from me, from you

I give myself a big pat on the back every day when I'm sitting behind the driver's wheel come 8:36am. That means that I (I mean 'we'... I'm not too competitive) made it! I've somehow successfully gotten five kids out the door and on our way to being on time for school.

Yes, some days I'm all sorts of awesomeness.

Honestly though, I'm happy that I'm there in the morning; that I'm the one whispering good morning to them as I open the door, that I'm there listening to Henry practice his Chinese online, that I can help Wyatt pull his shirt over his head, that I can 'baby shave' the cereal off Edy's face.

I love that I can slide a plate across the counter and that they have a breakfast to kick start their morning, from me.

Today, 1 out of 4 children live in homes where food isn't always there, that's roughly 17 million children... just in the United States. Think about walking into your child's classroom and knowing that a quarter of them might not have had anything to eat this morning... last night... in the past few days.

But we can help.

From January 26 to July 31, 2011 you can upload photos or descriptions of your breakfast at ShareYourBreakfast.com or text your photo with the word “Share” to 21534.

Each time you do, Kellogg will donate to Action for Healthy Kids and, in turn, they will get more breakfasts to kids in school.

The goal is to increase school breakfast participation by getting one million breakfasts to the kids who need it most during the 2011-2012 school year.

1 breakfast from you = 1 breakfast for a child

You don't need to sign up for anything.

You don't even have to leave your email.

But you will be giving a breakfast to someone that might be sitting in a classroom, hungry.

A breakfast, from you.

*

To learn more about this program; how to get involved, how to get your school involved, be part of the Kellogg Virtual Breakfast on TheMotherhood.com. The virtual breakfast will be Tuesday, March 1st at 11:30am-12:00pm ET. Register to join us here or if you can't make it, leave a question or two.

Find out what each of us can do to help end childhood hunger.


Disclosure: I'm being compensated by Kellogg's and TheMotherhood.com, thank you. I'm happy to participate in such a worth-while campaign! Photo credit to TheMotherhood.com.

and here is my ticket to hell

Wyatt's newest thing is that his bones are breaking. "I can't walk, my bones are breaking" and throws himself on the ground (or would throw himself on the ground if the place where he wants to throw his tantrum is clean and not wet, because he *hates* being wet or being dirty, ever.)

All five of us are heading into church, slightly late because well, there's five of us going to church on Sunday morning, timing is all relative, right? We are picking up the pace as we head closer towards the entrance.

Wyatt stops about half a block before getting to the front door. "My bones are breaking, carry me!" I roll my eyes and grab his hand "no, you are fine".

"I can't walk" Wyatt screams.

"You can and you will" I respond and keep walking away from him.

He still stands there, halfway between the car and the front door.

I turn around, smile and wave to him.

A passerby laughs saying "we've all been there... I like that you waved".

I chuckled a little with her.

Wyatt has now moved behind a light pole, like his body is thin enough that I will not be able to see him. He probably thinks that I should just forget about him 'he must have just gone back to the car, turned on the tunes and is kicking back until we return from church'. Because, he would think that. This is Wyatt I'm talking about.

Both of us are sticking to our guns.

Unfortunately, the clock is ticking and I need to get Wyatt in for Sunday school.

I walk up to him and grab him by the sleeve. He pulls his arm into his jacket. He's screaming "I can't walk... I can't walk!"

I keep dragging him up the stairs, towards the front door, when finally he throws himself down on the ground (remember, clean and dry). His coat is halfway on, his shirt is pulled up and his stomach is showing. He's still crying "I can't walk, my bones are broken, you *have* to carry me!"

I'm breathing deeply, trying not to scream at him in the house of God (Amen).

He's still crying... and crying.

Then a woman rolls up. Yes I said, rolls up, because she's in a wheelchair.

Wyatt's crying and yells to anyone that will listen "I can't walk... my bones are broken".

Swallow me up, I'm going to hell right then as my child tells this poor older woman that *he* can't walk.

It only continues to get worse.

She makes him an offer...

"I'll trade you my one good leg for both of yours" she says with a wink, "Ha-ha!"

I grab Wyatt by the arm again, pull him up and run away as fast as I possibly can walk away, not before thanking her for being so sweet to my son though.

A son that will be taking me to hell (probably) in the very near future.

an average loooong weekend

What does the average kid do on a long three day weekend.

Make vials of fake blood, of course


Then create a laboratory for processing said blood


Setting up his lab with the correct instruments for studying blood samples


And of course, posting cautionary signs


I'm only slightly worried that this long Minnesota winter is getting to him (because it is absolutely getting to me. You can find me in the corner, knees to chest, whimpering about seeing grass last week only for it to be covered with a foot of snow this weekend.)

don't dare call him a butt man

When I found myself sitting on the couch, listening to my husband tell me 'You'll be getting your Valentines tomorrow', I didn't freak out (because, no... I didn't have a gift per se), I just decided to make sugar cookies for him for Valentine's Day. Nothing says I love you more than homemade cookies, no?

The sugar cookies were coming along nicely, the kids were 'helping' with pouring in the flour and dumping in the sugar, licking and dipping their fingers in the sugar like Fun Dip's Lick-a-Stick.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find the heart cut-out. I rummaged through the drawers only to come up with a Christmas stocking and a pear shape. Now, I consider myself a fairly resourceful girl, if I don't have corn starch, use flour... that kind of stuff. So, I decided just to grab a measuring cup and cut out big circles instead.

