tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77950845022792308562024-03-18T23:11:53.172-04:00Sloppy Copy MommyShe who reflects can revise.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-90676766844034872992013-08-25T22:11:00.000-04:002013-08-25T22:11:40.633-04:00I'm a Better Teacher Now That I Have Kids
I'm a better teacher now that I have kids.
I realize now that it's a little funny typing that sentence--because of course I've had "kids" as long as I've been teaching. My kids. The kids in my classes.
But that's not the same thing as having your own kids. And that simple realization is something that has come to me only after holding my own red, wrinkly babies in my arms.&Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-87015679158240673052013-08-15T16:48:00.001-04:002013-08-18T22:04:07.940-04:00Hours of Entertainment: A Shoebox TV
This activity is something I read about in some book YEARS ago when I was a kid. So--full disclosure--I did not come up with the idea myself. Like most ideas I ever had, I swiped this from somewhere else and forgot where it came from.
So, of course, my kids feel as though I've been holding out on
them and that I should explain why I hadn't already made it with them, like, a long time ago. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-70703234504849953712013-08-12T09:00:00.000-04:002013-08-18T20:58:48.988-04:00Hey Kid
Hey kid,
if you think it would be a good idea to ruin vacation
by peeing on the hotel room floor
in a passive aggressive 4-year-old version of F-you
and then call it an "accident"--
it wouldn't.
Hey kid,
if you think it would be lots of fun for everyone
if you attempt another all-nighter--
for us to to spend what should be resting hours
watching you kick your feet up in the air
so the Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-68184948158312282142013-08-07T07:30:00.000-04:002013-08-18T20:59:58.636-04:00Once Upon a Migraine
Once upon a time, there was a princess whose perfect forever indulged sight and senses. She wanted life to be bubbles and homemade applesauce. She imagined days that were the sweetest, coldest watermelon and still warm, fragrant herb bread slathered in butter. Her forever meant sitting on the deck of a cruise ship in Alaska, the wind whipping her hair away from her face, the sun slipping into Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-61274832444424006762013-08-02T13:59:00.001-04:002013-08-05T16:36:57.048-04:00Check me out at It's Fitting!
Today is my first ever guest post! I'd love it if you'd head over to It's Fitting to read my latest.
Click here to get there!
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-79948957228159534112013-07-28T22:20:00.005-04:002013-08-18T21:00:34.507-04:00Mischievous Mondays: A Mischievous Moment Gone WRONG<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
Help! Somebody get Prince Charming to rescue me! It stinks in here!!
I’m so excited to be co-hosting the Mischievous Mondays blog
hop! It doesn’t take a lot of effort to prove my girls are mischievous. You
might remember my post about Olivia stealing brown sugar from last week.
Here’s a mischievous moment that repeats itself over and over Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-73211115197222401042013-07-27T21:46:00.003-04:002013-08-18T21:01:44.772-04:00Classified Ads
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-48515047066232064962013-07-19T21:22:00.001-04:002013-08-18T21:02:04.133-04:00Sugared Up<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-86756100352960709852013-07-14T00:14:00.000-04:002013-08-18T21:02:19.924-04:00Happy and Messy<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-29053268689733952802013-07-05T00:13:00.000-04:002013-08-18T21:02:41.934-04:005 Ways to Make Attending Your Local Parade More Enjoyable
1. Choose your path to the parade route wisely. If you know a small kitten just got crushed by a driver a couple hours before, and that its leg is pretty much ripped off, and flies are swarming its body, and you can sort of see some of its innards, you may want to steer clear. If it means you have to walk completely out of your way, it might be worth it.
It's bad enough that you have Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-60790615295871909922013-06-30T23:12:00.002-04:002013-08-18T21:03:03.415-04:00A Change of Clothes
When I got to my sister's house in Tennessee, Meredith, her two year old, ran by me on tiptoe, wearing the same dress that both of my two little girls wore at that age.
