Acceptance, Tolerance, And Empathy: Things my kids have learned from Voldemort and other villians.

Recently I was given reason to take a step back from my own situation and examine my own parenting and the lifestyle in which my children are being raised. I was made to feel guilt and doubt, and I wanted to take some time to reflect upon the choices I make regarding my children. The attack came from someone I don’t know, leaving me to wonder if the opinion was rather more unbiased than that of friends and family, who wouldn’t normally criticize how I do things, for fear of hurting my feelings. It was specifically in regards to the movies and literature I choose to expose my children to. It was suggested that perhaps some of the content I allow my children to be privy to were perhaps too advanced, too mature, too terrifying for their small, maybe even weak minds. It made me wonder, what it is, I really am exposing them to?

            I have always had a specific genre of books, movies and shows on TV I am especially drawn to. I devour every fantasy book I can get my hands on, I become absolutely enthralled with movies and television series set in magical, fantastical lands, future, dystopian societies, and anything that revolves around people with special abilities, cast aside by society as “weird”, who end up “saving the day”. In the same way fathers sometimes enjoy sharing their favorite sport with their child, I too, enjoy sharing my favorites with my kids. The question now becomes, am I doing this for selfish reasons? Am I forcing something on them they shouldn’t be a part of, just yet? I took a deeper look at the specific literature and movies they’ve heard and seen so many times in their short lives, they nearly have every line memorized.

            Among some of our more beloved works are Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, we’ve even watched The Divergent series together, and most recently, after having read all three in as many days, we went to the movie theater and saw Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. On the surface these types of books and movies are nothing more than pure fantasy, plots revolving around magic, nothing that could ever happen in the “real world”. There are however, plenty of violent scenes described and/or shown. I have decided though, that not only is the surface level a bad thing, but neither is the violence or the deeper meanings weaved into the stories. As far the most simple of layers to these works go, the root lesson being taught is imagination. Albert Einstein said, “Imagination is everything. It is the preview for life’s coming attractions.”

            Child experts unanimously agree imagination in a child’s life has benefits that are to be celebrated. Children with active imaginations are more creative, happier, more alert, more likely to cope with life’s twists and turns, and usually grow into well-adjusted and secure adults. Imagination is the younger sibling to creativity and innovation. All of which are traits I would be proud to the point of bursting to have instilled into my children. The fantasy books and movies I allow, and encourage my kids to hear and see foster within them a sense of magic. It teaches them to see the mundane, and use their minds to make the boring, the tepid, and the tedious parts of life a truly wild adventure. When we, as people, become complacent and bored we lose our passion. The potential that is always hidden beneath a layer of bland, humdrum regularity, ignites a passion within us to uncover what could be. I don’t want my children to ever lose that, that feeling that makes our hearts skip, that which makes us wonder with curiosity and the passion that drives us to work until the mystery underneath is discovered. When we lose our passion, we lose the ability to truly live.

            As mentioned earlier, there is some violence within many of the fantasy series we love. I am against the gore. There is no reason for children to see blood and guts. It’s just gross. If and when there are scenes that portray anything bloody and disgusting, we fast forward, or close our eyes. My so-called righteous quest for enlightenment for both myself and my kids is not at the cost of their innocence.  I think, as a parent it is within my job description to discern what is too-much. My line is drawn when the fake blood starts to spray at the camera. There are though, instances of death that can be used as a learning experience that aren’t accompanied by graphic and grotesque bodily injury. In Harry Potter, when Dobby dies, we learn there is evil in this world, and we learn the virtue of loyalty. When, in LOTR, we see what we think is Gandalf’s heroic and sacrificial death, we learn the same thing. I would much rather explain and discuss the bad things that do happen in this world through fantasy. When it gets to be too heavy, too deep and too scary, we can turn it off and know it’s just pretend. It does though, prepare them later in life for the moments we can’t shut off and close our eyes too. But throughout all of the death portrayed, there is a glimmer, a beautiful, shining spark that never fails, and that which we cling to even in real life. HOPE.

            I believe I am teaching my children to always have hope. No matter what evil comes their way, there is hope and we see it the way the heroes in our stories fight fiercely for good. The underdog, the underprivileged, the cast offs, they are the ones who come forward and do what is right. With hope comes tolerance and acceptance. These types of stories show us that despite illness (Remus Lupin), despite mental illness (Jake, the peculiar child after his grandfather dies) you can still persevere. The oddballs, the freaks, they are the ones we learn to love and understand and have a deep empathy for. I would be thrilled to know my children have the same attitude towards the “freaks” they encounter in the real world. Another important aspect I have come away with and encourage my children to see are the overwhelming amount of female empowerment within the fantasy genre. Maybe someday it won’t be a fantasy?  

            Many of these movies have a rating of PG-13. I was told there are ratings for a reason. I agree. PG stands for parental guidance and I absolutely believe if you as a parent are too inept and unequipped to guide your children through what they are seeing than you do more damage than good. I understand that some parents just don’t understand what they are truly reading or seeing and those are the types I would strongly caution against movies with PG13 ratings. But if you can see the bigger picture and can turn it into a life lesson then perhaps this genre is for you and your kids. The “G” refers to guidance as there is a large range of movies within this rating. LOTR, Avatar, Pirates of the Caribbean, Harry Potter, X-Men, Bruce Almighty, Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park 3, The Avengers, Starwars, Spider Man and Batman are all rated the exact same as Drag me to Hell, The Ring, 6^th Sense, Insidious, The Woman in Black and World War Z, amongst many other horror flicks.

            Above all, though, I hope I am fostering a sense of joy and creativity. The same way in which the God I serve, and am teaching my children to serve, fosters joy and creativity in me. He is the ultimate in creativity but He has never shied away from violence. He was murdered brutally, but God, Himself, is the hope all these works of literature palely try to imitate. There is bad in this world, and sometimes, yes, I let my kids see it in movies, that they may know how blessed they are to have both parents and a secure setting to grow up in and turn to. For those who don’t, just remember, JK Rowling said, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home. <3

Help me, I'm Poor.

I have a confession, guys. It’s not a good one. It’s ugly, really ugly. I found something out about myself this past week, and it’s enough to make me sick. This whole time I thought I was Annie, maybe even Megan, from Bridesmaids but I am absolutely, 100% Helen. There it is. I am Helen. I’m competitive, slightly arrogant, I have a mean streak, and I am insecure to top off the old self-hate sundae. I might not be planning a bridal shower, but I am planning a preschool Halloween party, and this whole thing has brought out the she-wolf in me.

I have “mom-ed” so hard this week I popped a blood vessel and my left eye is doing this permanent, irritating twitch. I can’t make it stop. I look like I forgot my medicine. When my son started school, I was literally the first to sign up to be Room Mother (all caps, it’s a super important gig), so there’s my stupid name, on the stupid list, front and center, CAITLYN SHITHEAD GEORGE. I thought I was being a super present, awesome mom. Look at me go, I thought, first in line, I’ll make some cute Pinterest fail pretzel skeletons, and stand around and “assist” the teachers. I have never been so wrong.

I walk into school last week and the teachers pull me aside to tell me they usually have a craft, some games, snacks, treat bags, and story time, and I will need to organize the whole thing, and make a sign-up sheet for the other parents to donate things towards this dumb party. WHAT?!? I am already on edge having to do my make-up every day for drop-off, and now this?? I smile so hard wisdom teeth I had pulled 8 years ago are showing, nod like I knew all along what Room Mother meant, and pat my son on the head, and walk out backwards, two thumbs up, winking at the teach. “You got it sister, I’m good to go!” I think she thinks I’m manic, I don’t know.

I immediately go home and cuss out my husband, it’s obviously HIS fault as he insisted on sending our son to this pretentious, over-priced, elitist, college prep, DAY CARE, and it’s his fault I am now in charge of making sure no one asphyxiates when I accidentally organize a party with peanuts everywhere for the allergic kids.  After I calm down, which for me, means voraciously chain smoking for an hour while crying to my mom, I take action. And here is where Helen comes into this sad story.

            I made an actual agenda, down to the minute, every second of this party is meticulously planned out. I made this over the top photo booth, a wooden pallet sign; I used chalk paint to write the name of the school as a prop, as well as some rustic pumpkins, a back drop, I even got hay bales guys. Hay. Bales.  I’m going to snap everyone’s picture and run down to the one-hour photo, so for craft time they can decorate a frame with their Halloween costume photo sesh pic inside. I have 14 pumpkins to paint and decorate, games, cutesy Halloween snacks, and I am ashamed to admit, 14 signed copies of my book.

