I've got nothing

The kids were coloring together while I was getting some work finished. Then, I heard X-Factor announce, "I'm so glad I found these markers to open, they make coloring even more fun."

With red flags flashing within, I walked to the living room. X had colored a lovely picture of strawberry shortcake with some new washable markers. I turned my head to see Z-man sitting on his daddy's recliner with his nose buried in a book. I smiled and just as I was saying the words, "Z, I am so glad you did not find the markers," He put down the book and the following site left me speechless. There is a great caption somewhere in the first two pictures, but I've got nothing. What about you? Can you help me come up with a clever caption?

My Day In Numbers

Not complaining...just fact stating.

Today I have:

A body temperature of 100.5 Or, simply stated, 1 fever.

2 sick children at home

1 sick husband at work

1 raging headache

1 queasy stomach

1 clingy two-year-old who is over his required breathing treatments

14 dirty dishes in my sink

35 clean dishes in my dishwasher

28 books on the living room floor that Z-man knocked off the book shelf

2 unmade beds

1 fairly empty refrigerator

3 writing deadlines

and despite it all....

An uncountable number of blessings.

1 Peter 1:8 (New International Version)

⁸Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy,

Words I Never Thought Would Come Out Of My Mouth

Below are my words from an actual telephone conversation today. I am told that the conversation was recorded.

"Hello [Mr. Poison Control Center Operator], my 22-month-old son, who weighs about 28 pounds, just consumed a nickel-sized amount of Johnson' No More Rash(tm) Diaper Rash Cream with Zinc Oxide, 3-in-1 formula. Directions on the back of the tube read that if swallowed, poison control should be contacted immediately. What should I do?"

Fortunately, the amount caused no harm to Z-man and I was assured that the worse case scenario for the little dude would be mild vomiting and loose stools. Neither occurred.

Truth be known...I'm a little more concerned over the fact that my son seemed to enjoy downing the creamy concoction than with the fact that he consumed small amounts of diaper ointment.

It Always Feels Like Somebody's Watching Me

A few weeks ago, Linda from the fabulously funny blog, 2nd Cup of Coffee
held a blog carnival celebrating...or perhaps just making fun of ugly mugs. Not faces...shame on you. But the mugs of the glass, ceramic, and plastic variety that hold beverages. I wanted to participate...because I love Linda's blog and I want to be fun like her...it's a pipe dream, I know. But I couldn't play along. I didn't own a mug that would qualify. I like my mugs and I'm also an aspiring minimalist, which means that even if I am given an ugly mug as a gift....I'm re-gifting...and probably to the Goodwill.

However, if Linda decides to throw another Ugly Mug contest, I own the winner. Well, actually, X-Factor owns the winner...that's why it sits in our kitchen cabinet and not the donation box in our hall closet.

Allow me to introduce you to BoBo the Creepy Plastic Clown Mug.


I have seen far too many movies with homicidal clowns to not be unnerved by BoBo here. The fact that he does not have arms that could wield a butcher knife should he come to life, does provide me with some comfort...but just a small amount.

Crazy Lady

(I also printed a version of this on Becoming Me, bu since it got such a good response, I thought I'd run it here as well)

Dear Sweet Target Customer:

Please accept my sincere words of gratitude for your act of kindness toward the almost cartoonish woman who stood ahead of you in line one day last week. She will be referred to hence forth as Crazy Lady. I know that I voice the opinion of the cashier, as well as dozens of patrons when I write that without you handing that disheveled and frantic lady the 58 cents she was digging in her purse to find...the chaotic scene may have gotten uglier.

Many people were irritated with this strange woman wearing a clenched plastic smile long before she got in line with her screaming toddler. I noticed that a middle-age woman with red hair and rimless glasses huffed loudly when the aforementioned toddler managed to wrap his pudgy little fingers around a few plastic cups...sending them rolling down aisle six.

