Who Can You Trust with Your Kids??

As we know, I'm a freak and a worrier. I can't help it. My chief goal in life is to get my children to adulthood without dying or being seriously permanently injured. I feel like something as awful as that happening to them is unlikely, but what I do worry about is their being victimized....

I know when I was in college the stats were 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 10 boys would be sexually victimized by the time they reached 18. Scary. I'm not trying to scare you though. But this is what I know- most of the attention to this is focused on protecting your children from adults...but what about other children?

I feel 100% comfortable with the adults in my children's lives, but not the kids. I don't know the other kids at daycare or school and if they are receiving inadequate supervision, something can happen.

And stuff DOES happen. When I worked in social work I met little kids who did very serious things to other children. Not just innocent play, I promise you. And it's important to know that if a child does perpetrate, its because, most of the time, they are a victim of someone else. They need help.

The reason I bring this up is because I learned that there is some serious lack of supervision at Daycare and some innocent but inappropriate things did occur when my kids were in their care. I'm not worried, I know nothing bad happened to my children. This time. But its time for a very un-fun phone conversation with Diva. And I am now relieved about the decision we made to pull them.

So, have you had that discussion with your children, on who can touch and see their privates and who can't? Have you told them this applies to other children too? How did that conversation go? Do they know its ok to say no to someone, including other kids even if they are afraid it will hurt that kid's feelings? I just did. Sucks doesn't it.
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Pre Kchaos

I guess its official... I'm old. I have a kid that goes School. Ok, its only preschool, but its still school.

Last night we went to the open house. The school he'll be going to is an older building without A/C ...many places up here don't really have A/C anyway, but the day was hot and muggy and sitting in a windowless auditorium doesn't make for happy kids.

The principal, who seemed to be trying hard to be interesting, made me want to slit my wrists. She would not.stop.talking.

I looked around at the other parents of mostly 3-7 year olds and thought to myself that this woman wasn't too perceptive about her audience. As evidenced by the fact that as soon as she paused and finished one section, nearly everyone stood to leave... but she wasn't quite done yet. We all left anyway.

Seriously though, I'm happy Kiki is in a school at all! Preschool enrollment has been a nightmare. I signed him up in May for a school that is near downtown and where Logan happens to go. I was 38 on the list, guess I waited too long. But the teacher assured me it'd be fine.

Logan's school wouldn't be able to tell me for sure if he got in until August 16, so they said. Suddenly it is the week before school starts and I STILL don't know. I call and get myself put on the list for the other school downtown. Central Grade School-I was 3rd on the waiting list.

Finally the teacher at Logan's school told me she didn't think she had any openings for him, but then Central Grade called me and offered me M, Tue, Th full days. I snapped them up in hopes of getting him a spot the other two days. Daycare Diva said she probably has room for him to go to her house the other two days till November.

I was going to have him go to the new Center Boogs is going to, but when I was there I saw a little bully on the playground and I decided I didn't want poor Kiki to have to figure out two hierarchies of bullies. I wanted him to just have to learn one. So I decided to keep him at Daycare Diva's till he can get full time Pre-K at Central. I think it is a good move and best for him, even if its not convenient for me.

But to be honest I sort of didn't want him at Central because I consider it to be the "rich school" ... I hate to say that I have one major prejudice, however unfair, about the rich. Here the "numbered streets" have the huge old Victorians and million dollar homes. This school is nestled amongst those numbered streets.

While at the open house, Jim admitted that while I was trying to figure out how old we were compared to other parents, he was trying to figure out which ones were the rich ones. lol. He said he overheard one woman saying, somewhat out of place, "Well we live on 6th street" in a conversation about pick up. He thought it seemed purposeful on her part, and the teacher didn't respond. Oh, and 6th street has probably THE most expensive homes. But I'm not worried about it anymore, the school seems really great and I liked his teacher a lot. I think it's because I went to a school with a good amount of rich kids and HATED EVERY SECOND OF IT.

A bonus of him going to Central is that one of his little girl friends from Diva's is going to be going there. She ran up to him last night and fearlessly took his hand in hers. They walked all the way to the preschool room hand in hand and chatting happily.

It was so sweet I had to snap a picture, while walking-so it's blurry.


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High Stakes Negotiation

Sometimes with this guy I feel much like the high stakes negotiator. Not the kind that is trying to get Yahoo to sell itself to Microsoft, but the kind trying to gently coax the jumper in from the ledge. One false move and he bolts.

And that is how I found myself chasing him down wearing nothing but my underwear and a T-shirt. Nice. It was 8am so I am hoping that most people were still asleep, but if not they got to witness my bare ass running through the grass after my 2 year old.

oh the joys of Toddlerhood.
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Moving on Faith

I lived in Chicago for 1 year, during that year I was a stay home mom. This is a brief long drawn out story about how instead of putting my head in an oven, JimmyEW and I moved on faith alone.

As soon as we moved to Chicago, pretty much everything possible went wrong as could go wrong. Within the first week it started. We were damaged heavily in the financial area, it set us back years. Happiness was not Chicago.

I couldn't afford to work because of the cost of daycare, and my extreme fear of leaving the boys with someone I didn't know made it even tougher to find someone. Especially since HB's first daycare lady (not Daycare Diva) had a baby die in her care around the time I was contemplating trying to work.

It seemed my only option was to open my own daycare or get a job at a daycare, pay for them to be there while I watched other kids, and probably not make much money. My only hope was to keep my focus on three years in the future, when Boogs would be in Preschool and Kiki would be in Kindergarten.

