A special thank you to my mother for buying the children a set of musical instruments for Christmas and a separate thank you to my mother-in-law for the drum.

Why parents are insane from Beth Morley on Vimeo.

This is childhood. Childhood is exploring, examining, learning and a lot of times getting hurt in the process. Lucy has worn her bumps and bruises like a champ and they are a badge of honor. She is enjoying her childhood and if she wasn’t her knees wouldn’t be looking like that. Too many times as parents we are so worried about helmets, and safety, and being cautious that we suck the fun right out of everything. Are we protecting or sheltering? Are we allowing our kids to enjoy their life or preventing them from having one? Are we allowing them to explore and experience or are we making them scared of taking risks? Lucy earned each of those bruises honestly by running too fast, going too high and pushing her limits. I couldn’t be more proud.

In an effort to clarify why I am the way I am I’d like to share a phone conversation I had with my mother last night at the mall.

Mom: Where are you?
Me: Were at the mall in the little play area.
Mom: oh
Lucy (off phone): Mommy look! I caught some sharks!
Me (playing along): Wow, they are huge! Good job babe!
Mom: Oh My God the kids have a shark?
Me: Mom, we’re at the mall. Of course not. They are pretending
Mom: Well, how was I supposed to know?
Lucy (off phone): Okay mommy, we’re jumping back into the pool
Mom: they are swimming?
Me: Let me get this straight, we’re at the mall and you think the kids are swimming and catching sharks? What kind of mall do you think we are at?
Mom: oh, well I didn’t know.
Me: oy!

I’ve wanted to make a french toast casserole for a long time now and so finally I gave it a shot. This isn’t an “official” recipe as much as it is a combination of several recipes that I tossed together to make my own. The measurements are estimates really.

6 eggs
1 c milk
1 c half & half
1 Tbsp sugar
1 Tbsp cinnamon
1 Tbsp nutmeg
1 French bread loaf (I used the long skinny kind but you can use the thicker shorter kind too – mine was SUPER stale and almost rock-like in nature, which probably helped)

combine all ingredients EXCEPT the bread in a large bowl and beat with whisk until well blended. lightly grease the bottom of a 9×13 (or large casserole dish). Cut the bread into 1 inch slices and lay flat on the bottom of the dish. They MUST be in a single layer. Pour egg mixture over bread, cover and let sit over night. (if your bread is fresh or still very soft you can probably just let it sit for a couple of hours). Heat oven to 400 degrees. Uncover casserole and let it bake for 20 minutes. And then enjoy the deliciousness that is french toast casserole.

I would think a nice praline topping would go well with this, or perhaps a raspberry sauce, but you know top as you see fit.

David and I have been talking about painting our bedroom. I picked up some paint samples the other day and taped them to our wall. This morning David awoke and said “you may consider those paint chips but I consider them little windows into a future that will never be.” And that is why I married him.

I’m not a crafter. Some women sew, knit, cross-stitch, scrapbook – I’m bad to mediocre at almost all of these things. I just don’t have the patience or the fundamental artistic knowledge to make any of these things work for me. However, this does not prevent me from trying and my closets are littered with failed craft projects. I have paint from when I tried to stencil. I have fleece scraps from when I tried to make my own winter mittens. I have knitting needles, cross-stitch packets, and an entire 5 drawer filing system of scrapbook supplies. My most recent project was my own reusable grocery bags. I kept thinking that how difficult could this be? Seriously, how much effort could it take to personalize some tote bags?

Bag #1 came out cute and I was buoyed by my success.

I continued with a more recycle-friendly theme and proceeded to make bag #2:

There is a problem with bag #2 but I didn’t catch it and perhaps if I had I wouldn’t have gotten all arrogant and made bag #3:

Yeah, I can’t wait to hear the peels of laughter from David when he gets home from work tonight.

I have always prided myself on having an excellent sense of direction, especially for being a girl. Not to play into stereotypes, but most women don’t know North from South and I do. However, there is one place where all women can navigate with confidence and that is THE MALL.

I firmly believe that if you placed a woman in a mall that she had never visited before, that within a matter of 20 minutes she could tell you where almost any store is located and within an hour where all the bathrooms are. Men, however, are incapable of even finding the Macy’s in a mall after visiting it countless times. To this day when David and I approach our local mall he asks “now, where is Dillards?” as if they might have moved it from the last time we were there. How is this possible? Seriously, it is a GIANT box with a LARGE sign that says “DILLARDS” how can you not know where it is?

This is a woman’s super power. David might ask me “where is the Gap?” and without pause I answer “upstairs, on the right, across from Talbot’s”. C’mon, give me a hard one. “Where is the Bose store?” Oh, you insult me “downstairs, across from the ice arena and the kiosk that sells hermit crabs”. I don’t know why a woman might be incapable of driving across town without getting lost but can instantly know every location within a mall. Perhaps it is carried on the X chromosome, perhaps it is part of our brain function that men lack. All I know is that men cannot find anything in a mall and a woman could buy three birthday presents, return two items in less than 45 minutes and never retrace her steps. Now, if we could only use this skill to improve mankind.

When I was little my mother refused to let us watch “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood”. As we got older she explained that she found it patronizing and annoying. At the time I thought she was being a rather large curmudgeon, BUT then I had my own children.

Up until this point I have prevented my children from being exposed to such pure evil as “The Wiggles”, “Barney” and “Teletubbies”. I admit that I’d rather my child watch Tom hit Jerry over the head with a large cartoon anvil than dance joyously to The Wiggles singing “Fruit Salad”. (And seriously, who gets the idea to write a song about fruit salad to begin with? Oh my, let me write an Ode to the Pasta Salad? Who does that?) Not to mention that I am convinced that they have embedded secret subliminal messaging, because if you have ever caught yourself watching one of these shows they are mesmerizing. Even as an adult you are drawn into a mind-numbing stupor, unable to look away. Only the devil himself could implement such an evil plan.

Recently, Max saw the Teletubbies. It was love at first sight. Prior to nap time he and Lucy get to watch cartoons. For weeks now he has asked in his sweet toddler voice “tubbies?” and Mommy has played dumb. “Tubbies? What Tubbies? Tubbies not on.” Max has been relentless. And when I tell him they aren’t on he looks as if his heart has been dashed across the rocks of cartoon despair. So finally today I relented and the joy that ensued was glorious, and as I type this I can hear his sweet, gentle giggle as the Teletubbies do whatever it is they do.

Later, I may have to force him to watch A&E or the History Channel just to make sure his brain is still functioning and he hasn’t succumbed to their evil powers.