A Tough Age in Diaperville

When it comes to kids, there are always a few stages that are tougher than others. The terrible threes. (Yes, I said threes. Two’s were terrific. It wasn't until three with the “I can do it myself” tantrums that I started wanting to pull my hair out.) When they meet their new best friend “Not Me”. The teen years. There’s one age that I consider to be the hardest, however, and I promise it’s not because I’m smack dab in the middle of it right now. It’s the in-between stage. In between what? Sitting and walking.


When your baby’s first born, you can plop that little miracle anywhere and trust that they’ll be there when you come back from the bathroom, the kitchen, the closet you hide from your older kids in. Which is a good thing since you’re still recovering from birth and the up-at-all-hours-of-the-night thing. I think that’s God’s way for new moms to not lose the baby. You only have so many brain cells left after pregnancy, labor, and taking care of the precious new bundle.


For the first few months, life is GREAT! You have so many devices for that child that you rotate just to amuse yourself since they’re probably only eating, sleeping, and/or pooping in said piece of equipment. The swing, the bouncy seat, the bassinet/cradle/co-sleeper/play pen, the exersaucer, the stroller…..you have options baby! Until those wily little creatures start eliminating those options. One by one.


Like the day they learn to roll over. Now you can’t leave the baby anywhere other than flat surfaces because you’re terrified that they’ll roll off somewhere. (Although how do you usually know they can roll? When they roll off the bed/couch/chair and make you feel like the worst parent in the history of parents and you spend a week spoiling them until you talk to other parents and find out their kid rolled off of something too so you must be normal. Or at least not the worst parent ever.) And I don’t know about your kids but mine rolled before they sat up. So I couldn't set them up on a nice, cushy floor without 20 pillows surrounding them just in case they topple over. Which they will because they can’t sit up unassisted yet. So you think you’re being clever, setting them on the floor with an entire bedding section as well as half an infant toy section, dreaming your big dreams about getting the dishes done while the heavenly angel plays on the floor. Except you have to look every 30 seconds to make sure they didn't topple and smack their head, or jam a toy in an eye or nose, or scoot themselves next to an outlet that they can stick a metal tin soldier in and electrocute themselves. (Hey, a Momagination is a scary thing!) So you don’t get much accomplished other than a few gray hairs and maybe some heart palpitations when you thought they managed to make contact with a surface other than the 10 square feet of pillows.


Rolling also takes away the option for those handy, dandy play mats with the dangly parts that you could plop them under and let them be mesmerized by the lights and colors and music for 45 minutes while you remembered what it’s like to eat a hot meal.


Then they’re hot shots who can sit up and it’s amazing! Except now that removes the swing and the bouncy seat from the list because they're too dangerous once they learn how to lean forward. That is if they were still on the list and they didn't get too tall/heavy/motion sick before this. But you’re slightly mollified because at least the can sit up alone now and you can put them on the floor with 14 pillows instead of 20 and only look once every 49 1/2 seconds.


It’s at this point you realize you can only put them in the high chair, on the floor, in the crib/play pen, or in the exersaucer/walker/whatever toy you got at your shower to entertain and hold the baby’s diapered bottom so you can do awesome things like shower and go to the bathroom. (Unless it’s the First Child, in which case you might have gotten a case of New Momitis and don’t know you don’t need every piece of baby equipment just because someone thought it up.) But your little cutie pie will only be happy for an average of 13 minutes with each activity until you realize one day that it took an entire day to wash 4 dishes and fold half a load of laundry because YOU were the baby’s entertainment. Yes, YOU got to be a three ring circus for your child, shuffling them from one activity to another, holding them, rocking them, feeding them, cleaning them, changing them, begging them to go down for a nap so you can shower the spit up and strained carrots off of yourself. You start to wish they would crawl because then they’ll be able to entertain themselves at least, even if it is with every single dust ball, stone, dog toy, and small object you didn't know was under the couch until they tried to put it in their mouth. Basically, you’ll wish they could crawl until they actually do.

But for right now, you’re in the in-between stage. And it’s exhausting.

The best, most half-assed circus EVER!

