No Parking In The Comfort Zone

There is something to be said for the comfort zone – it is, umm, comfortable. I suppose we could all live our lives comfortable in it. Not that we would be lazy, the comfort zone can be pretty busy, hectic at times – with the cleaning, the laundry, the errands, work, volunteering, family, vacations, etc. A life inside the comfort zone could be a full and happy one. But, is that the life we are meant to live?

If there was a “No Parking” sign posted on our comfort zone, could we have reached a higher potential? Is there a life we are meant to live outside the comfort zone?

I recently came across this quote (on a friend’s fridge):

“Life Begins At The End of Your Comfort Zone”
~ Neale Donald Walsch

This friend recently left her own comfort zone – her job, her apartment, her life – and moved to another part of the state to begin a physical therapy program. She took a leap of faith and left her comfort zone to answer a calling rather than sit back and ignore it.

Is there a calling that we are afraid to answer whilst sitting comfortable in the zone?

I would like to say that I am finally answering the call to be a writer. But, my writing life is going along happily in its own comfort zone right now. Being a comfortable drawer writer eliminates all stress and obligation from the process (writing something and hiding it in my drawer). Writing something, revising it, submitting it somewhere – that is way out of the comfort zone I am currently parked in. The draft for my NaNoWriMo novel, for example, I have picked up a half a dozen times since November but never really accomplish anything noteworthy. What’s the rush, really, when you are in a comfort zone and no one is threatening to tow you?

And this inability to reach beyond the comfort zone stretches into many areas of life – relationships, physical activity, and diet. We can allow ourselves to get into cycles that keep us from ever really experiencing life to its capacity.

As a married woman with three children approaching 40, I was OK with the way I look, my physical activity, my diet. Sure, I kinda wish I looked a little better in a two piece bathing suit. I kinda wish I could run any amount of distance without wanting to pass out. Maybe it would be nice to have a little more energy without relying on coffee loaded with cream and sugar.

A few weeks back I decided to listen to another friend and try out a nutritional cleansing program she recommends. And I am wondering why in the heck I didn’t try it sooner! It’s like going from Good to Great – I feel great (and 10 days in I lost 6 lbs and over 9 inches)! I didn’t even know it was possible!

I am trying to detoxify my body inside and out – go beyond just OK to the best I can be…

What about you? Are you parked in a comfort zone? Can you do something today to push yourself outside comfortable to the best you possible?

Spring is approaching. It is time to wake up and move out of the comfort zone. Take some chances. Do something differently. Get out of the rut and live to our fullest potential.

Who’s with me?!

(If you want to know more about the nutritional cleansing program I am on, shoot me an email – we can do it together!)

I Am Not Meant For This!

     After I put my youngest on the bus, I surveyed the disaster that my children left in their wake, got down on my knees and cried out “I am not meant for this sh$t!” Then my dog put his stinky muzzle in my face, licked the lone tear, and hacked something on my cheek.

    Hopefully, it was the lack of sleep that made me question the 10 years I have spent doing exactly this shit. See, the night before my husband and I were sleeping in our usual positions – on opposite edges of the mattress with our five year old sprawled perpendicular between us – when our son wakes us with the declaration, “I peed myself.” We dutifully sent him off to change and wash his hands while we inched further away from the middle lest the pee touch us whispering blame: Did you make sure he peed before bed? Did you let him have something to drink before bed? You have to actually watch him pee because he lies. Maybe you shouldn't have given him that fourth juice box. The boy returned, crawled into my arms and fell back asleep cradled over the edge of the bed. Me, watching the clock until it was time to go downstairs and make breakfast and lunches, dreading the choices: cereal is processed and has too much sugar; oatmeal but not the instant because that too is processed and has too much sugar; or eggs but only the free range ones from a local farm otherwise the chickens most likely were caged up cannibals injected with antibiotics and hormones. And, for lunch: do I use whole wheat bread or does that have too much gluten? Am I allowed to use peanut butter or is the kid sitting next to my daughter going to go into anaphylactic shock? How about hazelnut, is that actually a nut? 

     Sleep deprivation aside, if I am not meant to do this shit, what am I meant to do? And, why is it that I can’t seem to manage to do the same shit that women were doing for centuries before me? What is my excuse? 

     Logically, I can blame my mother. Maybe she, in the post-feminist world, didn't feel it necessary to prepare me for this shit so logically when I am faced with the conundrums: how do I make this from scratch; how do I iron that; how do I sew this; how do I clean that? The answer is: I don’t f'ing know. And neither does she! So maybe that means I blame her mother or her mother’s mother. Maybe for generations women have been whispering into their baby girls' ears: “You are not meant for this shit.” 

