Looking for a Good Read? A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet by Sophie Hudson

I ended up having an extra visitor on our family camping trip this year.  It was so nice that she could join me, especially on such short notice, and  I enjoyed the hours we spent together at the lake, around the camp fire, and on the beach.  I really appreciated her coming along!

(Ok, before you call the police about some crazy delusional woman, let me explain a little bit...)

This was my view for a good portion of the afternoons while on our camping trip.  How I love vacation, and getting to enjoy some of my very favorite things! Sunshine, an inland lake, my adorable kids playing on the beach, a comfy chair...

...and THIS BOOK!!

Yes, this tender, witty, insightful, beautiful book.

It was right up there on the top of my list of favorite things for that week.  

Well, days.  I suppose if I'm being honest, I should say days.  Because I read it in 3 days.

The very best part of this book was Sophie Hudson's warm writing style.  It truly felt like she was sitting right there next to me in a chair on the beach, telling me her family stories.  She has the ability as a writer to pull people in and make them feel like "her people" through the written word. 

After reading her funny, poignant, touching family stories, I felt like I somehow knew her or knew the cherished members of her family.  What an incredible gift she has; to tell a story in such a way that it brings the characters to life.  

I could hear the way Martha talked in how her dialogue was written. I could taste the amazing dishes she prepared for her parents' anniversary party.  I was sitting at the Western Sizzlin and Prayer Meeting and in the car the fateful night of "the toot."  I felt the love and admiration for Sissie from her entire family.

While I loved the entire book, the last chapter left a lasting impression on me.  The perspective on being with family and being "at the table" whenever you can, no matter the distance or no matter feeling needed in other places.  It was written about it in such an eloquent way, and it truly touched my heart.  It made me thankful for my incredibly close family, and thankful for the times we are able to gather together.  It made me realize the importance of being there, and just how quickly the years do go by.  

Summer is getting into that "mid-August" phase none of us really like to talk about.  The days are getting shorter and busier at the same time, which hardly seems fair.  But it is still summer.  If you can squeak out any more summer reading, I highly suggest picking up this book.  

When you feel "right at home" with a book, and like you've been invited in to someone's family through the written word, You're a Good Mom. 

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TSW?T: A Theory of "Rhyme"itivity

They Said What? Tuesday:  Volume 16

My 3-year-old daughter...

"This is a flying shooter.  It shoots farts and poops."

...describing one of the Lego creations she built to me.  She is so prim, proper and lady-like, isn't she??  I hear way more "potty words" from my darling daughter than I do from my son.

"But mom...."
...basically every other sentence out of her mouth lately.  I think she is skipping the "school age" years and heading right into the "teenage years."

"Let's rhyme...FLAMINGO!"
...her suggestion for our next word to rhyme while we were playing a game in the car.  Apparently, her brother's previous choices of "rock" and "frog" and "lay" were too boring.

My 5-year-old son...

"Grandma, I have a theory on how a car accident happened."
...in the car while we were driving to lunch together.  I blame this one on his dad, who taught him the word 'theory' a few weeks ago.  I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get 'lawyered' by this kid more than once before he moves out of our house.
.
No matter what they say, You Are a Good Mom.

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"Parent"dox: "I Have to go Potty!"

Sunday Night "Parent"dox #19:  "I Have to go Potty!"

How is it that kids know the absolute worst time possible to have to immediately use the bathroom?  

Do they teach this in some secret underground toddler group?  Is there a tutorial on YouTube they're all passing around?  Are they born with a sixth sense to know when the absolute most difficult time to request a trip to the bathroom is?

I don't know exactly how they do it, but they do it.  And they do it well.

Now don't get me wrong.  In the days when each of my children were first starting potty training, hearing those words was absolute music to my ears.  I'd do a little celebratory dance when I'd hear "I have to go potty!" as it meant: 1.) they were actually recognizing when they had to go to the bathroom and 2.) they were actually telling me they had to go to the bathroom.  

The dancing was brought on by thoughts such as these:   Oh, the money we'll save now that we won't be buying boxes of diapers that weigh more than either of my children from Costco.  We'll be rich, I tell you, rich! 

However, now when I hear those words, it can potentially be cause for alarm and without a doubt requires immediate action.  You see, now there are no more diapers (yeah!), but also no more diapers (boo).  (The "boo" part being now that there are only underwear and pants, an accident means a much larger, more complicated, mess to deal with).  Still more emphasis on the "yeah!" than the "boo," but you catch my drift.  

