Do People Still Ask to Borrow a Cup of Sugar?

Two young girls, best friends who are as opposite from one another as can be, are playing together in the back yard. It's the 80's, so nobody is wearing sunscreen or shoes. Pony tails are flying in the wind as they run around, engaging in whatever game they can agree on for the day. One girl loves baby dolls, while the other one is an athlete, so their choices are limited.


The screen door creeks open, and a Southern mama, who's been transplanted to the North, peeks her head out to yell, "Girls! Head next door and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar."


The girls grab the measuring cup from Mama's outstretched hand and then mosey over to a neighbor's house to retrieve what's needed. They don't ask the same person every time, but the results are always the same. The mom in each house on the block thinks nothing of walking into her own kitchen to share food from her pantry with a friend. A give and take exists among these women neighbors, as children embark on this simple errand.


Depending on what this mama is mixing up in her kitchen, the items she needs may vary.


A stick of butter, two eggs, a packet of cherry Kool-Aid


Tromping through the neighbors' yards with my best friend, Stacey, to borrow small items for her mom was a regular part of my girlhood. Our play was often interrupted by this request to exchange kitchen basics, her boisterous voice calling after us to fetch something to add to the iron skillet bubbling away on the stove. On many Saturday mornings, we answered their front door to find other barefoot kids asking for the same usual staples.


Do you remember those times? Did your mom share and borrow sugar from her friends? Weren't those days effortless and breezy?

Today, times are different, right? Neighbors barely know one another enough to wave Hello while mowing the grass, how could they ever consider raiding someone's kitchen cabinets?


Now that I'm the mom in the house, I'm faced with this dilemma from time to time. I run out of basics as I'm baking. While our street is quaint, comfortable, and we are actually friends with the people who live around us, I have never sent my children to ask anyone for anything.


Not once.


I know our neighbors would gladly fill my empty cup with mounds of grainy white sugar if I asked, and I would do it for them in a second, but I haven't been able to take that plunge. What if they think I'm a weirdo?


Whenever I am short on ingredients, I do quickly consider the possibility of asking one of my lady neighbors for a bit of help. Here is my thought process, which I realize is quite ridiculous as I write it for you:


I figure that the best first step would be to text. I plan out in my mind what I should say. Something like,


"Hi! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm in the middle of making banana muffins, and I just realized I am short an egg. Do you happen to have an extra one that I can have? I promise I'll share the muffins with you guys! Sorry again, it's okay if you say no. Thank you so much in advance."


Meanwhile, I think about the trouble (whining) I'll have to endure to convince one of my children to go grab it for me. I'm typically a mess when I bake, so no one should have to see me in that state. Because it's never been done here before, the kids who are old enough to cross the street would argue about going. They would try to bargain for somebody else to do it.


I would have to bribe them.


Eventually, I decide none of the hassle or fear of rejection is worth it, so I give up on the entire idea. I pile everyone in the car and drive to the gas station, where a dozen eggs costs twice as much as any regular store.


All of this talk about borrowing sugar from neighbors began because Mark's mom told me a story about her current next-door-neighbor. She shared with me how grateful she was for their relationship, because she loaned her a potato when she needed it.


A potato.


I've discovered that those ladies trade foods with each other on a regular basis, just as they would have done if they'd been neighbors in 1988 or 1968. They don't have small children to shuttle anything back and forth between their homes, so the husbands do the transporting.


A friend of mine who also has four children had just boiled all of her eggs for the Easter Bunny, not remembering they would need more for baking. Instead of going through my complicated process, which ultimately would have resulted in buying overpriced eggs, she borrowed some from her neighbor. Modern mom and brilliant!


Tell me, have you ever asked your neighbors to borrow food? We do other favors for each other all the time, so I don't know why I've been anxious about this practice that's been happening in American homes for years. Should I just start the trend again?

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Something New-Our Summer Calendar Is Empty!

Most stay-at-home-moms I know have been doing the summer schedule shuffle for several weeks by now. In the past, I would have been doing the same. The calendar comes out in February to plan every little detail of what initially seems like a vast, endless and ultimately structure-free summer break. Three months is a looong time! We feel the need to pack the days and weeks with activities in order to avoid too much togetherness and not enough fun.


What begins as an anticipated vacation from our school year commitments of rising early and doing homework quickly fills up with an abundance of sports, camps, lessons, getaways and library events, all intricately woven between adult work schedules and family vacations. Mastering the family's summer schedule requires some serious skills.


Avoid sports overlap.


Set up grandparent visits.


Arrange car pools.


Make sure we have the right size cleats this year...Soccer and baseball.


Which week is church camp?


One kid wants to try tennis this year.


Can we make it from art camp in time for swimming lessons? 


Everyone needs an equal amount of their favorite activities and new opportunities.


Wait, when will we have time to go to the beach? The ice cream shop we love so much? The blueberry farm?


Every single summer, I plan to do less. Less than the year before, when we were crazy and harried and spent half of every day carting four kids to and from some sort of scheduled activity that was directed at only one of them.


Here's something nuts. I tend to sign the kids up for events that start early in the morning. What is wrong with me? When I make the schedule in February, I'm used to waking up early, so the thought of doing it all summer doesn't phase me. It doesn't seem like that big of a deal. That is until summer is actually here. Then, I'm cursing my alarm clock and the color-coded-for-every-family-member-calendar that's hanging on the side of my fridge.


Why have I been sabotaging our vacations all these years?


Well, because it has always seemed like what the best moms do. Parents who can provide educational, athletic or social opportunities for their children should do so. Right?


What if...maybe that's not right? Not in the way that we think.


Summertime enjoyment doesn't need to be costly or scheduled or outsourced. I had four kids to stay home with four kids, not so I could split them up and rely on others to give them "learning experiences." I know I can provide my children with fantastic excursions, exciting play time and meaningful activities. I don't know what took me so long to realize it.

Do you remember last December, when I decided that I needed to declare more time for the six of us? Although my Christmas prep seemed to be rooted in my family's happiness, it was actually taking me away from them. Stressing us out more. Sabotaging our holidays.


This year, I am going to do the same for summer! I'm declaring to value our summer vacation. While I can, I am going to let loose with these kids. I know it's not feasible for all parents, but because I'm home with the kids, it will work for us. Can you consider ways to join me in ending the typical summer madness?


Maybe you need a nudge. What will it take? Are you worried the kids will strangle each other if they spend too much time together? Are you nervous how you'll handle having them with you All.The.Time? Believe me, those thoughts cross my mind, too.


What first led me to let go of my urge to schedule so much was when our oldest son decided to stop playing a sport that he's played for the past six years. Cold turkey, he told us that he didn't want to join this year. That registration is usually what starts the ball rolling for my summer schedule shuffle. Without it, I didn't even need to open my calendar. A few of the kids didn't plan to attend the camps they've gone to in the past. I could check those off my list, too. Now, it's April, and we have missed deadlines for most everything that will be happening around town this summer.