Wow, that was a long way away. My coping mechanism was not ever thinking about tomorrow. Tomorrow was WAY TOO FAR AWAY. Perhaps the three years wouldn't have sucked if I'd had any friends to hang out with periodically, which I really didn't. And I did not fit in at all in the neighborhood we lived in. Here's me with my $2 garage sale umbrella stroller talking to a mom who can barely lift her hand for the heavy rock on her finger, pushing around her $800 Bugaboo. I'm sorry, I just don't have anything in common with that.

So, I was a bitch on wheels. No one could do anything right, except Bag of Cookies, and I loved them unconditionally. They said all the right things, was quiet when I needed them to be and was always around when I needed a friend. Mmmm....cookies, what can't they do? When people would ask me how I was, my answer was always "I'm maintaining". I got it from the movie Dick. Great flick!! Ooooh! That rhymed! I dealt with it.

One day my landlord/neighbor/friend/only thing that kept me sane, told me he couldn't handle the city anymore and was moving. I couldn't fathom living there without them in my backyard. They were the bright spot in my lonely days. All hope was lost for me.

Then one day we left the city to visit my hometown. JimmyEW and I went out on a little date, I guess I had enough appeal left in my personality for him to want to spend some time alone with me. It was that day, back in Hometown, that he said he saw the old Sassy back and decided that we could move back home.

"Back home" you say? Yes, we had moved to Chicago from Beautiful Northern Michigan, where "The View of the Bay is Half the Pay" and the business owners believe that, for the most part.

JimmyEW told me while we were visiting, that we could move to my Hometown. Personally, I had never wanted to settle down in my hometown, but anything was better than Chicago. So I was happy. But then, on the trip home he suggested that moving to Hometown wasn't so different from Northern Michigan and made the suggested that we just move back. I cried I was so happy. I called my beloved friend and mentor Marcia and excitedly told her. I called everyone I had left behind...which was just two other phone calls lol.

So we made ready. It was August and our lease was up in October, we had 2 months to pull it all together. I started applying for jobs everywhere I could. I called, I hounded, I drove them insane trying to get them to interview me. Nothing. Same with JimmyEW.

Many people thought we were doing the wrong thing. Lots of different people told him to move me out to the suburbs and make me cope. I don't know how many times my mother or a sister told me they thought I had post partum depression. I would get irate, and scream that it was NOT post partum! I was miserable! I was lonely! My husband worked a lot! And we were ruined financially! We couldn't survive there. It was SIT-U-ATIONAL! I didn't want a pill to cope, I wanted to change my SITUATION!

It was now September and we decided that in October I would move regardless, and if he didn't have a job yet, he'd stay in Chicago on my friend's couch until he got a job. I would move, alone with the kids, and keep looking for work. People thought I was crazy, but I knew this was the right thing to do.

It was the second to last week in September and both JimmyEW and I were called for an interview. We both went, found an apartment and signed a lease. I went to my interview and was offered the job making $10,000 less than I was used to making. I wanted it, but my face visible fell when I saw the number. We had done numbers and there was a break even point that I had to get for it to make sense for me to work.

Seeing my face fall, the man started back peddling, saying if I opted out of benefits he could increase and then he'd talk to the owner and see if they could go higher. For some reason he must really wanted to hire me. This is especially funny since the person who would be my supervisor, and later friend, put my resume on the NO pile. Once again, faith coming to save my day.

The next day was JimmyEW's interview. We were at the park when he drove up with a big fat smile on his face. They'd offered him a job at about the break even amount we'd discussed! It would be about a $10,000 pay decrease for him and no company car or gas card, but we'd be home.

We went back to Chicago, packed our crap, I got a call and they offered me a package that had a bit of an increase with a promise to look at it in 90 days and I took it. When JimmyEW got his offer letter and we thought it was a typo. Because, it showed him as making $13,000 more than he was expecting! A freaking pay RAISE and a view of the bay! Semi-charmed life, welcome back to Sassyland!

I moved back home, starting work, put the kids into a daycare that I knew and trusted and JimmyEW came two weeks later. Everything worked out perfectly, just as it should have. We left and moved, putting it all in God's hands to provide for us and He did.

Chicago wasn't all bad. Here's a brief visual overview to things I thought were kind of cool about Chicago.

Sunday in the Park (with Kiki's head and a sleeping Boogs who had a MASSIVE meltdown in the Art Institute. Allergy to dairy, as it turns out)

The thing that kept my head out of the oven. My Landlord, neighbor and friend. He would sit with me, sympathize with me and play with my kids. He was a stay home dad of a 2 year old and I love him and his wife. They made my life bearable.
I also saw people a lot more often. Sister Mary Elephant , for one, who lived about 45 minutes from the city. She'd drop in and spend time with me, do wonderful things for me, clean my NASTY house and play with the boys. I miss her lots :( I also got to see my best friend who lives in KY. She was only 5 hours away. That was a big con to moving.
My beautiful friend who lived in the city, but is a very hard worker and has a very active social life so I didn't spend nearly as much time with her as I'd like to. She is my children's social justice Goddess Mother and I love and miss her.

And of course, the best, we got Boogs in ChicagoBut... it just wasn't home. I know people say that your make home where you are, but we were just in the wrong place. And so it goes. Sometimes you have to do what you know is right for you, even if everyone else is telling you not to.

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It Seems Our Job Here is Done

Tom and I like to joke about how Logan pretty much raises himself. We're here just in case of fire.

I struggle to stay one step ahead of my kid. He often trips me up and catches me sleeping on the job of being his mom.

He reminds me to help him with him homework, makes sure I am planning to attend a meeting with his teacher, remembers things I miss on the grocery list and lets me know that his car seat straps aren't nearly tight enough. While it's all very helpful, it tends to make me feel a little bit like crap.

