Hours 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. Well, friends, I've been holding out on you, too, so here's how you do it, with step-by-step photos and adorable kid models. (My kids, of course. Who else did you think I'd get to do this?) And since we're in full disclosure mode, you should know that the pictures were hard to take, because Olivia refused to put on any clothes. So, for her...only one measly head shot.

How to Do It
It's simple enough that I could explain it in a paragraph paired with a picture, I guess. I used pencils, tape, scissors, newspaper, and a shoe box. I cut up the comics from the newspaper and made my own shoebox television for my Barbie dolls. The "show" is reminiscent of the film strips you other old people used to watch in school...there's a roll of "story" and some scrolling that has to be done with the pencils, which are lodged in holes that you poke in the cardboard shoebox. It entertained me for hours when I was a kid. 

Here you can see the shoebox with a rectangle cut out to make a "screen." We punched holes in the top and bottom of the box with scissors and inserted unsharpened pencils. This was before we attached the "films" the girls designed.

The box from the front and Olivia's favorite new toy, Lamby.

Creating Your Own Story Pages
Not to be outdone, Rosemary has to make every idea better than mine, so she elected to create her own movie to scroll across the screen. That and we didn't have any comics in our house when I introduced the-best-idea-that-I-withheld-from-my-children-for-way-too-long (i.e. this little TV project).

We used regular computer printer paper and cut it in half horizontally, then just taped the half-sheets of paper together to make super long paper that could be rolled up. 

 

Rosemary creating her film...a masterpiece.

Olivia ended up drawing a lamb multiple times. Sorry...I couldn't get a good pic of her face. It's hard to photograph a naked child.

Look! I made the cast for Rosemary's movie. Better work on my Oscar acceptance speech...

And this one, just because it makes me smile.

Putting Your TV Together
To get the "film" up  on the screen, take the pencils out of the box. Carefully tape the end of your super long paper to the side of one pencil that will go in the box, then roll up the paper on that pencil. Then just tape the remaining end of the paper roll to the other pencil. 

See? Put tape on the side of the paper. Then roll it up. You will have to attach the papers with tape on both pencils. Voila! Homemade "film strip".

Then, still being careful, put the ends of the pencils back in the holes in the box.

Here's what it looks like once the pencils have been put back in their right places. Set the box down on the erasers so you don't scratch your floor. Spin the nubs sticking out of the top to move your film forward and rewind when you're finished.

"Performing" the Story
Oh, and not to be copycats, the girls refused to use simple-minded dolls for their TV "performances". This meant their daddy and me sitting in absolute anticipation while they both scrolled through every inch of the 8-page "movies" that I'd just watched them spend 2 hours making, and sometimes Olivia doing interpretive dance in the background. And it meant clapping afterwards, of course. Lots of clapping.

Showing off her hard work. Olivia was present, but still not pictured. You know why.

They are pretty sure they're going to work on their movie careers next. Olivia is a little disappointed that they didn't get a real movie made by the end of the day, but there's always tomorrow...By then she better have on some clothes.

The finished product!

What have you taught your kids to make on a rainy day? Share it in the comments!

Check 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!

Mischievous Mondays: A Mischievous Moment Gone WRONG

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 around here: Rosemary writes the script for a prank in her mind before she actually pulls the prank.  She plans to stuff her daddy’s shoes with princess figurines so that when he goes to put them on…Whoa, Nellie! Princess figurines in Daddy’s shoes so his feet won't fit. Absolutely hilarious. This is pranking awesomesauce. She can’t hold it in any longer. She tells Olivia. They are now prankster partners. They plot and plan for a good 7 minutes. There is giggling, whispering, secrets.

Then just a little more time passes and it gets quiet. Quiet is never a good thing.

Olivia goes straight to the shoes, alone and armed with princess figurines. She’s loading the shoes herself. She lugs the dirty Newbalance sneakers, now full of plastic Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, into the kitchen. They land with a thud on the floor,  right at her daddy’s feet. “Try on your shoes, Daaaaaaaddy,” she says with a singsong voice, an evil grin on her face.

She turns, walks back to her sister, and smirks, “I gave Daddy the shoes, Sissy. He’s putting them on right now!” A moment of pure, unadulterated wickedness.

