I thought we were trying to teach our children to be socially responsible….”go green“….reduce our carbon footprint….

Then why are the Hobbits bringing home hundreds of papers at the end of the year?

Is it really necessary for me to have every name tag the Hobbits ever used in the classroom?  I think the teachers could have saved my poor Hobbits’ spines and thrown that crap straight into the trash.

One of the Hobbits brought home a backpack so heavy that I can barely lift it from the floor.

Now, instead of enjoying our lazy days and pool time, I have to crack the whip to get the Hobbits to clean out their backpacks.

And we all know, they want to keep every single piece of paper that came home.  They are each such a very special memory….the name tag on the desk….the name tag from the chair….the name tag for their lunch order….

Are there actually mothers who keep all this crap?  What am I saying?  Of course, there are, you dear sentimental saps.  You are probably the same mommies who cry when the little darlings get on the bus the first day of school.  So glad I am not one of you….more power to you….I just don’t think I will be joining your club!

There is probably some crafty idea on Pinterest of a lovely kindergarten collage you can make to give to your child on the event of their college graduation.

Because doesn’t every 20-something, beginning their “real” life want kindergarten memorabilia hanging on the wall?

Look!….there is the day I got a gold star for not crying for my mommy….or the picture of me on the first day that I didn’t crap my pants at school….wait, wait, what about this one?….this is my handprint that my teacher turned into a peacock….I painted it all by myself….boy, my mom loved the colors I used!….

I have enough trouble trying to remember to sign my kids up for all the camps and sports for the summer….not to mention remembering to throw out the half-eaten lunches….

Hobbit, I love you, and I am proud of all the things you learned at school this year.  Now you need to learn another valuable lesson….a lesson that does not come from your teacher….one that I am responsible for teaching you.

You are cute and all, but I don’t want to keep every single piece of art from first grade….or fifth grade….or kindergarten.

Your handprints are cute and small….you will soon learn how to spell your middle name….I will just remember those things, ok?

Oh, who am I kidding….I will forget….but so will you, and then no one will be the wiser.

So sit your butt down, dump all that crap into the trash bin, and let’s swim!

Share and Enjoy!

• 

I love punching the shit out of the heavy bag.

It is more socially acceptable than punching the Hubby or the Hobbits.

I made the mistake of asking Hubby for an honest opinion about boxing.  I didn’t mean it.  I thought I did….but I didn’t.

Here’s what I asked: I might lose a little weight and tone up, right?

Wrong, apparently.

Hubby….(and our ex-personal-trainer friend)….agree that body shape is more about diet than exercise.

Pffffttt, I say.

Under my flab there are still a few muscles.  Logic says that if I tone the muscles under the fat, then the fat will be pulled in a little tighter, right?

Wrong, says Hubby.

What?!?

When I am boxing, I am super-aware of all of my “jiggly bits.”  Normally, it just feels like flab, but all that jumping and punching gets things going in their own directions.

My belly jiggles over the waistband of my pants….

My arms jiggle when I throw a punch….

My boobs are working hard to jiggle their way right out of my shirt….

But worst of all….my hoo-ha is jiggling.

Yep.  Every single time I do any type of squat or lunge, my hoo-ha is doing its own thing down there….marching to the beat of a different drum.

I’m pretty sure it’s not toning or tightening….

Damn Hobbits have ruined my body.  Well, the Hobbits….plus sitting on my ass….plus too much junk food….but, for today, I am placing the blame squarely on the Hobbits.

I feel justified in blaming them.  Sitting on my couch and eating junk food did not stretch my lady parts to the point of no return….but I am pretty sure that birthing six human beings may have had something to do with it!

Women tell you that your body will never be the same after childbirth…..they tell you about saggy boobs….they tell you about stretch marks….

But nobody ever mentions that passing a human through your girl parts will take them past their ability to recover.

It ain’t pretty down there, I’m sure.

I am not going to check it out in a mirror.  I am not going to ask for an opinion.

I don’t want to know.  I don’t need to know.