     Now what? Who’s going to do this shit? Are we turning into a generation of stay at home moms that send their two year olds to school because we don’t know what to do with them; send the laundry and the mending out; hire cleaning ladies; cook all our meals with a box, 2 cups of water and a microwave? And, if we absolve ourselves from all activities that were once meant for women, do we then absolve our husbands – are they no longer obligated to fix our cars; mow our lawns; pay our bills? And, if so, what are we all going to do – sit around watching Netflix? Piddling around with novels while really just reading articles posted to Facebook?

     Maybe we just have too much shit to do. Do our kids really have to wear something cute and unique every single day? Does that cute outfit then have to immediately be stain-treated, washed, and folded neatly in the drawer with 20 other cute and unique outfits? Do they have to be in every sport offered per season plus piano lessons, art classes, and Sunday school? Do we have to seek out BFFs for them and make sure to jam-pack free time with playdates so they never feel unpopular at school? 

     Or, maybe, I really am just tired. Maybe I’ll change the pee sheets, take a nap, take a shower, bake those homemade sugar-free, gluten-free, peanut-free muffins I found on Pinterest and feel like supermom by the time the kindergarten bus rolls in... (Or, search for the recipe, get distracted by an article about the Kardashian's until my son's school bus is sitting out front honking at me.).

Doctors, Vets, And More... Oh, My!

Less than 7 full days into school and I already have excuses for why I am not writing or getting anything else done (look how easy that was!):

We have already managed two doctors visits and squeezed in a visit to the vet as well...

My youngest had a very yucky snotty nose the entire time we were on vacation the week before school started. I finally brought him to the doctors last week to find that he has two "raging" ear infections. Poor guy probably had those infections brewing the whole time we were on vacation :( (although it didn't seem to bother him as he jumped from pool to pool).

What almost did thwart our vacation was a call from the dog kennel our very first night. Our 10 year old boxer had to be rushed to the emergency vet for what appeared to be symptoms of bloat. Bloat, if not treated quickly with emergency surgery, can be fatal to a dog of any age particularly a 10 year old boxer. And, after I talked to the vet whilst standing in the Wal-Mart parking lot with a cart full of supplies for the week, I thought we were going to lose him. But, luckily, by the time I arrived back at the hotel 2 hours later my husband had given the go-ahead for the surgery and my dog had survived. (2 hours later? Oh, did I skip the part where I was a blubbering idiot and locked my keys, purse, and cell phone in the car while I stood outside with melting groceries in a South Carolina Wal-Mart parking lot begging strangers if I could borrow their cell phones? Hmm.. I wonder how I could have left that part out?)

Our dog is wonderful, back to his old self. He was spoiled rotten by the vet techs while we were away and the only thing I had to do when we got back was bring him to get his staples removed.

Mommy/Doggie Selfie. Love this guy!

Doctor visit #2 came Monday for my middle child. He already managed to pick up a virus that I was worried might be strep (headache, sore throat, stomach ache, fever). Apparently, though, it's just a virus and he's back in school two days later (hopefully not spreading it around).

In between, of course, I have gotten the worst cold I have had in a long time. The last few cold and flu seasons I have managed to stay pretty healthy thanks to my persistent use of Airborne (I swear by it!) BUT apparently you have to actually remember to take it while your children are snotting all over you or it doesn't work. So, I've been coughing, sneezing, and not resting all night and puttering around all day in a fog (which please oh please should be lifting soon).

Oh, my! There you have it, less than 7 days into the school year and I have managed excuse #45 of why I am never going to be a published writer (or accomplish much of anything else!). 

On The Back-To-School Emotional Rollercoaster

Ahhh… Back-to-school time… the time of year when even the most even-tempered mother can feel like an undiagnosed manic depressive. As I prepare to send all three of my children on the school bus for the first time, I vacillate between wanting to run around the house and complete all items on my to-do list in a single child-free day to wanting to spend the day crying on the corner anxiously wringing my hands until the bus returns my baby-turned-kindergartner safely into my arms.  

For the last ten years I have some form of baby, toddler, or small child in my arms for the better part of the day. I have spent a large portion of my adult life pregnant, nursing, and changing diapers. And now that is over. I now hand my children over to be educated by strangers. Part of me wants to sing “I’m Free!!” in operatic falsetto while the other part of me wants to grab a hold of my uterus and beg “Just one more, give me just one more!”

How did the years slip by so fast? How did this summer pass by so fast? How is vacation already over?

I’ll survive back-to-school. And they will thrive. After the first few days, those child-free hours will go by oh-too-quickly. Before I know it, another summer will come and go and there will be another back-to-school to prepare for. I will have three children in school full day then. That time will come when I will be told that producing live children from my womb and keeping them alive is no longer a sufficient contribution to society. I will need to do something. Tick.

