A Day at the Park

“Honey, I am going to take the girls to the park this morning. You can shower with no distractions.” Hubby smiled, obviously quite proud of himself.

“Wow. Great. Bring the sippy cups. Whole milk for baby 2. Skim milk for baby 1.”

“Got it!”

“Snacks. Bring snacks.” I advised.

“Oh, we won’t need those. We’ll be gone for just a bit.”

Hysterical laughter.

“Ok, I’ll bring snacks.” He concedes.

“Cheerios for Baby 2. Raisins for Baby 1.”

“Okey, Dokes…” Hubby was halfway out the door.

“Don’t put the snacks in a baggie. Choking hazard.” I warned.

“Yep. Got it.”

“I hope you’re not thinking of going anywhere unarmed. Grab the diaper bag,” I continued.

“That big, flowery, womanly thing? I’ll just grab a diaper and throw it in the back.”

“Wipes. Bring wipes then.”

“Gotcha!” He chuckled.

“And a change of clothes….in case there’s a poop explosion.”

“Alright, I’ll bring the girlie bag!” He begins to admit defeat.

“Throw in a couple hats and sunscreen. They inherited my skin.”

“Hats? They have hats?” He scratches his head, confusion looming.

“And a couple sweaters in case it clouds up," warns Weather Mamma.

“Should I bring an overnight bag?” he jokes.

I ignore the joke and continue...

“A blanket would be a good idea.
Not her quilt. The grass will get it wet.
Ya might wanna grab a ponytail holder.
Not that one. It pulls her hair.
And grab some hair clips.
Not the sparkly one. It scratches.
Don’t forget a baby toy.
No, that one might have lead. Try this one.
The Kleenexes are on the table.
Ah, the purse size one is …well…..in my purse.
Oh, here’s their sunglasses.
And, put some shoes on them, ya goofball!”

My checklist complete, and my hot, much anticipated shower only seconds away....

“Um….looks like it might rain….Do I have to bring all this stuff if I just take ‘em to Target?”

My Monthly Dragon

I have a beast that lives in my closet. Scaly and mean, she naps most of the month. But, sometime between week three and four, like clockwork, she rears her ugly head. It usually starts with a low guttural growl of a warning, escalates quickly, and if not carefully managed, can make an ugly mess.

Hubby is quick to help manage the crisis. His emergency trips to the grocery store are always met with appreciation.

“Drop the chips and back away!”

Our darling daughters contribute to the cause.

“Mommy, where’s my Halloween candy?”

Door to door salesmen take one for the Gipper.

“We DON”T want any!!!!!!!”

My OB/GYN offered tidbits of advice.

“There is a birth control pill that has a little Prozac in it.”

And, at the peak of the fury, the bagger at the grocery store offered himself up as a sacrificial lamb.

“Don’t put the EGGS at the BOTTOM!!!!”

Luckily, after scorching one or two victims to the bone, my dragon grows weary and retreats, belly full, to a cozy corner of my closet, nestling her head between my slippers and UGGS

And, a calm settles upon the village……….for now!

Bookworm Wednesdays

I’ve always been a wormy one, making my way through the pages of a good read. I once won a bookworm bookmark contest receiving first prize for the most witty bookmark caption. “Watch out for those cookbooks! They’re killers! Hick!” I was only 8, but yet still related to bookwormly humor.

To pay homage to my bookworm roots, I have decided to name ( most) Wednesdays as Bookworm Wednesday. On such Wednesdays, I will focus on some sort of bookish topic…book review (with a twist naturally), character analysis (with a curve thrown in), book gadgets, or some sort of library related topic. (I have lots to say about the library.)