If You Are What You Eat, I'm in Trouble

I can’t eat organic foods. I’d like to be one of those granola munching, yoga mat toting, all-natural-foods-are-the-only- thing-I-put-in-my-body types. But I can’t. Because I can’t afford it.

For some reason, organic food costs a lot more than its non-organic counterpart, something that is mind boggling to me. You mean to tell me that food, which has nothing done to it, costs more than the food that was sprayed with pesticides or used a chemical laden fertilizer? So, to go back to our natural, organic roots, we’re paying more? Ok, one more time. We pay more for less and less for more? I’m still not getting it.

Who knew grandma and grandpa were so hip?

Do you know what doesn’t cost more? Pre-packaged, over processed foods loaded with artificial this-es and that-ses that contain more fat than an entire season of The Biggest Loser contestants. Yep, all the really bad for you stuff is all us middle class working stiffs can afford. You know the saying, “You are what you eat”?  I’m in trouble because that means I am cheap, easy, and quick to heat.

Add other stumbling blocks like family size and parents who both work full time and this is a recipe for convenience food. Sure, I’m aware that those hot dogs are terrible for you and one day we’ll probably find out they cause cancer somehow. Unfortunately, right now, I have to make sure one kid is at soccer in a half an hour and a second one has to be at drama rehearsal. So that long, leisurely dinner with organic kale and steamed broccoli on the side is a distant dream. (More distant since none of my family would eat kale, organic or otherwise.) Plus, the hot dogs cost 1/3 of what it would cost to get enough steak to feed the same number of kids. Now, I know Math was never my strong suit, but even I can do this basic addition.

Even when I try to offer my kids healthier alternatives I can’t win. For example, if I bake cookies they won’t have all the preservatives and additives that the pre-packaged crap has, right? Sure. Except, you’re not really going to use that flour are you? It’s been bleached. And that white sugar? It’s also been bleached and I think there was even an article explaining how refined sugars cause cancer. Dammit people, I just wanted to bake some love in the form of chocolate chip cookies for my kids. Now I’m killing them with over-processed foods again. (Maybe this is the origin of the phrase “Killing them with kindness”.) And that milk I planned to give with those cookies? Well, you know it has a ton of hormones that they give to the cows, right?

So if I can’t afford organic I’ll have to settle for whatever I can afford that will fill my children’s stomachs while providing them with at least the basic nutrition to help them grow. (Even if those growths will one day have to be removed.) So we’ll just say until I win the lottery (or until someone generously donates to the “I’m tired of working so give me money for no reason” fund), it’s soccer night. That means dinner’s full of GMO’s, HMO’s, FBI’s, and CIA’s. Plus some ET’s, ESP’s and NCAA’s to boot.

The Mom's School Supply List

Every year there are long lists of supplies that my children HAVE to bring to school with them. So every year I am shopping the summer sales, trying to get the best deals on pens and index cards and glue sticks. Now that I have yet another exhausting marathon shopping spree completed, I want to know who's taking care of the Mom School Supply List. Oh yes, I have one. Here's what it contains:

1. Clean counters. Did you know that crumbs hide from anyone under the age of Mom? It's true. My kids are physically unable to see the crumbs scattered across the counter from their constant food shoveling while I'm slaving away on a hot computer at work. Once I leave said computer and make the trek home, the crumbs instantly become visible again, leaving me with the compulsive need to wipe the counters, the chairs, the table....basically anything the kids might have touched in the 8 hours I was away.

2. Peaceful lunch hours. I love my kids. Oodles even. But there's a lot to be said for a blissful hour with no ringing phones, fax machine chatter, television noises, or squabbling kids. One quiet, serene hour in which I can leisurely eat my lunch, maybe read a bit, or even contemplate my navel if I so desire. (Which I usually don't, but what if that's because I don't have uninterrupted contemplating time?) None of which is easy to do when I arrive home for my midday meal and I'm greeted at the door by a dozen "Mo-om!" tattles.

