Meet The Teacher

My firstborn love of my life is starting preschool next week (sob). Yesterday, we went to meet her teacher and see her classroom. My emotions were somewhat bittersweet. I'm a little sad to see her go, even if it's only two days a week. I know that, once they get in school, something changes and it's like they begin to grow up at warp speed. I am apprehensive when I think about the things that happen at school. While I absolutely loved school and learning growing up, I did not enjoy my "friends" at school much. I remember being teased mercilessly for ridiculous reasons. My heart honestly aches at imagining my sweet baby girl suffering through days like that. When I think about it, I want to lock our doors and keep my babies in (and the world out) forever.
But then, I look at the picture of her, with her fake smile, just ready to get on with the business of GOING TO SCHOOL!!! She cannot wait. Absolutely cannot wait. She has a Spiderman backpack (the only girl at school with one), a Spiderman lunch box (it's empty, but she still had to bring it to meet her teacher), and 4 unsharpened (Spiderman, of course) pencils that no one is allowed to touch.
Her teacher is wonderfully sweet and patient. She told Avery she'd been waiting for her to get there, and we believed her. She allowed Avery to put away all of her own school supplies. Avery listened intently as her teacher explained what she was to do with her folder (a real big kid folder with her name on it!), her supply box (filled with her very own scissors, markers and crayons!), and her, as yet, empty backpack and lunch box. She was "all business" at school and I know that she is completely ready. She was probably ready a year ago, but I wasn't. I know I have to let her go just a little bit. And I will. A little bit.

I Love You, Sir Smirks-A-Lot

This is my nephew. He just lost his first tooth and started Kindergarten last week. He's a pretty typical 5-year-old boy these days. I like to call him Sir Smirks-A-Lot because he doesn't give big, toothy smiles anymore. He's way too cool for that now, so he just gives a little "I'm trying not to smile" smirk. He doesn't want to talk to me on the phone, he's too big for hugs and kisses (although you can tell by the smirk that he secretly loves it), and he is as rough-and-tumble as they come. On the outside. In truth, this is just about the sweetest boy I know. He has such a kind, gentle demeanor, he makes your heart melt sometimes. He has his moments, of course (don't we all?). He can provoke or instigate arguments with his cousins at times (they are all younger and therefore, totally annoying), and Lord help us all if he hasn't gotten enough rest, but 90% of the time, he's an absolute doll. He's one of my favorite kids in the whole wide world.

And don't tell him this, but I still wish he was this little so I could snuggle with him and kiss him without him pretending to be completely annoyed and grossed out by his weird old lady aunt.


I love you, Sir Smirks-A-Lot!

Mom's Big Night Out

Oh wow, did we have a big time last night. Biggest party this town has seen in years. Well, not exactly, but it really was fun. My husband and kids took me to my favorite restaurant to celebrate my birthday last night then we came home for the afterparty (a few games of Mario 8 on Wii and Big Brother on DVR.)

We ate tons of chips and salsa (and black bean dip, as seen here)...







And drinks all around....Sprite for the girls...











milk for the big guy here...










And swirls for Mommy!
Have you had one of these things? Sangria wine swirled into a margarita? They are to die for...but here's the problem. One doesn't seem like enough and two is really too many. So, when you are as old as I am, two swirls (and maybe a couple of beers at the afterparty) makes you wake up feeling like you partied all night.





Apparently, I am not the only one. This is my middle child this morning. (I promise she had a diaper on when we put her to bed.)

Thank God that isn't how I woke up this morning.

CONTEST OVER!!!

PETIE wins!!! You win a $20 credit to use on this website. (Please say you can find SOMETHING you would like to have!) I swear, I held a real drawing tonight in my kitchen!!! There were only 8 entries and I appreciate all 8 of you!!!
Petie, email me at dodiajackson@yahoo.com and we can discuss your options...either $20 off of a stool or canvas, or a free cross/initial ($15 plus $5 shipping). Or maybe a frame or mirror (also free) to match a room...everything I make is completely custom tailored for you!

10 Things I've Learned in 10 Years

I'm 35 today. I don't feel 35, whatever that means. I think I look 35, maybe 30 on a good day, but that's ok with me. It is hard for me to believe that it's been 10 years since I was turning 25, and yet, it was a lifetime ago. I did a little reflecting on happenings in my life since my 25th birthday, and here's what I came up with, in no particular order.

10. Twenty extra pounds for three nearly-perfect kids is a fair trade.
9. Getting drunk isn't nearly as much fun when you have to be Mommy at 6 a.m. and being Mommy is much more fun than being drunk.
8. Toilet papering (or bunning) is fun at any age.
7. Dancing on tables probably isn't acceptable anymore (I'm still struggling with this one.)
6. Husbands are annoying sometimes, but if you get a good one (like I did), they will change your life in ways you never thought possible.
5. Trying to be perfect is no fun at all.
4. Families are hard, but totally worth the effort.
3. Your past does not define you.
2. Worrying about what others think of you is a complete waste of time.
1. Loving and accepting yourself is the greatest feeling on earth. (And it took me longer than 10 years to figure that out!)

So now that you have your daily words of wisdom, go forth and be prosperous. I am taking my 35-year-old self to the gym this morning so I can go indulge in nachos and swirl margaritas tonight with my sweet family! Have a great day!

You ARE Reading This!!!

I can't believe it. I've had three people ask where my blog was today! I am shocked! I didn't know anyone really cared. Honestly, I got on to write and was just so tired this morning and my kids were circling around and I just didn't have it in me. Everything I wrote sounded stupid and not at all eloquent and inspiring like it usually does! Did I take that one too far? Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, I'm excited that there are actually people reading this and I'll be back tomorrow...tomorrow is a big day for me. Hopefully, I'll have something fabulous to say!

Church

In honor of Sunday, I've decided (at the likely chagrin of my siblings) to share this story about my childhood memories of church. Not church at the building with sermons and Sunday School, but church at our house.
You see, my dad was a stickler about going to church. It was always a big deal if we missed and there really weren't any good excuses, in his mind, for not going. He used to call me around 7:00 a.m. when I was in college just to "check in and see if I was getting ready for church." I never was.
Anyway, back to the story. Every once in a while, Dad would decide that, for whatever reason, instead of going to church, we would have a "devotional" in our home. I think this is a perfectly lovely idea in theory. IN THEORY.
Sometimes, we'd get off easy. We had these picture books with different Bible lessons and sometimes, Dad would just read these and ask us the questions. There were also the times we played a game of Bible Trivia. Yes, that's right. Bible Trivia. (We didn't have Trivial Pursuit, we had Bible Trivia. If Dad ever let us choose what we were going to do, I would immediately shout "BIBLE TRIVIA!!!" I loved it). Those devotionals were easy and usually pretty fun. In fact, I think we would all agree that we liked those times better than actually going to church.
But then there were the others. The ones where we actually had a fake, but real church service in our home. The only thing missing was the offering plate. Seriously, my dad even made my brother (in an effort to protect his privacy and dignity, I won't name the brother) lead singing. LEAD SINGING. In our home. With a hymnal. In his long underwear. God bless him. We sang a few songs (my brother's choice as song leader) and then listened to my dad "preach" a sermon. The boys would take turns saying the "closing prayer." (This is for real, people. I couldn't make this up if I tried.) I usually didn't have anything terribly important to do except listen during these services. As a woman in our church, you really just have to listen and "support your men." So that's what I did. I didn't know to be embarrassed then and it's only looking back now that I think it was a bit much. Although, my other brother would volunteer to lead the singing, so maybe we all thought it was cool then. Maybe I was jealous that I didn't get to stand in the middle of the living room in my underwear, with a hymnal, leading songs. I'm not sure. All I know is that, while I won't be conducting these church services in my house (unless my husband volunteers to lead singing in his underwear), I'm grateful for the smile it puts on my face when I think of it today. Thanks, Dad, for being so weirdly firm about making us learn about Jesus, no matter what.

Brent and Darla

This is Brent and Darla. Of course, those aren't their real names. I would never name my daughter Brent because she isn't a boy (although she wishes she was) and since the younger one isn't one of the Little Rascals, I didn't name her Darla. It's a lovely name, but it's not hers.
But today, according to my oldest, their names are Brent and Darla. They are married, although Darla is only 6. Brent had to marry her to take care of her because she's really still just a baby. He's 10 and much more sophisticated in the ways of the world than Darla. Brent's job entails cleaning the sink and Darla is his loyal helper. She runs really fast on the treadmill too, apparently. Darla's biggest downfall in this marriage is that she doesn't listen to Brent much. He tells her what to do, but she really kind of does her own thing. She's very combative at home, to hear Brent tell it. But can you really blame her? They have 5 children at home and all of them are 5 years old. Brent says the kids themselves slap each other every day and Darla won't let Brent put them to bed. They have to sleep on the floor. So Brent is a bit frustrated and Darla seems to be indifferent to the whole situation. It's a pickle they're in, that's for sure.

