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Shhhh!

O is wearing underwear and has been dry all morning. Now go knock on some wood, or whatever other superstitious thing you do to avoid curses.

She has mostly potty trained herself up to this point. I took a new approach with her. This potty training approach is called, "I don't care if you wear diapers to college as long as I don't have to potty train you." As a result of this new approach, she has done most of it herself. She has poo'd in the potty for a couple of months now and will pee just about ever time you stick her on it. (I'm sure you wanted all the gory details.) Read more here...

A Child's Prayer

Dear Heavenly Father,
Please help us not to fight.
Please help those that are sick to get better.
Please help my mom not to forget to come to my class again tomorrow.
Amen More...

How to Wash Dishes Like a Ten-Year-Old

Washing dishes is the most despised of all possible chores. It is the chore that elicits the most complaints, tears and tantrums. Washing dishes is evil, apparently. But of all of the children, the ten-year-old is by far the most obnoxious. If you want to be just like him, here's what to do. More...

Adrenaline Rush

O got a little Winnie The Pooh train for her first birthday. It's the kind you sit on and scoot around with your feet. It is the source of much entertainment. It is a noisy little toy, but she loves it. More...

She's Terribly Two

I've never truly understood the phrase "terrible two's". I've had my fair share of tantrum throwers, criers and a little mischief here and there, but Little Miss O has given the phrase a whole new meaning. She is the epitome of the "terrible two's". She is the very definition. More...

The Doctor's Office

I hate going to the doctor. I'm the type of mom who waits until it's absolutely necessary to go because I always have to take so many people with me. Unless a kid needs stitches, antibiotics or shots, I try to just wait it out at home. But my sweet little E has been making sure we make good use of our insurance lately. More...

My House, the Trash Receptacle

My house is a trash receptacle. That's all it is. I try really, really hard, but no matter how hard I try, there is ALWAYS more garbage. The baby is usually eating paper off the floor. This morning I dug fake Christmas tree out of her mouth. I put it away yesterday and vacuumed and swept. More...

The Passage of Time

It seems appropriate on this day in which we celebrate the passing of an old year into that of a new year, to reflect on the passage of time. Time is a funny thing. Time can be our friend or our enemy. Time can fly by so fast we can scarcely breathe or it can drag it’s feet like that of an unwilling child. More...

How to Survive Christmas Break

1. Don’t play stupid board games with your children. (*cough* Killer Bunnies *cough*)

2. Don’t ever ask them to be quiet during nap time. You will go insane from the effort.

3. Employ the children as your personal slaves.

4. Allow as much Wii time as humanly possible. Break only to pee and eat.
More...

Messy Monday

After spending much too long attempting to upload today's photo, I have decided that this week's Messy Monday will have to be described. You will be required to use your imagination and I will have to dust off my descriptive skills. You see, WordPress does not like me today, but it will not prevent Messy Monday. More...

A Merry Christmas Post

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! We had a fabulous Christmas this year despite having a sick baby most of the week. I've been singing the Hallelujah chorus every time I give my sweet baby antibiotics. Thank heavens for modern medicine. More...

Dear Medical Assistant,

I would like to give you some tips and pointers on appropriate phone behavior. I could tell when I spoke with you that you are young and likely have no children of your own. Here are some things to keep in mind next time you speak with a worried mother: More...

Grown Up Children

From time to time, I look at my children and see their adult-selves. I catch a glimpse of what they may be like. It may be in an action, or a look. It's like I will have a moment to see the future, see who they will become. More...

Car Dancing

I'm in my sexy mini-van, sitting at a stop light with the radio blaring. I am car dancing and I could care less who sees it. Over the din of the music, you can hear screams. I look over at the car next to me, and some young thing primping in her itty-bitty car mirror shoots me a wilting glance. The light changes and I drive off, singing along to Matchbox 20 and ignoring the toddler in the back.
More...

A Mom's Christmas List

Dear Santa,

I've been pretty good this year. I only yell at the kids once in a while and I try to be fun on occasion. I keep my husband happy most of the time and I haven't killed any pets this year. I don't know about you, but that's success in my book!

I don't really need a bunch more stuff. That would just require more cleaning and when you come down the chimney I think it will be painfully obvious that that is not my forte. No, the things on my list are fairly simple, really.

The first thing I'd like is for all of the socks in my house to have a match. My children don't seem to mind wearing mismatched socks, but it drives me a little crazy every time I fold them and the pile of single socks is greater than the pile of matched socks. Is that too much to ask?