A tall young woman examining coffee pots with her fiance whispered, "yeah, like what that kid needs is sugar," upon noticing that Crazy Lady plopped a Hershey's Kiss into the wide open mouth of the rankled tot...a feeble attempt to secure temporary peace.

And did you see her accidentally ram carts with an elderly gentlemen just as he picked up a large container of laundry detergent? The poor man lost his balance, but fortunately remained on his feet. At least the Crazy Lady offered the fellow a heartfelt apology before darting toward the checkout lanes and muttering something about the ineffectiveness of the caffeinated/decaffeinated coffee blend she drank for breakfast.

With the above-referenced facts in mind, I felt no surprise when Crazy Lady unraveled when she discovered she had forgotten her wallet. She handed a Target gift card to the young man wearing the red vest and stuttered, "Oh my goodness...I am so sorry...uh...ummm...I...uh..forgot my wallet....I'm sure I have the change you need somewhere in my purse."

The cashier rolled his eyes and fellow Target patrons sighed and shifted their weight from foot to foot while waiting for Crazy Lady to find two quarters, a nickel, and three pennies...their collective level of patience only slighter greater than that belonging to the wailing little boy sitting in Crazy Lady's shopping cart.

Finally, Crazy Lady surrendered. One could obviously tell that this woman was hanging on by only a proverbial frayed thread. She lifted up her hands and with tears welled up in her eyes stammered, "Look, I'm so sorry, but I can only find two dimes....just take something back..I don't care what you take back....just pick something and take it back. I'm sorry...I'm so so so so sorry."

And that is when you, Sweet Target Customer, came to the aid of Crazy Lady, the frazzled clerk, the squalling toddler, and everyone standing in lane twelve at precisely 10:53 a.m. on that one blustery morning when Murphy and his crooked law triumphed.

"It's O.K. ma'am," you said in a gentle voice while handing change to the cashier. "It is impossible to think or find anything when you have a crying baby. I've been there...I've had three of them."

Crazy Lady thanked you, kissed her toddler, grabbed the plastic bag containing her purchase and left the store. Everyone was relieved...all because you demonstrated kindness to a screwy stranger. I hope that I remember and mimick your merciful spirit should I ever find myself in a similar situation as you did.

With both appreciation and admiration,
Crazy Lady

Ephesians 4:31-34 (New Living Translation)

Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.

Sweet Baby Jesus

The baby Jesus that is a part of our resin nativity scene is much loved. Here are a few remarks/commands I've made to my children regarding the swaddled babe.

To Both Children

"Do not fight over baby Jesus. Fighting makes Jesus sad."

To Z-Man

"Do not put baby Jesus in your mouth!"

"Do not throw baby Jesus at your sister!"

"Do not bang baby Jesus on the coffee table, you'll give him a boo-boo."

"Do not put baby Jesus in the trash can."

"This baby Jesus is not allowed to take a bath."


To X-Factor

"Z-man would not have baby Jesus if you hadn't taken him from the manger."

"Do not tease your brother with baby Jesus. Jesus is for everybody and does not like to hear little girls say 'na na na na naaaa.'".

"Do not put baby Jesus in your purse."

"No, baby Jesus does not want to go to Wal-Mart with us."

"Do not put baby Jesus in your toy box."

"Yes honey, I know Jesus is the King of Kings, but He has a throne in Heaven, please do not put the baby Jesus in your princess castle."

"What a beautiful lullaby. I'm sure He'll sleep much better now."

To Myself

"Someone really needs to make a Jewish Baby Jesus who looks like He was born in Bethlehem...not Sweden."

Worst Mother Ever

Yesterday was "Show and Tell" at X-Factor's school. Guess which mom flaked out and sent her child to school on such a special day empty-handed? Yep. Grrr.

I'm thankful that my sweet girl with a grace-filled heart was quick to forgive. "That's OK mommy, I wasn't the only one with no show to tell about. Just remember next time OK?"

Morning Breath in the Afternoon

After we left the H. Family Farm last Saturday, we passed through Macon, Georgia and stopped at Barnes And Noble to see Mike Huckabee. Most of you already know that Dr. N and I campaigned for Huckabee during the primaries and even went to an event in S.C.

Macon is about 2.5 hours from the farm and on the way there, this tired mama fell asleep! When we arrived, my hair was matted, eyeliner smeared, and my breath was almost as nasty as it was at seven that morning when I first rolled out of bed.

As Murphey's law would have it, my cosmetic case complete with toothbrush and paste was buried deep within the trunk and I could find neither a mint or a piece of gum. So...I rinsed out my mouth with water, bought my book, clamped my mouth tight and stood in line with about 400 others to see Mike.

While I was in line, Dr. N was entertaining the kids in the children's area...it was a nice set up.

As my turn approached, I asked the woman behind me if she would take my picture. She agreed, but the line was moving so quickly that she captured on Huckabee, his cute assistant, and my hand in the picture. Perhaps that was a good thing.My hand is in the lower left corner holding a book.

Here are some shots with us and the Huckabee's last year.

Janet Huckabee is a lovely woman. She heard Z-man crying and rucshed over to pick him up. I promise you, he was crying long before she held him. She even helped calm him down a bit.

Just Call Me Lollipop Spice

Dear Professional Hair Stylists:

Please accept this blog post as my sincere apology for my latest act of arrogance, which involved a blatant disregard for and lack of respect of your profession.

I should have known better to have thought that a few bottles of chemicals sold in a drug store would bring me closer in my quest to look like Faith Hill. I've been told that a canyon-sized chasm exists between the difference of professional hair color and box-products. In my heart, I knew that to be true...but those women on the DIY product boxes are so very pretty. With lustrous locks and faces a glow, models for Loreal, Nice N Easy, and others silently lured me to give it a try. Like my ancestor Eve, who bit into the ripe forbidden fruit held by the serpent, I tumbled into a pit of temptation.

Sadly, this is not my first offense. It was more than ten years ago that I donned green and then purple hair due to more experimentation. At that time, I promised myself that I'd never travel that road agin...but alas, I did. The results? Painful.

Now, my sweet-hearted, candy-loving, four-year-old daughter shares a different opinion. She took one look at my peachy locks and exclaimed, "Mommy! You look so beautiful. Your hair looks like a lollipop!" It was meant with love, so I smiled and secretly thought "No darling, mommy looks like a rejected Spice Girl."

So now, I sit with more color on my hair. Now hold on...I am in deed sincere in my apology, but with the advice of a professional stylist, I am trying to fix it on my own...if it fails, I promise to contact someone with a degree in cosmotology to correct my bright-colored folicles.

For now, I'd like to leave you with some evidence you can use so sway customers from making the same mistakes that I did.

Sincerely,

Mrs. N, also known as Lollipop Spice

If Dogs Could Say Yummo...

Memo to Rachael Ray:
Dear Rach,

May I call you Rach? I feel as though I can. After all, I've been a fan of yours before fame and fortune barged into your kitchen. In fact, I give you most of the credit for teaching me how to cook; and owe you big time for freeing me from the bondage of precise measuring. Thank you.

Yes, it did take me some time to get use to your laugh, but after two episodes, I determined it was sincere. Plus, from day one, I hearted you for making words like "yummo" and "delish" cool, because my husband can attest to the fact that I've been using such words since 1999. Yep, I've been quirky before you made quirky cool. Again, thank you.

Due to the recent climb of your celebrity status from the Appalachians to the top of Mt. Everest, some have turned against you...even dared to call you a sell-out. Not me. I've stood firm as your fan and recipes from your cookbooks are used in my kitchen often. When my friends diss you, I have your back. But Rach, you must know that your newest product decision is harder to defend.

I'm talking about your dog food line, Nutrish. Dog food? You do realize that you've gone from creating fantastic recipes like Spinach and Goat Cheese Chicken Rolls, and Rosemary Corncake with a Prochutto Salad to concocting kibble for K-9's?

I understand your love for sweet Isaboo and commend you for donating proceeds to your pet charity...but this move has me shaking my head as I move onion peices to the garbage bowl. Now the garbage bowl...that idea was FABBO-LISH!

At least it didn't happen at Wal-Mart

First, allow me to set the stage:

I was in the kitchen preparing dinner and Z-man came in requesting MAWK (milk). When I opened up the refrigerator, he reached for a container of green beans, quickly opened them and grabbed a few. Trying to prevent my son from choking, I tried to take the long strings from his hand.

Me: "Here sweetie, let mommy cut them first."

Z: "NAWWWWWWWWW" (no)!

The little guy then shoved the beans into his mouth and took off like a toddler-sized Clark Kent. As he darted around the corner, I heard him gasp for air. He had started to choke and then within the same millisecond threw up.

As gross as vomit is, I was thankful that my son could breath.

Scooping him up in my arms, I attempted to clean his face, shirt, and fingers....he wiggled away (don't judge me, puke is slippery) intent on escape. Unfortunately for both of us, he only got as far as the pile of vomit, slid across the room and smacked his head on the linoleum floor.

Poor guy. He seems fine now and no signs of a concussion.

For 100 years from now

I have been reading Little House on the Prairie to the X-Factor. She refers to it as "Little House on the Prarium." Makes me wonder if she is envisioning dolphins and sharks swimming in the Kansas creek beds.

Being reminded of the brevity of life on this earth (Please click on the link to the left-- My 30 days-- if you'd like to know more) I decided to have some of our every day, seemingly ordinary moments captured by the camera.

I gave Dr. N. our FugiFilm S 3000 and asked him to take a few natural shots while we read. I didn't expect him to go all Jaime Kesler on me, which totally cracked me up and explains to you why there are so many pictures... including one of my foot. He's a talented man, but his photography skills are not quite at Jaime's level...but not all that bad for an amateur either. Plus, ya gotta love him for trying. And, you've gotta love me for NOT including the ones he took of my backside as I bent over to pick up the book. Yep, he's a peach.

After downloading the pictures, I cringed. I don't need to write that they are not flattering shots of yours truly. My neck has disappeared and I seem to look at least 15 pounds heavier than I do in my mirror. And that white short-sleeved sweater? I can never wear that again. What made me think it looked good on me. I almost deleted every shot. Almost. Then I stopped.

I decided to post the pictures because one day my daughter may be missing me. When that day comes, this blog may be long and gone but hopefully in one of those "blog to book" formats. She can then go to that scrapbook of sorts and look at pictures that will bring her back to sweet times. Maybe she'll even remember how my lips felt as I kissed the top of her head. Perhaps she'll laugh as she remembers her daddy clowning around with the camera.

And my disheveled appearance? Well, perhaps that will also bring hope to her heart. She'll know that even though her mom wasn't glamorous, she loved her enough to be captured looking a bit worn. No make up, messy hair, dark circles around the eyes...that's OK..she can flip through my wedding album if she wants to see my hair coiffed. But if she just wants to peer through the windows of time and look at her mom who looks tired because she was up at 2 am searching for blankie, these are the photos to view. Not clips of a picture perfect hot mama (if such photos of me ever existed), but of a mommy who had a tough day but curled up on her bed to read a classic story, and thought it precious enough to photograph.

Maybe she'll even remember the personal stories I interjected and the quirky way I bent my knees and curled my toes. Most of all, I want her to remember how much she was loved by her unglamorous mom.





Incidentally, did you know that Laura Ingalls Wilder lived to be 90 years old? She died in 1957. Can you imagine? She was a pioneer girl who lived to see electricity and all its wonders.

My Life Is Brilliant

Having grown three sizes larger in less than a year, let's just say my Fall wardrobe is lacking. Further evidence? I have one pair of Khaki's, one pair of hideous jeans, a pair of black sweat pants and a pair of black yoga pants. The shirt department has issues as well.

