Multi-tasking Momma

Moms are busy.

Moms have kids that always need Nummies in their Tummies

because they're Mindless Eating Machines.

Moms have kids that need to often be reminded

I Think I Can!

Moms have kids that Cry, Sneeze, Barf, Fart and make Annoying Sounds.

Moms sometimes have to yell at their husbands,

Engage Bob!

Moms know There's Nothing More Toxic or Deadly Than a Human Child.

We sometimes don't dare enter their rooms.

.

So, when Moms can't

ESCAPE

(EH SCOP AY)

their busy lives and the To-Do-Lists that go to

Infinity and Beyond,

 they have to multi-task.

I used an acrylic cookbook stand to hold the Science text

so I could read Rebekah's lesson out loud.

Business shirts were ironed,

and Algebra questions from the teenage boy answered.

I made a few trips downstairs to throw another load in the washer

and pull out meat from the freezer for dinner.

It was one of those rare Super Mom kinda' days,

where I accomplished so much, I felt like a Superhero.

Now, if I could just muster up enough energy for the sequel...

Mommy IS My Profession

I do not like filling out those long forms at doctor's offices.  That is definately one of the bummers about having cancer.

On most days, I remember to write my married name. Yea, even after 25 years of marriage on a frazzled day I might write my maiden name.  I've even spelled my name wrong - more than once. On a good day, I can even rattle down my address and phone number without hesitation. The six kids' names and birthdays?  Another trick question.  Just because I don't remember their birthday and the year they were born doesn't mean I'm a bad mommy, does it?

DOES IT?


The worst line to fill out is occupation.  After reading one of those email forward things years ago about the value of a mom, I started putting down Domestic Engineer. 

Then, I decided I don't need to come up with a fancy, impressive sounding title to try to make myself look better.  I'm proud of my profession.  So now I write down, boldly and proudly, MOMMY.  I am a Stay At Home Mommy.

I've seen eyebrows raised, but not heard any feedback.

However, sometimes when the paperwork gets back to me, I've noticed they've changed my occupation to UNEMPLOYED.  Unemployed means you're not working.  I work every minute I'm awake.  Even if I'm sitting, I'm refereeing disagreements, listening to hear who didn't flush the toilet,  trying to remember how old the milk really is, and wondering if there is any chocolate still hidden in the house somewhere.

Mommies even work when they should be sleeping, taking children poddy, giving drinks, soothing nightmares, stopping sleepwalkers and all those other things nocturnal offspring like to experience just the moment you are finally in REM sleep.

I will not be swayed, I still put MOMMY down for my occupation.
Imagine my delight to receive something in the mail honoring me in my chosen profession.  No, I didn't get Mother of the Year. I think you have to have matching clothes, a clean house, consistently call your kids by their correct names and make dinner more than once a week to qualify for that.  I was asked to represent my city at a glamorous conference for the NAPW.


I was hoping you would ask.  National Association of Professional Women.


I was SO impressed!  They finally are acknowledging that being a Mommy is a Professional Career!

For a split second, I was considering joining Ivanka Trump at the Waldorf Astoria for the First Annual NAPW Conference to benefit from the "exclusive and powerful networking forum"  and to "achieve social and career development."  I was wondering if all that networking would provide a powerful cure for diaper rash, a newly developed recipe for homemade playdoh or see if anybody has an exclusive idea for making a craft out of dryer fuzz.

However, going out in public for powerful networking with Ivanka  means I would have to have matching clothes, remember to pronunciate and spell my entire name, and talk in complete sentences. I'd be once again defending my claim that being a MOMMY is a profession to high-heeled lawyers and polished real-estate agents.

I think  I'll stay home and  experience that "exclusive and powerful networking forum" by playing dress-ups with child #6 and the neighbor kids.

After that, to "achieve social and career development," we'll pull out the dryer fuzz from the dryer, grab some glue, pipe cleaners, jingle bells and pom-poms and get busy creating my own craft idea.

After all, that's what I do best. 

I'm a Professional Mommy, ya' know.

Doing the Poddy Dance

Today at lunch time, someone was discretely doing the

poddy dance.

Ya' know, that little side to side motion done while sitting on a chair?

As if jiggling the bladder will magically make all the stuff go away.

The sitting motions aren't as obvious as the standing motions.

That can be ridiculously embarrassing,

especially if they add their hands to the leg jiggling,

leg-crossing motion.

