DIY Lemonade

The past couple days have been cold and drizzly so, naturally, my kids wanted to make lemonade.  Actually the weather had little to do with it.  Instead of waiting for life to hand them lemons, they go looking for them and yesterday they found some.

Like most kids, mine are very hands-on.  If I'm making a latte, they run in the kitchen and ask to push the espresso button and pour it in my cup.  If I'm baking, they want to crack all the eggs and measure out the baking powder.  If I'm making dinner, they want to set the table and stir whatever's in the pan.  Obviously, when it comes to making lemonade, they want to do it all.  So a few months ago, I came up with a solution:  the (nearly) DIY Lemonade kit.

Step 1:  Combine sugar and water in kid-safe pitcher.  If you don't mind how much sugar is used, or if a pitcher is broken, I guess you could skip this step.

Step 2: Cut the lemons in half.  Again, if you don't mind how many fingers are lost, you could also skip this step.

Step 3:  Give the ingredients to your kids and walk away.  Tell them to put everything in the sink when they're done.

Step 4:  Applaud yourself...you totally just won a mommy award.

Poop and Pajamas

I went grocery shopping this morning, and came home a little after 12pm.  As I pulled into the garage, I noticed my handsome husband standing on the porch in his flannel pajama pants, talking to Jehovah's Witnesses.  Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against his pajamas.  I personally think men's flannel pajamas are sexy (yes, I said it).  Just, I'm not sure if wearing them at lunch time while talking to JW's is a sin or not?   I don't have anything against JW's, either.  The ones I have met have been extremely sweet and pleasant.  I do have issues with their interpretation of the Bible, but that's for another time.

At the same time I arrived home, I noticed the gardeners walking up to our house with their equipment.  Our gardeners have this odd rule about not mowing our lawn if we have anything but grass on it so, after parking, I raced into the backyard to clean up the dog poop left by our recent visitors (note to self:  don't let the dogs near the K'Nex).  We could actually be prepared for the gardeners, as they do come according to a schedule, but we never ever pay attention; we enjoy the surprise.

After cleaning up the backyard, I joined my husband on the porch.  I didn't mean to interrupt the flow of conversation but my presence solicited introductions.  Okay, no big deal.  That's when the "worst thing ever" happened:  the guy reached out to shake my hand.  I get that handshakes are a normal American custom, but just as this guy reached out his hand to mine it dawned on me:  after cleaning up the dog poo, I never washed my hands.  And to think he's probably on his way to shake some more hands.  =/  My bad.

The JW's did a great job encouraging us to read the Bible and making sure we "worship God correctly."   I bit my lip and tried so hard not to laugh when Stuart asked how he could get a copy of their version of the Bible.  They were obviously thrilled.  When the visit ended, I asked him why he was just standing there letting them talk so much.  He responded, "Hey, I just used up an hour of their time that could have been spent talking to someone else."

How clever, honey.

The moral of this story:  get dressed early and wash your hands often.

I did something right.

When Cadence was exactly one week old, I cuddled with him and cried.  I couldn't believe it had already been a week since I gave birth to him, and it confirmed that they weren't lying when they said it would go by fast.

This morning, nearly six and a half years later, my son unexpectedly ran and jumped into my lap, wrapped his arms around me and gave me the biggest hug EV.ER.  At first I thought he was crying because he wouldn't let go.  I asked him, "did you get hurt?  What's wrong?"  He replied, "nothing."  "Well, what's up??"   With a huge grin on his face, he looked at me and said, "my room!"

Back up two hours:

I have this odd disorder that causes me to stress if there isn't a clean room in the house.  Like, really stress.  I lose it.  One clean room - even a bathroom - is the difference between a relaxed and happy mommy or a stressed and psycho mommy.

I know...you don't even believe me.  It's totally true though.

So amid a week filled with dog sitting (which resulted in 3 different pee offerings throughout the house), giving blood (which knocked me out for the rest of Monday afternoon), church, Bible study, grocery shopping, hiking with the girls, basketball awards, classes....this list goes on and on...amid ALL of that, our house refused to clean itself (cue Shawn Spencer:  "Whaa??").  Since today's itinerary was simple (i.e. blank), I woke up this morning ready to attack one room.  Which room?  Well, my son's room of course, because it's the least-visited room in the house.  My son does not change his clothes five times a day, nobody cooks in his room, we don't eat in his room, we don't do laundry or even shower there.  =)  All in all, once cleaned, the room has a better than average chance of staying that way, which results in a less-stressed mommy.  Seriously guys...one room.

My son often migrates to our bedroom after Stuart heads to work (sometimes before, and he sneaks onto the end of our bed..it's so cute, really it is), which gave me the perfect opportunity to get up early and "clean" his room for him (hey, he hasn't noticed anything missing yet),) pull the sheets off and lug all the laundry to the garage, vacuum, organize, and fold to my hearts content  Let me tell you, I walked out of there a happy and stress-free mommy.

However, the only thing my son knew this morning was that mommy went in and cleaned his room for him!    It never dawned on me that something I was doing for myself would mean so much to him.  And to have my 6-year-old son jump into my lap took me right back to our first week together and reminded me that he's still my baby boy.