3. Smaller energy bills. Now that the kids are in school all day, I won't have a 7 year old standing in front of the fridge, with the door open of course, for large periods of time. (I'm not sure if he's wondering if new stuff appears by magic when he's not looking since he's always conspicuously absent when I need help putting groceries away or if he's just really indecisive and needs visual cues.) The TV won't be on in 3 different rooms (for two kids) and I won't have to shut off lights and appliances left on in every room in the house three times a day.

4. Sanity. Yes, I do have a little left. Not a lot. I do prize what's left though. You know how they say "pick your battles"? Well, no one told this to my kids. Or maybe someone did and they just don't care. Regardless, I have to referee at least a half dozen bickering squabbles a day. I can at least take solace in the fact that no one's punched the other one out. (But there were days when I came close!) Plus I think one of the parenting books says this builds character or conflict resolution abilities or some crap like that. So the upside to my asylum stay will be exceptionally talented arguers.

5. Control of the temperature again. The 7 year old likes to sit in front of the air conditioning, get cold, and then turn it off. This wouldn't be so bad if maybe a window or three were opened in its stead. Alas, nary a breeze is moving when I come home to a stifling hot, smelly house. (What does it smell like? Stale air, sweaty kids and dog farts! A body can't live like that!) Does it occur to the child to not sit in front of the AC unit? Not even a little bit. Or perhaps use a blanket or a sweater? Nope. Doesn't he know you can't leave adults and dogs in a hot house? Geez.

6. Guilt free eating. Why is it a kid can hear the crinkle of a food wrapper at fifty paces? I swear, there could be a snack cake sitting in the cupboard for 2 weeks, completely untouched with no interested takers, and the day I eat it I'll hear, "Oh, I wanted to have that." Or worse, if I'm trying to eat an entire smidgen of chocolate without wanting to share, I have to hide somewhere so they don't hear the unwrapping process. I'm now a secret chocolate consumer just because I'm stingy and don't want to share it with my kids. Which is bad, or so I'm always telling them at least. So I have to share. Which is why they need to be at school. So I can be selfish and not feel guilty about it.

At this point, getting just half of my list would be a bonus. Sanity doesn't even have to be one of them since I'm so close to empty anyway. I'd have to insist on the guilt free eating though. If I'm going to be crazy, at least I'll have the enjoyment of desserts.

Can I get an Amen?

People Who Deserve a Medal. (Or At Least A Paper Certificate)

So, my ever handy brain was churning this week (always dangerous) when I started thinking about the jobs that I am profoundly grateful not to have. Jobs so heinous, to either me personally or the world in general (mostly just to me personally), that I would gladly confine myself as a pencil pushing peon for the rest of my life just to avoid these occupations. And because I like to share, here's my top 5 list of awful jobs for your reading pleasure.

5.) Chamber Maid. I'm sure that this job probably doesn't offend a lot of people as much as it does me. I cleaned my bathroom today and I can't imagine doing it for a living. I know where the pee droplets and pubes came from on my toilet (Well, it's narrowed down to one of 4 suspects at least.) and I still thought scrubbing it was a gag worthy task. Not to mention that chamber maids have to change the bedding too. Now, at my house the worst I might find is a nasty snot streak on a pillow case or maybe a dried drool stain. Worst case scenario is the daughter had a bloody nose again, which only seems to occur at 2 am or when she's wearing a white shirt. That isn't necessarily the case at a hotel/motel though. Especially if it's one of those seedy rent by the hour types where skeevy spouses meet to have their affairs. (Huh, no, I don't watch too much television. I don't know where you got that idea.) The first time my boss told me to clean a room and there was a questionable stain on the bed spread I'd be all, "Hell no. I'm out."

A clean house is a sign of no internet connection.

4.) Proctologist. Imagine a job where every day had the potential to be shitty. Literally. Now, let me start by saying that I'm extremely grateful that there are people who obviously didn't have the same issue and actually became a proctologist. Because someone's gotta look at your ass and it's sure as heck not going to be me! Although, I guess the up side would be that you could tell everyone you work with a bunch of assholes and not be lying or exaggerating.

Did you hear about the depressed proctologist? He's been feeling down in the dumps.

