Photographic Evidence That I Went To France...

When you get ready for a trip overseas...there is a lot of planning that goes into your packing. You want to have enough clothes so that you're prepared for any type of weather, but not so many that your suitcase has to be shipped on its own separate plane.

You take care to pack all necessary toiletries. Who knows if foreign deodorant really works? It's better to be prepared, just in case...deodorant-wise.

I planned for my trip to France with all the same care and attention that a traveler should. And to be sure that I could adequately document my trip...I packed 10 rolls of film.

So when I got back home from visiting France, my family members were naturally excited to see my photographs. Sifting through hundreds of pictures, my mom asked, "Didn't you get any pictures of yourself?"

It took awhile to find it...the only photographic evidence that I was ever in France.



See the girl in the red sweater in front of the Eiffel Tower?

That's my proof.

---For more Sincerely 'Fro Me To You posts, visit We Are THAT Family.

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Heartbreak

My uncle had been sick for some time. We knew that he didn't have long. I'd mentally prepared myself as much as a seventeen-year-old kid could. He was far away...and in a sad sort of way that helped. It wasn't as immediate. It wasn't so near.

Still I couldn't help but think about him. The times in my life when he'd been right there for me.

When he'd been Dracula for Halloween and taken my sisters and I trick or treating. He let us hide under his cape as we walked the spooky streets in search for candy.

At the last family reunion, while the rest of the family ,grown-ups and kids alike, had been engaged in WWIII with water balloons, he had been cooking dinner and I'd been washing lettuce. We chatted about life while various cousins and siblings ran through the kitchen dodging balloons.

I remembered a phone call he'd made at a pivotal moment in my life, when I was caught between two choices, one of which would have drastically altered my life in an irreparable way. He called to say that things were going to be okay, that I would be fine. How had he known?

But most of the time, I really didn't think about the fact that soon he would die. It was easier.

So when my mom walked into my bedroom one evening in November, I was focused on making a new mix tape and didn't see her standing there for the longest time. When I looked into her tear-filled eyes, it didn't register.

"He's gone", she whispered and then walked out of the room to tell the others.

And I sat there on the floor while my heart fell out of my chest and shattered into a billion pieces on the floor in front of me.

There were no tears. How could I feel anything with my heart completely absent from my body.

I sat very simply. Not understanding...not believing.

How could he be gone?

That was one of the first times that my heart was really broken. Broken so that nothing but time, and faith, and family could partially heal it.

In quiet and reflective moments, I use my mind to trace along the fault lines in my heart. I can feel the rough edges from life's broken moments. They are still there...proving that you can be broken and whole at the same time.

But I have a perfect faith that those crack will be healed fully in another time...in another place...when I'm reunited with my uncle and others who've left their marks on my heart. What a reunion that will be.

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Life Is Like a Snow Cone Stand

Okay, maybe not fully. But you'll have to forgive me because I had a snow cone tonight, and it got me to thinking.

If I had the choice in life, I'd probably always choose the flavors that I already know I like for my snow cone. I'd never try anything new. I'd never try anything strange. I'd ask for tutti fruitti or wedding cake every time. And every time I'd get something good.

But if this snow cone stand operated like real life, we wouldn't get to choose our flavors all the time.

There would be times that the guy behind the counter offered us grape or peach or even worse, grapey/peach. We'd have to pucker up our faces and drink it down anyway, hoping that the next flavor we got would be better.

The cool thing about this snow cone stand is, that it might help us discover flavors that we never thought we would enjoy. We might discover that mango/coconut is the perfect combination. Or that Batman makes a good movie and a nice snow cone. Or even that strawberry cheesecake is better than tutti fruitti any day.

We might never have known if we'd chosen the same flavor each time.

There are some things in life that don't turn out the way I plan. I get up to the stand to order, and get pulled in a new direction. In some cases, I am offered a new flavor that sounds intriguing and I choose to take it. And sometimes I am still forced into a flavor I never would have anticipated nor wanted.

I drink them all.

And in doing so, I'm learning to recognize the bitter and savor the sweet more fully because of the comparison.

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Blissfully Linked...

I'm over at Blissfully Domestic today with a bunch of sites you need to see.

