one step forward, a handful of Cheerios back


I remember my closet being a disaster as a kid. It wasn’t that you couldn’t maneuver through it. It was just messy. Barbies, ponies, puzzles and stuffed animals, all intermingled in a single basket, always overflowing and spilling onto the floor. Clothes hung haphazardly from hangers. Hundreds of mismatched toy parts were stashed wherever room would hold. And, mountains of school work and books were hidden amongst it all.

This organizationally-challenged closet drove my best friend crazy. Occasionally, she would convince me that we had to clean out the closet together. But, the inevitable always happened. We would pull everything out, nearly drown in junk, and she would have to go home. And, I would sit there atop this mess,  feeling overwhelmed and unsure of the next move.

This is how I felt today.

I woke up this morning feeling ambitious. Well, to be fair, the ambition only came after a decent amount of caffeine and having an avalanche of junk fall in my face while searching for some crayons. But, regardless, I started the day ready to revamp our organizational system, or lack there of. It was time for a little spring cleaning.

Just out of curiosity, have you ever tried completely de-cluttering, re-organizing and cleaning your home with a one- and three-year-old squealing at your heels and actually expecting success in a single day? Or, am I the only delusional one here? I would file that under the impossible.

My house looks worse off than when I started. I partly cleaned out one closet only to be distracted by an exploding cabinet in desperate need of some TLC. Dance parties occurred approximately every five minutes with the kids, and there was countless refereeing between the two. Then, let’s not even get into how much time I spent scrutinizing the hodgepodge of our laundry room. And, the “Things to Donate” boxes… well, the boys found those… and pulled everything out and reclaimed them as their own. Oh, and that hallway I finished cleaning three minutes ago, well, it now has a trail of Cheerios at the end of it.


You know, they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. Well, good news… I’m not crazy.

I gave up on overwhelmed, and we played outside… with paint… everywhere. If you’re going to make a mess, might as well as make it worth it.

Maybe I’ll catch you next year, spring cleaning. I can live with a little “organized” chaos 😉


a letter from your sleep deprived mother


My darling Everett,

I have an urgent matter to discuss that is causing a few expedited grey hairs. Let me begin by telling you that I love you so much and enjoy watching you blossom into toddlerhood. Walking, climbing and exploring the world around you… It’s beautiful to see. As a newfound toddler, I respect that you are beginning to have an opinion about your choices. Good for you. I am thrilled to let you choose between a banana or strawberries, or, whether you would like to throw a ball or roll a car. But, what I cannot accept is the new sleep schedule that you have chosen.

Five a.m. is not an acceptable wake up for the day. Ever.

It never has been. It never will be. There is not enough caffeine on the face of the planet to make me pleasant at 5 a.m. And, to be honest, you are not especially cheerful at that hour either. Yet, you insist upon this early rise despite the effects it has on you later in the day. Are you aware that it’s not normal to completely lose your mind because there are Cheerios on your tray? Or, to begin sobbing uncontrollably when someone looks at you? Yes. Well, there is a direct correlation there. You need more sleep. And, so do your parents.

And, while we are on the subject… What’s up with your naps? Where did they go? Don’t you realize you were my dream napper? And, now all you do is scream like a possessed demon child when I lay you in your crib for naps. Have you been talking to your brother? Whatever he tells you, he is lying. Naps are wonderful… especially two to three hour ones. But, hey, we can compromise. I could be happy with an hour… or, even less… Just give me something, dear. Screaming in your crib doesn’t really work for either of us.

I’m not sure Mommy will survive if both of my children give up on napping before the age of two. It seems like cruel and unusual punishment. So, take one for the team, Everett. Just go to sleep.

Please. Go. To. Sleep.

With love,

Your Momma’s sanity

hands off the ice cream

Ever since my three-year-old learned what ice cream was, I became a victim. Austin learned early on how to bat his eyes just the right way, flash that mischevious grin, and to use “Please, Momma” in only the most angelic way possible. I was putty in his hands.

My ice cream became his.

By the time Everett entered the mix, both boys had commandeered it all. Not cool, boys. Not cool.

So, for anyone who has been victimized by a preschooler robbing you of all your dessert, I’m about to change your life. Ready?

Take this…


And, this…


Insert the pint of ice cream into the Dickey’s cup, and it magically disappears. There still must be subtlety in eating said ice cream in front of the children, but, at least, when they catch you in the act, you don’t have to chunk it across the room, show them your empty hands and pretend you were never eating something in the first place. So very wasteful.

My first test run with the Dickey’s cup quickly caught Austin’s radar. No sooner had I taken my first bite than Austin poked his head from around a corner and demanded to know what I was eating.

“Broccoli,” I told him. “Lots of broccoli.”

He stared at me skeptically for a few seconds as I held my breath. Then, he sighed and carried on his way, not willing to take the chance that I might not be bluffing.

Momma wins. And, then, the next night, I served broccoli with dinner and made the kids eat it. Ouch. Sorry, guys.

Hands off the ice cream.

sick of sick

This winter and spring has kicked my butt. My kids have been sick for more days than they have been well. Snot has plagued my dreams. Having a child cough in my my face has become routine. And, we’ve visited the pediatrician only about a thousand times.

I’m sick of sick.

We finally re-entered the world this week after yet another bout of sickness at our house, and I’m feeling hopeful that maybe we can go longer than a week without something new rearing its ugly head.

Actually, my true goal, as pathetic as it may be, is to make it the three months to Everett’s next well check without having to go in for a sick visit. The hubs laughed at me when I told him this. We are so overdue for a nice, long healthy stretch at our house.

I miss my happy kids and all of our adventures. We were not meant to sit at home, twiddle our thumbs and drown in Kleenex. We have things to do. Bring on summer. Maybe the thousand degree temperatures can fry the germs my kids keep bringing home 😉