I’d Give Him 4 Days to Survive in the Desert

In celebration of  Spring Break this week, I asked my hubby to fetch my son’s lunchbox from his backpack in the laundry room, so I could wash it out.
He was gone for a while and I heard him call in a disturbed voice, “Can you come here for a minute?”
I walked into the laundry room to see this on the floor:
I give you the contents of my child’s backpack:
2 keychains (without keys)
4 broken pencils
3 Mardi Gras necklaces (claimed by the toddler)
4 wrinkled bookmarks
1 paper nickel
1 snowman picture frame sans a picture (possibly my Christmas present?)
5 smashed granola bars
1 Mardi Gras baby (claimed for luck by the older sister)
2 dusty, dirty zip lock bags full of rocks (pretty disturbed by this one)
1 Squirmie Wormie
1 Thanksgiving macaroni necklace
2 pixie sticks (still containing pixie)
1 Valentine’s card
2 pieces of a candy cane (which I had to talk my son out of eating)
1 paper hat
1 zip lock bag full of crushed graham cracker crumbs
1 Mattel Classic Football game from the 1980’s
1 Disney Cars notepad
And one very ashamed mother who will not send granola bars as a snack choice any longer.
What’s in your child’s backpack (closet, under the bed, secret stash)? 
I dare you to go look. 


Sometimes, I Don’t Even Have to Try

The glass isn’t half empty.
Or half full.
It’s somewhere right in the middle.
And that’s how God made me. I’m not overly positive or strongly negative. I’m somewhere in the middle. I like to call it realism.
So, I’ll be the first to tell you that I don’t automatically laugh at some of the things that come my way. I also don’t run to the nearest bridge and heave a leg over.
I deal with it and the laughter comes later.
Usually.
And then there are days that are made up of moments that form one hilarious calamity. And I can’t help it. I don’t process these days or over think them. 
I just laugh.
Case in point: A constipated toddler. There is nothing funny about this, unless you are at someone else’s house. And of course, the point of reckoning happens in their bathroom and the explicit step-by-step vocabulary of the 2 yo can be heard throughout the house.  There were tears and yelling and clapping (and my toddler even said a word or two). 
But, please, let your imagination wander. It can’t come close to the actual experience. 
Or my red face.
The same day my son returned from school with his class pictures. You know, the ones I forgot they were taking! When I saw the photograph, I hoped against hope, he had ART before the picture (note the black marker? paint? dirt? on his hands). I spent the rest of the afternoon wracking my brain trying to recall if he actually had a bath the night before.

Or my personal favorite: My child lost a tooth right before bed. I didn’t have a red cent to my name.  And so, I borrowed money from the Girl Scout Cookie collection envelope.  
And then I had to explain to my little Brownie why I’m wasn’t actually a thief, when she caught me red-handed.
P.S. The toddler has worked out her issues. Literally.
P.S.S. I didn’t buy the pictures. Because.
P.S.S.S. I returned the money. Did you doubt me?
I decided to link up the un-scrappable photo to Sincerely ‘Fro Me to You! Join the fun.

And the Chair Wins

The other day, my toddler whined and cried for a lollipop she saw sticking out of the corner of my purse. {Not that I bribe with sweet treats. No, not me!}
I kicked myself for not hiding the emergency candy deeper into my all-purpose tote.  
I relented and gave her the treat, on one condition: She had to eat it in her little red chair (that was in the corner of the kitchen).
As soon as the words were out of my mouth and the sucker in her mouth, she happily sat down. 
I answered the phone. Paid a bill. And heard the scraping of the chair.
She was in the living room, pushing the chair.
As soon as I said her name, she hopped into the tiny seat and said with sticky hands, “I in chair, Momma.”
I turned back to my work at hand and heard the dragging of the chair throughout the house.
Every time I looked at her, she quickly sat down.
That is one smart chair.
Oh, and I wanted to add that my child would never dispose of said lollipop on the arm of my sofa.

Never! Not my kid.

Also:

I wanted you to know about this publication I’m a part of called Serious.Life Magazine.  They just published the February issue today, and I am in their Featured Blog Directory. It’s a very high quality magazine… you’ll really like it.

 

The magazine includes a lot of great content from bloggers you’ll appreciate, as well as great features, photos and other content.  

 

Again, the subscription is free, and I know you’ll enjoy the magazine, so take a minute to check it out and sign up to get future issues. www.seriouslifemagazine.com

Because I Feel Like Talking About Animals

As I was leaving my parent’s cul-de-sac the other night and heading down the street to my home, I noticed this sign at then end of their street.
The kids and I pulled in for a closer look:
My Mom explained that the little boy next door, found a dead squirrel in the road.
He wept at the loss of innocent life.
And then named him Fred.
He spent the entire day creating this memorial that reads:
R.I.P. Squirrel
Sad
5 years old
and then he glued a little red baseball hat at the bottom of the sign.
As I was taking a picture of the sign (my 8 year old was hiding in the back seat, bemoaning her embarrassing life) the little neighbor walked up and told us all about Fred.
Fred had a good made-up life, after his death.
And he loved baseball.
I couldn’t help but think of the squirrels in my own back yard that I secretly despised.  Okay, not so secretly.
It makes one think, ya know?
Because if the silver puffy painted sign doesn’t say “You will be missed,” I don’t know what does.
Stay tuned for TWO FANTASTIC GIVEAWAYS this week from creative Moms!