And I damn sure don’t want an honest opinion this time.

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• 

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: one is roots, the other is wings….Hodding Carter.

Roots….and wings….

Roots that will anchor them….roots of unconditional love….roots of home….roots that give them the courage to fly….

Wings that allow them to soar….wings that are strong….wings that allow them to fly to heights we never imagined they could reach….

As an adult, this is painful to write….painful to acknowledge.

I was never given roots or wings.

I grew up in a religious cult.

We sang songs celebrating that children were “precious in His sight.”  Preachers read Bible verses calling children “the heritage of the Lord.”  We were a gift from God.

But these “gifts from God” were exploited, mistreated, and beaten into submission.  We were told what to do and what to think.  We were not allowed to question authority or to have independent thought.

Our parents were told that we should be disciplined to the point of breaking our will.  They were praised for their investment in the future.

We cried….we rebelled….we conformed….we were broken.

I left home, at eighteen years old, to continue my education at another cult institute.  I had never been on an un-chaperoned date….I had never held a job….I had been insulated from the “world.”

My parents….(like God)….blessed me, praised me, rewarded me….when I honored their desires.

Again….(like God)….they belittled me, punished me, humiliated me….when I fell short.

There were people in my life who gave me unconditional love, but I was kept from their “worldy” influence.

I questioned my commitment to God.  I was ashamed of my questions.

I thought there was something wrong with me.  I thought I wasn’t dedicated enough.  I thought I should pray more.  I thought maybe I wasn’t “saved.”

My roots had never been nourished….nurtured….watered.  My roots were shallow and fragile.  I struggled to survive when the storms came and the fierce winds blew.

When the time came for me to leave the nest, my wings were weak and damaged.  My wings had been repeatedly clipped, and I did not know how to use them to fly from the only shelter I had known.

I fell time and again.  I was battered.  I was broken.  I was alone.  I was vulnerable.

My roots were frail.  My wings were useless.

I barely survived the storms.  I fell from my flight time and time again.

I still struggle to dig my roots ever deeper.  My flight is still wobbly and uncertain, at times.

I still bend during the storms…..but I am still standing.

I still fall from the skies….but I continue to fly.

I wonder what kind of roots and wings I am capable of giving to my Hobbits.

I am trying my best to give them roots bathed in unconditional love….no strings attached.

Their wings are young and weak, but I allow them to practice their flight and strengthen their wings.

I hope it is enough.  I hope they will soar.

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• 

Linea nigra dark midline streak on a 22 weeks pregnant female. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have you seen the videos where two men attempt to “experience” childbirth?

I am calling “bullshit!”

These dudes were simply trying to produce and/or star in a viral video.  Mission accomplished, boys.

But, if they actually believed they were going to experience the miracle of childbirth…..epic fail!

First off,  these boys did not experience pregnancy.

Pregnancy brings the start of morning sickness….which is really just a medical term for “I feel like shit every minute of every day.”

You are tired to the point of not being able to lift your head….or your ass….from the couch.  And so far, you have not even peed on a stick.  You walk around wondering, what the hell is happening.  Maybe you are unusually stressed….maybe you are fighting off a flu….

Your boobs have instantly swollen to the size of cantaloupes and ache with even the slightest touch….from your husband, your clothes, even the spray of the shower.

You start to wonder….could you be pregnant???  You wait until the early morning when your bladder is bursting and pee on a stick….trying not to spray your hand as you do.

Yay!  You are pregnant!….Oh, shit….you are pregnant….

A new baby to love!…Crap….you can barely keep a houseplant alive….

Wll it be a boy?  tractors and dinosaurs! Maybe it will be a girl?  bows and lace!…..Shit….what if it is twins?….Twins do run in your family.  Oh, my god….two of everything!

You make an appointment with a doctor.  You spread your legs for exams, and you are leeched for blood tests.

Finally, you start to feel better….but now you have outgrown all of your pants, all of your bras, and even your shoes.

You burp without warning, and you fart like a truck-driver.