Do I feel guilty?


Maybe a tiny twinge.


Then, I remember:


We live three miles from an incredible fresh water beach, but shamefully, our summers are typically so hectic that we only make it there a handful of times. This year, we'll be free to go whenever the kids ask.


They have bikes and wagons and scooters, and we live in a neighborhood blanketed with shade. We can create our own free "biking camp," making pit stops at home for big bowls of watermelon that will drip pink juice down our chins.


We're going on a road trip to the Rocky Mountains with our best friends and their four kids. We'll witness more of our Earth's beauty in one week than the kids could ever experience in an expensive nature class or science camp here in town.


Lemonade stands, trampolines, swing sets and bubbles.


Jumping, playing, chasing and climbing.


Screeching, squealing, bellowing and laughing!


Those are the moments that we should be dreaming about...the lazy days of summer.


We've spent an entire school year barking at our kids to hurry up, and nobody wants to waste the short summer months riding around town in a junk bus. Would you join me giving our kids a carefree summer...a true vacation?


Is your calendar already jam packed with Kid Stuff? Will you be able to resist the temptation to fill each week with more? I know it's hard and even scary to be unstructured, but let's try it together. You have gifts and talents to share with those babies you dreamed of for so long. Let them see you shine. You have a sprinkler for them to run through if you can't make it to a pool or the beach. You can dig out your old roller blades or take long walks with them after work. The memories they'll make with you by their sides will be immeasurable, and your alarm clock will survive until September.

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There's No Use Crying Over Melted Crayons

One of the most rewarding parts of sharing my life with you guys is hearing how my words make you feel. How they move you. How you relate to them. How when you read them, you believe they could be your words.

Lately, I've learned that these words of mine have a tendency to bring on some tears. After bumping into people at school, around town and online, I've discovered this common theme of crying. I'm honored to be able to move someone to experience such extreme emotions. I am a deeply feeling person, so I suppose that's why I communicate that way through my writing. I love taking you to that place in motherhood where you might be afraid you're missing out on the daily growth of your child, so you pay extra attention to the little moments. I enjoy transporting you back to your childhood, playing in the yard with your hard-working dad. I know from experience how much strong friendships can make or break a woman's journey through adulthood, so if I can help you think about your own girlfriends and how much you cherish them, then I've done my job as your go-to blogger.

On the other hand, I also love to make you laugh. When my readers tell me that their car is also a junk bus or that they clipped my article from the magazine and sent it to their daughter, I couldn't be more proud. You guys are still telling me about your laundry horror stories. At least once a week, I hear from mothers who say they, too, stink at laundry or dishes or some other horrid household chore that has become "ours" by default.

Isn't this the way of motherhood? One day we're crying, the next we're laughing? These swings of the pendulum can even exist within the same day or the same hour for some of us. It has happened to me, on a random Monday in March. Would you read and listen and think about if it ever happens this way to you?

Working in a rush before school yesterday, I discovered that several different colored crayons had been dried with a load of clothes. The entire inside of our dryer was coated in a layer of blue wax, with small flecks of yellow, green and red dotted throughout as well. The clothes, belonging to all four kids, suddenly had the appearance of a funky tie dye mixed with toddler "art."

So many thoughts ran through my head when we uncovered the mess.

None were poetic.

Many were profane.

We reached out to Google and Facebook for advice, of course.

I wanted to take pictures for you guys, but I was so overwhelmed, I just couldn't.

I reminded myself to be thankful that certain pieces of clothing were not in the load.

Mark left for work, knowing it all would be waiting for him when he came home in the evening. 

I secretly wished he would say "screw it" so we could finally buy a new dryer.

We didn't have time to tackle any of it in the morning. I kept telling myself how much worse my life could be, and then we left to go on about our day. The rainbow colored dryer and speckled clothes were going to be dealt with later, because I needed to drive Marshall to the public library for a field trip. The sun had only risen a few hours earlier, and as we were walking along the sidewalk, I spotted something incredible. Just in front of the steps that led up to the library's main doors, we noticed one lone tree. No longer was it white with snow, as it had been for so many months. Instead, it had turned to a healthy brown, with little bits of red popping up all over its branches. Itty bitty red buds! I stopped to stare at them, to make sure I wasn't imagining them. They were real.

New life!

Spring!

It's coming, and we need it. Winter tends to brings drear and clouds and gloom. Blah. Spring brings sunshine and colors and cheer. Yes! In honor of Spring and new life, I'm writing a tear-free post today!

A full day has passed since I found the melted crayons, and this is what I know:

The dryer is cleaned, thanks to my husband's elbow grease and hours of scrubbing. The clothes are not, but they're only clothes, and we have more. I'm no longer worried about what I was worried about yesterday. That mess is in the past, and now I will move on to the next, while we celebrate the joys that are sprinkled in between them.

Dumped Legos...Birthday boy...Forgotten homework...Cello concert...Lost glasses...Reading lover...Ruined jackets...Art showcase.

My blog's tone changes often, just as mothers do, just as children do, just as seasons do. The tearful posts, the lighthearted posts, the informational posts, the "we've all been there" posts...they are all here for you. I hope that the right ones find you on the days you need them, and that you'll come back for more.

Tell us about your laundry mishaps. What do you love about Spring? Do you experience the ups and downs of motherhood? If you ever think of a topic you'd like to see covered on Mama Loves You and Chocolate, Too, just shoot me a message.

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My Kid Schooled Me on Manners

Someone in our house has pointed out that I have one considerably impolite and annoying habit during breakfast time. Whenever my smallest son asks for help pouring his cereal, I gladly oblige his tiny request. That's me fulfilling the most basic of my mom duties. Then, before I add the milk, I do something that I would never tolerate my kids doing to each other, or to anyone else. I mooch a few pieces of cereal for myself.

Every time.

Without asking permission.

I sneak my fingers into his bowl and skim a couple of tidbits right off the top of the cereal mound. One Frosted Mini-Wheat on Monday. Two Fruit Loops on Tuesday. Three Corn Chex on Wednesday. Four Lucky Charms on Thursday. Five pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch on Friday.

Am I obnoxious, or does every parent do it?

Is it the so-called Parent's Tax to which we somehow feel we're entitled? I provide the food, prepare the food, and serve the food, so therefore it is mine before it is yours.

I used to believe my daily bite was harmless, because, clearly, it equaled less than a spoonful of dry cereal from the bounty of boxes stored in our pantry. I thought my nibble was nothing until Marshall began to call me out on it.

"Mom, you always take my cereal without asking."

"Mom, you never say, 'Can I have some, please?'."

"Mom, why do you eat some of my cereal every day?"

