boobberries

"You can't stop genius" I yell out the door as Wyatt steps into the neighbor's minivan with his paper circles and blue and black markers in hand. He climbed out of bed earlier that morning claiming that he needed to make a 'fruit plate'.

I have (generally) no idea what he is talking about when he demands something in the morning, but I've learned it's just easier to go with it and see what he intended me to do for him by either a smile or him yelling at me that 'I've done it all wrong!'.

So, that morning he asked me to cut circles out of paper. (Apparently my circles were too big, but he decided it would work with whatever he had envisioned.)

But his carpool ride was waiting in the driveway. He ran out of time and had to finish on his way to camp, hence the paper and markers in fist.

When he came home, he told me they were blueberries.


On a not at all related subject (seriously, why do boobs always seem to be in my face), I wanted to tell you all that I quit breastfeeding.

My boys think that Edy is dehydrating at this very moment, because she is no longer drinking milk from me:

'Is she starving?' 'I think she's starving, Mom.' 'She looks mad at you, like she's hungry.'

Umm, no, she's fine.

You all were so kind, helping me feel a little less mommy guilt over me quiting on her.

And I wanted to write about how somehow quitting was easy for me... how my boobberries are doing just fine, they're not at all blueboobbies.

Thanks for asking.

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fair trade

There's no place like the Minnesota state fair, where you can drop almost 30 bucks just to walk through the gates. It's the only place where you can smell manure and funnel cakes simultaneously and you still want to start planning next year's trip to the fair. The only place were you feel like good parents for forcing your children to 'stop asking when you are going home and start acting like you are having fun!'

I have a feeling like my kids are onto my gig though, that they know the only reason I'm going to the state fair is for the foot long corndogs and not for them... you know, for them to have a good time... for them to experience the essential all-things-Minnesotan state fair...

For some reason (my husband and I must have been hungry when we planned this), we were at the fair by 9am in the morning.

The kids were asking when they 'were going home?' by 10:20.

Somewhere around 1pm, after my corndog, but before my Sweet Martha's cookies and free refill milk stop, my kids started to break down.

We brought 2 strollers exactly for this situation. Only my (very) tall 7 year old decided he couldn't walk anymore, so my husband was pushing him in the stroller with people giving him a shameful shrug, like we were terrible parents that have lazy kids that can't even walk... the only thing that would have topped off the looks of disgust would have been him sucking on a Nuk (what, you don't give people the evil eye when their much-too-old kids have Nuks in their mouths? Never mind then) Wyatt, my 4 year old, refused anything that had to do with a stroller. Edy, well, she was just sucking on her bottom lip dealing with it as best as she could.

So, we head towards the gates, hoping to just swing by for milk and cookies on the way out.

I keep chanting to them about how awesome warm cookies and farm fresh milk will be.

I was pretty certain I had sold all of them too.

I stood in the line, my 3 dollars in my fist, just counting the heads in front of me get fewer and fewer.

Finally, I ran back to the family with our three cups of milk.

Only Edith decides this. is. it.

She lets out a shriek like she is dying.

She throws back her body and starts flying her arms in every direction.

I try to give her some of the chocolate milk but she keeps dipping her hands into the milk cup, sucking her hands, only to start screaming even louder.

I keep telling her 'no' and pulling the cup of milk away.

People start staring at us, whispering 'why aren't they just giving the baby her milk?'

Only then did I figured it out... Edy thinks it's a cup of ice cream.

The kind that she likes to eat when it's been a hot, long day outside.

I start desperately looking around for a straw to show her it's yummy, chocolate milk.

It's a worthless fight though,

straws are apparently forbidden in nearly every damn place in the world now.

I resort to scooping her screaming body over my shoulder and just walking away.

Without my free, farm fresh milk, refills

and without my warm Sweet Martha cookies.

I assume Edy think this was a fair trade, 'no ice cream for me... no cookies for Mom.'

*

Yep, the fair is so worth it.

a letter to IKEA

Dear IKEA,

Like I couldn't love you more already...

You and your free kid meals, where everyone is sitting semi-quietly hovering over plates of mac-n-cheese, chicken strips, juice boxes... happy with their selections. All of us fully aware that downstairs is awaiting, with $1 ice cream cones and cinnamon rolls.

That you have a ball pit and a movie running the entire time in the kid area (my kids are virtually hugging you right now). That I can drop them off there and they actually want to go in; measured, stickered and monitored like cattle.

That I can go into tiny little 300 square foot homes and just imagine for a minute or two that this is my life, all organized and clean, that everything has a place, and that my only child is playing somewhere in the bed that you've cleverly disguised as a tunnel.

