Fortune Cookies

Last night, we had Chinese food for dinner. This of course ended with fortune cookies. The adults all ate their slightly stale cookies, read their fortunes, and laughed them off. Bean, however, took her fortune to heart. This is now her greatest treasure. It goes with her everywhere, and she insists that it's important.

I wonder at what age we lose the wonder of small things like this? I remember as a child having a metal cash box that I considered my "treasure box." In it were things that were dear to my little heart. A note from a special boy that I met one summer at the lake... the wing from some large insect... a stone in the shape of a heart... my favorite sticker. Anyone else would label these things as junk. But they were more important to me than silly old money.

So I wonder when our priorities shift. Now, with a mortgage and four mouths to feed, BigGuy and I place much more value in cold hard cash. As we try to maintain some order in the house, we throw out bags and bags of garbage. When dandelions rear their ugly little yellow heads, the last thing on my mind is the fun white wishmakers they'll be in a few weeks.

I need my daughters to teach me to find the wonder in life again.

It's a woman's prerogative

Well, they say it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind. Apparently Bean has tapped into this at the mature age of 4. To understand the full weight of her announcement today, I have to give you some back story.

Since she was old enough to safely eat it, Bean has hated peanut butter. We're talking full-body shudders, and facial contortions that would make Jim Carrey proud. We gave her a Reese's peanut butter cup when she was about 2 years old (I know... feel free to revoke my Mommy of the Year award), and she disappeared with it. I went to find her, and she was in the bathroom, washing the peanut butter out of the cup so she could eat the chocolate. She has developed the sensitive taste buds of a wine connoisseur, and can sense peanut butter in the smallest traces.

This has come at no small level of shock to me, since I am the Peanut Butter Queen. Not only is there always peanut butter in the house, but I require a backup peanut butter to be present at all times in our pantry. Just in case some fluke summer blizzard hits the area, and the grocery stores are overrun with panicked people who take all the peanut butter. You never know. "Forget the toilet paper! Who needs water! Give me the peanut butter!"

After honeymooning in another country, and finding out they did not have peanut butter available, I now bring an emergency peanut butter jar with me on all out-of-country travels. I know... I really should get help.

So today, with all the gravity that such an announcement requires, Bean declared, "I have decided that I like peanut butter." Once I recovered from my shock, I rallied forth with a joyous shout: "Huzzah! PB&J for dinner!"

Bean's introduction to the male anatomy

Recently Bean saw her (boy) friend "Stinky" changing out of his swimsuit after a day at the splash park. I saw her staring, and managed to distract her, albeit too late. I knew she was processing, so I was just waiting for the bomb to drop.

My mom babysat her, and (of course) this is when Bean decided to talk through everything. "I saw a little boy getting changed, and his stuff was hanging out!" Bean proceeds to look disgusted. "Oh... really..." said my mom, moving quickly into panic mode. "And he didn't have fur like mommy or daddy." This would be the point that most people would start dialing Child Services, so of course I had some 'splaining to do when I went to pick her up. I managed to reassure Mom that Bean has NOT seen BigGuy naked (much to my mom's relief), but that she's seen me go to the bathroom. So that of course was why I had to explain to her that mommies and daddies have hair down there, and she would too when she grew up.

Here's hoping it's a LONG time before we have to have a discussion like this again.

Mommy Nazis

We all know them. Some of us may actually be them. Mommy Nazis.

These are the moms who are intent on making every other mom feel insecure about her parenting skills. Who sneer down their nose at your garage-sale-find stroller because it doesn't have the right name on it. Who are horrified that you don't buy organic food for your baby, let alone that you don't make it from scratch. Her child is learning Mandarin, while mine learns Spanish from Dora and Handy Manny.

Why do we do this to each other? When will we accept that there is no right way and no wrong way to raise a child? That as long as the kid is happy and healthy and safe... it's perfectly alright for them to play at the park without 2 gallons of antibacterial lotion being involved.

Unfortunately, I think we'll always be at war. The Stay-At-Home-Moms (SAHM) versus the Working Moms. The Breastfeeders versus the Formula Feeders. The ones who let their kids watch TV, versus the ones who would never dream of it.

I recently had someone tell me I could never do a fantastic job of parenting because I work from home. Therefore I can't give 100% of my attention to my children at all times. My question is this... what is this mother preparing her children for? When these kids go to school, and the teacher has to divide her attention between 25 children... will there be a meltdown? But this M.N. is in the bully category... she can do no wrong, in her eyes. So I just went on my way, and tried to put it out of my mind. Add it to the list of fears I have as a mom... that I'm somehow depriving them of a normal childhood because I choose to work.

When are you having another?

Let's talk about this ladies. Pretty much from the moment Squish slid out, we've been getting this question. Part of me takes it as a compliment... that people like our children enough to want us to keep reproducing. But part of me wants to tell them we'll have another when they can pay for its college education. I usually settle for a much more friendly and enigmatic "well, we'll see."

I love my girls. They make me so happy, and I'm proud of the little people they are becoming. There's not a day that goes by that I don't get some sweet snuggle time with Squish, and hear Bean tell me she loves me.

But some days I would trade them in for a new Corvette and 5 minutes of peace. I may or may not have recently chased BigGuy with a pair of scissors and demanded that he drop his pants so we could make SURE we wouldn't have any more children. Does this change when you add to the brood? Does it get worse? Or do you just adjust to a new level of crazy?

I watch my friends with 4+ children, and it scares me. All of them are in dire need of a long massage and a dinner where they don't have to cut anyone's food. I also don't want to be an old mom. I envision myself at 50, still covered in spit-up and finger paints, still spelling the words I don't want to hear repeated in front of my mother.

I recently had a stranger compliment my girls' behavior in a store. I had one of those brief shining moments where you feel like all your hard work has paid off. I felt a uterine twinge as I contemplated whether we should grace the world with another one of our stellar children. And then, with a sigh, I pulled Bean's finger from her nose, and reminded Squish AGAIN not to chew on the shopping cart. Maybe we'll get another dog.

Don't Touch Me

I feel bad for BigGuy today. I was in the shower, and he reached around the curtain to give my backside a squeeze. "Get out!" I snapped. He was hurt. So I had to explain to him that showers are the only time I have where no one is touching me. No little person is clinging to me and demanding snacks/juice/one.more.episode.of.Dora.the.Explorer. Does this make me a bad wife?

Getting to Know You

I decided to start this blog because I so often want to comment on life, but don't necessarily want to share it with my friends and family. I hope to keep some anonymity, but we'll see how that goes. Comments are welcome, but please keep it clean and friendly.

A little about me: I'm very happily married, despite the occasional rant you'll see on here. ;) "BigGuy" is my best friend, and I couldn't ask for a better husband. I'm a 30-something mother of two girls. "Bean" is 4, and "Squish" is 1. They warm my heart with their sweetness, and make me pull my hair out on occasion.

I'm a Christian. While I don't plan on making my faith a focus in my posts, it's a big part of our life as a family. However, I think motherhood is something we all struggle through, no matter what we believe in.

I own my own business, and I work from home. I'm enjoying the pro's of that, and working through the con's. Mostly I'm learning how to balance all the parts that make up me.

So grab a glass of whine, and hopefully we can laugh and cry together.