more layers. It was all a vain attempt to keep you happy. You are a fickle woman. So fickle in fact, I wonder if you are a redhead. Somewhere along the way, you became jaded. You mock me and my attempts to appease you and your affects. I am through trying to change your bitter ways.

While growing up in Missouri you gave me mostly mild winters with only one memory of an ice storm. This storm provided a welcome break from school for the young girl I was so I let you get away with you mischief. My time in North Carolina provided me extremely humid summers, summers so sticky I often wondered why I even took a shower or left the house. I looked beyond this little character flaw with a mountain escape so close that I could smell the cool air. The floods of Hurricane Floyd did not even deter my love for the Tar heel state. I stayed, after drying out, and continued my love affair. Although my time in Connecticut was short, I thoroughly enjoyed what you offered in the spring, summer and fall. Connecticut’s shoreline is still one of my favorites and I think of my time there fondly. I decided it was best to get out while things were good, and before you turned on me in the winter. As I headed south to my paradise in Florida I was warned of potential dangers. I was informed there had not been a hurricane in that area in almost ten years. Upon arrival to the Sunshine State you gave me a slap in the face with Hurricane Charlie. Once I recovered you decided to test my loyalty to you and my new home. More than five hurricanes in two years and an untold amount of threats I was done. I began to doubt you. I would watch the weather and pay close attention to “the cone of uncertainty” as the meteorologist explained the next one could hit anywhere from Naples to Pensacola. Too much of a risk for a gal with a new baby.

Back in the great state of misery I was told you had been behaving. The winters had been mild and summers were the usual humid sauna. Why did you follow me? I thought we had let bygones be bygones? The unprecedented ice storm in January of 2007 was enough to send me to Arizona. During our move to the new house in February of this year, you thought it was clever to follow last year’s storm with another one that would render us powerless for a week. You evil, evil woman. Now our fair city has recovered and you are back with more. This time the moisture is not in the form of ice, but rain. So much rain in fact, if it did not rain anymore all year we would be well ahead of schedule by two years. The rain overflows in our gutters and causes rivers in the streets. The lakes are flooding and the docks are underwater. Cars are swept away in what seems to be only a few inches. Each time you tell us you are done, and provide a few days of reprieve you come back.

The night Daddy took the video above, the boys and I were hunkered down in the "most inner room of the house" which happens to be a bathroom. Funnels had been spotted only a mile from the house.

I am starting to think you need to get laid.

Here to Pump Me Up

Who says you need a gym membership to tone up? The boys had their checkups last week. Little Man is now, at the age of three, 40 pounds and 40 inches tall. The Babe, at 19 months is 30 pounds and 30 inches. Both boys are in the 95th percentile for weight and 75th percentile for height.


(This is my "flex your muscles face". Very muscle mag if you ask me! )





You might notice one of my biceps is a smidgen bigger than the other. I have determined that is the arm I carry Little Man. That, or I am imagining it, which is more probable.

I think it is kind of funny when you hear parents talk about how their kids are in the 95th percentile. Why is it that our competitive nature makes it sounds like this is a good thing? Do I really want to have one of the biggest kids? At least both my boys are "shaped" the same way; it is not like I am neglecting one or over doing it with the other.

I do wonder, though, how this affects our children's body image. One more reason I am thankful I have boys, I just don't think the same pressure is there for them as there is for girls. Although I struggle with my own body image issues I know that how I see myself will affect how my boys see me and how they view other women.

Right now, I hope they just see me as a strong mommy. Strong enough to hold them when they are sleepy or hurt. Strong enough to open a new toy that is strapped down like it is on a long trip to the moon. Strong enough to handle life's struggles and teach them about those hurdles. More importantly, strong enough to hold onto them as they grow up and pull away.

Here to Pump Me Up

Who says you need a gym membership to tone up? The boys had their checkups last week. Little Man is now, at the age of three, 40 pounds and 40 inches tall. The Babe, at 19 months is 30 pounds and 30 inches. Both boys are in the 95th percentile for weight and 75th percentile for height.


(This is my "flex your muscles face". Very muscle mag if you ask me! )





You might notice one of my biceps is a smidgen bigger than the other. I have determined that is the arm I carry Little Man. That, or I am imagining it, which is more probable.

I think it is kind of funny when you hear parents talk about how their kids are in the 95th percentile. Why is it that our competitive nature makes it sounds like this is a good thing? Do I really want to have one of the biggest kids? At least both my boys are "shaped" the same way; it is not like I am neglecting one or over doing it with the other.

I do wonder, though, how this affects our children's body image. One more reason I am thankful I have boys, I just don't think the same pressure is there for them as there is for girls. Although I struggle with my own body image issues I know that how I see myself will affect how my boys see me and how they view other women.

Right now, I hope they just see me as a strong mommy. Strong enough to hold them when they are sleepy or hurt. Strong enough to open a new toy that is strapped down like it is on a long trip to the moon. Strong enough to handle life's struggles and teach them about those hurdles. More importantly, strong enough to hold onto them as they grow up and pull away.

Wordless Wednesday

What can happen after just a
few drinks at a Halloween party...

Wordless Wednesday

What can happen after just a
few drinks at a Halloween party...

Slow Down You Move Too Fast

George Carlin's Views on Aging

Do you realize that the only time in our lives we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions. 'How old are you?’ “I'm four and a half! You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key.You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.'How old are you?' 'I'm gonna be 16!' You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life... You become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21 YESSSS!!! But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed? You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone. But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would! So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60. You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday! You get into your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there.. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; 'I Was JUST 92.' Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. 'I'm 100 and a half!' May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

The boys have reached milestones in their aging process. Little Man turned three last week and The Babe is now 19 months! Little Man has changed so much over the past few months; going from timid and somewhat of a talker to an outgoing chatter box. We were at the pool yesterday and he ran off with a friend's daughter and the two of them swam like fish together. They jumped off the side of the pool and held hands while swimming. Don't worry, they had on their swim jackets. He told me he was making a new friend and swam away. When it was time for Caroline to leave, he ran over and hugged her and gave her a kiss. This was a surprise to me because I usually have to beg him to even look at someone to say goodbye. We are making progress.

Little Man is a mean story teller too. This morning he told us that one day our house will be a candy store and we will call Daddy and The Babe "Mr Lopart". He recently told me a story about a mean black bunny that ate dinner with us and a prince that turns bugs into more mean princes to take over the world. Little Man is turning into a little boy. He is so smart it scares me; who taught him to think like this? Why is he the one rationalizing with me? Shouldn't it be the other way around? His current favorite things are the zoo, the pool, watching hippos on YouTube with daddy, and music. The kid is a walking jukebox. Dude Looks Like a Lady, Another One Bites The Dust, anything by Big and Rich. Oh, and this little ditty...

The Babe, being our second and last (hubs provides a nice store front but no longer carries inventory...we had a blow out sale!) thinks he is as big as Little Man. "Anything he can do I can do too" kind of thing. I was pushing him in a little car yesterday when he decided he was done. I was mistaken to think he was going to walk. He wanted to push the car. As I tried to help him through the grass that obviously needed mowing, he pushed my hand away and said "no no mama". Wow. Moving on to the "I don't need you" phase already. Last night The Babe woke up crying around 1am. I settled him down and laid him back in his crib. Thirty minutes later hubs had to do the same thing. Thirty minutes later, I am in his room again. He is leaping for the "big boy" bed next to his crib and saying "bed". I laid him in the twin bed and left, never to hear another peep until it was time to get up. He can't possibly be ready for the big bed! He is still a baby!

The Babe is currently obsessed with body parts and particularly loves ears. He seems to be fascinated with mine and loves to pull my ear lobes. He also loves animals and their "sounds"...check this one out:

The Babe does things at 19 months Little Man never thought of, or that I would never dream of allowing. He fears nothing. The Babe is tough as nails. While the smallest thing may startle Little Man, The Babe just keeps going for more. For instance; The Babe is wrestling with Little Man and bumps his forehead, crawls over to the drawer to start the new game of "pull all the clothes out" and proceeds to smash a finger. he then decides brother needs a good hair pulling. Although none of his injuries bothered him, Little Man went on about the hair FOREVER! The Babe is a little lover too. He loves to give kisses and cuddles. He loves to sit in your lap and look at books. He has never met a stranger.

I have never seen two boys so different and so similar. I love watching them change everyday but just wish they would slow down.

Slow Down You Move Too Fast

George Carlin's Views on Aging

Do you realize that the only time in our lives we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions. 'How old are you?’ “I'm four and a half! You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key.You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.'How old are you?' 'I'm gonna be 16!' You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life... You become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21 YESSSS!!! But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed? You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone. But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would! So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60. You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday! You get into your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there.. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; 'I Was JUST 92.' Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. 'I'm 100 and a half!' May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

The boys have reached milestones in their aging process. Little Man turned three last week and The Babe is now 19 months! Little Man has changed so much over the past few months; going from timid and somewhat of a talker to an outgoing chatter box. We were at the pool yesterday and he ran off with a friend's daughter and the two of them swam like fish together. They jumped off the side of the pool and held hands while swimming. Don't worry, they had on their swim jackets. He told me he was making a new friend and swam away. When it was time for Caroline to leave, he ran over and hugged her and gave her a kiss. This was a surprise to me because I usually have to beg him to even look at someone to say goodbye. We are making progress.

Little Man is a mean story teller too. This morning he told us that one day our house will be a candy store and we will call Daddy and The Babe "Mr Lopart". He recently told me a story about a mean black bunny that ate dinner with us and a prince that turns bugs into more mean princes to take over the world. Little Man is turning into a little boy. He is so smart it scares me; who taught him to think like this? Why is he the one rationalizing with me? Shouldn't it be the other way around? His current favorite things are the zoo, the pool, watching hippos on YouTube with daddy, and music. The kid is a walking jukebox. Dude Looks Like a Lady, Another One Bites The Dust, anything by Big and Rich. Oh, and this little ditty...

The Babe, being our second and last (hubs provides a nice store front but no longer carries inventory...we had a blow out sale!) thinks he is as big as Little Man. "Anything he can do I can do too" kind of thing. I was pushing him in a little car yesterday when he decided he was done. I was mistaken to think he was going to walk. He wanted to push the car. As I tried to help him through the grass that obviously needed mowing, he pushed my hand away and said "no no mama". Wow. Moving on to the "I don't need you" phase already. Last night The Babe woke up crying around 1am. I settled him down and laid him back in his crib. Thirty minutes later hubs had to do the same thing. Thirty minutes later, I am in his room again. He is leaping for the "big boy" bed next to his crib and saying "bed". I laid him in the twin bed and left, never to hear another peep until it was time to get up. He can't possibly be ready for the big bed! He is still a baby!

