You Can Learn A Lot If You Listen

Recently, while reacquainting myself with my little bloggy-blog I came across this post that for some reason only known to God and the Universe, I never published.  Rather than dump it off as a missed opportunity to share I decided to include it as today’s blog post, the information still quite relevant.  I threw this together back in 2010 when my kids were lee-tle.  Tiny.  Sweet little innocent peeps.  Who loved me.  And talked to me.  And hadn’t discovered how much cooler their friends are than me.  When Avery’s hip didn’t spontaneously jut out during our “talks” and Jackson smelled like marshmallows.  Ahhh, good memories.  Hope you enjoy!


I think children are supremely underrated as sources of intelligent thought. So often we dismiss their nonsensical chatter as just that…nonsense. The last couple of days I’ve spent some time actually listening to the words that come out of my kids’ tiny little mouths and have been amazed at what has come flowing from their pure intellects. I thought I might impart on you, my fellow friends, these little pearls of wisdom so that you may experience a smidge of the enlightenment infusing itself throughout this suburban household.

  • Don’t eat all the candy, momma. Just eat one. You’ll get an ache in your tummy. ~ Jackson, 3

I’m not, traditionally, a big candy eater but have a particular hankering for Hot Tamales. They burn my tongue and satisfy my sweet tooth all at once. Love them. A lot. Jack has noticed. He’s worried. And, he’s right. They do give me an “ache in my tummy” (and, unfortunately, a dimple in my thighs.) Too much candy is good for nobody.

  • We shouldn’t lie, mom. It makes it too hard to remember the truth.” ~Avery, 7

Avery is in the first grade and by all rights this should make her a “liar, liar, pants on fire”. However, I’ve noticed that she’s not very gifted at it. One tilt of my head and a questioning gaze in her direction brings her melting to the ground in a pool of her own lies, truth spewing from her mouth at alarming rates. She has learned, early on I must say, that it is much easier to start with the truth because the “melting in lies” process is tedious and energy-draining. (Disclosure: Her tendency towards honesty is not 100% fool-proof and I am not kidding myself in thinking that she will never lie to me. I am, however, fully confident that I will catch her in them. Every. Single. Time.)

  • Turkeys have feet. Cows have feet. Garbage cans have wheels. ~ Jackson, 3

Wow. I’m really trying to open my mind to the hidden genius in this statement. I know it’s there. It’s just taking some time to reveal itself.

  • I’m pretty sure my Baby Alive is watching me at night. ~ Avery, 7

Ahhh. At first thought, I interpreted this to mean that we are all products of our own judgment. The voyeuristic “Baby Alive” is a metaphor for our own paranoia at being exposed for our inadequacies. “Night” being a metaphor for the point in time our character craves to undergo a complete renewal process, as our bodies are allowed with each sleep. At second thought, I realized that Avery is not that enlightened and truly believes her doll stares at her at night.  Creepy.

So, there you have it: some words of wisdom to help us navigate our way through the perilous journey of life. Start listening to the little ones around you, folks. They are much wiser than their germ-infested, slightly selfish, unconditional loving, slapstick humored, snotty little selves let on.


I mean, really… Who said she could grow up?!?

I’m a mother of a 10 year-old girl. Do you know what that means? I can justimagine all the mothers of girls out there raisingcollective sighs to the Universe right now.

My “little” Avery

Ya get me?

She’s a good girl. A really good girl, in fact. But I am starting to get glimpses into what will most definitely be a mind blowing ride through teenage-dom. (Totally a place, by the way. I picture hoards ofself-involved girls obsessively straightening their hair andboys yelling “dude, you suck” back and forth like a ping pong game.)

My baby girl, the fruit of my loins, is growing up sooooo fast. Crazy fast. Too fast. This became glaringly obvious to me on February 14th.

Wait for it.

A boy brought my sweet apple dumplin’ a rose for Valentine’s Day. A boy. With boy brains. And boy hormones. And boy parts.

She’s growing up…

And she loved every blessed minute of experiencing her own Bachelor-moment over chicken strips, mashed potatoes and the fruit of the month, peaches, sitting at the lunch table in front of all her friends.

“Avery, will you accept this rose?” he asks nervously.

“Of course,” she answers tearfully.

Okay, not really. It was more like:

“Here,” he says as he shoves the rose into her face.

“Thanks,” she answers quietly, wishing the table would swallow her and her rose.

But that girl was beaming as she crashed through the front door, rose clutched in her tiny fist and the words, “Mom, ohmagah…” bursting from her lips.

And I died a little.

Gone are the days of “ewww, boys are gross.” Am I ready for it?

Uh, no.

Is it happening anyway?

Most definitely.



Freezing my Petals Off!

I remember growing up as a teeny little Mindy looking soforward to winter.Our cozy home hada lovely wood-burning stove, plenty of hot chocolate and layers of snow clothes stacked up and ready for layering. Fast forward a couple of decades? Our heat pump dries out my hair, hot chocolate has too many calories and layers of snow clothes? Um, I don’t think so.

All ofa sudden Ifreaking HATE winter weather. Mother Nature is certainly playing around with us this season isn’t she? This poor country has gone from one extreme to another week after week and it seems she is just not letting up.

Now I’ve never been one of those types of ladies who complained of frequent shivering. You know the ones…you’re outside at a beautiful neighborhood barbecue, it’s 75 degrees and you’re perspiring in places no decent person should even know about. Skinny Minnie next to you starts rubbing her bony hands up and down her gym-toned arms while complaining, “Man…I just can not get warm!” You conspiratorially nod while sending a silent prayer to God that you haven’t sweat through your capri pants because you really want to get up for another round of cheese taquitos.

Anyway, the point I am attempting to make is that I do not typically suffer from being overly cold. In fact, quite the opposite most of the time. But the last couple of weeks have proven otherwise. I have been rubbing my own bony hands up and down my own gym-toned arms. (Hey…it’s my story and I’d prefer for my arms to be toned in it, ‘k?. Wait. Let’s also say that my legs are toned. Swimsuit season is just around the corner.)

I certainly hope that allofyou around the country being inundated withsevere winter weather conditions are staying safe with plenty of warm food and clothing. You can rest assured that I am sending all kinds of positive vibes to Mother Nature asking her to let up a little and allow some rest for the weather weary!




It’s All Starting to Make Sense…

Since accepting the position as the Head-Lady-In-Charge around these parts I have been forced to realize some truths:

1) Stay-at-home mom = easy access to food pantry and Cheez Its… All. Day. Long.

2) Stay-at-home mom = growing collection of yoga pants.

3) Stay-at-home mom = slight addiction to online shopping.

4) Stay-at-home mom = dishes, laundry, vacuuming, dishes, laundry, vacuuming…

Having accepted these truths should make the reality of my at-home life a little bit easier to grasp but I will say that sometimes even my own steadfast foundation gets rocked.

Take the above picture for instance. To the untrained eye it would appear to simply be a frying pan on top of the stove. But wait! If you look a little bit closer you will notice not one, not two, but three spatulas resting contentedly in the unwashed egg pan. What you can’t see is a kitchen that has already been scrubbed from top to bottom due in large part to a Real Housewives of Atlanta marathon.

So at this point I am staring down a dirty egg pan. Upon further investigation I learn that Jer was hungry and fried himself two eggs. In that pan. With those spatulas. All three. For two eggs.

So, like any good boss I inquire as to the purpose of all three spatulas and why they were waiting for me. To clean. In my already cleaned kitchen.

According to Jer:

One spatula was used to spread cooking oil around the “non stick” pan so as to avoid sticking eggs.

One spatula was supposed to be used to flip said eggs but was determined to be too stiff to effectively do its job.

One spatula was used to effectively flip said eggs.

All three spatulas and the egg pan were left on the cooking surface awaiting a specialized sanitization procedure…otherwise known as “washing the dish.” A procedure in which Jer, apparently has not yet been certified.

It’s all starting to make sense to me.


Happy Friday!

Here’s to a fantastic weekend! The week has flown by and I am oh-so-ready for a couple of days of debauchery and indulgence. In my house, however, that roughly translates to “sleeping in while Jeremy gets Jack his oatmeal and milk and Avery her Peanut Butter Crunch and water with ice in it.” I know, it blows the mind.

Fridays have always been a favorite of mine, stemming back from my days of employment. There is such a sense of freedom as the end-of-the-week approaches and it’s not a feeling I’ve lost since becoming stay-at-home mom extraordinaire (okay, I added that part to my title but feel it’s entirely appropriate, and somehow the italics lend a sense of importance so I will be using them henceforth.)

The weekends in this household have lately consisted of Saturday morning basketball games wherein my 8 year-old daughter runs somewhat aimlessly from one end of the court to the other, guarding her opponent with an apology and a smile. She has not yet made her first basket and tomorrow marks the last game of the season. She will be trying her darndest to sink that ball and I will be sitting on the sidelines watching from behind my hands, praying for each moment to be her chance. And if and when she makes that basket, I have already anticipated the waterworks that will inevitably flow from my heightened-emotional self. But, in the event she ends this season without making her mark, I will still be very proud of my girl for trying her hardest and all the while doing it with a smile upon her sweet little face.

I hope your weekend is full of fun, friends and maybe a teensy bit of debauchery. I leave you with this quote:

Give a man a fish and he has food for a day; teach him how to fish and you can get rid of him for the entire weekend. ~Zenna Scha