tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37718560494758488312024-03-05T06:11:00.433-08:00A Day In Mommyland1 Mom, 2 kids, day in and day out. Each day is an adventure. You never know what is going to happen or what they are going to say. This is a day in Mommyland.Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-58966354503357609812014-12-04T10:40:00.000-08:002014-12-04T10:40:01.656-08:00Camping Can Be FunLet me preface this post with this- I am not what you would call a camper. Until recently I had not been camping since that one time in third grade...I spent ONE night in Big Sur with my mother who is decidedly not a camper (or the outdoorsy sort for that matter).<br />
So when some friends asked if we would like to join them for the weekend at a near by campground on the beach I jumped at the chance. My kids, 9 and 6, had never been camping outside of our back yard and I thought it high time they experienced it. Since my husband likes to prep for these experiences (and the zombie apocalypse) so we have been ready for this camping trip for years. In my garage there is the giant tent that has been used once (in the backyard excursion previously mentioned- where my husband refused to spend the night! There I was with a bunch of kids, listening to crickets and snoring while he was in our comfy bed!), coolers galore, never used sleeping bags, tarps and lanterns. My man has wonderful intentions but for some reason or another it is never the right time to go. Well now was the right time!<br />
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We got to the camp ground after work so we ended up erecting the tent in the dark. Smores were made and devoured, the kids had a blast trying to light themselves on fire and playing tag in the dark. When it was time for bed however things got a little dicey. Nature sounds much more sinister in the black of night... the hoot of an owl become foreboding and the rustling of nighttime creatures foretells the sudden attack of big foot. Luckily mommy was willing to stay up singing lullabies while daddy ran away with Lunesta. Everything was hunkey-dorey right up until 2am. I was awoken by my bladder and the sounds of what I knew must be raccoons having a party outside the tent. Unfortunately for me I had left the dog food in a bowl outside. Those raccoons thought they had hit the jackpot. There were so many of them they must have gotten on their little raccoon radio and alerted the whole damn tribe! "Dog food campsite 6, I repeat we have dog food campsite 6!"<br />
<br />
I stumbled out of the tent with every intention of chasing the raccoons away only to discover they were in no mood for me. As I flipped on my flashlight I was confronted with at least 10 raccoons of various sizes. They brought the whole damn family. It was a gang of raccoons. Those giant rats gave me looks of disdain as I shooed them away from the bins holding our supplies. They looked at me and I swear I could hear them saying "What you got homey?! We aint scared of you!"<br />
What they did respect was the kindling that I started throwing at them. They took to the trees and disappeared from view. Great, I thought to myself! But as I wandered around searching for a place to cop a squat (yes, I am that girl who is going to pee in the woods rather than walk the half mile to the public restroom...have you seen Friday the 13th? Movies have taught me nothing if not that camp grounds are teeming with supernatural serial killers just waiting to take me out!) I could still hear those damn raccoons all around me. They were hidden in the trees like the freaking Viet Kong! Chirping away at me, and I was convinced, just waiting to bite the first glimpse of white bo-hinney they saw. After much wandering around the tent and not being able to escape the raccoons circle of death I stuck my head into the tent and told my husband that I was going to risk the serial killer that was surely lurking near the public restroom rather than get bit on the ass by a raccoon and that if I wasn't back in ten minutes to call the police. He grunted and rolled over. <br />
<br />
Somehow I managed not to be dismembered in the bathroom and was feeling quite brave as I walked back to our campsite, flashlight held at the level of my eye ready for a fight. As I got closer to the tent I noticed strange lights flashing through the trees and like any rational human being immediately assumed that there was an alien abduction occurring. What I stumbled upon was much stranger. As I came into the clearing there were 2 small raccoons holding on to the light up hoola hoops the kids had brought. These raccoons were having a blast rolling around, lighting those darn things up. Had there been music it would have been a complete raccoon rave. Needless to say that the next night all the supplies were locked in the car, including the hoola hoops. I made sure to pee before bed and found some ear plugs to battle against further noises of raccoons partying. Our weekend of hiking, exploring, eating charred food, and being generally covered with dirt, was great and I would do it again...well, maybe a little closer to the bathroom and a little further away from Club Raccoon.Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-36819503537001480392013-04-22T13:12:00.002-07:002013-04-22T13:12:40.514-07:00Ed-a-mommy-beansThere are so many things that happen day to day in mommyland that you never would have imagined. Raising humans only serves to remind me just how closely related to animals we all are. Or at least how closely related to animals MY children are....<br />
<br />
Bodhi, my youngest, is my eater. My son has since birth seen eating only as a means to survive. Bo LOVES her food. She will try anything once. So it came as no surprise to her father and I that she sat down to a giant bowl of edamame beans at a Japanese restaurant and polished them all off. Since that day we have made sure to always have a stock of them in the freezer. Bo calls them Mommy Beans. So cute. What happened the other day though has, well....not so cute. I may never be able to look at the edamame bean the same way again.<br />
<br />
A couple of days prior to my tale Bo had requested said beans, and as is her custom she at every last one that I put in her bowl and skipped off her merry way. Come morning two days later and the little 4 year old light of my life is prancing around my room, still in her pajama pants and tshirt, when all of the sudden she stops dancing, giggles, gives a shake of her leg and states matter of factly "Oh, edamame." And off she walks. Now, I am confused, because what would edamame from two days ago be doing on the floor. My pre-coffee brain would not allow me to understand, so I say "Edamame? What on earth is edamame doing on my bedroom floor? We haven't had edamame since Thursday...."<br />
"Well, I farted, it fell out of my pants," Bo says as if she were talking to a toddler.<br />
<br />
AAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH! Oh the horror! My child just <i>sharted</i> edamame beans. Still trying to pretend that this didnt happen, I peered over the side of my bed only to discover the disgusting truth. There were three whole poo covered edamame beans. Who <i>sharts</i> {and if you dont know this term go google it, I'll warn you it <i>is</i> as nasty as you think it is} whole beans????!!!!<br />
<br />
As it turns out my daughter does not chew her food, or at least Mommy beans, and like an good and hardy legume it just passed right through her and onto my floor :) . All I can think of is those monkeys from goodness knows where who eat those coffee berries and poo the whole beans. People are roasting those mothers and selling those beans to people at an exorbitant rate, who then brew and drink it all the while extolling on its excellent flavor. Wholly crap I am raising a monkey. Now if only the product of <i><u>my</u></i> monkey wasnt just nasty, and gag inducing....we might have a cottage industry here.<br />
<br />
<br />Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-27050494468900479522011-12-08T07:13:00.000-08:002011-12-08T08:08:16.622-08:00Flu Who???<div>I am going to start spraying everything with lysol including people... stomach flu, the flu season, ear infections, coughs and breathing treatments. It is the damn plague! Bo is on her second round of antibiotics for an ear infection in her right ear and on day 5 of 10 she wakes up in the night screaming about her left ear. So it is back to the doctor to figure out what is going on. I am about to take some desperate measures here, and since I cant dip my peeps in disinfectant or seem to keep their fingers out of their mouths....<div>So when we roll up to the next school day in a giant bubble try not to stare....ahh hell, go ahead and stare, you know you want a hermetically sealed bubble of your own!</div></div><div><br /></div><a href="http://www.reelingreviews.com/bubbleboypic.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 686px;" src="http://www.reelingreviews.com/bubbleboypic.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-9153755787533713752011-12-08T07:00:00.000-08:002011-12-08T07:03:59.870-08:00Oh Honey!Maddox: Daddy why do you like honey?<div><br /></div><div>Daddy: Probably for the same reason you do buddy...</div><div><br /></div><div>Maddox: Because it tastes like a bee's butt??</div><div><br /></div><div>Daddy: Ummmmm.....</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-83192030930974825952011-11-21T09:14:00.000-08:002011-11-21T11:01:24.973-08:00Mmmm, breakfastAround once a week the kids will want a hot dog for breakfast. Its a tad strange to me, but then I like strange things for breakfast too. <div><br /><div>For instance I'll eat a bean burrito in the AM. But when the kids ask I stand there stupidly blinking in a wash of momentary guilt.</div><div>It is then that I rationalize...<div><br /></div><div>Sausage is breakfast meat. </div><div>Hot dogs look like sausage.</div><div>If sausage is a breakfast meat and hot dogs look like a sausage...</div><div>Then it stands to reason that feeding my children hot dogs at 6am is just fine and dandy. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's right, I turn it into a SAT question and thus I can live with myself. </div><div>This is the most important meal of the day and it is hot dog and V8 juice...</div><div><br /></div><div>Dont judge me. That is a full serving of fruit and veggies for a boy who has no interest in eating other than a means by which to stay alive... that baby wouldn't feed himself until he was almost 2. Bo is just an all around eater or rather a taster...she relishes food and has a much wider palate.</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>But the smell of hot dogs in the morning...gag.</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-64174611025076831862011-08-04T07:12:00.000-07:002011-08-04T08:21:34.792-07:00Its been a year...It has been a year since I last blogged. Ouch, such is the way of things. But it is still better than my record with scrap booking. No, neither of the children have one yet. <div><br /><div> In the past year Mad celebrated his 5th birthday and I couldn't bring myself to write about it. That would be tantamount to admitting he was no longer a baby! He had a wonderful time playing soccer for the first time. Mostly he stood on the field chasing butterflies and pretending to be spiderman. He got his first phone call from a girl in his preschool class. She tells me that they are going to be married, Maddie just doesn't know it yet. Um, is there a way to lock him up in a tower with a dragon or is that just for fairytale characters...</div><div><br /><div>Mad has become adept with video games and Lego's. I have become adept at stepping and kneeling on said Lego's. He loves Harry Potter and we have read the first two books together this year. He is still very sensitive and easily embarrassed but makes friends every where and always has a plan for play. We have taken to calling him "the Cruise Director", he wants it the way he wants it and he wants you to want it the way he wants it too. Luckily his sister is just happy to be invited to play whatever it is he has concocted. He is a happy boy over all and that is amazing to me after how long he took to get out of the terrible twos and threes and well, you get the picture...</div><div><br /></div><div>Now I remember why I haven't blogged in forever...as I type there is a three year old banging on my chair with a couple of paint brushes screaming for me to dance to the music she is beating out. Aaarrgggh! </div><div><br /></div><div>The three year old in question has had quite the year herself. She has mastered the big girl bed and goes most nights with out wetting the bed, during the day she is full on potty trained. Her vocabulary is astonishing...she actually uses words like "astonishing". Like many other girls her age she is three going on 23. She still has a sick shoe fetish happening and can walk in my four inch heels better than I can. Bo continues to be the best eater in the house, she loves steak, eating raw oysters with hot sauce and lemon, every kind of veggie you can imagine...and will pretty much try anything. Bo loves to sing and dance and perform. Everything is a story with her. While brother likes to tell himself stories and will play in his room talking to a Lego for hours, sissy wants to tell YOU the story. She wants to be just like brother which makes for some nice fights. But still the worst punishment I can meter out is to tell them they cant play with each other. </div><div><br /></div><div>Daddy and I have decided that we are done having babies. And he is going to be getting his snip on soon. At first I was sure that I wanted three kids and it took a lot of convincing to bring Brian around, and then I realized that all I really wanted was the choice. So once