Return to the Island: Call me Alexander

Yesterday was a good day.  I thought it was a bad day when I nearly passed out from exhaustion at 9:30 that evening.  I thought it was a bad day when my great idea to have the natives pick strawberries resulted in me spending several hours washing, hulling, and freezing berries.  (I forgot the natives are efficient pickers now.)  I thought it was a bad day when there were actual injuries related to the number of toys left out around the island.


I would kiss yesterday if it came back for me now.  Today can only be described as a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.* 


One of the feline inhabitants of the island simultaneously threw up on my both my family calendar and my breadmaker.  When I find out which cat did it, he had better hope he can swim.


I tracked motor oil on the carpet.  I don’t own motor oil, aside from in my car’s engine.  I was not walking in my car’s engine.  90% of my house has hard floors.  There is no motor oil on the hard floors.


Medium and Small Natives fought over feeding the felines and spilled cat food all over the floor.  Our felines eat the most expensive cat food you can buy**, so I had to pick up each tiny piece by hand.  (**Not an exaggeration.  I have researched it.)


I struggled for a full hour to get the natives to stop fighting and get ready to leave the house for the Teddy Bear picnic downtown.  I had to stop working on the food I was preparing and stuff the dough in the fridge in order to manage the natives.  After a peaceful hour of snacks, teddy bears, and songs, I was rewarded by pushing, shoving, and tantrums at the car while trying to get home.  Also I forgot to put my dough in the fridge, so it over-raised.


I tried to listen to music in order to calm myself.  The battery on my music-player died.


I finally returned the harassing calls we have been getting from a 1-800 number, only to discover that our home insurance payment is overdue, and our policy will be cancelled in two days.  It is supposed to be on autopay.  When I went online to pay it, the bill said it was due June 10, but the home page said it was due July 30.  I hope my insurance agent can swim.


And my blog keeps randomly highlighting passages.  I can't make it stop.


The chances of me surviving until tomorrow are not good.




*(Are you familiar with Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day?  If not, you should be.  Best kids’ book ever.  Some days I think it was written for me.)

Survivor – Mom Edition: Return to the Island

Once again I find myself marooned on the island while my hubby is airlifted out.  There are three natives in my care, each larger than (s)he was during the last island competition.  Will this work in my favor, or contribute to a quicker demise?  Time will tell.


First challenge:  Acquire milk to sustain the natives.  Since my sister* is not here to milk a cow for us, I am forced to forage.  We acquire a small wagon.   I am to pull all three natives a distance of approximately five blocks in said wagon.  After a distance of five feet, I concede defeat.  Collectively, the natives weigh significantly more than me.  (“Significantly” is subjective, but I stand by my claim.)  Large Native exits the wagon, and we are able to locate the milk.  However, Medium Native, Small Native, four gallons of milk, and a jug of honey in a wagon must also weigh more than me, for I can barely pull them back to base camp.  I consider throwing supplies over the side to lighten the load, but fear that would cost me the challenge. 


Exhausted from the foraging, I begin food preparation.  During my last stay on the island, I suspected that Small Native was a saboteur familiar with advanced technology.  Now I suspect that he may actually be a cleverly disguised machine. He experiences what can only be described as a system overload.  It is clear he needs a reboot.  Unable to find a button for that, I am forced to cage him in another area of the island for his own safety until food is ready.


Finally food is distributed.  Perhaps I have waited too long for sustenance, as the table in front of me blurs and instead of human natives I see a large Whac-A-Mole game, with the natives’ heads popping up and down, shouting demands faster than I can process:


POP  – I want more milk! 
POP  – I want more grapes!
POP  – He got more grapes than me!
POP - I don’t like mayonnaise on my bread.
POP – I want more grapes!
POP - I don’t have my knees up.
POP – I’m still thirsty.
POP – I want more grapes!
POP - I miss Daddy already.
POP - I want more grapes!
POP – Are we having dessert?
POP – Are we having dessert?
POP – Are we having dessert?