One day I was driving through McDonald's to get a diet coke. When it came time for me to pay, I could not find my money anywhere. I looked all through my purse, my briefcase, my car. It was no where to be found and I was certain I had put cash in my bag that very morning.

I pulled into a parking space (which I am sure thrilled the hungry people behind me waiting for their Big Macs) to continue the search. Finally, I did the one thing I had been putting off. I called my (then) four year old son for help.

Logan was at Sassy's house being watched by his Uncle Jim. It would be a lie to say I was not a whole lot embarrassed to have Uncle Jim ask Logan where I put my money that morning. Jim kept asking me if that's what I really intended for him to ask. Finally he did.

And sure enough, my boy had the answer. He got on the phone and let me know that I had thrown the cash in my red lunch bag. Then he went back to playing with his dinosaurs. I felt very foolish, and yet I was thrilled to be able to get my fountain pop.

Tonight I took Logan out for ice cream. As we sat at the table chatting about the importance of football and hockey jerseys (they are critical to his happiness), skiing (he wants to be on the bunny hill a little bit longer thank you very much) and Spring break (he called his grandma and sisters Big and Redd and made plans to spend it with them) he looked at me and said "Mom, if there is a fire, I will grab my coat and you get your purse, OK?".

I started to worry that perhaps my work here really is done. But then I looked at my kid with chocolate ice cream glommed all over his face and his shoes on the wrong feet and his hand that always needs to be touching me and realized we still have a long road ahead of us, thank you God.

It will just be easier during an emergency. He'll be able to remind me to grab my photo albums and purse on our way out the door. And there's nothing wrong with that.
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And A Child Shall Lead Them

This is my kid four years ago.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was certain I was having a girl. We even had a name all picked out-Madeline.

Then I learned it was a boy.

I'm sure you can imagine how surprised I was. And how overwhelmed. I already had plans of tea parties and doll houses and prom dresses.

Now we needed to select a whole new theme for the nursery, come up with a name and adjust to the idea of fishing and football.

Look at this kid. He is sweet and special and a snuggle bug. He's 5 ("and a half, mom!") and loves to ski and ice skate and play soccer.

He also does the icky boy stuff like talking about farts and using the word "wiener". I hate that stuff.

He likes to read the book about how Jesus died on that "stick thing" and asks questions like where the heck does the Easter Bunny fit into the whole picture. Because while the sacrifice is important, that bunny has chocolate.

This kid has a huge heart and understands that he is lucky and some kids are not. He sets aside his toys and clothes to give to them, because he knows it's his job to help others.

He has developed a faith that I could learn from.

We stopped at a Goodwill store on a lark to see if there were any hockey skates in his size. I knew there wouldn't be. Anything of value is snatched up before it hits the shelf there.

As I turned the car off, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Logan close his eyes and say "Please God let there be skates in my size, a hockey stick and shin guards. Thank you and I love you. Amen."

While I found that precious, my immediate thought was "Crap. Now I'm going to have to have the talk with him about how our prayers aren't always answered the way we would like."

Except Logan's was. Every single thing he asked for was there and in perfect condition.

So this kid also teaches me lessons. Every day.

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WFMW: I'm A Freakin' Freak.

There are a few rather odd things about me. Just ask my husband. Or my sisters. I consider myself to be unique, but they would probably tell me to get over my bad self. That I'm just. plain. weird.

I can't select a book without reading page 13 first. I want to see if I like the way the author writes, if the story will draw me in and make sure the main character isn't annoying. When I buy the book (or check it out from the library) and start reading it, I get the biggest case of deja vu. Then I look down and see that it is the 13th page and all is well with my world again.

I never know if it's "alot" or "a lot". If it's "week end" or "weekend". Nor do I care enough to remember the answer when I'm told. I've got too many other things to keep track of. Like my kid who likes to trip me up. And often.

And speaking of him, I'm kind of a lazy mom. I base many parenting decisions on which choice requires the least amount of effort. For instance Summer Day Camp. Logan's going to the one that doesn't make me pack a lunch every day. I don't care if it costs more money. I get the summer off from that awful chore. And I'm taking it, thankyouverymuch.

I have been on a scary-crazy mission for years-Years-to create the perfect meatloaf. Because meatloaf=comfort. I have tried many recipes that I found in cookbooks, online or just made up in my head. I'm still not satisfied. It may taste good, but it's never good enough. So I will continue on my quest and make the Sassy Family be my taste-testers.

But the one thing I need help with today is remembering to send Birthday cards and thank you notes. On time. Or, at all.

The cult we grew up in forbade us from recognizing birthdays. Apparently it took glory away from Christ. We were also not allowed to celebrate Christmas. I'm not entirely sure about this, but I think it was because it took glory away from Herbert W. Armstrong-evil apostle general extraordinaire.

Because I never received jack wrapped in pretty paper, I never had an opportunity to send a thank you card. And in order to avoid public retribution from the pulpit, I also never sent out a birthday card.

Now that I do celebrate these events I have some anxiety. Because when it comes to remembering birthdays and sending thank you notes, I suck donkey butt.

This wouldn't be so bad, except I have married into the most polite and gracious family ever. They mail their thank you notes directly after opening their presents. They call on birthdays AND send a card. They are awesome. I am not.

I have the best of intentions though.

I write the birthdays on our calendar and then promptly forget to look, remember, plan and execute.

I have a drawer full of cute little thank you cards that have been there forever.

After Christmas, Logan and I designed a personalized note thanking his aunts and uncles and grandparents for their fabulous gifts. We took pictures of him playing with the toys they bought him, and wearing the clothes they had purchased. He even wrote a short message on each one.