Rosemary cries big, fat tears. She does the ugly cry. Her plan is foiled. “Olivia ruins EVERYTHING!” she wails. She cries for 20 good minutes while I say "I know" a lot. Olivia is still jumping around, satisfied. I send her away just so Rosemary doesn't have to look at her.

Finally, I give up and put them in the bath. By now, everything just feels…dirty. Baths wash away the most mischievous of moments.

By tomorrow, it will all be down the drain, and they'll be plotting together again. 

For more mischievous moments from other moms, check out some of the links below! Then check back later, because there will be even more links.

 

<div align="center">
<a href="http://southernmessmom.blogspot.com/p/link.html" title="Mischievous Monday Blog Hop"><img src="http://i1346.photobucket.com/albums/p688/SouthernMessMoms/c4e451a3-2a51-45fc-8f54-bda621cfb241_zps8c450009.jpg" alt="Mischievous Monday Blog Hop" style="border:none;" /></a></div>

An InLinkz Link-up

5 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 to see it, but then the rest of the walk, as you pass shady tree after shady tree that's already taken by other eager parade-goers, you're going to have to answer a lot of questions about kittens and the afterlife, scientific questions about decomposing bodies, and practical questions about who disposes of roadkill and how. You'll also probably get to wax poetical for awhile about the owner of the kitten and how he or she will probably need therapy. And your kid might also explain to you that kittens can't see when they're born, which might be a possible explanation why one might wander into traffic.

On a positive note, at least nobody will be complaining about being thirsty at this point in the day.

2. Whatever time you think would be an appropriate time to go find a prime parade-watching seat...go earlier. Choose a reasonable time to leave your house and walk to the parade route. But don't leave at that time. The early bird and the worm, people. You snooze, you lose. 

In fact, if you want shade, you'd better scope out your spot before there's even any shade yet. Better yet, bring some caution tape and put it under your prime location like it's reserved for the King and Queen of your town. Make it look official. And do it the night before the parade. 

3. Insure that somebody throws some candy to your kids. When you sit in the sweltering sun for 45 long minutes while they hold ziplock baggies, ready to retrieve any and all candy that people in fire trucks and on ambulances and in various modes of transportation will obviously want to throw at them (because why wouldn't they want to throw candy at your adorable chidren?), be prepared to be disappointed. Because guess what? Even the mayor will probably just throw one measley Lifesaver mint at your two children, and if you're particularly lucky, like we are, hopefully that mint will hit the pavement like a crystal bowl plummeting off of a tall tower, breaking into a million pieces, and then it can be shared. 

But what you should probably do is pack some tootise rolls (something that won't melt in 182 degree heat) and throw them at your kids yourself. If you throw them up in the air right, maybe they'll think that somebody threw them off the tractor that just went by--the one driven by the guy who is often drunk at the local restaurant, and who's dressed head to toe in camoflage. 

4. Bring a personal fan. This might be useful when a guy with white hair, whiskers, and a sizeable beer gut finds a buddy to talk to and parks himself right next to your obviously small children 10 minutes before the parade is about to start, and proceeds to smoke what has to be an entire carton of cigarettes. Your fan might help you blow some of the smoke away from you and toward the people who didn't bring your disappointed kids any candy. Plus, you can blow your fan on your kids when they start whining about being hot and thirsty.

If this doesn't work, you could bring up the topic of lung cancer really loudly.

Mace is a third, less friendly option. 

5. Bathe afterwards. Seriously. You stink. And this is what you smell like: sweat; probably other bodily odors, too; cigarette smoke; bug spray; possibly alcohol (the stench of that is everywhere, too); probably charcoal; hot dogs; and sunblock. You smell like America. Of course, you don't smell a thing like candy.

Don't bathe yet, though...because you still have a few hours to go until the fireworks. Happy 4th.

Oh, and try not to pass the dead kitten on your way home, okay?

A 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 bottom of the skirt. When it was cold outside, or sprinkling, or the wind was whipping hard, both my girls would pull the hood over their heads and try to tell me they didn't need a coat--because this dress had a hood. It was one of those articles of clothing that becomes familiar because it was loved so much by the person wearing it. Both girls thought it was the most comfy play dress ever. 

