These Aren't the Moments We Live For, But...

It’s 8:03pm and my girls are asleep. 

This grin isn't toothless...Sure is cute, though. Yeah, not asleep.

Not the kind of “sleep” that involves the isometric exercise that is my children scrunching their eyelids so that they’re all wrinkly and shaking while the eyelashes just poke out; not the kind of “sleep” a child does with a toothless grin on her face because she’s thinking that you think she’s asleep and looking just like she did as a tiny, angelic baby. Not the kind of "sleep" where the minute you close the door and walk away, she’s hiding under the covers with her Violet the Dog, making Violet light up and sing songs that say her name in that narcissistic way designed specifically for the toddler set. I don’t hear Violet saying, “Hello, Olivia! Let’s sing a song about YOU!” Not this time.

8000 Things NOT To Do: How Does Your Garden Grow?

This post is part of a series of posts entitled, “I Don’t Know What To Do, But Here are 8000 Things NOT To Do.” This is what my husband suggested as a title for my blog, so I believe it must be a fitting title for this series of posts. I will add to the series as relevant events occur. And believe me—they will. 

Here is one more thing NOT to do:

Today we planted a garden. 

 

Yes, it’s the end of May—sort of late for planting a garden. But Rosemary’s New Year’s Resolution (you can read about mine here) was to plant a garden, and we’ve been busy with ball and ballet and work and life and stuff, and it’s rained a lot, and sometimes it has been cold outside, and we had “technical issues” with our tiller, and had to find time to make a trip to Lowes, and…well,  anyway, the fledgling plants and seeds are out there in the dirt. 

Mommy Insomnia Syndrome

Sloppy Copy Mommy, WebMD Edition

My name is Jessica and I am battling MIS. Mommy Insomnia Syndrome. It’s a medical term coined by me, a high school reading specialist and mommy. Please wait a moment while I put on my white lab coat so I can explain the signs and symptoms to you.

The first signs of MIS become apparent as soon as the mommy wakes up in the morning.  Patients have been observed craving coffee while they lay awake cursing the alarm as early as 5am. Often the mommy has woken up several times during the night, usually following the pattern she started when she became pregnant for the first time, though sometimes other people and animals just wake her up. Over and over. And over. Even when the parasites who feed off the mommy every other stinking waking minute of the night during infancy start to sleep through (3 long years later), the mommy continues the pattern of waking up periodically ALL NIGHT LONG.  This prevents the afflicted mommy from obtaining a decent night’s sleep for several years, particularly when she continues to have children.

A Reason to Sing

The last few nights, Rosemary has been asking me to rock her like I used to do when she was little. She says she just wants to hear me sing. When I rocked her to sleep every night, I used to sing for hours and hours. Even though rocking and singing seemed to keep her awake even longer, I tried very hard not to resent those hours sitting in the dark and holding her close, and most of the time I didn’t. There were desperate moments after 10pm sometimes that I thought I might go insane and yearned to look into bright light again, but most of the time, I was quietly content to be snuggling with my own little angel baby—even when she was big enough to just go on to bed.

Lofty Goals: New Year's Resolution Update

When I was in kindergarten, I was going to be a prima ballerina. Yes, I was going to make my living wearing a sparkly pink tutu and spinning around a lot. 

That's me applying blush to my colleague's face. It's hard wearing tutus and putting on makeup. Okay, well that could've been me...

By the time I was in 4^th grade, I was going to be the first female President of the United States. I was thinking big. I was young, and I was going to conquer the world. 

Somebody was going to have to go if my face was fitting up there.

But if experience has taught me nothing else, it’s taught me to set reasonable, attainable goals. 

Dear Keurig: A Love Letter

I'd have included a picture of my own Keurig, but there were coffee stains next to it. But look how sexy this one is.

Dear Keurig, 

What’s up (or down)? It’s been a few hours since we last talked, and I just felt a need to put this down publicly—you know, in cyberspace. That’s how strongly I feel my feelings. They’re cyberspace-worthy. And they’re true, and you can know this, Keurig, because you’re reading them on the internet.