I will be putting my three biggest excuses on the bus… Tick.

Now is the time to make something of my writing or find anything else to do. Boom.

Yipes. Maybe I should go have that talk with my uterus (Just kidding, uterus. You've done good work but it is time for you to retire).

The Week That Wasn’t

Apparently Fall is emerging all around me: the temperature is dropping; the trees are changing colors; and Halloween is fast approaching. Last week I missed Fall unfolding itself right in front of me because I was in my own world. A world where corporations suspend production, where hundreds of jobs are lost, where resumes are updated, and words like “relocation” are thrown around. This is a world I had no intention of being in but there I was – life is fun like that.

I tell myself not to stress about things I can’t control. I tell myself things will work out the way they are supposed to. And I believe it, too. I know that our family will survive the closing of my husband’s workplace. That he will find another job in the area quickly and we won’t have to move. Or, maybe, there will be a company that swoops in at the last second to purchase the plant and continue production.

There is nothing I can do, really, except help my husband update his resume.  My life pretty much stays the same for the moment – I still have the same chores, the same laundry, and the same ever-surmounting to-do list. Therefore, the only logical thing for me to do with my time is to imagine how things will play out. To research the state, the city, the school district, the neighborhood, and the very house that we could live in.

So while things were piling up all around me like the fall leaves outside, I was busy playing with the Realtor app on my phone. Not the best use of my time, but it was cathartic and kind of fun….

It was almost like last week didn't even exist. Last week was the week that wasn't. So, back to reality this week! Back to using my time productively (or at least trying to). Back to using my imagination to write stories (since that’s my goal, right?)! Failing that, I have a new book to read – Allegiant (Divergent Trilogy)comes out today – yay!

A Daily Tribute Through Reading

My family is big on reading. Take a trip with any member of my family, and you'd better bring several books because that is what we will be doing: Reading. I think my grandmother was the driving force behind our love of books. She was the one who gave us many of the books that we cherish today. She was the one who introduced me to so many books -- books like the Secret Garden or Jane Eyre I read because of her energetic descriptions of them. As I grew up, I loved to discuss books with her even though we didn't always agree (she being conservative and me being, well, not). And try as she might I never got into Wind in the Willows or Little House on the Prairie but did pass these books along to my children.

When I was pregnant with my first child, my grandmom gave me the book, The Read Aloud Handbook by Jim Trelease -- lauding this book as essential to my child's upbringing. I read this book and refereed to it often while my daughter was little -- reading many of the recommended titles including Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little to her when she was just three years old. Reading aloud to our children continues to be a cherished part of our daily routines. We have read The Little House on the Prairie; The Wind in the Willows; The Secret Garden; Heidi; Anne of Green Gables; numerous Beverly Cleary books; Roald Dahl; almost the entire Magic Tree House Series; The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe; and recently we've begun the Harry Potter series.

My grandmother passed away a year ago but when I see the love of reading that my 9 year-old daughter has, I feel my grandmom. That spark was started by her and lives on in my family every day. It lives on when I can't get my daughter to do anything because she can't/won't put her book down. It lives on when the last thing my daughter sees at night are the words in a book and the first thing she does in the morning is pick up her book. My daughter makes a little tribute to my grandmother everyday through her love of reading.

Thanks GGMom for being a wonderful example to your children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. We miss you and think of you daily when we pick up a book!

(If you haven't read The Read Aloud Handbook I highly recommend it, link below:)



The Read-Aloud Handbook: Seventh Edition

Enjoying The Small Things, Soccer Mom Style

We are in full fall swing -- school, scouts, soccer, choir, dance, karate, playgroups, back-to-school nights, open houses, etc. Not to mention the fun stuff you just have to squeeze in with the family: hayrides, apple picking, pumpkin patches, fall fests, jumping in leaves, bonfires, etc. Then there are the big chores to attend to: switching over closets, fall cleaning (if you still do that), yard work, etc. on top of the usual chores. Plus all those "back-to-school" resolutions that may have already been forgotten like my resolutions here which top of my list continues to be WRITE MORE.

For a self-deprecating excuse-airing person like me, fall means I have a lot to beat myself up over like not writing enough. But I am going to spare you the boring blog of whine whine whine, promise to change, then whine whine whine some more (lucky you).

Because:

Between all those moments of rushing around too much. Between stacks of dishes and loads of laundry. Between trips back and forth from the soccer complex. I have managed to relax and take a breath. I have managed to stop and enjoy the small things. I have sat back at karate and read. I have enjoyed one on one time with my preschooler. I have watched the sun set over the soccer field. I have stayed up too late with my daughter reading Harry Potter. I vegged on my sofa with my husband and watched useless TV. I spent a Sunday afternoon watching a movie with the kids.