We'd passed the clothes down, and now it is Meredith's turn to be two and wear that dress. She has dark brown hair, and my girls are blonde. But it didn't matter. Every time she tiptoed by in that dress, barefooted and bare legged, I was me again when they were two. I was looking at Meredith, but I was seeing little Rosemary, little Olivia. And they're cousins. They share the same big eyes, she has the same little sausage arms and legs that my girls had when they were two. Her hair is the same length my girls' hair was when they were two. Even her mannerisms are similar to my girls' when they were two. 

It was a strange, weird feeling. 

It was time travel. It was me, instantly transported to a different period in my life, me re-feeling the gush of love for a two year old and the stresses of parenting a little monkey all over again, all of the feelings happening before I'd given myself permission to feel them. Then, time travel again, something happening to jar me into the present--a realization, a remembering that those times are gone, that I'm in a new reality, that so much has passed, even when there is so much to come, even when there are so many more memories to make. 

I wonder if that's how it feels when you're a grandparent--you see the features that belong on your little girl, your little boy, but the child in front of you is actually your child's child. You see your child's movements, but the person in front of you is not fully your child.

How strange.

Dresses have been a theme for me for a couple days now. That feeling that comes from the passing down of clothes has happened more than once this week.

While we were packing for our big trip to visit my sister, I went on a mission to find a swimsuit for Olivia in our garage. I lugged out the two huge plastic boxes full of clothes--the clothes that Rosemary outgrew 3 years ago. I didn't find the swimsuit, but I did find loads of clothes that Olivia wanted to go through all morning while I was trying to pack. 

Today, finally, I let her put on one of those beloved dresses--a dress Rosemary cherished, loved with the kind of intense love a child can attach to a precious thing that she'll eventually leave behind. It was another play dress, stretchy fabric, pink and black paisley, ruffles. But, of course, very grown up, if you're 4. 

When Olivia put on that dress today, I had the same feeling I had when I saw Meredith in the dress at my sister's house. I was seeing Rosemary again at her younger age. Her movements, her expressions. And then that jolt again--this was my other child and it was time to say goodbye to that old vision of Rosemary. It's time to embrace this new, older version of my youngest teeny tiny baby...

Because my babies are still babies, will always be babies--but they just look and act different now, older. They're both older. 

 

It's one thing to time travel by holding up baby clothes and say, "Oh, look how little you used to be." But it's entirely a different experience to look at someone wearing those clothes and see a clone of your baby. And still different to realize that the clone of your baby isn't a clone at all, but that it's all an illusion that is happening only in your own mind. Because your second baby is her own person, too.

Has anyone else experienced this strange feeling when passing down hand-me-downs?

   

The 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 stories and themes, though they lose some authenticity and some accuracy in the 15 minute retelling, I guess. 

It's just that all through the lessons, you're directed to lie to kids in the process.

And they love it. In fact, the lies leave them begging for more. 

Think of the Tooth Fairy. The Easter Bunny. (Even my 7 year old isn't buying that one. "A tall bunny that brings eggs? Really, Mom? REALLY?" Yet she's as willing as anybody else to pretend he's real on Easter morning when there's chocolate involved.) Apparently, ever since baby Jesus was laid in the manger and Santa began making his first trip around the world in 2 hours, we've been lying to children and they've been loving it. 

Why do we love to lie to children so much? And why do they love to be lied to?

And now I'm doing it willingly in church. To make church more fun, I guess? 

Here's when I was most amazed--perhaps appalled--by the children's willingness to believe lies. We put on a skit where Esther bursts into the room and explains how stressed out she is that she has to go talk to her husband, the king, and admit that she's a Jew,  and then ask him not to kill the rest of her people. There was this dramatic build-up, and I'd set up a "throne room" in the closet across the hall, where the choir robes are. 

At least our "throne" looked better than this one. A little.