You register for all sorts of baby gifts, hoping someone will buy you every one of these things.  Because, honestly, why is all this stuff so expensive when it is so freaking small?  How much gear does a seven-pound human actually require?

You read books about the development of your unborn baby, you register for classes to prepare you for childbirth, you tour the hospital, you pack your bag, you choose names.

You are getting so close….and now you wonder how your hoo-ha will accommodate an actual living person when the only thing it has hosted in a long time is your husband….and let’s be honest….those two things do not compare!

By the time you arrive at the hospital, you are most likely not setting the scene for the video camera.  You may be leaking all sorts of fluids from your lady parts.  You may be clutching your tightening, swollen belly, and even asking perfect strangers to make all sorts of unreasonable promises….(you know who you are!)

You are instructed to strip naked under the flattering hospital gown….boobs dangling, ass blowing in the breeze.

You are strapped to monitors, stabbed with IV needles, and more blood is drawn.

Your labor may last through more than one change of nursing shifts….pushing you to the point that you think you may actually die…..pushing you to the point that you hope maybe you will.

Okay, video dudes, did you actually experience any of that?….right….I didn’t think so….

Don’t forget, boys, your wife is also going through all of that while wondering how that human head will actually escape her….(until-now)….tiny little hoo-ha!

Yep….just as I suspected….the attempt to experience childbirth was indeed bullshit….

….But I will, sure as shit, tune in when they attempt to experience breastfeeding!

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• 

I have come to accept (mostly) that my family is a circus sideshow.

When we are out and about, strangers point, stare, smile, and whisper….much like they would do when seeing a bearded lady or a woman putting her head into the mouth of a lion.

Sometimes, I am pretty sure, I can even hear gasps of shock and delight.

Grandmothers will smile and nod, maybe saying a word to me about how beautiful my family is….or how it reminds them of their own family in younger years.

People will arrange a polite smile on their faces, while counting how many Hobbits I actually have.

Other people will strike up a friendly conversation that always goes something like this:  How many children do you have?….Are they all yours?….Wow, you sure do have your hands full!….

I am used to that conversation.  I have heard hundreds of versions of that same conversation.

But, more often than you would think, I meet a person who comments about how full my hands are….and then proceeds to engage me in a twenty-minute conversation.

Really?….Nobody tries to hold long conversations at the circus with the lion tamer or the bearded lady…..

It happened again last week when the Hobbits had a day off school.  We ran errands, and stopped for lunch.  The counter-service restaurant was packed, and the seven of us sat at two tables next to each other.

The Hobbits were exceptionally well-behaved, in spite of the fact that they were all hungry.    They devoured cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, french fries, and lemonade.  We laughed and had fun together.

Toward the end of the meal, a man in a booth just over my shoulder started polite conversation….

Are they all your children?….Only one boy?….You have both of your hands full….

And then he started to tell me that he and his wife were here from out of town….for their grandson’s college graduation….he graduated with a 4.1 GPA….he was an engineering major….

….and this is when I realized this could go on for a very long time, so I started to tune out….

….blah, blah, blah, Arizona….blah, blah, blah, steel mill….blah, blah, blah….

Now, let me get this straight….you have already clearly stated that I have both of my hands full, and that my Hobbits are well-behaved.  Do you think that happened by accident?  Do you think they got that way by me ignoring them while I engaged in long conversations with perfect strangers?

Do you think that my hands are any less full by talking with you, while choruses of “mom, mom, mom” fill the air around me?

Because your delightful stories are really helpful and lightening my load!  Thanks so much, pal!

Now, can I get back to wrangling said well-behaved Hobbits?

Oh, and maybe I will work on growing a beard, too.

Share and Enjoy!

• 

It seems to me that Mother’s Day is not really about mothers at all.

If this were truly a day for mothers, wouldn’t we all be sitting on a beach somewhere, sipping fruity drinks….or maybe relaxing at a spa….or (my favorite fantasy)….holed up in a hotel with nothing to entertain me other than room service and trashy television….far, far away from all my responsibilities.