If they bend over, you know the dance is over.

All moms know the

poddy dance.

The little dance that tells you someone  has to go to the bathroom,

but won't take the time to go.

It's an irritating motion ignored

only until the annoyance builds up into vocality.

Something has to be said before there are puddles.

The music has to be stopped for the

poddy dance.

Finally, Rebekah looked at me and said with laughing exasperation,

"Mom, just go to the bathroom."

Busted.

I guess she recognizes her old tricks.

The poddy dance works so well,

it's no wonder kids use it.

I don't think I'm the only Mom who thinks she's too busy to go poddy.

A friend once confessed she held it so often during the day,

she actually started getting bladder infections.

After prescribing cranberry juice, the doctor sternly told her to slow down

and take time to go to the bathroom!

We spend hours training the little ones to use the bathroom,

but never seem to make time to actually go ourselves.

Today, when I finally went in to go poddy,

yes I know TMI,

I thought of a solution.

When poddy-training our kids, I always used candy as an incentive.

I would keep Smarties or M&M's in the bathroom,

 sealed in a container and hidden behind the towels.

So, for all you Mommies who need to be poddy-trained,

like me,

so you can stop getting bladder infections and doing the

poddy dance,

keep candy in the bathroom.

It worked for the kids, it should work for us.

BUT, I NEEEEEEED A CAPE!

My daughter, Bethany, is the best beggar in the family. 

She knows how to smile and beg all at the same time with the perfectly, resonating voice. 

It's not so whiny  it's annoying, not so sweet I think she doesn't deserve what she's asking for,

It's just enough pleading to make me actually smile before I say NO.

The epilogue to every ask in her life is usually,

 "But, M0-UH-UM,"

(doncha' love how kids can make a one syllable word three?)

"I really, really NEEEEEEEEEEEEEED it!"

I'm hoping she outgrows this stage soon.

She turns 21 this fall.

Lately, I've been thinking about something I really, really need.

I need a cape.

Ya' know, as in SuperMommaMindy kinda' cape.

I might have to resort to begging, like Bethany, because

I really, really, NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED a cape.

I've been thinking about all the cool things I could do if I had a cape.

Edna,  from the Incredibles,  doesn't believe in capes.

Edna didn't have six kids.

1.  I could wrap up in my cape and keep warm during these months of sunless, rainy days when we turn the heat UP to 64 degrees to save money.  Not this this happens much in the Pacific Northwest, but I'm pretty sure if the sun ever dared to shine, a cape would made a good sun shade.


2. I could use my cape to wipe sweat off my brow when I'm working really, really hard cleaning up after my six children, one husband, one SIL and two and a half grandkids. On the days I felt like cleaning, that is.


3.  A cape would be useful in covering up my pj's when company comes to door unexpectedly.


4.  Since the weather guys are never right,  my cape could double as a weather forecaster.
     If the cape is wet, it's raining.
     If the cape is dry, it's not raining.
     If the cape looks like I have dandruff, it's snowing.
     If the cape has iciles hanging on the edge, it's freezing rain.

5.  Speaking of weather, my cape could also act as a weather vane.  One of those roosters wouldn't look too good on my head, but a cape could be styling some serious homeschoolin' momma' 'tude.
     If the cape isn't moving -wind is less than 11 mph.
     If the cape flaps once in awhile in a sporadic pattern - 12 to 18 mph.
     If the whole length of the cape is flapping - 19 to 24 mph.
     If the cape flaps quickly and is partially extended - 25 to 31 mph.
     If the cape is fully extended - 32 to 37 mph.
      
6.  I could shove part of the cape into my ears to  muffle the sounds of kids whining, fussing, fighting, crying or asking for money.  It would clean out my ears, too, so actually this would be a 2-fer-1 kinda' deal.


7.  A cape would  cover my hair when it's raining or when I didn't have time to comb it. Or when the kids "borrowed" my hairbrush and didn't return it, for the umpteenth time.


8.  A cape might entice the kids to wipe their bodily fluids on the cape instead of my sleeve, shoulder, etc.My kids are a little past this stage, but I actually think wearing a booger or a baby spit-up wouldn't be so bad if you didn't have to look at it.  It could fly behind you, unnoticed, on a cape.
9.   I could  sew  my money into lining  of a cape so the  kids wouldn't know I had any.  Robbers wouldn't know about my money either, but a mom loses more money to kids than to robbers, so it's all good.