Okay, so maybe you don't really need to make virtual snowflakes or ice cream pies.

But don't you want to?

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The One Where My Briefcase Is Mistaken for Terrorist Activity

In honor of my last semester in college, and the beginning of my internship as a student teacher, my parents bought me a gorgeous, feminine briefcase. It had a locking combination, gorgeous interior compartments, and it made me feel like a real teacher.

At some point, during student teaching, I misplaced it. It wasn't really surprising, given everything that I was bogged down with at the time. I looked for a week, but I couldn't find it anywhere. It wasn't at home. It wasn't in the classroom. It wasn't in my car. But even without the briefcase, I was so busy teaching, that I didn't have time to do an in-depth search. I was lost in a world of Romeo and Juliet

A week or so later, my mentor teacher took me aside and said she thought the office might have my briefcase. So off I went to the office. The secretary looked at me very strangely when I asked if they had it. She called the principal to come speak to me. The principal took me aside and said that it had been left in the teacher's lounge, and since nobody came to claim it...they had assumed it was a terrorist device and called in the police.

I just stared.

"We still have most of the pieces", he assured me, and led me to a table in the office where the battered broken remains of a briefcase lay.

Still confused, I asked, "Why didn't you just open it."

The principal answered, "We didn't know the combination."

I didn't even bother telling him that I'd never set the combination or activated the lock. I just gathered up the bits and carried my stuff in a not-so-professional-looking-sack for the rest of the year.

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Poetic Licence: A Pensieve

Bal

Peanut butter and kool-aid lingering on your chin.
Soft hair that brushes my forehead, a soft kiss that warms my cheek.
The smell of water and dirt and boyhood...a perfume I won't quickly forget.
A smile that charms in an instant and eyes that see straight to my heart.
Whispered words of "Mommy, I love you." How freely your love you impart.

---Robin over at Pensieve hosts Poetic License and created this sensory poetry form called a pensieve. Visit Pensieve to see more poetry from great bloggers.

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The Starter Child...

I was clueless when I had my first child. Sure I'd been a babysitter for most of my life...but I was never very good at it. I purposely babysat for older children who were more independent and capable of taking care of their own basic needs.

Babies terrified me.

During my first pregnancy I read every pregnancy and birth related book that existed.

I forgot to read anything about what happens once you have the baby.

Subsequently, I was lost.

My husband and my infant son are the ones who taught me how to be a mom. I know that sounds weird, but it's true.

I was so wrapped up in feeding schedules, sleeping schedules, and an exact amount of "tummy time" that I didn't really know how to be a mom.

My husband would come home from a class or from work and right away pick up Jare and sing to him, read to him, kiss him, talk to him, or simply hold him.

I would watch them, and copy my husband's actions.

It wasn't that I didn't love this new little baby. It was impossible not to love him with his fat cheeks and large dark eyes that could stare straight into your heart. I was just oblivious to any needs that didn't deal with cleanliness and hunger.

But I learned.

Jare was my starter child, my guinea pig, the one who helped me grow into a real mom.

You'd think there would be more lasting repercussions of having your mother be an idiot, but he doesn't seem to show any. Unless it's an aversion to showering and a propensity to wear holey socks.

Instead, this boy is amazing, incredibly insightful, great with little kids and babies, and remarkably funny.

And he hasn't stopped teaching me.

Every new stage he goes through is a new stage for me. Which means I'll never be done learning.

Right now we are in the tween stage, where he's learning attitude and independence. He is also making decisions about what kind of a man he wants to be.

And I thought I was terrified before...I've got to go buy some new books.

---For More Sincerely 'Fro Me To You posts visit We Are THAT Family.

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The Chore Debate

An acquaintance of mine was asking me how to get her son to keep his room clean. I say acquaintance because she obviously doesn't know me or my children very well.

She was having guests come and she wanted the LEGO mountain in her son's room to be a little less mountainous when her friend arrived.

I gave some suggestions...

• Label drawers and containers with words and pictures. This helps children be able to sort items on their own.
• Keep only a certain portion of the toys out. Rotate toys so that there's always something "new" to play with.
• Require that a room be clean before the day's fun activities be started.
• Create a chore checklist (think public bathroom checklist) that can be checked off one job at a time. Breaking the chore down helps kids that get overwhelmed.
• Simplify kid's bedding. Make it easier for them to make their bed.
• Let them choose "clean up" music that they like. It makes the job easier and more fun.