Mother’s Day weekend comes with promises of anything I want to do….and then none of those promises come true.

Oh, you would like to take a long nap?….well, too bad….you will be interrupted several times by Hobbits in various stages of crisis.

You would like to take a shower?…..that’s not going to work out so well, either….Hobbits will burst into the bathroom wanting permission to go outside, play with their friends, or demanding snacks….or Hubby will come into the bathroom to ogle you while you towel off.

I don’t remember asking to referee fights or temper tantrums…..I don’t recall asking for any of the things that I have been treated to today.

I sure am glad it’s my special weekend…..because, otherwise, I may just be doing the regular old bullshit I do every other day of the year.

Special weekend, my ass.

I know my children will all present me with homemade gifts to show me how much they care….and they will be sweet….but couldn’t they just spend one day without fighting, crying, whining….or trying to postpone their bedtime.

I guess it is just too damn much to ask on my “special day.”

And this is why Mother’s Day is bullshit.

Mother’s Day is not really about mothers at all.  It is just some ridiculous, retail holiday where all the advertisers claim to know exactly what mom really wants.

Sure, I would love a new sweater….a brilliant diamond…..or even an iPad.  And the kids cards, pictures, and poems will be priceless to me one day….

But how about a freaking day off….on my “special day.”

And when I say I want a day off, what I really mean is…..a day where I don’t hear any arguing or whining…..a day where I don’t have to deal with diapers or spit-up…..a day where absolutely freaking no one speaks to me all day long…..a day where I can play candy crush for as many hours as I want….a day where I can read in bed for hours on end.

That’s what I want for Mother’s Day….

Now, Hubby….you still need to visit the retail stores.  I still love jewelry, heartfelt cards, and electronics.

But the bad news is that you are going to have to work a little harder than an after-work stop at the mall for my real gift….

You need to locate a hotel 30-45 minutes away….I need a little bit of drive time to feel like I am truly escaping.

You need to make the reservation and take care of all the arrangements.  By the way, make sure the hotel offers amazing room service.

You need to pack my bag.  I only want you to include giant sloppy tee shirts, socks, and a toothbrush.  I don’t plan to leave the room one time.  You should include a decadent bottle of bubble bath and a bottle of fruity, sparkling wine.  Also, make sure you include my new jewelry, my card, and my new tablet…so that I can play with out interruption from the Hobbits.

You need to resist the urge to call me or text me.  I don’t want to know what is going on at home….and if you can stick to this one, I will thank you properly for my gifts when I return, rested and refreshed from my day off.

When I come back home….after 24 hours of peace and quiet….I will be ready to hug my Hobbits and truly enjoy their crafty, home-made, “you’re-a-mediocre-mommy-but-I-know-you-love-me-anyway” gifts.  Yep…I actually got a touching poem with that very sentiment….

So….this is how to give me the best Mother’s Day gift ever….until then I will stand by my statement….

Mother’s Day (in its current state) is bullshit!

Share and Enjoy!

• 

Hubby would like to know if anyone has seen his mediocre wife.  She has been replaced by a work-horse.

During the week, I had started scraping and painting the cedar trim on the exterior of the house, painting the deck, painting the floor of the tiki bar, turning a door into a magnetic chalkboard, and painting a chalkboard in another Hobbit’s room.

We spent the weekend tying up the loose ends on all of those projects.

We ran into problems with the very first project.  The angle was all wrong for me to safely get up on the 40-foot ladder Hubby had brought from work.  So….we had to rent a man-lift.

It was an improvement over the last time we painted a house together….

Hubby does not like heights, so I was the one on the ladder.  For the first part, we had to put the ladder into the back of Hubby’s truck in order to get into the proper position.

I was painting ornate gingerbread trim with limited ability to move around on the ladder, so Hubby sat in a lawn chair….under a shade tree….letting me know when I had missed a spot.

It really was helpful….but I was happy to point out that any casual observer…(or neighbor)…would surely think he was a complete asshole!

When I moved to paint above the windows of that house, we had to bring the ladder out through a bedroom window and perch it on the roof.