Each time I heard him mention it, I made an excuse, a joke or simply brushed it off completely. I poured his milk, gave him a spoon, patted him on the head and carried on with our day. 

This morning, however, I listened. I acknowledged his concern. I apologized to Marshall for what I had done and told him that he was exactly right. I should be asking nicely and saying please. I should be waiting for him to say yes or no. (Admittedly, I just need to stop it all together, since I don't even like most of those cereals anyway, and it's mostly a habit at this point.)

I realized that I was not practicing what I preach. I was not using the manners that we drill and drill and drill into our kids, not holding myself to the same standards we have been trying to set for them all these years. Isn't it humbling when our children have something to teach us? So often we think we have all the answers. We want to say, "I know I'm right because I'm an adult." Yet sometimes, children do have the answers. We just need to listen to them. I'm so glad I took a second to hear my son this morning.

Can you think of a time your child schooled you on something important?

 

Do you believe in The Parent's Tax? 

 

Let's talk about it!

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My Christmas Tree is Still Standing

Nearly five weeks have passed since Christmas Day, yet our Christmas tree is still perched in our living room, fully decorated, right in front of our windows. Go ahead, feel free to gasp, shriek and judge. Revel in my laziness. I have found that my readers especially love my posts which document that I do fail at some parts of my job as wife/mother/woman of the world.

I talk to my mom on the phone every day, sometimes more than once. During one of our chats in the middle of January, she asked me if our tree was down yet. Of course, I laughed and gave the same response I give her every year around the same time,

"Nope, it's not Trixie's birthday yet."

We do not leave the tree up until Trixie's birthday for any real reason. It has just become a nice, solid deadline to strive for and a way to remember that when she was born, my mom took down our tree while we were at the hospital.

The year that Trixie was born, I had a semi-legitimate excuse for still having up our Christmas tree toward the end of January. Coming through the holidays with one baby who had just learned to walk and being extremely pregnant myself, who had time to think about taking down ornaments and lights and then putting them away in boxes? Weren't we lucky enough that the tree was decorated at all that year?

I was barely able to waddle after my also waddling toddler. I was falling on ice and going to physical therapy. It was cold and flu season. Our Christmas tree was the least of my concerns. Reese and our second child were going to be sixteen months apart in age, so I was storing any energy I had for when that baby did come. Having two babies in sixteen months sounded really close, yet manageable. Possible. My grandma had done it; my aunts had done it. I could do it, too. 

In reality, sixteen months was not meant to be our number. Sneaky little sister was anxious to meet us and made a very early, yet healthy debut. She brought the age gap between Reese and her even closer, making it fourteen months and some change. Her sudden birth caused quite a stir, as you can imagine. By the time we returned home from the hospital, bringing our tiny little girl to join her big brother and fuzzy doggie, all the leftover stress from a pregnant lady unable to put away her Christmas stuff had been magically erased.

My mother, always a loving caretaker and detailed organizer, had cleaned up everything for me. We were free to enter our home (and begin our new life as a family of four) with the fresh slate feeling that January often brings. Thank goodness for my mom. If it hadn't been for her, we might have just left the tree up till the following Christmas.

None of this suggests that every January has been as eventful as the year of Trixie's birth. A few of them have been really nuts, like the years we decided to move to and from Japan, and then again when we moved into our current house. I don't know what it is with us moving in the dead of Winter. On the other hand, most of our post-holiday seasons have been pretty standard. It's just that after all of the hustle and bustle, I'm never in a rush to drag up all the boxes to deconstruct the jolliness that has filled our home. It will seem so bare. So plain. So blah.

Right?

Actually, since Christmas was over a month ago, I know I'm ready for everything to come down now. It's time for me to gaze openly out my front window once again.

Trixie's birthday has now come and gone for 2015. I had set a goal to take down our tree over the weekend. I verbalized that ambitious goal to everyone here, only to be sidetracked by normal family happenings, such as a very loud trip to the bouncy house gym, fluffy purple cupcakes and our brand new, late-night Netflix addiction to Sons of Anarchy.

Our Christmas tree still remains. Its presence lingers in my mind every night when I finally rest my head on the pillow and then realize, Shoot, we still didn't take that tree down. Every time I pass by it or sit next to it as I write, I wonder, When will we ever have the time to put it away? It's exactly eighteen inches from me at this very second, but it's not down yet!

Will our Christmas tree still be standing by Valentine's Day? Surely not. My mom is coming this weekend.

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I Bet You Are Better at Doing Laundry Than I Am

You would think that after doing laundry for my family for over fourteen years, I would be an expert. That I would have learned ideal ways to maximize my time and our space to make this chore manageable. My mom does it. Mark's mom does it. They have great systems. Mine? It's horrible. I curse laundry duty. I despise it. I don't need to tell you why laundry is frustrating. You know the reasons...all of them.

I was probably pretty good at it when there were just two of us. I don't remember laundry being a chore before we had our kids. It's like it didn't exist, although I know our clothes were cleaned and folded every week. With the arrival of our first child, I actually looked forward to laundry day, as the intoxicating aroma of Dreft wafted through my home each day. Next came a baby girl. Her clothes were so beautiful and sweet. Soft fleece jammies, lacy dresses, perfect purple socks. How could I not want to wash and dry those tiny threads to keep my baby comfy and clean?

Then, we moved to Japan. That is when all the fun of doing baby laundry went down the heated toilet. Our machine was an all-in-one model. Wash and dry in the same machine. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Of course not, because it was worthless. The machine was tiny, and it took eight hours to dry a load of towels. We had no other choice, as our home could not hook up to American appliances, so we invested in typical Japanese laundry equipment (a portable clothesline for our miniature balcony), and I resorted to hanging our clothes outside like everybody else.

It wasn't horrible, as there were only four of us, and two of them were still small. As years passed, you all know that I popped out more kids, who then continued to grow. Now we have more people with bigger clothes, and so even though we have a regular washer and dryer again, we have now reached the new problem of just never being caught up with laundry...ever. 

Every few years, I try to establish a new system that will make doing laundry a little easier...one that will save us from the piles and piles of unfolded clothes, merging into one giant heap on the floor of my laundry room. Thank goodness that room is in the back of the house, where no guest would ever go unless she makes a wrong turn. It's a disaster. Our moms do not dare help with our laundry, as they cannot decipher which piles are clean and which are dirty.

I started enlisting the help of the kids about four years ago.

Here was my old method. You'll see my mistakes, I'm sure.

1. I wash all the laundry in the same temperature water, not sorting by color, fabric, etc. It's faster that way.

2. When I remember, I move the wet clothes to the dryer.

3. When they're dry, I take them out and throw them in a pile on the floor.

4. Repeat steps 1-3 every day or so, for the rest of my life.

5. When kids finally run out of clean undies, pants or whatever in their rooms, or I just can't fit anything else on top of the clean pile, I declare it to be "Laundry Day."