10.   A cape would allow me to turn invisible. With all the stuff on the floor of my home, I could crouch on the floor, fling my cape over me in a wrinkled fashion, and nobody would know I was there. I'd be invisible.

So, I've decided.

This SuperMommaMindy needs a cape.

I really, really NEEEEEEEEEEEEED a cape.

I Don't Have Time for This!

It was supposed to be an easy task.

I was going to reach into my spice drawer,

pull out some seasoning,

sprinkle it generously into the delicious,

homemade chicken soup simmering on the stove,

put my spices away,

stir my soup,

and life would be perfect.

Well, nearly, practically perfect.

A spice storm  had sanded the contents of the drawer,

 various colors dandruffing the spice jars,

some light orange,

some white,

some black,

some brown.

I  removed the jars and began vacuuming.

It didn't help that I found the sugar shaker

UPSIDE DOWN.

Yea, I know,

YOUR

kids would

NEVER

do something like that.

It didn't help that I found the sugar&cinnamon shaker

UPSIDE DOWN.

Yea, I know,

YOUR

kids would

NEVER

do something like that.

The deeper I dove into the drawer, the bigger the mess I found.

Using my hand vac is a challenge,

because the little rubber flapper that keeps the garbage in

ripped off years ago, and the minute you shut it off,

you have to hold it upright,

so you don't re-dirty the place you just cleaned.

Yea, I wrote in Sharpie

PLEASE PLUG ME IN!

on my hand vac.

After years of always finding it

under a bed,

in a closet,

in a car,

in the garage,

behind a couch,

or under a table,

always UNCHARGED

I had to take some serious action.

Yea, I know

YOUR

kids would

NEVER

do something like that.

After vacuuming I wiped down the drawer and the jars.

In the midst of a simple task gone awry,

I found myself grumbling in my heart,

"I don't have time for this.

I don't have time to keep wiping up messes my kids make."

Instantly, I was rebuked.

As a Christian who daily makes little messes in her life,

I'm thankful the Lord never says to me,

"I don't have time to wipe up your messes!"

I finished the job,

reminding myself to be

thankful I have kids,

thankful I have the strength to wipe up their messes,

and thankful I have a Heavenly Father

who leads by example.

As I blog about this wonderful life lesson I figured out,

I also figured out why my soup was SO blah.

You guessed it,

I forgot to season it.

Yea, I know

YOU

would

NEVER

do something like that.

Parenting Isn't What I Imagined

As a new bride, when I pictured motherhood, I pictured the same magazinesque scenes you pictured.

A well-groomed adoring mother, that would be me, reaching for anxious toddler fingers as they took their first victorious steps.

A well-rested, model-looking mommy, that would be me,  holding an engraved silver spoon full of wholesome, homemade baby food towards a cherubic, clean face with  wide-open mouth.

I knew I would lovingly and adoringly teach them to walk, talk and eat.

There were things I never thought I would have to teach my children.

(Just found this after I originally published the blog,

maybe writing on the walls isn't so bad?)

I never imagined having to tell them to not write on my walls. Hey, how hard can it be to tell the difference between a PIECE OF PAPER and a WALL?

I never imagined having to instruct them to not wipe boogers on my walls. I know, your kids do it too, right? Hey, how hard can it be to tell the difference between  a WALL and a TISSUE?

I never imagined having to instruct them to not eat tissue. Hey, how hard can it be to tell the difference between a TISSUE and a SNACK?


I never imagined having to instruct them not to shove their snack up their nose. Hey, how hard can it be to tell the difference between a SNACK and a FINGER?

And did I already mention I didn't like having to teach them not to stick their fingers up their noses to retrieve boogers to wipe on my walls?

I'm sure the Lord feels the same way about His children at times.

Should He really have to tell us to love our children? To love our husbands? Hey, how hard can it be to love those that are the most important to us?


To do all things without grumbling or complaining? To be patient towards all?  Hey, how hard can it be to do a little housework, wipe up a few accidents, break up a few fights, make a few meals and still look like a well-groomed, adoring, well-rested, model-looking Mommy?
I thought parenting would be easier.

Just as our children leave a trail of destruction behind  when they don't obey the laws of Mom, we can leave a trail of destruction behind when we don't obey the laws of the Lord.