My blog is joining a party! #UBP 2012

I realize not many of my friends are bloggers, but hey, if you do have a blog, like to read blogs, or are interested in starting a blog, join the party!  Visit http://www.5minutesformom.com to find blogs by type, and start reading away.  No worries, I won't be jealous.  Oh, and if you can, leave a comment on the pages you visit!  Bloggers tend to like that; let's them know they have readers.  ;)

This blog is a hodgepodge of me.  I have no consistent theme and I write a new post about once every millennium, but that's how I blog, yo.  I consider my career to be "memory making" and my husband and kids are my coworkers, so blogging is a way to help me chronicle some of those memories.  I also love to cook, get crafty, and drink coffee, so I often write about something I cooked or, uh, crafted?, usually written while drinking coffee.  My secret goal in life is to be the next Shel Silverstein.  Okay, not really...but kind of really.  And if I've captivated you with those few sentences, then please visit here to learn even more!    

P.S. No, I'm not selling anything or getting paid for this.  If you know me, you know I'm a blog junkie who simply likes to post rude comments.  If you don't know me, I'm a blog junkie who really isn't rude, but I did recently learn a wonderful lesson on blogging etiquette.  =)

I was rude.

I know what you're thinking....jessie, rude?  What's new?  ;)

Honestly, though, this is an embarrassing post to write because it's transparency at its greatest.  Considering that intentional rudeness is one of my biggest pet peeves, you'd think I'd know better.  Apparently I still have some growing up to do.

I really wasn't trying to be rude.  There is a blogger I occasionally read who said there are certain questions you shouldn't ask a pregnant woman. I agree.  There are questions and comments people should avoid.  But they don't and so I offered up a solution....don't take those comments personally.  I told her that she seemed to get offended easily, but that these questions were not judgments or accusations; some people are just ignorant and/or uneducated.

I got some heated responses to my comment, so I attempted to reword my thoughts.  Somehow what I thought of as an offering of wisdom was coming across as hatred and I didn't know how to fix it.  She told me that my name made her cringe and to "move on" from her posts.  So I did what I thought was best...I apologized.

And then I found her twitter comments.  She had told her 3,257 followers that I was hateful, awful and crazy.  I felt like I was kicked in the stomach because I NEVER meant to make anyone feel like that.  My sister often has to coach me on how to do simple things like ask Starbucks to remake a bad drink, because I'm THAT non-confrontational.  But somehow I really made a mess of things on this blog site, and my attempts to fix it were not working.  So I went a step further and I emailed her.

D-------,

I apologize.  I was not coming on to try and attack, belittle, or anger you or your readers.   The internet is crappy for conveying tone, and there was absolutely no anger in my comments.  I never said or tried to imply that the questions being asked of you were appropriate.  They aren't.    I've just been in situations where people ask (or outright tell me) inappropriate things and I've learned that more often than not, it's their ignorance that leads to those comments.  I know you mentioned you've been on the other side....were you judging or simply curious?  My point is simply that inappropriate comments are going to happen, but we still have a choice in how we respond to them.  I kept trying to reword my comments to not sound like I was attacking anyone, but evidently that didn't work.  I'm sorry I came across as harsh.

However, the one thing I never did was name call.   I didn't go tell 3000+ people that you were hateful, awful, and crazy.  I never said that seeing your name makes me cringe.  I don't know if you've confused me for someone else, but this was the first time I ever posted as "jessie" on any of your posts, and I've only ever posted 3 other times, twice praising you.  So for you to so easily reduce yourself to name calling and telling me to "move on" was confusing.  I'm going to chalk it up to a misunderstanding or crazy pregnancy hormones, but maybe you really did intend to hurt me.  Either way, I'm sorry for my part.  As per your request, I have "unliked" your Facebook page (which was how I kept up with some of your posts).

Best wishes,
jessie 

Her email response back talked about lying to a PR Lady or something, and that people like me only cause hurt and pain, that it's her "darn" blog (according to internet etiquette I think she was yelling that part at me), and to leave her alone.  Plus some other things about therapists and martyrs.

Then she went back to twitter and said,

"Emailing me an apology for your comments that ends with you telling me that I'm crazy & you aren't isn't really an apology. I'm just sayin'."

It appears someone edited my email in transit because my version didn't say anything about her being crazy (simply that pregnancy hormones are crazy, and who is really going to deny that?) and it definitely didn't imply that I'm NOT crazy.  =)

Oy.

You guys, this situation sucks.  She's a blog writer with hundreds of followers, and my one critique (nevermind the positive comments I've left her) has landed me in her hot house, opening her readers up to join in criticizing me, "the hater."  I understand why they'd stay loyal to her, but it still hurts.  I'm convinced now that some other "Jessie" set me up for this big fall, but either way, I have to admit responsibility for my part.  In summation (always wanted to use that word), I messed up.  There are very few rules on the internet, and the freedom that allowed me to foolishly encourage her to not get offended is the same freedom she used to respond unkindly.  And, because the internet doesn't play fair, apologies don't always fix things.  I recently got in touch with another blogger who said this:  I guess the way I see it is I don't say anything in a blog comment that I wouldn't say to someone I just met. If I have known the blogger for a long time, and have built a friendly relationship, and want to offer advice I email.

Well, that's a lesson I've definitely learned.

When you're the parent...

...you have to protect your children.  Sometimes that means testing food to make sure it's safe to eat.  Food that might be too hot, or too spicy...

...or just plain poisonous.  Like homemade ice cream.

Really, it's for the safety of the kids.

No, really.

=)