It was cool earlier this week and I decided I'd go for the "fit mommy" look and wear my yoga pants with a light blue cotton top. Noticing that the top was wrinkly and not wanting to mess with the ironing board at 6 am, I reached for my bottle of fabric freshener. A light mist would straighten those creases and who couldn't use a little fabric freshening? "My life is brilliant," I said mentally in my very best James Blunt British accent, which, is perfect when thought and not spoken.

Unfortunately, my hand clutched the bathroom cleaner with bleach and not the fabric freshener I had thought I grabbed. I proceeded to spray myself with the bleach and thought, "That smells odd, I'm not sure I'll be purchasing this brand again!"

Then, the truth struck and sunk into my dense mommy brain that was covered with an extra layer of morning fog only remedied by a cup of coffee.

My life is brilliant.

Lots of Sunshine Mixed with Some Creepy

My sweet X-Factor is spending the week in Florida and Georgia with her "Nannie" (Dr. N's mom). So Z-man has the privilege of tasting the blissful of life as an only child. We're both having a blast, but missing X-Factor.

Today was gorgeous and hot! Z-man and I slept until 8:30, ate a healthy breakfast and ran some errands. While out and about, I stopped at Big Lots. I shared my Big Lots love with you all last Wednesday and after I did my good friend, Southern Mommy shared with me her Big Lots horror story. Since I never had a bad experience there, I thought that poor SM experienced a fluke. Well, it breaks my heart to say this, but after today, I will no longer be shopping at the Big Lots closest to me. Since I was not accosted by a drunk man, my story does not rival what SM went through, but it is creepy (cue music from a Tim Burton Film).

While taking my close out bargains to the check out counter, there was a man and woman behind us playing peek-a-boo with Z-man. Nothing strange about that. Happens everywhere. Here is the strange part, as my eyes shifted from Z-man to pay for my wares, the man, who was eating an ice cream sandwich (now that 's weird) said "Did you ever give him aspirin?" At least, that is what I thought he said. Thinking that it was another stranger who was about to give me teething advice, I smiled politely and replied, "No sir, he's too young for aspirin."

Well, he didn't say aspirin, he said ice cream. I know this because he held up his half eaten ice cream sandwich and said, "Well, I just tried to give him some of mine but he closed his lips tight and wouldn't take it, I figured he must not have had it before."

Next entered the maintenance man who had to clean up my jaw, which fell on the floor.

I started to shake, examined my baby to make sure he didn't have anything on his mouth, threw up in my mouth, and quickly walked out of the store.

A stranger tried to share his half eaten ice cream sandwich with my baby!

Of course my inner smart alec didn't kick in until we got to the car and I thought of a whole bunch of comments such as "Yes, I already taught him not to take food from strangers!"

I don't even take bites of ice cream after my own husband. The thought of some man I didn't know attempting to share his frozen snack with my son... a snack that said man bite into with his teeth. Praise God Z-man didn't even let the ice cream touch his lips!

OK, so after that lovely experience, we stopped at the Dollar Tree on our way home. The Dollar Tree is in a fairly decent area and clean, but I still held Z-man instead of putting him in the cart. After the Big Lots incident I was not about to take chances. If you live in my city, ask me via e-mail or in person about which Big Lots to avoid and which Dollar Tree to shop at to get some great deals. This particular Dollar Tree sells frozen food and other cold items for a dollar and freshness is guaranteed...and I check expiration dates. I stocked up on Steam Fresh veggies. I love them! And at $1 a bag...major steal! I also got two bags of name brand shredded cheese...very fresh for $1 each. I was pleased.

Later in the afternoon, Z-man and I hit the pool. We had a blast, although once we got there I realized that my mommy brain forgot to put sunscreen on his face. So we walked back home and took care of that business and went back to splash.

After a quiet dinner and some playtime, the little guy gave me the baby sign for nite-nite and slipped off to dream land at 7 p.m.