I experienced an instance such as this just yesterday, when I embarked on a 4 1/2-hour car trip with my 3-year-old and 5-year-old. (I can hear you all shaking your heads and smacking your foreheads with your palms now.)  About halfway through our trip back home, I had a fail proof plan to stop at an Outlet Mall to break the trip up, grab some lunch and stretch our legs a little bit by walking around the stores.

The first thing we did when we got out of the van and walked in to the restaurant was for all 3 of us to hit the bathroom.  One of the stalls was out-of-order, which caused a little wait, but nothing too major and we all made it in time.  Success.

We sat down, ordered our food, colored on place mats  and slammed glasses of chocolate milk.  Just as our food arrived and I began cutting up slices of pizza for my kids, my son announced he had to go to the bathroom.  Again.  We had just left the bathroom a mere 20 minutes ago, but he had been in the car for 2 1/2 hours, and he had slammed a glass of chocolate milk, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Because I was on my own, I had to grab my purse, grab both kids, head to the bathroom, and pray our server didn't tell her manager to call the police because we skipped out on paying the bill.  

Remember that out-of-order stall from earlier?  Yup.  Still out-of-order.  We waited and waited and waited and thank goodness, so did my son's bladder.  

When we got back to the table, our food was still there and no armed guard was waiting with handcuffs to take me away, so that counted as a victory.  We finished our meal, I gave my debit card to our server, and while she was running my card, my daughter announced she had to go to the bathroom.

Really?  Really?

But, alas, the whole "2 1/2 hour car ride" and "slamming chocolate milk" and "she's 3 years old" and "the mess factor" and all flashed before my eyes, so I grabbed my purse, grabbed my daughter, and hoped the server wouldn't assume we really did skip out this time and I had just left her my debit card as a thank you gift for her to use freely as she saw fit.  

Just for good measure, my son also decided to stage a sit-in in protest, and refused to leave the table and go to the bathroom.  As I was busting out all the negotiation skills I've picked up from watching Flashpoint to use on my son, by the grace of God, the server returned with my card.  I signed the slip and was able to get my son to come with us because I told him we were leaving after the super speedy bathroom stop, and thankfully he conceded.

Third trip to the bathroom in one restaurant trip, for those of you who are counting.

Remember that out-of-order stall from earlier?  Yup.  Still out-of-order.  And the line was now spilling out the bathroom door, into the restaurant.  I figured this was not a good sign in any way, shape or form.  I loaded the 3 of us up in our Minivan, and headed over to the information center of the Outlet Mall in the next building over, as I knew there was bathroom with lots of stalls.  My daughter was a champ, and held out the 2 minutes until we got there.  

Sigh of relief.  We were out of the woods on the whole bathroom thing.  Or so I thought...

We left the information center and drove to the neighboring building at the Outlet Mall and headed into the toy store.  In my Mom Brain, I figured I'd let them take as much time as they wanted to wander around and look and play and pick out one small toy before I strapped them back in their car seats for 2 more hours on the road.  The first 10 minutes in the store went according to plan, and all was right with the world.  Minute 11, however, went something like this...

"Mom, I have to go potty!"

My daughter.  Again.  

Now you may be thinking "Did she really actually go the other 2 times?"  Yes, yes she did.  

Or maybe "Does she have some sort of medical thing going on here?"  No, no she doesn't.

Just a need to teach me about another of life's "parent"doxes:  Kids will always need to go to the bathroom at the absolute worst possible time.  And as parents, there's not a single thing we can do about it.

At this Outlet Mall, there aren't public restrooms in the individual stores.  They are only at certain points and at certain buildings within this particular seven-building Outlet Mall.  Remember how we drove to this other building?  To get back to the information center where the nearest bathroom was, I was going to have to get my kids out of the toy store, walk to the car, strap them both in their car seats, drive back to the other building, unbuckle them both, and run frantically through the information center to the back where the bathrooms were.  With my 3-year-old, there was no telling if we could make it through all that without an accident.  

I wasn't going to chance it.

I tried to get my kids out of the toy store as quickly as possible.  (I'm going to let you picture how that went, especially considering I had already told them they could each pick out a toy before we left.  Two words: Not. Well.)  I carried my daughter and told my son to run as fast as his little legs would take him, and yes, indeed, we made it.  We made it.  For a trickle.  Ladies and gentlemen, a trickle.  

