Monday, June 27, 2011


Someday, when Alex is old enough to drive, he will stumble across my blog and pray that he’s just having a bad dream.

Six years ago, I was sitting on a couch stroking my growing belly and contemplating motherhood. Today I’m surrounded by laundry, and in my hands is a pair of true big boy underwear.
Alex has been out of diapers for a few years, but his underwear has proudly proclaimed his preschool status. Underwear that sports the Mickey Mouse clubhouse characters does not boast “these belong to a mature young man”. It’s been easy to overlook how quickly Alex is changing and growing up. Folding Mickey Mouse underwear had lured me into a false sense of security. A sense of security, which came crashing down the day sweet husband and Alex went on an underwear run. It wasn’t until I was tossing their newly acquired purchases into the washing machine that I discovered the new underwear.
My breath caught in my throat as I realized the implication of what I had found. There were no characters on this underwear. The funky halfway hole (is it really necessary?) had potential to actually be functional. Fabric aside, the very cut of these undergarments erase any pretense that they could belong to a preschooler.

In one shopping trip, my little boy has gone from sweet little baby boy to a young man.
No one ever told me that after I became a mother, underwear would have the power to reduce me to tears.

Public Humiliation

Alright people. Things are about to get real.

Statistics show that with the increase of our household, there are 3.497 non-morning people abiding together in our home.

Generally we’ve learned to adapt to this fact of life and work around the malady. Unfortunately for Sundays, we don’t have our act completely polished yet. As, our entire congregation had witness a few weeks ago.
We had woken up late, yet somehow managed to arrive at church TWO WHOLE MINUTES before Sunday school. I fleetingly wondered how we had managed to shave off so much time, as we hustled to our seats.

We got all the way through Sunday school, and through the song service, when my stomach became an angry bi-polar storm. My eyes flew open in horror as I realized the secret to our punctuality- We hadn’t eaten breakfast. On cue Alex poked me. “I’m hungry” he pantomimed. I passed Spain off to the sweet husband and started riffling through the diaper bag while praying Please let there be snacks in here! . A single serve tube of peanuts sparkled at me from the bottom of the diaper bag. It was beautiful. Normally I would have made him wait until after the service, but I FORGOT to feed the poor child. I wasn’t going to make him wait it out.

I ripped a corner off the bag and handed the peanuts to Alex, and settled back in my seat thanking the Lord for that divine bag of legumes. At this point I have to interject and really set the scene here. We decided to sit in the balcony this particular Sunday. Unlike the rest of the sanctuary, our balcony is uncarpeted. And a there is slight echo for every sound made.

My revelry was interrupted by the crashing sound of legumes exploding over the balcony. Alex had tried to widen the hole in the bag, and the entire tube split in half, sending peanuts shooting out from between his hands like confetti. Have you ever heard a bag of marbles being dropped on a floor? Fun Fact #19: peanuts scattered along wooden floors and benches, in an echo-friendly area, sounds quite similar.

Of course the balcony had a large crowd that week. Six heads simultaneously turned to Alex, who sat in his seat with an impish grin on his face, holding the incriminating, tattered remains of the peanut tube. All I have to say is: THANK YOU GOD peanuts are easy to clean off of a wood floor.

From now on we may be late to church, but Alex will be feasting on three-course breakfasts.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Naturally living or living naturally

I'm trying to eviromentally friendly and health conscience. I want to instill in my family a respect for our planet and a taste for healthy, living foods.

But it can be overwhelming.

It's so much easier to remain blissfully unaware about what we're really putting in and on our bodies. There's so much out there, and when it feels like EVERYTHING has some type of poisen, what's the use? I get so overwhelmed sometimes. The active ingredient in Sweet Husband's shampoo is linked with reproductive cancer. My facial moisturizer has a endocrine disruptor in it. The baby sunscreen that I've stalked our house with has worse side effects than an actual sunburn! You get the idea. It seems almost impossible to find safe products in an actual store.

Sometimes I feel like I'm doing everything wrong.

In a world where instant gratification reigns supreme, it's hard to watch slow changes take place.
My goal is to have a safe home for my children. Maybe it won't ever be completely free of toxins and ickyness. But I'm also setting an example for my children. I'm teaching them how to make decisions for themselves, and not blindly follow the crowd. To weigh the individual pros and cons for every nature vs. technology choice they will run into. I may not be able to attain a toxin-free house, but if I teach my children how to make informed decisions I will be able to rest easy.

For now I'll focus on baby steps. Limited processed food. Lots of produce. A moisturizer that's a little less frightening and a sunscreen I can put on my children without guilt. Those are my building blocks.