A harsh word of frustration can be scribbled onto a small child's heart instead of being poured out in prayer into the listening ears of a Prayer-hearing and answering  God.

The little bad attitude can be  smeared on the walls of our testimony, instead of being discarded where it will be removed as far as the east is from the west.

As Mommies  teach their little children the important life lessons, the Heavenly Father is still teaching His children lessons.

Parenting isn't what I imagined.  I used to think it was only about raising my kids.

We all have a little more to learn about scribbling and fussing.

Dad! That's Not the Way You Do That!

While I was making the bed one morning, I noticed the bottom sheet was inside out, the seam sneering me, waving a serged thread tail  triumphantly in the air.

I recalled hearing an 8 year old voice a day before, "Dad, that's not how you do it!"

It wasn't the first time Dad heard those years in 24 years of parenting.

My husband hated changing diapers.  It wasn't that he was lazy or didn't want to participate in parenting, it just made him queasy.

Yea, the man who could gut a deer and throw the guts over his left shoulder, the man who could swiftly clean a fish and throw the entrails over the side of the boat,  was the man that could barely hold down his lunch when faced with a little pile of mustard squirts.

My hubby sent me to the craft store one  blissful Saturday morning.  All. by. myself.  No kids.  Totally alone.

When I returned home a few hours later, my oldest daughter, Jana, 4 years old,  met me at the door with a disapproving look on her face.  An equally worried Daniel, 2, stood behind her.

"Mommy," she said.  "Daddy used wotsa, wotsa  your wipes."

Looking down next to the couch I saw the mountain of mustard-streaked wipes piled high on top of a squishy diaper.  Sheepish that he'd been tattled on by a toddler, he said, "I used a lot of wipes, because there was a lot of poop."

"Mommy," Jana continued, "I twied to tell him.  You use the diaper first to wipe off the poopy.  I also twied to give him kweenex.  He didn't even wip the wipe in half.  He used a whole one each time!"

I think she was wondering if Daddy was in enough trouble to be spanked.  She looked worried. Daddy hadn't used any of the tricks I used to try to save money on a Christian school teacher's salary, and she knew them all.   I had to reassure her that Daddy's way was fine. 

It was her first of many examples that Daddy's way wasn't Mommy's way, but Daddy's way was fine. 

It was my first  of many examples that Daddy's way wasn't Mommy's way, but Daddy's way was fine.

Daddy's Way is OK.

My husband coined this phrase as we talked about the issue of women trying to drive the husband's actions from her side of the road. Because we moms are with the kids the majority of the time while Daddy is at work, sometimes it's easy to think our way is the best or only way.

Women fuss at their husbands about how they hold the baby, how they change the diapers, how they play with them, how they feed them. They don't like the clothes they pick out, the way they fold the laundry, the way they pour the milk.  The reality is, the more you criticize Daddy's way, the less Daddy will have a way. Sometimes, daddies will just give up trying.

If your husband isn't participating actively in the parenting give yourself an honest evaluation of how you have handled his "contributions" to the family. 

If you find yourself criticizing your husband's methods, ask yourself these questions - is he bringing any physical, spiritual or moral harm to the children?  Does the process matter?  Is the outcome affected?  Ten years from now will it still be a big deal to you? Do you have Biblical reasons for your stand? Is he causing more work for you with his help?

The biggest question to ask yourself is this -
do you want your children to constantly be questioning Daddy's ways? 

If Mom questions Dad's decisions, the kids will. Doubt for your husband's leadership can creep in and destroy trust as the decisions and actions you take as a family take on bigger dimensions and more serious consequences  each year.

How many wipes used for a diaper change didn't matter.  Teenage issues mattered.  I needed my kids behind Dad 100% when we entered those years. Little nags can turn into big nags.  Little doubts can turn into big doubts.

Men and women are not the same.  Our life's goal is not to have our husbands become the second wife in command, but to become the husband as the spiritual head of the home. By giving them the assurance they can husband and parent in the way that's suitable to their experience, ideas, gifts and abilities, we give them the ability to serve in a way where respect isn't commanded and demanded, it's willingly given.

And you know what?  That husband who was really, really horrible at wiping little baby bottoms?  He was extremely wonderful and incredibly wise at wiping up teenage messes, without leaving a trail of destruction in the wake.