3.) Bar Tender. Every night you get to go to work, listen to music, make people happy, and meet a lot of new people. Sounds like a dream job, right? Now fill in some details like: Every night you go to work from 7PM to 3 AM, listening to music so loud you can barely hear yourself think, make people happy by overcharging them for alcoholic drinks that are going to make them stupid somehow, and watch society at it's most inebriated. I mean finest. No, I meant inebriated. What other job can you watch people make decisions of questionable judgement that you are completely unable to prevent? It's a spectator sport of stupid decisions, whether it's drinking and driving or taking home that person who you probably wouldn't if you were sober, thereby causing a furtive walk of shame away from their place early the next morning when the alcohol haze wears off. Also, there's that stupid stigma about bartenders being like therapists because they hear it all. Yeah, I'm sure they enjoy that. I know I'd love to hear drunken ramblings, especially if they asked for my advice afterwards. Pass.

So a dyslexic man walks into a bra......

2.) Garbage Collector. I don't like things that smell bad. (I know, you're probably thinking how strange that is, right?) I don't like body odor, onions, garbage, or flatulence from dogs nor husbands in my house. So I think having a job where you get to collect people's stinky trash would be especially abhorrent. And what about the summer time heat? Can you picture the putrid funk being magnified by a ninety degree dry heat? Or even a damp heat whose antiperspirant has failed? That doesn't sound fun. And do you think the stink wears off and the workers come home smelling like the bottom of a garbage can? You know, the can that had a leak in the bag and you didn't find out until you took the bag out and the foul stench punched you in the face? And no one in your house can figure out what exactly leaked in the bottom of the can to make that smell that lingers ever so slightly even though you doused the can with half a gallon of bleach? Yeah, that one. 

Becoming a garbage man isn't hard, you just pick it up as you go along. But please refrain from the trash talking.

1.) Being a doctor or a nurse, especially in the ER. Any medical professional has my outright respect. Because they deal with every type of person out there, not to mention the mix of maladies that come with them. Not only do they see the clean, middle class woman with bronchitis, but they also see the 400 pound redneck who can't see his feet, doesn't wash them, and has a 4 inch gash that's infected and oozing all sorts of pretty colored liquids. (My stomach just rolled at writing that, can you picture me seeing this in 3D real life?) I'm squeamish, don't like needles much, and my gag reflex kicks into high gear at the words pus, blood, or exorcist-like-vomiting. That pretty much leaves me looking at my desk job with profound relief. At least the most harm to happen there is a paper cut. Yes, they might sting like heck but so long as no one's pouring lemon juice on them, I can make it through the day. 

What do you call a student who got C's all the way through med school? Hopefully not your doctor!

*All puns/jokes/one liners courtesy of googling and pasting. It happens more often than you know people.

I Am a Self Proclaimed Expert of Garage Sales

So last week a nearby town did their town wide garage sale. This is fabulous for lazy people like myself who like to garage sale but don't want to search all over the place. I mean this is fabulous, for busy people like myself, who don't have time to search all over the place. Yes, that sounds better.

I have always been a bit of a garage sale snob. There. I said it. I freely admit that I have standards when it comes to pawing through unwanted junk. (Who doesn't?) With that being said, I have been inspired to write "Fabulous Tips For a Successful Garage Sale From a Self Proclaimed Expert". (Or FTFASGSFASPE for short.)

Tip # 1: Remember that this is used stuff. Price accordingly. There is nothing that I like better than looking at baby clothes. (Okay, well there probably is, but for the sake of this blog, let's say that this fact is 100% true.) I don't care if it's at GAP or a garage sale, there's cute clothes to be had. However, GAP can get away with charging an arm and a leg for an itty bitty baby onesie with their logo on it. (Hello consumer branding!) Once it has actually been worn a few times by your baby, it has greatly depreciated in value. Don't expect me to pay $1.00 for a scrap of cloth that has been worn and washed a few dozen times. I'm sorry if that makes you mad, but if it's any consolation, blame the economy. (The economy already has a bad rep and gets blamed for everything anyway.)