6. Kids scream, kick, fight, whine. I make them drop everything and help with laundry. (Even though I have done the hard part of washing and drying it).

7. We use our misfit collection of laundry baskets to transport clothes to the family room. Clothes are dumped onto the floor-recreating the big pile. The little boys like to have the clothes dumped directly on top of them (for fun, of course).

8. Everyone takes a basket, fighting over who gets to use the biggest/best ones, and then they all dig through the pile to find their own clothes.

9. An hour of clothes flying through the air on a weekend morning is not anyone's idea of fun, especially when Mark is constantly barking at the little kids to stop climbing on the pile, start helping, keep their underwear off their heads...you know the drill. Wait? You probably don't do laundry this way.

10. At the end of this part, we are always left with a huge mound of socks that nobody wants to bother sorting. Sometimes I just put it back into the laundry room till the next weekend.

Over the years, my friends and I would talk about our laundry methods. Mine seemed to be the worst, but I just didn't see another way to make it work. How could I move away from simply creating a big pile of everyone's clothes? How could I create less fighting among the whole family when I need help with this chore that is for everyone's benefit? I just do not have time to fold it all right out of the dryer-obviously the best method.

Eventually, after watching what works for the grandmas and gaining some insight from a very wise friend of mine who taught me I was handling each piece too many times, I decided to make some changes.

I purchased color-coded everything. I bought collapsible hampers for each room, which are lightweight enough for the kids to take downstairs by themselves, and breathable in case I don't get to the clothes for several days. I eliminated our diverse batch of laundry baskets (some which were way too small to be worth keeping), and found large, sturdy ones for each person. We all know which one is ours, so there's no fighting over who gets "the good basket."

Our laundry system has been modified to be the best it's ever been, and probably the best it will be while our kids are here. Yes, I know kids can actually wash clothes, too. Maybe that day will come. For now, I'm home each day, so I can do it.

I still follow my original Steps 1 through 3 in almost the same way, except I've added something new for myself. I make sure to have everyone's empty, color-coded basket in the laundry room when I'm ready to empty the dryer. Instead of dumping the clothes straight on the floor like I did for so many years, I sort them right away, directly into each person's basket. I line the baskets up along the wall by age, plus I know whose color is whose, so I don't have to think too much while I toss in their t-shirts and pajamas. It's so much easier to tackle one load at a time! (Like I didn't know that before, I just was too overwhelmed to make it happen). Once in a while, if I'm really organized, an entire load will be designated to a specific hamper. So, if the hamper comes from Reese's room, I know those clothes can go right from the dryer into his black basket. Simple!

My laundry room is so much neater now! There are still a ton of baskets taking up the entire floor, but that's because we have a big, beautiful family to clothe. I'm so thankful for them!

Have you mastered your own laundry system yet? Have you always been a pro? Are you like me and were always looking for tips?

Here are some other brilliant ideas that friends of mine had given to me through the years as I sought laundry advice:

-Keep a small plastic dresser in the laundry room just for kids' socks. Never worry about sorting or taking them to bedrooms, especially if you have kids wearing the same sizes.

-Have your hangers ready when it's time to take the clothes from the dryer. Put your shirts directly onto the hangers instead of in the basket first and then on the hangers later. Handle pieces as few times as possible!

-Install a tension rod in the laundry room for shirts that need to be air dried.

-Play music or watch Netflix while you're sorting/folding laundry.

-Teach your friends what you learn! Although one of them may seem to have it all together, she's probably a closet laundry amateur.

 

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I Forgot What Time my Last Child was Born

This week, my youngest child turned five-years-old. A mix of emotions has run steadily through my heart and my body, taking me from amazement at how quickly he has grown, to pride for all that he knows, to appreciation for the gift he has been to our family.

On the morning of his birthday, as we gathered on the couch to watch him open a few gifts, one of our other children asked us what time Marshall was born. Horrified at myself that I wasn't able to rattle off the number, I gasped, smiled as I tried to regain my composure and then turned to my husband. I calmly said, "Let's ask Dad."

The kids all laughed and responded with, "He doesn't know either. He told us to ask you."

How is it possible that a mom had let such an important detail escape her memory? Particularly, this mom. We wait and wait and wait for nine long months for the very second when a living, breathing, squirming human being will be brought forth from our bodies and laid onto our chests. We will exhale with pain, exhaustion, relief and jubilation. A tiny person will no longer be hidden inside of our wombs, which are basically churning pots of the unknown. Instead, that new life will be free for the world to see and hold and ENJOY! That's a big moment. A gigantic moment. A moment that somehow, when we started reminiscing about my fourth child on his fifth birthday, I could not recall.

Although the exact hour and minute escaped me that morning, I knew that I could easily discover his birth time. It is printed on his birth announcement and on the backs of photographs and in his first year calendar. Then there was my favorite place where I knew I could find it. It is the place where I documented it with the utmost care; where it is cherished and recorded with love. It is in the extremely personal story I composed just a few days after my son's birth.

I would love to share that story with you here today, in honor of my last baby's 5th birthday. He really is not a baby anymore--he makes sure to tell me all the time! It has served its purpose to jog my memory of the exact time of day that our little surprise was laughed into the world, but it is so much more than a record. It's intimate. It captures a moment in time for my family that I can never recreate. So much has changed in our home over the past five years, but what a special way to glance back to our past, to the exact minutes when our third son, our final child, was born.

"Laughed into the World"

Written in the middle of November in 2009 and then shared with my friends and family all over the world.

This little baby boy sure has caused a lot of drama the past nine months, but his birth was a very fitting end to a stressful pregnancy. Aside from other complications along the way, many people don't know that I went into preterm labor at 33 weeks. I spent the night in the hospital, and I went home taking medication every four hours and confined to bed and the couch. Three weeks and one false alarm later, I was taken off bed rest and given permission to resume regular activity. I made it to 36 weeks with baby boy still safely tucked away inside. I definitely had contractions daily, but nothing happened. Each night I went to sleep wondering if that night was going to be the night baby would arrive. Trixie had come five weeks early, and Chip's birth was very quick as well, so I was constantly on edge. I was dilating more, and at 38 weeks I was four cm. Doctor told me she would induce me at 39 weeks plus one day, to save my sanity.

I had cried in her office due to all the stress of wondering what I would do with all the kids if I went into labor in the middle of the night. With the plan in place, I was ready. I was set to be induced on a Thursday at 7 a.m. On the Monday before, I thought I was in labor. My good friend, Karen, rushed over to watch the kids, Mark's mom drove to town, and we went to the hospital. Things stalled after a couple of hours, and even though I was dilated to five cm, I was forced to go home due to a law in our state. (Nothing can be done to encourage labor before 39 weeks). I was just two days away from that milestone, plus I was already scheduled to be induced, but I had to go home. I was totally disappointed, but Mark took me out to dinner, and baby stayed inside until the big day.