As the heads pop up and down faster and faster, repeating the same words over and over, my head spins.  I can no longer focus.  I am sure it is all a dream.  But where is my mallet?  I am brought rudely back to reality by a sippy cup in the arm.


POP – Cup in your arm!  Ha ha ha!


What else will this adventure hold?  The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful.  Nonetheless, I have an unsettling feeling that “Return” in the title of a sequel never bodes well…


*My talented sister won 2nd place in the milking contest at the Sullivan County, Pennsylvania dairy event the other weekend!  I would tell you to look it up for yourself if Sullivan County were large enough for an online presence, but instead you will have to take my word for it.

A Pretty Perfect Day

Today was Mother’s Day, and I have to say that this one turned out to be a pretty perfect day.  I received many special Mother’s Day gifts, including breakfast in bed.  But I think the best part was the gift my husband gave me by taking on all of the chores of the day (dishes, cooking, getting kids in and out of the house, naptime, etc.), which allowed me to more fully enjoy all of the special moments.


There was the moment this morning when my children came barreling into my room and tackled me with hugs.  Ben said “Happy Mother’s Day!” and I replied, “Thanks, Ben!  And thanks for making me a mom.”  He looked at me with the widest eyes and said, “I didn’t do that!  God made you a mom!”  I said, “You’re right…God did make me a mom.  He made me a mom by giving me you!”  He didn’t respond at all, but continued to stare as though I had just said something wildly absurd.

There was the special Mother’s Day Tea in Ben’s Sunday school class.  He greeted me at the door to his room with a special card, and led me by the hand to my chair.  I opened the card, which proudly proclaimed “I like to go bowling with my mom.”  I told him how much I liked it (despite the fact that I have never taken Ben bowling).  Then he whispered to me, “I decorated two cookies with sprinkles.  The big one is for me, and the little one is for you!”

There was the elaborately decorated door that I came upon after returning from running errands (by myself!).  In addition to the “Happy Monther’s Day” sign, Sophie had made me a paper "bretio" (burrito), and taped it to the door.  I do love a good burrito.

And then there was the moment when the big kids came running in from the yard, calling “Mom!  Dad!  Andrew’s naked in the yard!  He’s not even wearing a diaper!”  

Yes, it was a good Mother’s Day.  I was surrounded by these incredible little creatures, each so unique and amazing in his or her own way, and I had the time to pause long enough to really enjoy being in their midst.  I am blessed to be a part of their lives, to be a witness to every part of who they are, and to share in the journey to who they will become.  That is one crazy incredible gift.

Choose Your Own Adventure (with photo illustrations!)

Some days I feel like I’m trapped in a Choose Your Own Adventure book.  Remember those?  Remember how much fun they were?  Wait a minute…didn’t most of the endings turn out badly?

Chapter One

7:58am – You have two minutes until you must throw shoes on your toddler and leave the house, all three children in tow, to drop the oldest at school.  Do you: A) leave two minutes early? – or  –  B) spend two minutes brushing your hair and otherwise trying to look presentable?

YOU CHOOSE “B”

At 8:00am you run to get your toddler’s shoes on, and discover that he has massively pooped out of his diaper.  He now requires a full outfit change.  His mess also extends to the changing pad.  The rancid smell permeates the entire house.  You clean him up, throw the soiled linens straight into the washer (along with the sheets he peed out on during the night), and head out the door.  You are now eight minutes late and must run all the way to school.  The run caused your hair to become even more unruly than when you started the morning.

Chapter Two

8:30am – You stop by the grocery store with a short list of only five items to get and only 15 minutes to accomplish it before your next appointment.  Boys in tow, you quickly throw the items into your reusable shopping bags and dash to the checkout.  You discover that the express lane is not open for the first time in the history of the store.  There is a regular checkout with 3-4 people in line.  There is also a self-check with five stations and no one ahead of you in line.  Do you: A) go to the family friendly checkout to let someone else juggle the groceries – or – B) go to the self-check in hopes of saving time?

YOU CHOOSE “B”

You quickly find an open spot at the self-check, only to realize that most of your items are from the produce section, and require you to painstakingly look up codes on the touch screen.  You have trouble keeping your reusable bags centered on the bagging area so that the computer knows that you are not stealing items.  You finally get through paying for the items, and as you are struggling to gather up your bags and receipt, you are painfully aware that the next customer is waiting two inches behind you.  You get everything together and then have to back the stroller out of the crowded area, taking much effort to not bump into the person behind you, who it turns out is, in fact, a nun.  You leave, now late for your next stop.

Chapter Three

1:25pm – You have just finished putting away several loads of laundry, and are late getting the boys to nap.  You go to find your toddler, who was last seen playing quietly in his brother’s room.  Upon opening to door to the room, you are greeted with the following sight:

Do you: A) take a moment to take a picture and call your husband from his backyard office to come see? – or – B) immediately start the cleanup process, as naptime is running dangerously late.

YOU CHOOSE “A”

You call your hubby, who greets you with the news that he will not be able to pick your daughter up from school today.  (He does, however, come in and take a brief pass at cleaning the wall.)   By the time your toddler is cleaned up, you will now have less than an hour of naptime.  You also discover that the marker, (left out by an older child), is not a nice washable marker, but in fact a super-cheap marker acquired at some point for a birthday prize.  You get out a washcloth and scrub your toddler with little result.  You spray everything affected with stain remover and toss it in the washer (after you move the morning’s load of soiled clothes out), and hope for the best.  You mentally rebuke yourself for having chosen the super-cheap birthday prize over a more expensive, washable option in some previous book.

Chapter Four

2:50pm – You have to pick your oldest child up from school in ten minutes.  Do you: A) leave your toddler home alone (he’s asleep in his bed…he’ll never know you were gone), B) leave your daughter at school for an extra hour until your toddler wakes on his own,  –  or – C) wake your toddler and take him with you?

YOU CHOOSE “C”

You have avoided abandoning either of your children...whew!  However, waking your toddler early sets him up for an afternoon of tantrums; he goes off like a bomb at the slightest upset for the next five hours straight.  Your older son becomes sulky and demanding.  Your daughter scolds you from the moment you pick her up, blaming you for never teaching her softball and not making her practice for her upcoming school play (???).  Within a few short hours you become certifiably insane.  You spend the rest of your life trapped in an asylum with only a blog to keep you company. 

A Glimpse into Life with my Two-Year-Old

12:45 am – I wake to the sound of whimpering coming from the nursery.  I go in and see Andrew curled up tightly and pressed against the far end of the crib, trying hard to stay asleep.  As my eyes adjust, I realize that he is completely naked from the waist down.  Then I notice the pajama pants and diaper discarded on the floor, and surmise that he took them off earlier in the night.  I go to pick him up and find that his pajama shirt is soaking wet, and he is lying in a puddle of pee that has drenched his sheet and mattress pad.  No wonder he is cold.  I take him out, put on a fresh diaper and warm pjs, and change his sheets.  As I put him back to bed, I whisper “That’s why we leave our diapie on, Andrew.”  “Yeah,” he whispers back.  “Don’t take your diapie off, okay?”  “Okay,” he whispers back.  And back to sleep he goes.

7:45 am – Andrew has been up for 45 minutes.  He has had his breakfast, and he is playing in his room with the big kids.  The big kids come running in to report that Andrew has taken his diaper off again.  Damien goes into the room and finds Andrew standing in his crib, buck naked.  Damien says, “Andrew, you leave your diaper on.”  “Oh.”  The day begins.

8:45 am – The kids go out to play in the snow.  Andrew can’t wait, and happily puts all of his snow gear on to join them.  Out the door he goes.