Only we forgot to send most of them. And by "we", I mean "I". They are still sitting on my desk to finish addressing, attach a stamp and walk down the driveway to our mailbox.

This is where ya'll come in. What are your tried and true methods to recognize the birthdays of your loved ones on time? How soon do you mail your thank you notes?

I really need your help before people stop buying us presents due to our rudeness. And by "our" I mean "my".

Now go help others solve their WFMW problems at Rocks In My Dryer. And thank you.


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Bathroom Horror

I have to pee so bad! But I won't go, I just can't bring myself to do it. Why you ask? I'll tell you why...it's because my Kiki finally went #2 after 2 days of holding it and that sucker is so big it won't go down! I only have 1 bathroom and JimmyEW isn't here to send it to its resting place.

So...I was soooooo tempted to post a picture of the clogging menace however I think that Sister HB would throw up in her mouth, along with some readers, so I am exercising self control. And Yes, I did take a picture. Kiki likes me to send them to his daddy when daddy is working late. So I have a whole poop gallery on my phone.

And Speaking of Poop, my poor Kiki hates to do it. He's a holder. So I tell him stories while he sits on the pot about all his adventures. His escapades always end up with him somehow at the 3 Bears House with his cousins and brother, pooping his pants, causing the toilet to overflow then trying to wash clothes and falling asleep upstairs. The Bears come home to a house that smells like a sewer and a bunch of young boys asleep upstairs. He loves it!

But today I thought he was going fall off he was laughing so hard. Today I introduced a character called "Mr. Poopy". Kiki's character had a BM that sprouted arms and legs (like Mr. Hanky the Christmas poo) and called himself Mr. Poopy. It chased all the boys around trying to get a hugs from them. I thought my boy was going to cry he was laughing so hard as I described how Mr. Poopy was scratching on his door at night trying to get him to come out and hug him. It was great fun!

So what are some weird quirky things you do to get your kids to do what you want/need them to do? Am I the only weirdo that tells potty stories?
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Parenting an Only Child

My son has begun asking me the question I absolutely positively hate the most: when are we going to have another baby? (Dude. I can't believe I'm getting that question from you now ) The fact that we're not going to have another child is a huge regret in my life. One that I hope will go away soon.

Sassy and I grew up in a very large family. I have seven brothers and sisters, seven sisters and brothers in-law and 16 nieces and nephews. I can't imagine not having each and every single one of them in my life. It makes me sad that Logan will never experience family dinners, vacations, or holidays the way I did. It makes me feel bad that he won't have a buddy growing up and a best friend as an adult who is also his brother or sister. I really hate that.

Here's the thing. I was told by my doctors for years that getting pregnant would be difficult for me. I was beyond shocked when I found out I was indeed pregnant with Logan. When I had him, I was 34 and went through some serious postpartum depression. It took me a long time to work through all of that garbage.

So, now I'm 40. I am emotionally at a place where we could have another baby. We are financially comfortable where adding to our family wouldn't be a struggle. But we just don't think we want to. There are a lot of risks involved for both mother and baby when you reach a certain age. And let's face it. It's a lot of work taking care of a newborn. They kinda cramp your style, if you know what I mean. A baby would mess up my sleep schedule, my romantic life and my social life.

We've got it made right now. It's not a lot of work to go ice skating, to the library or the beach. We no longer have to pack a u-haul to travel downstate. Taking the boat out includes only sunscreen, food and drinks and peeing off the back (Logan, not me.)

While I am torn wishing I could give Logan a brother or sister, I am also a little selfish, I guess. Tom and I don't want to go back to the sleepless nights and tired days. We don't want to change diapers. (Although, walking out of the video store yesterday, Logan did announce "Mom, my butt really itches. I think I have some dried poop in it". In a loud voice. I was very proud.) More importantly, I don't want to risk hurting my marriage because of the postpartum hell I put my husband through the first time.

But am I doing a disservice to my kid? Late Saturday afternoon Logan was plain over me. We had gone ice skating and had a lot of fun. Or so I thought, until he let me know that he would really rather do anything but play Yahtzee Jr. with me. I'm his mom. He's five. He wants a friend to be all rough-and-tumble with and I was beginning to bore him.

So, I called up Sassy and asked if we could pick up Kiki and take him to the play area at the mall with us. When we got there, one of Logan's classmates ran up to the boys and they all took off and played. I loved watching them interact and see the mischievous looks and listening to their laughter.

And that's when it occurred to me. (Because I'm a little slow on the uptake.) I need to be more proactive and actually arrange these kinds of activities. Being a working mom, I have never scheduled a play date. Ever. Frankly, I'm not even sure how they work (Do I pick the kid up? Does the mom hang out with us? Do I take them somewhere or do we just stay home? If Logan goes to their house, does that mean I'm free to go have myself lunch and a Mojito with a girlfriend?) I do know that I cannot be all things to my son. Nor can I fully appreciate the humor of the gross boy-noises he enjoys. I need to find him someone who does. Pronto.

So I wrestle with my occasional annoyance at having to play yet another game of Sorry when I really want to read my book or watch What Not to Wear. I fight my sadness at not being able to give Logan a bigger family. I talk myself out of my guilt that "this" is all he gets.

But I am also happy every day. I love my kid. I dig my husband. We have fun together just the three of us. I acknowledge that he does need more, and I am committed to making that happen. I just don't plan on giving birth in order to do so.


I have completely forgotten about Lent Family Devotional with Sister Honey Bunch. Sorry, ya'll! I have been asked to include discussion tips for around the dinner table. Ummmm...I am so not an expert at this. We kind of wing it, frankly. I will try to add things we will probably chat about at our house but we will probably segue into talking about why Logan thinks Brett Favre should play for the Lions. Hope it helps.

