Totally Terrific Mistake

Once upon a time, there was a mom who woke up early enough to see this-

This is more than just a sunrise, she thought.  A sight this beautiful could only mean one thing-

this was going to be a terrific day.

In between refereeing an indoor game of basketball turned rugby,

And after consoling a distraught three year old who couldn't find the right light saber,

the mom went about her morning routine.  She made a hot breakfast for her darling children, and lovingly packed their lunches,

which were complete with personalized PB&J's.

Damn, this mom thought.  I am the bomb.  Could this day be any more perfect?

The mom (who by this point was feeling quite cocky) happily buzzed around the kitchen and placed the finishing touches on her boys' backpacks.

Water bottles?  Check.

Snacks?  Check.

Homework?  Check.

Library books?  Check.

The mom drove her little men to the bus stop, kissed them farewell, and proudly watched as they climbed aboard the bus.

Her morning continued with a second cup of coffee, a card game of 'war' with the little's, and thoughts about what to fill the remainder of the day with.  The perfection was bound to continue.

Until....

The mom received a text message from her son's second grade teacher.

No totally terrific me poster?  It read.

In an instant, the hot dogging mom, the one who hours earlier had patted herself on the back about her perfect morning filled with perfect pancakes, perfectly-packed organic lunches, and her perfect children, was given a reality check.

One that was perfectly-deserved.

For on this very day, her son was due to become the next 'Totally Terrific Me' of his classroom.  A title that comes only once per year.  A title her son had been waiting for.  ALL.  YEAR.  LONG.

Though the mom had been given plenty of notice about the upcoming day in the spotlight for her son, she neglected to commemorate the event.  No Totally Terrific Me poster, no special items brought from home, no estimation jar filled with his choice of candy and trinkets.

Nip

Nada

Zilch

Her totally terrific day had just become totally (and terrifically) shitty.

Lucky for the boy, his teacher graced him with an extra week to complete his Totally Terrific Me assignments and was even kind enough to award him with a new date in which he will be crowned the next Totally Terrific Me.

That's right.  A Totally Terrific Redo.

In BIG, BOLD letters, the mom scrawled the date onto the family calendar.

March 9, 2012 TOTALLY TERRIFIC ME!

The far-from-perfect mom, the one who had just been plucked from her fantasy land of perfection and transported back to brass tacks, had a new mission.  For she and her son (one who has been Totally Terrific and perfect ever since the day he was born) are going to make this project one he, his classmates, and his teacher will never forget.

Like totally.

(stay tuned)

Happy 11th!

How ever did we go from this-

to this-

so quickly?

To my son, my darling boy-


There's a reason you were born on Valentine's Day.


For you have the biggest heart of anyone I know.


Happy, happy day!


Love,
Mom

Hide n Seek

If I walked into your home, could I easily spot your sewing machine?  Would it be neatly tucked away in a closet?  Perhaps it would be taking up space on a table in your living room, kitchen, or den.  Would it be covered?  You know, to make it less of an eyesore?

If sew (aren't I clever?), what type of cover would I see?

Are you the practical type?  You know, the kind of woman who uses the hard shell plastic cover that came with your machine.  That's right, the one that says 'Brother' in large, bright blue letters on the side.

No?

Maybe you're an animal lover and you made yourself a cute little cover like this one.

Not smitten by Fido?  Maybe an animal print is more your style -

No? How about dainty, little butterflies?

A devoted Apple fan?  Your cover must look like this -

Although, maybe I've pegged you wrong, and you're a child at heart.  Yes?!  Well then, you must proudly display one of these -

The edgy type, you say?  You've probably got this front and center for all to notice -

If I must be frank.....and I must, I'm not smitten by any of these.  Though the wording on the last one made me smile, I think a paper sack would do more justice to your machine, than smothering it with tackiness.

Sew.....

If you were to come into my home, would you be able to find mine? Here, have a look -

Don't see it?  Here, I'll give you a hint -

Still not sure?  Look a little closer -

That's right.  No plastic, or fabric covers for me.  Think farm girl, think rustic and wooden, think handmade, think primitive.

Think you want one?

Go here, to this lovely little etsy shop I stumbled upon and give your machine the hideaway it deserves.  Not only do they make primitive sewing machine covers, you'll also find covers that will hide your coffee machine, toaster, and other unsightly appliances.  In fact, I'm drooling over this primitive stove top cover as we speak.

It's little finds like these that make my heart flutter.

No offense, Fido.

You'll thank me later.

This time last year, I was spending hours each day researching the bazillion breeds of chickens.  I had recently found out that the covenant that once banned backyard chickens, no longer existed.  Quick!  I had to start my farm before the rule changed back.  This news was too good to be true.

Here we are, one year later, madly in love with our girls.  OK, I'm madly in love with them.  The rest of the gang just loves them....even hubby.

As spring approaches, my inbox has been flooded with 'reminders' from various hatcheries that "Now is the time to order baby chicks!"  And if I were no longer dwelling in the middle of suburbia, you can bet your bottom dollar I'd be ordering....by the flock-full.

However, since I remain (for the time being) stuck in the city, and have reached my 'chicken limit', I am going to live vicariously through people like YOU.  Don't have chickens?  Get on the horse, it's time to buy!

Here are the top 10 reasons I think every home/family/backyard should have chickens:

1.They start out as baby chicks (duh), and you know there isn't ANYTHING in the world cuter than a day-old chick.
2.They eat every bug known to man, which means no more pesticides sprayed in the grass.
3.They're sweet and social, and will follow you, your kids, your neighbors, your neighbors kids, or anyone else who seems of interest to them.
4.They're super easy to maintain.  Definitely the most low-maintenance girls on the planet.
5.They're inexpensive.  Ours were $2-$5 each, and cost roughly $10 per month.
6.They're much more entertaining than any snake, lizard, frog, fish, gerbil, hamster, guinea pig, parrot, or other creature could ever be.  Really, they're hilarious to watch.  I'm not kidding.
7.They're quiet....unless you accidentally end up with a rooster. Poor Chicken Butt.  I wonder if he thinks of us.
8.They provide the young-ins with endless learning experiences.  That's right, kids.  Eggs don't come from Safeway.
9.They think your leftover table scraps, old cheese & noodles are a real treat!  Nothing goes to waste.
10.Did I mention they lay fresh eggs?

Bottom line?  Unless you're my brother, and you're deathly afraid of germs, and anything that poops, do yourself (and your kids/family) a favor and start your own backyard farm.

You won't regret it.

Wanna know more?  Ask me!

Shrinking Talent

Remember Shrinky Dinks?  Those homemade, fun creations that magically shrink when baked in the oven?  Did you make them when you were little?  Do you make them with your kids now?

I've always thought of Shrinky Dinks to be tailored more towards little girls, thus the reason I had never done them with the boys.

Until last week.

I was browsing through Michael's, looking for rainy snowy-day activities to do with the boys.  I came across Shrinky Dinks, which, to my surprise, showed all kinds of boyish creations and ideas on the front.  Excited for my upcoming Shrinky Dink adventure, I headed towards the checkout, armed with my weekly coupon.

It didn't take long for the perfect Shrinky Dink moment to come.  The one where two boys are arguing, one is complaining of world record boredom, while another quietly does his best to convince his little brother to allow him to duct tape him to a chair...."just for a minute."

Enter Shrinky Dinks.

"Shrinky huh?" they replied. 

Truth is, I had them at "you put them in the oven and watch them morph."  They were sold.  An added bonus was the fact that sharpies were required.  My boys and permanent markers = true love, happiness and joy.

Four out of five boys participated.  Mr. 5th grader was not about to be caught making something called a Shrinky Dink.  As for the rest of 'em, just look at how enthused they are! (Can you spot the boy who preferred to color the counter instead?)

The boys surprised me by spending a long time coloring.  I don't think they moved for 25 minutes.  Talk about a world record.  They finished coloring and we carefully placed their dinky creations into the oven.

That's when the flow of tears began.  They sadly watched their masterpieces turn into this-

I was bound and determined to reverse the direction in which this project was heading.  I sprinted to the garage and came running back, needle nose pliers (and other tools) in hand.  I remember a post my friend, Angie, did on Shrinky Dinks.  She described what to do if your creations began to curl.

 (A note about Angie-We went to high school together, and though I haven't seen her since the early 90's, we stay cyberly connected.  Angie is an amazing woman who makes everything look perfect and easy.  Her kids are always dressed in coordinating outfits, some of which, were sewn by Angie.  My kids?  Frequently seen running naked through the cul-de-sac.  My sewing machine?  I've been searching for the 'on' button for over a year now.) 

Per Angie's directions, I quickly attempted to pry the little buggers open.  This was all I got -

Enter more tears. You'd cry, too, if your coffin was curled. 

I slaved for the next 45 minutes (or more) trying to salvage their art.  In the end, only a ladybug, a heart, and a coffin survived.  They're not flat, they're certainly not pretty, and they look nothing like the examples on the front of the package.

The only thing that visibly shrunk that day (in perfect form) was my ego.  My boys also lost faith in me.  I can see it in their eyes every time I call them to the table for another craft.  They look at me as if to say, "this won't turn out like the Shrinky Dink project, will it?" 

Today for craft time, I'm thinking about making myself a t-shirt -  

I plan on embroidering the letters.  Just as soon as I can find that damn on button.

Putting the cracks back.

Have you ever had the type of day where your first thought in the morning was,

Today....I shall repaint a wall!?

Who am I kidding?  For me, EVERY day begins with my first groggy thought having something to do with paint.  Nothing makes me happier. 

Paint = happiness.

However, since Santa forgot to load his sleigh with a Home Depot gift card for me (or rubber farming boots, or a goat), my paint palate and choices are slim.  With nothing much to redo, I resorted to touch up.

Touch up = slight happiness.  Not the real deal, but it suffices in a pinch.

Hubby was kind enough to venture into what the boys and I call 'the spider room' (commonly known as the furnace room) to gather the colors I planned on renewing.

Room by room, I renewed.  I even let the boys help, until one sat in paint while the others dripped a paint trail all over the carpet.  Note to self: - combining craft time with a home improvement project never works as planned.

I saved the best, the staircase, for last.  The place where all fingerprints land, where walls are never spared from flying toys, hot wheels, shoes, and sometimes....flying children.  This was a job that not only required touch-up paint, but spackle, too. 

Armed with my new favorite tool, hot pink spackle that turns white when it's dry and ready to paint, I filled each little crevice and crack. I waited (impatiently) for the pink to fade to white, and started to paint.  Fast forward two hours later, and I was left with a staircase that sparkled and gleamed.

Now fast forward three hours later....

Do you see what I see?  The pictures don't do the artwork justice.  Them are dark, deep lines. 

Finding the culprit to this type of criminal activity isn't as hard as it used to be.  I went straight to the source.

Wes, of course.

Wes quickly explained, as only Wes could, that I had taken away all of his 'cwacks'.

"I like da cwacks, mama.  So I dwew dem back on."

To touch up or not to touch up.  That is the question.

New Year, New Goals.

2012 is bound to be a great year.  I can feel it.

In 2012, I will...

-be the mother of an 11 year old (which makes me really old)
-graduate from school
-celebrate my 13th wedding anniversary - love number 13...love my marriage.
-register Logan for kindergarten...despite his constant protest
-have 4 out of 5 boys in school
-attend 2 weddings
-have another boy celebrate his First Communion


In 2012, I want to...

-read more
-expand my garden
-learn how to sew
-learn how to can
-figure out a way to smuggle goats into my backyard without my neighbors (or the HOA) taking note
-move to a farm (if the goat thing doesn't go over well)
-date more (hubby and I rarely get out...extra emphasis on rarely)
-move to a farm (even if the goat thing works out well)
-blog more
-move to a farm

There it is, my 2012 list of what will and what just may happen.

What's on your list?

Mommy's List...

Dear Santa,

We all know that Christmas is for kids.  However, if you feel compelled to leave a morsel for me, here are a few ideas that would make me grin from ear to ear.