What's worse, though, is that I knew this was the beginning of the end. Based on past experience with my daughter, I knew this particular "I have to go potty!" combined with the look on her face and "the walk" I was seeing in the toy store, it really meant "I'm gonna have to poop...sometime soon, but I'm not exactly sure when...and make no mistake it's going to happen...but it might be awhile...or it might be really soon...your guess is at good as mine...but this is real, so don't ignore it."  

Needless to say, we made this run between these two buildings two more times.  

Two.  More.  Times.  

(I'll spare you the details, but the third and final trip did prove to be successful.)  

For those of you keeping score at home, that was six -- yes, count 'em SIX -- different trips to the bathroom in one 2-hour time period.  

Thankfully, the rest of the trip home was uneventful, and didn't contain a single bathroom stop.  I would be lying if I told you the thought of putting both my kids in diapers the next time I took them on a road trip by myself didn't cross my mind at least once, if not twice, on the ride home.  

But then I decided against it, as I figured the cost of inevitable therapy for them later in life would negate the savings on not buying cases of diapers any more.  

But just barely.

On the days you spend a good portion of your day running back and forth to the bathroom with toddlers in tow, You Are a Good Mom.

(If you're really lucky, maybe someday my husband will tell you the story of my son having an "I have to go potty!" moment during the Kilimanjaro Safari at Disney's Animal Kingdom. All I can tell you is my husband had what can only be described as a moment of pure parenting genius.  Genius, I tell you.  But that story, my friends, is for another day...)  

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You Are Not Alone

To the mom who sits in the hospital room, waiting for test results and facing more questions than answers.  

You are not alone.

To the mom who drops her child off at day care for the first time, and then cries all the way to work that morning.  

You are not alone.

To the mom who is up all night with a sick baby with a double ear infection, and hasn't gotten more than 15 minutes of uninterrupted sleep.

You are not alone.

To the mom who is diligently checking every ingredient in every food label, in order to keep a potentially life-threatening substance out of her child's body and just keep her child safe.

You are not alone.

To the mom who is carrying her toddler, kicking and screaming and in full-blown temper tantrum mode, out of the grocery store, and who is leaving the groceries behind to be bought another day.

You are not alone.

To the mom who has experienced loss and grief, and feels like her own body has betrayed her after enduring a miscarriage.

You are not alone.

To the mom who is navigating the waters of parenting a child with special needs, loving that child beyond words and wanting nothing more than for the world to see that precious child for who he or she truly is, not simply as a 'label.'

You are not alone.

To the mom who thinks she is not a good mom, seeing only the good in others, but not in herself.

You are not alone.

To the mom who spends long days and nights with her baby, yet feels guilty for longing for adult conversation or for not wanting to change another diaper or clean up another spit up mess.

You are not alone.

To the mom whose child is struggling, socially, emotionally, academically, or physically, and feels at a loss for what to do next or how to help.

You are not alone.

To the mom who is trying to find herself, and figure out who she is, beyond just the title of "Mom."

You are not alone.  

To the mom wondering if she is "enough," who feels like she is constantly trying to keep up and balance it all.

You are not alone.

If you read even one of these sentences, and felt connected to it in some way, you can believe there are other Moms out there who connected with it, too.

You are not alone.  You are not alone.  You are not alone.

Being a mom is one of the best, hardest, most rewarding, most exhausting jobs on the planet.  It provides some of the highest highs we will ever feel, but also some of the lowest lows. 

Sometimes, being a mom can feel like an isolating experience.  

Sometimes, we feel pressure to be everything to everyone, every time; to fulfill some fictional "Super Mom" role that only exists on TV shows and in the expectations we build up in our minds.  

Sometimes, we don't talk about the real life stuff that is going on day in and day out, for fear that we may be the only one struggling with these things.

Sometimes, we convince ourselves that we are the only one to have ever experienced what we are experiencing.  

You are not alone.

As moms, we are so much stronger as a community.  

When we reach out to one another in a real way and share our journeys and experiences in a real way, both the highs and the lows, we create that community.  

Real life is so much more than Facebook posts and Pinterest projects and Instagram pictures of seemingly "perfect" kids and moms.  Real life is hard.  It is worth it, but it is hard.  It is worth talking about honestly.  It is worth building each other up and supporting one another, not comparing ourselves to one another.  

During the hardest times I've faced as a mom, when I've been brave enough to share my feelings or concerns or worries, what I hear in response is most often "Me, too..." or "When that happened to my daughter..." or "I know what you mean..." or "I felt like that when..."  

To hear those words provides an incredible feeling of relief.    

The relief does not depend on if the issue I'm facing can be solved or not in that conversation. 