8:48 am – A very sad voice is calling “Mommy…” repeatedly from just outside the door.  I open it to find Andrew, who says “Mommy…hands cold!”  He holds up his bare hands for me to see.  They are icy and red from the snow.  I look over his shoulder and spot his mittens, discarded on a patio chair.  “Andrew, you have to keep your mittens on.  They keep your hands warm!  Do you want me to get you another pair of mittens?”  “No!”  “Do you want to come inside?”  “Yes!”  “Are you all done playing in the snow?”  “Yes!”  And so the snow day ends.

9:00 am – Andrew asks for a snack.  I tell him it’s not snack time, and he will have to wait.

9:23 am – Andrew finds me at my desk and proclaims “Fishies!” while holding a bowl of goldfish crackers.  Somehow he has gotten into the high-up snack cupboard, snagged a bowl of goldfish, removed the lid from it, and is now snacking away.   “Andrew, you have to ask me before you have a snack!”  “Fishies please!”  He exudes innocence.  Sigh.  “Okay, Andrew.  You can have the fishies.”

11:30 am – I am cruising through the Fred Meyer with Andrew in a cart and two big kids in tow.  Mid-produce section, Andrew says “Cracker, Mommy!”  He knows I keep an emergency supply of crackers in my diaper bag for hungry and squeaky children.  “Just a minute, Andrew,” I say, wanting to first clear the crowded produce section.  As I turn out of the produce section and into the relative safety of the cereal aisle, Sophie says, “Uh, Mommy…” with laughter in her voice.  I turn to find that Andrew has reached his ridiculously long arms over the back of the cart seat, opened the flap on my diaper bag (hadn’t I buckled it? I thought I had…), pulled out the bin of crackers and helped himself to a cracker, scattering the bin and the remaining crackers around the cart.  He looks very pleased with himself.

12:30 pm – I am having lunch with the kids.  “Mommy, look at me!”  I look at Andrew, who is holding a piece of salami over the bottom half of his face, and grinning with his eyes.  “No, Andrew, we don’t play with our food.  We eat it.”  “Eat it?”  “Yes, eat it.”

12:32 pm – “Spit it out!” Andrew announces as he happily spits out the apple that he has just chewed up.  “No Andrew, we don’t spit it out, we eat it.”  “Eat it?”  “Yes, eat it.”

12:34 pm – “More apple!”  “No, that’s all the apple.”

12:36:00 pm – “Mommy, look at me!”  Andrew now has a piece of salami smack on the top of his head.  “No, Andrew, we don’t put salami on our heads.  It is for eating.”  “Eating.”  “Yes.  If you put it on your head again, I will take it away.”  “Okay.”  A pause, as he rips the salami in two and generously offers me a piece.  “Here Mommy!”  Yum…salami from the top of his head.  “No thanks, Andrew.  It’s for you.”  “Okay!”

12:36:35 pm – A chunk of bread goes flying across the table at Ben.  I declare the meal over, and clear his plate to the sad wails of “No!  STILL EATING!”  He is always “still eating.”

1:15 pm – I put Andrew down to nap, after first changing him into a onesie that snaps securely around his diaper.  I hope for the best.

4:30 pm – Andrew is still napping.  He is exhausted from his middle-of-the-night exploits.  I notice the open bowl of goldfish on my desk, untouched since the moment I told Andrew that he was allowed to eat them.

4:33 pm – Andrew wakes up.  Because I just typed that he was sleeping.  At least he is fully clothed.

5:00 pm – I am starting dinner.  I thought Andrew was playing cars with his brother, but then Sophie comes into the kitchen, giggling, to report that he is pulling wipes out of their container.  This is a favorite game, climbing onto his changing table and pulling baby wipes out.  I go to his room, step over the wipes strewn on the floor, and find Andrew holding a wipe over his foot.  “Put in toes!”  “What’s in your toes?”  He removes the wipe, stretches his foot, and contemplates his toes.  “Uh…foot in toes!”  “There’s a foot in your toes?”  “Yeah!”  “Okay.  No more wipes.”  I set him down on the floor.  “Okay!”