Brian said he would give me that I, um, decided that getting him to tell me I could was all I need to hear. Says a lot about my personality I guess...hmmm. So now that I know I could have another baby if I wanted to I see that I really don't want to. I would much rather snuggle other people's babies. And as Brian says "if we had another baby we would never be able to sit at a four top again!" LOL! </div><div><br /></div><div>My parents moved to town and it has been a dream having them here. As a kid it was all I wanted as a Navy brat. To live in one place surrounded by family, the picket fence the whole deal. The only thing that could make it more perfect would be if my sister and her family moved here. I want the kids to know their only cousins. Brian's brother is still in his twenties and just graduated from law school so by the time he has kids mine will be grown...meanwhile my sister's kids are 9, 7, and 3. Mad and Bo love them and ask to see them all the time. I will just have to bend my thoughts to getting them down here permanently....</div><div><br /></div><div>Summer this year is almost over. We have done a lot of beach going, visits to hotels and parks in Orlando. Bo decided she wanted a big birthday bash centered around strawberry cake with candles. Not three candles, lots and lots of candles. She also decided that she wanted to have a double birthday party with her little friend Aubry who shares her birthday. Aubry and her family just moved to town and wasn't going to be able to have a big "pink party" like she wanted so they shared and had the best time. My mom made them matching outfits and we had a grand time. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mad, who has never been really interested in having a party, has decided he wants a big one after seeing the grandiose scheme Bo designed. Who knew a three year old would have so many party planning ideas. She knew what kind of cake she wanted, the decorations, the food to be served and so on. </div><div><br /></div><div>The kiddos play together so well most of the time and I have turned the back sun porch into their domain. Brian calls it toy land. Which of course it is. They have learned the words "I'm bored" much to my chagrin. Their rooms usually look like a bomb exploded but then my room usually looks like a bomb exploded too....yeah, way to teach by example Mom....</div><div><br /></div><div>Mad starts kindergarten in a few weeks and I am trying not to freak. He is so excited and even had me move his desk and chair to a better spot so that he could be ready to work should he have homework. I can only hope the enthusiasm will last. Bo is starting pre-school three days a week and will have the same teacher, Mrs. Williams, that Mad had. She too is sooo excited. It doesn't seem real. I just brought these babies home and now they are going to school and reading and writing and growing faster than I can keep up with. </div><div><br /></div><div>Brian took our annual couples trip last week, this year it was to NYC, and my mom and MIL took turns staying with the kids. Turns out the kids are damn well adjusted, they didn't cry once and barely gave us a Hello upon our return. They told me after they missed us and didn't want us to go away again. But the grannies took such good care of them they hardly batted an eye. Of course they are ridiculously spoiled now and that is coming as a shock to them that mommy doesn't behave like Nana and Nonni...ahh the granny privilege to spoil rotten and give the kids back :)</div><div><br /></div><div>Today the heat wave has hit town and we are off to a play date which involves a water slide. I am trying to pretend summer is not coming to an end, they are not going to be starting school and imagining that they will be my babies forever....</div><div><br /></div></div></div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-45236512852618007172010-10-10T11:03:00.000-07:002010-10-10T12:12:49.056-07:00My baby is 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6s-rj_h6qh1gO-kRVwrLahpfbbKMtVl7y0cA4qNR9ooAh6w68OEml5MRweJZ80_r7qSa1QZ1b135KzItdoqN7LIAlxg1QH_h-hL4aLU7giPuRS45PXDbD0FmRwbyRxAVsIYwrLAK-3cQ/s1600/Bo+is+two.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6s-rj_h6qh1gO-kRVwrLahpfbbKMtVl7y0cA4qNR9ooAh6w68OEml5MRweJZ80_r7qSa1QZ1b135KzItdoqN7LIAlxg1QH_h-hL4aLU7giPuRS45PXDbD0FmRwbyRxAVsIYwrLAK-3cQ/s200/Bo+is+two.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526496025000305234" /></a><br />Bo, you are 2 years old now. Mommy cannot believe it! <div><br /></div><div>Well, it is really two going on 12. Who knows if it because you are the second child, because you are a girl, or it is just your big personality, but you constantly act like you have been there done that already. You pout and put on theatrics. You still love your knock, knock jokes. Right now your favorite is this one:<div><br /></div><div><br /><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Bodhi: Knock, Knock.</b></div><div>Mommy: Who's there?</div><div><b>Bodhi: Interrupting cow.</b></div><div>Mommy: Interup...</div><div><b>Bodhi: MOOOOOO!!!</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>You are the best eater in the family and I love it! You will try anything. You especially love what ever it is your Daddy is eating. He never before, in the 12 years your father and I have been together, had to worry about having to share his favorite culinary indulgences. Now he needs to up his game and shuck those oysters or craw fish fast if you are anywhere near. "I want one, I want one," or "Pleeeeaaaasssse...." is what you squeal, and girl, you can and will climb people like a monkey when you want something. </div><div>You love hot sauce and want it on everything. You can put down a half a fillet in under five minutes. </div><div>We have yet to find something you wont eat...well, technically you will only suck the juice out of watermelon. You do spit out the actual fruit. You l0ve coffee and and hot tea. Pickles and olives are a particular favorite. Poor Daddy came home the other day to find that his much beloved Manzilla olives were already gone...</div><div><br /></div><div>You still love shoes more than anything, with the except of books. Your bed is always filled with books in the morning- despite it being devoid of them the previous evening. Jewelry is next in line and then comes pretending to feed people. You love that. Oh, and anything and everything your brother plays is ultra cool.</div><div><br /></div><div>You have a small obsession with your Sassy, and I am assuming it is going to take a little bit longer to separate the two of you than I originally planned. But that was my faux paux as I should know better than to try and plan something with kiddies. You all are on your own schedules. Right now we are just working on getting you to take it out when you talk although you speak perfectly clear with it in, I would rather not have to stick it in your mouth when I want to understand you and not be able to tell what the heck you are saying without it.