Today, I will introduce you to my inner bookworm. She wormed her way into my heart as a small child and took up permanent residence. I admit, she was a deep in the closet bookworm in high school, took a paid vacation in college and became a late night type in my twenties. Today, encouraged by my devil may care…I- am- nose- to- nose -with -40- anyway attitude, she is in full swing. Finally, feeling appreciated, she has gained confidence and esteem. She has toyed with the idea of changing her name to Book Caterpillar, thinking that “worm” had a negative, wormy ring. She has extended her social network, hanging out in the sections of the bookstore she never dreamed of and she is thrilled to be the star of this blog entry. She hopes to inspire others to join the bookwormly revolution and she prays I won’t make too much fun of her eccentric nature.

Here’s to you, Book Caterpillar, my wormy, little friend.

Freaky Friday

My girls were hot and sweaty in their furry outfits, my monkey and Halloween poodle, both scratching and complaining. The Costume Parade at the local retirement home had gone as scheduled. We were met with some bright smiles, some foggy grins, and truth be told, quite a few confused stares. And, according to schedule, for the third year in a row, my hubby later shared his views about our twilight years over dinner. ”Just take me out to the backyard.” And, again, one of my hisses finished that conversation.

“I envy your busy hands,” an elderly lady had whispered as I walked past. My busy hands, I thought, as I lugged my wiggly, twisty, children to the mini van. I had just been thinking how a quiet lunch in bed, with a book propped, a pretty view and an on call nurse sounded inviting. Have I lost my mommy mind? Have I been tortured to the point that I view a quiet bed, any bed, anywhere as a vacation??

My mind began to gallop away with the thoughts of escape. Perhaps some sort of Freaky Friday -Trading Places – Senior Wife Swap? I could get a few hours in a toasty bed munching on a pb&j sandwich and a good read while someone named Edith rocked my baby and brushed my 3 year old’s tangled hair? Is this a fair swap?

Most likely not. Most likely I should take a moment to listen to the advice that the little blue haired lady in the wheelchair was whispering just under her breath.
“I envy your busy hands.”

Which, I will do, as soon as I get a minute………..

Mulitasking Mamma

Mammatalk enters front door cradling baby on hip, balancing cell phone on shoulder, groceries hung on arm, pinky holding 3 year old hand, foot kicking the door open, right side of mouth shouting hello to neighbor, left side of mouth finishing phone conversation with Grannytalk, right eye winking at hubby in kitchen, left eye watching baby eat car keys, back of mind making note of next week’s doctor’s appt, front of mind busy navigating path through toy scattered living room.

“Hoooney…Help me with groceries?”

Daddatalk is dicing tomatoes in kitchen. “Just a minute. I am focusing.”

Moral: Superhero multi-taskers shouldn’t took down their noses at mere mortals, especially if he’s cooking in the kitchen.

Disco Pumpkin

Charlie Pumpkin was a good pumpkin. Round and smiley, he sat alone on page three in The Little Halloween book. He faithfully entertained my oldest daughter for the past three years, enduring flips and flaps, endless page turns and violations from a pink crayon. Never did his disposition take a turn for the worse. He sat in his spooky scene cackling gleefully despite his frozen circumstances. He waited patiently during his 5 month little banishment under the couch. He had no grievances over the rip through his middle. Nor did he complain over the apple juice fiasco. He lovingly grinned as sticky fingers smudged his ink. He lived a lonely existence between the crumpled pages, always surrendering to a toddler’s love.

Today, Charlie gets a facelift. We glued and taped and, in the end, we stapled. Between the orange Crayola and iridescent glitter, we managed to somewhat regain Charlie’s original complexion. And when we were done, my three year old stuck a sparkly ghost sticker, hovering just overhead in the starry sky, a ghostly disco of a scene.

“A friend,” she sighed.

A good deed done!

Book ADD

I admit it. I am a book hopper, always starting and stopping some poor and unfortunate novel; always on the look out for that one book that will sweep me away. I blame it on my Book ADD (are there drugs for this?) that was triggered by my maternal hormones. In my premarital life, I spent long stretches of time lingering over a gut wrenching book…. Ah… an evening well spent. ( got married late, remember?) Now, if a book is to be read, it must be devoured in 90 second intervals….bit by bit….during those heavenly pockets of peace between baby screams and three year old whines; between poopy diapers and poopy pants; baby scrapes and bandaged knees.