The relief comes simply from knowing I am not alone; knowing simply that someone else has been there, too.  

You are not alone.

If you are feeling alone, reach out to someone who will listen, someone who will support, someone who will understand.  Find a friend, another Mom, a family member, or even just leave a comment here.  You may be surprised to find someone who has been down that road ahead of you, or is traveling it with you right now.   

Maybe you are able to be the voice that simply says "Me, too."  May you give that precious gift to others if ever given the chance.

You are not alone.

Please never, never forget that you are not alone.  There are so many moms who have walked where you have walked, sat where you have sat, cried where you have cried.  Share your story, share your journey.  

At the moment you feel at your lowest point, like you're hanging on by a thread, like you are the only one, remember you are not alone, and never, never forget, You're a Good Mom. 

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TSW?T: Low Zones and Ostriches

They Said What? Tuesday:  Volume 14

My 3-year-old daughter...

"I'm three.  I'm not old.  I'm not any other numbers."

...doing a little deep thinking about her age  

"No worries.  I can handle it."
...a total combination of her dad and her brother.  Her dad always says the former, her brother always says the latter.

"I want to hang out with you."
...her pleading with me to stay up after bedtime and hang out with me in the kitchen.  I wish I had recorded this so I could play it over and over and over for her at age 16.


My 5-year-old son...

"Happy University!"
...as he was handing me the vase of roses from my husband for our anniversary.  I blame this one fully on Monsters University.

"How do you do the fork?"
...what he asked me after we were snuggling and talking about 'spooning.'  With the way this kid's mind works, we are in T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Dad:  "You still don't have your pajama pants on."
P:  "I know.  I got distracted.  I'm in a low zone."
...also known as being 'in the ozone.'  I have to admit, I almost kinda like the 'low zone' thing better, though.

"I want to be an ostrich for Halloween this year!  I'll wear my orange shoes and run really fast everywhere!"
...now don't get the wrong idea.  There is NO WAY we are already thinking about Halloween costumes in this house.  The Jell-O Halloween mold tumbled out of the cupboard, which led to the costume comment.  Now that that's out of the way, I can also let you know that he is pretty sure his orange tennis shoes make him run extra fast.  And he knows ostriches are fast.  And he has an ostrich Beanie Baby from a 3:00am trip to the ER when he was 2 years old.  I can also let you know I think the orange shoes are the extent of the plan for "Costume Ostrich 2013."

No matter what they say, You Are a Good Mom.

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"Parent"dox: Gone, But Still Here

Sunday Night "Parent"dox #18:  Gone, But Still Here

Today was a special day for our family.

It was a day of love, celebration, sadness, joy, memories and togetherness, all rolled in to one.

The day began with mass.  From my 83-year-old grandpa to my 3-month-old niece, four generations of my family sat together and filled nearly three pews at his church.  After church, we all headed to Bob Evans for breakfast together.  After too many pancakes and way too much bacon, we then ventured to my aunt and uncle's pool to swim and spend the afternoon together, just as we do each year on this day.  The day wound to a close with a cookout, and of course, more eating.  Together.

From start to finish, it was a day of family.  It was a day of laughing and talking and joking and remembering.  It was a day of time spent together.  

It was a day for her.  Of her family being together, just as she would have wanted it.  

It has been a special day for our family each year for 18 years now.

You see, we lost my Grandma Helen 18 years ago this August. 

In some ways, it seems like it was just yesterday.  I still remember my mom walking into our kitchen in the early hours of the morning, after arriving home from the hospital, to tell me she was gone.  The way it felt when my breath caught in my chest and my stomach dropped when she told me somehow still seems fresh.  How can it possibly have been 18 years already?

In some ways, it seems like it's been a lifetime.  Our family has grown and grown and grown -- with marriages and births -- by leaps and bounds in that time.  It's hard for me to remember a time when my husband wasn't part of my life, but he didn't even enter the picture until after she had passed away.  He never actually got to meet her in person.  How can it possibly have been only 18 years ago?  

She may have left us 18 years ago, but she is still so very, very much with us.  

She is part of our family; then, now and forever.

She's here in the laughter, the smiles, the tears.

She's here in the quiet moments, in the loud chaos.

She's here in my sister's ability to clip and organize and find every coupon on the face of the earth.  

She's here every time anyone in our family eats at Rainbow Grill or drinks a Pepsi or eats Saltine crackers.  

She's here in the wedding band my grandpa still wears on his left hand to this day.

She's here in the way my aunts make holiday gatherings feel like celebrations and truly special days by gathering us all together.  