I kid you not. I put a "throne" next to a bunch of robes in a storage closet. I put some plastic swords on it and around it. I hung a plastic crown on one side of the chair, hung a purple shepherd's robe over the back of the chair like a sash, and put a plastic scepter in the seat of the chair. I put 2 flicker candles on the sides of the chair. (The VBS people LOVE flicker candles like they're their BFF.) This was our royal throne room.

We took the kids out to see the throne, had them look inside and tell Esther what they saw, describe the plastic swords, etc. Esther pretended to freak out and be nervous about the king being there, her getting killed on the spot, etc.

My point, restated: our throne room looked like a chair, some cheesy plastic swords, and some choir robes. Oh, and flicker candle magic.

By the end of the lesson, "Esther" left me and all the kids in the classroom and went alone to admit her secret to the "king," and we were pretending he was in the choir robe closet...you know, ruling the people (and, if he'd really been in there at all, pushing choir robes off his head). It had all the drama of "As the World Turns" meets "Days of Our Lives." Anyway, the kids were on the edges of their seats. 

Lookie! Woo hoo! Got the king's scepter, and that means I won't get boiled in oil. And now...let me do my soap opera stare before the next commercial break.

  "Esther" returned to the classsroom at the end of the lesson with the plastic scepter and told everybody that the king was going to listen to her. We clapped, and then I sent them to snack, crafts, games...wherever. I'm sure some of the more clever kids snuck a look in the choir robe closet on their way out.

3 nights later, the kids were STILL asking me what the king looked like, if he had shown up in the "throne room," what he'd decided. The last night, right before the group of 5th graders left, one kid stopped and asked why the king didn't show up to make his appearance before Bible school was over. They were genuinely disappointed not to meet the choir robe king but, like Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, he'd made a quick exit out of the building without being spotted by anybody.

Today, my 4 year old, Olivia, told me this elaborate story about something she'd done, and I looked at her carefully and said, "Olivia, did you just tell me a lie?" She responded, "Oh, no, Mommy. That's called PRETENDING. That's what I was doing."

I guess there's a fine line between pretending and telling a lie. 

Is it pretending if all the kids choose to believe there's a king who's about to come out of the closet at church? (This sentence makes me smile just typing it.)

Moral dilemma: When is it okay to lie to your children? Is it ever okay? 

photo credit: enelem via photopin cc photo credit: Javier Kohen via photopin cc

Raising 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.  She wants attention and I want to get dishes done. I want her to help me carry on the workings of the house, she wants me to make two buttons talk to each other. She tries to build a tower with blocks, it falls over, and she screams as if she's being maimed by a rabid cat. These moments sometimes work together to give me a headache by about 2pm. Sometimes she misses preschool and I miss work, if we're being honest.

And there have been other moments, when it's just me and her and a stack of books, and she points to the page just one more time and says, "Mommy, I noticed something that we never noticed before on this page. Look!" When she's helping me fold socks and figuring out for the first time how to fold them over (so proud!). When she's putting away silverware with crazy enthusiasm I could never muster, or playing tic-tac-toe with me on the easel chalkboard and drawing X's inside O's to contrive a win...There are a thousand of those moments, and we've been home together (full-time) for maybe 2 weeks. I am realizing she's a totally different child when it's just the two of us for an extended period of time.

Here's the child she is when she's the little sister. She gets frustrated really quickly. She screams. She kicks her feet and squeezes her eyes shut and throws whatever is in her hands. She reaches down and grabs her shirt and bites it. Sometimes she misses and bites her own arm. 

"I can't believe they're going to the ball without me."

When she's the little sister, she waits for someone to tell her what to do...what to play, how to play it. She watches somebody else draw pictures because she can't draw them well enough herself. She plays games that are her big sister's idea almost all the time. She tries to pick up chapter books and pretends to read them, but gets quickly frustrated and bored. She gets into trouble while her sister is reading something that's beyond her, or if someone chooses to watch a show that's "over her head". She is forced to endure what's "over her head" so much more than Rosemary ever had to. 

These are moments she seeks attention. They're moments she begins to pester whoever happens to be nearest. She steals her daddy's hat and runs off with it. She finds something glass and breakable and waves it over her head. She sneaks into her sister's room and hides all her treasures in the bottom of her own closet. Or...she just leans over and whacks somebody, just because. No reason.