The book must be fast paced and quickly engaging. It must take me away to an exotic locale, with heroes and eccentrics dancing around an intricate plot. I ‘d like to be challenged, the boundaries of my reality pushed with far reaching story lines, my attention captured with its spiral twists and hairpin curves, and satisfied by a heart warming ending. I am looking for a book full of charm and wit; a book that holds a mirror to your soul; a book that will suck you into another cultural context, time and place, toying with universal themes of love, passion and betrayal.

A tall order, yes?

On this typical morning, I was book hunting in Costco, scanning the stacks of books, both girls quiet and sticky faced from their cookie eating. I had no more than a handful of moments to make my selection before the cookies were devoured and the threat of whines loomed. My heart ached at the selections. Love in the Time of Cholera….Suite Francaise,…..The Glass House……Peony in Love…so many choices. I settled on The Secret Life of Bees, an older book that had been giving me the eye for years.

“It’s about time we met,” I said flopping the book into the shopping cart.

Maybe it will be a book that can be read 90 seconds at a time during those exquisite pockets of peace….

Microwave Mondays

Yeah!! It’s time for Microwave Mondays. I tried this recipe just the other Sunday for my brood, and boy were they chippity chip happy! It fed a family of four for under 10 dollars. I clipped a few coupons from our Sunday paper. Golly, I must have saved 42 cents! Anyhoot, here is the recipe from Grammy….

Chicken Cassserole

Take 2 chicken breasts, marinate
3 pinches of parsely
A dash of Parmesan cheese…..


Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!!

We interrupt this blog posting to give you a message from the Emergency Mommy Sex System!

Hubby’s home from trip! Both legs shaved. Body spritzed. Kids exhausted from run in the park. Wine chilled. Rose petals scattered (Ok, I made that up) Toenails clipped (didn’t make that one up) House clean (hahhahhaha!) Dander up! Game on!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming….


Cook chicken in microwavable dish for 45 minutes ( every microwave is different, please see your microwave instruction booklet……….





(Please note. This blog entry is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to other blogs, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.)

Hold the Mustard

Today I will tip my hat to a bloggin’ queen. Her Bad Mother has done it again with this post. She writes about one horrific baby poop story involving a restaurant bathroom and no wipes. She also invites you to share your own baby poop story in her comments. I posted a humble “I dodged the poop bullet”. Sure, I have had my share of squirts and dribbles, but nothing even close to this. It’s a long one, so grab your coffee and enjoy an excellent read. Many of the comments are also very worthwhile reading. Top notch writing and knock your socks off humor!!

You also can support a good cause if you read the post directly following.

Daddatalk

Mammatalk: Hooooney, remember our first date? I just knew we’d be 2gether 4ever. You smiled your big smile and I got all goosebumpy. You were so sweet standing there with your roses.

Daddatalk: Hmmmm?

Mammatalk: And, on our third date, you bought me that pretty necklace, the one with the moonstone. And, on our 6th date, we stayed up late talking. I knew it was you. I just had a gut feeling that I’d meet my husband soon. I knew it. I just knew it had to be you.

Daddatalk: Mmmmm!

Mammatalk: Remember how everyone thought we were nuts running off to Europe together just 2 months after we met? Silly kids, we were! Right, honey?!

Daddatalk: huh?! Ummmm…yeah.

Mammatalk: And your parents just loved me and my family was crazy about you. And it all sorta clicked. Like a cosmic button being pushed really, really hard.

Daddatalk: uh, huh…

Mammatalk: Isn’t it nice that, after 6 years, we can still talk for hours and just sit and hold hands like a couple of crazy kids? So, romantic…Kinda like on our 11th date…

Daddatalk: So, ya wanna get busy?


Moral: Ya gotta get, when the getting’s good.