These kids crack me up!

What the...?

If you've ever wondered what would happen if you gave a 2-year-old a cupcake and a cup of water, here's your answer. This happened yesterday. And, for the record, this picture doesn't do the mess justice. There was chocolate water splattered on the tile floor, the walls and the table. It was EVERYWHERE. It was one of those messes where you aren't even sure where to begin cleaning.
I only left her in the kitchen alone for about 10 minutes-I swear!-while I fed the baby his bottle in the living room, which, by the way, is connected to the open kitchen so I was about 10 yards away from her as she created this monstrosity. I was THERE, I just wasn't there. Know what I mean? All I had to do was TURN AROUND to prevent this from happening, but I didn't. I could hear her and my oldest could see her, so what was there to worry about? I'll tell you what. A mess so disgusting, all I could do was laugh to keep from crying. This is one of those times when you pull the old Bud Dry line, "Why ask why?"
Hey, speaking of Bud Dry....

Surprise, Aunt La-La!

This is a tiny, but heartfelt housewarming gift for you. I hope it matches your cute blue and brown bathroom! I'll mail it to you today if you send me an email saying that I am the BEST big sister anyone ever had!












Anyone else out there reading who wants one? Be the first to email me and you get to pick one of the two shown below! Hurry! I know there are just scads of you out there waiting for a moment like this. Ha. Hurry anyway if you want it mailed today!

A Lesson in Appreciation

When I became a stay at home mom, I vowed to pursue volunteer work as much as possible. I know that I am fortunate to have the life and family that I do, and I know that others are not so lucky. Not having piles of money lying around these days, time is sometimes the only thing I have to give. Yesterday, I volunteered for a family service organization in our town. This organization provides many services for families in need and yesterday's agenda was to distribute school supplies.

Families have to qualify in advance to receive this service, so there was a set of supplies designated for each individual child. A backpack filled with the required supplies for their grade level, a shopping bag full of clothes and shoes appropriate for their age and sex, toiletries for the older kids and lunchboxes for the little ones. There was a section for the girls to have their nails painted. Nurses were on standby to give shots if needed. A hairstylist gave back-to-school cuts. My eyes filled with tears when I first arrived and took in this room of bustling generosity. And again and again when I met the parents and children who came in and received their gifts.

There was the mom who has five children, no husband (and no child support), and a minimum wage job. She looked at me with embarrassed gratitude and said "God bless you all. I don't know what I would do without this kind of help." The mother in the luxury SUV and designer clothes living out of her car because she recently left a wealthy, abusive husband and has fled to a shelter with her children. She wept openly when she saw the overflowing bags handed to her.
The high school boy with his younger sister there alone. They were quietly polite, barely looking me in the eye. The boy had an attitude of prideful indifference, but the girl's eyes sparkled when she saw the brand new pink sneakers with silver stars in her bag. Her brother grudgingly agreed to wait for her to get her nails painted neon orange. He seemed bored and irritated, but I saw him try to look through his bag at the clothes when he thought no one was looking.

At the end of my shift, my husband brought the kids to see me and we all walked down to the pizza place for dinner. As we walked, I looked at my beautiful family and thanked God for all of them, and for my sweet husband who makes it possible for me to be at home with them and for us to pig out on pizza dinners just about any time we feel like it. I kept hearing the Martina McBride song, I Have Been Blessed, in my head. I have been blessed, with so much more than I deserve/To be here with the ones who love me/To love them so much it hurts/I am so blessed.

Simple Pleasures

Yesterday I had an early appointment, so I treated the girls and their daddy to McDonald's breakfast. Everyone dove in to their breakfast, enjoying the change from bananas and cereal or frozen waffles. Everyone, that is, except me. I, of course, have guilty feelings when I eat at a place like McDonald's. I enjoy my food, but with every bite there's the inevitable thoughts that come. I shouldn't be eating this, it's too fattening. I'm always complaining about not losing weight and yet I'm eating junk. Why can't bran cereal and wheat germ taste this good?

And then I looked at my daughter. She clearly has no such thoughts.






"Yaaaayyy! Cinnamon rolls! You rock, Mom!"