Then I decided that these babies needed a little pizazz, a little something that says love you, that these cookies are specifically *for* Valentine's *for* you! I looked through the cupboard, I came up with red and pink Dots candy and pink heart-shaped marshmallow.

Perfect.

I pulled out the pan of nearly done cookies and added candy and marshmallows, adorable.

At the two minute timer, I pulled out the pan to admire my beautiful (and genius) cookie designs.

(all the while dreaming that I might be the next big cookie designer... marshmallows and cookie dough... has to be awesome!)

Then I looked down at the cookies and realized that I was looking at a pair of boobs.



Perhaps the perfect (albeit unintentional) Valentines cookies for my husband.

spread the love - a charity giveaway

I know we are all in a loving-ish mood today, so let's spread that love. Some charities need small things like pots and pans, linens and towels... and some charities need big things like swing sets for kids and living room furniture.

Today, I am hosting a giveaway from CSN, but a giveaway of a different kind. Just leave a comment telling me about a charity you'd like to donate something to (we all know CSN has just about everything on the planet, so I'm sure you will find something to donate). Maybe your church needs a new pot or two, or your neighbor's house caught on fire and could use some towels, or maybe it's your area's children's hospital that could use a few puzzles and games.

(Children's Hospital and Clinics of Minnesota 'Wish List')


You decide. Spread the love.

And Happy Valentines to all of us who are lucky enough to have some extra love to spread!

*

-leave a comment with your charity/group/person (no names) that could use a donation ($45 or less)
-follow/subscribe to this blog for an additional entry
-tweet about this charity giveaway for an additional entry

(more) little white lies

- leggings are not the gateway to ordering pajama jeans off the ShopNBC channel at 3am in the morning (even though I'm having a love affair with elastic waistbands).

- having the zipper break on not one, but two pairs of jeans is a manufacture defect and that I should send that email that has been sitting in my draft file.

- eating at Buca's (a family-style restaurant) the night one of my zippers broke is purely coincidental.

- as long as I stay under my x many calories per day; radishes, cookie dough and Diet Coke are reasonable lunch choices.

- knowing the cashier's daughter's name at the McDonald's drive-thru is normal. (By the way, Mariah is getting over her ear infection, thank you for asking.)

- the cashier knowing my daily large Diet Coke order ($1.81, please pull forward) is equally as normal.

- having 'empty diaper genie' on my list-of-things-to-do is even well... list-worthy.

- having not emptied the diaper genie yet is not a sign of laziness.

- having long (and I mean long) leg hair during the winter is the standard in Minnesota Momma style.

- my minivan isn't that dirty, that person that drew a peace sign on the back of my van obviously just knows that I *am* a peaceful person.

Peace out~

Our Father, who art in Evan

Henry is suppose to start memorizing his first prayer, which seems a little *late* to me. Me, I remember being made to memorize multiple prayers in first grade, traumatized by having to repeat them word for word in front of my classmates, a sticker chart marking my memorization ability, me being in last 'place'. That damn sticker chart hanging on the door taunting me that I was no good at memorization.

Wait... I shouldn't probably say 'damn'.

Darn Catholic guilt.

Anyway, after church today, Henry was in the backseat reciting to us what he remembers, trying to ensure that he is getting some special treat his Sunday school teacher is bringing in for all her students who are able to memorize the first two line (yes, I said 'two'... two stinkin' lines and he gets a treat!) by next week.

The Lord's Prayer per Henry

"Our Father, who art in Evan
Halloween in name"

(gulp)

I think we might need to work on this a wee bit this week.

*

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Abbreviated contest rules: NO PURCHASE NECESSARY. Legal residents of the 50 United States (D.C.), 18 years or older. Contest ends 2/25/11. To enter and for Official Rules, including prize description, visit here. Void where prohibited.

Disclosure statement: I am being compensated for this post by TheMotherhood and the Alka-Seltzer brand, thank you!

WW - so cute you could Edith her up

letter to the preschool mom who parks in the handicap spot with her flashers on

Dearest preschool mom who parks in the handicap spot with her flashers on,

I get it, believe me, I get it. It's ridiculous to get a good parking spot during the winter, they've seemed to pile snow in the parking lot into a formation so there are at least 10 spots less than normal. And yep, it's been freakin' cold outside, like where the actual temperature is a negative something under zero.

I know it sucks getting little people out of their car seats; unbuckling all of them, waiting for them to get their mittens back on, their coats zipped all the way up, get their backpacks over their shoulders. It sucks having to listen to them whine about having to go to school... that it's cold outside... that their socks are bumpy.

But we all do it. We all get them out of the house, get them to the car and get them to preschool.

Except, we don't park in the handicap parking spot. We don't turn on our 'flashers' giving the illusion that we'll be right back, because you're not 'right back', you're waiting for the elevator, you're chatting with the teacher, you're giving kisses and hugs goodbye (sigh).

The thing that gets me. You're a marathon runner. It's not like you can't handle walking across the parking lot. It's not like you are going to get short of breath, pass out in the snow, wake up with flakes between your teeth. You run 26.2 miles at a time, for fun!

And you know what, you only have one little person to get out of the car and into school, I have four. Let's do the math on that, me = 4, you = 1, and that equals 'not fun' for me.

Maybe I'm just jealous, with your ingenuity in parking and the fact that you can run more than 10 miles at a time without dying. It's neither here nor there.

See you in the elevator.
Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom