I Am Felling for You


My five-year old, Blonde, is now in kindergarten.  So, now we have mornings now that go like this:

Me:  Blonde, I need you to eat, dress, brush, and get your backpack on.  Maybe all in that order.  And within the next seven minutes.  I realize this is totally unrealistic but alarm clocks are hard.

Blonde:  I cannot respond to this.  It’s like BIG early.

Me:  Blonde, clothes, oatmeal, toothbrush – HERE.  Don’t be overwhelmed little one. Just try to remember to put your underpants on first.

Blonde:  Why? Why da underpants first?


Blonde:  I call your bluff, lady.  And Red is still sitting on the floor in the kitchen with his oatmeal.  Evidently he doesn’t think he can eat it. Or that tables are a thing.

Henry: (faintly, from the kitchen):  It’s too buttery.

Blonde: He’s crazy.

Me: He is crazy.  How can anything be too buttery?  Blonde, your hair. Smush it down.  And your pants are on backwards.

Blonde: I am expressing my individual creativity.  I gotta be me.


The cat just sauntered past.  He has not eaten, brushed, and he has no underpants on either.  This is chaos.





The troops headed out, on time. I was pretty sure Jesus just decided to take pity on  me and stopped time for a bit. He can do that, you know.  Once we got to the school, Blonde set his helmet on his handlebars, and started to tip over a bit on his bike.

“Mom! Catch me if I fell!”

I did.  And I will.  At least for a little longer.

But if you’re late, you’re gonna have to deal with your teacher yourself.  Unless it’s my fault.  Then we’ll just tell her I just got out of the hospital, brain surgery, something like that.  I am pretty sure she would buy it.


Red, as we are heading back on our bikes, glances back at the big school.  “Yep.  He’s in der!”  He heads for a hill.

“Here we goooooooooooooo!”

Yep. Here we go.

Carol’s mother is a lot more relaxed about this whole deal.  And Carol has creepy eyes. Maybe that’s why – Carol needs to Get. Out.

The Tell


Linking up with Five Minute Friday over with Lisa-Jo Baker today.


Today’s theme:



In poker you learn about The Tell.

Don’t lean or twitch.

Don’t look down. Don’t look away.

Don’t softly sigh.

Don’t let them know.

The Tell gives your cards away, and then

The game goes.

The whole thing goes right down the drain.

Like the money and the time,

And possibly even your pride a bit.



Today I am tired of The Tell.

I lean.  I sigh.

I get twitchy.  I sometimes squirm

like a toddler; itchy in my skin.

I look down, and away.

I look up,

for help and answers,

(mostly for help; answers later)  as often as I can stomach it.

The Tell will tell me that

it is best to be still, and careful.


I just don’t listen anymore.

I have my own story to tell.



Screenshot 2014-06-20 11.03.12





No Really, I’m FINE.


I really don’t want to talk about it.

All week long, I have been dealing with We Came Back from Vacation and My House Fell Over Under All the Laundry.  Really, it did.  For some reason, as wonderful as Colorado is, it breeds laundry.

So, I’m prancercizing through my week, getting back into the whole Mom groove, feeling my vibe, chilling back into this whole nuclear family at home thing.

Next thing you know,  we’re hanging a stuffed backpack next to the door, and picking out clothes for the next day,  because it’s (DRUM ROLL):


I was cool with that.

Totes cool.  We had bought the supplies a month ago.  We had the doctor’s papers signed proving that Blonde is un-plagued.  We had even bought him a new toothbrush to toast the occasion.

I did edit the outfit he had picked since the one he chose kinda looked like he wanted to enroll in clown school.  Other than that, we were locked and loaded for:


And everything was gonna be just fine!

Like, totally fine! No problems here!  I have been preparing for this day since, uh, well about 5 years ago!!


And then I took him in to the classroom, shook hands with the teacher, watched him hang up his gigantic back pack, and signed up for something (I am not sure what).  We did hit a bit of a snag there when I realized I was gripping the teacher’s hand rather tightly, and staring at her with a lot of intensity.  I was trying to read her.  What if she hated all children and as soon as I left she decided to sell them?

It’s possible my husband had to suggest I leave.  I waved a lot to Blonde as we left, sort of the over-wave.  Like “is she having a seizure?” kind of waving.   Blonde didn’t much notice because there was play dough.  She had carpeted floors.  AND play dough?  The woman is fearless.

And still.  We’re good! This is awesome!  Blonde is so gonna love it!

And we’re walking home, the husband is chattering away about something that I had absolutely no interest in whatsoever; no problemo.

About half a block later, he’s in mid sentence about something involving rotating tires on something vehicular, I turned around and thought:  “He’s in there.  I’m going to just go back now and get him.”

From thereon I think the husband switched gears (GET IT? SEE WHAT I DID THERE? Even amidst Momsie distress I still got it.)   The hubs has learned that if there are tears he must stop and start talking to me like I am an injured baby bunny.  And yes, I KNOW this is somewhat patronizing, but I like baby bunnies and I chose this analogy.  So, he’s all:  “Ohhhhh. What’s wrong?  Is it allergies? Did you wave too much back there?  Something’s injured?  Do you need a juice box?  Or some alfalfa?”

We are now starting to play that great game for husbands and wives called:

Try to Figure Out What’s Wrong With Me, but Do It Fast Because Otherwise You’re Totally Insensitive!

Then:  It HIT him (which means, I finally had to say it, but there was no actual hitting involved):  The wee blonde is gone.


I spent the rest of the walk arguing in my head with Einstein about his whole theory of space and time and relativity and all. Where did the time, uh, GO?

Pfft.  Einstein is so overrated.

But, then again, if Blonde keeps going to school, he can learn that for himself.  I guess that’s acceptable.


The one on the right is a bit tall for elementary school, but he's cute and good with a protractor, so I bet they'll take him.

The one on the right is a bit tall for elementary school, but he’s cute and geeky good with a protractor, so I bet they’ll take him.





An Open Letter to the Mom On Vacation Who Would Really Rather NOT Use the Communal Showers, Thank You.


“This is really pretty.  And I could really use a hot shower.”









Dear Mom up there in all those beautiful mountains:

You’re on vacation.  It’s fabulous.  Everything looks like a post card.  There are rustic chipmunks frolicking about, and the air is redolent with the smell of REAL ACTUAL pine trees, not cleaning solvents.  You are here in this wonderfulness, all outdoorsy and wholesome, for a whole week.  You even used your Swiss Army knife to whittle a stick at one point.  You WHITTLED by the fire, people.  Basically, you are a walking REI catalog.

There is, however, one small problem.

You fear the shower.

Nooooo, not like in an Orange is the New Black kind of way (and if you have no idea what I am referring to here then God bless you), or in a EWWWWW, GERMS –  THAT EBOLA BADNESS HAS STAGGERED ITS WAY INTO THESE SHOWERS I JUST KNOW IT,  kind of way…

No.  You fear the shower in a… Uh,  I just don’t want to really have to deal with the awkward eye contact and mumbled “good morning, let me show you my jammies and morning hair but hopefully nothing else cuz this space is rather cramped and steamy” kind of way.

You know all those Dove commercials that are all, “let’s just celebrate being beautiful women, OK?  Let’s just be comfortable with ourselves, no matter what, and just embrace our skin, right?”  Yep.  Right.  They never talk about embracing their hair.  In the morning.  When it looks like this:


That’s just not right.

Pretty sure that’s where we women draw the line.  We’re all, “We love each other! We’re beautiful!  Our bodies are amazing! Some of us had babies come out of ‘em!  It hurt but we’re cool!  Group hug!  We are wonderful!  Our extra skin is wonderful!  All the folds where folds shouldn’t necessarily be are wonderful!  In fact, our– WHOA HECK.  YOUR HAIR IS OUTTA CONTRALL WOMAN.  BACK THAT RIGHT ON OUTTA HERE.  We are judging you.”