She asked me if I thought that it was right to make him clean his room. She felt that maybe it was his space, and as such, he should have control.

In a way, I agree. But our kids are looking to us to teach them good habits. If we used the same rationale, I wonder if my kids would ever choose to eat the food on "their" plates. I know they wouldn't choose to shower "their" bodies. I'm fairly sure that, given the choice, "their" education would suffer.

I don't think chores and room clean up are that much different. Teaching kids at a young age how to keep their room semi-neat and organized makes good sense. We're supposed to teach them. Someday they'll have much more to keep clean. Those early principles will help.

At least that's what I tell myself.

It also makes sense because that room is the one you have to walk in, occasionally.

Ever stepped on a billion tiny legos while you were trying to tuck your kids in at night?

They hurt.

Seriously, best torture device ever invented.

---Teaching my kids to keep their rooms clean isn't always easy, but it works for me and my feet. For more WFMW tips visit Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer.

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The Thank You Post

You know how you're supposed to send thank you notes?

I'm terrible about it.

I write out thank you notes and then forget to send them. Email has helped, even though I'm aware that an emailed thank you note is not as personal as a handwritten homemade card. (See my pretend interview with Martha Stewart.)

But I am WAY behind on blogging thank yous, so here I go.

• Thanks to Shannon at Rocks in My Dryer for featuring my post about the first conversation with my son.
  
• Thanks to Jen at Daily MishMash for awarding the Arte Y Pico award to my blog. I feel so cultured and refined! Which I usually don't feel...like...ever.
  
• Thanks to Life at the Circus and My Life Interrupted for the Sharing the Love blogging award. Love the cute graphic and I was touched by your sweet words. You guys are amazing.
  
• Thanks to Mrs. Fussypants and all the other fab Domestic Diva's at Blissfully Domestic, for letting me join your ranks.
  
• Thanks to Robin at Pensieve for hosting a fabulous BlogHop party, and to Karen at Simply A Musing Designs for the cute BlogHop button.
  
• Thanks to Mandy for being such a great friend and constant supporter. I didn't know how lucky I was, winning that photo paper in your giveaway all those months ago. What I really got was a fab friend!
  
• Thanks to everyone who reads and comments in my little neck of the woods. It's so appreciated...let me tell you.

If I missed a thank you, I'm horribly embarrassed and sorry. I owe you something...maybe a poem?

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And the Winnner Is...

PastorMac's Ann! Congratulations. You have one your choice of a $15 Target card or an iTunes card for $15. But more importantly, you won a poem. I know you must be overwhelmed with joy. I'm emailing you with details right after I hit publish.

For everyone who did not win...I'm so glad you stopped by anyway. Hosting a giveaway was fun, even if you did eat all my snickerdoodle cookies. I think I'll have to see what else I have lying around to give to you guys. And don't worry...there's an unlimited supply of poetry. (Those of you who are groaning can stop now. I can hear you.)

*And in case you're wondering...yes, that is my real handwriting. I've often thought that I should create a signature for my blog, but I've yet to find a font called illegible, and that would be the only font that would come close to being realistic.

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Blissfully Me...

I'm so thrilled to be a new contributor to Blissfully Domestic. The online magazine that has everything you need to make family life easier. I've been a reader for a long time, and for some odd reason, they're going to let me write over there.

I'll be doing a weekly column of fun giveaways, fabulous contests, and amazing links you need to know about. Which reminds me, if you know of something that needs to be shared, give me a shout!

My first Blissfully Linked post is up, so check it out.

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The BlogHop '08 Party Post...

I wanted to go to BlogHer this year...but my children like for me to be available for emergencies. Emergencies like...

• What's for breakfast?
• What's for lunch?
• What's for dinner?
• What's for snack?

Then just to mix it up, they'll throw in burned kitchens, outing the tooth fairy, and emergency sex education. That's how we roll.

I'm a mother of five children which means a lot of my posts are rambling nonsense that strive desperately to arrive at a cohesive point but usually just end up floundering around on the floor in a pool of sarcasm. Join the fun.

