Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest…oh who cares?
By society’s standards, I am not a stunning, beautiful woman. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m hideous. I can relate to this line from one of Gretchen Wilson’s honky-tonk tunes: “I may not be a ten, but the boys say I clean up good.” Give me a shower, some makeup and a flattering dress and I’m not too shabby.
No, I’m not fishing for compliments or affirmations of my appearance. Rather, this is a celebration of my imperfections. There are things on my body that are large when they’re supposed to be small (pores, nose, feet). And there are things on my body that are small when they’re supposed to be large (use your imagination).
But you know what? I’m glad. So glad that I …
Yes, these two are actually a full-time job.
These are actual things that people have asked me since I decided to stay home with my girls a little less than two months ago. I’m getting a little tired of pushing my right eye back into my head (it pops out a little when I get angry), so I decided to provide some “education” to those who may come into contact with a SAHM, WAHM, SAHD, WAHD, or whatever term you prefer.
Please, please, please don’t ask me:
1. How are you enjoying your retirement?
My response: “How are you enjoying your ignorance?”
Retirement? Are you kidding? Staying home with your kids is really no different than having a full-time job outside of the home. And why is it that if you have the title “daycare provider,” people understand what you …
Who could deny this face? And don’t judge our nutrition choices. You know you are.
There are few things that give me the “oogies” more than cutting cardboard. And by “oogies,” I mean that nails-on-chalkboard shiver that shoots up your spine and causes your head and shoulders to shudder with disgust. (The sound of someone hocking a loogie and/or vomiting are equally offensive to me. In fact, I nearly couldn’t type that without becoming ill. Excuse me…I’ll be right back.)
When my daughter approached me with an empty oversized cereal box the other day, and asked me to “cut a hole in it so she could pretend she was on television,” I immediately grabbed a knife and started hacking away. After all, it was an awesome idea, and the fact that she said “television” instead of …
My mommy’s a liar. I am NOT amused.
(Note: This is written mostly in jest. So, read, laugh and enjoy!)
There’s a bit of parenting advice you won’t find in any child-rearing book (at least none that I’m aware of). It’s unethical, immoral and goes directly against God’s commandments (the 9th to be exact). Yet, every parent does it on a regular basis.
So, what is this taboo topic? Lying. Lying like a priceless Persian rug on a rich man’s floor, like a coon dog basking in the sunshine on my porch, like a penny in the parking lot at the grocery story (ok, enough with The Band Perry references).
Awhile back, I wrote my 5 Tips for Taming a Strong-Willed Toddler. Guess what? “Become a Liar-Liar Pants on Fire” is #6. Why? Well, let me illustrate a few scenarios …
Life with a toddler is a bit like living in the country. When it’s bad, it’s really bad. But when it’s good, it’s really, really, really good. Wouldn’t change it for a thing.
She is sunlight streaming through glistening Cottonwood leaves.
She is the tinkle of wind chimes on a summer evening.
She is a tepid breeze that lifts the hair off your neck.
She is the sweet smell of sun-warmed yellow roses.
She is my daughter.