Sunday, January 30, 2011

Our Bike Riding Adventure Part 2

Well, yesterday's bike riding adventure was a hoot. I asked my friend Lori to come along, and I'm sure she'll think twice before answering yes to that question again. At one point she told me she felt like a circus performer who rides her bike around in circles in the ring. Her analogy was pretty appropriate considering that she was with the Jones Family Circus.

Hudson and Lawson usually ride until their little legs get tired and then spend the remainder of the trip testing the boundaries of personal space in the confinement of their bike trailer. Our little convoy was organized strategically with Lori in front, then Camden (he's prone to try off-roading if he's not closely supervised), then Jason pulling Hudson and Lawson inside the trailer and their bikes off the back of the trailer (tow truck style), then Mommy and Scout in her baby bike seat. We were the topic of several tourists' conversation when we circled the Tybee Lighthouse.

These are my reluctant little bikers holed up in the back of Daddy's truck on Tybee Island. It took a great deal of coaxing to bring them down.
We finally bribed them into getting on their bikes by promising loads of fun on the playground after we excercised. Ha! Little did I know that the only "exercise" I would get was the extreme exertion of patience it took for me to ride at the same speed as a four-year-old who would rather stop to look at knots on a tree than ride for more than thirty consecutive seconds.

Here is my sweet-cheeked little love, who spent the last ten minutes of the ride ramming her helmet into my back and then lifting my T-shirt up and down.

We made it home and pulled ourselves together for our date night. Granted, we were half an hour late, but I did get to wash my hair AND paint my toenails. I wore my $20 dress from Ross and some strappy black shoes from my college days, enabling me to feel sassy and frugal. Not an easy feat, I promise. We had a great night out, and I got to see my name in print in South Magazine's beautiful five year anniversary issue (my article is on page 84 for anyone who is able to see the issue). Now it's back to mom sweats and carpool lines as I prepare for another week on the seesaw.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Today's bike ride "adventure"

Tonight I'm supposed to have a hot date with my husband. We actually get to attend South magazine's five year anniversary party, which is a black tie gala. So I get to dress up and look and smell like a girl rather than a hot-mess in yoga pants who hasn't showered in two days. But there's a catch. My date has a bug up his butt to go on an "adventure" today. He is an adorable bundle of excitement as he downloads maps and attempts to psych the kids up for quality time as a family.

In theory, his plan sounds really fun. We'll load up the kids and the bikes and take the North Island Bike Trail around Tybee. However, this is what reality sounds like in this very moment in the Jones household.

Lawson refuses to stop playing on the computer. Scout is finally asleep after literally throwing herself on the floor because she was frustrated with me. Hudson ran from me when I tried to get him dressed and screamed that he wants to play in the backyard. 

"I NEVER GET TO PLAY IN THE BACKYARD!" were his exact words. This, of course, is an outright lie.

Camden is in his room crying to Jason that he doesn't want to ride his bike.

"I HATE RIDING MY BIKE!" are his exact words. This, too, is an outright lie.

Thanks to all the yelling, Scout is now awake, so allow me to wrap up this little glimpse into our daily regimen of joy. I will update you later as to whether or not I actually got to shave my legs, paint my toenails, wash my hair, and otherwise take the steps to attend this event clean and collected, or if we peeled in on two wheels to make it on time with my dress wrinkled and my hair full of baby powder to conceal the fact that it's still dirty.

Here's hoping all of you are willing to fight the protests of your children and risk your wife's personal hygiene in order to stage a family adventure the way my husband is.

P.S. As I hit the "Publish Post" button, the kids have coerced their daddy into playing with them. Sucker.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

I've got your birth control right here, people!

Yesterday I had the brilliant idea to take my four little angels to Target in search of birthday paraphernalia, and I managed to convince my friend to come along with her two kids. There's nothing Target employees love to see coming more than a convoy of six kids ages 1-7 being dragged along by their optimistic, determined (deranged) mothers. It's like the kaleidoscope of red and khaki clerks know how the story will play out  even before it begins, and they're all just waiting with amused anticipation for the train to derail. Which of course it does.