I have a book published. “You Dooooooooo?” – (Annie) Everyone. I even wrote every parent a letter, detailing the party, what I needed donated and a rage-inducing poem I wrote called The Invitation, about a Halloween party at a spooky, haunted house. I know, I know, it’s so damn obnoxious! Guys, I titled the poem and did this at the end: “ –Caitlyn George”… I HATE ME TOO!! Like, why? Last, but certainly not least, I made every mother who is helping me some homemade, organic goat shit soap, I mean milk, PRINTED OFF A HYMN, SOAKED IT IN COFFEE TO MAKE IT RUSTIC AND WRAPPED THEM, DECORATED THEM WITH EFFING BIRDS, AND PUT THEM IN A BAG THAT SAYS “YOU’RE A TWEET-HEART.”!!!!!!! I literally have never wanted to punch myself so hard in the face. I may as well go all out, like Helen, and hand out puppies at the end.  

            I wanted so hard to show everyone what an amazing mother I am, how thoughtful, clever, witty and creative I am. I write poems, I make my own soap, I’m published, and rainbows come out of my ass, meanwhile, like Helen’s step children in Bridesmaids, my own kids are like, “we hate you.” I was so desperate to crush all the other moms, and walk away with them wondering, what CAN’T this bitch do, that I am the exact type of person, or rather, I am behaving like the type of woman, I cannot stand. I want to be friends with Megan, who hits on Air Marshals and takes 9 puppies home. Instead I am acting like Helen, with her giant cookie and bleached butt…

            Every day I tell Dominic as I send him off to show the other kids in his class who is in his heart. I mean Jesus. I am sitting here staring at this box of party supplies, ashamed at how passive aggressive, competitive and insecure I was being. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone, I don’t need to be perfect and 4 year olds don’t give a rip about rustic autumnal décor vs. tacky plastic ghost figurines. I may have put together a cute party, but in doing so I will have made every single woman I have to work with, hate my guts. I know I would. I can whip up some handmade soap, but am I nice? Am I kind? My poems might be okay, but am I funny? Can I poke fun at myself and be humble? These are the things that matter, and I think with that being said, tomorrow, when I drop my kid off, I’ll be true to myself and show up in pajama pants, and let them all hear me screaming into the backseat, “KNOCK IT OFF YOU LITTLE SHITS!”.  I tell my kids constantly that it’s better to put yourself down, and let someone else raise you up, than to do it yourself and allow the world to destroy you. I am who I am. And that alone should be something to be proud of, there is no reason to try so hard to show off. My kids love me, and they are happy and healthy. Be an Annie, not a Helen.

Saying GOOD BYE to my baby

     This morning I was met with some very unexpected feelings. They come as a shock to me, I had no idea I would suffer such an intense, emotional identity crisis. Since April 7th, 2012, 4 years, one month and one week today, I have been in a particular season of life. My entire existence since that day, my whole schedule, everything about me, has revolved around diaper changes. Every place I've gone to, every home I visit, every doctor appointment, dentist appointment, and church nursery has been a place for me to change dirty diapers, discard them discreetly, or not so discreetly, a place where I've gently and carefully wiped precious little bottoms clean. Poop isn't something most come to find endearing or special, our own, or anyone else's. As mothers however, we have been charged with total care of these little people from the cute and adorable down to the most revolting of tasks. In all actuality it isn't the poop that's important, it's the meaning behind it. They need us for everything, without us they'd be hungry, sick, and soiled. In the same way nursing a child is an intimate and bonding experience, so is being the one person in this world who will wash from their delicate skin that which most wouldn't even come near, without huge sums of money involved and at the very least a wrinkled nose. It may be disgusting, but we do it, without hesitation because they need us. We are everything to them and in turn, our every moment of life from the day they're born until the day they don't use diapers anymore, all aspects of our being orbits around ensuring they never have to feel discomfort.
     When my first born became potty trained, I was elated and proud. Everything he does is new and exciting. A new frontier, a new challenge, I never once felt any sort of loss. I didn't mourn the stage he was leaving, because his little sister was still in that familiar territory that I had grown so accustomed to. No matter what my first does, I always have his sister, still a baby, still needing me for everything. I can enjoy his independence, while still clinging to her babyhood. This morning, though, marks 24 hours wearing Frozen undies in various shades of pink, with not one accident. She even went the entire night without a diaper. She walks herself to the potty, climbs up a step stool, does her business, and then patiently waits for me to come in and wipe her little bottom. She hops down, pulls her pants up, says "thanks mommy!", and runs off to continue whatever it was she was doing when nature's call interrupted. I am beaming with pride over this development, I cannot believe how quickly she figured it all out. However, I had no idea how sad it would make me as well. I didn't mentally prepare myself, I didn't say good bye to my baby girl, I didn't think to cherish every moment I would never get back of her and I alone somewhere, changing diapers. She always talked to me in her little voice, she used to pull on my hair, I remember when she'd lay there and chew on her toes while I rummaged around for the baby wipes. Once you begin to potty train, you can never, ever go back. Once they've learned it, that is the utter end of that season.
     Diapering not only consumes your life from the moment they're born, it also brings with it a sense of identity for momma, and an entire community of diapering mothers welcome you to the sisterhood with open arms. Who am I without my gigantic, obtrusive, bulky, 600 pound diaper bag, that is the bane of my existence?  How many times have I complained about needing to take it with me everywhere I go? How many photos have been taken of me with it on my shoulder or in the background, marking me as a new mother? What will it be like to grocery shop and never again need to steer my cart towards the baby aisle? What will summertime be like without my go-to staple of swim diapers? For so long, this has been who I am, and what I do. I grieve the loss of her baby years, and I grieve the loss of my identity as "mommy-to-babies". The sense of community too, that I have so grown to love and appreciate feels as if it's slipping. How many times have I easily started conversations with other mothers who have children the same age with jokes about diapers, blow outs, baby poop and so on? We all share that, and you could be anywhere, run out of baby wipes and someone in the vicinity in the same stage as you could offer up a few of her own.
     I have started a whole new phase, and don't get me wrong, the thought of how much money we will save alone, has me absolutely jumping with joy, not to mention the insufferable bragging rights I now have as far as having both kids potty trained and out of diapers, but there is still a persistent sense of loss I can't seem to shake this morning. I am no longer a mommy to infants. I am no longer ever going to change another diaper ever again. I will never frantically search for a changing table out in public. My regret is not paying enough attention to each and every second I was in charge of babies. After so long, I started to be set on auto-pilot and now that that task is forever a part of my personal motherhood history book, I can't help but feel grief. When one stage ends, an entirely new one begins, bringing with it, it's own set of hardships and joys. I am so looking forward to this second part of mommyhood, I am thrilled my bag will now be considerably less heavy, I am pleased for her, watching her beam with pride over her own accomplishments, but allow me this small moment to say good bye to my babies. I will genuinely miss the smell of warm morning diapers, the fluffy butts inside tight, baby pants, the bow legged toddle of a full diaper, and the chubby bunny look of a little girl, in just a diaper, running around the yard or house. You were a pleasure to care for baby girl, and I can't wait to see what this new season of life brings us! So long baby, and cheers to officially being a kid!
     My only advice, as trite as it may be, to new moms is to enjoy every second. As exhausting and inconvenient as it all may be, once it's over, you will never again see your child in diapers. Some things you can't get back, so take lots of pictures, try to soak in that special time between you and baby as you clean them up (not literally, that's gross) and know that someday they won't need you for that anymore, and that is a special, God given honor to be the one who they rely on for everything. <3

The cat's out of the bag, I got BOTOX.

I had intended on writing this for Mother's Day, as it's a blog post about my Mother's Day gift, but I have been exceedingly busy as of late...er...as of always really. So excuse the lateness. What does a busy, tired, and haggard looking mom want most for Mother's Day? What does she need? One might suggest a day of rest and relaxation, or perhaps an uninterrupted nap and bubble bath. Well not this mama. I received for Mom's Day 15 injections right into my face. I'm laughing as I write this, because I already know how ludicrous it sounds...you can't actually tell by my facial expression, or lack thereof that I'm laughing, but I can still make the sound, at least. If you haven't already guessed, I was given the gift of everlasting youth, technically called BOTOX. Yes, I know I am only 24 to 26 years old ( see what I did there?) but the lines gently etched into my face have bothered me for quite some time, and I decided to erase them.
   When you schedule an appointment, the cosmetic surgeon must first do a consultation, for a heavy fee of course, on top of the actual procedure, and for "free" ( yeah right!) He also included an over-all consult, to cover any other procedure I may need or want now or in the future. I was asked to undress, much like you do at the gyno, and given a huge paper towel to wear for "modesty" purposes. I sat and waited on him to enter, expecting a man who resembled Ken, or Brad Pitt given his profession, but instead, in walked the bald bad guy from The Princess Bride. Well, the cobbler doesn't ever have new shoes as they say, so I brushed off his imperfect appearance. His first consultation covered possible breast augmentation. He was curt and to the point. He wasn't overly friendly, if at all. The first words out of his mouth was an incredulous observation regarding how tight I wear my bra. I said, well, I've had two kids, and nursed both for awhile, I am pushing and pulling them up and out, at the expense of my diaphragm, to appear larger and perkier. He didn't laugh. I did, nervously though. His final conclusion was one boob was an entire cup size smaller. Now, I can tell you with complete honesty, I have always fantasized about a boob job. I have always thought it would be awesome to have huge, super perky tits, but I have never once thought one was bigger than the other! I actually didn't think mine were too bad. I look in the mirror after a shower, and think...two kids? Not too shabby, sister!
   Next he inspected my belly. It is an absolute subconscious reflex to suck in and flex, at all times. The only time I'm not is when I'm asleep. He irritatedly told me to relax my stomach, and I had to really muster up bravery for that small act. I literally breathed deeply and closed my eyes, then let that thing hang out. He started painfully yanking and pulling on me, showing me where my belly button should actually be placed as opposed to where it is now. ha! (Again, I'm smirking, but you can't tell.) He told me I need a tuck, and he would reconstruct my belly button, even going so far as to say he would remove my heinous belly button ring scar. The belly button ring I got when I was 16, with my mom. The time we went to the tattoo shop together and she let me pierce it without telling my dad. I wrapped myself back up in my paper towel quickly, and asked uncomfortably how much all this would cost.
  He asked me if it mattered! SIGH. The last thing on the list was my face. They hemmed and hawed, way too close to my pores and the zit on my forehead and concluded, the doctor and his esthetic's professional, that my face skin was much, much older than my actual biological age, and I certainly needed the botox, and 200 dollars worth of skin care shit. I had entered the office thinking I was pretty hot, and one small injection later I would be perfect, and as my appointment drew to an end, I felt like a withered husk of a woman. I had effed up boobs, my belly button was halfway up my rib cage now apparently, I had floppy, loose skin hanging off my bones like plastic grocery bags, and my skin was pushing 80 years old. I slouched around the office, like a deflated balloon. WHY AM I SO HIDEOUS?!?!
   I admit, I went through with the Botox injections, despite the feeling I was totally being hustled. Insurance doesn't cover any of it, and the doctor is in it to make MONEY. Much like any salesmen, they high pressure sale you into things you suddenly think you NEED. He wiped my face with alcohol, and one after the other stuck my face with a needle. They advised against grand facial expressions, crinkling my nose, squinting, and furrowing my brow.  I left the office completely dejected, despite the brochure that said the office was in the business of improving self esteem. I really have considered all these procedures before, and how amazing it would be to be perfect. I can say that without shame. Who hasn't? But having actually gone through with one procedure and contemplating all the others I was consulted on, I started to think about my body and my face.
   My boobs. They fed two babies, and they've been used to nestle two little faces, as they drifted off to sleep. Behind them beats the heart that holds an immeasurable amount of love. My stomach that housed my sweet infants, stretched to the limit as they grew strong and healthy. As mentioned before even my belly button holds memories dear to me. I was truly saddened at the thought of changing any of it! Who would've thought?? And lastly my face. The face that lights up at childish antics, the brows that furrow in annoyance at my husband, the crow's feet that deepen as I squint into the summer sun, and the lines around my face that crease when I belly laugh. I don't plan on going back, or ever getting any more work done. It took the experience to realize how much I really do love myself, and how disturbing it would be to alter any of who I am. Therein lies the rub, changing the outward, would be truly changing WHO I AM. I make dramatic faces. I like to smile, and scowl, I certainly don't have resting bitch face (at least not naturally) I smile at strangers, and I wink at babies. The lesson learned was that changing what I thought I hated, was in reality, changing what I love about myself. As I write this I am making a face that says contemplation and realization, and in six months from now you'll be able to see it again. Till then, I guess I will have to start writing my blog posts again to express myself! ...now I'm smiling. HA!

Fun things to do with kids.

Sometimes being a stay-at-home-mom is boring and tedious. My son refers to bedtime as "nap time". He simply is taking a small nap in between the endless days that seem to run together. Structure and routine is very healthy for small ones, but for adults it can mean intense bouts of cabin fever and monotony. In response to such feelings I've come up with several activities that break up our days and offer education and fun. Some require imagination and some are things we've all done, but it has to be better than sitting at home watching Cars and Frozen on repeat, right?  I also would like to point out I always refer to staying home because that's my current situation, but motherhood in general sometimes needs some spice. Granted as I type this my son opened his sippy and dumped it on the white carpet, but that isn't the excitement I'm looking for....So, here are a few things I have come up with for rainy days, boring days, and days when you just need out of the house! Have fun!

1.  Several times I have taken the kids to the Humane Society and we have walked the dogs, or played with the kittens and cats. For one thing, those poor creatures need it, and for another there is never too young an age to teach compassion. It's a decent work-out for all involved and the animals and the kids love it. Kids naturally love animals. The employees will direct you to dogs that are safe, so no need to fear an attack. They'll never let volunteers near "mean" dogs. (For those of you reading this in Stark County who know the precise location of the shelter, you might also realize for REAL excitement, you might get lucky and witness an escaped convict making a run for it...just saying.) 
2. This activity takes a bit of imagination, but another outing we've gone on has been to Harry London Chocolate Factory. In the morning we watched Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the old version as the new version borders on horror and slight pedophilia) and then made our way to Harry London. They offer FREE tours, FREE samples and you get to experience the inner workings of the factory. There is an educational movie to start and it then takes you through the whole building...gigantic vats of chocolate syrup, conveyer belts loaded with chocolate covered strawberries and ends in the candy shop. They pass out samples and if you're like me, you can also buy a bunch..I mean a couple, items of your choosing. I told my kids the workers were Oompa Loompas and they believed me. It was fun. 
3. The McKinley Museum is a great way to spend a couple hours on a rainy day. They have dinosaurs, science experiments, an Old Time village you can walk through as you step back through time, a model train section, lots of local history education and learning opportunities. They also have a gift shop that sells my book..so. There's that. 
4. This summer, I recreated different scenes and events from Harry Potter, one being Hogwarts..aka Glamorgan Castle in Alliance. It is absolutely breath taking. Whether you're pretending you've entered Hogwarts, or you have a little girl who wants to see where Elsa and Anna grew up, it's a great time. The vast lawn in the front is gorgeous and inside you'll find suits of armor and a pretty chandelier. My son still talks about the pond on the front lawn and the "giant squid" I told him lived in it...Harry Potter fans unite!
5. Another one of our more memorable trips was to Hale Farm and Village. It's an entire recreated village modeling the first settler's lives, with a functioning church, school house, gardens, town store, an attorney's office, farms with real animals, a glass blower's shop, a blacksmith, amongst many more. You're free to explore and learn as you travel in and out of the different buildings, while actors dressed in full colonial garb greet you in vernacular popular to the time. They spin their own wool, make their own glass and iron products, and all product can be purchased in the gift shop at the front office. We had a fabulous time that day. One of the trips I highly encourage everyone with little people to try. "There's something they aren't telling us!"- Bridesmaids.
6. Sometimes a fun day is just that, for fun. I always try to encourage education but sometimes kids just want to bounce off the walls. Sky Maxx offers the ability to literally do so. One of the more expensive activities on my list, but well worth it if you come home afterwards and the kids are passed out in exhaustion for three hours. The floor and walls are trampolines, surrounded by netting. You buy your children a wrist band and cut them loose to wear themselves OUT for 30 minutes or an hour depending on what you spend and how long you want to chase them around. My daughter kept bouncing off across the room like a little Mexican jumping bean, and then licking the floor. No socks or shoes allowed! Gross! 
7. For the helicopter and plane enthusiasts, I recommend MAPS air museum. Offering interesting facts about the planes flown during the world wars, real artifacts and a hanger full of airplanes used during war time, it is a HUGE space to walk around in and check out. My son was allowed to sit inside different planes, touch propellers, and examine a machine gun from WW2. Both times we've gone, we have shown up within thirty minutes of closing time and both times a volunteer veteran has happily showed us around, waived admission fees and even gave Dominic a model plane from the gift shop, also for free. I have nothing but nice things to say about them. No jokes on this one, I love the people who work there! 
8. Summer time is always more fun, but a few things you may not have thought of include strawberry picking, Farmer's Markets (again, venders are always happy to hand out samples and different goodies for free to cute customers ..I meant me, not the kids..HA!), apple picking, The Zoo, and the pool. If you don't have access to a pool, my kids were happy to splash around in a large Tupperware container I filled with water. Kids don't know they're hillbillies till they're older. We also had many bon fires and roasted marshmellows and hotdogs, picked flowers and made crowns with them, and lastly, we really enjoy the Wilderness Center. The observatory building has a gift shop, and a natural museum with a huge log and life sized models of the creatures that live inside. Kids can crawl through, in and around it. The nature trails are safe, stroller accessible, show the beauty of the land, and one trail even allows dogs. I huffed and puffed, sweat, was bit by a thousand mosquitoes, and my legs were torn open by nettles, but the kids loved it.  
9. Want something free? The library. A card is free, borrowing the books is free, and they give you three warnings before they kick you out for being too loud and obnoxious. We've only ever gotten to two. My son is trying to beat our record by pulling all the books off the shelves and then climbing them. It's good to have goals, even as a child. 