GOD PROVIDES FOR YOU MATT 6:33
"But put God's kingdom first. Do what he wants you to do. Then all of those things will also be given to you."

• Our job is to be kind to others. Not to focus on ourself.
• If there is a classmate who seems sad or off playing alone, go talk to him. Invite him to play with you and your friends.
• Remember a time when someone was nice to you when you were feeling sad? Try to do that for another kid and help cheer him up.
• Focus on being nice to other people, and don't always talk about getting a new football jersey or new Power Ranger or going to McDonald's.
• If I see you doing those nice things, I will be more likely to do nice things for you. Like get the Power Ranger, football jersey, etc.
• God will do the the same kind of thing. Only bigger.
  

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Simple is the New Black

I struggle with envy. It doesn't overpower my life and make me miserable. Nor does it cause me to spend money I don't have. It doesn't even make me harbor ill-will toward those who have more than I do. But it does still have an impact on my daily life.

I have a nice home, and wonderful family and great friends. I have a reliable car that isn't rusting out on me. I have a boat to enjoy with those I love. I have a good job. But I often want more.

What do I want? I want to be a skinny and gorgeous mom like I see at Logan's school every day. I want her perfectly straight, bleached teeth. I want that humongous diamond ring that is so heavy on her manicured hand she can barely wave to me. I want her designer wardrobe, her Fendi bag, her toned and tanned body. I want her hair that doesn't go too long between highlights, and her housekeeper who keeps things shiny and nice. I want her daily lunches with girlfriends. Her latest and greatest everything.

I am the oldest mom in my son's class. I am also one of the few working moms in his class. My teeth could use some Colgate Strips. My wardrobe is only designer because I haunt resale stores and shop eBay. My bag is a Kate Spade knock-off from two years ago.

My body has betrayed me and I am forced to participate in this God-forsaken 10 Week Challenge. I'm six weeks overdue for a cut and color. I clean my own house thank you very much. (And, I actually enjoy it.) I take leftovers for lunch so we can save for spring break. I don't have a latest and greatest anything. My ring...well, it is gorgeous and perfect.

You know what I do have though? I have a husband who comes home to me every single night. Who works hard on our home remodel so it is as beautiful as we want. He helps with the laundry, cooks many dinners each week and he rubs my feet. Every. Single. Night.

I have a son who is precious and funny and naughty and smart. I have parents and in-laws who love me and would do anything for me. Brothers and sisters who are smarter and funnier than anyone I know. I have amazing nieces and nephews who crack me up. I have the best friends anyone could ever want.

At Mass this weekend, Father Bill talked about envy and how in the early church people were being idiots arguing "I'm on Paul's side." "Yeah, well Peter is my man" and not being satisfied with where they were and what they were supposed to be doing. Envy sucks. We need to be content, friends.

So, I purged yesterday. This is the day my husband has been dreaming about! I emptied out all of my drawers in my office and threw away stuff I no longer need. I cleaned my pantry, my refrigerator, my cabinets. I took clothes I haven't worn in the last 8 months and put them in the Goodwill pile. Logan chose toys he doesn't play with anymore and is giving them away. We took six bags out of our home today. It is an amazing feeling. Can I hear an Amen?

In addition to church and my husband's fantasies, I was also influenced by a couple bloggers I have been stalking. (Shhhhh.)

Rachel at The Simple Family has been focused on making her life more, well, simple. Her family is eliminating what they don't need, and really considering why they spend their money. Go over there and get inspired.

Another family has taken A Year Off from shopping. They are not doing this to save money. They decided to only spend money on things that they absolutely need. One reader wrote in and questioned if Diet Coke would be a want or a need. Um, hello? Total and complete need right here! Duh.

My personal goal is to continue purging. I'm going to purge my annoying working-mom guilt. I'm going to purge the dated and ugly clothes in my closet. I'm going to purge the fear to take a chance at something I love. I'm going to purge living with limits. And I'm going to purge my resentment toward those skinny, cute moms because they ain't got what I got. Can I hear a "Preach it, Sister"?

But wait! THERE'S MORE! It's time for my 10 Week Challenge Update!

Goals Accomplished
In possession of medication---check.
Eating protein and veggies all day, every day---check.
Down two wonderful pounds---BIG. FAT. CHECK. BABY!

What's that? You want to comment? Just click on the itty-bitty words below that say "Gimme Some Sugar". Can you see them? Good. We can't wait to chat with you.

Underpants, My Morning Downfall.

The day started out OK. My hubby left for work before we all got up and my Kiki slept a little later than usual. I got them breakfast and all was well until I requested that Kiki get dressed and that is where it all went downhill.

I guess it might be my fault for saying I'd help him if he needed it, but really he doesn't need it and he almost always dresses himself. But lately he's been doing this helpless thing and suddenly his underwear (seen on the left and made with my own bare hands) became something that would confuse a member of Mensa.

He insisted over and over he couldn't get his underwear on but I wasn't going to do it for him. I felt like he was trying to play me and I was in the middle of changing a really gross poopy diaper. I did help him by holding them up in front of him to make sure he understood which way they went ("mama, does the tag go on my penis or my butt?") but he kept insisting on putting his legs into the same hole. Now mind you, he puts on his underpants every day as well as Pull Ups at night. There is no reason why suddenly he is incapable of putting them on now.