We made it into the store relatively unscathed with the kids crammed into two carts. My friend's daughter unwittingly talked Camden off a ledge by complying with her mom's request to ride in the buggy. Camden, initially believing he would be subject to public humiliation, was content to ride once he realized he wasn't the only child over the age of five doing so. (Can you imagine the nerve I had to ask a six-year-old to ride in the cart? Tragic.) We debated adding a third cart to our fleet but opted instead to have Scout ride in the big section of the buggy with my friend's son. I trekked over to the concession area and ordered popcorn only to discover I had no wallet to pay for my goods. When I realized my friend didn't have my wallet either, I had to retrace my steps back to--yep, you guessed it--the buggy we almost took, which held my purse, wallet, and car keys. Phew, that was a close one!

Before we even made it past the greeting cards section, Lawson fell off his seat in the kid cart (the really giant one with the seats attached to the end that steers like a Winnebago) and bumped his ribcage. Cue screams and tears. He finally agreed to get back in the cart, but three feet up the aisle he dropped his bag of popcorn and spread all the buttery fluff on the floor. My friend and I stealthily swept it under a shelf with our feet and moved on, taking a "divide and conquer" approach. When I realized I forgot something and circled back, Hudson dropped his popcorn bag in the exact same spot.

My dignity and confidence were slowly fading. I had to search for what I needed and passed two scowly young Target personnel members while I was weaving through the aisles. I suspected the source of their discontent and received confirmation of my suspicions once we rounded the corner and found both women sweeping up our popcorn explosion. Not one to hang my head in embarrassment, avoid eye contact, and scurry by (actually I might have been this kind of person had it not been blazingly obvious we were the culprits), I apologized for the mess, hoping the fact I had four kids in one cart would warrant their sympathy. They were at least cordial to me, and I'm guessing one day when they're frazzled moms in a store, they'll think of me.

 We were almost in the clear for any other incidents thanks to my friend's innovative game of I Spy in the checkout lane, but I pushed my luck too far. We stopped to put jackets on everyone, and I gathered all the empty popcorn bags and juice boxes to walk them a few feet away to the trash can. While I was gone, Hudson declared "I spy your wee-wee!" and the volume level shot up several decibels with just that one sentence. Our babies were spouting "I spy blank inappropriate body part" left and right while I tried in vain to explain to Hudson why his comment was rude and my friend tried to take the volume down a few notches. In those moments I almost felt as if I was in the perfect scene for a blockbuster comedy. The clerk was shaking his head, the security guard was gawking in awe, and my friend and I were dissolving into giggles over the insanity of it all. Yep, people. Yesterday we were the best form of birth control out there.      

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Dancing in the Mine Fields

Every time I hear this song, I'm reminded of the blessing I have in my husband. Wait, let me clarify that. My husband is a beautiful, complicated, interesting, intelligent, dedicated man and an incredible father, but the true blessing is the way I feel about him. I get him. I see all of his amazing qualities, his quirks, his flaws, AND I'm the lucky one who gets to share my life with him. Many times throughout the week, our connection gets neglected or taken for granted in the midst of the daily stresses that come with bringing up four children. Exhaustion and worries can impact our interactions with each other, and the cycle of defensiveness and miscommunication sometimes leads us down frustrating paths. But the joy far outweighs the tough stuff, and never have I ever regretted saying yes. The life we've built together is beautiful to me even in all of its chaos.

Our marriage isn't perfect. We disagree. We aren't afraid to engage in heated debates or to stubbornly defend our positions. We are both passionate, analytical people, and I've learned that our ability to disagree comes from the confidence we have that neither one of us is going anywhere. Our love binds us, our children bind us, and our faith in God and in each other binds us so strongly that we are able to dig through tunnels of hardship without fear that there is no light at the other end. He inspires me every day to become a better version of myself.

The kids and I are preparing to celebrate his 38th birthday tomorrow, which means our friendship began ten years ago this month. It took four more months before he convinced me to go out with him, and I'm so grateful he was patient with me. He is the first person who ever made me believe the risk of loving someone more than yourself is worth it. I am so thankful to dance through all of life's mine fields with him. 

Monday, January 24, 2011

Oh boy! Chef Boyardee!

Today Lawson asked me for Chef Boyardee ravioli for lunch. I popped the can and inhaled the tantalizing scent of saucy, processed deliciousness and proceeded to heat it up. Fifty seconds later I was dumping the tasty little squares into his bowl, and I treated myself to a spoonful of meaty goodness. My kid's Spiderman spoon went to work as soon as I set the food in front of him, and he gobbled up the contents of his bowl in less than three minutes.

Now, cue the gasps from all the rockstar mommies who avoid processed foods like the plague. Who buy all organic and puree your own baby food. Who prepare wholesome, full-blown meals for your kids three times a day. I salute you. Truly, I do. But regrettably I am not one of you.

I am the kid who subsisted off bologna sandwiches, hotdogs, and Spaghettios growing up. I am the former teacher who feasted on school food each and every ravioli day with gusto, especially when I was pregnant. I am the mom of three of the pickiest, most impossible-to-please eaters God ever felt gracious enough to give a parent. There is still hope for my daughter. However, my older kids started out eating broccoli and cheese for dinner but eventually morphed into stubborn creatures who would rather starve than eat a vegetable. So I know it's coming, and I know I'll fight it with much less enthusiasm than I did the first three times around.

When your kid refuses to eat much of anything other than cereal, hot dog buns (not the hotdog itself--only the bun), and craisins, you learn to celebrate small victories. The first time I ever got Hudson to eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich, I thought I might cry from the sheer joy of my accomplishment. When he declared that plain peanut butter sandwiches were his favorite, I fed them to him every day and thanked the Lord he actually ingested protein. Of course, five short months later he won't touch peanut butter sandwiches, and I'm left right back where I started--with a very limited selection of foods my kid will eat period, much less healthy foods my kid will eat.

As much as I want to be that woman who has unlimited money to buy all organic fruits and veggies or that supermom who has the stellar time management skills to pull off any and all of Jessica Seinfeld's creative recipes, I'm just not. I'm a time-deprived mom of four with a grocery budget so tight it could snap at any given moment. I'm trying to give myself a pass on not being the perfect mom when it comes to nutrition. I do buy nitrate free hotdogs and tons of fruit, which my kids eat a wide variety of. Their grilled cheese sandwiches are packed with low-fat cheese and served on whole wheat bread. I do what I can, and I continue to encourage them bribe them to try new foods.

I remember that when I went to UGA all those years ago, I ate Rice Crispies or pizza at every meal (sorry you wasted all your money on that meal ticket, Dad). The only veggie I ate was green beans, and rice and potatoes literally made me gag (which my mom found out the hard way years before when she forced me to try them). Today I will eat almost any vegetable with the exception of brussel sprouts and turnip greens. So, I know there is hope, and I'll continue to model good habits for them even if their reaction is to choke back a gag of their own. In the meantime I will relish those opportunities to sneak a bite of Chef Boyardee and relive my glory days. Long live processed foods! Otherwise my kids might starve. 


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Hello, Molly! Or is my name just Mommy now?

Today I took a drive without any kids in the car. Anyone who knows me understands I love my kids more than my own life, but I can't tell you how liberating it felt to turn the stereo volume to an ear-splitting decibel and sing at the top of my lungs. I wasn't listening to Tom & Jerry or to Curious George 2: Follow That Monkey (which I know every word to, by the way). I was listening to actual pop music, and my happy mood was almost manic. To top the treat of riding in the car by myself, I went to lunch sans children and laughed for an hour and a half with other moms. Oh, and I ate real food, too--delicious food---instead of Easy Mac or peanut butter and jelly. Today was legendary. Okay, maybe legendary is a stretch, but it was definitely awesome.

