Wednesday, May 5, 2010

You Know You're a Mom When...

...You find a Dora Backpack and Wolverine claw hand residing in your bathroom.

You know you are a weary Mom of three when you push them aside with your foot and proceed to the toilet without bothering to pick them up.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

I Threw My Bottle of Metamucil at Her

I realize at age 40, I am an older Mom. I accept that. I'm okay with it.

But when I am mistaken YET AGAIN for my daughter's Grandmother, well, a girl gets a little self-conscious.

I wasn't even terribly offended when the nice woman at the playground who obviously WAS there with her two granddaughters asked me if Meredith was my Granddaughter.

It was the way she emitted a surprised "OH!" when I said, "No she's my daughter."

Really? Is it REALLY that shocking?

Time to dye the no-longer-prematurely gray hair.

Friday, March 26, 2010


Most of the time I hear from people, "Wow she looks just like you!"

And my girls do look like me. It make sense since they are, in fact, girls, and I happen to be one myself. My husband has often bemoaned the fact that he apparently got very little genetic input when our kids were conceived.

But I have personally always thought that Jamie looks more like me than my girls do. Other than the pink dress, the Kindergarten photos look remarkably similar.

Happy Birthday Little Man. I am grateful every day that you tell me you will ALWAYS be my little boy.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Lesson of the Day

Despite using half a roll of toilet paper per poop, the boy obviously has not mastered the art of wiping his own bum.

Note to self: Grab lightly from the laundry pile.

Monday, March 1, 2010

I Dreamed a Dream (No Not That One)

Sometimes I think dreams have meaning. Sometimes I think it is our unconscious mind allowing us to work out things while we sleep. Sometimes I think we see things we need to see in our dreams. And sometimes I think they are just our brain's way of entertaining itself while we are busy sleeping.

Last night I dreamed I was learning to drive a big rig in Alaska. Just like they do on Ice Road Truckers. I have never had any particular desire to drive a large truck, but last night I was pretty darn good at it.

And guess who was riding shotgun with me and giving me training as I learned to navigate the roads pulling a heavy haul? The late Phil Harris of Deadliest Catch fame was showing me how to park the enormous truck as we pulled into the parking lot of a Nevada brothel. It just happened to be The Bunny Ranch as featured in HBO's series Cathouse.

Seems he and some of his buddies wanted to get a little action in before we got some rest for the night. So I parked the truck and patiently waited for Phil and his crew, do their thing.

After he was done I joined the girls so I could borrow a shower and catch some shut-eye.

But I spent most of the time trying to shave my legs with a VERY dull disposable razor. And not one of those hookers would loan me a razor.

I conclude three things from this dream.

One, I should not have had pizza for a late dinner.

Two, Maybe, just maybe I watch too much Reality TV.

And finally, Three, I really need to shave my legs.

Monday, February 22, 2010


Three years ago on this day, I gave birth to my last baby. It was a wild ride. Her heart stopped beating, my blood pressure plummeted, and at one point it looked like an operation was inevitable. But as babies have their own ideas about how or when they will be born, she decided to just come on out in a bit of a hurry.

My baby girl turns three today. She's still such a baby to me. It's hard to remember, that at this age both her older brother and sister were already the "big" kids. In many ways she is a big kid. She is completely weaned, she walks, she talks, she has a mind of her own and is not afraid to express it (and does she ever!), she no longer wears diapers (that was one milestone I was not sad to see pass) and can even dress herself.

But today she cried and told me "I don't want to be three! I want to be a baby!"

Luckily, she will always get to be my baby.