An open letter to Momma B.

Dear Momma B.,

I am writing at the request of my four year old daughter.  She has a crush on your son, Matty B.  She watches his YouTube videos all day long.  She props up the iPad and dances along.  She is somewhat obsessed.  She trolls Matty B. videos for clues about his age, where he lives, what he likes, and how to get in contact with him.

My daughter would like to invite him over for a play date.  In fact, she has asked if he could sleep over.  Before you get the wrong idea Momma B., let me assure you that she is not that kind of girl. Does that matter to you?

Before I extend the official play date invitation, I have a few questions.

Whose idea was it to start creating these music videos? It looks like he started when he was seven.  I know, I know, it's super cute to see a blonde, blue eyed boy singing and rapping with his suburban homies. Believe me, it's got appeal. Who comes up with the revised lyrics? The video concepts? You most certainly aren't using your phone to record these choreographed masterpieces, are you?

Now that Matty is the ripe age of 12 I'm wondering how you feel about all the so-called "B. Girls"?  I assume you welcome the attention based on the gang of young girls that appear in the later videos. How do you feel about a four year old B Girl? Inappropriate?

How do you plan to tackle the whole coming of age thing that inevitably happens to young celebrities? Throw a few house parties? Give him unlimited access to Twitter where he can tweet to all the "single ladies" out there? Oh, you already did that?

One last thing, what are you going to do when Matty's voice changes? Do you remember Ben Lee? I loved his "Grandpaw Would" album.  Did you know he recorded it when he was something like 15? But then something happened-- his voice changed and he could no longer sing like he used to.  It was really hard on me as a fan. So, for the sake of my daughter, tell me you have a plan. Please, don't let puberty kill Matty B.'s career.

Thanks for your time, effort, and marketing expertise in regards to your son,

Momma W.

Chickie update

The other day Chickie told me she wanted to invite a boy to our house so she could hide from him and pull him into a closet when he walked by. Today she said when she's five she's going to have boys over. I don't know what that's about except that I'm pretty sure it's too mature for a four-year old and I'm pretty sure she saw it on YouTube.

I hate YouTube. 

I love a minute (or 45) to myself. 

It's time to try this blogging thing again.  I mean, how long has it been?  I've been pretty much drowning in four kids for two years.  I still feel like I am just barely recovering from the baby that sent me to the brink.  But that's boring and we don't need to go into that right now. 

I've started trying to chronicle our lives through Instagram (and subsequent Chatbooks) but I fear I'm overloading my "friends" with family pictures no one really cares about. Plus most of my photos are of my two youngest. Is it because I love them more that the other two? Likely. Actually, I realized that they are in the prime story-making time of their young lives.  This is the season of cuteness and I need to record it as effectively as I did for my older two. 

And speaking of my older two... they are in the prime of their formative years, and depending on the day, that can be painful if not exciting.  I guess I'd better figure out how to chronicle their efforts to survive as well.  

But mostly, and I've said it before, the blog is for me and my sanity.  I have felt the pull sporadically in the last four years and I finally feel like I might be able to fulfill the need to record and write.  At this point I am not going to advertise my updates on "social media" like I was, mostly because I need to get back into the swing of things without feeling the pressure to be understood/likable.  Whatever that means.

So here's to round two:  I restarted my blog and it was OK.

My life according to Pinterest

If I lived according to my Pinterest boards:

My house would be filled with natural light, colorful furniture, handmade slipcovers and quilts, wallpaper, and embroidery.

My kids would never hear a harsh word because I would have the 10 essential things to tell them memorized and at the ready for any situation.

I would give my friends handmade gifts wrapped in butcher paper and fabric twine (made from quilting scraps) with a witty hand lettered card attached.

My container gardens would keep us stocked all season with a variety of produce because I knew exactly when to plant the seeds I self started during the dreary months of winter.

Oh yeah, and my house would be sparkling clean (with just a little Dawn and white vinegar) and organized because my kids would do their age appropriate chores without a fight.

Forget about the food-- I've tried enough of those recipes to know they don't really taste as good as they look.  And the exercising-- I know enough about genetics to know it is physically impossible to change the girth of my hips.

Instead I'm stuck with this: