Dirty Bathmats Are Awesome

There is a dirty footprint on our bathmat. It's been there for weeks. Our bathmat is off-white, which is probably not the best choice of colors in a house full of three young kids, but I liked it and I bought it and I think it looks nice in our remodeled bathroom.

The footprint belongs to my son. I can tell by the size of the print. He's definitely not the only child in this house to enter with dirty feet, but it's his print that has been on our bathmat.

I watched part of the interview with Jaycee Dugard. I was struck by her mother's anguish over choosing to not kiss her girls goodbye the day Jaycee disappeared. These are the thoughts that make me want to never wash the bath mat.

Thank goodness we have kids who make dirty footprints on our bathmat.

When Kids Sing Along With the Radio

My kids sing along with songs on the radio and I know for the most part they have no idea what the songs are really about, and thank goodness for that. Most of the songs that are played on the top 40 radio station here in our city seem filled with messages that I don't really want to explain to my young kids.

I admit I cringe sometimes when I hear them singing along with some of the songs. Then I listen to what the kids are singing and I know they really have no idea what the song means. For instance, Rihanna's song Rude Boy

This song in particular makes me cringe when I hear my kids sing along with it, but I know they don't know what "get it up" means so to them it is just a song.

M gets to the chorus and sings "Take it, take it, baby baby, take it, take it, POPPY LOPPY." I'm pretty sure that's not right.

And K sings the chorus and proves he goes to a very ethnically diverse school: "Take it, take it, baby baby, take it, take it, ABDULLAHI." I'd guess there aren't many songs devoted to boys named Abdullahi. Maybe K Man could fill a niche there.

I Was Blogging About Not Being Able to Blog and a Blog Post Came Out

I've been having trouble writing lately...which is probably pretty obvious from the lack of regular blog posts around here. Though I'm not sure there are too many people that still read here anyway.

The symptoms show up periodically throughout the year...that nasty virus called writer's block. It happens when I neglect to feed the inner writer...the reader. The last two books I read were not at all difficult reads. They weren't inspiring. I didn't think much about them. They were fluff and they've stifled my voice. I write best when I read great writing...come to think of it, I think I write best when I read great writing online. Some of the best writing I've read, the words that have touched me the most, inspired me the most, made me cry...has been on blogs. And I've been a terrible blog friend for several months now. I haven't been reading. Well, I've read a random post here and there but for the most part I don't know what these inspiring people, many of whom I've come to consider friends, have been up to lately.

Gah! I'm boring myself, blogging about not blogging, writing about not being able to write.

Then there are those moments when I have my little D in my arms while she is supposed to be going to sleep (yes, I lay with my daughter while she goes to sleep...I do a lot of things "wrong" and I don't care.) and I weave perfect sentences in my mind that will help me remember just how beautiful and sweet she is at this moment in time. She removes her pacifier to throw her arms around me and plant a kiss on my lips. She tells me "wuv you too Mama" in anticipation of my response. As I leave the room after I put her in her crib, she calls to me "have good sweeper Mama."

Almost every day I see my exuberant, handsome, full-of-love little boy exit his school with a gigantic smile for me. He still gives me a big hug right in front of EVERYONE and still lets me kiss him. I imagine the days of this are numbered but I am beyond thankful that my 6 1/2 year old first-grader is still confident enough in himself and who he is that he doesn't care if the other boys might tease him. (I actually suspect many of the boys are a little jealous.) This boy makes me smile and makes my temper flare and then makes me laugh.

My oldest child, Miss M, I am beginning to feel reluctant to blog about. She's 8 1/2 going on 13 (23?) in many ways. With her, especially, it seems that I am no longer blogging about myself if I write about her. But she is beautiful, sassy, smart and fun. I'm never sure where I stand with her each day, a feeling that is echoed in many of her friends at school (one day they'll say hi and wave, the next they pretend they've never seen me before). It is normal, the starting to push away. It stings only a little so far. I can still bring her back. So far. There are still unexpected moments when she catches me in a hard hug and tells me she loves me and thanks me (to which I say what for? For being a super mean mom? 'Cuz that's who I am.) for some small thing. She's full of drama so her newest venture trying out for the school play may be right up her alley. She beats herself up about things that she needn't worry about and I call her on it. She's a worry wart and I don't know when that started (though I suspect it started when those stomach aches she used to have started as well) and I'm desperately sticking my fingers in the holes of the dam.

As for me? I have my good days and bad days, just like you. Though it's usually parts of each day that are good and not so good. Normal. Life. I'm thankful there is nothing really bad going on in my life. (Well, there is and there isn't. Perspective I suppose. The bad is sort of on the periphery for me. Distance helps detach.) I stay up too late at night. I eat too much of the wrong stuff and not enough of the right stuff. I do a lot of things "wrong" and make a lot of mistakes but I know my heart is in the right place and I'm trying to be better. I think that's about all we can do, right?

CZ Vignettes, Or, Kids Say The (Insert Trademarked Title Here)

In the car on the way home from school:

K Man: M, when we get home do you want to PARTY DOWN?

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While talking to my dad on the phone:

Me: D, are you a Fartweasel? (This is my dad's term of endearment for his grandkids.)

D: No, M is.

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M has taken on aluminum can crushing as a way to earn money.

M: It would be nice if you guys (ie us parents) would drink ALL of your pop so I don't get it all over my hands when I'm crushing them.

I'm sensing a bit of a DIVA.

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We're in the car on the way home from the zoo. We're driving a fellow Girl Scout Brownie home with us in our car. The girls have been playing games on my iPad during the trip to and from the zoo.

M: Do you want to play MONPOLY?

Me: Do you mean MONOPOLY?

The car dissolves into giggles.

Me: I think I'm going to call it MONPOLY from now on. I like it better.


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We are at the pet store. It's a turn of events I am unprepared for since I thought I was going out to buy a Lego set. K is excited but uncharacteristically in control of himself.

K Man: I think all these fish LOVE me.

Me: I have no doubt of that!

Store clerk: He is so well-behaved. What a nice boy!

Me: Believe me, this is unusual.

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