"Oh, these are so good...I can't get enough!"













"Eating food this good makes me want to party!"








"What? That's it? They're gone?"







She taught me a valuable lesson yesterday. Life is too short to worry and feel guilty about silly things. You gotta dive in with gusto and appreciate the simple things in life. And while I'm not going to start eating junk for every meal, the next time you see me at McDonald's, don't be surprised if I'm wearing that Big Mac container on my head!

NEW!!! SCRAPBOOK PAGES, $15 per page

I LOVE to scrapbook. I LOVE to buy scrapbook supplies. I'm almost caught up with my own kids' books so here I go, offering to help YOU finish your books. Here's how it works:

1. You email me your digital prints. I will save them and have them printed through Kodak gallery, so they are quality prints. PICTURES MAY BE CROPPED UNLESS YOU TELL ME YOU DO NOT WANT THEM CROPPED!!!

2. In this same email, you give me a general idea of what type of page you want or what the general theme of the pics is. Let me know if you want the pics to stand more on their own, or you like lots of decorations. I like both for different events!

3. When I get the pics, I will send you an estimate of how many pages I think it will take to do what you are requesting along with an approximate total cost. (Final cost will never be more than the estimate.)

4. I invoice you the total cost and you either send me a check, money order, or I can invoice you through Paypal. Shipping is $5 TOTAL, not per page.

5. I mail you the completed pages. All pages will be done on 12x12 paper (unless you specify a smaller size) and you will glue them into your scrapbook. I will leave space for you to put your own captions and journaling. Your books should be in your handwriting. No one has to know you didn't do the pages yourself!
Simple enough? I think so!!!

Here are some examples:
Title Page. This is the first page of a family album.













Double layout, running pages (both pages run together, using the same decorations/title)







Double layout, coordinating pages (same colors/theme, but different decorations)







Double pages with memorabilia (if you don't feel comfortable sending me your memorabilia, I can leave space for you to put it in if you give me measurements)







Baby book ideas

My Boy is Now a Man (Post 2 for today)

Well, not exactly a MAN, but he did something so spectacular today, that I couldn't wait until tomorrow to post. MY BABY BOY ROLLED OVER FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME!!! It scared him half to death, so much so that he screamed for about 10 minutes after, but HE DID IT!
I can't believe it! I mean, he's only three months old! He is just so big and strong and perfect! I think he must be the only baby in the whole world who ever rolled over!
Yes, he is my third, so yes, I realize how ridiculous it is for me to make such a big deal out of this, but in all seriousness, it's still so exciting to see them grow and do things for the very first time. You wanna know his take on the whole thing (after the screaming, of course)?










Heh, heh. Shucks, Ma. You ain't gotta make such a big deal out of it. It was nothing. Heh, heh.

Running

I used to run alot. I never considered myself a runner, mainly because I don't have a runner's body or any natural running ability. But I enjoyed it, ran long distances, and was in pretty good shape. Before children.
But I've been wanting to get back to running and thought about training for a half marathon in the fall. Well, it's about to be fall and while I have been working out and even running some, I'm not really in "training mode."
So when my friend emailed me and asked if I'd consider doing the Tulsa Run with her in October, I was excited. Honestly, totally excited. I got on the treadmill the very next day and did 2 miles. A far cry from the 10 and 15 mile runs I used to do on a Saturday morning, but still. It's a start. I printed off Hal Higdon's novice 15K training schedule. I am ready for this. And the bonus is that I'll be ready for the half marathon in December because what's 4 more miles, right?
Yeah, well, that would be right if I was about 10 years younger and 20 pounds lighter. I pulled a muscle yesterday. Running? No. Lifting weights? No. You wanna know how? During a game of Mario Party 8 with my 4 year old and my husband. Yeah, that's right. I beat them both. So of course, I had to jump up and do the old "former cheerleader" bounce with my hands in the air just to taunt both of them and remind them how awesome I am. Just as the "hoo" from the "woo hoo" shot from my mouth, something went terribly wrong and I went down like a bad Goodyear (as my brother likes to say). Apparently, if you are just about to be 35 and you are 20 pounds overweight, you should properly stretch your calves and hammies before you go bouncing around like a teenage idiot.
I hope there are lots of paramedics at the Tulsa Run.

