Little Lightbulbs

Dear beautiful children, On this day, the eve of my going back to work, I want to say thank you. Thank you for the three most wonderful years of my life. I have never laughed so much, cried so hard, stressed so deeply or been so wrapped in joy all at the same time as I have been while I was at home with you. While it is necessary for me to rejoin the "real world," I am thankful that I will still have the afternoons with you. But there are so many things I am going to miss. I will miss having the luxury of cuddling with you, Beau, on those cold winter mornings. I will miss those leisurely walks to school in the morning, J.T., with the crisp fall air encircling us. I will miss the holiday breaks when we baked cookies and stayed in our pajamas. I will miss snow days and impromptu trips to the park and the zoo. How blessed am I, though, that I have those precious memories to last me a lifetime. And, as the years go on, I will look back on them with the greatest of appreciation. Y...

As the mom of two boys fanatically in love with Legos, I have found myself screaming inside at all the hundreds of little pieces I have to clean up every day, several times a day. Knowing I'm not alone, I created this tribute to the great lego search we moms find ourselves involved in each day. Enjoy! A Mother’s Ode To Legos Legos legos everywhere. They’re in my shoes, they’re in my hair. Peeking out from the oddest places, little bitty Lego faces. Wheels and bricks, pirates and sticks mock me as I search for the pieces, checking all the nooks and creases. Legos, legos everywhere. As I gather them up, it’s just not fair How they can hide and scatter, making cleaning a messier matter. I imagine one day gathering the piles of bits and scattering them for miles. But my little boy loves them with all his heart, except for when they break apart. So here I am, on my knees. Can’t someone help me, please Find all the legos that he’s strewn across my living room alo...

My blog posts have fallen by the wayside lately. It's unfortunate, and I apologize. But before you judge me too harshly, let me update you on a few recent events. About three months ago, my husband came home and tearfully dropped a proverbial bomb on our household – he was laid off from his commercial construction job. Considering our healthcare and primary household income was wrapped up in this job (which he had for two years), it was, needless to say, an emotional time. Thankfully, he left with a small nest egg that, we estimated, would last us a few months. Surely in that time he – or I – would find work. Despite a few close encounters, nothing has quite worked out. And here we are, facing down the barrel of economic destruction so many Americans are dealing with these days. So what, you may ask, does this have to do at all with being a mompreneur? Well, my friends, I'll tell you. Being a mompreneur has a great deal to do with spiritually and emotionally supporting your fam...

I'm not sure when I first heard the word "cool" in reference to my social standing. I know it was a factor, though. After all, I did grow up attending school with a large group much more affluent than I during the eighties, when Guess was king of denim and wearing a Swatch meant you had arrived. Still, those were my pre-teen years. I don't ever remember thinking of such things as a young elementary school child. So, when my kindergartner came home from school downtrodden because his friends didn't think something he was wearing was cool, I was a little stunned.  I listened as J.T. poured out the tale of his classmates poking fun at his camouflage sunglasses. "Only DJs are cool!" he moaned. Through our discussion, I came to understand that a "DJ"  was someone with a backwards hat and slim dark shades. This all came about on a day when the kids were allowed to wear hats and sunglasses to school as part of a special program week.  My husband drove...

Sometimes, I wonder just how my grandmothers did it. Just how did they raise three children each, keep a home, manage their crops and cook everything FROM SCRATCH? I wouldn't say either had overly involved husbands. They were typical husbands of that era – caring but pretty much uninvolved with the daily operations of things. They went to work, came home, ate dinner, hugged the kids and read the newspaper.  This leads me to wonder why women of today complain as we do. Single mothers excluded, those of us with husbands willing to pitch in in the smallest way should be rejoicing, shouldn't we? Or maybe I have that wrong. Perhaps, this is the way it was meant to be all along. Either way, I can arguably say that as the basic running of a home goes, today's mother has it way easier than my grandparents did.  For instance, take my paternal grandmother. She's a one-woman freak of nature. At 86 years old, she still mows her property (over 100 acres), skins deer, goes fishing an...

I wanted to cry all day today. But, the tears just wouldn't come. After waking up my sluggish 5-year-old, I fought with him for over an hour about everything, essentially making me a drill sergeant, thus launching my sour mood and feelings of utter failure as a mother. I walked around with this heaviness all day, questioning myself and my choice to stay home with my children.  As I've stated before, I get no greater delight than that which comes from the laughter of my young ones. I'm every day aware that this time, while occasionally challenging, is all too fleeting. Still, there are days when the prevailing question is "Why do I bother?"  I should mention that some of my feelings are left over from last night's dinner, which I loved, but J.T. hated (which he announced before even taking a bite). That caused another argument, only exacerbated when Dan came home and decided to eat cereal instead of the dinner I had slaved over for an hour with him in mind.  Si...

There are things about this motherhood gig I do not, nor will I ever, understand. For instance, why is it that children refuse to go to bed on time, yet also refuse to let you sleep in the next morning? It is as if they have some stockpile of energy they plug into at every possible interval. But, do we parents get even a hit of this elusive magic potion? No. Take, for instance, my oldest. A new kindergartner, he is eager to start each day (at least until it is actually time for him to drag his tired carcass from beneath his sheets).  Each night, it's the same routine. Shower, brush teeth, read books, bed. Then in 10 minute intervals for the following hour, he putters down the hall for another hug, another question, another complaint, another demand. Which usually means he hits the actual sack around 8:30 instead of 7:30 as intended. That makes it all the more boggling that I felt his morning breath on my face at 4 a.m., startling me awake as he, whispering, asked, "Mommy, when...