Pseudo Status Update

Here’s what I would post today if I were still posting on facebook:

Suz Wedekind is wearing running pants today even though she has no intention of running. Or even walking fast. Can I get an A-MEN?

And then, hopefully, someone would comment that I’m actually not completely crazy, because that person does the same thing sometimes.

And then I would breathe a sigh of relief, because sometimes I do wonder if I’m the only person who ever thinks of putting on clothes and would rather crawl back in bed and die and then puts on running pants instead. Because they are stretchy, and kind of warm without being jeans, but mostly because they are stretchy.

And this, I think, is why I grew so attached to facebook in the first place, because the stay-at-home mom life is, in the end, kind of a solitary one. At least in terms of the day-to-day. It’s not as though I don’t see friends often, but I spend most of my hours inside my house with gremlins who throw things on the floor for fun and produce snot at truly alarming rates and GOD HELP YOU IF YOU GET THEM WET OR FEED THEM AFTER MIDNIGHT, and who really don’t provide the is-she-crazy-or-is-she-normal kind of barometer that other adults provide.

Now that I’ve been off of facebook for [what seems like] many many moons, I think it’s possible that I could jump off that train for good. I did waste a shocking amount of time on it, and time is something that is so scarce in this house these days. I need another six hours in a day just for sleeping!

But I will miss the AMENS and the baby pictures, the encouragement and the camaraderie. Have any of you gotten off of facebook for a while and gone back? Gotten off for good? I’ve got another two weeks to flesh this out before I mindlessly give in to the machine again. That also gives me only two more weeks to remember what in the world my password was.

Let me know what you think! About facebook or about what in the world my password might have been. As Mary Bullock would say, its a mystawee. We’ve got to inbestigate.


Speaking of Bobo

My precious, smoochy, lovey second child has recently dropped his morning nap. But don’t you worry. He has a repertoire of equally pleasing [to him] activities to fill up his time.

  • upending the dog’s water bowl
  • helping himself to play time in his indoor water tables [i.e. the toilets]
  • throwing paper on the floor
  • throwing books on the floor
  • throwing himself on the floor
  • climbing the furniture and forgetting that he doesn’t fly
  • removing the fireplace grate and leaving tiny sooty footprints all over my rugs
  • hiding toothbrushes
  • hiding Mommy’s mascara
  • turning off the computer while Mommy is Skyping
  • screaming bloody murder over snacks, toys, diaper changes, or the time of day…he’s not picky about his reasoning

Put simply, he was just too busy for that other nap. Effecting chaos on the household is a way better use of his time, don’t you think?

Did y’all see this

on Design Mom this week?

I swear, I laughed, snorted, I think I even cried [funny tears] over a few of the gems left in the comments. Some of them were straight out of my mouth.

I tried to think of some of the crazy things I’ve heard myself saying to my children, and I couldn’t remember any specifically until tonight.

I don’t know what it is about the bath water drinking that just UGH seriously gets me, but I find myself saying this almost nightly, and then feeling pretty ridiculous for threatening vomitude over this.

And THEN tonight, as I was getting MB out of the tub, Bo threw back that very cup of bathwater, and somewhere down his throat it took a wrong turn. First he coughed. Then he gagged. And then?

Have you guessed it?

He vomited. In the bathtub.

Not exactly a MOMMY TOLD YOU SO sort of moment, since I averted my eyes and managed NOT to vomit, but still.

I felt vindicated.

That’s bad, right? When you kind of want to say told you so to a baby?

On the way to the library

On the way to the library this afternoon, we passed a church.

Look, Mommy, a cross! The cross means JESUS LOVES ME!

Who taught you that, Mary Bullock?

The church. No–no. Ms. ANNE. With the bears. At church.

Well, she was right!

Are you crying?


I think you are.


The Nursery Hour

When I get to read through my blog roll these days, I find myself mostly skimming. I don’t have enough hours in the day recently, for some reason. But in the last few months I have taken notice of a concept over at The Happiest Mom that she calls “The Kitchen Hour”. I love this because it’s so me.

I dread cooking most of the time, but when I give myself over to it, put on an apron and crank up Adele radio or Michael Buble or something anyone else in my family would rather leave the kitchen than listen to, I find that cooking doesn’t frustrate or exhaust me as much. And somehow, I can cook, do dishes, and whatever else needs to be done all simultaneously, as long as I have the right attitude about it.

And cursing the stupid dinner I have to make is not the right attitude.

But I haven’t been cooking as much recently, because the last six weeks have been a matter of daily survival to me. I mean, our family gets fed, but there hasn’t been much dancing in the kitchen, if you know what I mean.

But we’ve also cultivated another chunk of time during the day that I have started calling [in my own head only, because the babies don’t care] The Nursery Hour.

Sometimes it happens before dinner/bathtime, if we don’t have an after nap activity. Sometimes it happens after bathtime and jammies, but before books if Lee isn’t home from work yet. Sometimes it doesn’t happen at all. But when it does happen, it consists of our going into the kids’ room, closing the door, and playing all together.

Usually I just lay on the floor and let them climb all over me, which is a BIG BIG hit with them. We read stories, make up games, watch MB do tricks [Mama! SEE ME!], listen to music [Putumayo or Dan Zanes usually gets them dancing], generally act silly.

But the key is what I’m NOT doing:

checking my email.

composing a blog.


reading the news.

cleaning up messes only to turn around to another mess.

All I have to do for a successful Nursery Hour is give myself over to it. No multi-tasking. No fussing over messes. No just-a-minute-honey-mommy’s-busy.

Just this one thing can dig the crummiest day right out of the pit.

Now, if I could somehow manage to squeeze 25 hours into a day, I could work on having a Nursery Hour and a Kitchen Hour take place on the same day!

[If Bo looks mysteriously younger in these photos, don’t be alarmed…they were taken in October. The last time I took my camera to Nursery Hour, I nearly got trampled. See picture #3– I was flat on my back and covered in baby.]

I swear I have lots to say…

It’s just that most of my time lately has been spent fighting to keep my food down and my eyes open. [More on that later.]

But I couldn’t skip posting pictures of Bobo’s first big boy haircut.


And behold the AFTER:

I’m having a little trouble getting used to not having his little curls around his ears, but I think he will appreciate not feeling like the shaggy dog. Plus now I can nibble on his ears without getting a mouthful of baby hair.

Bo was a little more wiggly than MB was for her first haircut, so he got some scissors-to-the-forehead action, but he’s no worse for wear. He can add that scratch to the collection he’s amassing on his poor little knees.

I think he looks pretty cute, but I’m still hoping the hair he’s got left turns curly!

On the way to school

In the car on the way to school yesterday, we saw a Mommy jogging down the street.  I don’t really know her, but she lives nearby so I waved.

Mommy, does that Mommy go to Mommy MOPS with you? MB asked.

No, her babies are older. I think they’re in elementary school.

So she’s by herself ALL DAY?

Yep, I think so.


I tried not to sound insincere.

Welllllllll, you know, I bet that when her babies are in school she just tries to relax. Because when they get home, I bet she’s really busy.


Yep. Mommies are very busy. So I bet when she’s by herself she relaxes.

And is SAD?

Well, maybe a little of that, too.