</div><div><br /></div><div>You love your piglets, blankies and puppy. You want ALL of them. All 3 blankies, three piglets and one puppy. You don't seem to mind if one goes missing for a while, as long as you have one of each you are good to go. You are sleeping in a big girl bed because you climb everything and have no sense of danger or fear. While your brother will sit and play you have to figure out your way to the top of the tallest thing in the room. Needless to say you have to be watched constantly. I am loathe to let you play in your own bedroom for longer than a minute without supervision for fear I will find you on top of your dresser or worse pinned under it. I have a new wrinkle in my forehead which bears the name "Bodhi Learns to Climb".</div><div><br /></div><div>You are the most amazing child to take to the Doctor. Freakish almost... You do everything they ask you to on command, including taking deep breathing for the stethoscope. When you have had to have blood drawn for all the tests on your tummy you hardly cried at all, really only when they first pierced the skin. Then you thanked them and patted their hand when they were applying the band aid. I pray this strange and wonderful behavior lasts.</div><div><br /></div><div>You refuse to sit in time out. You long ago figured out that your brother always throws a fit and ends up sitting in time out longer than if he just ceased and desisted. Instead you apologize relentlessly. And are willing to do what ever it takes to kiss and makeup so you don't have to sit in that chair. Sure, I'll kiss the boy I was just whacking over the head, just don't make me sit in one place for 2 minutes! </div><div>The real way to get you to behave is to separate you and your brother. You two could be at each others throats all day long and nothing I do makes a difference, time outs, raising my voice, threatening the destruction of the universe. The only thing that works is telling you two that you cant play with each other anymore today. </div><div><br /></div><div>You love Lucy. That poor dog loves and hates you. Loves you because you rub her belly and feed her off your plate any chance you get. Also you are a very, shall we say, exuberant eater...and there is always some good eating under your chair to go along with whatever that chubby hand is passing under the table. You rationalize it perfectly. That you and Lucy both like the meal, so why shouldn't she partake with you? </div><div>You more than anyone loves to play tug of war with her and yet...</div><div>She hates you because you poke her in the ears, butt, mouth, nose, eyes and chase her relentlessly. You pull pillows out from under her when she is fast asleep and then laugh when she flails around all over the couch on her back trying to grasp her bearings. </div><div><br /></div><div>I could go on and on but I think that you are waking up from your own nap. Your nap that you are more frequently refusing to take. Its is the end of an era...the end of MY afternoon naps!</div><div><br /></div><div>You are sooooo 2. And I love every minute of it!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-31299341126688384392010-05-11T17:19:00.000-07:002010-05-12T07:11:02.923-07:00Saving Private MaddoxNose picking...private. Bum scratching...private. Burping, farting (or passing gas- for those more genteel ears)...again, private. Now that the boy understands what our private parts are it is time he and I discuss the where and the why of private part manners. So far I will admit my success has been a wee bit pathetic. Ball scratching is real popular with this young one and since he and I quote - "likes doing it" (picture: big poo eating grin as he says this) he doesn't seem why it should bother anyone else. The logic is hard to deny. Now if I can just make him understand that standing behind a house plant and picking your nose does not constitute privacy if you are still in full view of the entire room. But hey, you cant knock what little progress you got, right?Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-14536596149528530452010-04-13T07:58:00.000-07:002010-04-13T08:03:17.597-07:00Dont knock it till you try itKnock, knock.<div><br /></div><div>Who's there?</div><div><br /></div><div>Hot dog.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hot dog who?</div><div><br /></div><div>Hot dog! </div><div><br /></div><div>Hahahahha (forced laughter)</div><div><br /></div><div>This is the scene currently playing out at our house. My 20 month old daughter came up with this knock, knock joke after hearing my son spout off all the ones he knows. Now she likes nothing better than to scream knock, knock at you all day long. And dont even think about not responding after she tells you it for the 36th time. Then you will have her brother on your patootie telling you to answer sissy and laugh properly at this joke that only Bodhi can understand. I am thinking it may be time to invest in a knock, knock, joke book....</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-3155852913304997782010-04-08T09:44:00.001-07:002010-04-08T09:59:35.978-07:00HIGH HO!Its off to work we go....well, not quite, I am going to be working from home. I am starting my own business. Well, not quite, but I am starting off on a new endeavor. I had decided to start doing <i>boutique jewelry trunk shows</i>. Yup, that is what I am calling it. Fine, I am basically selling jewelry out of my trunk, while finding an excuse to drink cocktails with my girlfriends and asking them to have more cocktail party trunk shows. But it is quality, fabulous, classic jewelry that I must possess...(pant, pant, pant) . Not to mention that my girlfriends will be able to get jewelry for free and severely discounted and all that jazz. <div>This is going to be interesting. Before I had the kids I worked in the real estate world. Thats what I know. I am not sure I am going to be successful working from home. Who is going to keep me motivated and on top of things...where will my assistant be?? But then there is the idea of being able to support my jewelry habit while consuming the fermented grape juice with my friends....my jewelry habit is so large I really should name her...if I gave her a name <i>she</i> could be my assistant! See! I called it! Maddox's dentist appointment did split my personality! I am sitting here thinking of a name for my jewelry addiction! It was a traumatic event...and no, I am still not emotionally ready to talk about it.</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-9178731300069527322010-04-05T16:45:00.001-07:002010-04-05T17:28:04.212-07:00At the end of the day...All day long and usually right before I fall asleep I find myself thinking about the kind of mother I want to be. How I want them to remember me. Affectionate and loving, fair and honest, even tempered and patient. Strong, a rock, someone they can always count on...yeah, usually this is after I have screamed like a harpy because they have been at each other's throats all day. Say... with, oh, I don't know.... what started out as a fight over an imaginary cookie in the play kitchen?