5:30 pm – Andrew comes in the kitchen.  “Mommy, I go bounce house.”  “You want to go to the Bounce House?”  (He went a month or two ago.)  “Yeah.  I like slide.”  “You like to go on the slide there?”  “Yeah.  And ladder.”  “You like the ladder?”  “Yeah.  And upstairs.”  Then he transitions directly into singing the ABC song.

6:40 pm – I am helping Sophie decorate cupcakes using her new icing kit.  Andrew is sitting in his highchair, ripping up the box the kit came in.  As I walk by, he is putting the box over his head and saying “Hello?  I talking to you!  I talking to you!”  At first I thought he was speaking to me, but then I realized his conversation was with the box.  It continued.  “Hello?  I talking to you!  I like chicken nuggets!  I like chicken nuggets!  CHICKEN NUGGETS!”  And then an abrupt “Goodbye!”  Moments later he has thrown the box pieces to the floor.  He sits in the highchair shrieking.  I ask if he is ready to get down.  “No!  Still eating!”  There is no food whatsoever on his tray.  And we did not have chicken nuggets for dinner.

7:06 pm – I walk by the bathroom, where Andrew has finished his bath and is waiting for all of the water to drain before he gets out of the tub.  He is staring at the drain and repeating:  “Water, come back!  COME BACK!”  His voice is so commanding, I think the water just might obey.

7:40 pm – Andrew comes by to say goodnight, riding on his daddy’s back.  “Goodnight, Mommy!”  “Goodnight, Andrew.”  “I riding a back!”  “Yes, you are!”  “Whee!”  The day is done.  At least until such time as he wakes pantsless, and a new day begins.

Taking it Like a Man

I took my son in for his five-year-old checkup today.  This was a necessity that I had been dreading and had put off for over a month already.  I knew that he would need at least two shots to be up-to-date for kindergarten.  It turned out that he needed three.  Sitting through those shots was harder than I could have imagined.  Why?  Because he took it like a man.


This isn’t my first time around the block.  I have three kids, which means I have seen my children suffer through a combined total of what…50 shots?  Who knows...a LOT.  At two months old my daughter didn’t even cry after her shots.  She was a complete trooper!  Being a brand-new parent, I allowed myself to take some pride in that.  But a few years down the road she was near to developing a full-on phobia of needles.  After one memorable appointment that involved multiple people holding her down on the exam table against her will, I knew I would have to do something before the next round.  


So when it was time for her kindergarten shots, I had done all of my research and planned ahead.  I gave her Tylenol an hour before.  I called ahead to the doctor’s office, explained about the developing phobia, and came 20 minutes early so that they could apply numbing cream to her legs.  I coaxed her to blow air out during her shot.  Anything I found that was supposed to help, I did.  And while she still fought every step of the way, we got through it; her fear even seems to have decreased since then.  Because that’s what you do as a parent:  when you know something is critical for your child’s well-being and you know that she is going to fight it, you dig down and find your iron will, put your own feelings aside, and get through it. 


It came as quite a surprise to find that it was harder with my son because he didn't fight it.  He doesn’t like shots, but he has never developed a strong fear of them.  For his flu shot this year he said “I’ll cry if I get a shot!”  But when the time came, he laughed through it.  Still, shots hurt.  And he doesn’t like them.  I knew that I would have to endure watching him suffer multiple shots today, and I knew he wouldn’t fight them.  And with no resistance, there is nothing for me to steel my iron will against.  There is no problem to be researched and defeated.  There is no parenting victory to be had.  There is nothing to distract from his suffering.  There is just sitting in the doctor’s office while your son says “OW!” repeatedly, and then finally crumples into you in tears.  He took it like a man…and it turns out that was the hardest to take.