I have memories of them wearing that dress all the time; it had dark blue, pink, and yellow stripes and a hood in back. It was made of a stretchy, knitted cotton material and it had polka-dotted ruffles on the bottomAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-41113002496884089762013-06-22T22:26:00.004-04:002013-08-18T21:03:23.915-04:00The Lies We Tell Our Children
As Vacation Bible School Epic Bible Adventures teacher extraordinaire this week, I've had the coveted opportunity to LIE to children about many, many different things...ALL. WEEK. LONG. And I'm not inventing lessons here, people. I'm following the script put out by the official VBS company.
Lovers of controversy, I am not making any commentary on religion in this post. I believe in the Bible Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-51861152955731213512013-06-16T00:30:00.000-04:002013-08-18T21:03:48.444-04:00Daddy is Yin, Father is Yang
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-69230166988035364432013-06-13T23:06:00.001-04:002013-08-18T21:04:11.262-04:00Raising Up The Youngest
Since preschool let out, I've been spending time as a real, true stay-at-home mommy for Olivia, the 4 year old. She doesn't have preschool. She doesn't have ballet. She doesn't have her big sister, who's away at school during the day (1 half day left). She doesn't have any planned activity. She has time, and she has me.
And there have been moments we are driving each other crazy. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-64034279232189462932013-06-08T14:20:00.003-04:002013-08-18T21:04:31.343-04:00The Spiderwebs in My Hair<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-30305240287641810872013-06-06T23:10:00.000-04:002013-08-18T21:05:05.780-04:00I am She-Ra, Princess of Mommy Power!!
Rosemary as She-ra.
Yeah, I made that costume.
It was yet another moment
where I was a
Master of the Mommy Universe.
Yesterday, I was in a mommy funk. (Check that link if you get a chance, because I'm about to make reference to some things from yesterday's post.)
Today, I ROCKED IT.
Here are my accomplishments:
1. I got us out the door without seeming like a stressed out lunatic Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-12212888779752086752013-06-05T22:09:00.000-04:002013-08-18T21:05:26.289-04:00I Don't Wanna Be Decapitated St. Francis!
This is how I have been feeling today. A bit like St. Francis after he's been used as a bowling pin. If you're wondering, that's actually how he got broken...Rosemary used him as a bowling pin one time too many.
If you want to know the truth about it, I've been Grumpy Mom (again) today.
I didn't want to be, but it's just that there's always somebody who wants something from Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-67315933699812119092013-06-04T00:42:00.001-04:002013-08-18T21:05:47.981-04:00The Psychology of Mommy Guilt...and Hair
I am growing out my hair--because my girls need me to have mermaid princess hair instead of the pixie hair I wanted. Well, that's part of the reason. Also, I believe my husband looks wistfully at pictures of me with longer hair, even though he'd never, ever, ever utter the words, "I wish you'd grow out your hair."
So those are the secondary reasons I'm growing it out. The main reason Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-30329833756163372632013-06-01T21:27:00.000-04:002013-08-10T18:22:45.553-04:00My Pretty Little Liar
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-55096812686095941092013-05-30T21:13:00.002-04:002013-08-10T18:23:20.375-04:00These Aren't the Moments We Live For, But...
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-7528978986272327732013-05-27T22:21:00.003-04:002013-08-10T18:23:47.096-04:008000 Things NOT To Do: How Does Your Garden Grow?<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
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:
<!-Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-26433039967315457272013-05-26T00:36:00.001-04:002013-08-10T18:24:15.296-04:00Mommy Insomnia Syndrome<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-77094483614214240542013-05-23T21:08:00.000-04:002013-08-10T18:24:35.535-04:00A Reason to Sing<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-47676135798068731142013-05-22T22:30:00.002-04:002013-08-10T18:25:02.857-04:00Lofty 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 4th grade, I was going to be
the first female President of the United States. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7795084502279230856.post-33491870708333445302013-05-19T16:10:00.001-04:002013-08-10T18:25:27.551-04:00Dear Keurig: A Love Letter
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
<![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]>
Normal
0
false
false
false
EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01004895131581785956noreply@blogger.com