I love being a mom...but it wasn't my first plan. Now it's the only one that really matters.

I'm not great at this whole motherhood gig, but my kids love me anyway. Sometimes they are not great at the whole kid gig. I'll never stop loving them, either. Their dad rocks as a husband and father. He's kind of like the glue. We are a happy family.

I began blogging with this blog about eight months ago. I write to document the day to day. I write to remind myself of what's really important. I write so that I don't feel badly, stealing all your best motherhood ideas without giving anything back.

To find out more about me read...

• 100 Things
• Plan B
• Wedding Day Me

That should give you enough of a taste.

And in case you'd like to taste something really yummy...




Snickerdoodle Cookies
1 cup shortening (try butter flavored)
1 1/2 cups white sugar
2 eggs
2 3/4 cups all-purpose sifted flour
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp cream of tartar
1/4 tsp salt
2 tablespoons of white sugar
2 tablespoons of cinnamon

Cream sugar and shortening together. Add eggs one at a time. Add flour, baking soda, cream of tartar, and salt. Mix well. Roll dough into walnut-sized balls. Roll in the cinnamon/sugar mixture. Bake on a cookie sheet at 400 degrees for 8-10 minutes. They might not seem done when they are ready to take out. They are meant to be very soft...and good...and unable to be shared.

And as an extra bonus...I'm hosting my first giveaway. Leave a comment by Monday morning at 10 am, and you are entered to win your choice of a $15 Target card or a $15 iTunes card. I'll also write a poem for you. (I sense your excitement.) How's that for a party favor? Sign up for my feed or email updates, and you get an extra entry. (Just let me know you signed up in the comments. If you are already subscribed, let me know that.) How fun is that?

I guess it depends on whether you win or not.

Be sure to head on over to the BlogHop '08 party at Robin's. Maybe I'll see you there?

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Not Going To BlogHer...You're Invited To BlogHop '08!

Robin from Pensieve, who is one of the coolest bloggers around, is hosting a party. It's an exclusive party...invitation only. And I'm inviting you. (Everyone else is invited too. But that doesn't make it any less exclusive.) You can get all the details over at Robin's place, but here's a little taster. (Also, the adorable button was created by that amazing designer we all love, Karen, from Simply A Musing Blog/Designs.)

Who: Fabulous Bloggers NOT Going To BlogHer

Where: Around the Blogosphere

When: 10pm EST

What: Write a party post. Include a short intro, recipes, a giveaway, and links to some of your best posts. Join the chat. Visit blogs. Meet new people.

Why: Community (and also so we can have fun even though we're not at the conference.)

Join in. It's going to be a blast! And I am trying desperately to find something cool to giveaway that I already own. Be prepared for a regifted giveaway.

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It's a Hat Thing

On Easter, you expect people to be wearing hats. Especially three cute sisters with their Easter Baskets.



And when you're in the fifth grade and you're cast to play the Statue of Liberty in a patriotic parade...you have to wear a hat type thing.



What you might not expect to see, is a girl grab a hat and strike a pose during a family photo. See that nerd in the pink dress and the dorky hat?

I...have no idea who she is.

*The faces of the innocent have been blurred to protect them from association with the girl in the hat. My sister and mom are not part of the innocents. I blame them for the way I am she is dressed.

---For more Sincerely 'Fro Me To You posts, visit We Are That Family.

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1+1+1+1+1=Fun

Okay, so not always. Sometimes 1+1+1+1+1=insanity...or headaches...or massive crayon murals on your dining room wall. But mostly 1+1+1+1+1=fun.

I have five kids. The oldest is 10, and the youngest is 2. This sometimes makes things complicated in my house. For example, the two-year-old just knocked down the seven-year-old's block tower. This requires intervention. I'm the designated intervener.

Oh thank goodness, my husband intervened, so I can keep telling you about all the joys of big families.

Where was I? Block towers...? Fighting...? Me, too worn out to move from my seat...?

Well, this post is going just as planned.

Let me start over.

The thing is that having 5 children means a lot of opportunities to see blossoming and emerging personalities.

For example, my 10-year-old just came to tell us that since he couldn't find his toothbrush, he used his younger brother's. His younger brother wants to know why his toothbrush is wet. Meanwhile the baby is using my toothbrush. I don't know where she got it.