Chapsticky

Reese-a-roni, as we like to call her, is obsessed with putting on chapstick. Anything that looks like it could be chapstick is ok with her. She loves that stick sunscreen because it's big so I bought her an oversized Bonnie Bell Lip Smacker in strawberry. She has smelled like strawberry for days. She puts it everywhere. Nose, cheeks, lips. It's always all over her. I've gotten so used to seeing her with a chapstick in her hand, I don't really even pay attention when I see her carrying a stick around, greasing it all over her face.









Wait. Is that? No...surely not. Yep, that's an Elmer's glue stick. Should I put down the camera and call poison control? Nah...it says non-toxic right on the label. She'll be fine.

They Have to Earn Their Keep

We don't believe in raising lazy, good-for-nothing kids around here. We want them to be productive members of society someday, so we start them early on good, old-fashioned hard labor. They really don't seem to mind. Of course, they don't know any better. That's why we start them so young...so they'll never know any different.

Here's my 4-year-old, doing a little vacuuming. She has a little trouble maneuvering our 500-pound Kirby vacuum, but she does pretty good for such a small girl.












This is my almost-2-year-old, trying her hand at sweeping the kitchen. I have to be honest. She is not very good at it. I always have to follow up after her. But she tries. And she's precious, so I let it slide.













And then there's the baby. So far, we haven't found anything he can do. But we're thinking of getting a riding lawn mower and strapping him to it. He wasn't too happy to find out that his days of lazing around, sleeping and napping, are numbered.












My husband I figure we have about 5 more years of training these kids before they take over ALL the chores and then he and I will do nothing but lay around watching TV and barking orders. Ha. It's fun to dream anyway, isn't it?

The Gap Stinks

This happened over a month ago and it still haunts me. This story is both humiliating and hilarious all at the same time.
It all starts innocently enough. My dad, who lives about 2 hours away, wanted us to come visit and help him move to a new apartment. He doesn't need our help at all, but I know he misses his grandbabies, so I decided to load up all three kids and brave the trip. Now, the older two girls are usually ok in the car for about an hour before they start needing a drink, snack, spanking, etc., but my baby was only 6 weeks old and not yet a super great traveler.
Imagine my surprise when every single one of my children behaved magnificently the entire way there. I mean, no fussing or fighting or whining from the girls. The baby only cried when he was hungry and that was easily remedied. I only had to pull over once to burp him and we made record time getting to Dad's.
I tell you all of this to explain my rationale for deciding to stop at a Gap Outlet on the way home. Most of you probably think it's stupid to decide to go shopping with three children under the age of 5. Many of you would think that there is no way I can feasibly get any shopping done with the 18 month old through the store, hiding in the jeans, and the baby screaming because it's now after 5 p.m and that's what he does at that time of day. Well guess what? I CAN shop with an 18 month old tearing up the store and a 6 week old screaming. I just continue to smile politely at the sales clerks and apologize. I explain several times that I know I should probably leave, but you see, I just had a baby and I have nothing to wear and I never get to go to an outlet mall and the shorts are so cheap and I love Gap clothes and I already know what size I need so it's not like I need to try anything on so if you can just put up with us for just a few more minutes, we'll be on our way.
You would think that's as bad as it got. And it was kind of bad. I really did feel selfish and stupid shopping while my baby was so obviously miserable and the girls were going stir crazy, bored out of their minds. It was tough to make decisions with all of this chaos going on, so I ended up stacking more than I needed to onto the stroller. Did I forget to mention I was pushing an empty stroller this whole time? Oh yeah, I was holding a baby, pushing a stroller (which did come in handy for toting my monstrous pile of clothes, many of which I still haven't worn because I don't go anywhere), and trying to tame two kids who did NOT want to be there.
Well, you know how some people say, "It could always be worse." You know what? They are right. It got worse.
My oldest, who is 4, told me she needed to go potty. I said no problem and we went to the front of the store to ask to use the restroom. I was told that they don't have a bathroom in the Gap, it's a few stores down in the center of the outlet mall. I really find it hard to believe that all the Gap employees have to walk 4 doors down every time they need to potty, but that's what they said. I gave them the desperate "Help me," look and said "It's for my 4 year old," thinking they would certainly let her use the Employees Only restroom in the back. Nope. She says, cheerfully, "it's just to your right, a little ways down."
So I ask my daughter if she can wait until I pay for my clothes. She says "Sure mom, I can hold it. I'm a big girl. I need to go poopy, but I can wait." She's so sweet sometimes, she melts my heart. So I breathe a sigh of relief and proceed to the checkout. Oh, but wait! Here's a whole rack of stuff I haven't even seen. And I never get to go to an outlet mall and the shorts are so cheap and I love Gap clothes. So I have to look. My sweet little girl is fine. She says she's fine. I believe her.
So I shop a bit longer, decide that since all is well right now, I'll just take a look at the men's side. I'll bring my husband a little treat. That always goes a long way in keeping him from asking, "How much did you spend?" He'll be so busy being thankful that I brought him a $14.99 polo shirt, that he won't even notice the bulging bagful of clothes I slyly toss into my closet.
I find the "guilt shirt" for my husband and am back to the front in a flash. I'm ready to checkout. As the no-bathroom-here girl rings up my clothes, I give my best unselfish mommy smile to my daughter and say, too chirpily, "Ok baby, Mommy is done. We will go potty and maybe even get a Coke!!"
My precious baby girl, who hasn't complained for the last 15 minutes says in a cheerfully loud 4-year-old voice, "It's ok, Momma. I already went poopy in my pants." Oh dear God...did she just say that out loud?
I couldn't even look the checkout girl in the face. I just made my way back to the back of the store, picked up a pair of boxers from the boys' section, and slunked back up to the counter. I paid her for all of it, and gave her one more "I'm sorry, I don't get out much, but I'm a really good mom" smile. She gave me that "I'm young and perky and I have no kids and I'm embarrassed for you right now," polite smile and said "It's ok." And I know it's really not, but I'll never see her again anyway, so who cares?
We get cleaned up in the bathroom, almost losing the 18-month-old in the process (she can crawl under those bathroom doors in about 1.5 seconds), and everyone gets to ride the mechanical horse out front. Everyone is happy as we climb into the car.
A wave of guilt washes over me for about 5 minutes and I get tears in my eyes. And then I imagine the conversation happening in the Gap right now and just start laughing hysterically. I mean, hysterically. I call my mom to relay the story and she is appropriately shocked She gives me her standard, "That's why I never went anywhere when you kids were little" comment and seems to be impressed that I am not losing my mind. Yeah, well, that's only because it was already lost.
I don't know if Avery was traumatized by having to poop in a public store because her mom was too selfish to put down the clothes and go to the dadgum restroom. I don't know if I'll ever take all three kids shopping ever again. But one thing I do know: this isn't the last embarrassing, guilt-ridden mommy story I'll ever have to tell. Hey, the bright side is that I'll always have something to talk about!!

