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Every morning, when I walk in to free my little twinkies from their baby prison, I open the door and put on an expression like I am absolutely shocked to see them there.
“My men!” I exclaim. “My men are here! I am so glad to see my man-boys!”
I gasp. I swoon. I tell them I am so lucky to have such manly men in my life.
They. Eat. It. Up!
I’m telling ya. You’ve never seen such excitement. There’s booty scooting, there’s clapping, there’s foot-stomping, and of course, smiles and giggles.
What can I say? I’m kind of a big deal.
This morning was like every other morning. I walked in, Read more on Finding words in his drool: Crazy or Observant?…
Clint and I made an incredibly stupid parenting decision about a month ago.
We told the kids their first knock-knock joke.
At first, it was entertaining. They would laugh and laugh over the jokes we’ve all heard a million times. The best part Read more on Video(s): Knock-Knock……
The second a mother first holds her baby, she should automatically be granted super-human immunity.
Just my opinion.
We, as mothers (okay dads, you can be in on this too), shouldn’t be susceptible to cold, flu, or any other virus. (Or lice. Let’s put lice in that category too.)
It is miserable to be sick and to have to also parent kids who may or may not also be sick. Unfortunately, the sickness timing is rarely optimal. As far as I’ve concluded in my 5 years of parenting, there are three possible options in the virus-passing realm:
Ew. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t use the words “poo” and “niblet” in the same sentence…
Live and learn.
This morning, on the Silly Mom Thoughts Facebook Fanpage, I wrote:
Love is never having to say “I’m sorry, I crapped on you.” Apparently, my kids love me… a lot.
It turned out to be a huge tease and I received a couple of comments from readers who were anticipating a juicy poo story.
Hm… “juicy” and “poo” shouldn’t go together in a sentence either.
Noted.
The problem is, that my Facebook update wasn’t necessarily meant as a precursor to a hilarious poop story. It was more reminiscing on my part, of past poo trauma.
That’s not to say, of course, that I don’t have a recent poop story. These stories happen almost daily, so I figured you’d all get tired of them.
After reading the responses to my Facebook update, I can see that isn’t so.
I have decided that I was born into the wrong family.
Don’t get me wrong, my family is great and all. They’re smart, creative, supportive, encouraging, and they’re darn cute, too.
But they don’t come with acreage.
Yesterday morning, I received a text from our friends asking if we wanted to meet them at their family’s river-side property for some fun in the shallow and slow-moving river. Perfect for the hotter than h-e-double-hockey-sticks day that it was predicted to be.
“We have an eighty acre farm,” David had said in his text.
Surely, that had been a typo. Eighty acres? Come on. Maybe eight.
I quickly learned that it wasn’t a typo in the least.
Read more on Photoblog: Summa Summa Summatime…
Before I dive headfirst into the first day of our trip, I have to get something off my chest:
Roberto?! Really… I mean, really?!
Chris was the perfect guy. He was the normal guy. He was the guy who was taking things at an appropriate speed and cautiously hinting at his feelings like, um, a normal dude would.
Don’t get me wrong, I think Roberto’s plenty nice on the eyes and seems sweet enough.
But Chris… Chris!
Dumb move, Allie. Dumb, dumb move.
My friend was so distraught over her choice, she chucked several M&Ms at the TV. You know a woman is pissed when she uses precious, crunchy chocolate as a projectile. Read more on #BlogHer10: Day One in New York!…
Lindsay Maddox… Laughing my way through motherhood.
(And taking submission guidelines literally.)
Remember when MySpace wasn’t ghetto? That’s when my blogging career began. It started innocently: I wanted to lose weight and thought blogging would keep me accountable. I threw in some stories of my firstborn.
People commented.
Most guys are complete wusses when they’re sick.
(HA! I just wrote “pregnant” instead of sick. That was funny. Anyway…)
Most guys, when sick, roll around in agony, whine in misery, certain that they are writhing on death’s doorstep.
Not Clint.
This man has the immune system of an elephant.
(This is, of course, assuming elephants have excellent immune systems. I, for one, have never seen a sick elephant, so I’m going with that analogy.)
And the suck-it-up-ness of something equally tough.
(Sorry, I’m out of animal analogies. My brain is still stuck on sick elephants.) Read more on PhotoBlog: Impromptu…
I have to be completely honest with you: This blog post makes me want to cry. In fact, as I uploaded the pictures for this post and looked back at that face Lily gave me… it choked me up.
Who has two thumbs and just won a trip to New York?
*this mama!*
I. Won. I Woniwoniwoniwon. I have said that about 182,345 times since finding out Friday morning, and I’m still not sure it has sunk in.
Be forewarned: This blog post ain’t gon’ be pretty.
I cannot remember the last time I have had so many consecutive days of absolute pissed-off-ness.
Many of you know that Washington was hit by uncharacteristically chilly and anti-summer-like conditions until, let’s see… oh, that’s right: Tuesday.
Read more on Pissy Mom Thoughts…
I didn’t get to see Zander for a few hours after he was born. Wyatt, my Baby A, was fine, healthy, breathing great. Zander, however, had a few issues breathing. I have heard since that it’s pretty common for Baby B to have some breathing difficulties, especially when they’re delivered via c-section. Something about suddenly having room to move around in the uterus for a brief moment and not getting the fluid squished out of their lungs the way it would in a vaginal birth.
For the past week, I have had this recurring dream. It’s very short, extremely simple, and every morning after I woke up, it baffled me.
I was standing at the foot of stairs that lead to a house in a neighborhood near where I grew up. It was a neighborhood I was rarely in, except for Trick-Or-Treating. I stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the house. It was dark. The stairs to the door seemed endlessly long.
Today, despite a horrendously splitting headache, I ventured out of the house with all of my kids in tow. It was more out of necessity than anything.
I had to get two super important prescriptions filled:
I did a very bad thing yesterday; something I try not to do. Something that makes me feel like a very bad mama on the rare occasion that I do it…
Read more on PhotoBlog: Ahhh!…