He finally got dressed, complaining and grousing the whole time. I kept threatening him that he'd lose a sticker if he kept up his yelling, and losing a sticker means it will take longer for him to go to play Skee ball-something that he has been working towards for awhile. Well he kept going so I told him he didn't get a sticker today. And he kept on going, yelling over and over "MAMA! THAT'S NOT NICE". Fine. I sent him into time out while I got his brother ready to leave for daycare. Mind you it's after 7:30 so I'll be late for work again.

We head out the door and cross the bridge to the parking lot but Kiki just stands on the bridge. He won't cross. I tell him he gets to 5 to come across or else... I don't remember if I specified what would happen. Well he didn't cross so I went and got him and told him he lost ALL his stickers for the week. That really set him off. He spent the whole car ride to daycare screaming at me that I'm not nice, and to be honest I was almost in tears. I just ignored him since yelling back that he wasn't being nice didn't seem like it would help.

I dropped him off, told him if I got a good report from Daycare and he did good at home he could play games with me and Daddy that night (because I took his games away during the not so peaceful car ride). I told him I loved him and he came and gave me a hug and kiss before I left but he seemed sad and I left feeling bad.

I called my Husband and asked if he'd call and talk to Kiki since he'd had a bad morning. So around 11:30 am I called Daycare to check on him and I was told by Daycare Dad that Kiki started crying when he got off the phone with Jim. That made me sad, I asked if I could talk to him and Daycare Dad said he wasn't going to go through that again and he was eating now. I asked again saying I wasn't going to make him cry. I just wanted to talk to him. Again I'm thwarted with "He's eating right now, lets not rock the boat". Then I plead one last time I just wanted to tell him I love him and he again rebuffs me with "Lets not rock the boat" so I just said "OK. Bye" and hung up feeling like a big (Rhymes with) Spit Ball and it's made of excrement (Sister Honey won't let me swear).

I told Darling Dear that poor Kiki cried after their conversation and now he feels like a big Rhymes with Spitball and wants to take Kiki to Skee Ball tonight since he's been good for the most part. And let me tell you, Kiki is one of the most sweet, caring, helpful good-natured kids out there. He's just been having a problem with talking tones with us lately.

So I'm a spitball, Jim's a spitball and now because of our massive guilt we might be spitty parents and take him to Skee Ball even though I took it away. My guilt will cause me to likely teach him that I don't mean what I say and that consequences aren't adhered to. Well who knows what we'll end up doing.

Update

That was Wednesday. After writing this blog I felt like we just couldn't go do skee ball that night even though we both felt bad. So hubby picked him up early and talked him about what happened telling him he could still go to skee ball in a day or two. So in a way we did give in to our guilt and let him get his skee ball but it was delayed by two days and aside from that one crabby day he was good.

So are we now suddenly considered inconsistent? We pride ourselves on being consistent but we allow ourselves room to change our mind about things. However did we change our mind for the wrong reasons? I don't know. We did decide that skee ball is not the reward to use because he needs something more instant than a whole week of working toward one big thing. Smaller rewards each day vs one big one at the end of the week, cause he's only three. So there you have it.

Parenting Grade... B for a solid effort but needs improvement.

Why I lean toward crazy

My friends, this is part of the reason I lean toward crazy. I live in a teeny tiny little hobbit hole lower level of a condo complex. Now don't get me wrong, I'm very thankful to have a roof over my head, a dishwasher and working washer and dryer in my place. But for God's Sake it's only 860 Square feet! And, not only is it small but it is filled to the brim with toys ALL OVER THE PLACE.

As evidenced by the photo to the left. Sadly this is not an uncommon appearance for my living room. Nightly I lament about the fact that we live in a two bedroom condo with no basement. Oh if only we had a play room! But truly, if I had a play room would my house be any less messy? When my husband and I were in college we were so messy we'd constantly joke that social services were going to take our cats away. I'm just bad at keeping house. Why am I outing myself as being a messy person? I guess I want you to feel sorry for me, or at the very least feel better about yourself lol!


To the right you'll see our living space. Tiny Galley kitchen (mine) and a small entryway. The left photo is our living room/dining room. Well not ours, someone who is in the same complex selling their condo. My living room is way too messy to subject you to the whole thing. But you get the point. Then there are two medium sized bedrooms and a bathroom. Now stuff two of the world's loudest most high energy kids you can imagine, stir in one adults who works 40 hours a week and one who works 55 hours a week and every other weekend, shake well and here comes your big messy chaos.

Now lets look out my back window and see what is mocking me from across our grassy yard. Yep people, the richy-rich in their homes that I could probably fit four of mine in and all their space. I sit in my tiny living room and think about how they probably have rooms they don't use, some might have whole rooms they don't don't even realize exist, surely they could let me take one over as a toy room? They wouldn't miss the space. We'd cross the grassy yard and dash across the golf course to play in their unused basement a few hours a day... do you think they'd notice? I'm sure while I call them the Richy Rich mockers they probably consider my little Hobbit Hole an eye sore.

But I can't help but think if I just had more room then life would be a little less stressful and a bit more manageable. But maybe I'm just dreaming.

Calgon, TAKE ME AWAY!

"You're mean. Super, SUPER mean!"

And those were the words yelled at me by my five year old son. And he was right. I'm not gonna lie to you. This parenting gig is really, really hard. SUPER hard. And, I'm an older (not necessarily wiser) mom who is just plain tired. Sometimes I lose my cool and don't handle things the way I probably should.

I have struggled with a lot of Mother Guilt since Logan was born. A big portion of it comes from the fact that I suffered from post-partum depression. But guilt is guilt is guilt and you can try to talk yourself into being reasonable about it, but it's still there.

Another chunk of guilt is brought on by the fact that I'm a working mom. And I like to work. It's a big part of who I am and have always been.