My point is, mommies, don't forget to nurture your own spirit. I know it's hard to do. There isn't much time between packing lunches, breaking up fights, and scrubbing toilets, but it's so important. It's easy to become consumed by the joyful task of nurturing our little ones' spirits that we don't always notice when ours is buried in laundry. Dig yourself out from under the dirty clothes every once in a while and dust yourself off (or Febreeze yourself, depending on what kind of laundry we're talking about). Remove the hat you wear for no-shower days and go wash your hair. Then go all kinds of crazy and blow dry it. Take a drive alone and listen to whatever you want. Get those scary toenails to a nail salon and let some unsuspecting technician try and work some magic on your neglected feet. Better yet, do something as simple as lying on your bed listening to soothing music and getting lost in your own thoughts. Remember those? They might be hard to tune into at first after being drowned out all this time by the tromp-stomp of kid crazy, but they're in there somewhere.

How in the world do you manage to find time to nurture your own spirit? Never underestimate the power of your mommy friends. They will always bail you out when you need them, whether it's throwing an extra seat in the van and grabbing your kiddo from the carpool line or managing a playdate while you escape and regroup. Don't be afraid to rely on them for support. No one offers a better shoulder to cry on than a mom who is on her own seesaw, and you can't find a better comedian than a fellow train wreck mommy when you need a good giggle. I can't help but imagine myself dancing a groovy choreographed sequence to an upbeat Disney song when I say this, but we're all in this together. I've got your back any time you need to cruise (alone) in your minivan like the hot mom you are.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Metamorphosis of a Marriage

I believe it's safe and accurate to say that few events change the dynamics of a marriage more than becoming parents. The pregnancy itself is usually a roller coaster ride that begins to set these changes in motion. If I could condense forty weeks of emotional ups and downs into a ten-step timeline, it would look something like this:

  1. We're pregnant! Oh my gosh! Hugs, kisses, awed glances at each other as you both try to wrap your heads around the idea of creating a person.
  2. Mom: Get away! The smell of your deodorant is revolting! Yak, barf, gag as Dad stands by helplessly suddenly feeling self-conscious about the Old Spice scent he's wearing.
  3. Mom: Come feel this! It's like there are little butterfly flutters in my tummy. Dad (a little bummed): I don't feel anything. 
  4. Dad (three weeks later): Wow! What was that? Mom: He kicked you. The return of sweet, awed glances that hold feelings too deep to express properly.
  5. It's a ......boy (or girl)! Hooray!
  6. Mom: Good grief, I have to pee again for the fiftieth time today. My back hurts.
  7. Dad: What the heck are all these pillows doing in the bed? I can't even get to you. Your belly and your pillows are slowly edging me out of my own bed entirely.
  8. Mom: Stop trying to snuggle with me! You're like a space heater, and your arm around me crushes my ribs even more than your son is already crushing them.
  9. Mom: Uggghhh...when is this baby going to GET OUT! I can't believe you did this to me, and you don't even have to do any of the work.
  10. He's here! Tears of joy, return of awed glances, sweet croons to your new baby. Life will always be this poignant thanks to this little guy.
Cut to two weeks later when you and your husband are taking turns bouncing and swinging a colicky baby for the fifth night in a row. You don't remember what a good night's sleep feels like, the baby can't latch, you haven't bathed in God knows how many days, and no one is getting on your nerves worse than each other. Well, except for the know-it-all visitors who show up unannounced ready to force their acquired wisdom and suggestions down your throat (this after they've caught you scrambling to get out of the first shower you've climbed into in three days).