<div>The flippin' thing is imaginary! Bake another one! It will take you about a millisecond! It is not even REAL! The next person to talk about, think about, tattle about, or look at the other person is in TIME OUT! <div>It's five o'clock somewhere, isn't it? I think I finally understand what cocktail hour is truly all about. In college I thought this was a great excuse to imbibe...now I realize I may need a cocktail at the end of the day to coax me from the fetal position in the corner and take me to my happy place. I actually came home and meditated after taking Maddox to the dentist the other day. My mantra? Breathe, breathe...but that is another entry for another day. I don't think I can go there emotionally yet. A frik frakkin imaginary cookie can ruin my day. The dentist incident may have actually split my personality it was so traumatic.</div><div>Obviously I am pretty large work in progress...</div></div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-86819662605806565712010-04-05T08:52:00.000-07:002010-04-05T08:59:09.198-07:00Rules for Teachers<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:small;"><b><center><h2><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Oh how the times have changed! I found this on a </span><a href="http://platteriver.unk.edu/SchoolRoom.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">website </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b><center style="display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b><center style="display: inline !important; "><h2 style="display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">about one room school houses and simply had to share...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">no, I don't know why I was looking up one room school houses. I tend to wander on the internet...my own personal form of ADD. </span></h2></center></b></span></center></b></span></h2><h2><br /></h2><h2><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC0000;">Rules for Teachers<br />1872</span></h2><center><table border="0" cellpadding="2"><tbody><tr><td valign="top"><b>1.</b></td><td><b>Teachers each day will fill lamps, clean chimneys.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>2.</b></td><td><b>Each teacher will bring a bucket of water and a scuttle of coal for the day's session.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>3.</b></td><td><b>Make your pens carefully. You may whittle nibs to the individual tastes of the pupils.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>4.</b></td><td><b>Men teachers may take one evening each week for courting purposes, or two evenings a week if they go to church regularly.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>5.</b></td><td><b>After ten hours in school, the teacher may spend the remaining time reading the Bible or other good books.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>6.</b></td><td><b>Women teachers who marry or engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>7.</b></td><td><b>Every teacher should lay aside each day a goodly sum of his earnings for his benefit during his declining years so he will not become a burden on society.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>8.</b></td><td><b>Any teacher who smokes, uses liquor in any form, frequents pool or public halls, or gets shaved in a barber shop will give good reason to suspect his worth, intention, integrity and honesty.</b></td></tr><tr><td valign="top"><b>9.</b></td><td><b>The teacher who performs his labor faithfully and without fault for five years will be given an increase of twenty-five cents per week in his pay, providing the Board of Education approves.</b></td></tr><tr><td></td><td><b>(from Country School Legacy)</b></td></tr></tbody></table></center></center></b></span>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-53210755553363656762010-03-29T17:38:00.000-07:002010-03-29T17:59:51.419-07:00I HEART you coffeeI am addicted to coffee. Ever since I became a mommy, the addiction has grown. I brew half a pot everyday for myself and lament its loss...even after the hot morning coffee is long gone and I have turned the remainder into an refreshing afternoon icy coffee. Mmmmm. For me thats a lot of coffee, I have been trying to maintain the half a pot rule. If not just for the amount of coffee grounds that is, or the calories in the darn creamer, but for the headache that will ensue should I be forced to go a day without coffee. Woe betide those children should mommy not get her coffee, or at least some form of caffeine. Because I was feeling so very addicted to my caffeine I wrote this little diddy..<div><br /></div><div>I love you coffee</div><div>Cause crack's illegal </div><div>And will make you crazy</div><div>Rot your teeth</div><div>Pick your face </div><div><br /></div><div>Umm, is the fact that I am in withdrawal blatantly obvious...just a little? Damn, I thought so. </div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-89379948486446411292010-02-24T10:04:00.000-08:002010-02-24T10:26:54.657-08:00He gets it from his father....My son. Ahhh, my son. I wonder about the boy sometimes, where he gets his ideas from... yeah, yeah, I know it is the old nature versus nurture argument...but still I do wonder where he gets it all...<div>We recently took a trip to Disney World and while waiting in line to ride the Teacups we found ourselves behind a full figured gal. It was a warm day but she was wearing tight stretchy glittery jean and a long sleeve electric blue top...she was disco ready, and Maddox could not take his eyes off her. As there is not much to do in line but stare at each other I stared at Maddox while he stared at the woman in front of us. All of the sudden, out of no where my son reaches up and pokes this lady in the bottom! Now I realize that his head was level with her very ample and glittery bottom, but come on now! You are four years old, so I immediately began to reprimand him and remind him that we keep our hands to ourselves. The woman didn't turn around and I don't know if she felt it or was embarrassed that this kid had just touched her, so I lowered my head to Mad and asked him why he did that and this is what he said... or rather this is what he SANG:</div><div><br /></div><div>"BOOTY, BOOTY, BOOOOOOTTAAAYYY!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I die. I just like to think that since she didn't turn around maybe she didn't realize what was going on...but he sure did like that Boooottaaayyyy.