Number two on my list may be a little harder, but I really think it's doable. I would like for my children to never be without a coat. Oh, they don't need new coats; they just need the ability to keep track of the ones they have. I almost super glued my son's coat to his head this morning, but I was afraid that would put me on the naughty list.

My third item is a bit more extravagant, but once again, I believe totally doable. I would like a laundry maid. I need someone to fold and put away my laundry once a week. My husband claims it doesn't bother him, but when he has to wrap a towel around himself to go in search of underwear, I sense a little dissatisfaction.

Santa, I’m all for world peace, but I need a little peace in my home first. So, for my last request, I want children who don’t beat on each other. Most specifically, the two-year old needs some help. Don’t put her on the naughty list; just give her a crash course in not beating on her sister.

Sincerely,


P.S. There’s a pile of laundry and a few toys by the fire place, so watch out on your entrance this year.

Messy Monday

This week's Messy Monday comes to you via the den. The den is No-man's land. It's the place of all the paper stuffs. It's Dad's room and I don't venture there except to add more paper. The pictures are a little blurry today due to a crappy camera and a helping infant. It's better this way. A sharp, crisp image would merely scare you away!





Where's your mess today?



P.S. To all of my readers, I have a bit of an announcement. (No I'm not pregnant!) I have been in the process of moving my blog. You can find me at www.staceysmotheringmoments.com. If you follow me here, come follow me over there. I'm not sure how long I'll post to both, so come join me! Happy Monday!

Just Smile!

The weather may be frightful, the house may be a disaster, but all you need to do is see this and smile!






One of the things I love most about children, is their ability to be spontaneous and find joy in just about everything!

Winter coat

I saw red. I tried not to, but I did. HOW? How in the world do you forget a coat when it is 6, count them...6, degrees outside. Patience will elude me in this.

I shouldn't have lectured, but I did. I should have maintained my composure, but I definitely didn't. As we walked out the door last night to go see the Christmas lights, I was fuming. I know he's only 7, but seriously!

I thought back to my own childhood. I remember my mother insisting I take gloves to school. I remember taking them off as soon as I was out of sight of her car and refusing to wear them during recess. I'm sure I made my mother crazy. Common sense and popularity do not go well together. And yet, I survived, and I still have my hands.

I made my son wear his sister's old Cheer coat to school. I figured at least it's blue and he'll have something to wear until he locates his coat at school. He was mildly unhappy, but I'm sure he could tell there was no room for discussion. I made him take a hat and gloves. He may not wear them, but at least I'm giving him the choice not to freeze to death.

After the kids walked out the door, I returned to the laundry room. I put a load of whites in and picked up the random things off the floor to tidy up a bit. And then I saw it. The elusive coat was behind the door. Hiding. Refusing to be found. Insisting that it be thought to be at school on this cold, winter day.

I sighed a heavy sigh. I gave the wrong lecture. He needed the "put your stuff away" lecture, not the "don't leave your coat at school" lecture. Then again, I'm sure he could do without a lecture at all.

Lessons will be learned.

White Puppy

Most of my children have a lovey: a treasured stuffed animal or blankie that is slept with and loved to bits and pieces. M's lovey is a stuffed dog that was given to him by his aunt when he was a toddler. It was aptly named White Puppy, though now days, it should be Gray Puppy.

He drug it around when it was bigger than he was, and it still goes with us to all important events. White Puppy is well traveled and has been camping, to the Caribbean and to Yellowstone, just to name a few.

About a month ago, White Puppy was taken to the basement to help with a fort the children were building. When I tucked M into bed that night, he informed me that he didn't know where White Puppy went. I asked if he was in the basement. He shrugged and I told him he was welcome to go look.

He never went and looked. White Puppy was lost to the depths of the basement and apparently, if you are a child, you can only venture down there with a willing sibling. The last month has been a very busy one, and there hasn't been a willing sibling available, and M never remembers until bedtime.

Last night, as I was tucking M in, I noticed that White Puppy was still MIA. I asked about it, and M teared up. I said goodnight and went to the 'oh so scary basement' and found White Puppy quite quickly. I walked into my sons room with White Puppy behind my back. He instantly sat up and tried to see what I had. When I showed him, he started to cry and he hugged his beloved dog. I sat and hugged them both and he thanked me while tears ran down his face.

"I thought he was gone forever", he whispered.

As I left his room, I realized that I was my son's hero. He was too scared to go rescue his dog, and too stubborn to ask me to do it for him.

I smiled to myself as I went downstairs. I'm glad I could brave the deep, dark basement for the lovey that was lost.

Sleep tight, my son.