You've also likely argued more than once over who should stay up with the baby. Mom, if you're nursing you get the honor of feeding, but often you still feel Dad should be doing something other than drooling on his pillow next to you. He will likely argue he has to be productive at work the next day while you argue you need to be able to function well enough to care for the baby. These cyclical arguments can drive you insane.

Thankfully, this adjustment is a temporary insanity while reality begins to set in that neither your life nor your marriage will ever be the same. You eventually begin to be proactive about functioning in your new situation and sorting out how to realign your partnership. The million dollar question remains how do you stay two halves of a love story while navigating the sometimes rocky terrain of co-parenting?

There is not one right answer to the question, and the only real solution I've discovered to staying connected to my husband as an individual rather than just a parent is quality time. We try to have "date night" whenever we can. We live in a great city, and our activities range anywhere from evening strolls on Tybee Island to walking through the Historic District of Savannah taking goofy self-portraits. We do still talk about our kids on our dates, but talking without the disruption of "kid crazy" allows us to laugh and share funny stories about them rather than bicker over how to discipline them in the middle of chaos.

Sometimes dates just aren't a possibility, but even curling up on the couch together to decompress and watch something besides Dinosaur Train allows us to connect. We make valiant attempts to talk to each other at dinner but often crack up at the number of times we're interrupted while trying to get through one conversation. Inspired by our friends' successes, we recently started poring through coupon methods and options together, and even that simple activity feels like a chance to communicate. The key is finding a partnership that is fair and balanced and taking advantage of everyday opportunities to connect.

Letting go of the fairy tale idea that we would never fight was key for us to grow together as partners and as parents. Marriage will always require effort, but putting my faith in the lesson that has ultimately come from each trial has made weathering storms much less terrifying. I know that no one else in this world besides me knows the ins and outs of our life like my husband. Our routine and roles are always evolving, and I love looking back on the experiences we've had to get us to the point we're at in our marriage. We always sense when we need to find time just for us, and we're learning how to better express appeciation for each other (this process, too, is always evolving).

One day we'll have an empty nest, and when that day comes, I hope we've worked hard enough at our connection that I look across the table at Jason and still see my best friend. He's a great dad, but he's also an honorable man and a funny, hard-working, loving husband. Thankfully, he's also not perfect, and that takes a lot of pressure off of me!

Monday, January 10, 2011

Surviving Parenthood 101: Humor

There are moments over the past six years I could never have endured without my best weapon--my sense of humor. Moms pretty much forfeit their dignity the second they get pregnant, subjecting themselves to invasive physical exams and ultimately exposing way more of their business than they bargained for in order to bring their kids into the world. Maybe this is nature's way of preparing us for the moments of humiliation parenthood can bring.

It sounds cliche, but sometimes laughter really is the best medicince for moms and dads. Without the cathartic release of laughter, how in the world could parents be expected to survive the days when their kid catches the stomach flu and sets off a chain of events that takes down an entire family? (Lawson single-handedly took out twenty-three immediate and extended family members two Christmases ago.) I couldn't show my face in my local Kroger two to three times a week without my sense of humor, considering my kids once climbed the stairs to the manager's office while I was checking out. And my ability to laugh at myself definitely came in handy at Camden's class Halloween party, when my son burst through the door talking about how his friend FINALLY made it through a whole day without getting in trouble. I, of course, happened to be standing next to said friend's mother.

My sense of humor is a coping mechanism in the midst of chaos. However, it's also how I find joy in stressful situations and hold onto what's real and important. I'm drawn to mommy friends who have embraced similar ideas because they make me feel I can be myself and that it's okay I'm not a perfect mom. My hope is that my kids learn to laugh at themselves, too, and waste less time than I did worrying unnecessarily about what others think.

So moms and dads, embrace your inner train wreck. Wear pjs in the carpool line when your morning has been the foulest of stinkers. Let your sillies out in public in an attempt to make your crying baby smile. Wear the food in your hair with pride and know other members of the club see it as a symbol of camaraderie. Push your shopping cart through Target at a full sprint in order to get your kid to the potty in time, and try not to hang your head in shame when you don't make it. Oh, and find a store employee who can help you out with the pee puddle. People can slip in those, you know.      