I have friends and relatives who like to tell me that they were "willing to sacrifice for their family" and that is why they chose to give up their career. They try to explain to me that my family really doesn't need the money I earn and would benefit from my being home more. I just need "to re-adjust my finances". During these times, I am often trying to tune them out with the old "la-la-la I can't hear you" in my head. But the words and meanings get into my brain and stick there.

My family does need my income. But I also need to work. It makes me a better person. A happier person. A more fulfilled person. Frankly, the times in my parenting life when I was not working, I was a crabby, bored, lazy person. I get more done when I am employed than when I was not. You know the old adage "the more you do, the more you can do".

I hate that there is often the stupid Mommy Wars. Working Mom vs. Stay at Home Mom. Whatever choice your family makes, it will have its own set of benefits and consequences. You don't get to see your kids as much as you would like to. You are unable to volunteer at school because it interferes with your job. Your finances are so tight you are forced to live paycheck to paycheck. In order to make ends meet your husband has to take on extra work and comes home in time to climb into bed and go to sleep. The important thing is that in the name of Sisterhood we support each other and the choices we make. (Can I hear an "amen"?)

My personal goal is to find the right balance. I want to be an excellent mom. I want to be a successful career woman. I want to be a supporting and loving wife. I want to make a difference in my community. I want to be a fun and sensitive aunt/sister/friend/daughter. The trick is realizing that I can't be all these things at the same time. I can't spread myself too thin. I need to make some changes.

I recently stepped down from a leadership role at my church. It was causing me stress because it required too much of my time, which pulled me away from my job and my family. I can still help on the committee, but I will not lead it.

I also accepted a new management position that requires me to only work 36 hours a week. I can be a room mom for a couple hours on Thursday mornings at Logan's school. The rest of the day is for me and Tom (who also has that day off). This gives us some much needed playtime without our boy.

I do my best to make my time with Logan count. I also do my best to recharge my emotional batteries by spending time with my sisters and girlfriends. And by myself.

I do my best not to be a total crab ass to my husband and give him the good stuff too.

It's a daily commitment to strive toward a simple, balanced and fulfilling life. Little by little. Day by day. Chipping away the guilt and resentment and replacing it with love for my family and friends. And hopefully I will never again have to hear how super duper mean I am.

Desperate Housewife In Search Of

a recipe. And I know I'm not a housewife, but I am a desperate woman whose family will be hungry today.

I saw the perfect recipe in Blogville yesterday and I'm hoping you can help me find it. I thought I saved this talented writer's blog to my favorites so I could easily refer to it today. I didn't. I'm an idiot. But, you would have found that out soon enough anyway.

This recipe includes ground beef and canned minestrone soup. Now, I know it doesn't sound all fancy as is, but she had some other tastiness thrown in and then recommended still other variations to prepare it.

That is what I was planning to serve for dinner today with some delicious crusty french bread and a beautiful salad. And wine. Always wine, no?

And baby, it's cold outside. Our winter wonderland up here in God's Country aka Traverse City, Michigan got hit with some snow. We were going to play outside today and then come in to warm up with some nice, hot, hearty soup.

So please. For my son. And my husband. And, well for me. If you have seen it, know the blog of which I speak...help a sister out. I'll owe you one.
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We Now Bring You: Dinnertime and the Working Mom

And by "working mom" I mean a mom who has a career outside of raising her family. I am not implying that stay at home moms do not work. I do indeed understand that you are working all day long. Believe me when I say that I know you are not just sitting around the house gossiping with your girlfriends and getting manicures. I know that you are teaching your child and playing with him (or her) in between cleaning up the messes made, dealing with the phone calls and ringing doorbells, getting groceries, doing laundry, figuring out dinner, driving carpool, walking the dog and trying to find time for a shower. I am here to help you as well.

This particular post is NOT for you moms who have a nanny, a cook, and a maid. You don't know from our pain. And we kind of hate you.

I will be writing this from my perspective however. And that is of someone who works outside her home and tries to create time that really counts with her kid before tucking him into bed each night.

After leaving work every evening, I drive to my son's school and pick him up from Latchkey (STUPID name for a really wonderful program). I throw him and his load of "stuff" in the car and we head home. When we get there I have a solid two hours to spend with him before bedtime. That's it. (Hello guilt. My name is Judi. Make yourself at home.)


(But first, I have other things that require my attention. Like going to the bathroom. I'm not sure why, but my bladder demands relief as soon as I pull in the driveway. It's very weird my friends. Then I have to get out of my work clothes before I go completely and totally stark raving mad. Once that's done I can finally focus on my kid.)

If My Sweet Tommy gets home first, he prepares our dinner (and let me tell you, the man knows how to cook!). This gives me time to play a game with Logan, look through his school work or just snuggle.

If Tom isn't home first, then I have to get dinner going and as Sister Big can attest, I'm a little culinary challenged. She has struggled to teach me the basics and was frightened when I had a little breakdown during our meatball lessons. I'll let her tell you about that herself one day.

I am always on the hunt for a recipe that is A) healthy, B) simple and fast, and C) something Logan can help me make. Today, my friend Amanda introduced me to Barbecue Chicken Pie. I heart Amanda. Logan and I had fun making it (he loves to cook as much as his daddy), and by all accounts it was delicious. It smelled divine. My favorite thing about this recipe is you are able to use up the leftovers and scraps you already have sitting in your fridge.

All you need is cooked chicken, a pie crust, cheddar cheese, green onions, barbecue sauce, sour cream and cherry tomatoes. Here are some pictures of our cooking adventures today.

That's right kid. Wash those hands reeeeal good.

