Me and my bike

This is old news, but I got a bike for my birthday. I didn't want to invest in a hard core bike that had shocks and fancy pedal clips. At least I know myself better than that. I will never be a die hard mountain bike rider with tight shorts and impressive calf muscles. So I went to WalMart and picked a cheap Schwinn that looks a little like PeeWee Herman's bike.

I like the vintage look and the fact that there are gears. I don't like the image of my goofy self riding it. The bottom line is that I am not cool enough to pull of the trendy bike. I need a scarf on my head, red lipstick and rosy cheeks. Oh well.

Here's the thing though. I've been riding around on mostly flat tires. I checked the pressure before a ride with John yesterday and discovered that my squeeze of the tire was not even remotely accurate. I just thought I was too heavy and thats why the tires bulged when I got on. But guess what? It is way easier to pull chickie in her trailer when your tires are properly inflated. Who knew?

I'll still be walking it up the hill to get home though.

Happy birthday Chickie!

Ice cream cake... mmm.

Guess who is one?



Believe it or not, Kitty wears sunscreen.





Penn picked out her favorite new baby.




Getting the baby ready for a ride.



She got mad that the lid wouldn't close all the way on her baby.

This Kid.

This kid turned 9 last week.
And FYI, his hat is just like the one his nemesis, Ace, was wearing the day they got in a fight. Let that be a lesson in jealousy, when someone (John) makes fun of your hat it is probably because he likes it.

This kid is not easy.

I have described him as rigid, explosive, and intense a lot lately. I realize that complaining about my favorite son can get boring and repetative so today I choose to focus on something else about him-- his irritatingly picky palate.

He has had issues with foods and textures forever. Now it's unbearable. It has become the mother of all power struggles.

Every night the conversation goes like this:

"What's for dinner?"

"X."

"I hate X! Why can't you make anything that actually tastes good for once?"

"You can go to your room."

"Fine, but I'm not eating any of that nasty glop you call dinner!"

Unless X = Pancakes, cereal, grilled cheese, quesadillas, or meatballs.

I've tried everything from letting him starve to letting him have cereal every night. It has reached critical mass. 

Here's the thing though.  I think I know the solution.  We need to eat at the table more often.  I grew up eating at the table and remember being shocked when a friend of mine never ate with her family.  Now here I am being that mom who finds it easier to feed my kids at their stools.  My justification is this: Jared.  He has either worked nights or, like now, he doesn't get home until around 8 pm. Then when he is home he doesn't like to sit at the table because of his ultra-sonic mouth noise radar. Dumb, right? Plus when my kids were younger it was easier to feed them what they liked first and then make dinner for Jared and myself later.

Anyway, my new goal is to eat at the table as much as possible, regardless of Jared's presence. It is going to require some planning and preparation, but we will see if John is more willing to try new (healthy) options at dinner.

Be honest, do you eat at the table most nights? How do you make it work?

Girls Camp

We just got back from four days of camp in Rye, Colorado.  Between the bear visits (three times in one day), the food poisoning that wiped out about a third of the girls and leaders, Jeremiah, the mysterious lone male who soaked up all the positive teenage girl attention until his wife and two kids showed up, and a little dose of teen drama, I think it was fun?






Some of the girls slept under the stars the last night.



Confessions from a bad parent who loves her kids

Ok, so here's the thing... I don't want to hear about your parenting philosophy. Because really, if you have a "philosophy" then you are thinking about it waaaay too much and are setting yourself up for failure (and criticism).

I am really tired of reading about everyone's perfect life.  Get over it people. Just because your kid is 5 and has never heard of McDonalds does not make you the parent of the year. My kid was 2 when he learned to say "eat, eat!" whenever we passed the golden arches and I was proud of his intellect. One of my earliest memories is of my Bompa taking us to McDonalds and it was a special, exciting treat. Did he buy into the marketing scheme? Maybe. Did we? You bet! I know it is not a healthy choice, and I know our nation is dying of obesity brought on by Big Macs, but guess what?  My kids eat McDonalds, and so do I. So in that vein I plan to go around promoting myself as an awful parent who lets her children eat cheeseburgers. Sue me.

Guess what else?

Kitty sleeps on the couch, John sleeps on my floor, and Chickie sleeps in a crib. I'm sure allowing all of this dysfunction to pervade will stunt my children's ability to grow up to be responsible adults. Who cares where your children sleep as long as everyone gets enough??? It's not like there's no structure in our home.  Kitty says she is ready for bed, gets out her blankets, lays on the couch, and immediately falls asleep. See? Independent. Responsible.

And oh yeah, I let Chickie take drinks from my soda. It's true. She loves it. But don't worry, I haven't put any in her bottle... yet.

Fighting at the doggy door.

Luckily, I know that everyone has their own weaknesses when it comes to governing themselves and their families, so I'm not too worried about a judgmental backlash (does anyone read this anymore??).  If anything I just made a few people feel better about themselves as parents.

Finally, 11 months!

She likes to empty her toy basket



Somebody loves chocolate pudding





Does this picture of John remind you of someone?



Dorkerific

This weekend we had a bout of the stomach flu surge through our family. It pretty much went like this: chain reaction vomiting with a major blow-out diaper in the middle just to keep the vomiting on a roll. Happy Mother's Day.

Yesterday we were still not feeling well and I had Sandy take chickie for the rest of the day and over night. Chickie's baby immunity seems to have protected her from the worst of it, which is good, but when everyone else is sick except the busy, energetic baby it's a problem.

After school today John introduced chickie to a friend of his by saying, "this is our baby I was telling you about... The one who had to be taken away."

Normally I wouldn't care what your average 9 year old thought, but there were several adults within earshot and so I started yammering on with way too much information regarding the flu, grandma, and child protective services. By the end of my awkward spiel I'm sure that anyone who was still listening (I shouldn't flatter myself) wasn't surprised the baby had been "taken away".

I'm a dork.

Does anyone even say "dork" these days? Probably not, which just strengthens my case.

Major dork.