Hold that thought. I'll be right back.

Okay so we've now covered...toothbrushes...communal germs...and unsupervised toddlers.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that my life is busy, exciting, and filled with a bunch of little people who keep me running around in circles.

Like the kid who just got done pretend sneezing and ended up really spitting on my floor.

And what's not fun about that?

*Having a big family works for me...mostly. To find more WFMW posts, visit Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer.

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It's Not Easy Being Two-Years-Old

Nobody really understands you. You pour out your heart and soul talking to the grown-ups, and when you're done, they smile and say, "What a cutie. She thinks she's a big talker." Meanwhile you've given them the answer to world peace if they would just open up their ears and listen.

When it's time to eat, they feel the need to chop, dice, and grate your food to smithereens, when all you'd really like is something to sink your newest teeth into.

They water-down your juice, limit your sugar, and encourage nap times when all the really fun stuff in the house is going on.

And is it too much to ask that a kid get a few minutes alone with a box of Kleenex. It's really therapeutic to pull each sheet out and watch it fly.

But at least you know that at the end of a hard day, you can cuddle up with a Batman mask, an electronic toy, and your Dora sippy cup. And that's really what it's all about, my friends.

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Gratitude, and My 200th Post

Yesterday evening, while the kids were sitting quietly eating dinner, I stepped outside the front door to look around.

The sprinklers were clicking and I could hear a rainbow arc of water splattering onto our side lawn. The smell of cut grass lingered on the soft breeze. The chattering of locusts in the oak and cottonwood trees on our street filled the air. It was oddly comforting.

I walked the sidewalk that surrounds our corner house, looking at the yard, the grass, the windows to our home. I thought about all the joy that lives in such a small space. I thought about all the frustrations that are there too. But from the outside, in the peace of the moment, they didn't seem so frustrating. They seemed instead like blessings.

I walked back into the house with a smile on my face to see that the baby had spilled her juice, Bal had put macaroni in Nod's hair, Jare and Boose were arm wrestling at the table, and the dog was scratching at the door to get in. I remembered the feeling I'd experienced outside and tried to stuff it down deep in my pocket, to keep it close, to hold it near.

Stepping away for a moment can give us perspective. And 5 minutes on a sidewalk with a balmy Texas evening surrounding me, was enough to help me go forward with a smile...at least for a little while. We'll see how breakfast goes.

----Happy 200th post to me! I'm tooting my own horn, and saying whoopee! What was a hobby has grown to mean so much more. Thanks to all of you who read for sharing it with me.

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15 Minute Cleanups

I have a confession. I clean in 15 minute spurts. It's a sanity saver in a home where nothing stays calm for longer than 15 minutes. What's my secret to cleaning a room in 15 minutes?

3 categories.

• Trash
• Things That Don't Belong
• Things That Do

When I walk into a room, I take a trash bag, an empty box or laundry basket, and that's about it.

I work around the room sorting everything into one of the three categories. If it's trash, it goes in the sack. If it doesn't belong in the room I'm working in, it goes in the container/laundry basket. If it does belong. I straighten it.

I go from room to room with my bucket of objects that don't belong and put them away. Then I'm done.

This is how I maintain the rooms in my house on a daily basis. It's not an answer for deep cleaning but it works well during the following situations...

• Unexpected guests will arrive in 10 minutes and a tornado hit your living area.
• You want to wake up to a tidy home, but you're too tired to clean.
• Your children have "earned" the privilege of extra chores through their "behavior".
• You need a quick routine to do in between deep cleanings.

So, go see what you can accomplish in 15 minutes.

---For more sparkling tips on cleaning, visit Absolutely Bananas.

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How To Open a Bag of Cereal

Step 1. Ignore the instructions. They might confuse you. It will be hard to ignore them, because they are in bold...but try.

Step 2. Use scissors, then your teeth. This will ensure an even cut.

Step 3. Create multiple holes in the bag so that there are more places for the cereal to pour out. (That way the baby can have snacks later from the floor.)

Step 4. Act surprised when Mommy seems irritated about the state of her cereal bags.