NEW ITEMS!!

Personality Initials, $15 each












Embellished Stools, $65 each







More to come soon!!!
Email dodiajackson@yahoo.com for more information. Payment accepted in the form of check, money order, or credit card through Paypal.

Irritated

I am irritated.
The kids interrupted my workout.
My husband didn't notice.
My bra strap rubs in all the wrong places.
My shorts creep up between my thighs while I run.
I can't get the scale to budge.
I want to eat pizza and chocolate cake.
I am irritated.

Tig Bitties

Yeah, that's right. This is a post about my boobs. It may seem inappropriate, but it's not. You see, they are as big (no pun intended) a part of my life as my kids. Maybe more so because I've known them longer.

If there is anyone reading this who doesn't know me (and that would totally shock me), I must tell you that I have very large breasts. Tig bitties is the term I prefer. They were a decent 34D before kids and even though I would get frustrated at not being able to wear certain clothes, they weren't horrid. Fast forward 5 years and 3 kids later. They are horrid. Seriously. Horrid. I have nursed each of these children for a minimum of 3 months each. If you have had children yourself, then you know what has happened. If you don't have children, here is the phrase you need to keep in mind: Dodgeball (not a teeny tiny tennis ball) in a tube sock. I'm pushing it to squeeze them into a 36DD these days.

Ok, so you get the idea. On to the real story here. I joined a gym about 3 weeks ago and have been attending classes very regularly and loving every minute of it. I normally jog at home on the treadmill for cardio and attend gym classes for strength training. Well, today I decided to try the Cardio Challenge.

Did anyone go to aerobics classes in the late 80s/early 90s? Well, I hadn't been to one since college and didn't realize that nothing much has changed. It's still one full hour of as much bouncing as is humanly possible. Jumping jacks, knee-up-and-overs, and let's not forget the pony. I wore a sports bra, but you know what? There's not a sports bra out there than can tame what I've got going on up top. I've tried them all.

So ok, it's bad. I am trying my hardest to do the lowest impact version of everything. I can see myself in the mirror and am just hoping that everyone else is so focused on their own reflection that no one can see me in my light gray t-shirt, bouncing like there's no tomorrow. The class is really, really hard, so I tell myself that no one even cares what I'm doing. They are all just trying to survive. Besides, it's full of women, so it's not like I've got anything they haven't seen before. Right? RIGHT?

Wrong. The class ends with everyone sweaty and exhausted. We begin to put away our benches and weights and then it happened. A woman, no less than 20 years older than me, approaches. She didn't appear to be doing any better than I was. She was breathing extremely heavily and sweating profusely. I assumed she was coming up to comment on how stinking hard this class was. But no. You wanna know what she said to me? She said "Bless your heart. I'm so proud of you for sticking it out throughout the entire class."

There aren't words to describe the embarrassment I felt as two or three other girls, who had overheard her, looked at me and said "Great job."

My husband suggested duct tape for next time.

She Wants to be a Boy

This beautiful, petite, blonde haired, blue eyed little girl wants to be a boy. She doesn't just like boy stuff and it's not enough to tell her she can be a tomboy. She wants to BE a boy.

She wears boxers to bed every single night. She is infuriated when I force her to wear an outfit that requires panties underneath. She would prefer to wear camo shorts with the Spiderman boxers hanging out the bottom. She is still miffed over not being able to wear boys' swim trunks to the pool. She talks in a deep, "boy" voice almost constantly. She loves to wrestle and "fight" with her Daddy. She wants to play just about every sport there is. She's dying to be old enough to play football. All of her friends in our neighborhood just happen to be boys. She was Batman for Halloween last year and wants to be Spiderman this year. Her 3rd birthday party theme was football and last May, her 4th birthday party was all things Spiderman.

I love her little attitude and her macho strut. I love her confidence and her fearlessness. She doesn't worry that someone will laugh at her. She doesn't care if someone tells her that "girls don't play football." She is just herself all the time. And I totally love that about her.

And when she crawls in my lap and says "I wanna snuggle buggle with you, Momma," she reminds me that she's still, and always will be, my baby girl.

New Vaccine?

I know with all the controversy surrounding vaccinations in small children, that it seems a bit odd to propose a new vaccine, but here I go anyway.
I propose a Whining Vaccine. Children would receive this vaccine on or immediately following their one year birthday. While it is given in shot form, it works almost immediately, so that any tears or protests are eliminated on the spot.
There is a 99% success rate in studies so far and the side effects are minimal and not that bad anyway. They include excessive smiling, uncontrollable bursts of laughter, involuntary hugging, and a general attitude of agreement.
I allowed my middle child, age 21 months, to be a test subject for this vaccine. Here are the before and after photos:

BEFORE










AFTER












Check your local pediatrician's office for availability. :)

The Stuff I Sell

Most of the things I have made are for people I know. Most of the time, I have given a stool or a canvas as a birthday or a new baby gift. On occasion, one of these friends will ask me to make one so they can give it to someone they know. I have had numerous people tell me I should sell them...but where? I talked to a store owner and found that I would have to charge more than I feel comfortable asking just to break even. I went to a couple of trade shows...but people like them personalized and that's hard to do when you have no clue who your clientele will be.
So after much thought, I decided the web was the place to advertise. This way, I get to create custom ordered items and charge a price I feel comfortable asking.

Bear with me...I'm still learning how to navigate the website. I am not sure how to post all my pictures without taking up the entire page. I have more ideas than pictures and would most like to create the things YOU want. To match your child's room and/or personality. So let me know what you are thinking! How can I make this better? What do you want to see?

Is Anyone Out There?

My biggest fear: No one will read this.
My second biggest fear: Someone will read this.

I don't know what I'm doing. I've never created a webpage of any kind in all my life. I've been thinking about creating one since I stumbled upon Pioneer Woman's blogspot a year ago and became so hopelessly addicted that I go through withdrawals if I'm out of town or God forbid, the computer is down. But seriously...doesn't that just make me a copycat? Besides, who would want to read about my life? Who would even care about a stay at home mom whose biggest excitement of the day is whether the baby finally went poopy? Ok, so I really don't want to know the answers to those questions, so don't feel the need to be brutally honest here. What I have decided to do is combine two things I really love, talking and painting, and hope that someday, somebody will stumble upon my blog and find something they like.