At the beach. Monkey see, monkey do.

But the Olivia who's no longer the youngest is a different person altogether, when she's able to take on a different role. Perhaps my views of her are too much affected by The Birth Order Book, although so much has been written about birth order and how it affects our personalities as they develop. An excerpt from this article by Frank K. Sulloway, a researcher at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, sums up my experience with my youngest completely, though. There seems to be something to the birth order research. Here's what speaks to me: 

The experience of the youngest
Youngest children are supposedly more able to successfully pace themselves against older siblings without experiencing psychological exhaustion as the middle child(ren) may encounter (Buckley, 1998). They are thought to develop good social skills fostered by constant peer interaction. Individuals occupying this position in family dynamics have been found to be secure, yet dependent, which has been attributed to having many caretakers throughout childhood. Difficulty in establishing autonomy has been observed in adulthood, with accompanying feelings of inferiority and concerns that they are not regarded seriously (Richardson & Richardson, 1990). This is compounded by the realisation that throughout childhood everyone else was stronger, older and more competent, and the worry that they can never compete on equal footing (Ernst & Angst, 1983).

I believe that it's important for me to create opportunities that allow my "littlest" to develop some autonomy. She does this in preschool, I guess, but I want her to develop it when she's with members of our family, too. 

The big kids are out of school after tomorrow, so I'm a little anxious about the "big kid/little kid" dynamic around here. 

Am I over-thinking again? What can I do to help my youngest realize that she can be her own kid, even when her sister is busy being her big sister? 

The Spiderwebs in My Hair

“You have a spider web in your hair, Mommy!” said Olivia while we were driving. We were on our way to the doctor for Rosemary's poison ivy, and I was in the passenger seat. Olivia’s car seat was immediately behind me.

I was a little annoyed. Olivia loves to point out imperfections in me...moles, pimples, bruises. She notices everything that I'd like to pretend doesn't exist--and then talks about it. Often in public. She also makes up stories just to mess with me. I am forever paranoid. “Olivia, it’s not nice to tease Mommy about spiders in my hair. I hate spiders! I don’t want to have them in my hair!" Still, I had to ask: "Do I really have one in my hair?”

“But Mommy, you really, really DO have a spider web in your hair! Really, really!”

D.J. was driving, and I asked him to look over and check my hair for spiders when we got to a red light. He looked, and he got this grin on his face--the kind where your eyes are laughing, but you're trying not to laugh out loud because you might get slapped. “Oh. A gray hair. Sticking up right THERE...It does look sort of like a spider web.”

A spider may as well build web in my hair. I’m obviously a million years old and practically already decaying. If some maggots could please just come by and eat my flesh and make way for daffodils to grow, I'd appreciate it. I'm way past my expiration date.  (I'm also 34 years old! I'm pretty sure I have some usefulness left. I still have lots of stuff to do.)

Anyway, I imagine those are the kinds of thoughts my sweet little girls must be thinking when they see the spiderwebs in my hair, the parts of me that sag, the little changes that have happened to my body as a result of bringing them into the world...I'd like to tell them they're signs of a life well-lived. They're signs of a growing pool of knowledge, experience, wisdom, love. 

The funny thing is--I don't dye my hair, and I'm not planning to do it any time soon. It's expensive. I won't keep it up. I'll always be worrying about my roots showing. And last time I tried to do it myself, I got dye on the bathroom wall, which was a real bummer. I figure I should just age as gracefully as I can, be as authentic as I can. When they see pictures of me, though, I do wish they'd see a youthful, energetic mommy, rather than one who's haggardly, tired-looking, and old. 

But one thing's for sure: whatever I really am, that's what they'll see, with or without the hair dye. They see the good, they see the bad. They see it all. There are going to be more spiderwebs in my hair, whether I try to hide them or not. May we all learn to accept them--especially me. 

Can you relate? Drop me a line!

I 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 mommy. I believe it has to do with getting more sleep.

2. I ate breakfast, as promised. I DID finish my morning coffee, and didn't reheat it even once.

3. I cleaned up for company. (If Amy reads this, I'm sorry to announce that my version of clean--which I like to call "cleaner"--is what you saw. That's as good as it gets until the kids grow up and move out.)

