Moving on up

I'm now blogging at MayberryMom.com. See you there! (Please?) And update your links and readers (please?) -- I would really appreciate it.

As my son said to his friend's mother at a birthday party yesterday, "Thank you, EYEBALL!!"

When I am a mom I will never ... Oops.

I thought I was almost done crossing things off the list of "things I will never allow/resort to/say when I am a parent."

Apparently not, because my car now has stickers on the insides of four (four!) windows. Better yet, two are Sponge Bob, one is Sesame Street, and one is Transformers. They all came from the doctor's office. (I know they didn't come from the haircut place because you should see my shaggy-headed children. It's a little hippie up in here right now.)

Yes, I drive a station wagon. One that's eight years old and has a big dent on one side because I practically rammed it myself with a shopping cart. One that's carpeted with crumbs and critically important crayon drawings and reusable shopping bags and gum wrappers.

But really, the stickers have driven away any last shred of decency and coolness I had left.

Worse than getting your teeth cleaned

Recently I had a Bad Day, of the grieving subset of Bad Days. I had to go to the dentist and I just knew there would be an awkward moment when the hygienist asked me if I'd had my baby or why I wasn't pregnant. I was dreading it utterly and it happened almost exactly the way I had feared, except I hadn't predicted the part where I spent the entire appointment willing myself not to cry, then lost it in the car afterward.

As I told Maggie after her post IVF Shoes, I only want to talk about our loss with people I really care about and trust. Everyone else, it's a need-to-know basis only. I know they don't know what to say. I don't either and I don't feel like comforting them because I suffered a loss.

Like Maggie did, I bought a necklace as a tribute to my son. And what I like best about it is that it's meaningful to me--the two taller flowers sheltering the little one, each representing one of my three children--but I only need share that meaning if I want to.

Merci beaucoup, Mom

For this weekend's Mother's Day blog blast, Parent Bloggers Network asked for posts about what our moms have handed down to us. I have an old post that sums that up perfectly, from back when my blog was very new. Here it is, if you're so inclined.

(Photo from my mother's retirement party in 2006 ... two years before she unretired and went back to work.)

Actually, yes, I would like the chest to wear it on too.

Alternate title: Mother's Day--The Low Road

I know it is petty, but sometimes I would like a teensy bit of credit for the things I do. I bet you do them too. You know, the things that are essential to the running of the household; or maybe just considerate--but that go entirely unnoticed by everyone else. Things like:

• Being able to pinpoint exactly where every item of clothing is at any moment: "your middle drawer"/"the hamper"/"in your cubby at school"/"in the too-small box because you outgrew it two years ago"


• The biweekly declutter (along with the weekly, semiweekly, daily, and hourly declutters)


• Dressing and undressing in the dark if others are sleeping


• Unloading the dishwasher 98.7% of the time
  
• Wiping the bathroom sink clean every single night (can't anyone get their toothpaste down the drain? How does it end up on the shelf under the medicine cabinet?)

So for Mother's Day, I am giving myself a giant pat on the back. And here's one for you too; what do you do that no one ever appreciates?



*My husband is very good at holidays so I am sure I will be suitably thanked and celebrated today. It's just the other 364 days a year that sometimes need work.

Food in the round; and what the Internet is for

I loved this week's creative challenges at Hot by BlogHer. I chose to do the diet challenge:

For this challenge, choose one day this week and photograph every bite you eat, then blog those photos. (Before you eat it, of course.) You'll not only be hyperaware of food choices due to the accountability of blogging it, but you may be surprised when you see your entire day of food in front of you.

1 Nonfat chai latte; 2 apple slices left from kid's breakfast; 3 oatmeal with blueberries, almonds, and a splash of chai concentrate; 4 stir fry with brown rice, tofu, broccoli, carrots, shiitake mushrooms, and bok choy, plus tea; 5 Annie's peace pasta with parmesan, again with the kid leftovers; 6 sugar snap peas; 7 "club sandwich" wrap with steamed vegetables; 8 roasted cashews with cinnamon and sugar; 9 seltzer

I am amused by the roundness of all my containers. And surprised by the small amount of food (I only ate half of that ridiculously oversized wrap). This is a pretty normal day of eating for me, except we went out to dinner. But not at a decent restaurant, so that wrap was the best thing I could find on the menu. We saw a show and were unable to resist the intoxicating scent of the ($7!) cone of roasted crack cashews.

And as your reward for being interested enough in my daily food intake to read this whole post, here is a clip from the show we saw. Still just as funny as when we first saw it 6(?) years ago.

Who's the mouthiest of them all?

I've been awake since before 7 a.m. It is now past 11 a.m. and I have yet to sit down to actually do any work. I've been ferrying children to school and also ferrying misplaced stuff all over my house--today was biweekly Declutter Day. Yes, it took almost two hours to move all the upstairs stuff back upstairs and the downstairs stuff back downstairs and the basement stuff back to the basement.

I wonder what the mystery ladies behind The Mouthy Housewives would have to say about that? I may have to click over there and ask for their advice. If I can handle the mouthy truth.

Kids in a crate

After I saw this caged kids picture at Kimberly's, I had to see her two kids and raise her two with this:

It's an outtake from our recycled fitness toys photo shoot.

Mostly unrelated funny story: Once Jeff was flipping channels and "Snakes on a Plane" came on. I immediately yelled "M-f-ing snakes on a m-f-ing plane!" And he looked at me like I was completely insane, because somehow he had entirely missed the SoaP pop-culture moment.

But within about 30 seconds (no kidding), Samuel L. Jackson delivered the all-important line, and my credibility was rightfully restored.