Hubby tied it off, and then said…..”if you start to fall, I am not going to catch you.  The kids will need at least one surviving parent”….ladies, take heart…chivalry is not dead!

This weekend, we spent a couple of hours on the manlift, scraping and painting the house.

We moved some things around on the tiki bar so I could finish painting the floor….

I finished the final touches on the deck…completed all the chalkboards…..created a chalkboard for the tiki bar….and we still managed to be semi-present for the Hobbits.

All in all, it was a good day….we spent fairly uninterrupted time on the manlift….well, except for the Hobbits leaning out the window where we were painting….and we got a lot accomplished.

After bedtime for all of the Hobbits, we climbed into the shower.  Don’t panic….the story is not going to a scary place!….I was too freaking tired for it to go anywhere….

I was under the water, shampooing my hair…..when Hubby said….

“Today was a really good day….I just wish we had gotten a little more done….”

I opened one eye, but, nope….he wasn’t kidding.

What the hell?!?  I just did enough work to earn myself several weeks off.  Let’s go through that list again, huh?

Painted the exterior of the house….ok, so it was only the cedar trim, but still….

painted the three-tier deck….

painted the tiki bar floor….

three coats of magnetic paint on a door in a Hobbit’s room (which, by the way, turned out to be a huge pain in the ass)….plus two coats of chalkboard paint….

two coats of chalkboard paint in another Hobbit’s room….plus a decorative border….

and….turned a discarded piece of wood into a chalkboard for the tiki bar….

Crap!  I really wish I had gotten more done….in one day!

I know that Hubby will read this….so, listen up, buddy!

Yeah, yeah….I heard you….I know that’s not how you meant it…

….but, in spite of all the wonderful qualities you possess….this is precisely why I still reserve the right to blog about you!

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• 

I am the first to admit that I am mediocre in, oh, so very many ways.

I am not in any way, shape, or form mediocre at shoe shopping.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have an impressive shoe collection.  And I do mean collection, because each pair has been carefully chosen, carefully sought out….and only the best make the cut.

If I wanted to get deep about some sort of self-esteem issues, I could hypothesize that everything about my body has been in flux for the past 12 years.  But my shoes can always be counted on.

My feet have grown a bit, but, really, wasn’t that just an excuse to improve the collection?

I could tell you that sometimes, I just don’t feel very confident….but it makes me smile to know that a killer pair of shoes is grounding my outfit.

Seriously, take any pair of jeans and a plain tee, pair them with a fabulous pair of shoes….and now you have an outfit!

I could tell you that when I chose my first tattoo, I first considered how it would look with my shoes.  I wanted both the ink and the shoes to be shown in their most flattering light….complementing, not competing.

I am a firm believer that every foot can benefit from moisturizer and a beautiful set of red toenails….or pink, or violet, or even a playful blue.

I love my boots.  I have ankle boots, mid-calf boots, knee boots, and even a newer pair of over-the-knee boots.  I wear them over my jeans, under my jeans, with a skirt, or a pair of brightly-colored tights.  They are suede, leather, distressed, and embellished.  They tie, buckle, lace up, and zip.

I have flats, I have wedges, I have heels, and I have sandals.  They have chains…they have jewels….they have flowers….they have studs and spikes.  They are black….brown….green….pink….animal prints….patent….and metallic.

My favorites….my very favorites….are the sandals.  I get to show off my slender ankles, my manicured toes, and my tattoo.  Some of my favorite physical attributes, which I appreciate all the more after birthing six Hobbits.  Let’s face it….not all of my “assets” have fared so well.

I recognize other shoe collectors.  I can spot them across a room.  I notice them at restaurants.  I see them at church.  I admire their shoes, and they admire mine.

I learned an essential life lesson as a fan of Sex And The City.  Never worry about matching your shoes to your outfit.  If your shoes are amazing, they will carry your outfit.  Quirky, fun, and unexpected is better than matching any day, in my opinion!