4. We played with our company and had fun. We played outside in the rain, and that suited me just fine.

5. After company, I picked up my friend's little girl from morning kindergarten. I prepared snacks and drinks, and then I watched two sweet girls adorned in mismatched dress-up clothes dance to music from Olivia's preschool class. I made popcorn, and they watched something calm on Netflix. I helped make paper crowns covered in glitter glue. Like my friend said the day before, when we discussed me watching her little girl, having a friend over for Olivia got her out of my pocket for awhile.

6. I managed a dispute between Olivia and Rosemary about chalk. I don't mean to brag, except that I DO mean to brag. I was stinking AMAZING. By the time I was done, they'd talked the whole thing out and everybody was ready to take turns and play together again.  It was a moment of parenting awesomeness.

7. I cooked dinner, and everybody liked it! If you're one of my amazing Facebook fans, you might've seen that I made "Copy Cat Cracker Barrel Chicken Tenders" for the first time. Olivia said if they tasted like a copy cat, she wasn't eating them...but she totally ate them anyway. 

So...look how far we've come in one day! 

I have to run now--because it's 11:04pm, and I vowed to make an 11:00 bedtime. She-ra needs her beauty sleep!    

I 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 me. There's somebody making noise around me, at me, on me, in spite of me. I'm hungry and didn't eat enough because I was focused on feeding other people. I swear, I reheated my coffee in the microwave at least 4 times this morning, and I never did finish the whole cup. And somebody was following me around ALL DAY with her hand shoved in my jeans pocket, laughing a lot and saying, "I'm attached to you! I'm attached to you, Mommy!", or insisting on helping me cut onions with a very sharp knife, or neeeeeeeding me to play, puhleeeeeeeeeeeeez?! How about now? Now? NOW? (Nobody EVER plays with that kid. She's totally neglected, in case you're wondering. There's also NOTHING that says her name on it--"Olivia". And she never gets anything or gets to do ANYTHING. Can you imagine?)

And in spite of all that puhleeeeeez-ing, there's laundry all over my house, dishes piling up in the sink, and dirt on the floor. Oh, and rhinestones. There are always, always rhinestones all over my floors. We love sparkly around here.

My body and my senses are not my own today, and I'm keenly aware of it. I guess I'm not in control of anything, including my emotions. 

And what I really want today is to sit in a quiet room, look out the window, sip a glass of wine, eat chocolate and Cheez-its, read awhile, take a ridiculously long bath, and then go to bed in the bedroom I slept in when I was a kid--because my dad put me in the basement and sound-proofed it so that he wouldn't have to hear me practice my french horn. Oh, how I long to sleep there. It was always so quiet and so dark at night.

This post by blogging buddy Jessica Smock resonated with me today. It's about how we introverts shouldn't feel bad about our need to step away from constant social interaction and get our mothering mojo back. So I am trying not to feel so bad about wanting to escape to a rubber room, but I'm also trying to figure out what to do about the issues I am having.

And I've decided that tomorrow is a new day. 

For the next week, my plan is to focus on three things: food, water, and sleep. Cyber-audience, I hereby solemnly vow that I will eat breakfast every day for a week. You heard it here first. And I will go to bed by 11pm every night. Yes, every night. And I will drink more water and less sugary, caffeinated crap. 

And we will reconvene after that, and I will be transformed into the She-ra of the mommy universe. I will become as beloved as St. Francis before that big ball from Wal-mart took off his head. Or at least I'll be less grumpy and better able to function. I am not sure about how to deal with the noise in my universe, but I guess I'll figure out something.

How do you cope when your universe gets too chaotic?    

My Pretty Little Liar

We were about to go out the door, and I really didn’t have time to mess with her teeth , so I asked Olivia if she’d brushed them yet. “Yes,” she said. She didn’t miss a beat. “Daddy did it earlier.” I wish I could say that her voice took on a different, suspicious tone; or that her eyes looked extra wide, a grin plastered across her face; or that she looked away immediately after answering me. I wish that I could say that she’d given any indication that she was being a sneaky rat. 

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. 

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. 

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.