The Babe is currently obsessed with body parts and particularly loves ears. He seems to be fascinated with mine and loves to pull my ear lobes. He also loves animals and their "sounds"...check this one out:

The Babe does things at 19 months Little Man never thought of, or that I would never dream of allowing. He fears nothing. The Babe is tough as nails. While the smallest thing may startle Little Man, The Babe just keeps going for more. For instance; The Babe is wrestling with Little Man and bumps his forehead, crawls over to the drawer to start the new game of "pull all the clothes out" and proceeds to smash a finger. he then decides brother needs a good hair pulling. Although none of his injuries bothered him, Little Man went on about the hair FOREVER! The Babe is a little lover too. He loves to give kisses and cuddles. He loves to sit in your lap and look at books. He has never met a stranger.

I have never seen two boys so different and so similar. I love watching them change everyday but just wish they would slow down.

I Don't Think So

According to Wikipedia, The phrase Law of Attraction, although used widely by esoteric writers, does not have a consensual definition. However, the general consensus among New Thought thinkers is that the Law of Attraction takes the idea that "Like Attracts Like" and applies it to conscious desire. That is, a person's thoughts (conscious and unconscious), emotions, and beliefs cause a change in the physical world that attracts positive or negative experiences that correspond to the aforementioned thoughts, with or without the person taking action to attain such experiences. This process has been described as "harmonious vibrations of the law of attraction", although used widely by esoteric writers, does not have a consensual definition. However, the general consensus among New Thought, or "you get what you think about; your thoughts determine your experience".

So basically "thoughts are things"; as we like to say in our house. I am a firm believer and have personal experience in changing my thought process and focus to enjoy a specific outcome. I know there are critics out there that are saying I am full of poppycock; that is sounds like a bunch of psycho hooey. All I am really saying is that I recognize when I dwell on a particular idea, whether good or bad, it tends to come true.

For instance, when I was in high school I had a crush on a boy a year or two older than me. By chance we had a mutual friend and the boy and I ended up hanging out regularly within the "group". I was terrified of making an idiot out of myself in front of the boy and would imagine all of the worst case scenarios. One day after school, the boy and I, with a couple of friends were in the parking lot heading to our cars. It was winter and there happened to be some ice on the sidewalk. I bit the dust and landed on what would soon be my fantasy island. The boy, in front of me by a few steps, heard my thud and graciously came to my aid. So my worst thought had come true, at least we were friends at the time and I could laugh it off; in public anyway. I stewed over the embarrassment for days.

Another example: Like most of my readers, I have two feet. Not one is better than the other or bigger than the other. Each have five toes that are usually painted in an effort to feel girly while I dig in the rocks with my boys. Why is it that my vacuum is attracted to my right foot? It never fails that I will run over my own foot or have it run over by the cleaning devil. My poor right foot is not only subject to the vacuum but each time I change The Babe I take a risk. I now make a conscious effort to make sure he had nothing in his hands that can "fall off", or be thrown for that matter, off the table and some how land on the right foot.

A few years ago I started having knee trouble. The first knee scope was an unsuccessful attempt to fix what was later diagnosed as Rheumatoid Arthritis. It took a second flareup and a new surgeon to correctly diagnose me and do another scope. To date, the second operation has been a success. Although my new surgeon had to take more time to clean up the mess I had made for him, I am pleased and experience few issues.

As I look back on certain experiences, I recognize that my thoughts tend to take my experiences in that direction. The boy is a clear instance but the knee was not as easy to pinpoint. I came to terms with the fact that I was putting all of my energy into worrying about my knee and thinking; or preparing, as I like to call it, for the worst. The worst came true in that case as well. At least so far.

What got me thinking of this the last week was how accident prone I seemed to be. First I ran into a push toy and hit my "bad" knee. Big black bruise. The next thing I know I am playing "peek a boo" with The Babe. We are using a big blanket that I pull up in the air and then let it lay on him; you know the game. When we were finished I wrapped him in the blanket to take him to the other room to play with hubs and Little Man. Oops, forgot I moved the toy basket. My right foot is stuck in the basket while the left is trying to find its way over the basket. The Babe and I are no match for the wicked wicker. We fall. Hard. I of course fall on my "bad" knee and wrap it underneath me like a pretzel. The Babe is fine due to the blanket wrapping. Now I have multiple bruises and each day I feel a new one.

I don't think this was something I had been hoping for. So if thoughts are things; who is wishing bad thoughts on me? Who has a voodoo doll with pins in it and a name tag that says "Hello, My name is OurCrookedTree".

Special thanks to my editor A Bun's Life for noting that I in fact have five toes on each foot, not ten as I originally stated!

I Don't Think So

According to Wikipedia, The phrase Law of Attraction, although used widely by esoteric writers, does not have a consensual definition. However, the general consensus among New Thought thinkers is that the Law of Attraction takes the idea that "Like Attracts Like" and applies it to conscious desire. That is, a person's thoughts (conscious and unconscious), emotions, and beliefs cause a change in the physical world that attracts positive or negative experiences that correspond to the aforementioned thoughts, with or without the person taking action to attain such experiences. This process has been described as "harmonious vibrations of the law of attraction", although used widely by esoteric writers, does not have a consensual definition. However, the general consensus among New Thought, or "you get what you think about; your thoughts determine your experience".