What, you're already taking a break? Slacker. And why are you still wearing your snow pants? Is your mother nipping at the wine already?

Watch out for your mama's fingers, pal.

What is he eating? Chicken skin. It's his favorite. That's alright. Means more meat for me and his daddy.

You don't have to bake this dish. It can just be warmed in the microwave. I like to feel like I'm really cooking something good for my family (even if it is a big fat lie). I stuck mine in the oven so when my husband walked in he would smell the barbecue-y, chicken-y, cheese-y goodness and praise me to the heavens. I'm just that way.

Make a nice yummy salad with lettuce, carrots, peppers, cucumbers and dried cranberries to serve with the chicken pie. Mmmm. Mmmm. Yum.

Now, if you are partaking in a big, stupid Ten Week Challenge, you will enjoy a Lean Cuisine entree. Lucky!

The recipe for this easy and delicious Barbecue Chicken Pie is below. It refers to the fancy schmancy gadgets you would use if you owned Pampered Chef products. I do not. I made due with my own fancy schmancy Target Clearance Rack stuff.

What's your favorite easy-to-prepare dinner? Please share with us!

Barbecue Chicken Pie

1/2 package (15 ounces) refrigerated pie crust (1 crust)

4 green onions with tops, thinly sliced (about 1/2 cup)

1 block (8 ounces) sharp cheddar cheese

3 cups chopped cooked chicken

2/3 cup barbecue sauce

1 container (8 ounces) reduced-fat sour cream

8 cherry tomatoes

Preheat oven to 425°F. Let pie crust stand at room temperature 15 minutes. Place pie crust in Deep Dish Pie Plate, gently pressing dough into bottom and up sides; prick bottom.

Bake 10-12 minutes or until golden brown; cool completely.

Thinly slice green onions; set aside.

Thinly slice half of the cheese. Grate remaining cheese using Deluxe Cheese Grater. Set cheese aside.

Place chicken in Large Micro-Cooker®. Add barbecue sauce; toss to coat. Microwave on HIGH 3-4 minutes or until mixture is hot, stirring after 2 minutes. Stir in 1/2 cup of the grated cheese and half of the green onions.

To assemble pie, line bottom and sides of crust with sliced cheese. Spoon chicken mixture into crust, spreading evenly. Sprinkle top of pie with remaining grated cheese. Using Easy Accent® Decorator, pipe sour cream around edge of pie. Slice cherry tomatoes in half and place on top of sour cream, cut sides up. Garnish with remaining green onions.

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Wanna See My Tonsils?

I just got back from an interesting and heavy visit with my very ill father and my mother (his ex-wife) so I'm exhausted but plan on blogging about the trip for Wed. However enjoy this in the meantime --Love and kisses, Sister Sassy. And thank you Sister Honeybunch for taking care of posting my stuff for me.

This is a mish mash of thoughts and ramblings that happened those few monotonous days between Christmas and New Years where you seem to be the only person in the world working therefore you have NOTHING to do.

What is the deal with White Chocolate?? I HATE white chocolate, it's gross and it's not even chocolate! Why do they even taunt us as if it would taste as good? Someone in my office puts a Russell Stover gift box of many delightful looking candy...except they were all covered in white "chocolate" After the first piece I ate I immediately im'ed my wonderful sweet co-worker (whom I LOVE) that although I found the candy gross I wouldn't be surprised if I did indeed eat another piece, she admitted that she felt the same way after her piece and had indeed had a second piece. The desperation to eat something sweet no matter what it is(eye roll). For the second inevitable piece I was smarter and crouched at a garbage can picking away the white chocolate part revealing the caramel calling my name. My wonderful co-worker almost got her camera out in time to take a picture of me doing this. The second piece was much better... but I vowed to not eat any more candy that I won't enjoy when I have yummy candy I can eat at home.

I checked my parenting board a few times and posted about how my oldest child has the knack for talking NON STOP. My Kiki (the nickname he gave himself as a new talker, but I think sounds like a stripper name) talks NON STOP! OMG!! And this Christmas both he and Boogah (who is 1 1/2) were sick from the Friday before Christmas till the Wednesday after so I was stuck in a 2BR condo with him and his brother while hubby worked. Kiki talked non-stop and prefaced everything he said with "Mommy-mommy-mommy (insert sentence here)" by Sunday night I was stressed and trying to email about my ailing father and finally I asked Kiki if he could go talk to Boogah for awhile. Well... I think he got my unspoken message being smart enough at 3 1/2 to know his 1 1/2 year old brother mostly just says Apple and bunch of non-sense sounds. So he says to me.

"Mommy, it makes me feel bad when you don't want to talk to me"

Talk about feeling crappy! I told him I was very sorry and just stressed out because my daddy is sick. Then I was VERY careful for the rest of confinement to not get frustrated with the constant talking. It is so payback for when I was little I'm sure. My father was fond of saying I didn't talk until I was three and then I never shut up.

Kiki fits that to the T!(...what does that even mean? anyone? Bueller?)

So now it was nearly 4pm at the end of one of those long days and I'm sitting at my desk trying not to fall asleep because my GINORMOUS freakishly big tonsils are out to get me! They like to block my airway while I try to sleep, I suppose dying in my sleep somehow appeals to them. Seriously, my tonsils are freakishly big, I'm going to include a picture!

Awful aren't they? And check out the silver in there! I suppose I should have them cut out but I'm a big wussy and know that it's much more painful for adults than it is in children for some reason. But they're big, their gross, they try to kill me in my sleep and sometimes they smell funny. I'm not kidding. Oh well, I'll probably get them out at some point.

Hope you enjoyed the sneak peak into my throat of horrors.