Collections

All day I’ve been thinking about collections. I spent the day working with a dear friend, cooking a total of 38 freezer meals for our families and another dear friend who recently had a baby. (We may be sort of generous in our definition of “meal” here. Our freezer stash will help us get through 38 main courses of meals, anyway.) We worked hard making our list, grocery shopping in bulk, looking for deals, and putting it all together. We have a practical collection. A fabulous, tasty collection that will feed our families when we don’t have time to think about it. Our collection will nourish us, our families, and our friends. I think this makes it a good collection.

8000 Things NOT To Do: Do Not Let Your Child Touch a Dead Bat on Mother's Day

I have decided to start a series of posts entitled, “I Don’t Know What To Do, But Here are 8000 Things NOT To Do.” This is what my husband suggested as a title for my blog, so I believe it must be a fitting title for this series of posts. I will add to the series as relevant events occur. And believe me—they will. 

So…(drumroll please)…here is one thing NOT to do:

Do not let your child touch a dead bat on Mother’s Day, which just happens to fall on a Sunday—a weekend day. (And just so you know, if your child decides to pick up a dead bat, you know it’s not going to be on a weekday during a time when offices are open. Right?) In fact, you should probably discourage your child from touching a bat, dead or alive, anyway, even if it’s not Mother’s Day or a Sunday. 

BFF: First Grade Girl Drama...and Mama

 ** The poem above was penned by my lovely Rosemary. It's the "teaser" for a joke book she wrote with her friend Becca. :)

I have two little girls. Four and seven. 

And sometimes I swear I just don’t know where to go with girl drama. Already.

I remember precisely when it started: when Rosemary was in the 4-year-old class at preschool. This is when suddenly it became a big deal to have a “best friend”.  It was sort of like calling “shotgun” to reserve the best seat in the car…Once somebody said you were  “best friends,” from that time on, if another girl asked you to be her best friend, your moral obligation was to squash all her hopes and dreams like a worthless bug by giving her resounding “no”. It’s enough to make you want to run right out to Claire’s and drop $8.50 on a pair of mood ring necklaces, one bearing the word “Best,” one bearing the word “Friend”, just so you can wear it with your BFF right in front of all the other little girls who totally wished they could be your BFF except that you’re taken.

The Day We (Finally) Threw Away the Halloween Candy

Today, my husband and I made a critical decision. We threw away the Halloween candy.

It's been taking up precious realty on the top of our piano since...well, October 31.

I guess we should've let the Easter Bunny take it away when he brought fresh loot, but we didn't. Instead, we left it on top of the piano, high up where short people and thieving dogs forget to look. Out of sight, out of mind. Occasionally, someone would look at the top of the piano and say, "Hey, can I have some Halloween candy? Just one piece?" Usually we'd say, "No way. Are you kidding me? That is Halloween candy. Do you know how long that's been sitting there?" Sometimes, very occasionally, we'd say, "Why don't you go find your (Valentine's Day candy / Easter candy / candy from church / candy from that birthday party), instead?" The Halloween pumpkins would just sit up there with their bellies full. I can't say that I know why.

Practice Makes More Practice

Today was a big day for the moms of the preschool set in our part of the world. It was the day of the Mother's Day Luncheon. You can see my groovy pin, designed by Olivia, and an awesome "flower" made from a green hand print--custom made for me, and in my favorite color. It's covered in glitter, even though you can't see that. The children put on a program and entertained us moms with several songs, including "Happy Mother's Day to You". We brought the food, of course. Because that's what moms do. We bring the food. Plus, if my child made the menu, we'd all end up eating a gallon of ice cream with sprinkles for lunch. I'm not entirely opposed to the idea, but I might feel some mommy guilt afterwards...

The Evolution of Grumpy Mom

Let me tell you about my morning, listener out there. This morning, I woke up 6 painful minutes late. 7:06 am. Those 6 minutes cost me any sanity I might've maintained as I prepped the girls (and myself, sort of) for school. You see, they woke up early this morning. A whole hour EARLY. 6:30 am. And I woke up 6 minutes LATE. This means that they plugged into the television, which I typically don't allow in the morning, and they even had time to start a second show while I was in the shower--and it's that fatal second show that throws everything off. By 6 minutes.