So basically "thoughts are things"; as we like to say in our house. I am a firm believer and have personal experience in changing my thought process and focus to enjoy a specific outcome. I know there are critics out there that are saying I am full of poppycock; that is sounds like a bunch of psycho hooey. All I am really saying is that I recognize when I dwell on a particular idea, whether good or bad, it tends to come true.

For instance, when I was in high school I had a crush on a boy a year or two older than me. By chance we had a mutual friend and the boy and I ended up hanging out regularly within the "group". I was terrified of making an idiot out of myself in front of the boy and would imagine all of the worst case scenarios. One day after school, the boy and I, with a couple of friends were in the parking lot heading to our cars. It was winter and there happened to be some ice on the sidewalk. I bit the dust and landed on what would soon be my fantasy island. The boy, in front of me by a few steps, heard my thud and graciously came to my aid. So my worst thought had come true, at least we were friends at the time and I could laugh it off; in public anyway. I stewed over the embarrassment for days.

Another example: Like most of my readers, I have two feet. Not one is better than the other or bigger than the other. Each have five toes that are usually painted in an effort to feel girly while I dig in the rocks with my boys. Why is it that my vacuum is attracted to my right foot? It never fails that I will run over my own foot or have it run over by the cleaning devil. My poor right foot is not only subject to the vacuum but each time I change The Babe I take a risk. I now make a conscious effort to make sure he had nothing in his hands that can "fall off", or be thrown for that matter, off the table and some how land on the right foot.

A few years ago I started having knee trouble. The first knee scope was an unsuccessful attempt to fix what was later diagnosed as Rheumatoid Arthritis. It took a second flareup and a new surgeon to correctly diagnose me and do another scope. To date, the second operation has been a success. Although my new surgeon had to take more time to clean up the mess I had made for him, I am pleased and experience few issues.

As I look back on certain experiences, I recognize that my thoughts tend to take my experiences in that direction. The boy is a clear instance but the knee was not as easy to pinpoint. I came to terms with the fact that I was putting all of my energy into worrying about my knee and thinking; or preparing, as I like to call it, for the worst. The worst came true in that case as well. At least so far.

What got me thinking of this the last week was how accident prone I seemed to be. First I ran into a push toy and hit my "bad" knee. Big black bruise. The next thing I know I am playing "peek a boo" with The Babe. We are using a big blanket that I pull up in the air and then let it lay on him; you know the game. When we were finished I wrapped him in the blanket to take him to the other room to play with hubs and Little Man. Oops, forgot I moved the toy basket. My right foot is stuck in the basket while the left is trying to find its way over the basket. The Babe and I are no match for the wicked wicker. We fall. Hard. I of course fall on my "bad" knee and wrap it underneath me like a pretzel. The Babe is fine due to the blanket wrapping. Now I have multiple bruises and each day I feel a new one.

I don't think this was something I had been hoping for. So if thoughts are things; who is wishing bad thoughts on me? Who has a voodoo doll with pins in it and a name tag that says "Hello, My name is OurCrookedTree".

Special thanks to my editor A Bun's Life for noting that I in fact have five toes on each foot, not ten as I originally stated!

Old MacDonald had a Farm

We are just a few of the animals living there!

The other day I was running errands with the boys. I realized it was getting close to lunch time (and nap time! Woo hoo!) and asked Little Man where he would like to eat. I want to go to Old MacDonald's Mama. See, Little Man calls the golden arches "Old MacDonald's" and since I think it is cute I have now adopted the name for the establishment myself. I think the name seems to fit. Think about it. When you walk in one of these places it is like a farm; animals running around making noises. The smell! Whoa! What am I feeding my children? I try to avoid the place as much as possible but on this particular day the closest one was next to my favorite place.

Prepare yourselves, I think I hear a choir of angles...Drive Through Starbucks. I swear, the woman that thought of this idea had to have children. She is the one that thought of the drive through Dunkin Donuts too, I am sure of it. Only a woman (or a stay at home dad) is smart enough to realize the importance of the drive through. We have to feed them, right? It is the getting them out of the car, one on a stroller that is screaming "walk, walk" while the other is pulling your hand (because he knows we hold hands in the parking lot) just to get to the play area. Forget it, we are driving through!

Back to the choir. I run through the farm to get slop for the monkeys and cruise next door for me. I order my usual and drive up to pay. I normally only splurge for a four dollar coffee when I have enough change in my change pouch, but today was a treat. My mother in law gave me a gift card to use. She received it from a girl at church and since she does not drink coffee, gave it to me! Oh, happy day! I hand the happy guy my card and he asks if I would like a White Chocolate Frap that the car in front of me gave up. I decided I would take it to a friend and begin to dig for change; after all, mine was already paid for so there was no harm. Karma baby. Happy guy then says "no no, it is free". Oh Happy Day!

I am a happy clam drinking my free coffee when I hear The Babe in the back seat whining. Thinking he needs another processed piece of meat from the farm, I turn around to investigate. What I find is not a toddler needing food. I find a young boy with a pair of his mommy's (yes, that is me) underwear on his head. He has one arm through a leg hole and is upset he can not get the other arm, or his head for that matter, through the other leg hole. The only thing I could think of was the undies were hiding in his clean shirt when I sorted the laundry that morning. Ah!

