Mums the Word

If you ask me a question first thing in the morning I'm probably too out of it to think up an appropriate 'give them only what they need' response.  It's pretty much blatant honesty.  Combine that with a child or children that don't understand privacy or boundaries and you'll be explaining your womanly cycle to a five year old boy at 6 A.M.  Then he will turn to your seven year old who will roll their eyes and declare 'they've known about that for ages'.  Obviously!  After that it's no big deal and everyone goes on their happy way.  No harm done and for some reason I think I will never hear about this again.... A few months go by and we start construction on our house.  Our son loves every minute and desperately wants to be part of the action.  He worships the builders and loves when they occasionally included him in their work.  He has a tool belt with real tools and whenever he starts talking with them his voice drops a few octaves.  Adorable,

Dear Victoria, Please stop e-mailing me.  The gig is up.  I have no more secrets to hide, I have stretchy skin and toddlers.  Your e-mails and catalogues are of no need to me because your stuff is not made for real women.  It's made for slutty teenage stick girls, with boobs.  You leave little to the imagination and I doubt you have any secrets at all. After four kids, I want something more than tantalizing underwear.  I want something I can bend over in without 'the ladies' popping out.  Your swim wear is a disaster unless I agree to just lay flat on my back.  Something I'm sure you're advertising.... I don't want to have to go see a waxing Nazi to be able to wear your swim bottoms.  Forget landing strip, I will have to explain where babies come from. Your underwear is skimpy as anything and rarely fits well.  Surprising, considering you need to take out a second mortgage to buy a few bras.  As far as the secret goes:  My husband watched me push four giant

As I pass by another mini van with a another mama I recognize, I do a half smile and wave.  It's the closest we will ever come to having a conversation.  She's probably awesome, I just don't have enough energy for any extracurricular activities/relationships.  It's probably mutual.  The bottom line is our lives revolve around these vehicles and the cargo inside.  'Get in the van!' and 'Get out of the van!'  This spews out of my mouth at high volumes everyday at the designated times.  It is also my personal mantra. Sometimes when everyone else is in the van, I take a moment to make a cup of tea or maybe throw in a load of laundry and contemplate life; possibly how awesome college was and how I didn't appreciate it.  Oh crap, it's been five minutes!  I have to get in the van!  It's only a matter of time before the mutaniny starts.  As I make my approach, I can hear the sounds of children yelling.  I take a deep breath before I open the door. 

A Special Report As part of a field mom study I was taken to some pig farms so I could see where our bacon is coming from, literally. The funny part is I'm a vegetarian.  Blasphemy on a pig farm. So, as an undercover agent I visited these farms a little skeptical about what I would see.  Little did I know I would get hands on, elbow deep, experience.   In the birthing center (Middle Creek Sow Farm), pigs are cared for much as humans are in a hospital.  Maybe not clean to hospital standards but there is a 'shower in, shower out' policy that forged friendships that may last a lifetime.  There's no going back after seeing someone in chest high underwear.  The pigs escape the showering process.  The ones that are birthing are 'confined' in to cells while in labor and to protect them from one another and to stop them rolling over on their young.  There is a bar so that the young can get to the mom and feed and cuddle but the mom cant roll on them.  Ingenious

This is the scene that keeps playing in my head every time I think of leaving the house.  The Sandworm is guarding the door, only instead of the Sandworm it's a foot of snow and negative temps. And so we are all suffering from a very real and acute case of Sandworm Syndrome (see also cabin fever) It's been almost a week of snow days and I'm loosing the will to live.  How do you make 3.5 days feel like a month?  Turn them into snow days with four kids.  We've done almost every craft, watched every movie we own aka everything under the sun since we have Netflix, played elaborate games that incorporate ALL the toys we own and got in numerous fights over who gets to sit in front of the heat vent.  Seriously!  It's my turn!  I have been wearing my slippers for 3 days.  Yesterday, my husband came home from work at 6:45 just as I was trying to get everyone ready for bed.  I stopped to talk to him when I heard my oldest (7) yelling for me.  Apparently the twi

This is what I have in my mind:  It's the scene in the Christmas Story when the little boy drops the bolts he was suppose to be holding for his father and the words come out....'Oh F#$%' Just a slip of the tongue.  Something he heard his dad say.  The sad truth is where they pick this stuff up.  As parents we know.  That is why we are so careful with what we say, what we let the kids watch and who we let them hang out with (uncles excluded: we can only do so much).  So that's why it's so convicting when you are driving down the road and your toddler drops something they were playing with and says, 'Oh Sh%#!' or you are using all your energy to buckle a five point harness and they look up and say 'F&*% this' (exactly what you were thinking!!!).   There's that three seconds where you think, 'Nah, they didn't just say that'. So you ask them to repeat themselves.  You're immediately sorry. You can reprimand big kids but toddle