Taking a moment to do these things is no small feat when there is so much to accomplish. I may never be completely on top of the housework. I may never be the perfect mom. I may never cook entirely from scratch. I may never meet daily word counts. And I may continue to meet submission deadlines. But I am enjoying the small things, soccer mom style. Maybe one day all the rest will come.

Sunset on the soccer field

It Is Back-To-YOU Time

It has happened once again. Just yesterday we were making New Year's Resolutions (like mine here AND here). Then we blinked and started planning summer activities (whoops, did I forget to do that?). And now we've sent the kids back to school.

Take a deep breath.

It's time to get back into the routine (or find one). It's time to get back to you. Yes, I'm talking to YOU. Ok, fine, I'm talking to ME.

Here's some of my back-to-school resolutions:

     * Do a load of laundry and a household chore at least three times a week.    
     * Exercise after big kids get on bus at least four times a week.
     * Run errands with little kid in tow once or twice a week.
     * Go to the library to write while said little kid is in school three times a week.
     * Write from home the other 2 days (and catch up on any household chores).

But, of course, I am giving myself the first week off so that I can simply catch up on everything I didn't do over the summer like put away end-of-school stuff and tackle the mounds of summer laundry.

Got any back-to-school resolutions (or excuses to avoid them)?

It's In My Purse

Hello my dear brave blog readers. Today I am going to take you to a place few dare to go. A place even my husband refuses to enter (for fear he may put his hand into a half-eaten jelly sandwich, pulverized goldfish, or an unwrapped tampon). I am going to take you into my pocket book. Please take appropriate precautions – rubber gloves, hazmat suit, etc….

See, it is time to change purses. And, in the spirit of self-deprecating and humorous excuse-airing I have decided to share this momentous occasion with you. Because, dare I say it, my pocket book is probably some metaphor for my life although, lucky for you, I’m not really going to analyze the meaning now. Instead, I’m just gonna dump it out here on the table so you can have a good laugh at my expense:

1. A church bulletin. 
2. 2 sided 8 x 11 florescent green sheet on Daniel 4 and King Nebuchadnezzar’s pathway from pride of self to praise of God and how we too can do this. 
3. A Thank you card.
4. A receipt for Marshall’s.
5. A letter from my son’s preschool dated May 23rd. 
6. 3 ripped ticket stubs for dance recital dated May 25th and the envelope for the tickets.
7. 5 x 7 of my daughter that I purchased at her dance recital.
8. 2 loose Express gift cards I received on Mother’s Day and the two card holders they came on.
9. Business cards for my local moms club as well as my own personal business cards. 
10. My cellphone.
11. My wallet.
12. Two of my children’s wallets.
13. A wallet containing all my shoppers-club cards.
14. My camera.
15. My Kindle.
16. Large book light received as a free gift from Writer’s Digest books circa 1999.  
17. 1 used tissue. 2 pieces of toilet paper. And one questionable paper towel.
18. 2 almost-dry Sharpies.
19. 1 yellow highlighter and 1 uncapped blue highlighter.
20. 2 pens, 1 dissembled pen and 2 pencils.
21. My daughter’s inhalers.
22. A Pepcid tablet for my dog.
23. A travel toothbrush.
24. Hand sanitizer.
25. Sunglasses.
26. A pony tail holder.
27. An 80 piece bag of gum.
28. A bank lollipop.
29. And the trash from 2 lollipops, 1 piece of gum, and a granola bar.
30. My car keys.
31. Some sort of doohickey that I keep forgetting to ask the kids if they know what it belongs to.

There you have it folks, a quick peek into my scatter-brain disorganized world. In the interest of full disclosure, I will have you know that I cleaned out my purse last Saturday between Acts at my daughter’s recital.

I Used To Be The Best Mom

I used to be the best mom. I used to do everything right. It was so effortless -- I followed my instinct or, when that failed, I followed the advice of an expert which would work perfectly because they were the experts and I was nothing but a mom in the trenches.

I look back on those days of my perfection fondly...

When everything was sterile, controlled, mess-free.

The days when my children napped in their beds according to the schedule I put them on. They nursed every two hours, exactly 20 minutes per side.

At night, they would stir to nurse at the same regularity  I would lift them gently out of their beautiful bassinet, nurse, then gently place them back in -- never falling asleep with them in bed because that could be dangerous. My children never co-slept with us -- for the dangers as well as the boundary issues.  

I used only cloth diapers. My babies never drank cows milk. I made my own baby food.

They certainly never had candy, junk food, juice boxes, or happy meals. It was all organic whole foods for us.

None of my children spent time in front of the TV or other electronics. We spent our time doing educational activities and crafts. My children embraced puzzles, games, crafts, writing. Their toys, always gender neutral, never included weapons.

I never yelled at my children because they respected my authority and listened when first requested. Failing that, I had a system of positive and negative reinforcement. I never needed to resort to punishment. I remember those days fondly. I remember when I was the best mom. Then, of course, I had children.

And now I am just a mom doing my best like all the rest. Hope you had a wonderful mother's day.

You Don’t Really Want a Gift, Do You?

I appreciate you all. I really do. I appreciate all you good people in the world that strive to make this world a better place. I appreciate you under-appreciated – you teachers, you bus drivers, moms, dads, all service professionals. I do. But do we have to have a day to show our appreciation? Does it make us feel more appreciated? Do you really want a flower pot with my child’s finger print on it? Do you want a cute picture of my kid in a homemade picture frame? Do you want that spread of food you shouldn't eat two weeks before the start of summer?

We should do better at showing appreciation every day. It’s a shame that as a society we need to have appreciation days and awareness months to celebrate the often ignored.

I shouldn't need Teacher Appreciation Day/Week to make my child’s teacher feel appreciated. I should send my kid to school prepared. I should raise my child to value education and respect authority. I should take my family vacations in the summer. I should respect her experience and opinion in conferences. Does he really want my handmade gift to show my appreciation? At Christmas, in May, then again in June – how many coffee mugs does one teacher need?

Are these gifts even out of appreciation or are they just another example of over consumerism? Are we just trying to pin the best picture on our social media walls? Are we just trying to throw a band-aid on a broken limb? I know it sucks to be a teacher in a society that doesn't value education, here’s a doughnut. I know it sucks to be an ignored minority, here’s a month. I know it sucks to have cancer, here’s a pink pin.

You don’t really want a gift, do you? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just an uninspired gift-giver and an unappreciative gift receiver – focusing too much on the stress both cause instead of the joy. After all, nothing is more priceless than the look on a kid’s face when he gives a gift made out of love. Maybe that’s the idea for next year – skip the made-in-China soon-to-be-trash trinket and make a video diary of kids telling the teacher why they love him and appreciate her. I’m gonna pin that! (I mean, I would if I knew how.)

I Wasn't Prepared For THIS!

I thought I was prepared for children, back when I was a stupid 27 year-old. I was a big sister, a babysitter; some of my friends had kids. I managed to squeak out a degree in Psychology with a minor in Human Development and Family Studies. I read mommy-manuals. Besides, I liked kids. I understood kids. I knew they’d be messy. I knew they’d be loud. I knew they’d be unruly at times. But I knew how to handle it all, I was prepared.

Insert a big-fat mommy-guffaw here: HA!! Hahahaha!

This morning I awoke to my third consecutive morning of snotty, hacking kids which means following children around with tissues, hand sanitizer  and Lysol, trying to sound motherly and soothing while I have kid-snot on my hands and spittle on my face.

Ha! Snotty Lottie seemed like a joke! Joke's on me!

Why was I not prepared for this amount of bodily fluids? Where were the warnings on how to handle the volumes of bodily fluid I alone would be responsible for cleaning?

So here you are, mommies-to-be. Here you are, all those contemplating procreation. Here are the warnings you will not get anywhere else:

Become one with pee, because it will be everywhere.
You will hold your beautiful newborn daughter in your arms. Reveling in how angelic she is, your heart will expand in ways you never thought possible. You will start to feel warm all over. Oh, wait, it’s wet and warm. It’s pee! Because somehow those little infant diapers are unable able to hold your daughter’s pee! Every single time she pees she will very likely pee straight through the diaper! Every single time your sweet newborn son wakes wailing in the middle of the night (and it will be often), he will be wet. The little wisps of hair on his head will be matted down with piss. The tips of the booties that his feet are swimming in will be soaked with urine. His bassinet, soaked through the waterproof pads straight to the mattress.

It won’t stop at potty training, either, just so you are aware. Your son will RARELY make the toilet even if you have him sit, his little KINDERGARTEN voice will come from the bathroom, “Mom, I accidentally peed on my pants again!” as the bus pulls up in front of the house. And girls! It is actually possible for a girl to miss. No lie. You’ll sit there in front of your little 2 or 3 year old excited for her as she pee-pees in the potty and it’ll shoot out and hit you in the face. WHAT?

Oh, there is an end in sight. My doctor told us that boys can stop wetting the bed at 8, even as old as 12!

So, you've got a handle on pee. You tell yourself that pee really isn't all that bad, it’s supposedly sterile anyways…. But be prepared for poo:

You will see, analyze, and discuss poo more than you ever imagined.
Do you remember having real discussions with your spouse? How you discussed the universe and your place in it? You discussed the meaning of life and religion. You discussed politics. Well, no more. Now you will discuss poop. From the very first black-tar meconium poop that you have to scrap off your infant’s tiny tushie to the green and mustardy breast-milk poo. You’ll hold the poo up to your computer screen and compare it. You’ll sniff it. Discussing the smell, “It’s kinda sweet, isn't it?”

You’ll be amazed at how sometimes the poo manages to blast right out, missing the diaper and heading straight for the baby’s back. You will name the poo-types, laying claim to them – “This one is a rock, I’ll take this one.” Or “Oh, this one is a blow-out, you handle it.”

You’ll change your baby’s diaper, prepared for the pee to shoot out because you've already made one with the pee, when your baby makes a cute little bunched up face and a big fat fart-poo will shoot right out at you.

Again, it will only get worse with potty-training. You’ll be getting your little three year old daughter ready for bed, pull down her pants and out will roll a big fat turd. And she’ll just smile at you. Your three year old son will hold his poop for a week rather than poo on the potty but one day while he is in the bathtub it’ll slip out in a fury. And continue slipping as you lift him out. Plop onto the floor before your foot has time to react and squish, you've stepped in human feces.

But it won’t stop there, you’ll sort your 8 year-old's laundry and put your hands in something and throw up a little in your mouth because you know no matter how many times you wash and sanitize your hand the rest of the day it will still smell like shit!

Speaking of throwing up in your mouth, those with a weak-stomach need not apply to this job of parenthood because, you guessed it:

Get used to vomit!
You’re slightly prepared for spit-up – you were given all those spit rags and bibs at your shower, even that cute little pink bib that says “Spit Happens.” Where’s the mommy version? The one that covers your shoulders arms and back – because that’s what you will very likely need! Spit happens alright and rarely does it happen on the cute embroidered spit-up rag. It happens down your back, in your hair, or straight over everything onto a pile on your floor. Sweet.

You’ll get used to the spit-up; regardless, it’ll stop at about the age of one. But one day while your child is just a toddler you will be awakened in the middle of the night and find her covered in an implausible amount of thick, chunky, vomit – in her hair, in between her fingers, down her jammies, puddled in her crib, and oozing out the slats onto the carpet. She’ll be utterly distraught at what just happened to her, you’ll want to scoop her up and comfort her but you have absolutely no idea where to begin. As the stomach bug goes racing through every member of the household you will find yourself hunched over the toilet wishing for the days when all you had to clean up was some projectile milk spit up.

Should I stop there? Or should I relay some more snot-stories? I haven’t even touched on pet messes! How about you? You got some good turd-tales? Any vomit sonnets? Any poo-parables?

I suppose it doesn't really matter, my warnings, because I know the truth: You, expectant parent, will not believe me. You will think me silly. You will think I am exaggerating. You will think that it will never happen to you. You will think that you are prepared. Furthermore, I will soon forget myself. One day my daughter, with her belly bulging, will look to me for advice. I will tell her about the wonders of holding her newborn infant in her arms. The milk-drunk face with tiny drops of spit on his lips, falling asleep in her arms still making sucking noises. I won’t talk of projectile vomit or poopy blow-outs. Even if I did, she will look up at me with those same big innocent brown eyes she had as a toddler and say, “Not my baby.”

I’ve Been In Survivor-Mode

I've been stuck in survivor mode without even realizing it. We've been plugging along, surviving the days. We've been just fine. When you are just fine, it’s hard to identify that you’re also not great.

Then the other day I had one of those moments when I felt like an utter failure. This is not how it was supposed to be like, I thought. I was not supposed to be this kind of parent. I felt like I had given up and given in. I felt like I was walking through a perpetual cycle of lunchables, happy meals, electronics, and screaming in the most fish-wifiest voice, “IF YOU DON’T STOP FIGHTING YOU ARE ALL GOING TO YOUR ROOM!” And them screaming back, “YOU HATE US!” I felt my heart breaking and my children are still little. What is it going to be like in ten years? I felt like lost my daughter to some mommy-hating teenager and she’s only 8. I felt like I’d lost my vegetable eating children somewhere in the McDonald’s play area.

Then something happened right around dinner time, the witching hour. Nobody was pulling on me. Nobody was whining for snack food. Nobody was begging to play Wii. The boys were playing with actual toys and imagination. My daughter was up in her room taking her punishment. I called the children to dinner. They sat down to plates of Black bean taquitos, mini chicken and bean tamalitos, Edamame, and oranges. Nobody whined. My daughter sat there popping Edamame with vigor that is usually only reserved for Sun Chips. My son tried four then politely concluded that they taste like a cross between eggs and green beans, so he’ll pass. My three year old ate numerous. They divided the seconds of black bean taquitos amongst themselves without incident. They finished their milk with minimal coaxing. They showered and got ready for bed as instructed. My daughter discussed how she was going to handle Day 2 and Day 3 of her punishment without any you-are-the-worst mom in the world angst.

Whew. We did more than just survive the day - there may have even been some good lessons learned there! I know it’s not the end. I know that we have to keep actively trying, not just putting out fires and surviving. I know that we need to work on a better positive reinforcement plan. I know that punishing my children for bad behavior isn't the only answer. I know they won’t always eat their vegetables but I don't have to give in. I have to actively raise my kids to be healthy adults with good character not just survive their childhood until they grow to be semi-competent grown-ups with high cholesterol.

Heading off to Daddy/Daughter Dance:
She didn't want to go, she didn't want to wear a dress. But she went and made some good memories 

It doesn't hurt to try. Isn't that what we tell our kids? The worst thing that is going to happen is it doesn't work but you won’t be any worse off. Sometimes you make a plan to nip a behavior in the bud with a severe grounding and you think it isn't going to work, but it does. Sometimes you put a strange vegetable in front of your children and they eat it! Just never give up on yourself or your children. Maybe you’ll find you’re not such an utter failure after all.

Maybe one day I’ll extend that just try attitude to my writing life. Stay tuned! 

I Didn’t Plan on It

Yesterday my moms group had Cristie Ritz King from Real Live Wellness NJ speak. She was wonderful! I am so grateful that she didn’t look on a map before she agreed and drove the 90 minutes to come speak to us. I’m grateful I showed up too.

I have to admit if I wasn’t President of our moms group I very likely would have skipped this meeting.  First of all, it was during my precious childless two hours. Second, I *know* what a nutritionist is going to say: Eat more fruits and vegetables, buy organic (or at least buy the dirty dozen organic), avoid processed foods, eat more fiber, eat more whole grains, no juice, no fast food, no school lunches, less sugar, no artificial colors or flavors, etc.

I think I do a fair job, maybe I’d give myself a C or D but that is still passing (C’s get degrees), right? But I didn’t plan on being just a “C” mom. I didn’t plan on being just a “C” anything, it just happened that way.

One of my failings is I can’t seem to come up with a good snack solution. My immediate response is to just limit snack which works when my kids are home alone. Or I offer snacks I feel are better but in all honesty aren’t much better like goldfish or dried cereal. Rarely, do they eat fruit and veggies. But it’s hard when they need a snack for school, they want an afterschool snack, they demand a snack in the car, they require a snack at scouts, a snack at soccer, a snack for the beach or the pool or park, then there’s the playdate snacks, and the birthday party snacks, and on and on and on. Don’t even get me started on birthday parties! There’s a birthday every week. And holidays that require candy all year long.

If I do a “Kitchen Makeover” like Cristie recommended then I won’t feel so bad when my kids eat junk somewhere else because at least I know the rest of the time I gave them the best.  Like if I make smoothies or parfaits or homemade ice cream or homemade anything instead of carbs and processed foods.

As far as meals go, again it isn’t necessarily new, but she put it in such an easy to execute way that I might actually follow through. She said to keep it simple (duh!) – have lemon chicken and steamed broccoli every Monday if they’ll eat it. And, if you make only one dinner per night and don’t offer anything else (like a peanut butter sandwich or chicken nuggets) they will eventually eat it (one day). Cook what you like and know is good for the family just plate it differently if you have to. Maybe they don’t eat a lot at dinner, maybe just a little of each item. Maybe they eat more at breakfast (something tells me she doesn’t mean Fruit Loops. Gulp.) or lunch (again, something tells me not school lunch. Oops.). Think of what they eat over the week not just in one day. Maybe one day they don’t do so well but the other days they do better.

Get the kids involved in the entire process – the menu planning, the shopping (maybe even pick-your-own), and the cooking – they’ll be more excited about eating it. Which again is something I may have known but don’t always do.

It’s more than *knowing* what to do it’s about actually doing it. As Cristie says on her blog, The Right Hand Mom, it is never too late to be the person you wanted to grow up to be. No excuses (or at least I’ll try to limit them!).

I’ll Try An Extra Helping Next Year

Ahh! New Years Day. I feel like I should be sleeping off a rough night or sitting on the couch watching parades and football but instead I find myself puttering around my house with a cloud of anxiety hovering over me. Tomorrow it’s back to reality. Ugh.

It’s just too soon, isn’t it? Is Christmas vacation really over? Is it really time to go back to school and get back to the daily list of responsibilities? How many of those have been neglected over the last few weeks? Finally, and most regrettably, do I really have to find a place for all this new crap – err, I mean thoughtful gifts?

I’m feeling some extra angst towards Santa right about now. Did he really have to get my kids everything they asked for? How did we get swept up into another commercialized Christmas? I started out with the intention of trying to keep to the true meaning of the Holiday but as we got closer and closer to the day all it seemed to involve was Santa and presents, presents and maybe some junk food.  Yikes. It is really hard to keep the Christ in Christmas!

Church on Christmas Eve was a disaster and trying to pray before our Christmas meal was comical. I think we may have managed a “Happy Birthday Jesus” toast before diving into pork and mashed potatoes. My kids pushed Jesus to the side with just as much vigor as they pushed aside the salad and green beans.

"Look! There's Jesus in his cage!"

As I analyze how Christmas went and how I could do things different, I realize that maybe I haven’t done such a bad job. Maybe I've added Jesus into our Holiday similarly to how I've added that salad and side of green beans. I've snuck a couple of Bible stories in at bedtime; we've attended church and Sunday school with some regularity. My three year old can point baby Jesus out of a crowded manager scene (too bad he has been heard to shout “There’s baby Jesus in his cage” but I can work on that!). Maybe right now they’d rather focus on the presents just like they’d  rather focus on the carbs and sweets but maybe, just maybe, one day it’ll all sink in and they’ll embrace the true meaning of the Holiday just like one day I feel confident that they will eat some vegetables.

Instead of fretting over how I can change our Christmas, I’m just going to think of how I can sneak an extra side of Christ into our Holiday just like I’m always scheming on how to sneak in an extra vegetable. Some ways I came up with:

• Add a short Bible verse to the inside of our Christmas countdown chain links. Each day, read that bible verse leading up to Jesus’ birth.
• Put a bowl with 25 Acts of Kindness written on small sheets of paper. Each day leading up to Christmas, pick a kind act to do from the bowl. 

I’ll let you know how I do next year! For now, it’s off to clean my kitchen and cook some pork and sauerkraut, trying not to dwell on the responsibilities tomorrow will bring. At least I can check off “Blog Entry” from my mental to do list!

Happy New Year!

Excuse Me!

I recently had a melanoma scare (in my head). And, quite frankly, melanoma still hasn’t been ruled out since I have yet to see the doctor (no time). During this frightening half hour I came to the realization that I could die soon. A trip to the doctor for an atypical mole that turns out to be melanoma that has spread to the lungs (my college friends KNEW I’d die of lung cancer!).

You are supposed to laugh. But, while you’re laughing I am defending myself saying “It happens!” Bob Marley died at the age of 36 of melanoma that spread to his brain. Who knew? And - are you kidding me? 36! Look at his legacy! I’m 36! What is my legacy? Sure, I have 3 kids. But what am I teaching them? To say please and thank you (some of the time); to look both ways when you cross the street (1/2 the time); to cover your mouth when you sneeze (most of the time); to wash your hands (almost all the time)?

If I go to the doctor next month and am told I have melanoma that has spread and I’m going to die in 1 year, what would great wisdoms would I want to teach my children before I go? What will they remember of me (that I yelled all the time? That I spent too much time on the computer?)?

As a wannabe writer - what do I have to show the world when I’m gone? A bunch of crappy ½ written stories and novels that my sisters (probably not my husband) will read as they throw them in the recycling bin? And, if I had 1 year to live would I spend that time writing the great American novel? Doubtful. Why? I really don’t even know – I have hundreds of excuses. I’m sure I’ve got at least one excuse each day!

You know what, though, I don’t think I’m much different than anyone in America. No different than you reading this blog (shouldn’t you be doing dishes?). Are these excuses keeping us from living a fulfilled life? (Who really cares about those dishes in the sink anyways?) Are excuses keeping us from achieving the American dream? What is that dream these days? And, does it even matter if we are happy with our excuses?

                There you have it the birth of my blog, 365 Excuses. One woman’s reasons why I may or may not be living a fulfilled life. Excuses for why I may or may not ever be a published writer. Excuses for why I have a sink full of dishes, a sticky kitchen floor, and 3 laundry baskets of clean unfolded laundry. While we are at it – the excuse for why there is cereal on the floor (my 6 year old had to get his own breakfast because Mommy was writing her blog).

                While we are being honest, it will be more like “52 Excuses.”

                Hope you enjoy!