**********

What do you do when Daddy really is wrong? 

I'll tell ya' tomorrow.

SH!!! Mom's on the PHONE!

Why is it that by the time I figure out the rules of parenting,

it's too late to apply them?

Too late schmart,

I will share my late-bloomed wisdom with you.

Arencha' lucky?

For years I maintained the rule,
"You come when I call.

I will only call once."

Sometimes, my kids were hard of hearing,

other times they were hard of obeying.

It took diligence and discipline to train them to come when I called

the

first

time.

The rule saves yelling.

It saves getting annoyed.

It saves time.
It teaches prompt and pleasant obedience.
(It teaches Mommy to be pleasant, too.)

If you can train a dog to heal,

shouldn't you be able to train a child to come?

The other day I was on the phone.

It was an important call.

It was another adult with a writing opportunity.

It was the kind of call that mandates silence in the background.

The kind where you want the kids on another planet.

It never happens that way, does it?

The importance of the call only escalates the noise level 

and the proximity of the kerfuffle to your phone.

They're just suddenly there and loud

and there in your face

and there under your face
and there breathing unbrushed-teeth breath in your face.

Then, they become blind.

They can't see your pointing fingers,

your eyes boring holes in their scalps,
your eyebrows creating one angry-unibrow,

your lips over-exaggerating threats you'll never carry out.

They know they have you captive.

You have to be nice,

you're talking to another grown-up.

So, my inspired genius occurred while I was hearing

thumping and wacking up and down the hallway outside my bedroom.

I know the sound of sibling smacking sibling,

I know the sound of fake cries to get the sibling in trouble,

I know the sounds of hushed, forced apologies,

as the tale-bearing, heel-thumping, self-righteous indignation
pounds closer and closer to my door.
I know the sounds of whispered yells,
"SH!  Mom's on the PHONE!"
projected at greater decibals than the original infraction.

This is when I realized my utter failure.

 I instructed and disciplined,

training them to come when I called the first time.

What I should have done,
is picked up the phone instead of calling them,
holding it in my never-manicured hand,
knowing they would come running
and breathe their unbrushed-teeth breath in my face.

Next, I should have whistled

and made them stand at attention like those Von Trapp kids.

Then
and
only then
should I have made my phone call.

Oh,  I'm too late schmart.

I Have Two Heads and Other Laughs

When Rebekah was five years old, her daddy was packing for a business trip. 

To soothe her anxieties about his absence, he put her in charge of taking care of me.

When he left in the morning, he gave Rebekah careful care instructions. 

Each morning she was supposed to remind Mommy to take her pill and bring her coffee in bed.

Before going to bed that night, Rebekah, fearful she wouldn't remember her Daddy's instructions, 

told her sister Grace,  “remember me to forget Mommy’s pill in the morning.”

**********

 While reading the last paragraph of a news story online,

I was tying my shoes so I could go for a walk with Rebekah.

She came in and stood watching me. 

"Wow, you can tie your shoes without looking?"

I guess I didn't know how talented I am. Her admiration was immeasurable.

"Mom, you're just amazing."

She continued by commenting on another talent she obviously admired. 

"You can tie your shoes without looking and you can type without looking.

You're too cool mom, it's like you have two heads."

I guess one if for doing and one for thinking, but one is invisible. 

That still makes me amazing.

(pic of two heads not available)

**********

Rebekah was asking her Daddy a deep theological question a few years back.

“How do you get to Heaven?” she asked.

“What do you think?” prodded her Dad,

wondering if anything we had taught was beginning to sink in.

Her answer showed she was getting her Bible lessons and her kids books mixed up.

“Do you just use a balloon and float up to Heaven?”

she asked, picturing a scene from Winnie the Pooh.

“No, you believe in Jesus,” corrected Dad.

“Oh, then do you float up with a balloon?”

**********

Need a few laughs to start your weekend off right? 

Hop over to Homesteader's Heart!

Jesus Understands Mommies' Problems

Moms of little ones might read the Bible and think that the Lord Jesus

can't relate to her everyday life with diapers, pacis and wearing bodily fluids.

Granted, there aren't verses on how to calm and encouraging during potty training.

There aren't specific verses about the stamina needed to break a child of a biting habit.

But, everything in the Scriptures is what we need,

and everything we need is in the Scriptures, even if indirectly.

You just gotta' keep looking, keep reading, keep seeking, keep believing.