With Chip's planned induction at 38 weeks, Pitocin was started at 7 a.m., and he was born at 10:14. I was sure this one would go even faster, especially since I had been moving along for weeks. Nope, nothing happened for the first five hours.

I started Pitocin at 8, and got my epidural by 11, and things were still going slowly. Doctor had predicted baby would be born by 12:45, which I thought was a late estimate. I was totally figuring he would be born by 10. That just goes to show that every labor is different.

Doctor came by at 12:40 p.m., and we joked that baby wasn't going to make her initial projection. She said two more hours, tops. I texted some good friends at 1:05, saying that it was going very slowly, and I didn't know when he was going to come. I was still only five cm. (My phone had been in the closet, and I had missed several calls and texts from friends who were also sure I would have delivered hours earlier). At 1:15, ten minutes after I had told everyone that nothing was happening, it was time to push! My doctor had to come running back over from her office (thankfully, it's across the street). I pushed three times through one contraction, waited a minute for the next one, and started pushing again.

In the middle of that next push, the doctor made me laugh, and my baby's head emerged! She told me to keep laughing, because I was going to laugh that baby out. The nurses, doctor, Mark, and I all kept on laughing, and out he came. It was hilarious. When he was born at 1:27 p.m., he opened his eyes right away and started sucking his thumb when she laid him on my stomach. It was an incredible birth. I didn't even begin to break a sweat, it was over so fast. We just talked to him and cuddled him on my stomach for several minutes, until it was time to weigh him and have him examined by the nurses.

We didn't have a name for him yet, so we talked about it a little bit each hour but never decided anything until about 4:30 that afternoon. In the meantime, we had lunch and took a nap before telling anyone that he was born. Our moms had each called by then, and we decided it was time to spread the news that he was born. Everyone had been worried since he had seemed so eager to be born seven weeks early and then wasn't coming. I felt badly for everyone waiting at home, not knowing, but we so enjoyed the few hours together after his birth, that it was just a beautiful time with Mark and Baby Boy.

Our family is now complete. I still can't believe we have four kids. When I see them all together in one place, I am just amazed. Whenever a new child is added, life quickly reaches that point when you can't remember a time without him or her. I am already there. Of course, Chip seems like a giant boy now, no longer a baby. That always happens as well! Reese and Trixie's babyhood seems like a lifetime ago, and they are now the big, big brother and sister who go off to school on the bus. Mark is taking a week vacation to help take care of everyone. It will be so great to have everyone at home together. We are spending Thanksgiving at home, since it will be too early to travel with little Marshall. My friend, Theresa, told me to enjoy the "babymoon." I had never heard that term before, but we are definitely in babymoon mode now!

Thanks to all of you for your prayers along the way and congratulations messages now. We are so thankful for all of the friends we have, not only in several states across the U.S., but also in several countries around the world.

Although I don't have a carefully crafted baby book for our fourth child, I do have this very special gift for Marshall. It is found in my written words. They carefully describe the events and my emotions surrounding his very momentous arrival! I would like to encourage all of you, no matter what stage of motherhood you are in, to record your birth story. Obviously, doing it right after the birth is awesome, because our minds are so full of what has just happened to us and the emotions are raw! When I went back to read this story today, I had forgotten so many of the little details that I am thankful that I did record. For instance, I didn't remember that he started sucking his thumb just seconds after he was born. However, it's never too late to write your own birth story. Enlist the help of anyone who was there with you. Husbands, moms, friends! We know those birthing rooms are busting at the seams these days.

Keep them to yourself or share them with the world. I know I'd love to read each and every one of your stories. I will be taking my own advice and writing my other three birth stories, not to be shared on the blog. You already know so much about me that one of my accounts about the very private act of childbirth is probably enough for you to handle.

Marshall was surprised when he awoke on his fifth birthday without a mustache or a deeper voice (something he was certain came with turning five). He was also convinced that he would no longer be attending preschool but would be jumping straight to kindergarten. I truly enjoyed my day alone with him. We had peanut butter sandwiches on a blanket in our living room, and I realized that it would be the last time he would be home with just me on his birthday. Another one of those roller coaster moments of motherhood, for sure.

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My Messy Mom-Car, the Junk Bus, and My Wake-up Call

When our youngest son was a little baby, I stumbled across something online which perfectly described my mom-car. The term was junk bus. Hilarious, right? Aside from the human children, I often tote around a bus full of junk. All of my kids are now very capable of taking their trash out of the car and throwing it away in the house. However, every few weeks, we need to have a family clean-out, where we uncover at least two grocery bags full of pure garbage from my car. 

Before I had children of my own, I secretly judged my older brother for allowing his mini-van to be such a mess. I mean, geez, how hard could it have been to throw out their French fry wrappers?  Sorry J and C. I now see just how hard it is.

Now, after nearly twelve years of motherhood, I am ashamed at what drive-thru workers and neighbors must think about the way I keep this car. Strangely, every mom I know with young children also drives a junk bus. If you do have a tidy car, please share how you manage it, because I am open to suggestions! 

Mark's cool dad-car stays insanely clean, because he is usually the only person in it. It doesn't even have enough space for all six of us...convenient, huh? He cannot comprehend how my car can be so disgusting. My passenger seat is always full of so much stuff, that sometimes, it even triggers the airbag sensor.   

One week over the summer, Mark's parents needed to trade cars with me so they could take the kids on some fun outings.  Before driving to their house, I was not aware of their plan to switch our rides. I am used to driving in our mess.  My very neat mother and father-in-law are not. I refused to hand over the keys until we cleaned up that traveling collection of filth.  

We filled up our usual two bags of garbage, and I used Clorox wipes to scrub the sticky, crusty barbeque sauce that Trixie had spilled in her cup holder. Next, I disinfected the steering wheel and any other handles that the grandparents would be touching. I wiped the foot prints from the seats that my little darlings kick during all road trips that last longer than 30 seconds. Reese shook out the removable floor mats, sending Goldfish crumbs flying across the driveway.

I apologized for the mess and happily drove off in Grandpa's very clean car. It was eerily quiet without my four chatter boxes behind me, but I could play the radio as loudly as I wanted. When I returned two days later to take the kids back with me, I noticed that my car had been vacuumed! It was so sweet of Grandpa to finish my half-done cleaning job. Was it because he could not stand being so close to all that dirt or because he knew I could really use that added bit of help? Either way, I thanked him and told him how appreciative I was.

We had our junk bus back from Grandpa for less than a week, and we were already up to one bag of trash. Gradually, items again began to accumulate: socks, sunscreen, library books, goggles, crayons, straw wrappers, sucker sticks, extra jackets, receipts...just junk!

Mark had given me a coupon to "make my car smell and shine like new" for Mother's Day, and he finally had a chance to make it happen before school started. It took him hours to clean every nook and cranny of my junk bus, but he did it. He did it, and we all promised to keep it clean, so that his hard work would not have been wasted. School has been in session for about a month now, so, how do you think we're doing?

Not so great.

The bus is becoming junky again.

This afternoon, in between errands, I had a few seconds to stop at McDonald's for a Dr. Pepper.  While I waited in the drive-thru, I looked at my passenger seat, which was covered with school papers, half-eaten granola bars and other junk. I felt ashamed, quickly tried to clean it up a bit, but then I didn't worry too much else about it. I was able to sit comfortably in my car while I waited for a friendly employee to hand me a cup of my favorite icy-cold fountain drink.

What a life. Stopping at a drive-thru is something I can do any time I want, and my only worry is whether or not the worker will judge how messy my car is?

As soon as I pulled out of the parking lot, I saw another mom like me, who also had a cute four-year-old little boy. Except they weren't really like us. They weren't warm and cozy inside their nice car, zipping around town from place to place, grabbing Mickey D's and then deciding whether or not to take out the trash. They were standing alongside a very busy road, waiting for the public bus to give them a ride.

Punch. Me. In. The. Gut.

Please.

I have seen all types of people waiting at our city's public bus stops, but I had never seen a child standing at one. Ever.  How could we be so spoiled?

Seeing that mom and son having to wait for a ride to go somewhere that we take for granted every day (like the doctor or the pharmacy or the library), made me realize that I really need to take better care of my this mom-car of mine and stop treating it like a junk bus. I should appreciate how blessed I am to have this highly functioning, warm in the Winter, cool in the Summer, dry in the rain, plenty-big-enough-for-all-of-my-kids-and-their-friends, mom-car.


Do you drive a junk bus, too? Tell me some funny stories about it! Then, will you join me in the challenge to clean up our mom-cars?

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Would You Please Pass the Bon-Bons?

So, we are wrapping up our third week of school, and I have yet to have one single bon-bon! What is going on here? Three of the kids are gone all day, and one of them is gone part of the time, and still, there has been no bon-bon indulgence for this stay-at-home-mom. That's my job, right? Is it happening at your house? I'll come over there if it is, because this place has been kind of a mess.

I don't remember it ever being this hard to readjust to the kids being back at school. I don't actually mean for the kids. They are doing very well with waking up on time, finishing their homework, taking showers when I tell them to, and squeezing in their extras. It's their mother who just can't get in gear this year.

Usually, I'm so organized at the beginning of school. I look forward to the newness that Autumn brings and all that we are going to accomplish in the new school year. So far, I just keep dropping the ball. Read on if you want to feel better about yourself!

I try to make menus for the week's dinner plans and have all the ingredients ready. The dinners I have made this Fall wouldn't impress anyone, and I'm usually thinking about them just as the first kid is walking in the door, asking, "Mom, what's for dinner?" In three weeks, we have run out of milk in the house twice...twice! That never happens here. I always buy three gallons of milk at a time, yet somehow, on two separate occasions, my poor babies had nothing for their morning Cocoa Puffs. (Yes, my kids eat Cocoa Puffs. There was something about having that fourth kid that brought my guard down).

I usually have a variety of homemade treats in the freezer for the kids to take in their lunch boxes, but I haven't had a chance to do any big baking yet. Last night, I thought I would bake a few kinds of homemade cookies to stock the freezer, but now I'm out of flour. I usually have two or three bags of flour waiting in my pantry for when one of my baking frenzies hits. There's nothing. What is my problem?

I really don't deserve any bon-bons when I'm doing such a shoddy job of keeping up with my basics of feeding the family. I shouldn't even mention the cleaning I haven't been doing. Sometimes I'm not doing the dishes every day. Laundry is piling up more than my usual six foot high mound that lurks in the back of the house. Vacuuming, uh, I cleaned up the kitchen crumbs over the weekend, does that count? When the kids head back to school, it is usually my time to make the house shine again. Maybe next week...

In my defense, we've had our fair share of germ-sharing going on around here. Everybody missed at least one day of school already! Having a whole house of sickie-sickersons didn't go well for my bon-bon parties. I did finally muster enough energy to Clorox-wipe down the banisters and door knobs.

Weeks ago, I was supposed to complete a whole stack of papers for the elementary school that I received on the first day of school. It's called a welcome packet. I started filling in answers right away, like the dedicated mom that I am, but set them aside in all the excitement of hearing first day stories from the kids. I have yet to pick them up again. Trixie asks me about every other day if I finished the packet yet. I have to shamefully tell her, "no." I have resorted to asking her if the teachers are bugging her about it. They are not, so I instructed her to stop worrying about that stinkin' packet. It's my homework assignment, not hers, and I promise her I will finish it.

If this family scenario were coming from anyone other than me, I would be dishing out all kinds of advice. Why am I being so hard on myself when I would never have such high expectations of any other mom? If you happen to be feeling the way I am feeling, like it's the last month of school, when it's really only the first, this is what I would tell you:

There is only one you. Just write down what you know you need to do, and that will help you remember. What is forgotten, is forgotten, and it will be okay.

So what if the kids have pancakes for dinner? You know they LOVE when you make Brinner.

A perfectly stocked pantry or freezer isn't necessary for a happy home. Your husband can run out to buy milk when you need it. Stores are open 24 hours for a reason!

Kids are likely trading away what you give them for lunch and are just itching to go outside for recess. They aren't going to remember if they had a homemade cookie or Oreos. Although, some kids might remind you if you do forget a dessert entirely or try to pass fruit off for dessert (Chip).

The dishes will eventually be clean, and so will the floors and clothes. All of that takes time, and one person cannot do it all. You only have so much time, and taking care of the needs of so many other people on top of your own doesn't leave big chunks of time for all that cleaning! Kids can learn chores. Even young ones. Enlist their help. They'll feel valued and important.

Being sick gives everyone a pass, period.

Um, filling out those school papers really does need to be done. If you haven't heard from the school about it yet, you're probably fine. Just get it done when you can. Write it down so you remember to do it. Did you forget my earlier tip? Write everything down.

Lastly, give yourself a freakin' break and go buy some bon-bons! How are you ever going to have a bon-bon party if you don't have any in the house?

 

Last night, I was craving chocolate and really did want the kids to have something sweet in their lunchboxes. With no flour in the house, I resorted to making a box of brownies. I jazzed it up my favorite way. Here's how to do it that will wow kids and guests galore, all for about $2.00.

 

Marshmallow and Chocolate Chip Brownies

 

1. Preheat your oven according to your favorite brand of boxed brownies. Collect all of the ingredients needed according to the box. (mine needed eggs, oil, and water).