<br /><div><br /></div></div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-30467498936147798922010-02-07T15:06:00.000-08:002010-02-07T15:19:12.710-08:00The LooPrivacy? That is so B.C., you know, 'Before Children'. My husband recently asked why I always lock the door when I take a bath. I answered him with a stunner- "Because it is the only privacy I get anymore!" <div>Yes, I realize the husband would like a peek. But come on people, I poop most days with a child sitting on my lap. Or at least standing 6 inches from me, staring, asking if I am done and what I am going to do next. At the very least, if I lock the door quick enough, screaming ensues from the other side. </div><div>There is nothing sacred in the A.D., that would be 'After Delivery' to you. </div><div>The munchkins stand outside the shower door. They sit on the counter while you do your makeup, at your feet while you do your hair. When you do have a moment to yourself, perhaps in the car, you may drive a good half hour before you realize that you have been singing along to that Wiggles CD and there is not a child in sight. And for instance there is a child sticking his head up between my hands as I type this, all the while screaming at his sister....and truthfully I don't mind. But the pooping by myself, yeah, that would be nice. </div><div><br /></div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-80004495435436188872010-01-22T11:29:00.000-08:002010-01-22T11:45:37.295-08:00I have arrived.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Lq8QsiV8wE5U1fxWWbDljC-Jv_6hSGEBOBP7WX0YovZ6oO85x3dWLgXYcfZR1aHug9PWlNO6DrQJflv5iaJQiDjOZ9Wdnl_uh9WbTIH0oUn5MNY1cyBXxPJvfdsuw2f-BiJh6pnuy24/s1600-h/hand+sani"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429652507248905138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Lq8QsiV8wE5U1fxWWbDljC-Jv_6hSGEBOBP7WX0YovZ6oO85x3dWLgXYcfZR1aHug9PWlNO6DrQJflv5iaJQiDjOZ9Wdnl_uh9WbTIH0oUn5MNY1cyBXxPJvfdsuw2f-BiJh6pnuy24/s200/hand+sani" /></a><br /><div>That's it. I have achieved Stay at Home Mommydom. I just covered my hand sanitizer with pretty paper. I got tired of looking at it so I covered it. I have arrived. I have become one with the crafting cult...I think I like it....kum bay ya.... wait that bad boy needs ribbon!</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-14529607323356463862010-01-15T07:42:00.001-08:002010-01-15T07:46:35.725-08:00What a world! What a world! Im melting!<div>After telling Maddox that I couldn't fix the heel of Bodhi's princess shoe he grabs the shoe and begins to moan "Why, why, why!!" while clutching it. He is serious.</div><div><br /><div>There is a real reason we call him Drama.</div></div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-49363909953844484462009-09-29T17:34:00.000-07:002009-09-29T18:01:19.936-07:00Baby's got a new pair of shoesIs it considered in poor taste to call a 14 month old a "shoe whore"? I thought so. Regardless, that is what my daughter is. Bodhi Mae is obsessed with shoes. Hers, yours, mine, Daddy's, Maddox's. You got em, she wants em. When Bo first started crawling she knew that she liked shoes but didn't quite know what to do with them. So what my baby did was what any self respecting shoe whore would do, she put those puppies on her hands and crawled away. Fast forward a few months and now she is walking. Not only is she wearing shoes on her hands, but now she wants you to put them on her feet. Fine. That is not too much to ask, only she keeps coming back and wanting you to change them out. The most frustrating part for everyone involved is when she is wearing a pair she must find particularly fetching and doesn't want to take them off - she just wants to put on another pair right over them. Sister, you cant wear two pairs of shoes at the same time! Believe me I know the feeling of loving too many shoes, but screaming at the top of your lungs and stamping your feet is not going to help the situation. <div>It was all pretty cute and funny, albeit a little annoying sometimes, right up until the other night. Then Brian and I became concerned. I was dressed up to go out with some girlfriends for dinner and put on a pair of stiletto pumps I never wear (yeah, my life and heels....hahahaha, not happening) when all hell broke loose. At first I thought, because the sound of the screaming was so loud, that Bodhi had hurt herself. It was only when she had thrown herself on my feet and started ranting and grunting while desperately trying to separate me from my Charles David's that I realized that the little Shoe Whore was trying to steal my shoes. I fought her off for a few minutes only to realize that if she was in the same room as these heels I was going to get no peace until I let her wear them. As she is a little short and not that used to walking for four inch heels I opted for removing them and putting them up until my ride came. Needless to say, my husband and I, are concerned. Well, mainly my husband, is concerned. He foresees much shoe shopping in the future and says can feeling his wallet shrinking already. I, on the other hand, am only interested in one thing in particular. Please Lord, let us end up wearing the same size!</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-17340669995693518362009-08-22T12:07:00.000-07:002009-08-22T12:18:20.931-07:00Becoming the Mythical Mother<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://myiq2xu.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/troll.jpg"></a><p class="MsoNormal">I wish I could be one of those moms who always looks freshly shampooed, dresses in the cutest, latest fashions, has the cutest haircut (she never has roots).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her makeup is flawless, her car is always spotless and her dog never gets fleas.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her children eat organic.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hot dogs are strictly verboten.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She runs her own business out of her basement – selling adorably chic children’s clothes, fabulous handmade jewelry, she <i>has</i> a basement.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She has sex with her husband at least twice a week and plans their weekly date night.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She works out religiously.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Her floors are never dirty and you would not dare find a dust bunny the size of a men’s athletic shoe behind <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">her</i> couch.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She always sends a thank you card and has her Holiday cards out two weeks before the event.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"></span>Oh, hell I could go on but I am starting to hate her.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Mainly because I don’t fully believe that she exists.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Don’t get me wrong, I still want to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">be</i> her.