Sometimes those treasures are buried. How far are you willing to dig?

The Lord Jesus can probably relate to Mommies more than any other profession on earth.

I know you're probably thinking that the Lord relates to elders and preachers,

but listen to what He had to deal with.

He knew what it was like to have interrupted sleep.

Luke 8:23-24

 But as they sailed He fell asleep.

 And a windstorm came down on the lake,

 and they were filling with water, and were in jeopardy.

And they came to Him and awoke Him, saying,

“Master, Master, we are perishing!”

He taught them to only wake Him when they really needed Him,

and to not bother Him when they should be exercising their own faith.

He knew what it was like to have to break up arguments.

Mark 9:33-37

The disciples are arguing, but won't admit about what.

He's trying to prepare them for His death and resurrection,

they're riding pride and jockeying for position.

He rebukes them by sitting them down on the ground

and placing a well-behaved child in front of them as an example.

"If anyone desires to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all."

Luke 22 records another disagreement, as they argue

about the Lord's statement that a disciple would betray Him.

The Bible doesn't record the actual conversation,

this is from my imagination.

"I wouldn't do that, when I preached with power, many were converted."

"Yea, well, I baptized a guy in the middle of the desert and there wasn't any water."

"I've cast out many demons. It couldn’t be me. "

"I cast out more!"

"My ministry has seen more fruit."

"Nuh, huh, you had fake conversions. Mine were real."

He taught them that servanthood needs to replace pride.

He knew what it was like to deal with people

who didn't want to share.

In Luke 9, the Lord has been preaching all day.

He's thinking about the needs of the masses,

the disciples are thinking about the needs of their little tummies.

They tell the Lord Jesus to send the people into town to eat.

You know

how you just KNOW

your kids have ulterior motives?

The Lord could smell a rat, too.

He told the disciples to feed the people.

He knew they were hoarding some food.

He made them share.

Surprise!

"So they all ate and were filled,

and twelve baskets of the leftover fragments were taken up by them."

One for each of the selfish disciples.

He taught them there is no need to be selfish,

He supplies above and beyond our needs.

Next time you get frustrated with your little ones,

pull out your Bible.

The Lord will show you exactly how He dealt

with

whiny,

fussy,

hungry,

proud and

selfish

people!

mommy quotes

Even since the invention of Mother's Day, and probably before that, Moms have been sentimentalized and gushed over.  I love seeing all the DEAR MOTHER paraphenlia in antique stores.  Ornate satin pillows with heavy fringe,with  mushy gushy poems about Their Dear Mother, the equally ornate cross stitch wallhangings, the cards that are so gushy you wonder who really feels that way about their mothers. 

I know my kids love me, but not enough to imortalize their feelings in threads that neatly criss-cross for hundreds and hundreds of rows.

I'm happy with those scribbled notes on little corners ripped from lined paper that say, "I love you, Mom!  Your the best Mom in the hole werld!"

Some adults have overly sentimental sayings about motherhood, too. After a few common Mother quotes that I sentimentally agree with, I added the reality check in fine print. 





Henry Ward Beecher- “A mother's heart is the child's classroom.”

If this is true, then why do some kids play hooky?

And, I wanna know, if my heart is the classroom, where's the principle's office?

Helen Rice- “A mother's love is patient and forgiving when all others are forsaking, it never fails or falters, even though the heart is breaking.”


Well, to be honest, sometimes moms throw things, stomp their feet and slam doors, but that wouldn't sell many greeting cards, would it?

James Russell Lowell - “That best academy, a mother's knee.” 

 Is that academy called the  School of Hard Knocks?

And does that learning take place sitting on the mother's knees, or bending over them?

Emily Dickinson- “A mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.” 

That's funny, my kids always run away from me when they're in trouble...or hide in their rooms, or under the table or behind the couch...

Mildred B. Vermont- “Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in my field, since the payment is pure love.”

Yea, I agree, but I am finding it difficult to find a grocery store that accepts love in payment.  My  heart may be full of love, but my wallet is still emtpy. Dandelion bouquets and sticky kisses are priceless, but are not legal tender.


Cardinal Mermillod - "A mother is she who can take the place of all others but whose place no one else can take."



It's not only that nobody could take a mother's place, nobdy would. 

I don't see anybody lining up to wash stinky socks that have crusted into lefts and rights.  Never had anybody volunteering to come wash puke out of the sheets in the middle of the night.  Haven't had too many volunteers to clean the three toilets that need bulls-eyes painted in them.  Nobody has stepped in and wanted to referee any of the disagreements over major items like pencils, cards, quarters and the last piece of candy. 

You're right.  Nobody could take my place for all those hard jobs.

And even if they could, I wouldn't give my job to anyone in the world.

Because, then someone would be getting
the  "you're-almost-choking-me" hugs,
the "I-just-had-strawberry-jelly" kisses,
the "I-just-had-a-bad-dream" snuggles where they steal all the covers,
 and the "Mom-do-you-have-a-minute" conversations.

Oh, and don't forget the piles of notes.  I save them.  I cherish them all. I would love to wallpaper my bedroom with them if I knew I was never moving again.


Nobody can take my place, because my place is from the Lord.

Psalm 113:9

 He grants the barren woman a home,

Like a joyful mother of children.

Praise the LORD! 

Yes, praise the Lord, who has blessed us Moms with children, and given us endless love and joy through their lives.

Just don't forget to read the fine print.



Jay Leno Style Grammar Tutorial

After spotting a few signs

that showed some hints of illiteracy,

I decided to articulate

a brilliant grammar, punctuation

and spelling tutorial

today.

A donut shop we shopped at once, in a moment

of sugar craving

and temporary weakness,

 gave us this warning.

I dun could't resist taking a pickcher

of that there sign.

Them there rules for apostrophes, plurals

and possessive personal pronouns. 

are not always understooded very good.

Them donut peoples dun used the

possessive personal  prounoun

"your"

instead of a contraction

"you're",

short for "you are."

Ya' know, it's perty easy to make contractions.

'Cuz  we're too lazy to say each word,

 contractions are like shortcuts.

Start with two words,

take a few letters out,

throw in a squiggle where the letters are missing,

and you gotta' new word.

If you be confused which word to use,

YOUR or YOU'RE

ITS or IT'S

mouth the long words for the contraction to yerself.

Ya' know, before you shortened it.

Make sure your lips move

so everybody thinks yer crazy.

Do you wanna  say YOU + ARE

or do you wanna say it dun belongs to sumbudy else?

Same wif "its" and "it's".

If ya wanna' say "it is"

use "it's."

PHEW!

Got it?

. 

Now, the possessive form can be confusing.

Think of the apostrophe as a little pointing finger,

showing something is possessed,

or owned.

I know that's kinda' a big word.

ex.) The  dog's tail wagged.

The little apostrophe is pointing to the dog,

showing he owns the word after the apostrophe,

in this case the tail.

This latte ain't owning nuttin'.

It don't need a finger pointing at hisself.

It ain't a contraction either.

It just needs to be plural,

more than one,

'cuz we luv us some lattes.

You be needing to just add a big ol' "s".

(Say "Hi" to Momma Mindy.  I had to include myself in this pic.)

From a Craigslist ad -

"wrighting table - $250 (milton)"

Maybe that's why they had to sell the "table",

it didn't help them wright

like they thought it should.

Maybe I shoulda' bought the "table",

and started a business.

I could make signs for people.

Only I would fer shur

dun use them there contractions,

plurals and

 possessive personal pronouns correctly.

I no I wood make lotsa' money.

Proverbs 17:22

A cheerful heart is good medicine.

*****

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for Friday Funnies

*****

I Have A Dream

I have a dream that one day, I will go to my scissors drawer, pull out a pair of scissors, and create some fabulous paper creations that will astound my bloggy friends.


That one day, I will go to my medicine cabinet to grab my fingernail clippers, and I will be able to trim my natural salon-looking nails that received a light snag while decorating my home with Martha Stewart.

That one day, I will go use my stapler from my school supply cabinet, and I will be able to staple together the pages of the final draft to my children's book called, "Don't Touch Your Mother's Stuff."

That one day, I will reach for a tissue, and the box will be where I put it, and I will be able to hand one to a friend who is weeping with joy over my wonderful and successful children.

That one day, I will go to the tape drawer, find my scotch tape and be able to actually use it to wrap presents so elegantly the recipients will not want to open them.

That one day,  I will  go to the tape drawer, my clear packing tape will be there, and I will be able to use it to tape up boxes of hand knitted, crocheted and quilted items to mail to all my family living across America.
That one day, I will go to the tape drawer, and my blue painting tape will be there, and I will be able to tape the room neatly before I repaint all the walls and trim so deliciously, my house will be featured in a glossy woman's magazine.

That one day, I will go to use my car, and my keys will be hanging on the hook on the fridge and there will be gas in the tank. There will be NO candy wrappers, tennis shoes, water bottles, half-eaten sandwiches or slime-encrusted library books in the van. It will smell nice. I will run all my errands without fighting with myself and buy myself a treat for being so good.

That one day, I will sit at my sewing table, turn on the lamp, because it will be there, and so will the light bulb inside the lamp. The sewing machine will have the color of thread I need (the color I threaded it with the last time I used it), my pins will be on the pincushion, the sewing scissors will be on their hook and every notion will be cheerily lined up, awaiting my industrious use.

That one day, when I reach for the flashlight beside my bed, my fingers will caress the cold metal, flick the little button and bring light to my weary soul.

I have a dream that one day, I will live in this perfect world, where all my belongings are at my fingertips, just waiting to be lovingly used and to be put back into their designated habitats.

I have a dream.

But to waken from my  current nightmare of reality Mommy life, to the dream world I have created in hazy hallucinations when I have five free seconds all in a row, probably means that all my scissor/tape stealing kids will have to grow up and move out.

That's more depressing than missing scissors.

I would love to work out a compromise.

I want my kids live with me, but put my stuff back after they use it.

That would be a dream come true.

But, until the nightmare becomes the  dream I am dreaming, I will count each missing or misplaced item as a reminder that those little offenders running around my house,

call me Mommy.

That's the real dream come true.

Psalm 113:9

He settles the barren woman in her home

as a happy mother of children.

Praise the LORD.

Now, can He just help me find my scissors?

What I've Really Learned in 24 Years...

A mother's wisdom is widespread  in content area and experience

and may not always be appreciated. 

I wanted to share the wealth of information

I've garnered in 24 years of marriage and parenting.

This list may not be inclusive,

I actually might have learned a thing or two more,

I just can't remember anything else at the moment.

I think I have been in a state of shock

for at least the past 23 years.

Names are not used to protect my guilty children.

******************************************

*Legos that were vacuumed up can retrieved out of the vacuum cleaner bag if you cut open the bag at the bottom.
*Legos that are swallowed eventually make their way out the bottom by themselves.


* A pair of socks that are worn over and over without washing eventually do have a left and a right foot.
*A pair of socks that are put in the wash separately will eventually end up only as a left, or only as a right.



*A cricket has a hard time keeping its appendages through the spin cycle.
*A cockroach can make it through the wash with almost all of its legs intact.
*A cockroach in a crawler's mouth will be about half intact when you discover it. Mouthwash can make you feel like you sterilized their mouth.



*If  a whole cup a coffee is spilled on the new carpet at the doctor's office, a diaper works really well to soak it all up. Just open it up, lay it down, and step on it over and over.


*If your husband is a referee and his professional Fox 40 whistle goes through the washer AND the dryer - it will still work.


*If you own small plastic tool chest and put a padlock on it, if your kids slice the hinges open, they can still get to your tools.


*If you fill the hot tub, without screwing in the drain plug, the hot tub never gets filled.
*Extra chlorine in the hot tub doesn't make you extra sterilized, it makes you extra rashy and itchy.


*If the kids  use hand-washing dish detergent soap instead of dishwasher soap in the dishwasher, you WILL be wiping up MOUNTAINS of bubbles.

*The little white cardboard tubes from tampons fit perfectly over toddler fingers.  If the child is sitting in church,  the finger extensions help them to keep better time with the music.
*Peel-n-stick feminine pads really do peel and stick well - even on the tiled floor of a coffee shop.


*One Jolly Rancher dropped behind the bed, can attract a colony of ants. If you don't find the Jolly Rancher before the kids and dispose of it, it could attract a colony of kids.

*Watched pots still boil over, and unwatched steaks on the grill DO become charcoal.

But, you can't laugh long.  This is the amazing child who made the gourmet Thanksgiving meal just a few short years later, without much coaching from me.  This picture is the result of my tutorial.  "Turn the grill on and throw the steaks on.  Dad will be home in a few minutes to finish them up."

I would love to hear what wisdom you have acquired

 in your years of parenting!