Oh my Toe!!!

I was a Brady Bunch fan. Were you? If so, you no doubt recall the football incident with Marsha and her nose. The boys were passing the pigskin on the Astroturf, I mean amazingly manicured lawn, when one of the kids threw long and the ball whacked poor Marsha, Marsha, Maarrrshaaa, in the center of her nose, turning it bruised and swollen just days before her big date with a high school hottie. I'll never forget the infamous flashback scene with Marsha crying out, "Oh, my nose" about a gagillion times.

Today, while in Super Wal-Mart, I clung to a freezer door while silently crying "Oh, my toe!!" There were no footballs whizzing by my grocers freezer, but a flying ten pound box of frozen lasagna was the culprit. OK, it didn't fly, but it did slip from my hand and land directly on my big toe. The same toe that was injured early this week. (I stubbed it on C-Mae's dog food container, but I consider a stub that causes blood to flow from the toe an injury).

The pain honestly rivaled early childbirth. I wanted to cry. I also wanted to shout out a few swear words. I neither cried, nor cussed, but I did hobble out of the store after paying for my groceries.

My poor toe is purple, swollen and prone to spontaneous bleeding. The first person who came to my mind was my beloved MemMem (I didn't think of Marsha until I examined my toe and discovered it resembled her mangled nose), who passed away when I was eight. I thought of MemMem because she once stubbed her toe while vacuuming on a Sunday. A strong believer in the Sabbath, MemMem blamed her stubbed toe on doing chores on a Sunday. I'm not sure God slammed a box of frozen lasagna on my toe to teach me a lesson about the sixth commandment, because my plan was to bring my groceries home, put Z-man down for his morning nap and make it to church by 11. (We went to Wal-Mart at 7 am, because our cabinets were bare and going any other time on a weekend is sensory overload for me.) However, when Z-man went down for his nap, I popped some Motrin and slept as well.

My toe still throbs, but I'm thankful it wasn't my nose.

Side note, this is not my first toe catastrophe. When I was two-year-old, I dropped a large can of corn on my tiny big toe....same toe! No wonder I walk funny.

When it comes to frying chicken...I'm a chicken

I don't like to fry chicken. It's messy and dangerous. However, this month we happened to have some pre-breaded frozen chicken and it was labeled as "fry only." I follow directions, remember? So while turning my chicken, the oil in the pain popped and splashed my right arm. Fortunately, after I screamed, I acted fast and the burns aren't serious, but they are painful. I have six red, tender, swollen patches on my hand, wrist and forearm. Ouch!!

For those of you curios types I served the chicken with brown rice and carrots.

Psycho Mommy

I usually get feedback about my sweet gentle nature. And it is true, I do have a gentle, meek component to my personality and in my parenting style. But I'm not always sweet and patient. Sometimes, I lose my cool just a tad and sometimes I blow a gasket. Yesterday, gaskets a plenty were blown by yours truly. And in honor of my quest to be an honest mom, here's the story. Please tell me that you relate.

I wish I could say that while chaos loomed I jumped into a phone booth, whirled around a few times and came out caped in red and holding a lasso while balancing a little gold crown on the top of my head. Instead my car was the capsule for my identity change into the villainous variety.

Here is the scene - we were driving home from Super K-mart and Z-man was being a Mr. Fussypants. Pumpkindoodle was doing her best to turn her brother's frown upside down, which entailed singing in high octaves. We'll call her Super Screecher just to stay on the comic book theme.

I'm not a commotion person, so my nerves were a bit frayed from the get-go. But it usually takes more than some crying and loud screeching...Uh singing...to turn this mild mannered gal into...da-da-da...Psycho mom. Yes, folks, it takes a balloon. A blue latex balloon from Chick-Fil-A to be exact.

As I was driving, I noticed that I was in the the far left lane and needed to make a right turn. That wasn't gonna happen without endangering the lives of my precious cargo, so I stayed left and stopped at the traffic light...one of those three-minute light stops that further inscensed Z-man. After I got the green go-ahead, I drove up to the next open median to make a U-turn. While this was happening, Pumpkindoodle, AKA Super Screecher, lets go of the aforementioned balloon several times causing it to hinder my vision.

I issued a firm warning of sorts..."Hold on to that balloon! Mommy cannot see and I am at a dangerous spot."

My warning was ignored and the balloon is released several more times. I decide to issue a further reprimand. "HOLD THAT BALLOON DOWN AND DO NOT LET IT GO."

She decided that giving the balloon to her whining brother will do the trick and cheer him up. So ignoring mommy, who obviously is beginning to unravel, the balloon is handed to a one-year-old who....lets go of it. Said balloon floats in-front of my face just as I was about about to make the U-turn.

Without any twirling or costuming, Psycho Mommy flings into action, rolls down the window and says "Bye-Bye Balloooooooooon, Fly to freedom." Yes, I really said..actually to my embarrassment screamed those very words. As they say in the South...I done gone up and lost it!

Pumpkindoodle and Z-man squawked with grief. Pumpkindoodle lamented how much she loved her balloon and that her balloon was a friend and was now gone forever.

Did her sweet mommy respond with words of comfort? Heck no. Because sweet mommy was held captive my Psycho Mommy.

"Well... that's what happens when you don't listen to me," bellowed Psycho Mommy! Would you rather have your balloon or be in the hospital? Yes, I know...Psycho Mommy doesn't make much sense does she?

So, while Alan Jackson is singing hymns, my children are sobbing and my shaking hands are trying to guide the steering wheel. About 500,000 deep breaths later, we arrive home.

Psycho Mommy has left the building and I tell PD that I am sorry for losing my temper. She forgives me and we talk about the importance of balloon safety.

Now, to read a story of when I was in another stressful road situation but refrained from being Psycho, please click here.

Let me just close on this note...I am so thankful that I serve a God who gives me second chances and that my identity is not in my mistakes as a parent, but in His love and mercy. Thank you Jesus. And those of you without children who think I am plain evil, please don't call CPS on me. I promise you, Psycho Mom doesn't come out too often.

(And by the way...I kind of disagree with my hubby's humorous post above...I like putting duckies on Z-man)

Happy Mother's Day

We wish a Happy Mother's Day to all of our Mom readers (which I suspect are a majority of our readers). Unfortunately for Angela, she's been fighting illness all weekend and is currently getting some needed rest. If you have access to Pumpkindoodle's blog, you can read her Mother's Day message to Angela. (If you would like access, let us know and we can send you the password.)

Oh Yeah, Well I'm Gonna Live on the Street

Only minutes after holding a wailing infant Xylie, my friend Anita produced a sympathetic smile and frankly stated, “This girl’s got opinions.”

Four years and forty thousand words later my girl still owns copious opinions along with a deep seeded belief that said opinions require an audience. Last night I sat in the front row of X.N. Opinion Fest 2008 and boy did I get an earful.

Sent to bed 15 minutes early for disobedience my three-foot charge was ticked. She wallowed in self-pity and handcuffed me to the trough. “This is not fair. I have a horrible life and I’m not going to take it anymore. I’m not going to live here either. I’m going to live on the street.”

Reeling, my first thought was where on earth does this girl get her material? In my craziest dreams I couldn’t imagine plucky Dora the Explorer™ threatening life on the avenida. And Cinderella™ who toiled the day away in servitude would have welcomed an early respite

My second thought shaped itself into a plea “Lord, I’m at the end of my rope and on the verge of losing my cool, please help me diffuse this situation.” Man, God is quick.

“Oh my, are you really going to live on the street?”

“Yes. I. AM.”

“Wow. You must have a very terrible life.”

“I do.”

“Hmmm. I guess you have a really mean mommy and daddy?”

Silence

“I cannot imagine wanting to live on the cold street if I had a nice warm bed to sleep in. Your parents must be so mean. Do they hit you?”

Eyes open wide, head shaking side to side.

“No? Well then they must throw things at you?”

A whispered “No.”

“Well, they must do some terrible things for you to want to live on the street. Let’s see….do they call you nasty names? Make you eat trash? Pull your hair?”

Her pout melted like warm chocolate. “Mommy?”

"Yes darling?”

“I’m so sorry. I was so angry when I said those things. I don’t ever want to leave you and Daddy and Zayden.”

“I know sweetheart, I forgive you.”

We talked some more, cuddled, and exchanged “Eskimo Kisses.”

Sigh. Thank you Lord for providing me the strength to parent when I’d rather live on the street.

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:32

Looks can be deceiving

Blatantly commenting about a stranger's appearance tends to be a cultural no-no. Sure, there are deviants who let out a whistle when an attractive woman (or man) walks by or snicker at someone who may be carrying some extra pounds, but in general people tend not to walk up to people they don't know and list the physical attributes of the bystander...unless that bystander is a baby.

Usually, the comments are endearing ones like "what beautiful eyes she has," or "what a cute little fella.” And sometimes the comments are a bit ambiguous. When Xylie was a baby, many strangers would make the comment "Boy, she’s a feisty one isn't she, but very pretty!"

And the comments aren't limited to the babies. For some reason having a baby in her arms makes a woman fodder for unsolicited annotation. I know when I'm tired, so when a well-meaning stranger tells me so it isn't exactly a pick-me-up. But having someone tell me in a pitiful tone that I look tired when to the contrary I'm feeling spry... that's a sure-fire bring-me-downer.

Zayden Penn gets his fair share of comments and usually they involve his weight. Born almost 4 weeks early, Zayden was a little dude fresh out of the oven. However, during the past several months, the boy has morphed from scrawny to rolley-polley. Instead of telling me that my baby looks malnourished, I now hear "What a sturdy boy," "He likes to eat doesn't he?” "Why hi-there big guy.” I have to agree. That's why I was a little shocked during Zayden's 9-month-old appointment this morning and so was the nurse.

When the nurse entered the exam room, she commented about what a big boy Zayden was and that he looked like he really enjoyed solid foods. She weighed him and the scale read 18 lbs 4 oz. Then she measured him and he is 27 and 3/4 inches long, an inch longer than he was at his 6-month appointment. The nurse looked at me and said, "he's short.” When she looked at the chart, we discovered that my Z-man is in the 25th percentiles for height and weight and the 50th percentile for the height and weight combo (don't ask me how that works). Then she said, "aww, he's just a little guy."

Honestly, I found the experience amusing. Since Zayden is growing right on target and is very healthy, I have no worries that he may be considered "little" measured next to his infant cohorts. I learned with Xylie that milestones and weight don't matter too much in the life of a baby unless an extreme boundary is crossed (weighing too much or too little, not being about to walk until age 2, etc.) and that by the time kids are 5 years-old, they are pretty much all on the same page or at least in the same coloring book.

What amuses me is the reminder of how looks can be deceiving. What appears obvious may not at all fit the original hypothesis. While I tend to reserve judgment of others, I'm not exempt from jumping to the wrong conclusion about people from time to time. My experience today with Zayden has made me examine areas in my life in which I may need to show more compassion or at the minimum not form an opinion until I have more information. If I overhear a mother being sarcastic with her child, instead of thinking “she’s not very loving,” I’m going to try to remember to pray for that mother, because truth be told, oftentimes I am that mother and heaven knows I need all the prayer I can get.

I'm also going to try this with the reverse situation. The next time I see a mother who appears to have it all together, I'm not going to get down on myself and try to become just like that particular mother. Instead, I am going to pray for her too. I'll pray that the peace I see in her at that moment will continue and that I can learn from her, yet be an encouragement to her when she has a less than stellar moment because trust me, we all have them.