She's here in my ability to eat nothing but corn for dinner and be completely happy.

She's here in the way my mom goes to just about every craft show possible, and usually finds something cute for her grandkids every time she's there.

She's here in my three cousins who never met her in person, but know her and love her as Angel Grandma.  

She's here in the way my uncles will attend any sporting event of any member in our family to cheer them on, whether it's varsity basketball or 4-year-old soccer.

She's here in the way my cousins and I laugh and tease each other, often more like siblings than cousins.

She's here in the height (or lack of height...) of my own children.  

She's here in the way family is so important to all of us, and how we all support each other.

She may no longer walk this earth with us, but she is very much still with all of us -- day in, day out -- but especially so on this day.  I know it makes her heart happy as she watches her husband, her children, their spouses, her grandchildren and their spouses, and now her great-grandchildren, together.  I know she can't help but smile as she watches us all laughing, joking, playing, and just being a family together.  

That's exactly how she would have wanted us to celebrate.  Together.

She may be gone, but she is still here.  

Grandma Helen, thanks for all you taught all of us, and how you loved all of us.  You Are a Good Mom.  You are a Great Mom.  Then, now, forever, for always.  We love you and miss you!

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I Need a Stunt Double

Oh, what a beginning to the day yesterday.  Parenthood never has a dull moment, am I right?

My son wandered into our bedroom at 5:44am to let me know he had had an accident.  Yup.  He was right.  Totally and completely soaked.  The good news is he was somewhat awake so it wasn't in that half-asleep crying, confusing, panicked state...just a little embarrassed and cold. 

I got him cleaned up, then stripped the sheets off his bed.  At this point, I began assessing my situation and possible plans of attack.

If I play this right, can I get him to go back to bed for just a little bit longer?  It's still dark out.  We're being really quiet so we don't wake up his sister or his dad.  He can't read a clock yet.  I think I'll go for it.

In an attempt to get him back to horizontal as soon as possible, I went with the option of not remaking his bed with clean sheets at that point.  I hoisted him up to his top bunk bed, hoping he'd go back to sleep for a bit.  The only glitch here is his top bunk does not have a railing, as no one ever really sleeps in it.  To solve that problem, I climbed up in bed with him and acted as a "human rail" between him and the edge of the bed.  (Good time to note that the bed is shoved up against the wall on the other side.)

Glory of all glories, he did indeed drift back off to dreamland.  Hallelujah!  

Around 7:30am, my daughter was up and around and I could see her making a beeline for our bedroom.  I called out to her from my son's top bunk to let her know we were in Parker's room.  As soon as she saw us up there, she of course decided she'd love to go out into the living room and quietly read a book by herself while her brother was still sleeping.

HA!  Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention...

No, of course, she wanted to hop up in bed with us.  (Good time to note that there is no ladder for the bunk bed because, again, no one ever really sleeps on the top bunk.)  In an effort to get down as quickly as possible before she started making too much noise, I simply slid down from top bunk and jumped down to the floor.  I've done this countless times before, either from making that top bunk or getting down after getting kids up there or whatever.  Not a big deal.

Not a big deal...unless there is a mystery Lego lurking under a mini pillow pet.

Oh, yes, ladies and gentlemen.  A big ole Lego (like the chunky kind toddlers play with) was in a ninja-like state, hiding just under the edge of the mini pillow pet where I had planned my landing.  And let me tell you, that hurts.  HURTS.  Take how you are wincing in pain right now just after reading that, and multiply it by about a million.

Here would be the result of that ungraceful leap:

High percentage chance I broke my toe.  

Wondering how I did this?  I think when I hit the Lego with my foot, my brain went "OUCH! GET OFF THAT THING, YOU DUMMY!" and then I transferred all my weight onto my toes to prevent the Lego actually lodging itself permanently in the bottom of my foot.  Not one of my finer moments...

All in a day's work, people.  All in a day's work.

I think I need a stunt double.

Even if you acquire a few injuries along the way, You're a Good Mom. 

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What "parenthood injuries" have you incurred in the line of duty?  Yes, stepping on a Barbie shoe counts.  (Those suckers hurt!)  Yes, your child flinging Spaghetti-O's into your eye counts, too.  (Ouch.)  Let's hear 'em, folks.  (Just hoping I'm not the only one who finds herself in these predicaments.)  

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If you haven't already, be sure to stop by and check out the "You're a Good Mom" page on Facebook.  "Like" it and any new blog posts will be delivered right to your news feed!  Thanks!!

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