Sunday, January 9, 2011

The Lessons I've Learned From Hudson

When I checked into the hospital five years ago today to have an induction with Hudson (because he was projected to be even larger than his nine pound big brother if I went to 40 weeks), I felt smugly excited. I had done this before just fifteen months earlier. I was an experienced mommy, not some anxious first-time mom terrified of what the birth process would be like.

Much like I anticipated, having Hudson was fairly easy (naming him was a totally different story, but I'll save that for another blog). The induction took only eight hours from start to finish. But when Hudson made his appearance and was placed in my arms, my smug confidence fizzled. Wait--wasn't he supposed to look just like his brother? Because Camden's countenance was all I really had to go on, I was taken aback to see an olive-toned face staring at me and a shocking head full of black hair capping off his features. In that moment I learned a crucial lesson that all parents with more than one child should learn. No two children are ever just alike--not physically, not intellectually, and not emotionally.

Learning to appreciate my children for their individual personalities has been a learning process. Inexperience initially made the adventure stressful as I compared Hudson's quiet, observant nature with Camden's outgoing, gregarious disposition. I had to let go of comparisons in order to let Hudson come into his own. Now I can see that he's a fascinating little work of art. I'm always delighted when he lets me have a glimpse into his world. He's a very spiritual little guy who feels so much and chooses to confide his feelings in his very lucky parents. He's sweet and sensitive, but he has an unexpected wit just like his daddy. He's also very bright and analytical but in the past has struggled with confidence and making friends. I've sometimes worried more over him than his brothers because I so hoped he could find friends he felt as much himself around as he does with Camden and Lawson.

In our move to Savannah, I have watched him blossom. He has many friends at school and bursts with confidence and typical five-year-old boy silliness when he's interacting with his peers. I love watching him grow and learn, especially now that I am a mother of four little individuals. In my experience, I can truly appreciate each one of my children and adjust in small ways to accommodate their needs and quirks. I thank God every day for each of them and for that first year as a mom of only two when God guided me in recognizing every kid deserves to navigate this world in his or her own way.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Morning Chaos

We had our first stressful morning of 2011, part of which I laid the groundwork for last night. I have been preparing lunches and laying out clothes the night before, but Grey's Anatomy sucked me in. I went to bed at midnight only to have Camden get in the bed at some point. Scout also got up at 5:30 for about an hour, so by the time Lawson crawled in bed with me at 7:30, I couldn't resist snuggling with him for a few minutes. The poorly-oiled wheels of our machine were set in motion forty-five minutes later than normal.

Because there was no time for coffee (never a good sign), I started pouring bowls of Cocoa Puffs. Camden was in a foul mood due to a distressing dilemma over which toy to bring for "show and tell" and repeatedly whined he didn't want breakfast. As I fought off the overwhelming flashback to my own childhood and choked down the delayed sympathy for my parents, I poured him a bowl despite his protests. Bad Idea Jeans (early nineties SNL commercial, anyone?). He lost his temper and shoved the bowl away, sending it crashing to the floor, where it subsequently exploded into a thousand tiny pieces of porcelain.

His saucer eyes and instant declaration of "I didn't mean to" helped keep me calm, and Jason thankfully swooped in to take him to his room before my shock wore off. The remaining twenty-five minutes of the morning were a blur of crying, protesting, hiding, and spilling liquids on the kitchen floor as we rushed to feed, clothe, and brush the teeth of the whole crew. Unfortunately, we rolled out ten minutes later than the previous three days--even after I sacrificed my own personal hygeine and dignity by neglecting to wash my face or brush my teeth and wearing one of Jason's old tee shirts with capri pajamas and shoes with no socks (brrrr! I do not recommend this on 35 degree mornings).