And while we’re at it, there’s a couple other things you have been, shall we say, challenged by on this trip:

1.  Purple crocs.  It’s all you packed for leisure wear.  You are reminded that crocs are terrible things.  They make any outfit – swimwear, jammies, jammies paired with morning hair (see above) just bad.  It’s possible you could get away with the crocs if you were, say,  a blonde, leggy au pair from Germany.  But, as it were, you are a mom from Kansas with rather short legs and absolutely no ability to speak German.  In fact, the last time you were in Germany (a million years ago, pre kids, as is everything in your life that involved a passport and verve) you bravely took on a few words but kept mysteriously slipping into an accent that sounded a lot like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets.  Nicht gut.

So, every morning, as you leave your dreaded showers and squeak, squeak SQUEAK home in your slimy crocs, you really wish you had just packed some flip flops. And some dignity.

2.  Mountain trails with your sweet toddlers will mean copious amounts of antacids and prayer.  Why? because for some reason each toddler will walk on the exact EDGE of the trail, 90% of the time, all the while chattering and skittering about like a squirrel on espresso.   I mean really.  REALLY?  Is it absolutely necessary, wee one, to walk RIGHT UP ON THE EDGE OF THAT TRAIL? THE ONE WITH THE 500 MILLION FOOT DROP OFF?  Has no one taught you the laws of physics and gravity yet?  Well, no, I know no one has, really, yet actually done that.  But STILL.  Look OVER THERE.  NO TRAIL.  Just AIR.  And no, I am NOT exaggerating.  It’s the MOUNTAINS.  There are no kiddie trails here.

3.  After each wonderful hike, all natured up and such, going back to the cabin to create a healthy and tasty meal on a grill with some foil, a fork,  Cheetos, and some soggy hotdogs is, at best, daunting.  But if you just put a lot of CHEESE on all of it, you still can win.  Because cheese?  Dairy. So = healthy.

4.  Marspellows on da grill fix everything.  Grumpy?  Have a s’more.  Marital problems because, vacation?  Stuff your feelings with this golden toasty goodness.

By the way:  I am of the firm conviction that if people could just sit around a campfire and make and serve s’mores to each other with a starry sky overhead – we would not have to worry about all those cease fires and such in the news.  In my humble opinion.  (Hubs is rolling his eyes.  He is now talking using words like, “Oversimplification” and “Starry eyed”  and I think, “Hippy Magic.”  I would offer him the Mom Platitude about how “don’t roll your eyes, they’ll stick that way” but my mouth is full.  With da marspellows.  Food of da Gods.

5.  There’s all these pharmacies here that have green leaf signs out front.  It’s confusing.  And that’s all I am gonna say about that.

6. It is possible to fit three roomfuls of stuff into a one room cabin.  It’s just that… your brain is done after that.  So, once you have figured out how to store your cutlery neatly rolled up in your underwear, and all the bug spray is slipped into the hiking boots, which are holding up the box of shampoo, the bible, and five packs of Slim Jims,  your brain kinda shuts off and you just want to watch an episode or two of Hoarders.

7.  There are some bikers who are here.  Two cabins down.  There’s a lot of handkerchiefs tied on heads.  Not in a cute, Cindy Lauper kind of way.  Oh, and beer.  Beer is alllll over their perimeter.  If there are any slugs in the area they should avoid cabin 23.  It’s a death trap.   You catch your husband eyeing their big shiny bikes with what you think might actually be envy.  Of course your boys are in total awe.  There really is nothing left to do but invite them for some food with cheese on it.



I think it’s safe to say, dear Anti-Communal Shower Mom Who Is Really REALLY Trying to be a Good Sport About All This -

You deserve a junior camper badge.  And yes, it’s perfectly Ok to squirrel away the bag of Reese’s for your own consumption at a later point, like right after you sqeaak, squeeeeaaak, squeak past the bikers and you realize as you get back to your cabin that though you had wadded up all your clothes in your towel, you managed to drop your bra right outside their cabin.  Retrieving it was fun.  You wondered if they were gonna regard this as some sort of secret gang signal and you were now initiated into their heavily tattooed fold.

It’s possible.  Your hair would fit right in.


Get your own biker name!  Click here.




There was this one time when my blog went all BOOM and I had no internet…

So.  I am sitting on a metal bench outside of a bathroom, typing as fast as my chubby little fingers will clatter across the keys.