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My Brother Named Me Smish Today

When Baby was born, four-year-old Nod was the only child left at home to play with her during the day. He spent the whole day coming up with adventures for them to go on. One day he came to me and told me that he had changed the Baby's name to Smish.

I told him that I wasn't sure that I could get used to calling her Smish.

He smiled sympathetically and said, "It's going to be hard."

He proceeded to call her Smish and only Smish for the next four months of her life.

Since she couldn't speak for herself, I wrote this poem to remind her of those early months with her brother.

My brother named me Smish today.
That is my new name.
I kind of liked the old one,
But now everything has changed.

My brother named me Smish today.
It wasn't really right.
I've tried to make him change it back.
I think I'm losing that fight.

My brother named me Smish today.
If only he'd relent.
But here I am, stuck as Smish.
And no idea where he went.

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Sibling Love

Looking at this incredibly sweet picture you might imagine that this brother and sister were the closest of friends. You might not suspect that any of the following could possibly happen between the sweet and innocent faces so full of sibling love in the photo.

• One of these people went on to try to throw a glass bottle at her brother's head after he annoyed her. It hit him in the back and then fell to the concrete where it shattered.
  
• One of these people used to pretend that his sister was hitting him just to get her in trouble.


• One of these people called her brother "crooked" after he was diagnosed with scoliosis.


• One of these people ruined all of his sister's My Little Ponys with hair spray and styling brushes.

You might not guess that these two sweeties could possibly grow up to be the siblings in a family of six kids who were the farthest apart...who bordered on detesting each other.

But there's more.

You might be surprised to learn that these same two kids who grew up ignoring and mocking each other ended up best friends as grown ups.

That the little brother in the picture grew to be a man who admired his big sister more than any other woman in the world, for her giving nature, her amazing humor, and her tender heart. That the girl in the picture would end up on her knees pouring out unselfish prayers for her brother's happiness and well being. That she would rise to the occasion more than once to come to her brother's aid in his most desperate times of need.

It's funny to look at the picture and then look across the room where they sit at my kitchen table swapping insults, teaching tips, and life lessons learned. He tells her that she spends too much money. She counters that he plays too many video games. He offers to buy her dinner off of a dollar menu. She offers to beat him at Wii bowling.

Life's come full circle for my husband and my sister-in-law.

Best friends then...worst enemies in the middle...best friends now.

Family always.

---For more Sincerely 'Fro Me To You posts, check out We Are THAT Family.

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Allergic To Water?

People often ask me how I'm able to manage my time with 5 children. Some days, I smile serenely and say, "I just do my best." Other days I stare wide-eyed at the person, waiting for them to notice that it's 3pm and I am still in my mismatched pajamas.

One of the hardest parts of the night is bath time. There are 5 children who need to have the playdoh, tomato sauce, super glue, chocolate chips, motor oil, and general dirt and grime cleaned from them on a daily basis. Add in supervising ear cleaning, nail cleaning, nail clipping, hair brushing, teeth brushing, and other grooming tasks...and it's enough to make you long for the good old days when people bathed once a month.

No, it's just me? Well, fine.

I'm blessed because at least two of my kids are old enough to take their own showers and be inspected by me. I'm not above making them rewash their hair and behind their ears, so they usually do a great job.

Usually.

The other day, I sent Jare upstairs to shower while the rest of the kids finished dinner. He came down five minutes later with dry hair and said he was done. I asked him why his hair was dry. He sheepishly shrugged his shoulders, so I sent him stomping back up the stairs. When I heard the shower start, I walked upstairs to remind him to clean behind his ears, like good mothers do. He'd left the door open a little, and I peeked in assuming he was in the shower.

He wasn't.

He was standing fully clothed next to the shower as it ran, counting. When he got to 100, he reached his hand into the shower and dabbed some water on his head.

Then he turned off the shower and turned around to see me waiting in the doorway.

And let me tell you, that kid jumped 20 feet in the air. It was almost worth it all just to see him so surprised and terrified.

He sighed and said, "Mom, I just hate getting wet."

And that excuse might fly with me, if I did not have photographic evidence to the contrary.

Exhibit A:




Exhibit B:




I rest my case.

*Trying to make sure my kids are occasionally clean is a full time job, but checking up on them works for me. To find more WFMW posts, visit Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer.