A Return to Lazy Parenting

To be clear, I don’t consider myself to be a lazy person.  I work hard taking care of my family and home, and I strive to be intentional in my parenting.  I am not the parent lounging on the sofa while my children run untamed in the street.  If  When my children are running around in the street, you can bet that I am out there chasing them back onto the sidewalk.    But I am also not the parent who “runs the extra mile” on a daily basis.  Frankly, at the end of a typical day I feel like I have plenty of mileage on me already.  So if my kids want a snack, I point them to the cupboard.  If they want to do art, I hand them blank sheets of paper and a bin of markers.  Yet another phrase from my mother that now comes out of my mouth on a regular basis: “I am not the entertainment committee!”


But every once in a while, I have delusions of grandeur.  I read about another mom whose parenting seems so much more creative and put-together than mine.  [In my head], she works from home part-time, which she finds fulfilling and not at all distracting or frustrating.  She simultaneously homeschools her numerous and extremely well-behaved children, and at snack time she cuts their freshly-made sandwiches into individual shapes that reflect their unique personalities, so they know that they are each special and valued.  She is able to do the housework and vacuuming while she sleeps so that it doesn’t distract from her parenting duties or time with her husband.  And when the children ask for something to do, she always has an amazing project on hand.  She whips out the fabric strips that she has made from old clothes, and teaches them how to assemble them into winter hats for the less fortunate.  Or she pulls out homemade clay, which they use to make a full-scale model of the solar system, painting numbers on each planet to provide educational value to even the youngest of her children.  And this is just her typical weekday.  (Side note:  As a society, have we really discarded the myth of June Cleaver?  Or have we just traded it in for even grander illusions?  Something to ponder.)


So getting back to my story…a few months ago I was struck by one of those moments in which I thought to myself, “I can do more!  I can be creative, and organized, and never let a moment go to waste that could be used as a learning opportunity!”  In this particular case, I had just been introduced to the concept of “Busy Bags.”  Busy Bags are preassembled (meaning you personally assemble them ahead of time) bags containing activities to entertain your young ones.  The idea being that if your child is bored, whether around the house or out, you can pull one of these bags out and instantly entertain them.  Just like that – you have become the magical mom of your dreams!  Or so the theory goes.  And so I put together four Busy Bags of varying difficulty for my children, using almost entirely materials found around my house.  And now for the results…


Busy Bag #1 – Plastic Eggs in a Carton


The Idea:  This may have actually been the most successful of my Busy Bag endeavors.  It is very simple, and intended for Andrew, who was not quite two years old when I made it.  I cut an egg carton in half, drew six different colored dots in the base, and put a plastic egg of matching color in each spot.  He could enjoy putting the eggs in and out of the carton, taking them apart and putting them back together, and eventually practice color recognition. 

The Reality:  Andrew loved it, and was great at pulling the eggs apart.  However, he couldn’t put them back together.  He initially enjoyed taking the eggs in and out, but before long the egg halves ended up spread all around the house while the half-carton was left out to be trampled.  I spent my time trying to find and match up the separated egg halves.  This still might have been a win, had it not been for the unfortunate interaction with Busy Bag #2.


Busy Bag #2 – Mini Pom Poms and a Yogurt Cup


The Idea:  Again, this was intended for my youngest.  I took a clean individual-sized yogurt cup, punched a few holes in the plastic lid, and put a bunch of mini pom poms in it.  I helped him to open the lid and take out the pom poms, and then he was supposed to spend hours stuffing them back through the holes one by one.  You are laughing at me right now, but I based this on the testimony of another mom whose two-ish-year-old child was mesmerized by this.  