The fingers, they are chubby because we’re on vacation and so:  Cheetos (puffed AND crunchy), CoCo Crispies, and the piece da la resistance:  REESE’S PEANUT BUTTER CUP S’MORES.  YOU KNOW YOU WANT SOME.  This menu is what I like to call:

IT’S VACATION!  EAT ALL THE JUNKFOOD EVERRRRRRR!  It might run out, the junk food, so we need to get it all in before we return to normalcy and my kale smoothies.


And also, I am typing away here, while the moths thwack at my head and people keep looking at me funny because you guys are the best.

Just the best.


I had this whole “We’ll go away to the mountains!  We’ll rough it, as much as I can do so for 5 days without killing anyone!  And also, I’ll eat my weight in chocolate to compensate for the roughage!” plan for this vacation.

And!  NO internet!  We will really be “Getting Away From It All!”  It will be awesome!

Oh ho.  Until Glennon Melton rang and asked if I might be interested in, uh, you know, sharing my post on her blog.

You might be interested to know that I went on a 5 hour hike with my family today – all the while my Twitter basically fluffed itself up into a ball of blue exploding feathers, and my blog kinda blew up all over the place.  (But in a good way.  Thank you, Glennon.)

And what was I doing?   I was leading my four and five year old across Seven Bridges Trail (“der are 7 WHOLE bwidges there!!!”) and saying things like:  “No!  Slow down!  Be CAREFUL!  Would you not look OVER that so OVER it, please?  PLEASE? Come over HERE. HERE.  OH MY GRAVY, SON IF YOU FALL OFF THIS MOUNTAIN I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

Not my finer moment(s).  But we actually had a really REALLY good time.  And so far, everyone has stayed ON the mountain.

So, now I am typing my thank you.  I love you guys.  I am just so grateful.

This has been such a journey, this whole getting sober deal.  It had me kicked and beaten, but then, I finally kicked back, and then… kicked a little more.  And then…

The kicking and screaming turned more into my own long hike up a mountain.  A really beautiful, hard, treacherous, scary, breathtaking mountain, where God lives.

It is a good journey.  Come along.


Many hugs and blessings to you.


And so, I am leaving you with this:


photo 3

This is my Red, you know.  Stuffing his cute little cheeks with hotdog because campfire, you know. He reminds me of ET when he wears his little hoodie. “I’ll be right here.”

What I Learned This Summer


What I Learned This Summer

By: Momsie


1.  Do not fear The Big House Project.  Put on your Lord of the Rings soundtrack, bolster your Frodo resolve and hobbit courage, and begin your quest to vanquish the disgusting carpet in your living room.  You may be small, and the carpet may be evil, but fear not.  Goodness will prevail.



That flying object above my head? It’s a sander. I don’t really know how it got up there, but no Momsies were injured during the Battle of the Shag Carpet.


2.  Sparklers still kinda scare me.  I have three boys (hubs included in this number, as always.)  I am out numbered on this notion.


3.  Riding a carousel at the Royals game tends to make Red rather thinky.  After the ride was over, he looked up at me and said, “I wanna ride it again.  But a different horse this time.  So we can go farther.”  Poor dear.  Physics and all.




4.  There will be shenanigans. Lots of them.  However: in this case, the wee ones were contained.



5.  On a hot day, Momsie’s all “Let’s put out the sprinkler!  Now run through it, dear ones! Frolic!  Frolic about!”

The boys (aka savages) are all:


Good heavens.

I just went inside to get some lemonade.  I returned to this.  What happened to the frolicking?

6.  My son got to be catcher.  IMG_2866

Which really just made me think this:





6.  There will be actual naps.  Like, for real.  IMG_2914


7.  Popsicles are a must.  Every day.  They cover a multitude of sins – even bad haircuts because sitting?  Very still?  Dis is hard.



And, when you take your five year old to ENROLL FOR KINDERGARTEN this morning, you bow down low and thank Summer.

Thank you, just for the sweet, sweet blessing of time.


summer, 2012

Time is a game played beautifully by children. ~