This kitchen scale-

Is Mrs Claus running into the same baking dilemma as I?  Every new recipe calls for the flour to be measured in grams.  Lord knows I'm no genius when it comes to math.  I've tried to convert grams into cups....may all those failed attempts RIP. 

These boots-

Which you know, Santa, that I have been drooling over for years.  At LEAST 3 long years.  Maybe this will be the year you bring them to me?  Color? Cranberry.  Size?  8. 

This wine-

No explanation needed.

This gift card-

So that I can repaint my walls.  8 years of fingerprints, flying toys, sharpie tagging, and the occasional UCO (unidentified crusty object),  have taken their toll.  Its time for a fresh new look.

This man-

To give my walls a fresh new look.

Any or all of the above would be much appreciated, Santa.  After all, I've been very, VERY good.

Love,
Amy

A note to hubby....

To My Darling Husband,

You've been gone all week on business.  Before you walk in the door tonight, you may want to read up on the business that has been happening here at the homestead.

I may or may not have ruined all of our hard work and allowed the boys (all 5) to sleep in our room while you've been gone.

I may or may not have invited one of the dogs, too.

This new sleeping arrangement may or may not take quite a while to reverse.

Our car may or may not be acting funny.

This may or may not have something to do with the fact that I pulled it into the garage too far and crashed into our beer fridge.

This may or may not have happened more than once.

I may or may not have had any sleep over the past 4 days.

This may or may not have anything to do with the fact that I was awaiting the arrival of the boogie man.

I may or may not have texted the police officers who live next door, to tell them to protect me from the impending arrival of the aforementioned boogie man.

The children may or may not have consumed cereal for all meals (including dinner) for the last 4 days.

We may or may not be running very low on cereal.

I may or may not have added another pet to the house.

You may or may not leave me.

I may or may not have had time to shave my legs while you've been gone.

You may or may not understand.

I may or may not have planned on cooking a fancy dinner for your return.

I may or may not have forgotten three or four key ingredients.

We may or may not be having cereal for dinner tonight.

I may or may not have kept up with laundry, vacuuming, dusting, homework, brushing teeth, etc.

You may or may not recognize the place when you walk in.

As I sit here, I may or may not be counting down the seconds until you arrive.

That total may or may not be 14,400.

Please hurry.  Love,

Have You Ever?

Have you ever been in one of those (seldom) cleaning moods where you get down and dirty with the dirt?  You know the mood I'm talking about.  The OCD type of cleaning mood where the tiniest crumb hiding in the corner of the pantry doesn't stand a chance.

Yeah....doesn't happen to me very often, either.

Two weeks ago, I found myself in the midst of a random cleaning marathon.  As I scrubbed crusted yogurt (and another substance strikingly similar to grits) from one of the legs of our kitchen table, I quickly found myself lying flat on my back. 

When I clean, I take no prisoners. 

Sponge in hand, I followed the trail of splattered yogurt, which led me further and further under the table, until I rested completely underneath.  Just as you would lie in a tall, grassy meadow and stare at the clouds passing by, I stared at the underside of our table.

The scrubbing came to an abrupt stop.  I found a treasure.

A mural.  (No doubt, created with Sharpies.)  As I studied the drawings, I located the artists signature and invited him to join me.  There we lay, under the table, while he pointed out the mountains, a rainbow, and several more mysteries hidden within his masterpiece.
Pointing to the center of the table, he said, "That's where I wrote my name for the first time."

Given the fact that our home is plentiful with paper, and many other resources for developing artists, I asked why he chose this location.  Why the underside of the kitchen table?

"Because the top is plain, and brown." he said.  "I wanted part of our table to be beautiful, and I wanted it to never erase, so that everyone who comes to our home can see it."

To my husband, who often questions my need to save every drawing, creation, craft, special article of clothing, first pair of shoes, and anything else nostalgically related to our boys, I say this-

Add the kitchen table to the list of things I shall never part with.

And to my brother, I say this-

See? I knew the day would come where one of my children would use a Sharpie for an acceptable purpose.