My shoes reflect my mood.  Some days I am subdued….some days I am loud….some days I am flirty….some days I am a badass.  And, not surprisingly, I have a shoe for every mood!

When a mediocre friend sent up an SOS that she needed two new pairs of shoes for a weekend event, I was ready to shop!

Three of us were shopping together.  I should have known we were heading for trouble when the other two started talking about buying shoes to match her dresses.  Oh, boy….

This is a high-brow event my friend will be attending, and I was not about to let her look like she just came off the turnip truck.  Did I mention that I am really good at shoes?!

For long events, comfort and wearability is very important….but so are lots of other factors….like style and sex appeal!

I am pretty sure I would have had an easier time convincing one of these dear ones to donate a kidney than to agree with my shoe choices.

(Horrified)….”I cannot wear red shoes!”….or….”But these are a designer brand”…..ummmm, ladies….the brand does not cancel the ugly.

The first pair we bought was relatively easy to agree upon….a lovely mid-heel with a closed toe and a delicate ankle strap.  They were a fabulous satin floral print, with feminine pleating around the heel.

At the next store, I couldn’t pull either of them away from the large selection of silver prom shoes.  Even the ones with the lucite heels.  Ugh….

Meanwhile, the stranger in another aisle was gladly taking my advice and heading to the register with her purchase.  She had taken one look at my strappy, spiked, black sandals and declared me to be a shoe expert. She was a genius….

….and I was still stuck with Mediocre Frick and Mediocre Frack….looking at silver prom shoes.

Before they could try on every pair of silver shoes and debate each of them, I called it quits, and we headed to a third store….where I chose the perfect pair of nude, platform sling-backs.

Dinner was next, and I am not sure if The Friends agreed with me or if I had just worn them down to the point of starvation….where they really didn’t care.

Although Mediocre Frack did walk over to show me the pair of green, jelly-style, ballet flats she was trying on.  I honestly didn’t know at that point if she actually liked those horrible shoes or if the two of them were messing with me….playing some kind of ridiculous joke.

Shoes are no joking matter, Ladies.  Shoes are serious business.  You don’t amass a collection like mine by joking about plastic shoes.

Mediocre Frick bought her nude sling-backs for her fancy event.  Mediocre Frack actually bought a super-cute, bright pink and orange pair of ballet flats…..

And I bought an amazing pair of retro, fishnet, pin-up-inspired, pink-and-patent leather platforms for myself.  I also bought six pairs of flip-flops….one for each Hobbit.

At the checkout, the cashier bagged our purchases.  Each of the Mediocre friends had one  pair of shoes.

My bag contained one pair of sexy platforms and six pairs of kids’ sandals…..

Gee….I wonder how I ended up with those six Hobbits….

Share and Enjoy!

• 

Last week, I officially lost my mind.

I was so mad at Hubby that I stormed out of the house, left a note on the kitchen counter, and went straight to the bar.

In all the years that we have been together….in any fight that we have had….neither of us has ever done that.

It was the night of my boxing class, and it was my only chance to go boxing for the week.

Hubby stopped for his own workout before coming home, and he was cutting it close to the time I needed to leave for my class.

As a side note…(central to the story)….Baby Hobbit has entered her phase of headstrong, I-want-it-my-way-but-I-don’t-have-words-to-commnicate.   Oh, joy….

I know that this is a phase….every Hobbit has gone through the same thing….but it feels endless.

The current focus of her anger is the highchair.

She has decided that she will only eat while walking around.  I have decided that she is wrong.

So….when Hubby got home, the Hobbits were eating dinner, and Baby Hobbit was in a full-blown tantrum because she did not want to sit in her highchair.

Hubby immediately tried to help, but there was nothing to be done for her.

She had lost her mind….and while trying to derail the tantrum, I nearly lost mine, too.

She was screaming in my ear, and I was mentally calculating if I could still make it to my class….when I looked over at the Hubby…..

He had a plate of food in front of him, and was calmly….and obliviously….grinding pepper onto his dinner.

I’m not kidding you….it was the sight of him grinding the pepper….grind, grind, grind….that completely sent me off.  The slow, methodical twisting….twisting….twisting….