Tip #2: If you do sell clothes, don't sell stained, frayed, or faded crap.  Remember when I said I was a garage sale snob? This is where my snobbery begins to run rampant. Mostly because I can't believe anyone would have to be told this. I don't want to buy your kid's stained pants. I don't care if he only wore them twice before throwing up strained carrots all over them and you couldn't quite get the orange tint out. They're done, kaput, finito. One sale I went to had the nastiest clothes that I have ever seen. I was actually embarrassed to be seen at a garage sale. (Think about that for a minute.) So I scampered off quickly while her head was turned.

Tip #3: If I have to work for it, it better be some cheap ass stuff. If you're going to throw 4 dozen paperback books or DVDs into a rubber maid tote and make me pull every one out to see what is in there, you better be selling them for a quarter or two. I shouldn't have to sort your junk. That's your job. It says so in the garage sale handbook. Also, I'm really not in the mood to wade through 3 feet of clothes that are every size you can find. Organize that shit. I might even pay a quarter more for your thoughtfulness.

Tip #4: Don't hover. Don't car salesman me. Just let me browse in peace. Maybe you had a retail job in college and old habits die hard. Maybe you're a closet stalker, I don't know. That doesn't mean you can follow me around as I peruse your used goods and dismiss them. How am I supposed to feel alright about not wanting a tacky neon green fish vase, that you clearly didn't even want, with you breathing the same air as I am? Go sit in your appointed look out chair with your money box and wait for me to come to you.

Tip #5: Wash it. Scrub it. Polish it. Yeah I get that you're thinking, "Well, I'm getting rid of it so why should I put the work into cleaning it?" Because it's the decent thing to do? Because no one wants to buy a shirt that smells like your musty, dusty basement? Because you never quite cleaned up junior's dirt and sticky kid fungus from his toys before shoving them in a box in the attic? How about those reasons?

Tip #6: Have a free box. This is a great item to have for a few reasons. First, you'll give someone a thrill to maybe find something they want and/or need and get it for free. Second, you'll feel good about yourself if you can help someone with something they want/and or need. And the third and best reason, free makes stuff go away. If you're done hawking your wares and just want it to leave your space, writing FREE on it seems to make it more desirable.

Now that I have provided you with these invaluable gems of salesmanship expertise, go forth and sell. Maybe your garages and yards be empty at the end of the weekend, and your cash box be full.

All I'm Missing Is The Laugh Track

Sometimes I feel like I live in one of those sitcoms. Not the crappy ones they're passing off now, but one of the good ones from the 80's and 90's. You know, when they valued family and taught life lessons in between the canned laughter on the laugh track. (Other times I feel like I live in The Simpsons.) This is one of those stories.

It all started Thursday when I got home from work. My daughter said, 'I have to show you something" and ran off to her bedroom. Only to return with a newborn rabbit on a tissue in her jewelry box. "I found it on the side of the road Mom and I didn't see it's Mother anywhere and I couldn't just leave him there!" This thing is brand new. Like not even opened it's eyes and staggers like a drunk when trying to walk new. Immediately I tell her she has to put it outside because maybe the mother rabbit is looking for the baby and is frantic.

Except.... we can't put him in the front yard because the neighbor's cat roams the neighborhood and would probably use it as a chew toy. Alright, the back yard is fenced, put him there. Good. Done. I make her wash her hands twice like a good paranoid Mom.

Hubby comes home and the story is repeated to him. We tromp out to the backyard to see if the bunny is still there. Yup. We clomp back inside.

Mom guilt starts creeping in. It's getting dark. The nights are cooling off to mid 50's now. Is that bunny going to survive those temps? The daughter is adding to my guilt with her out loud thoughts. "I wonder if he's OK. Did he just shiver?"

Meanwhile, hubby is looking up care of wild rabbits online. About the time I decide we have to find a box or something he goes out and comes back triumphantly with a box and some grass he ripped out of our lawn. We get the bunny. We read on what you're supposed to feed abandoned rabbits. Kitten formula. Huh. Nope, none of that in the house. Hubby suggests maybe I feed the baby one breast and the rabbit the other. Uh, no, not happening. Cows milk is equally loved and hated but it's the only thing this baby bunny is getting. I manage about 2 cc's. I feel pretty proud of myself. We give him a tissue as a blanket in his box. The kids are debating names.

"No!" I say. "No names! We are not keeping this bunny."

It turns out I was right.

Fast forward to the next afternoon. The daughter calls me at work. He squealed. I reassure her he's probably OK. (And leave out the part where I add, "But what the hell do I know about wild, newborn rabbits?") She calls back. He got a little blood on his tissue "blanket". Again, I say, maybe he bit his lip. He has sharp teeth after all. She calls back. Crying. The bunny is unresponsive. (After 20 minutes of CPR and chest compressions....kidding!)

Crap.

There's a dead baby bunny who was probably dead rabbit walking anyway since nature is notoriously cruel sometimes. But that's not going to be comforting or helpful if I say that. Instead, I race home to remove a decomposing animal from my house. Preferably before the younger kid notices anything is amiss. Now it's in the garage. Phew. Good one. And the boy didn't even see me move the box to the garage. I'm feeling pretty accomplished. Darling daughter has written instructions for the bunny funeral. (We all have to wear black except the baby because he doesn't have any black clothes.) The oldest calls his "I need a ride home from work" call. I leave to get him. When we return home, hubby has arrived. He's thrown the dead rabbit away. Oh, and he let the boy know about the rabbit dying thing.

"What?!" I cry. "Why didn't you just lie and tell him that we found the mama bunny and that we took him back to her? Why would you tell him he died?"

"He's 7 hon, I'm pretty sure he's old enough to know about death." replies hubby.

Uh, turns out that's a negatory. It's now time for bed and the kid is in bed crying over this poor dead bunny. Okay husband of mine, this is all you. You broke it. You fix it. When I emotionally scar the children, it's my job to untangle that mess. But this one was you, so...good luck with that.

This is the part where the parent would go in and say something wonderfully parent-like and amazing to the scared kid and make it all better, right? And then ends with a goofy joke. The funniest part is that this is going to make a great "Remember when" story 10 years from now. Until then, I'm dodging inquiries of when we're having a funeral for a missing body because it was disposed of before the kids conveyed their desire for a sunset service.

Cue the laugh track.

Chocolate Bars, Crying Babies, and Nip Slips

So we packed up the family and took a summer mini-vacation to Hershey Park, Pennsylvania. (A.K.A. Chocolate Heaven!) I learned some new things about family vacations and I thought I would share some of my new found wisdom and insight in case any of you are crazy enough, I mean, thoughtful enough, to share a beautiful family experience.

1. There is no beautiful family experience. Even the best family vacation is probably going to make you crazy at some point. If you drive to get to vacation, you're upping the chances of needing a sedative. (Although I don't advise taking the sedative while driving as that could be super counter productive to restful vacations.) In fact, maybe the sedatives are actually a must have on your to-pack list. For the kids. This would increase the chances of everyone surviving the drive for sure.

2. Travelling with a baby can make you cry like a, well, baby. Take any baby, even one who is mostly good natured, stick them in a car seat for longer than oh, 10 minutes, and you have a recipe for a crankiness. What this means is that you spend half of the trip hoping and praying that the baby stays sleeping and the other half feeling like a jerk. Why do you feel like a jerk? Oh let me count the ways. Maybe for praying the baby stays asleep for an entire 5 hour trip? Or for when he starts crying and you're in a moving vehicle and have to rely on shaking a rattle in his face hoping to confuse him enough to stop the crying? Or perhaps because you had the audacity to take this poor blessed child and stick him in a moving vehicle with no booby juice or toys or people paying attention only to him?

3. Nursing a baby on vacation is harder than juggling a chain saw one handed. Okay, well, not really. But it IS pretty difficult. You have to stop to feed the baby on the drive. You have to feed the baby while eating in restaurants. Or at family activities like amusement parks or fabulous chocolate based places like Chocolate World. It's hard to plan the activities around the baby's eating schedule when there's only a few hours between feedings. It got to the point where I felt like a dealer. "Hey kid, want a little boob juice? Huh? Some milk o'mama? Just a little tip of the nipple?" I felt like nip slip could be used to describe me popping a breast in the baby's mouth in dark corners in Hershey Park and sitting in the parking lot before going into restaurants. Honestly, as much as I love vacation, I breathed a little sigh of relief when we got home and back to our regularly scheduled program.

4. Continental breakfasts are definitely in my top 5 happiest vacation luxuries. Breakfast? That I don't have to cook? Kick ass. Oh, and it's free? I'll take two please. Not that I would eat anything other than fruit and yogurt for breakfast because my body is a temple. (And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you.) There were these little cinnamon rolls that I'm pretty sure should have been illegal. (It probably would have been better for my thighs if they had been.)

And last but not least:

5. Vacations come once a year so that you are stupid enough to take more than one. For most families, vacations are an annual thing. Maybe for the money. Maybe because of time constraints. Maybe because if you took more than one a year, you'd divorce your family and go live in a hut on a mountain far, far away. Okay, maybe not a hut, but definitely a cabin. The good thing is, fifteen years from now you'll be able to laugh about all those terrifying, frustrating, and irritating family vacation moments. When your kids are going through them with their kids.

This Little Piggy Went to the Market

They always say one of the things you should never do is go to the market when you're hungry. (Yes, yes, I say market instead of grocery store. I also say tinfoil. Deal with it.) My antiquated speech aside, they say these things for a reason. (I'm still not quite sure who they are, but I'd like to meet them one day and thank them for their profound words of wisdom.)

I'm guessing the reason that they say this is because when you shop hungry, it changes what you might buy. Like, for example, say I really needed oranges, milk, and peanut butter but I come home with ring dings, potato chips, root beer, and ice cream. Yes, I probably remembered to get the milk, oranges, and peanut butter too, but I picked up some hitchhikers on the way to get them. That package of Oreos begged for a ride. That family size bag of Doritos practically threw itself at me. And if that wasn't bad enough, once I finally made it to the checkout line, that Milky Way was feeling so unloved that I had to buy it just to prove that it was well liked. (Disclaimer: I'm not representing any of these brands. It's just easier to make my point with "Oreos" versus "creme filled chocolate sandwich cookies". Not to mention less wordy.)

Maybe I can get this tattooed on my forehead as a reminder?

The other drawback to this scenario is that you spend much more money than you wanted by picking up all these nutritionally challenged friends of yours. Even if it'a all "on sale" or if you coupon, those hunger pains can blind you to those dollar signs until that final sticker shock at the end. At that point you're probably not going to say "I confess to shopping hungry, put it all back please!" so you pay and leave quickly. (The super market walk of shame: Fast steps, furiously rushing your cart towards your car, downcast eyes.)

What I want to know is this: Why can't I crave healthy foods? It's never, "You know what sounds good? Some kale. Or some grilled white fish. With a side of flax seed salad." (Is that a thing? I feel like that's a thing.) Nope. It's more often "Hmm, I feel like having brownies covered in ice cream smothered in hot fudge. With a side of extra movie theater butter microwave popcorn. (Which should probably just be renamed Cholesterol Clogging Calorie Corn.) Any attempt to eat healthy gets buried underneath a not so healthy add on. Like, mmm, broccoli. With cheese sauce. Or yum, a 93% lean hamburger on a multi grain roll. With cheese. And bacon. And mayonnaise. And more bacon.

So the moral of the story is, don't write about food. Seriously. I'm starving now. Does anyone have a steak? What about chocolate cake? Anyone? No? Huh, guess I'll have to run to the store then.

I'll take two please!

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like....Christmas?

I love, love, LOVE organization! Now that I have 16 kids....what? I don't have 16 kids? Well, it feels like I do. Anyway, now that I have 4 kids (that can sometimes be 4 times as much work and feel like 16!), I'm an even bigger fan of organization. I love my lists, I adore planning, and my budget is my best friend. It's the only thing that keeps me sane with the chaos of juggling family, work, and home. Well, that and my 2 year pocket planner. (And to be fair, not even those three things are keeping me that sane. It's a very fine line.)