Thank you!

And now, to top yourself, you go and put kid-sized reflective vests in your stores. (Though the packaging saying 'this in not a costume' throws off our rule obeying Henry so much so that he is brainstorming ideas on places he can 'legally' wear his vest; i.e. 'biking, hiking, working out in the garage' his words, not mine... and I swear if you make him all nerdy over this vest thing, I recant this entire letter...

moving on).

Again, the vests, pure bliss!


My husband and I sat around a table, near a window overlooking the Mall of America skyline, our table filled with the bounty of what only $10 at IKEA can do. My husband looks over at me, smiles and says "too bad this place isn't closer, wouldn't you come here all the time?"

I look at him all crazy like and exclaim "this place is only 20 minutes!!!"

Apparently, free dinner, ball pits and tiny quiet rooms are not worth a 20 minute drive to him.

::

I guarantee, it's well worth my drive.


Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom

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Don't forgot to enter my 77kids $50 gift card giveaway here

back-to-school with 77kids - a giveaway!

Henry's school did something sort of cool this year, virtual backpacks. You just put a little check on a paper, include your credit card number and a box of school supplies will be waiting for him in his classroom at the start of school. Awesomeness.

Except.. I love shopping, even more so when I have some 'mandatory' shopping to do.

Enter my happy dance come back-to-school time.

But in case you need refreshing, my kids don't loves shopping.

And that's where 77kids comes in...

You walk in the door, they have someone at the ready to rock out your kid's hairstyle




They have two stations for kids to mix their own beat


They have a bean bags toss, magnetic boards and chalk boards


They have peek-a-boo doors in the changing rooms


And when the shopping is done, they have treats


Everyone is happy

Especially me

And you can be a happy momma too!

77kids has some great footwear, cool backpacks, adorable accessories and the cutest denim jeans out there, and they are giving away $50 to spend in stores or online to one of my readers!

You know the drill, leave a comment and you're entered, that's it.

For additional entries:
-follow or subscribe to this blog
-follow me on twitter and tweet this giveaway
-follow 77kids on twitter and tweet this giveaway

And you rock, 77kids for gifting me a gift card too!

there's a catapult in my bed

When my sister and I had some free time (i.e. when we got off the school bus until pretty much diner time) we'd watch television. I think our favorite show was The Brady Bunch, and as I remember it, we'd watched show after show, marathon style. We liked The Brady Bunch because Mike and Carol Brady looked like our own parents. Seriously, the resemblance is astounding.

(if only my parents would let me post a picture of them back then...)

The only time my sister and I would argue is when someone had to get up to change the channel.

Yes, I was born before t.v. remote controls.

(I was also born way born Tivo and I imagine my kids will read this post someday and tell me how they can't even fathom having to live through a 2 and 1/2 minute commercial break, but we did it... and we liked it. not really)

Oh, the inhumanity.

And what do my boys do when they have some free time?

Create a catapult.

(that is indeed a plastic plate screwed into wood, thanks for asking)

The only time they start poking each other's eyes out is when they can't decide what to toss into the air (most recently, it's those Smurfs from McDonald's) and then they also argue about who should sleep with it.

Yep, my boys like to sleep with their catapult.

Totally normal.

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one

us on her (almost) birthday

I've been trying to come up with a list of pros and cons of you turning one year old. Sure, it's great that you can feed yourself, drink from a cup... blah, blah, blah.

The biggest con on my list, you are one.

One.

Once you start walking, game over, you will have lost everything that is baby to me.

(Except maybe those cheeks, and if you are anything like Wyatt, you will have those for some time to come.)

My little girl.

People warned me that I would be in trouble if 'baby' was going to be a girl, and they are right. I'm way above the limit of hopelessness, but I feel like it has so much more with her being my last, my baby, than her being a girl.

Or I can just blame it on her being a girl.

And not from being not my baby anymore.

not on the yacht

My husband says to say that 'we went to the North Shore this past weekend', but I think that just sounds prissy, like 'but of course, we were yachting this weekend!' (said in my snottiest, filthy rich kind of voice).

We are so not yacht people.

But on our vacation, we did hike into Gooseberry Falls, apparently farther in than most people do, and not unlike the rich folks, we had this little private pseudo island to ourselves. With waterfalls, the most perfect skipping rocks and quiet (minus Wyatt, of course).

And then there was Edy, who I thought wasn't going in the water, splashing around in her Target diaper.

The Target diaper shouldn't be a surprise though, I already said we're not yacht people.

And besides, I don't need the yacht.

representin'

I knew when he asked me if 'I always wear lipstick?', that it was a good decision to take off the cute little black dress I was wearing for the day and put on a t-shirt and jeans instead... much more believable, though I usually am in dresses and yes, I wear lipstick pretty much every day.


The shot is cropped; the photographer told me to leave the banana peel, that my husband dropped on the coffee table, there, to have my kids jump up on the couch and 'do I have a coffee cup?'... I pointed to the 32 oz. Diet Coke from McDonald's and said 'I'm usually drinking Diet Coke'.

All of that stuff got cropped from this photo.

He told me to look a little frazzled, to not smile... and come on, when you tell someone to 'not smile' they want to smile. So this is what you get, a half smile.

And vanilla hair, I wish I had my blunt cut bangs back, or at least had a better view of how cute my haircut is (or at least I think, it's a vertical cut, shaved in the back, but whatever).

I'm sorry.

My look is very mommy-ish.

But perhaps that's why they put it on the cover...

I'm so happy to be included in this article with other much more fabulous bloggers, but I'm sorry that I look so much like a mom,

because we all know that us moms are way more stylish than my hair, especially mommy bloggers.

I did *not* do a good job representin'.

stink eye for the pink eye

I'm one of those mother's that will give you the stink eye if your child comes over to mine, gets all close into their faces, and it looks like there is goop coming out of the eyes of your child. It might not be pink eye, or it might be, or maybe your kid is on an antibiotic... I don't know and if you don't come over and tell me, I'm going to go with the worst case scenario.

I'm just a worst case scenario kind of a gal.


So, we were at the National Night Out block party last night (note, not our block's, because ours is lame, but the next block over, who was kind enough to throw an invitation to theirs in our mailbox, the downside of that being they are all basically strangers to us) And you know, it's hard making small talk with strangers, even harder to bring up in casual conversation that your daughter doesn't have any communicable diseases that they would have to worry about.

Conversations went something like this:

"Wow, that's wonderful that you are going to college on the weekend, kudos to you! You know what else is wonderful, that Edy doesn't have chicken pox or something else that you might worry about infecting your children with!"

or

"The cookies over there are to die for!! You know what you aren't going to die from, Edy... no, her body's just 73% covered with bug bites, that's it!"

or

"Well, of course I'd love a beer, thanks for sharing! You know who will not be sharing any skin rashes with you or your children? Edy! It's just mosquitoes, they love her."

So, now that I've thoroughly explained myself, you can all stop giving me the stink eye.

(Minus me forgetting to put bug spray on her in the first place).

Apparently, it's true, Minnesota's state bird is the mosquito.

cool Costco kid

I just joined Costco. I don't really know why, but there something inside of me that feels a little bit more important when I pull out the Costco card and throw it in the face of the mean old guy standing in the entrance. (Because he really does have this mean face, I'm thinking he's hopped up on the authority that Costco gave him to deny people, but I'm all like 'that's right, now I'm part of the club too, booyah!')

Say it slowly, members only.

It's like the sorority that I never joined in college.

Expect everyone gets the free shit, and they don't even have to flash their boobs.

So, I was still feeling pretty cool about my members only/elitist card to Costco come Friday morning. I proclaimed "let's go to Costco, kids!" because we can (because we need toilet paper too), but mostly because we can.

I turned the corner, Costco in sight, and I pointed to the parking lot. I screamed to the boys in the backseat "now *that's* when you go to Costco!".

It was 9:36 and the parking lot was only a quarter full.

Awesomeness.

I pulled into my parking spot, closer to the front doors than I've ever been. I was giving myself a big pat on the back for finding the perfect time to go to Costco; without the crowds, my day off... the stars had aligned and my new membership was simply, meant to be.

Then I turned to crack open my car door when I realized that the woman, who I just watched get out of her car, sat down on a cement ledge near the front doors and opened up a newspaper.

WTF?

I took a closer look at the sign on the door; Monday-Friday open at 10am.

Oh, for the love of...

You know that means that I would have to wait more than 20 minutes before Costco opens, and of course, I'm not going to wait 20 minutes for a 36 count roll of toilet paper.

My time is way more valuable than that.

And then came the realization that the woman got out of her car, sat outside the doors of Costco, just to be those few steps closer to getting inside when they open... more than 20 minutes from now.

And then people started to form a line behind her.

Umm, this membership thing is looking a little less cool.

And it's certainly not going to fulfill my deep-seated desire to be in a sorority.

Except like in a sorority, you can get really cheap beer...

and I can work with that.