The Reality:  Yes, you are right.  Rather than exercising the attention span required to get the mini pom poms through the tiny yogurt cup holes, Andrew just opened the lid and dumped them all over the floor.  Repeatedly.  And who picked them up every time in between dumping episodes?  Yup, it was me.  Benjamin, my four-year-old, actually loved pushing the mini pom poms through the holes.  He also loved the eggs from Busy Bag #1.  However, this eventually led to Benjamin and Andrew moving the mini pom poms out of the yogurt cup and into the various eggs.  Then they were dumped out of the eggs at various locations around the house.  Basically the eggs became a more efficient means to spread the mini pom poms around.


Busy Bag #3 – Clothespins and a Number Wheel


The Idea:  This one was supposed to be for Benjamin.  I printed a wheel that was divided into wedges with the numbers one through ten represented in dots on the wedges.  Then I took wooden clothespins and wrote the numbers one through ten on them.  Since Benjamin is up for a little more challenge, in this game he was supposed to match the right numbered clothespin to the matching wedge and clip it on.  

The Reality:  I’m not sure this one ever made it to Benjamin, actually.  Andrew found it, opened the bag, and proceeded to pull each clothespin apart into two fully separate pieces.  This resulted in me spending my time trying to locate the various clothespin pieces and match them by their numbers  (I had foolishly numbered them on both sides).   However, after that I still had to reassemble the clothespins – not the easiest task.  And since I don’t feel as though I really need practice matching numbers, I soon gave up on this one.  


Busy Bag #4 – Make Your Own Cupcake


The Idea:  This was the only Busy Bag that I was truly confident about.  It knew it would be of interest to Sophie, my 6-year-old, and I was hoping it would entertain Benjamin as well.  I printed a template and traced and cut different components for paper cupcakes.  I cut out cupcakes, liners, and frosted tops, each repeated four times in an assortment of colors.  Then I cut various sprinkles, marshmallows, and other “toppings” for the cupcakes.  I put all of the pieces in a bag with a glue stick, and presto – a craft ready at any time!  I didn’t track how long it took me to prep this one, but a half hour seems like a conservative estimate.

The Reality:  I presented this to Sophie while we were visiting friends a couple of months ago.  I was hoping she would enjoy creating her own very special cupcake, and then Benjamin could enjoy creating his own cupcake, and then hey – there would still be two more cupcakes left for another day!  Instead, Sophie sat down and in no more than 15 minutes put together one giant multi-layered cupcake.  She used only one liner, but she stacked all four cupcake pieces and all four frosting pieces on top, and then decorated it with the toppings.  Unless Benjamin wanted to sprinkle a liner, there was nothing left for him to do.  Granted, it was an awesome cupcake, and she was so proud to leave it for our friends as a thank you.


So to recap, after four very specific efforts to entertain and educate my children and “wow “ them with my creativity, I found myself left with a house strewn with plastic eggs and mini pom poms, a bag of disassembled clothespins, and a few leftover fake cupcake liners.  The “busyness” that I had hoped to create in my children somehow boomeranged back to me.   My bubble was burst.


And so you see, that is why I am returning to lazy parenting.  I mean no disrespect to the creators and proponents of the Busy Bags.  I still think that they are a wonderfully amazing idea.  I’m sure the error is on my side.  And if you are the creative, put-together mom mentioned above, please know that I have nothing but sincere respect and awe for you.  It will only be a short while before I am once again struck by the random and unfounded belief that I can be a supermom, too, and then I will be looking to you for inspiration.  


In the meantime, I could write a convincing argument that my lazy parenting is due to my fundamental beliefs that living simply and letting my children use their own imaginations will better serve them in the long run.  But the truth is even simpler:  Too much effort.  For now, I accept that my children will eat snacks from a box, come up with their own crafts, and their educational activities will involve things like helping me to create a grocery list.  


However, I feel compelled to share the amazing thing that my children made today, with just paper and markers (and a little bit of tape), and no involvement from me.  It’s a treehouse.  I may not be supermom, but somehow I still have super kids.  This is awesome!

Note:  I originally found all of these Busy Bag ideas at www.moneysavingmom.com, a site that has been a huge blessing to me in recent months.