So it's a no brainer that I apply this love of organization to my other love....Christmas! Santa's not the only one making a list and checking it twice. Nope, I'm all about the lists baby! I love to plan out who I need to buy for, write down potential gift ideas, shop for bargains over the year and have all my shopping done by November so that I can actually slow down and enjoy the holidays for once. Plus, it takes the sting out of the pocketbook by spreading out the expenses over the course of 12 months instead of the 6 week frenzy all those non-organized people endure between November and December.

Well, that's the theory at least.

In reality, I cannot get my family to cooperate with me. I usually don't ask them for ideas until the calender flips to November. (I'd love to ask them in January but apparently that's "too soon to think about Christmas".) You'd think I'm asking them which organ they're willing to part with. Most of the time I get "I don't know".

What?
How is this possible?

If you ask me, at any given moment in time, I can tell you a minimum of three things that I want. (Four if you count a single, silent hour to myself.) Granted, I usually don't buy myself anything because I'm too busy being the National Bank of Mom and that could be why I have a huge stockpile of wants and/or needs. Or maybe I'm a tad too gullible with those commercials that show me all the cool things my life lacks. Or perhaps I'm not in touch with my inner chakras and haven't fully realized that earthly possessions don't make the inner eye happy. (Or something like that.) Um, nope, I'm pretty sure even my chakras wanted that kindle gift card. After all, those e-books don't buy themselves, am I right? It's not very often you ask yourself why your family can't be more materialistic.

But seriously, why can't my family be a little more materialistic? Is that too much to ask? Give me a Christmas list in July dammit. Just one teensy gift idea. Otherwise you might end up with a fruitcake. (On the upside, I hear they make lovely door stops.)

Uh, yeah, looks delicious.

Oh Dahling, You MUST Try The Spa!

Picture this: It's the end of a long week. You haven't slept an entire night in months, you're hungry, tired, and stressed. To top it all off, you're not speaking to your family and your job is emotionally exhausting. You decide a day at the spa is truly the rejuvenating experience that your life is lacking. After all, it's rough being three months old.

That's right, there's a spa for babies. It's called FloatBabies (http://floatbabies.com) and it's geared for infants aged 2 weeks to 6 months. Because it's super stressful eating, sleeping, and pooping all day. (Just ask the dog!) Luckily, the nice people at FloatBabies saw this void and filled it. Now your baby can escape their cares and float in a neck doughnut for twenty five minutes.

I don't know, that one baby looks a little pissed off if you ask me.

I tried to wrap my head around the concept of a baby spa and I just can't. Don't get me wrong, I know there are benefits of massage and water therapy and all that hippie dippie hoo doo. I think yoga and walking and centering your chakras are great. When you actually have something to be worried about. I'm just not getting what my four month old would be going through that he would need to relax at the spa. Teething? Soggy diapers? 

Also, I'm one of those worrywart moms who thinks of all the possible things that can go wrong and then tries to take precautions against them. (A.K.A. Overprotective Crazy Mom) So I look at this picture with the babies in the neck floaties and worry that the baby's going to slip out and go under water or that there's going to be some sort of neck damage or that my kid would be traumatized and not be able to even eat a Lifesaver's candy without calling his therapist.

But I went to their website anyway and checked it out for research purposes. The testimonials were amusing and I felt bad that I was amused by a parent who was genuinely happy that their baby had a huge bowel movement and slept through the night after a "movement session". (Oh.....that's why it's a movement session? Eww.) According to the website, water therapy can improve lung development, benefit the cardiovascular system, and increase muscular and skeletal strength. They'll also be able to play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata with their toes by age one. (Actually, I made that last one up. I bet you couldn't even tell.)

So since we don't live anywhere close to Houston, I guess my poor child will just have to continue living his stressed out, non-water therapy life. The poor thing will have to suffer with regular lung development and skeletal strength like his siblings. If he starts to feel left out I can always throw him in a swimming pool in a few years.