 

2. In a bowl, combine all of the original ingredients, plus about 1 cup of chocolate chips and 1-2 cups of mini-marshmallows. Stir until combined, based on the box directions. 

 

3. Spread the batter into a 9x13 inch pan sprayed with baking spray.

 

4. For extra festivity, I like to add a thick layer of sprinkles, although it's totally optional.

 

5. Bake according to the box directions.

 

6. Let them cool a while before slicing. They'll be ooey and gooey and just deliciously chocolately. Enjoy as a late-night snack while the kids are in bed or with your morning coffee (until you have a chance to buy some bon-bons).

 

Helpful Tip: Boxed brownies can be jazzed up however your family likes them.  Other additions I love are M & M's, Andes Mints, Heath Chips, or Chopped Reese's Cups. The possibilities are endless. No measurements are really required!

 

 

 

 

 

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"Why Is It That Every Time I Am Quiet, You Think Something Is Wrong?"

On a beautiful June day this summer, I was driving while Reese sat unusually quietly in the backseat. Normally, he loves to tell stories, is full of trivia, and poses interesting questions to all of us. He is eleven now, but he has been that way for as long as we can remember. We consider him our little encyclopedia, and many of his teachers have said the same about him. He comes from two parents who also really like to chatter. We can be pretty loud and even talk over each other at times. Reese has three younger siblings he must compete with for talking time and attention. They all have their own ways of making themselves heard. 

So, on this one random day in the car, when I noticed that Reese wasn't talking at all, I asked him what was wrong. His response took me by surprise.

"Why is it that every time I am being quiet, you think something is wrong?" 

Obviously, I must say it to him a lot for him to express his observation. I didn’t even realize I had been doing it. I am so used to Reese's voice making sounds around me, that when it isn't, I think there must be a problem. 

The loud mom in me figures that a quiet kid must be a sad kid, a lonely kid, a bullied kid, an anxious kid, a tired kid, or an angry kid. We can fill in the blank with all sorts of negative emotions I was equating with his silence. It had not occurred to me that nothing was the matter with him at all. He just wanted to have some peace. 

Seriously, who can blame him? Our home and car are always filled with so much noise: dishes banging, kids crying, toilets flushing, parents bossing, music playing, phones ringing, and on and on. Reese was just doing what I also do when it is quiet for a few brief moments in our life. He was relishing in it. He was taking deep breaths. For once, he was able to hear his own thoughts as he watched the beautiful Midwestern landscape pass by his car window.

The two greatest sounds I hear as a mother are my children's laughter and nothing at all. I'll take either one any second of the day, as long as it means that my children are at peace. If they are being quiet, it means they are not arguing with each other. They are not crying. They are not whining. They are just enjoying the tranquility that doesn't happen often in a family with four children. Since that car ride, I have learned not to worry as much when my usually talkative child is quiet. Being quiet is not wrong. Being able to experience silence is a blessing that my son has learned at a young age, and now he has shared it with me.

Thank you, Reese, for your wisdom. You taught your mom something, and I am so happy that you did. 

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I am Not a Supermom

How does one attain the label, "Supermom?"  Somehow, it's been instilled upon me since my early days of parenting, when I began impressing others by flying alone over international waters with my two babies.   I don't really know how I managed those flights, I just did it because I had to do it.  We have all done some supermom-ish feats during our years as parents.   I don't feel that special, so when people refer to me as supermom, I kind of want to cringe.  I really don't want that title, especially because it's hard to live up to being Super all the time.  When I was brainstorming names for my blog, I even considered "not-a-supermom," but it was already taken.  Apparently, I am not the first person to want to buck against this praise.

Last night, I failed at my Supermom mission in one of the biggest ways imaginable.  I completely and totally and utterly forgot about my preschooler's Meet the Teacher Night.  It's not like someone broke a bone falling down the stairs (totally plausible around here), so we couldn't make it.  It wasn't because he freaked out at the last minute, and we decided to bail to save his sanity.  I just forgot to ever write it down on the calendar.  Do you remember that I told you I forget everything that isn't written in my two paper calendars?  It wasn't written in either one of them, even though we learned about it several weeks ago.  

How could this happen?  Is it because he's the fourth child, and we've managed to neglect this rite of passage for him?  Sadly, maybe so.  Am I a terrible mom because of it?  I'm gonna say, no.

Do you know what I was doing last night?  I was being "Super PTA Mom" to 50 other kids. I had been so focused on planning an event at our elementary school, that I had totally missed my youngest son's chance to meet his new preschool teacher, Mrs. R.  My poor boy! 

He's the child who has been telling me all summer that he doesn't want to go back to school. He is the one who has been saying he does not want to have a new teacher this year.  His preschool is in a small building; same room; same playground; same everything.  However, this year he will go to school three days every week instead of two and have a new teacher.   He is my anxious child who I just wrote about on Tuesday morning having these fears.  On Tuesday night, Mark and I went to the preschool for the parent night.  How did I not remember that the student night was going to be in two days, on Thursday?  Uh, because I never wrote it on my calendar!

You won't believe what kind of event I was hosting at the elementary school at the same exact time that I should have been holding Marshall's hand at his preschool.  It was a special welcome event for kindergarteners and students new to our school.  Our PTA was ready with popsicles and smiles,  welcoming those scared new moms and dads who were full of questions and not quite ready to let their babies go.   I was there as the seasoned mom, the veteran mom, the pro!  I assured those new parents that we had all been in their shoes at one point and knew how it felt to be new to the school and anxious about everything. 

Kids were crying?  It's normal!  You're nervous about them riding the bus?  Normal! 

Unable to attend our school's meet the teacher night next week?  Totally fine!

Forgetting to write an important date on your calendar and blowing off your scared little baby boy to help other people's kids you don't even know?  What, are you crazy?

How is it possible that an entire 24 hours passed after this PTA event before I even realized that I missed Marshall's preschool night?  I really have no idea, but I won't take all the blame.  Mark forgot, too.  He was at the parent night and heard the reminder from Mrs. R. 

Although I am sorry that Marshall missed his chance to talk with his new teacher for a few minutes and see his school again before the first day, I refuse to beat myself up about it.  The day has passed.  I will ease him in to school on his first day as best I can.  I will tell him wonderful stories about his teacher and show him pictures of his brother and sister loving school.  Mrs. R is even his friend's Nana, so that's worth something!

The irony on where I was instead of at Marshall's preschool is not lost on me. I wasn't getting a pedicure or guzzling wine while binge watching Orange is the New Black.  I was doing a very important job for dozens of other families in my community.  I know how much they needed it and appreciated it, and I'm glad that if I did have to screw up at home, I was there for them.

As moms, we often feel like if something doesn't go as planned for our children, we have let them down in a way from which they will never recover.  Believe me, they will, and so will we.  Marshall doesn't even know that he missed anything.  Had this been my first child's preschool back to school night, you can bet I would have been calling the teacher to try to arrange a private meeting before school started.  Gosh, how annoying!  As my years as a parent have progressed, I'm thankful that I have learned to let life happen.  Meanwhile, my kids are turning out to be pretty freaking super themselves!     

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The Dwindling Baby Book Syndrome

If you are still parenting your first and only child, you may not fully appreciate this phenomenon yet. You'll probably read this post and wonder how a mother could become so complacent. You'll think to yourself that you would never, ever be that mom. I know, because I used to say those types of things all the time. I have my own mom, husband, and sister-in-law to remind me. I often eat my words from days of parenting past.

"I'll never let my car be so messy."

"I'll never let my kids play with toy guns." 

"I'll record every important moment of my child's life for all eternity." 

Okay, that last one was kind of an exaggeration, but it's what I'm writing about today. I'm calling it The Dwindling Baby Book Syndrome. Remember when you were expecting your first baby, and you chose your baby book with care? You filled in everything that you could as soon as you found out you were pregnant. You completed the family tree and answered all of the history and pop culture questions. You know, info about the President, popular movies, favorite songs. You documented all of your cravings and bouts of morning sickness. You stuffed it with ultrasound photos and the results from your glucose tolerance test. You probably even taped your pregnancy test stick to it somewhere. You were taking belly shots at least monthly, maybe even daily since the invention of selfies. They did not exist when I was pregnant with my first baby. We actually had to develop FILM. 

Once pregnancy was through, and your precious little bundle was in your arms, the real fun started.  Now you could record all of the famous firsts you had been dreaming about for months or maybe even years. First wet diaper, first dirty diaper, first spit up, first time he latched on, first time he slept on daddy...and those are just within the first week. 

Think of all the big moments that happen in a baby's first year. Doctor visits, going to the store, visiting Grandma, smiling, rolling over, laughing, sitting up, eating solid foods, first tooth, crawling, holding toys, throwing toys, blowing kisses. walking, talking. Awww, just thinking back to those moments in my babies' lives makes me sigh and smile. An entire book is dedicated to documenting a baby's first year of life. Wasn't it fun to spend a few quiet moments every day or two recording the newness and awesomeness of your baby? 

If you were like most people and waited longer than a year to deliver your second child, you probably kept on recording fun things about your first born well after the first birthday. We were not that family. Number two came along just fourteen months after number one. So, during the whole pregnancy for her, I was still in baby mode for the first one. How was I supposed to document a pregnancy and document a first year? How you ask? I wasn't! 

That's how The Dwindling Baby Book Syndrome started for us. Ours just started a little earlier than most. I was not able to keep up with the demands of entering every little detail into each child's baby book. I do remember having a book for number two, but the entries are much less frequent. The pregnancy section is pretty non-existent. Throwing up for four months while taking care of another baby just wasn't conducive to writing. 

We all know what happens next. The more babies who enter the home, the less time there is to record the details. Way less information and way fewer photos are included in the baby books for babies number two and three. It's not that we weren't cherishing the moments and wanting to record them. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I would think, "Oh, he smiled today, I should write it in the baby book." Then, somebody would need a diaper change, Cheerios would spill across the floor, or I would fall asleep in the rocking chair, and the thought would simply disappear. 

By the time we were up to number four, I did not even spend the money on an actual Baby Book. I knew I would never write in it.  My mom bought me a calendar instead. It's the busy mom's baby book that I highly recommend. It came with hundreds of cute stickers that listed all the typical firsts. When I remembered, I could just peel off a sticker and place it on the date something important happened, or I should say around the date it happened. That's the beauty of it all, and the beauty of having multiple babies. You finally learn to give yourself a break. Maybe he lost his belly button on November 16th, maybe the 19th, who knows. Whenever I look back at that calendar, I'll never remember or even care that I fudged the date a little.

So, the lesson here is, if you are feeling guilty for not documenting your second, third, or tenth child's life as well as your first, please give yourself permission to get over it. It's okay, I promise!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook: 

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

31 Items Which Can be Found on our Floors at Any Given Moment

Do you feel like you are the only parent whose floor is always dotted with baby and child paraphernalia? Well, you most definitely are not. No one ever told me that once I had children, my floors would forever be cluttered with STUFF. It started when they were babies, when it was diapers and wipes that I had placed on the floor for easy reach--my fault.

Then, we moved into toddlerhood and their toys joined the fun. Their abundant, ever-growing collection of toys. I remember with each toddler, our floor was covered in primary colored toys of every shape and size. I would never choose to decorate my home with these colors, yet they were EVERYWHERE I turned! 

A few more years passed by, and each child began to develop his and her own niche of clutter. No matter how many times they pick up all the odds and ends lying around, there will always be something else landing somewhere else, within a matter of minutes. I can pretty much guarantee it. 

Just for fun, I took about two minutes to walk through the main floor of our house to see what our three sons and one daughter have lying around for us now. I'm not including their bedrooms, the playroom, or the bathrooms. This experiment involved only the rooms we live in the most, which also happen to be the rooms guests would see if they pop over unannounced. We all know never to do that to a mother with small kids, right? Okay, great! 

Let's note that I am not looking under anything. I'm positive the list would seriously never end if I actually looked under the furniture. 

Here's what I see on our floors:

KITCHEN:

• a grape
• a tortilla chip
• a piece of paper
• a Thera-band
• a paintbrush
• my camera case (I did not leave it there, I promise).

FAMILY ROOM:

• a Mario Kart Wheel
• a pillow thrown off the couch
• a tiny flashlight
• The iPad---Are you freaking kidding me?
• an Angry Bird toy
• one die
• a Candyland piece
• 2 batteries
• The Cheese Touch Game (from Diary of a Wimpy Kid)
• a Duplo block
• a bag full of toy money from The Game of Life
• a plastic sword
• an open bag, spilling out Skylanders
• another Theraband
• more Duplo blocks
• a Rainbow Loom bracelet

DINING ROOM:  (This is not a typical representation, since I just thoroughly cleaned this room yesterday)

• a Nerf bullet
• a toy car
• a pack of Rainbow loom hooks

LIVING ROOM:

• shoes
• a little green house from Monopoly
• many pieces from a Mad Lib game
• another Nerf bullet-a different style
• a baseball
• another Rainbow Loom bracelet

As I sat to type this list, Mark walked into the room and kicked one of the pieces from the Mad Lib game. I laughed out loud. If you do come over without fair warning, be prepared to navigate the mine field we like to call our house. Mark does threaten to throw it all in the garbage if it isn't cleaned up "right now, Mister!" yet somehow, nothing really ever makes it to the trash. To be fair, I do know that one day we'll miss these little reminders of our babies and kids spread out over every inch of this place. Until then, I do wish they would just stop dropping everything they touch right in the middle of our walking space. Is that too much to ask?