No wonder Happy Guy was so happy. No wonder he gave me free coffee. I will never go to that Starbucks again, or roll down the windows to let the boys talk to the attendant. Thank God it was a pair of my "more appealing" unmentionables.

Men are such animals.

Old MacDonald had a Farm

We are just a few of the animals living there!

The other day I was running errands with the boys. I realized it was getting close to lunch time (and nap time! Woo hoo!) and asked Little Man where he would like to eat. I want to go to Old MacDonald's Mama. See, Little Man calls the golden arches "Old MacDonald's" and since I think it is cute I have now adopted the name for the establishment myself. I think the name seems to fit. Think about it. When you walk in one of these places it is like a farm; animals running around making noises. The smell! Whoa! What am I feeding my children? I try to avoid the place as much as possible but on this particular day the closest one was next to my favorite place.

Prepare yourselves, I think I hear a choir of angles...Drive Through Starbucks. I swear, the woman that thought of this idea had to have children. She is the one that thought of the drive through Dunkin Donuts too, I am sure of it. Only a woman (or a stay at home dad) is smart enough to realize the importance of the drive through. We have to feed them, right? It is the getting them out of the car, one on a stroller that is screaming "walk, walk" while the other is pulling your hand (because he knows we hold hands in the parking lot) just to get to the play area. Forget it, we are driving through!

Back to the choir. I run through the farm to get slop for the monkeys and cruise next door for me. I order my usual and drive up to pay. I normally only splurge for a four dollar coffee when I have enough change in my change pouch, but today was a treat. My mother in law gave me a gift card to use. She received it from a girl at church and since she does not drink coffee, gave it to me! Oh, happy day! I hand the happy guy my card and he asks if I would like a White Chocolate Frap that the car in front of me gave up. I decided I would take it to a friend and begin to dig for change; after all, mine was already paid for so there was no harm. Karma baby. Happy guy then says "no no, it is free". Oh Happy Day!

I am a happy clam drinking my free coffee when I hear The Babe in the back seat whining. Thinking he needs another processed piece of meat from the farm, I turn around to investigate. What I find is not a toddler needing food. I find a young boy with a pair of his mommy's (yes, that is me) underwear on his head. He has one arm through a leg hole and is upset he can not get the other arm, or his head for that matter, through the other leg hole. The only thing I could think of was the undies were hiding in his clean shirt when I sorted the laundry that morning. Ah!

No wonder Happy Guy was so happy. No wonder he gave me free coffee. I will never go to that Starbucks again, or roll down the windows to let the boys talk to the attendant. Thank God it was a pair of my "more appealing" unmentionables.

Men are such animals.

Wordless Wednesday

Just want to make sure no one thinks hubs or friends dress like this anymore. Who am I kidding; they either don't have this much hair or what is left is graying!

Circa late 1980's... it working?

Wordless Wednesday

Just want to make sure no one thinks hubs or friends dress like this anymore. Who am I kidding; they either don't have this much hair or what is left is graying!

Circa late 1980's... it working?

A Jack of all trades...

Happy Father's Day Hubs!

A Jack of all trades...

Fro Me To You Carnival 6.12.08

I love how certain decades define a generation. I call this the "Urban Cowboy Facial Hair Era".


Everytime I see this picture of my father in law I can't help but sing a Micky Gilly song. Mike is too handsome for facial hair, or a cowboy hat, or a furry animal. I am sure the ladies loved it though.

Fro Me To You Carnival 6.12.08

I love how certain decades define a generation. I call this the "Urban Cowboy Facial Hair Era".


Everytime I see this picture of my father in law I can't help but sing a Micky Gilly song. Mike is too handsome for facial hair, or a cowboy hat, or a furry animal. I am sure the ladies loved it though.

Sweet Sweet/The Memories You Gave to Me

Although I normally don't like to, I think it is safe to assume that each generation strives to give their children more than they had as children. There is a constant battle between time and money. We need to work to pay the bills but in the end, what matters is how much time we spend with our children not how much money we spend on them.

Like the good business owners we are, hubs and I reevaluate our business plans once a year. We do the same for our home as well. It too, is like a business; we have titles, responsibilities, and a budget,. Most importantly, we have goals; goals for ourselves, for our boys, and for our family. As things evolve, so too, must our business plan.

We had a change of plans recently. We moved from our 4500 square foot home to a smaller home with just under 3000 square feet. I was thrilled with the move for many reasons. One story to clean rather than two. The boys sleep on the same level as we do. Almost two acres for the boys to explore and play. A pool. A hot tub. Great school district. Oh yeah; a much smaller mortgage.

The smaller monthly payment affords me the privilege of working from home. I get to spend as much time with my boys as they can tolerate. It is not always sunshine and lollipops, but the majority of the time I wouldn't change a thing. I know how lucky I am.

My parents split when I was eight, so my sister and I were raised by a single mother that struggled to make ends meet. Although my mom was not able to stay home with us, I have fond childhood memories. We lived in a suburb of Kansas City and spent many evenings with my grandparents. As I grew up they were like a second set of parents to me. My mom made every effort to make our house the place to be. Her goal was to have me and my sister and our friends have a fun and safe place to hang out. Not only was it the place to be, many times I found friends there when I came home from school or work. My mom was the mom that kids talked to about stuff they were too nervous to say to their parents.