1. In the fall we love Nickajack Farm. Pumpkin picking, horse rides, a petting zoo, a hay bale maze... again with the gift shop....my house is filled with plastic, Chinese made junk from all the gift shops we've entered... the neat part about Nickajack though, is the education they offer on local farming, live stock and crops. You can play and learn. 

1. My last ones are for the fishies in your family. The Massillon Rec Center has an amazing indoor "water park" for 3 bucks each! They have a lazy river, a pirate ship, a very shallow kiddie pool and a regular pool. The kids and I went and we all laid on an inner tube for hours and floated around the lazy river. And if you're stuck in Ohio in the summer with kids and want a quasi-vacation, I say head to Vermillion. It's a pretty, small town, with clean, sandy beaches attached to Lake Eerie. You can swim and lay on the beach near a picture-perfect lighthouse and depending on your Instagram filter, no one will be none the wiser as to where you actually are. Again, imagination is key, but that's what kids are good at! You can go to the old-time sundae shop afterwards and order an old fashioned banana split! 

Have fun! 

For the babies :)

Sometimes while you sleep, I watch you dream.
Your little lips twitch into smiles, exhausted, you've run out of steam.
You both have curled up into little balls of warmth, you smell so sweet.
I like to kiss your foreheads and the bottoms of your feet.
Your precious dreams make your eyelashes flutter,
Tiny squeaks, happy sighs, and little noises you mutter.
Are you flying over fields of flowers on giant butterfly wings?
Are you watching puppets dance on life sized strings?
Atop an ivory steed, do you slay dragons and terrible foes?
Do you gracefully dance for an adoring audience up on your tippy-toes?
Are you the pilot of a plane, the captain of a ship?
Or through a magical fairy forest, in a gown of gold, do you skip?
Are you dreaming of the Wild West, where you're the sheriff of the town?
Or do you simply dream about a grassy knoll, rolling down and down?
Maybe hand in hand, you're togethor in your dreamland,
Are you building castles with mermaids in the sand?
Or do you two throw snowballs at friendly polar bears?
Do you venture in togethor to creepy mountain lairs?
Your rosy cheeks and messy hair pressed hard into the pillows,
I think you might just sit and whisper beneath a shady willow.
One rolls into the other, your blankets tangled tight,
Are you in an air balloon, floating on the soft winds of twilight?
Do you swim with ease amongst whales from the deep?
Tell me darlings, what happens when you sleep?
While you dream, I watch you and wonder where you are.
Do you splash your feet in a creek bed, or explore a distant star?
Someday you can tell me, but for now sleep well my sweets,
While you travel and explore from your soft, cotton sheets.

The Search for Scout

As a "writer" I pride myself in my ability to articulate my feelings accurately into words, but I've never had to convey before such a deep sense of loss. I can't seem to find words intense enough to describe the immense pain I feel. Sad, heart broken, torn, depressed...none seem fitting for the way my heart feels right now. It has been a week since my dog of three years went missing. At midnight or a little before I took the trash out, which by the way, is something I never do, and I think this is a lesson to my husband that even the slightest change in roles can lead to disastrous results. As I went down through the basement lugging the garbage, and out through the garage, apparently my dog followed me, and took off into the night. She is so small, and it was so late, I hardly noticed anything but how cold my bare feet were and how annoyed I was that my husband wasn't the one doing it...By the time I noticed she wasn't in the house, thirty or more minutes had already gone by. In an absolute panic, I threw some boots on and an oversized hoody and drove around the neighborhood screaming for her. 
   "SCOUT!!!!!!!" I furiously chain smoked cigarettes, texted my husband some mean, vile threats and accusations (we don't handle strife in what you would call a "healthy" way), while rolling my eyes at the ones I received back, and hollered for her for an hour, effectively irritating and infuriating everyone within a five mile radius of us. I had to go in for the night. My two year old was awake and crying, wondering where his puppy had gone, it was very late, and my 11 month old daughter would greet me at the rise of the sun. I had to get some sleep. I said a desperate prayer for Scout and fitfully fell to sleep.
   The next morning I posted Scout's sappy, smiling mug all over social media. If you live in our county, you knew my dog had gone missing. The whole township was on a code red alert. I had one thought and that was to find Scout. The image of her wet and cold, shivering from cold, hunger and terror gripped my heart in fear. I did nothing but search all day whether on foot or in the car, dragging my two babies along for the miserable ride. My phone became an appendage (ok, it already was...whatever) and I checked incessantly for leads and tips strangers left me on the endless lost and found pages I had found on Facebook. My husband made flyers and I bought a staple gun specifically for hanging them. I have to include here that if you've ever been in pain or have been frustrated, there is something extremely soothing about slamming a staple gun into a telephone pole 57 times per flyer. It's rather decent therapy for 11.99 at Drug Mart. 
   I visited the pound and called them over and over. What a bleak place that is. For the most part, the workers seemed nice, but the smell and those tiny canine jail cells will haunt me forever. I tend to be overly descriptive when telling a story, tricks of the trade, but in this instance, I really felt that as I walked down the cold cement strip between rows of cells, holding my children's hands tightly in a maternal grip, passing every scared, sad and possibly mad with fear dog, I couldn't help but envision a scene similar in the movie, The Green Mile.  I prayed so hard, some of it came out of my mouth in an audible whisper. 
   "Please be here Scout, please...please..." 
   We left dejected. No Scout. The search continued day after day. The Humane Society had heard so often of Scout's disappearance when I called them about a missing dog, they asked for me by name.  The woman on the phone told me she checked her Facebook page 50 times a day for updates on my little pooch. As the days went on, and still no Scout, the only thing that kept me from scream-weeping alone in my garage all day ( which I allowed myself to do a few times), was the massive outpouring of support and encouragement. Hundreds and hundreds of people shared Scout's story, strangers, people I had never met before spent their afternoons in the freezing cold rain to look for her. A man left her food and treats in the park where she had been spotted, several women had seen her and even while they were on their way to work, stopped and tried to catch her. The second woman who did so, even sent her poor husband out to circle the block.
   Friends and family, and strangers alike rallied behind me. Some made flyers, some went door to door, some called vet's offices and shelters for me. Not to mention the hundreds online who helped me just by sharing her story. Several people called me with no information but simply to pray with me over the phone. I was sent on a wild goose chase one night, very late, and the neighborhood I was in was sleepy and dark and cold, and a couple who heard me yelling, came out and helped me look. I had a wrong number for a lead I found in the paper and even the wrong number wished me luck. 
   People from all walks of life have come together in the search for Scout. Smoking teenagers hiding out in the back of the high school parking lot, men and women, older people, younger people, friends and family. They have all expressed feeling my pain. The community weeps with me. They have done everything they can to assist us. I mentioned at one point I didn't know how I could possibly ever repay everyone for what they meant to me. I am not sure some even grasp what their small act of kindness has done to me. It has touched me in a way I can never describe. The community as a whole working together for one little pup...it's truly something I will carry with me for life, with or without Scout. Most have said they won't even take the reward money we are offering! 
   I started this blog post to vent my intense pain, and ended it, floored once again as I remind myself of the wonderful thing we call humanity. There are so many amazing humans out there. Our hearts beat as one as we go through this crazy thing called life. The compassion displayed towards me this week has been overwhelming at times and eye opening. If nothing else comes of this I will never doubt that this world as a whole is not such a bad place. The few evil people there are, are far outnumbered by the kind hearted ones. Thank you so much to the countless people helping me look, the ones sending me kind words, handing out flyers, going door to door, spending time walking in the woods, the police stations who have expressed sympathy, and to everyone who, like me, waits on baited breath for a happy ending. Even if, God forbid, we don't get the story we all want, I would say a little dog who has brought a community together, like Scout has, leaves behind an amazing legacy. Her goofy grin and ridiculous bat ears have shown me that people are good, and the community in which I live is a wonderful one. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. We won't give up hope. 

Genius Parenting Hacks

I am not a child rearing expert, nor do I have a PHd, although I DO have a cosmetology license and I was an STNA for 3 months, so I would say I know a thing or two....In my experience this advice is golden and has proven time and again to show exceptional results. Feel free to take these words to heart for an easier time raising your precious little ones.

1. Do you have issues getting your toddler to eat nutritious meals, three times a day? I have a simple hack that will surely fill their bellies. Make an intricate and complicated meal, spending hours or even all day on it, offer it to your baby 17 times, lose your cool a few times, arrange it so that is perfectly resembles Thomas the Tank Engine, and after they have had one or more major melt downs, give up and pack it away, and clean up the mess they made when they threw half of it at you and the kitchen floor. After you have your kitchen spotless again and the food is cold in the refrigerator, THEN they will want to eat it. EASY!
2. Sleeping problems? Does your toddler not want to go to bed at an appropriate bedtime? Does he or she leave their room five minutes after you spent an hour rubbing their back, gazing into their eyes lovingly while singing You are My Sunshine and reading Go Dog Go ad nauseum? Here's a tip! Make sure their perfectly safe and comfortable bedroom is absolutely terrifying. Allow monsters to inhabit their closets and spend hours trying to figure out what in their bed could be causing even the slightest of discomforts, only to come up short so that they never want to enter their sleeping quarters again. Now you must let them fall asleep to the Polar Express, but ensure that the volume is too loud, then too quiet, then too loud, then too quiet, then too loud...then too quiet for good measure. The last, and simplest step is to learn to sleep comfortably with fists and feet assaulting your face and kidneys all night long on a thin one inch by seven inch strip of your own bed with no blankets or pillows. You're on your way to a peacefully sleeping tot!
3. Many a mother has complained about her house being disheveled and messy. This one is by far the easiest fix. As soon as you have one room in order, proceed to the next. Then go back to the previously cleaned room and do it all over again. Repeat this process to the point of madness and give up just in time for company! 
4. Are you worried your toddler's vocabulary isn't on par with his or her peers? Get angry ONE time, mutter a vile curse word, barely audible under your breath and two weeks later be amazed your two year old uses the "F" word in it's correct context at Sunday School!
5. This one is for my progressive parents. Are you concerned your little boy is being forced into societal gender stereotypes? Accidentally leave your make-up bag out and watch in awe as your boy experiments with lipstick and eyeliner. The first through one hundredth time he may decide to flush your products down the toilet and paint the walls, but eventually he will get it, and will be a man ahead of his time! 
6. Sometimes as parents we worry we aren't stimulating our children enough. My advice is to plan countless child-friendly trips and events, and then make them as agonizing and as miserable as you possibly can. The obvious ways to do this is by inviting their little friends, letting them have soda and candy, and buying them 500 dollar souvenirs that cost ten cents to make in China that they can smash to pieces on the car ride home. It's not a complete adventure till you've spent your entire savings and put all your energy into making it memorable while your sweetheart convulses on the floor, screeching like he's been burned with a white-hot branding iron.
7. Little kids, especially boys, sometimes in their toddler stage refuse to wear clothes. My advice is to dress them 800 times a day and then enjoy the unsolicited advice and snarky comments from parents not yet to that phase of childhood or who happen to be lucky enough to have a child who tolerates clothing. I am a huge advocate for offering opinions to struggling parents, and the more righteous and snobby the opinion, the more likely it is to be helpful. 
8. My last gem will help you in deciding which toys to get rid of when your toy room, toy box, the kid's rooms and the rest of your house is cluttered with toys, pieces of toys, blocks, happy meal trinkets and infant toys. The answer? None. Toys that haven't been touched in months, or years will suddenly become top priority and their favorite of all time, when they catch a younger sibling even glancing at them. Also, their memories (and sometimes imaginations) can be tenacious, and you could spend an entire day searching for that "blue/yellow/red/purple ball that looks like a car that makes noise and doesn't make noise." You may as well hoard every piece of plastic that has ever dwelled within your home. 

I hope this helps fellow mommies! Happy Parenting! 

Six HAPPY months of marriage!

   Can you think of the worst person you know? The meanest, nastiest person you've had the misfortune of having to come into contact with. Now multiply that person's attitude by ten and you will have a fairly accurate picture of me when I'm hungry. And no, I'm not pregnant. I'm just impatient and want what I want, when I want it. The other day we took a family trip to the zoo, and my husband planned on eating there, and I was having none of it. 
   "We have to go past the penguins, bats and jaguars before we even come close to the cafeteria. You are the dumbest person I've ever met. I want a sandwich right now. I want fast food. Go to Chic-Fil-A."
   I proceeded to carry on about how stupid and selfish he was, how he never plans for anything, and how I was on the verge of emaciation....140 pounds and shrinking by the minute. I may have dropped several "F bombs", punched the window, and rolled my eyes till I strained an ocular muscle. I can't be sure though, I blacked out. My blood sugar was low obviously. After having put on a Grammy-worthy production he finally conceded and pulled into some "dump, hole in the wall" to buy me a cheeseburger. It wasn't what I wanted but I supposed I could make a cheeseburger with everything, no pickles, add lettuce and tomato work. When he ordered it for me, the muffled voice of a teenaged drive-through attendant announced they can't add tomatoes to burgers....Aaaaaand that's when I really lost it. I trashed the restaurant, the town we were in, and my husband. All the while stuffing my face with the burger, and as painful as this is to admit, it was delicious. 
   The most disturbing thing about this entire debacle was that my kids were in the backseat and witnessed the entire escapade. They heard and saw mommy and daddy fighting and calling each other names. I am ashamed of my actions, and I am ashamed that my children now probably think it's alright to pitch a fit the second they don't get what they want. What I'm not ashamed of though, is my kids seeing us fight. We may need to brush up on our fighting skills, but I will never hide from them the fact that mom and dad don't agree on every single thing, I won't hide from them that couples fight, and I won't hide from them my imperfections. 
   If they go through their lives thinking marriage is a perfect, happy love cocoon, it is dooming their future relationships. I am sure one hundred doctors will give me a thousand reasons why us fighting in front of them the other day has permanently scarred them for life, but I saw my own parents have knock-down, drag out fights, I saw my parents not being perfect, and I also saw them make-up, and stick it out through 30 years now of ups and downs. I learned from them that husbands and wives don't get married and instantly agree on everything, and that while marriage unites two into becoming one, there are still two very different people working to mesh their personalities together and sometimes it can result in wild fire.
   The reason why I am not scarred and the reason I believe my children won't be is because no matter how bad the fighting gets, no matter how loud the yelling gets, they know nothing will tear the family apart. The might've been first hand witnesses to a serious boxing match (figuratively of course) but they also are always present when we make up, apologize and move on. I can't think of a better lesson to learn by example actually. Forgiveness is the ultimate key to any long lasting relationship. Every fight is not the end, and sometimes it's the beginning. In fact, this fight made me acutely aware of my vicious sailor's mouth, and my severe lack of impatience, and it's something I'm working on.
   If you expose you children to your flaws, while similarly showing them that you are working on changing them daily, that is a better teaching experience than letting them think you are perfect and watching them fail to keep up. I have been married now for exactly six months today, been a parent for two years and have been with my husband for four, and we learn something new everyday, but I will continue to argue in front of my kids, and I will continue to apologize in front of them as well. We are rookies, and I know that, but I stand firm in this particular area. Teaching my kids that people aren't perfect, marriage isn't perfect and mommy surely isn't perfect is something I want ingrained in their little minds. Only hard work and dedication make for a happy family, and I believe that's what we are showing them. Mommy and daddy might throw things at each other and pinch each other and call each other "dumb a**", but we will never leave each other and we are always on the same team. Happy 6 Months of marriage babe, and here's to many more fights, and even more make-ups! XOXO

Top 10 Reasons to hold onto your last 10 Pounds of Baby Weight

Fat girls make lists like this to make themselves feel better, and in the spirit of self love, I too, have made one. 

1. While I sometimes fantasize about the waif I once was, so small, in fact, that I very nearly by law, was required to sit in a car seat, my extra ten pounds provide a very comfortable heated insulation during the winter months.
2. Losing it would mean being forced into being on a diet. That would mean no more snacks at midnight, and by snacks I mean full meals, because midnight is the only time I, as a mother can eat in peace without someone throwing ketchup covered fries at my face or being spit-up on.
3. My children's favorite toys are my bingo arms and my jiggly belly. What kind of a mother would I be, nay, what kind of PERSON would I be to take that away from them?? 
4. Do you plan on ever having more kids? I don't, but since I am not a fortune teller, I don't see why I would lose weight only to gain it back and more. Why would I want to torture myself like that?
5. In the event of the apocalypse, when there is a shortage of food, and rations are fought over like gold, technically speaking those ten extra pounds could carry you over weeks longer than your skinny counterparts. Do you want to survive the end times or not?
6. Chubby girls are smarter. That is a fact. That I made up. 
7. If you're like me, you gain weight in your face, and if you're ten pounds over weight that's just a nifty excuse to buy more make-up. One can of spray paint wouldn't cover an entire wall. Think of your face like a giant, round wall.
8. Since having that handful of extra weight on you everything ends up being a work-out anyways, therefor making actual working out a non-necessity. Clomping up the staircase, breathing laboriously, heaving a 600 pound basket of laundry just cost you major calories. 
9. My cannonballs trump your swan dives any day. 
10. BOOBS.

If you are addicted to stamps, fabric paint and yarn, this blog is for you.

   I think I may have come across an unpleasant truth about both myself and a handful of other mother's I know. I recently found out that Pat Catan's, a magical world of crafting supplies, home decor, candles, ribbons, baking and cooking accoutrements, and scrap booking, was having an INTENSE sale. It was advertised only through word-of-mouth and went against their corporate office's wishes. I was told to enter through the store's recent addition that houses painting and art supplies, walk straight to the back of the store and to the left I would find a spare room. No flashing signs, no flyers... just one employee manning the entrance like a bouncer manning a speak easy from the prohibition era. Upon entering I saw boxes and boxes lining the walls of everything from yarn, to holiday decorations to shopping carts full of rainbow colored spray paint. 
   The woman guarding the doorway didn't explain what to do, or the purpose of this room, but in the middle was a table covered in gigantic trash bag sized bags. I knew from my friend that the intent was to rid the store of as much clearance and over-stock as possible, so you grabbed a bag and just started cramming as much SH*T as was earthly possible into the plastic bag. Whatever your sticky fingers could stuff into the bag was yours at the register for FIVE dollars! The moment I heard about it, my palms started to sweat and my breathing became labored. I started unrealistically planning in my head countless holiday parties, crocheted hats, (I've never crocheted, but for five dollars I could learn) homemade floral arrangements, rainy day crafts with my children... I was feigning and it would seem the only place to get my fix was Pat's. 
   As I frantically grabbed as much as my arms could handle, flying from one box to the next, rifling through Christmas ornaments and Valentine's day heart shaped candy molds, I quickly realized I wasn't alone. A girl who announced she had heard about it via Facebook snatched up a giant box of while chocolate doves clearly meant to be used as wedding favors, and said if she couldn't use them for her wedding, she would, at the very least put them on her cereal in the morning with milk. We were a pathetic group of degenerate addicts, our choice of drug being the crack-cocaine of stay-at-home moms and crafty women alike; cheap foam letters and felt. 
   Even worse, were the mom's like myself, who had dragged their children along to witness the frenzy of a sale never seen by the likes of even the most advanced extreme coupon-er. I witnessed an apathetic teenage boy being forced to guard the cart while his mother fought tooth and nail to find the perfect Christmas wrapping paper, and my own children, caught up in the hysteria, left the store with faux snow embedded in their hair from when their own mother found a gigantic bag of it and tossed it into the bag, not realizing it had been previously opened, and as it soared over the car seat and my two year old, they experienced life as a snow globe figurine.
   I was instructed by the crafting bouncer not to divulge any of the details I had seen that day, specifically referring to Facebook. It was so cloak and dagger I wondered if I had just partaken in the sale of the century or some kind of deviant drug deal. She told me to pay at customer service, so as I walked through the expanse of the store towards the service desk located at the other end, I kept furtively glancing at other customers, desperate to broadcast my secret...DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW WHAT YOU'RE MISSING?!?! 
   As promised my heaping bag of goodies was a mere five dollars and after I had paid I was so thrilled I didn't know whether I should get my heart palpitations examined or run to the bathroom with diarrhea. I practically skipped out of the store and immediately began texting my mom friends, who responded with much of the same crazed feigning I had displayed an hour before. "God bless your soul, I am on my way now!" "We are going to be in the area, I am going to talk my husband into going!!" "YAY!" We were hooked to cheap crafts, and nothing could help us. I reached this conclusion as I was also starting to experience the "come-down". 
   I became depressed I hadn't been able to fit more into my bag, and I angrily instructed my husband to go back and get more. I clearly understood the shame that would befall me to be seen in the back room twice in one day. This is when I decided we as mothers need to stand strong together and fight this addictive battle as one. With the guidance of crafting greats, David Tuttera and Martha Stewart, I say we start a support group. We can meet, and discuss openly in a safe environment how we don't sleep at night picturing the perfect mason jar, and how we can't seem to throw out a single wine cork.
   Ladies, the unpleasant truth is, we are obsessed with colored pipe cleaners and delicate pastel shades of tissue paper. And Pat Catan's the other day enabled us. We behaved like monkey's in the zoo, throwing our feces at each other in the sheer excitement of discounted buttons. The first step is admitting you have a problem, and in this blog, I have done just that. Who is with me? Who will be the next to admit you drove 85 miles per hour, your children's faces still covered in that morning's breakfast to get there before the rest of the goofs took everything? Know that I am here for you and also know that if anyone needs Hanuka themed window clings, that I have four packs.... 

The War on Terror

   I have become the unwilling focal point in a vicious vendetta against both my sanity and my physical well-being by a filthy hoard of arachnid thugs. They've infiltrated my home, and have been seen scuttling around the dark corners and closets of the one place a person should feel safe. I've taken a stand against the terrorism and made small steps in eliminating the source of the criminal activity, but for every three I dispose of, six more crop up in their stead. Most recently I was attacked in my sleep, the epitome of dastardly, plotting against a foe in their time of utmost vulnerability. I woke this morning to a near gangrenous wound, caused by dirty fangs. The carnage was unimaginable. My husband told me it rather resembled a mosquito bite, but he has never fallen prey to such an evil enemy, what does he know? I took photos of the crime scene with my iPhone from all angles and sent them to various family members, none of which responded in the shock and horror I expected of them; alas! I am alone in this world. 
   The pain was excruciating. The pain young Bella endured as Edward turned her I assume is similar to what I felt, and I am still checking the mirror periodically for changes in complexion and hair radiance as well as any signs of glistening, sparkly skin. Still nothing as of yet. I made several frantic calls to health care facilities in the hopes that someone could help me. When my regular doctor wouldn't clear his entire schedule for me, I desperately decided to go to stat care. 
   When I arrived the receptionist was yelling at everyone to sign in on the computer mounted on the wall, and I was forced to limp behind a slow moving, possibly diabetic man using a walker. I wondered to myself why this place hadn't employed a triage nurse to separate the non-emergency patients (this man) from the immediate care patients (me). After having signed in using technology that was cutting edge in 1997, I was then asked to wait for what seemed like five hours for a foreign, impatient resident who would see me for five minutes. No wonder this countries health care system is spiraling out of control.
   The nurse briskly called me back after I had apathetically perused seventeen issues of Seventeen Magazine, and I was asked a copious amount of questions regarding my menstrual cycle. Why is it, that because both my children were accidents they automatically assume every time I come in, it's regarding a pregnancy scare? Again with the disaster we call American health care.... I answered obligingly however, and soon we got to the point. I have always been one to smile even in the face of great calamity and tried making several (hilarious, if you ask me) jokes about my situation, none of which Nurse Ratchet even smirked at. Was she working for the arachnid gang? She inspected my wound with bored eyes, and told me the doctor would be right in. 
   As the minutes passed in silence whilst waiting for the doctor I contemplated what had led me down this road...Was it my mother's fear of all things spider, passed down to me? Was it truly a conspiracy to terrify me into fleeing my own home? What had made me their mark? My thoughts were interrupted by a young, attractive doctor who entered the room.  For a fleeting second his bulging biceps made me forget my predicament as I mentally tried to remember the last time I had received a pedicure. I was poked and prodded under the glaring lights of the surgery lamps, the horrifying diagnoses was revealed! I would need a week long prescription for antibiotics to quell the poison coursing through my veins. Relieved to hear that there was an anti-venom available but I still had a problem on my hands. 
   The monsters who induced all this agony were still on the loose in my home. As I sit here writing this, my foot soaking in a very rare, very healing solution of salt and water, I can't help but feeling that thousands of tiny eyes are watching my every move. I've made the decision to be strong and courageous in the face of possible annihilation. I refuse to give up the good fight. I refuse to be yet another casualty in this little spoken of war. I will rise to the occasion, spider and centipede spray in hand and I will destroy anything that attempts to harm my family or myself. If you are reading this and you have more than two legs, know this, I am coming for you with a vengeance. This isn't over.

DHS Class of 2007

   My youngest cousin Kacy is nearing her own graduation from my Alma mater in just a few days time and it has made me nostalgic for my own graduating class and all those I grew up with. My hometown is very close-knit and we all basically went to Promise Preschool together all the way up to our last days as seniors in high school. It is such a close-knit community, in fact, that if you came to Dalton in fourth grade, you were still the new kid eight years later. As we approach our seven year mark from Mr. Kaserman directing a miserable version of Pomp and Circumstance, I thought I would catch everyone up! 
   Even though I was on the ballet every single year, but was still never voted to become Prom Queen or selected as a member of the homecoming court, I went on to become a famous super model. I am sweet like grapefruit on never being chosen because in the past seven years, I've traveled the world in my private jet....(That means I'm bitter people...BITTER!) But I digress...I truly appreciate Facebook for allowing us all to stay updated on who has become fat, which, as you all know, is the sole purpose in getting together for a reunion. I still plan on attending though, when the time comes, but sadly I won't be a part of the planning committee. I was kicked off by a majority vote from student council for never showing up to any of the meetings. Which is a real shame, if I was allowed to plan it, it would be a glorious occasion full of chevron mason jars and twine bows. Has anyone seen my Pinterest boards?? If anyone is interested however, I hear the Junior High is vacant now. We can use the gym as a dance floor and grind twelve inches apart from each other to Lil Jon's Get Low. Plus nothing brings back memories like the nostalgic smell of asbestos. Some may even still have lingering memories of it, like lung cancer.
   As far as discussing the achievements of my classmates, one in particular jumps out at me as a true accomplishment. No one that I know of became a drug dealer, and let's face it, if anyone would know, it would be me. I also see that many of us are now parents, and even if we didn't speak during our school years, nothing brings us together like being fat, tired and poor, the general result of having kids. No one has died yet, but we are all on the short slope towards being 30 now, so it's coming. No one became sports stars either...well maybe one or two, but being a division 27 school didn't give us much  of a chance. 
   I still talk to many of my old classmates, and the .1% of black people in our class are still basically the only black people I know. You will all be happy to hear also, that unlike my egg from Home Ec I was supposed to take care of, my children are not rotting in my locker. They do however smell sometimes.... In other news, after extensive stalking via all social media websites, I see some of us have moved out of state, some have become teachers and nurses, financial planners, journalists, health care professionals, military members, parents and unemployed bums... ( the last one was me).
 I am actually proud to say I'm a Dalton alumni, and I love bumping into old classmates. After seven years it's safe to say old grudges and cliques have seemed to melt away into the past. I've never seen anyone from my class that hasn't excelled in life and has become quite the adult...( is that a compliment coming from me?) And regardless of our differences then and now, we all seem to agree that someone who doesn't pronounce Dalton right needs to be immediately corrected, that Smithville sucks, and that our class was the best Dalton has yet to see. We paved the way for all other classes. We were always in trouble, and you know, I kinda like that. We had personality and character, and we were almost not allowed to go to Camp Wanakee... Here's to DHS class of '07, the past seven years, and to the next 43 where we will be asked to attend the graduation for the class of 2057. May there be as many chairs that day, as there were in 2007!

Wisdom from my MOM

   When I was younger I used to think my parents were so lame and backwards and that they were out of touch and literally didn't know anything. I however, of course, had all the answers because I was 21 and had a boyfriend. HA! My mom used to say some of the most aggravating things, and I hated when she would say them to me. My Mother's Day gift this year is to finally admit she knew what she was talking about. You were right, I was wrong, let me kiss the ground beneath your feet..."I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy!!" Forgive me, mommy, if I had listened I wouldn't have experienced half the heart ache I did.I want to share some of her more profound bits of wisdom, to either save some of you from tragedy, or to commiserate with me for also not listening to your mother.

1. Looks don't matter, it's the inside that counts.- I was obsessed for a long time with looks. My own and everyone else's. I reasoned that as a student in beauty school, if I didn't focus on looks, then what would be the point of my future job? I have come to find that no matter how beautiful someone is on the outside, if their inside's are rotting, they usually don't amount to much as a person. Some of the most beautiful women I know are pretty, but what makes them gorgeous are their kind hearts. I, over the years have been betrayed deeply by women (and men) who are physically extremely attractive, and what good were their looks to me? A broken heart and hurt feelings. And as far as my obsession with my own looks, I ask you, what good is a perfect body, flowing hair and a flawless face to my children? Those features don't change their diapers, gentle hands perhaps with chipped polish do. Beautiful hair doesn't hold them tight at night, a messy pony tail allows for them to wrap their little arms around my neck with ease. So mom, you were right, looks don't matter. 
2. It is better to lower yourself and allow others to raise you up instead of putting yourself on a high horse for people to tear you down. (Pride goes before a fall)- There is nothing worse than bragging incessantly and moments later, life brings you back down. It never fails, the second I start to brag about my perfect, wonderful children they poop their pants, throw a fit or use a cuss word I swear they didn't learn from me! Countless times I have been excessively proud of my own accomplishments and I blab all over town about them, and next thing I know something mortifying or horrible happens to me and I have to quickly do damage control. People love to see you fail, especially if you've gone on and on about how you don't. My mom knew that. Humility will save you from future humiliation. 
3. Family first.- I used to love to go out and party. I didn't want to spend time with my parents and my little brother at all. But the people I danced with at the nightclub, snuck shots with underage in the bathroom, and even the boyfriend I had at the time are not even remotely a part of my life anymore. The people who have been there through thick and thin, the ones with whom I would want to be on a deserted island with are the ones who share my blood. My children will grow up making friends and starting relationships, but NO ONE will be there like mama. NO ONE. The girls who you referred to as "sisters!" grow up and start their own families. And you are left with who? Your relatives. Treat them nicely and spend time with them. They're all you have and will ever have. 
4. Drinking makes a fool of you.- This one used to bother me greatly. Why couldn't my mom be like the "cool" moms who drank with their kids, allowed their friends to come over and drink in their basement and were OK with their kid's tales of debauchery after a night out? What a square! Well it turns out she wasn't strict and making rules to ruin my life. She spoke from experience! It's hard to imagine your parents having a life other than the one you knew, but they did, and they drank, they smoked, they made bad decisions and everything they learned through those times, they want to impart onto you, minus the embarrassment and regret that actually living the mistakes leaves you with. Many a time I made myself look foolish drinking too much, and I would hate for my kids to think anything of me other than a secure, safe and steady hand to hold. I look back now on the mothers I knew, the ones who I thought were "sooooo cool", and I see something very sad. Their kids can't lean on them when they're already leaning.
5. Don't buy anything unless you can pay in cash.- When I was 18 I stumbled upon the dark, dark world that is credit card debt. I stupidly paid for things with my magical little piece of plastic and dressed in a wardrobe far outside my means. I received the monthly bill and paid the minimum and then proceeded to buy more, and more and more. Before I knew it I was the best dressed broke person around. I maxed my cards out, paid the minimum and the interest just stacked on and on and on...It was misery. I fell asleep at night knowing the debt loomed over me. It never went away. One of the cards I just quit paying for all together. Then the calls started. 5 times a day. I started to hate the sound of my own phone. My mom was right, if you can't afford something, don't be an idiot. DON'T BUY IT!!! She helped me pay them off eventually, and the day I was free, I cut them up into tiny little pieces and never looked back. 
6. Write your thank you notes.- I can't stand ungrateful people and neither, for the most part, can anyone else. I used to loathe being made to sit and write them out, but now as the adult in the situation buying gifts for children with money that could've been used on a pedicure, it makes me feel much better receiving a handwritten note expressing their gratitude. The adults in my life spent their hard earned money on Polly Pockets and Barbies. Did they want to? Probably not really, they had bills to pay and things they wanted for themselves. Showing that you liked it and that it meant something to you, makes the purchase a little bit easier to swallow. Not to mention, if I'm being honest, the nicer the note, the nicer the gift was the next year. People like to be appreciated! If you don't say thank-you, it's very likely you won't ever get anything from that person again, and if you do, their heart's won't ever be in it again. Thank you notes are tedious and boring, but so is buying a gift for a kid with money you would rather use on yourself. Be considerate. My mom understood that if you love your children you want others to love them as well, and no one loves a spoiled brat. Thank you mom, for not letting me behave like one. (Pun intended there...)
7. Pray.- Sometimes growing up, I used to feel like religion was being shoved down my throat, but now I see that nothing is possible without God. My mom taught me about Him and I plan to do the same with my children and hope that they know that when life gets dark, when you are at your lowest, in the rare situation mom can't dig you out of the hole you're in, that there is a heavenly parent who can and will. 

