Another One Bites the Dust
“HOW DO THESE THINGS ACTUALLY HAPPEN TO YOU?! I’m being totally serious–you are a completely engaged, capable, attentive mom–and yet?!?” – my friend Aimee. Also, probably my husband. There’s a list of about 5 establishments our family should never enter again. Due to unforeseen bathroom emergencies, we should never again step foot inside the Kroger pharmacy, Panera Bread, King Wok II, Rosa’s Tortilla Factory, or Braum’s. It’d been a while since we’ve disgraced ourselves publicly with a banishable offense, so we were probably due.
HOLEY EARBALLS (pt 2)
We are now one week post tube/adenoids surgery. I don’t want to oversell the success of last week…..but I totally will for 2 reasons: 1) 4 hours post-procedure, Hutton asked for the TV to be turned down. [ D O W N ! ] and – could it even get any better? YES – 2) he woke up from anesthesia completely potty trained. True story.
HOLEY EARBALLS (pt 1)
[for those who have asked, this is the scoop on hutt’s earballs. If you are not family and/or care nothing about an oddly specific, obnoxiously detailed medical history of my middle son’s middle ear, feel free to pass this post on by.] About 18 months ago, at the beginning of the Winter Virus Season, our middle boy got an ear infection. And then another one. And then another one. And on and on.
Calling all Foodies!
For as long as I’ve known Hutton Brooks (3 years and 9 days), I’ve wanted to throw him a food-themed birthday party. Food is his #1 love language. That said, I’ve also felt like our window of time for such a theme was running out. I mean…at some point, constant eating becomes, like, a self-control issue or something. A 36 year old sprinting to the kitchen at the mention of chicken nuggets? Not cute. A 3 year old? Totally hilarious. And totally still fair game for a birthday theme.
My BFF, the 3 Year Old
My very best friend turns 3 today! (Well, one of my best friends. Easily top 4.) If you’ve never had a 3 year old best friend, you’re missing out. They are a riot. They’re messy and unpredictable, too, but mostly just fun.
Dear Sons, She Doesn’t Mean You.
In 7th grade, as I perused bedding sets at JCPenny with my mom, a 40+ year old male employee waited for her to be out of earshot before he turned to me and said, “You could buy new sheets…or you could just come home and share my queen size bed with me instead.” In 9th grade, as I was waiting for my food at the counter at Taco Bell, an employee stuck his hand completely down my shirt and groped me. In 11th grade, as I was scrolling MySpace on my computer, a man walked into the garage of my parent’s home during a yard sale and said, “You got any naughty pictures of yourself on there?…
The Power of Story
This weekend, we attended an adoption celebration. Not just any adoption – an adoption that catapulted our friends from a family of 6 to a family of 9. They didn’t adopt triplets; no, they adopted 3 kids almost the exact ages of their other kids.
Nifty {Slightly Traumatic} Sixty
If there is one thing our family does not excel at, it is vacationing. Like the time my 13 month old got strep and a double ear infection on our beach vacation. (The same one where we hit a deer…possibly the only deer in the state of Florida.) Or the time – on our first solo vacation since our honeymoon – my husband contracted Hand, Foot, & Mouth Disease and my 8 month old broke his collarbone at home. We do not travel well. Which is why when my brother, my boys, and I decided to drive up to Kansas to surprise my mom for her 60th birthday last week, I should’ve expected…
Attempting Advent
Growing up in a church that didn’t participate directly in Advent, I have come to adore this tradition as an adult. (I think everyone has, actually. It seems like Advent has made a splash in evangelical churches in recent years. It must have a great PR team.) And as a parent? Oh, man. It’s the best. Each year we attempt an Advent calendar with daily activities. “Attempt” because I try really, super hard not to set unreasonable expectations. For instance, our activities are things like “read a Christmas book” and “make an ornament for a friend”. I try to scale my real desires of “create a 6′ ice-sculpture” or “feed every homeless person in Texas” back a little.…
Joy to the Mess
I see you, moms who send your kids to preschool in matching monogrammed festive wear. You look totes adorbs walking in to drop off all calm and collected. I see you, and I raise you a toddler with no shoes and a single sock halfway on. We’ll hold the door – you go on ahead. I’ve got to finish brushing the McDonald’s biscuit crumbs off my kids’ pants before we go inside.