Growing up in the city did not offer me many opportunities to explore the woods but I spent most of my time outside. This was back when you could ride your bike a few houses down tot play and your mom would whistle when it was time for dinner. I remember going on walks to the nearest park with my friends. The park was about a mile away; not sure if I would let my grade school boys do that.

We had a pool in our backyard so summers were wet. I find myself thinking of my mom often as I realize at bedtime, that I am still in my swimsuit. Mom lived in her swimsuit. She would put it on as soon as she could and was in it while she laid us in bed. To the dismay to some neighbors and the pleasure of others, she even wore her swimsuit to do yard work.

As I watch hubs teach Little Man to swim I think of my father. Dad taught me to swim in our pool and would be happy to know hubs is using the same tried and true techniques that made me the fish I am today. Now, if we could only get Little Man to open his eyes when he closes his mouth. I told him to keep his mouth closed so he doesn't drink the water and not only does he shut his mouth but can't seem do to so without the eyes going too. Can't get very far like that.

The best thing about our new house is what I consider my favorite summer memory. I can smell it a half a mile away from our house. I roll down my car window when I turn on our street and the aroma hits me and the summer memories begin to flow. Swimming the the back yard. Swinging in the neighbors yard. Picking strawberries in the backyard. Picking the grapes from the vines in the arbor. Riding my bike. The smell of Coppertone.

This sweet smelling vine lined our fence line and I would eat the sweet nectar as often as I could. There is an art to eating honeysuckle and I have now passed this tradition onto my boys.

Moving to the new house has provided us the opportunity to change our lifestyle. We are getting back to the basics, and if that means my boys get to have memories like mine, who could want more?

Sweet Sweet/The Memories You Gave to Me

Although I normally don't like to, I think it is safe to assume that each generation strives to give their children more than they had as children. There is a constant battle between time and money. We need to work to pay the bills but in the end, what matters is how much time we spend with our children not how much money we spend on them.

Like the good business owners we are, hubs and I reevaluate our business plans once a year. We do the same for our home as well. It too, is like a business; we have titles, responsibilities, and a budget,. Most importantly, we have goals; goals for ourselves, for our boys, and for our family. As things evolve, so too, must our business plan.

We had a change of plans recently. We moved from our 4500 square foot home to a smaller home with just under 3000 square feet. I was thrilled with the move for many reasons. One story to clean rather than two. The boys sleep on the same level as we do. Almost two acres for the boys to explore and play. A pool. A hot tub. Great school district. Oh yeah; a much smaller mortgage.

The smaller monthly payment affords me the privilege of working from home. I get to spend as much time with my boys as they can tolerate. It is not always sunshine and lollipops, but the majority of the time I wouldn't change a thing. I know how lucky I am.

My parents split when I was eight, so my sister and I were raised by a single mother that struggled to make ends meet. Although my mom was not able to stay home with us, I have fond childhood memories. We lived in a suburb of Kansas City and spent many evenings with my grandparents. As I grew up they were like a second set of parents to me. My mom made every effort to make our house the place to be. Her goal was to have me and my sister and our friends have a fun and safe place to hang out. Not only was it the place to be, many times I found friends there when I came home from school or work. My mom was the mom that kids talked to about stuff they were too nervous to say to their parents.

Growing up in the city did not offer me many opportunities to explore the woods but I spent most of my time outside. This was back when you could ride your bike a few houses down tot play and your mom would whistle when it was time for dinner. I remember going on walks to the nearest park with my friends. The park was about a mile away; not sure if I would let my grade school boys do that.

We had a pool in our backyard so summers were wet. I find myself thinking of my mom often as I realize at bedtime, that I am still in my swimsuit. Mom lived in her swimsuit. She would put it on as soon as she could and was in it while she laid us in bed. To the dismay to some neighbors and the pleasure of others, she even wore her swimsuit to do yard work.

As I watch hubs teach Little Man to swim I think of my father. Dad taught me to swim in our pool and would be happy to know hubs is using the same tried and true techniques that made me the fish I am today. Now, if we could only get Little Man to open his eyes when he closes his mouth. I told him to keep his mouth closed so he doesn't drink the water and not only does he shut his mouth but can't seem do to so without the eyes going too. Can't get very far like that.

The best thing about our new house is what I consider my favorite summer memory. I can smell it a half a mile away from our house. I roll down my car window when I turn on our street and the aroma hits me and the summer memories begin to flow. Swimming the the back yard. Swinging in the neighbors yard. Picking strawberries in the backyard. Picking the grapes from the vines in the arbor. Riding my bike. The smell of Coppertone.

This sweet smelling vine lined our fence line and I would eat the sweet nectar as often as I could. There is an art to eating honeysuckle and I have now passed this tradition onto my boys.

Moving to the new house has provided us the opportunity to change our lifestyle. We are getting back to the basics, and if that means my boys get to have memories like mine, who could want more?

Motherhood Stinks

Some friends of mine had a set of twins back in 2004. When the babies were still just a few weeks old, hubs and I volunteered to stay over night with them to give the new mom and dad a much needed break. We quickly learned that what we had thought was a "two for one deal" was more than anyone bargains for. You feed, burp, and change one and then the other needs the same. It is constant with multiples; we did not get a break. We left blurry eyed the next morning happy to be able to go to our baby free home for some much needed sleep. To think, we only did it one night!