   Happy Mother's day mom! I can only hope to one day be as wise and looked up to by my children as you are with me. I love you, smart lady. Nothing is quite as good a gift as a know-it-all fessing up to their short comings, so enjoy it, because this is the first and the last time I plan on doing so. :) Love you! 

An Exerpt from a 4 Month Old's Diary:

  I never wake in a foul mood. It's mommy's morning breath that shocks me. She comes into my room with this terrifying robe on, her hair is flying in ten different directions and she smothers my face with this atrocious dragon breath. It's horrifying. I don't know how to react because she seems to enjoy putting her face into mine, which, if you ask me, is a fairly invasive disregard for my personal space. She then carries me down the steps and I hear the other human that is smaller than the parent humans loudly shouting and mommy sighs...again, in my face. I don't know how to tell her she needs a mint or something.
   We round the corner and that blonde, small human is naked and slinging dog food at us. I don't understand this guy. He seems to me to be somewhat of a sociopath. He loves to destroy everything in his path. And the worst part is, mommy is constantly encouraging him to touch me and when no one was looking I saw him pick his nose. She calls this second form of invasion "hugs". I am so far not a huge fan. Mommy sets me down and makes both I and that blonde monster some breakfast. Here's the thing though, that crazed dog food thrower gets pancakes, bacon and eggs whereas I am force-fed, yet again, some whitish powder water. It fills me up, yes, but one can only tolerate the mundane for so long. She used to feed me delicious liquid I saw her extract from her own body, but that stopped and I don't know why, however I notice it has hugely impacted the size of her chest. I need to speak to someone in management about this. Daddy is under the impression he's in charge, but from my observations it appears the female parent is the one who runs the show, so perhaps I am out of luck.
   I finish my "baba" (I don't know what that means, mommy seems to speak nonsensically quite often. I wonder if it's a health issue connected to her morning breath?) As a show of my distaste I regurgitate half of it back up onto her robe. I don't know why is is surprised, or upset for that matter. This stuff is disgusting and anyways, her robe is covered in ketchup thanks to the short human she insists on referring to as my brother.
   Next she takes me back to my room and dresses me and forcefully shoves the most ridiculous head piece onto my skull. Large humans seem so thrilled to see me wearing this contraption so I chose at this time, not to refuse it, but it makes no sense to me. They make me hot and impede me from nap time. Speaking of, I am suddenly becoming very tired....
                                                              ONE HOUR LATER:

   I wake in a different room, but see that mommy still wears the robe. I wonder if that's her uniform and thats why she wears it so often? I see that daddy is here now. He walks towards me and I realize what he's going to do! I reach out my hands to stop him and he takes that instead as an invitation to come closer! I don't even realize when it happened but my face bursts into flames as he rubs his sandpaper cheeks onto mine! Why does the male parent have short, black spikes sprouting from all over his head? The small "brother" who is also male doesn't...There are so many things I just don't understand. 
   tedious hours pass with nothing worth mentioning. The brother continues his quest to rampage, mommy has yet to change from her uniform, "baba" after "baba" is eaten and to no avail, spit back up..  I find solace in my thumb which eerily reminds me of the bottle, but is also somehow attached to me. I wonder why mommy and daddy laugh as I try to tell them things...I am starting to question whether or not they understand me. They speak in a gibberish I don't recognize as any language. What is a "sissy" or a "diapy"?
   The day goes on like this, but then I find there is something hot and disturbingly squishy in my pants!! It's happening again! I have no idea how or why, but approximately three to four times a day I am, without warning, struck with an agonizing and uncomfortable sensation. I scream in panic!! Mommy frustratingly makes reference to my digestion, as if that has anything to do with this. GET IT OFF ME!!!!!!!!!!! She mockingly laughs but she does cease the misery with some damp wipes and a new pair of pants. As fast it came the agony stops and I am again put at ease. I can't help but assume the white powder water I am made to ingest has something to do with these episodes. I don't even want to discuss the malodorous stench associated with the issues.
   I am still shaken and decide it is again time for some shut eye, but instead mommy starts to prepare a bath for both I and my "brother". I enjoy bath time, however the small monster similarly enjoys splashing me in the face with water, and it is severely annoying to say the least. I am taken from the warm water and she dresses me and to my chagrin demands upon brushing my hair. I endure for the most part and am then laid down where a magical spinning ring of butterflies serenades me to sleep. Mommy calls it a mobile, I call it heaven sent. As she rubs my back and sings to me I decide on two things, one being that her voice is horrible, but that I like it, and that I also kind of like all three of the humans I live with. They seem to mean well and for some reason in their presence I am comfortable and safe. I drift to sleep and my last thought of the day is how nice it is to be in this bed with these blankets, surrounded by these crazy humans....zzzzzz
  

A letter to my friends without kids

To my friends without kids: 
   I know we used to hang out all the time, and I know we both have demanding jobs that keep us busy, but I also come home to two kids, an exhausted wife and never-ending bills. Your jobs pays your bills too, I know, but the money I make has to be stretched to the limit to buy diapers, baby wipes, my wife's pedicures, fund her scrap booking obsession, pay all the bills, put food on the table, and for the record, did you know formula is 27 dollars a tub? While you have some leftover for a night out on the town, my leftover money goes to two college funds and maybe take-out from Olive Garden so my wife doesn't have to make dinner tonight. I miss you, and I wish I could meet you out for a wild night like we used to have, but after working all day, coming home and immediately helping to set the table, playing some hoops with my son on the toddler basketball hoop, changing my daughter's diaper, getting online to pay for the electricity, having a family dinner, doing the dishes while my wife bathes both kids and finally being able to lay on the couch, I pretty much just want to stay here till I pass out and start all over again tomorrow. 
   I also help my wife with middle-of-the-night feedings. My daughter is up every two hours and I take over the first half of the night, and if I'm not home, she has to do it all on her own. And if I come home drunk at 3 in the morning, and wake either my daughter or my wife, I basically will be missing two key genitalia the next day.... I'm not whipped dude, my wife is the glue that keeps us together, but I'm the grease that keeps the machine running. Without me here, production ceases to a halt and pandemonium ensues. I pay for everything and everyone here. It's a tough job that puts a lot of unspoken pressure on me. No one says what they're thinking, but if I don't do my part, we have to live in a box. But not only that, I am expected to help with child rearing, some of the housework and any and all "man's work", "honey do" lists. I am exhausted at days end and I literally don't have enough hours in the day to work AND be a decent father. But I am. I manage to pull it together for my kids.
   I teach my son how to be a good man, and I show my daughter how she needs to be treated someday when the time comes, I'm thinking sometime in her 40's. My wife has the luxury of breaking down sometimes to cry out her worries and her stress, but I don't. I am expected to be strong. I am the rock, the provider, and the protector, and no one wants to see me cry. So when I ignore your texts, or don't get back to you right away, it's not because I've moved on with my life, separate from you, it's just that I have so many things on my mind, I sometimes forget. 
   My wife also is able to have "play-dates" during the day, but I can't invite my bachelor buddies over for the game. The kids are napping and my wife just cleaned for the five-hundredth time this week, so I guess I could meet you somewhere for lunch, but only if I have time during my work day, and I probably won't be able to pay attention much to what you're saying because while the kids nap, my wife uses that time to fill me on on every little accomplishment, heart ache and drama she and the kids have experienced that day, and I actually am interested to hear my son asked about me all morning. Not to mention, if I ignore her she sends a text containing 35 question marks, and proceeds to tell me she has no adult contact all day, and why am I such an a-hole? 
    I appreciate your friendship and I really do care about you, but this season of life, I am busy and under a lot of pressure to "perform" and when I do have free time I want to use it to show my son how to throw a football and listen to my daughter repeatedly giggle at me when I rub my beard on her face. Just know when your time comes, I'll be there to offer you bad advice and zero judgement. 

                                                              Sincerely,
                                 A hardworking, loving dad of two