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Future Writer

In sixth grade, I already knew that I was going to be a writer. I had a five year plan to further my writing career. It involved starting a school newspaper. I went to the principal and explained that I wanted to have students write the paper and then sell it for the cost of copies and toner.

I think my arguments were that the school newspaper would create unity, educational opportunities, and improve student writing and reading skills.

I left off the part about the newspaper being my spring board to fame and fortune. It didn't come up.

The principal said I could do it...if I could find a teacher to sponsor the group. I asked a dozen teachers, before one was willing to take on the project. We'll call him Mr. Miller to protect his identity. (If I do my job right, you'll be very angry with him by the end of this story.)

Mr. Miller was excited, and made a list of 6th grade students who would be good to have on our staff. A week later, we met in his room for our first newspaper meeting.

Mr. Miller decided we should elect an editor. I have to admit, I'd just assumed that either he or I would be editor, but I consoled myself that the best writer would be chosen. I also told myself that I was the best writer. Apparently, I should have taken a straw poll before making the assumption that everyone else knew that.

The group unanimously (except for me) voted for the most popular girl in school (we'll call her April) to be the editor. I was disappointed, but at least I was still on the staff.

Then April started passing out writing assignments. When she at last got to me, April and Mr. Miller sweetly suggested that I do the funnies section. I was told to find a few jokes and reprint them on the bottom of the last page.

I was really upset. But determined to pay my dues, so I found two incredibly funny jokes and turned them in to Mr. Miller.

On the day the newspaper came out, everyone was excited. The papers were delivered. We handed over our nickels, and began to read. The first page was almost exclusively a letter from the editor. Each staff member had almost an entire page for their articles. And my two little jokes...weren't even in the paper. They'd run out of room and cut the funnies section. My name wasn't anywhere on the paper.

I took comfort in taking out my red correcting pen and marking each and every error that the "editor" had missed in our opening issue. I stopped going to the newspaper meetings and kept writing my stories in a battered spiral notebook that nobody ever saw. The truth is, I wasn't missed by anyone. After one more issue, the project folded. But I learned a few important lessons from my first foray into professional writing...

• 6th grade sucks.
• The popular girls always win.
• Mr Miller was mean and clueless.
• You write because you feel compelled to.
• But it's still nice when someone other than just you gets to read and respond.

Now my battered spiral notebook has turned into a blog. A blog where I write vignettes, and silly children's poems, and real life stories, and commentary on my children's pictures. And occasionally someone leaves a comment...something that says they got what I was trying to say. Or, that they understand a little about how I feel. And even sometimes, how they appreciate my words.

And I literally sit on the couch in my living room and hoard those comments in my heart like they are jewels. I read each one multiple times, and I can't help but smile each time gmail tells me there's a new comment on one of my posts.

Because those comments are so much better than a byline in a sixth grade newspaper. They're a miraculous connection between people who will probably never meet, yet share a bond of common experience.

So, thanks. For reading, for commenting, for thinking, for connecting. It means so much.

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Fitting In

Everywhere I look around me,
tons of kids I see...
with special talents, I'd like to have,
with things I'd like to be.

Trina can play hopscotch
and never miss a step.
Alex makes a scary face
that scares you half to death.

William draws the ocean
and I feel I'm swimming there.
Linda's sweet and kind
and she even likes to share.

April writes cool stories
that always make me think.
Juan can have a staring match,
and he doesn't even blink.

I always fall on hopscotch.
I can't even scare a fly.
My pictures look like abstract art
and sharing makes me cry.

My words on paper don't turn out,
and my eyes can't stare one bit.
And yet, my friends like me for me,
and we're a perfect fit.

*Did you know that sometimes, as grownups, we feel like we don't measure up? I'll bet you did. This was written when I was feeling that way. I tried to think of what I would say to my own kids if they were feeling the same way.

I would want them to know that there's a place for all of us, but that if every person was the exact same puzzle piece, we'd never make a complete picture. I'd want them to find the beauty, talent, and purpose in themselves...and in doing so, fit right where they are supposed to be.

So I wrote this to remind myself. We should all be eager for those around us to find their fit, because without them, we're all just pieces of a picture that isn't quite finished yet.