When I woke up later the next afternoon I called my friend to check in on her. She laughed and said although she still hadn't showered yet she was having a productive day. I remember hanging up thinking "how hard can it be", "put them in a bouncer and hop in the shower". Oh how naive the babyless can be!

When Little Man was a baby hubs and I were lucky to work from home together. We tag teamed feedings and letting the other sleep. We were able to care for ourselves, each other, and the baby, and still feel like human beings.

As the boys get older and require more attention and entertainment, I seem to need more sleep. This of course, means I sometimes have to decide between much needed rest or taking care of myself. The other day while I was putting Little Man to bed I smelled something. It wasn't my sweet boy because he just had a bath. It was me! In my defense it had been a hot day and we spent the majority of it outside playing and doing yard work. Little Man did not want me to be alone so he quickly came to my aid. He pulled the covers over our heads and farted. He is only three; when and from where do they learn these things?

I am not the only one that is being neglected around here. We have one of those trashcans that has a lid that flips open so when I toss the trash the lid spins around and around. I wonder is the designers of this trash can thought to advertise it with a bonus. "Craving last night's dinner?" "Just toss today's dirty diaper in and get a whiff!" The other day after I threw something in the trash, Little Man walked by and sniffed the air. "I smell something stinky". I guess I need to empty the kitchen trash. Daddy walked in the master bath the other day and asked if one of the boys just pooped. Nope. That would be the trash full of diapers doused in pee.

While we were in the master bath complaining about our stench, we noted it was time to go squirrel hunting. This is the affection term we have for cleaning the drains. I have a lot of hair, so the drains do too. The tub and my sink were not draining well. Not only is this a dirty job, but a little smelly. I can only imagine how bad the drains would be if I washed my hair regularly. Now hubs has to decide between a stinky wife or cleaning the drains less often. This is a struggle for me too; I have long, curly, think, coarse, dry hair. It is not a good sign when my hair is oily. That is the sign that a wash is in order.

I used to tease my younger brother in law about his shower taking habits. I wondered out loud how on earth he gets so much leg when he refuses to bath regularly. His defense was that he frequent the pool and lake, that's like bathing right? So I guess I have taken a page form his book, after all, the pool is open and the lakes are warm. In an effort to save time and find shortcuts I am always looking for ways to find more time for myself and the boys. If anyone has any ideas I am open to suggestion. Although I am not one to paint my fingernails, but a friend gave me a great use for nail polish. It disguises the dirt under my nails while making me feel pretty!

I doubt things will change, I enjoy my sleep way too much.

Motherhood Stinks

Some friends of mine had a set of twins back in 2004. When the babies were still just a few weeks old, hubs and I volunteered to stay over night with them to give the new mom and dad a much needed break. We quickly learned that what we had thought was a "two for one deal" was more than anyone bargains for. You feed, burp, and change one and then the other needs the same. It is constant with multiples; we did not get a break. We left blurry eyed the next morning happy to be able to go to our baby free home for some much needed sleep. To think, we only did it one night!

When I woke up later the next afternoon I called my friend to check in on her. She laughed and said although she still hadn't showered yet she was having a productive day. I remember hanging up thinking "how hard can it be", "put them in a bouncer and hop in the shower". Oh how naive the babyless can be!

When Little Man was a baby hubs and I were lucky to work from home together. We tag teamed feedings and letting the other sleep. We were able to care for ourselves, each other, and the baby, and still feel like human beings.

As the boys get older and require more attention and entertainment, I seem to need more sleep. This of course, means I sometimes have to decide between much needed rest or taking care of myself. The other day while I was putting Little Man to bed I smelled something. It wasn't my sweet boy because he just had a bath. It was me! In my defense it had been a hot day and we spent the majority of it outside playing and doing yard work. Little Man did not want me to be alone so he quickly came to my aid. He pulled the covers over our heads and farted. He is only three; when and from where do they learn these things?

I am not the only one that is being neglected around here. We have one of those trashcans that has a lid that flips open so when I toss the trash the lid spins around and around. I wonder is the designers of this trash can thought to advertise it with a bonus. "Craving last night's dinner?" "Just toss today's dirty diaper in and get a whiff!" The other day after I threw something in the trash, Little Man walked by and sniffed the air. "I smell something stinky". I guess I need to empty the kitchen trash. Daddy walked in the master bath the other day and asked if one of the boys just pooped. Nope. That would be the trash full of diapers doused in pee.

While we were in the master bath complaining about our stench, we noted it was time to go squirrel hunting. This is the affection term we have for cleaning the drains. I have a lot of hair, so the drains do too. The tub and my sink were not draining well. Not only is this a dirty job, but a little smelly. I can only imagine how bad the drains would be if I washed my hair regularly. Now hubs has to decide between a stinky wife or cleaning the drains less often. This is a struggle for me too; I have long, curly, think, coarse, dry hair. It is not a good sign when my hair is oily. That is the sign that a wash is in order.

I used to tease my younger brother in law about his shower taking habits. I wondered out loud how on earth he gets so much leg when he refuses to bath regularly. His defense was that he frequent the pool and lake, that's like bathing right? So I guess I have taken a page form his book, after all, the pool is open and the lakes are warm. In an effort to save time and find shortcuts I am always looking for ways to find more time for myself and the boys. If anyone has any ideas I am open to suggestion. Although I am not one to paint my fingernails, but a friend gave me a great use for nail polish. It disguises the dirt under my nails while making me feel pretty!

I doubt things will change, I enjoy my sleep way too much.

Fro Me To You Carnival 6.5.08

You know what I miss? Camaro Hair. It's not a mullet but a close cousin. You know; the kind of hair that guys with Camaros, Firebirds, and I-Roc Zs wore. These are the guys that listened to Boston, Skynard, and Floyd. They wore cute offs and high tops. Hubs had camaro hair back in high school, and the IRoc. His whole track and field team had it I think. Hubs rocked the camaro hair.

Fro Me To You Carnival 6.5.08

You know what I miss? Camaro Hair. It's not a mullet but a close cousin. You know; the kind of hair that guys with Camaros, Firebirds, and I-Roc Zs wore. These are the guys that listened to Boston, Skynard, and Floyd. They wore cute offs and high tops. Hubs had camaro hair back in high school, and the IRoc. His whole track and field team had it I think. Hubs rocked the camaro hair.

Wordless Wednesday

Hide and Seek...

Yes, that is a lazy susan in the kitchen...

Wordless Wednesday

Hide and Seek...

Yes, that is a lazy susan in the kitchen...

Confessions of a Naughty Mommy

Prior to my current role as Mom I was many things. I have been a corporate career woman, student, and wanna be rock star. I had my share of boyfriends; after all, you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. I did things I probably won't tell my boys about; and certainly wouldn't tell daughters if I had them. If my boys bring home a girl like me I may have to keep a close eye on her. I spent many late nights, and some mornings with friend and foe alike, searching for something more. Prior to being a wife and mother there was an excitement or thrill from "that life". Your decisions only affect you. No responsibilities. Nothing to hold you to one spot. Men chase you. You play along. Now I play new games. Go fish. The "eat your dinner" game. Brush your teeth. Get in the car. Go to sleep. Your turn to get up.

Hubs and I were at the mall with the boys this weekend while it was raining. As we walked and talked I asked him if he thought I dressed my age. The question popped in my head as I watched many people the I thought did not, in fact, dress their age. You know the type; sixty years old, with a see-through gauze top on and bra underneath. How about the pre-teen with inappropriately short shorts and a barely there top.

Hub's response was that he thought I dressed older than my age. Spending the last ten years working for myself from home you will typically find me in a t-shirt and jeans or shorts, depending on the weather. Since my move back to Missouri from Florida I still don't have many closed toed shoes so I am usually in flip flops. Hubs asked where all my cute skirts went. He asked where all my high heels went. I guess I still have them but they are tucked back in the closet collecting dust. These items just don't seem conducive to digging in the rock box and looking for worms.

What else is tucked back in the closet collecting dust? What other parts of us as moms, or dads for that matter, are not seeing the light of day? I am not the same woman I was before I met Hubs, thank God. I may have thought I didn't want to get married and have kids at one point in my life but that was before I met him. All three of my "boys" make me strive to be a better person each day.

In my constant pursuit of balance, this conversation at the mall reminded me to clean out the closet every now and then, in more ways than one. It is ok for us to go to out with our "other", maybe drink a little too much and come home and do things like we did before we were married and our names were mommy or daddy. It is ok for us to get a little crazy and use the "family" bathroom together at the Southwest Florida Airport. I wonder how others are "dusting off" things in their closet?

Confessions of a Naughty Mommy

Prior to my current role as Mom I was many things. I have been a corporate career woman, student, and wanna be rock star. I had my share of boyfriends; after all, you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. I did things I probably won't tell my boys about; and certainly wouldn't tell daughters if I had them. If my boys bring home a girl like me I may have to keep a close eye on her. I spent many late nights, and some mornings with friend and foe alike, searching for something more. Prior to being a wife and mother there was an excitement or thrill from "that life". Your decisions only affect you. No responsibilities. Nothing to hold you to one spot. Men chase you. You play along. Now I play new games. Go fish. The "eat your dinner" game. Brush your teeth. Get in the car. Go to sleep. Your turn to get up.

Hubs and I were at the mall with the boys this weekend while it was raining. As we walked and talked I asked him if he thought I dressed my age. The question popped in my head as I watched many people the I thought did not, in fact, dress their age. You know the type; sixty years old, with a see-through gauze top on and bra underneath. How about the pre-teen with inappropriately short shorts and a barely there top.

Hub's response was that he thought I dressed older than my age. Spending the last ten years working for myself from home you will typically find me in a t-shirt and jeans or shorts, depending on the weather. Since my move back to Missouri from Florida I still don't have many closed toed shoes so I am usually in flip flops. Hubs asked where all my cute skirts went. He asked where all my high heels went. I guess I still have them but they are tucked back in the closet collecting dust. These items just don't seem conducive to digging in the rock box and looking for worms.

What else is tucked back in the closet collecting dust? What other parts of us as moms, or dads for that matter, are not seeing the light of day? I am not the same woman I was before I met Hubs, thank God. I may have thought I didn't want to get married and have kids at one point in my life but that was before I met him. All three of my "boys" make me strive to be a better person each day.

In my constant pursuit of balance, this conversation at the mall reminded me to clean out the closet every now and then, in more ways than one. It is ok for us to go to out with our "other", maybe drink a little too much and come home and do things like we did before we were married and our names were mommy or daddy. It is ok for us to get a little crazy and use the "family" bathroom together at the Southwest Florida Airport. I wonder how others are "dusting off" things in their closet?