On the way to school, I prayed fervently with my kids that they would all have good days despite the rough start. Then I silently prayed the teacher who chatted with me while she got Lawson and Hudson out of their seats doesn't have a keen sense of smell, considering my unbrushed teeth and lack of deodorant. Hopefully Train Wreck Mommy has left the station for a while, and Monday brings Got It All Together Mom out of hiding for a rare public appearance.

Thursday, January 6, 2011


People ask me how I keep my sanity with four kids, but the truth is they're the key to my sanity. They keep me grounded. I see my faith in a whole new way when I hear them explain their ideas of God in their own words. I relive memories of being a kid fighting with my brother when I watch them argue over what adults believe to be petty things. I try to remember what it felt like to be four years old and believe an injustice has been done to you because your brother got the first cookie at snack. When I'm down, the world looks brighter and full of possibility just from spending a few minutes listening to their stories and taking note of all they've learned.

More than anything they hold me accountable. There are days when I lose my calm and act before asking questions. I see it in their faces when I need to take a step back and regroup. I feel it in their positive attitudes when I'm having a great day and bringing my A-game. I know I won't always be perfect, but I do know I want to be humble enough to apologize when I make a mistake. And I want to be grateful enough for the fact that I'm their mom to get back up the next day and do it better.  

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


The two hours between 7:00 and 9:00 p.m. are the most chaotic, ear-splitting, splishy-splashy 120 minutes of our day. Only one of our kids is really old enough to bathe himself, and by the time you put him back in the tub to wash the very important parts he forgot to wash, you may as well have thrown all three boys into the bathtub together. At some point in the evening, there is guaranteed to be a naked Jones boy streaking through the house to avoid actually setting foot in the water. I've watched in horror as they streak with company here, and I've hung my head in shame when they streak at our parents' house during visits to Carrollton. Our little Scout adds a new dimension to the stress because she now requires a bath each night to scrub table food out of her hair, ears, and nostrils.

Tonight of course the level of excitement was not disappointing. Lawson and Hudson drew the short straw and had to climb in first. The story behind said short straw involves a wrestling match between the two of them that overturned two baskets of clean laundry and the fact that Camden was already engaged in a serious discussion with Daddy on why punching in the private parts is a bad idea (ouch for Daddy).

Lawson was cleaned, lifted out, and toweled off within five minutes, all the while kicking and screaming he didn't have enough time to play. However, the highlight of the night came after Camden climbed in and tried to show Hudson how to blow bubbles in the bathwater--despite our repeated explanations of how disgusting dirty bathwater is. Hudson listened intently for all of four seconds before proudly declaring "Hey Camden, I farted!" Needless to say, out came both children before Camden managed to inhale any poot particles.

Because the boys are not fans of water, shampoo, soap, or cleaning agent of any kind, the shrieking once bathing begins is deafening. I'm also certain it's enough to stir serious concern from the neighbors. I half-expect DFACS to show up at the door one day to discover just what all the commotion is. I guess if that happens the best I will be able to offer them is a complimentary pair of earplugs and a poncho so that they can take in all the glory of our evening routine.

Monday, January 3, 2011

My first blog

Now that I have a busy husband, four active kids, an old farting dog, and one really old, crochety  cat, I find myself at a loss when I want to call a cute or funny story about my life to memory. I don't know if it's the fabled phenomenon of "mommy brain" or if I'm losing intelligence as I get older, but I need some sort of recorded account of all the great little anecdotes my life provides on a daily basis. Thus, my blog is born.

My hope in calling it Life on the Seesaw is that it serves as a guide for the book I'm currently working on that details my hilarious adventures in parenting. Though it seems somewhat egocentric for me to assume you are the least bit interested in daily musings on my life, maybe reading what I go through as a mom will offer you guidance or provide a much-needed giggle. At the very least, it should make you feel much better about your own life and struggles as a parent. I hope you enjoy having a glimpse into the life of a harried stay-at-home mom.