I sat at the table for a moment to wait out the Baby Hobbit’s tantrum.

You’re not going to believe this, but Hubby actually said, “aren’t you going?  What are you screwing around for?”

“Screwing around????”  I shrieked….”you mean while the Hobbit was screaming in my ear?….or while you were grinding the pepper???”

“Just go,” he said.  ”I’ve got this….”

“You’ve got this??….When, exactly, did you ever HAVE this???”

And there I sat, breathing heavily, like a bull about to charge.

Baby Hobbit’s tantrum ran its course, but mine was just beginning.

I stormed into our bedroom and began slamming drawers, putting away laundry.  I plugged in my headphones, and queued up every angry song that I could find on my playlist.

I was stomping out of the closet when I nearly collided with Hubby…..who was standing in front of me, wearing a pair of latex gloves….

“What the f*** are you doing?”  I shouted over my pounding music….and then he proceeded to ask me a question about what could possibly be clogging up the vacuum cleaner.

“Why the f*** are you cleaning the vacuum right now?”

“Because it was sitting there,” he said.

In spite of my fabulous tantrum, I figured bedtime for the Hobbits was now back up to me….Hubby was busy cleaning the vacuum cleaner.

I stormed up the stairs, started yelling at Hobbits, and cleaning up their rooms for bedtime. Hubby sat on the bed in the room, and yelled at me for being “passive-aggressive.”

To which I responded, “I didn’t know there was anything about me right now that is passive!”

I stomped to the kitchen, left a note on the counter, and stormed out of the house.  I went to the nearest bar and ordered a drink.

When a friend met me later, I ranted and yelled about the whole episode.

The more I talked, the more I realized that….just maybe….I had overreacted….just the tiniest bit.

A young, single, male friend with no context for a married fight was probably not the most sympathetic listener, but he did his best to stifle his confusion and pretend to be on my side.

In the retelling of the story, I realized just how ridiculous the entire argument had been….and just how ridiculous I had been.

Hours later, I returned home, only slightly tipsy, and apologized to the hubby.  I swear, sometimes, you just need to go ape-shit and then have a drink….or two!

By the way, I also apologized to the Hobbits the next morning for my grown-up temper tantrum.  They all seemed to forgive me.

I only hope their future therapists can forgive me too!

Share and Enjoy!

• 

We witnessed a baptism at church on Sunday.

A baptism allows each member of our church to share a special moment with the new family.  We support them, celebrate with them, and honor them.

We have experienced six baptisms in our family, each one just as unique as the Hobbit.

My favorite part of each baptism comes toward the end of the service.  Our priest calls the parents forward for a special blessing.

He speaks about the important role of the parents.  They are the first and most important teachers of their child.  They are the physical embodiment of God’s love for their child.

He then places his hands on the head of each parent, silently praying.  The words he speaks as he removes his hands from the mother’s head go something like this….”She now thanks God for the gift of her child”…..

In that moment, I am pretty sure that is exactly what she is doing….thanking God for her child.  It is just what I did in each of those moments.

On Sunday, Hobbit #5 was sitting on my lap during the parent blessing.  I whispered in her ear…”this is my favorite part.”

“What is he doing?” she asked.

“He is praying for the mommy so she will love her baby and be a good mommy,”  I answered.

“You should do that…”

I lovingly recreated a special memory for her.  ”I did….at each of your baptisms.  I remember having my blessing at your baptism, and it was really special.”

Without a single moment of hesitation, she said, “But you are not a good mom…..you are always really mean.”

I burst into laughter.  Even my youngest Hobbits know me far too well.  I have not fooled any of them.

Clearly, the “good mommy” part of the baptism didn’t take.  She wanted me to have a re-do.  Six times wasn’t enough.

Your Hobbits definitely keep you from getting too damn proud of yourself, don’t they?

Maybe one day those six blessings I received will finally kick in and I will be a good mom….and not so mean!

Or maybe not!  Don’t hold your breath…

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