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Rules of the Wild

Overheard at my house today...

(As the kids were watching a movie.)

Boose: I can't believe that guy. He just killed that shark for no reason. He didn't use the meat or anything.

Jare: Well, the shark was trying to eat him.

Boose: (with righteous indignation) He killed it, just to save his own life?

Because apparently, my friends, self-defense is not a viable plea when it comes to animals, unless you eat the meat. That makes it okay.

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Happy 4th of July...

...From 5 very tired children who managed to eat pancakes, play/watch softball, view movies, run their parents ragged, watch fireworks, make new friends, swim, slide, and consume lbs of junk food...all in the space of 1 1/2 days.

*And from their parents too, who may not recover in time for next year. We hope your 4th of July made amazing memories that your family will cherish forever.

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Random Joyful Moments

There are times when I look down at my to do list, and I am overwhelmed. I start playing the "hurry up" game. I hurry everyone. Eat faster. Clean more quickly. Talk less. Play? We don't have time for that.

And gently, ever so gently, the Lord steps in to remind me that this life is supposed to hold joy. Silly moments of pure fun that can't be scheduled or planned...they just happen.

I had a choice to make three years ago when we were trying to rush to get ready to go to the library. I suddenly found my two-year-old and three-year-old sons playing with an umbrella, both missing their pants, pretending to be ready to walk out the front door. I could have put on the mean mommy face. I could have said, "We're not supposed to play with umbrellas." I could have made those gorgeous smiles in the picture turn to tears in an instant. I had that power.

But something constrained me. It held me back. And for just a moment I saw the numerous other times that my boys would stand ready to walk out a door. I saw them walking out the door for their first day of school. I saw them stalking out the door as teenagers displeased with my rules and way of running things. I saw them taking their wives and children back out my door after visits that could never be long enough.

And so I smiled. I called them silly. And I took a picture.

They giggled along with me, pleased that they'd made me laugh. We put the umbrella away and got ready for the library. Their smiles stayed on their faces the entire time. We were a little late for story time, but all of us were still smiling.

And tonight, after I tucked them in, I knelt for a little longer next to each of my children's beds and told them how much fun they helped me have today. I told them each one of their many talents, and I told them thank you for letting me be their mom.

As I walked down the stairs with tears in my eyes, I thought of this photo and how it captured a very small, simple moment. I want to hold on longer to those silly happy moments. I'd like to set aside the scheduled to-do list and find the joy each day will bring to me, if I'll only let it.

I think if I stick close to my children, they'll lead me right to it. They always seem to know the way.

---For more photos from the past, check out Sincerely 'Fro Me To You hosted at We Are THAT Family.

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Bacon and Onion Smashed Potatoes

My grandmother was not the best cook in the world. She had a handful of tried and true southern fried recipes that could make you feel your arteries clog with every bite.

I loved her cooking, whether it was onions and cucumbers in vinegar, fried drop biscuits, or my favorite...fried potatoes and onions.

Actually, I was never a fan of onions. Let's face it. They look weird. They smell weird. And, they make you cry. I swore up and down that I would never eat them.

And then one day my grandmother told me that the pan full of what I thought were very flavorful fried potatoes that I inhaled at every meal, was full of tiny onion pieces.

I'd been betrayed.

But since it was so good, I just kept on eating. Since then, potatoes and onions have been gold to me.

Then my husband made Bacon and Onion Smashed Potatoes. I fell in love with that man all over again. You might too, but he's mine...and so are his potatoes.

Bacon Smashed Potatoes

2 1/2 lbs red potatoes
1 small white onion (chopped)
4-6 slices of thick cut bacon (cut into pieces)
1 cup of chicken broth
salt and pepper to taste

To make the potatoes, take 2 1/2 pounds of red potatoes and put them on to boil. In the meantime fry up your cut pieces of thick-cut bacon and chopped onions until the bacon is done but not crispy and the onions are soft. Smash your potatoes. Add chicken broth. Add the fried bacon and onions. Mix well. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Some like to serve these with a dollop of sour cream. But any way you serve them, these are amazing. Here is southern comfort food at its best, my friends. Enjoy. And just a warning...you may have to temporarily ignore your arteries.

---For more Works For Me Wednesday posts visit Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer.

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