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I have begun to think of her like I think of unicorns and dragons.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She is more the stuff of Hogwarts than anything I might find in Gymboree.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I think I thought of this woman as my model of Motherhood when I first started out.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I have to tell you trying to live up to that bitch’s expectations is exhausting!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yeah, fine…still want to be her.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Okay, is it really bad if I can’t remember when I last shampooed my hair?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Does dry shampoo count?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In my personal quest at “becoming the Mythical Mother” I must admit my personal care has been one of the things that have slid sideways…just a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Not completely mind you.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I am not running around this joint green toothed and a head full of unintentional dreads.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But any “Me” time has become the “Don’t want to look like something living under a bridge” time.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If I find that mysterious and elusive “Me” time lurking in some dark, dust bunny littered corner, I use it to take an extra long shower.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You know the one where you shave your legs, armpits <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">and</i> your bikini line.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Body lotion is actually used and I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">floss</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> Before kids "Me" time was soooo taken for granted. Now if I am not careful lil' things just start falling away. </span>This blog, well it slacked sideways a bit this summer too.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It came last to pretty much everything else and normally I am typing with some pretty fuzzy legs.</p> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://myiq2xu.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/troll.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 336px; " /></span><p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes it is all I can do to keep the kids healthy, clean and happy.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Then the housework comes next and so on down the line.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If all that other stuff gets done in the name of becoming the “Mythical Mother” and there is still time left this house troll shaves her legs.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Don’t ask me how I prioritize what gets done, I don’t have the answer to that, although I am sure SHE would hand you a perfectly organized and monogrammed day planner.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I think all mommies have that friend they look at and think “how does she do it?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I am willing to bet underneath the polished facade and that ever smiling face is one knarly bikini line.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I mean nobody is that perfect, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yeah, yeah, fine…still want to be her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-74552685621804486522009-08-18T17:12:00.000-07:002009-08-18T17:41:44.230-07:00Cheese is the time, is the place, is the motion, cheese is the way we are feeling...Cheese. Glorious cheese. I buy it in bulk. I am talking logs of cheese that would make a Wisconsoneer, (Wisconsonor, Wisconsonite... what exactly do you call people from Wisconsin? I digress...) proud. Why do I buy cheese in such vast quantities one might wonder. Because it is the mainstay of my son's diet. How the kid is not so bound up as to be rigid, the only fruit he will eat is bananas and apple sauce, is a miracle. But he is getting enough calcium by God! <div>Cheese is the answer to every question to which you might put to him. </div><div><br /></div><div>Q. Where are you going? </div><div>A. To get some cheese.</div><div><br /></div><div>Q. What are you doing? </div><div>A. Eating cheese.</div><div><br /></div><div>Q. What do you want to be when you grow up?</div><div>A. Cheese.</div><div><br /></div><div>Q. Why did you hit your sister?</div><div>A. She looked at my cheese.</div><div><br /></div><div>He is a very interesting little boy. I never tire of watching him. Did I mention I am lactose intolerant... I am however looking into buying Maddie one of those giant cheese hats. This way he can not only eat it but wear it. I will be posting a pic as soon as it gets here.</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-72695316784679965362009-08-13T06:01:00.000-07:002009-08-13T08:36:55.713-07:00Super Summer SlackerYes, I am the super-summer-slacker Mom. Summer has come and I have become incredibly lazy. Instead of keeping up with the blog it has gone the way of the scrapbook- if the computer could be dusty and underneath my bed it would be. Just as it would be used to jot down shopping lists and random phone numbers in the sad way that my journal died. My days have been a blur of slip n' slides, bouncy water slides, beaches and pools. Instead of writing all the silly, crazy, annoying, touching, bizarre things that my kids do I... repainted the living room, redecorated in a beachy theme and partook in midday margaritas while the kids played out in the backyard and on the sun porch. <br />I love summer. So now that I have rested I here my little update. Maddox and Bodhi Mae are brown as berries and have golden highlights in their hair. They are obsessed with pools and the beach. We touched a dead hammerhead shark the other day. I had nightmares, but for days Mad pulled himself across the floor using only his arms and screaming "I'm a shark! Aaarrrrr!" Bodhi didn't think much of the shark, she likes to eat sand. Of which there is a lot all over the floor of the house, but I am loathe to clean it up. It makes me feel like I am on vacation. <br /><br />Bodhi Mae started walking shortly after her first birthday and luckily she had her Nonni (otherwise known as 'slave girl') to walk around the house with her in circles. She is saying 'Mama, Dada, woof, Maaaa' (which we think is Maddox- mostly because she walks around the house screaming it when he is from home) and something that sounds like 'thank you'. She is still a very serious little girl and likes to stare. She will look strangers up and down, head to toe, a good four or five times before venturing a smile. She seems to be a very old soul.<br /><br />Maddox is, well, Maddox. He exists on a liquid diet and cheese. He screeches and says things like- "I'm busted brother!" and "That's the freshest!" He will spend most of the day pretending to be some kind of mythical creature or animal and will only answer you if you refer to him as his chosen moniker. For example; "Dragon, would you like a snack?" or "Snake-boy, do you need to use the potty before we go to the store?" The other day he started dancing to imaginary music in his head and shaking his booty like some girl from a rap video. Doubled over, hands on his knees, booty popping up and down like Beyonce. I am not sure when I should become concerned....we don't watch MTV.....hmmmmm.<br /><br />Soooo, now I renew my commitment to my blog. I must remind myself that my poor children have no scrapbooks and that I am the crappiest journal keeper ever. Now if you will excuse me, I am off to inflate a gigantic squirting, bouncy, water slide, pool thingy!Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-25809966765923052402009-06-03T05:45:00.000-07:002009-06-03T05:46:05.908-07:00The Second Child Syndrome<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><div style="border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; width: auto; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; text-align: left; ">We have all gotten that email. The one where they show the difference with one and then two kids and then three. With the first one you sanitize the pacifier in boiling water first and with the second kid you run it under cold water, etc. <div>I had so many, should we say, lil <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">ideas </span>about how I was going to raise my newborn. He wasn't going to watch more than a half a hour of TV a day, would only play with wooden toys, eat only nutritious and healthy food (have I made you gag yet?), the kids would <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">never</span> eat in my car...oh the list goes on and on.</div><div>That email sure was right and I bow down before its truthfulness as I feed my 11 month old a mini Hershey's Chocolate bar while she and her brother start on some more Sponge Bob while playing with obnoxious electronic toys...did I mention my car is covered in puffs, Cheerios and Popsicle juice?</div></div></span>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-67282619597121989052009-06-02T11:14:00.001-07:002009-06-02T11:32:38.365-07:00How does it happen??Yes, how does it happen that when I take the laundry out of the dryer about 100 popcorn kernels come flying as well? Was someone trying to make popcorn in the dryer. Its not a bad thought really. It does spin around and get really hot...<div>Sufficed to say this is not the strangest thing I have ever pulled out of the dryer and it definitely wont be the last odd thing that comes flying out of the dryer I am sure. I used to fight things like this, now, I am good as long as it isn't alive and that is pretty much the only requirement...well that and the electronics (but he and I already had <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">that </span>convo. Goodbye sissy's sound machine!).</div><div><br /></div><div>Now if I had <a href="http://newsroom.electrolux.com/2008/09/04/guopeng-liang-ibasket-combines-laundry-hamper-with-washing-machine/">this </a>laundry basket/washer/dryer I wouldn't letting the kids anywhere near it. It is just a concept for Electrolux that I stumbled onto online and fell madly in love...a girl can dream... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(32, 32, 32); font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; "></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(32, 32, 32); font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(32, 32, 32); font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; ">The <a href="http://newsroom.electrolux.com/2008/09/04/guopeng-liang-ibasket-combines-laundry-hamper-with-washing-machine/" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(102, 153, 51); text-decoration: underline; ">iBasket</a> is a hamper/washer/dryer combo. The transparent iBasket stores your dirty clothes. Once filled, the automatic wash and dry cycle begins. After it has finished drying, the iBasket will send you an email or text message to let you know it’s done.</span></div><img src="http://www.mybadpad.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/ibasket.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 468px; height: 506px;" border="0" alt="" />Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-72723915331579226342009-06-02T03:27:00.000-07:002009-06-02T03:37:21.304-07:00Bustin'So Maddox comes out of his room playing with a choo choo train when he saw his sister sitting on the ground with Mommy playing with his piano keyboard. He rushed up and began to tug it out of her hands.<div>Of course I told him no, we don't take toys out of other people's hands. Yes, I know it is yours, she knows it is yours. Okay, that's it, if you are going to take this then you give her the train. </div><div>Well, after a bit more of that he let his sister continue to play and strode off to his bedroom. </div><div>Not 30 seconds later I felt a light tap on my shoulder and I looked up to see that Mad is back and standing over me with a quizzical look on his face and he says to me...</div><div>"Why you always bustin' on me?" </div><div>Ummmm, say what? Bustin'? What the? Where did you...? Huh!? Since I was rendered ridiculous he just turned and walked away. He has since asked his father the same thing when he got in trouble for messing with the cat's water dish. Bustin'. Yeahhhhhh.... I don't know where he got it but I do know I will be cutting back on the cartoons my friend. How's that for bustin'?</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3771856049475848831.post-29506104503106486812009-06-01T04:31:00.000-07:002009-06-01T07:49:36.945-07:00Me do it!It has happened. My baby is shedding his baby traits. Everything right now is "me do it." <div>He wants to brush his own teeth, put on his own clothes, wipe his own bottom (yeah, um, how do I get it across to him that Mommy needs to help or we will have a visit from Mr. Itchy Scratchy Bottom all day long?).</div><div>The upside is that now he wants to help me around the house. He loves to vacuum and help put the laundry in the machines. Of course now I cant vacuum without him chasing after me screaming "ME DO IT!" at the top of his lungs. </div><div>How did this happen? How did he go from Mama does everything to Mr. Itchy Bottomed Me Do It? My husband says that I need to let Maddie have more freedom and let him do more things on his own. But it is so hard to simply stop doing for the boy when in the past three years it has become automatic to take care of all things Maddox. Now I am just supposed to stop or know when to let him do it on his own. Ahhhh, cutting the proverbial cord is hard!</div>Kari Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10294813844370760429noreply@blogger.com