She calls me "Mama Leisha"

Craftin' for St. Patrick

2012-02-27T09:44:00.000-08:00

The "luck o' the Irish" is raining down on me, friends!

Why?

Because I'm guest posting for The Wood Connection today! Hooray! I love The Wood Connection store as much as I love pots of gold, Blarney stones, four leaf clovers, and Lucky Charms cereal. And since I am Irish (okay, okay, only by marriage), I decided to show everyone how to make a grand St. Patrick's Day craft. (No leprechauns required.) Be sure to stop by The Wood Connection's blog and check it out. I confess to being so happy about the way it turned out, I danced a little jig in my kitchen!

But wait.. That's not all! The Wood Connection has been generous enough to give away a $25 gift certificate to one "LUCKY" reader! There is one caveat: The Wood Connection is located in Murray, UT. They do not ship their products. The drawing would most benefit Utah residents, people who visit Utah often, or readers willing to travel to Utah to claim their prize! (Thanks for understanding!)

How to enter:
1.) Follow "Mama Leisha" via GFC, if you don't already.
2.) Leave a comment stating you are a new follower and that you would like to win! (Or if you already follow, just leave a comment!)
3.) Bonus entry: Visit The Wood Connection's blog and leave a comment there!

*Drawing will close Wednesday at 10pm MST.* Thank you again, Wood Connection! Happy St. Patrick's Day, lads and lassies, and don't forget to get your craft on!

Tags From Heaven

2012-02-24T14:53:00.002-08:00

I hate doing the laundry.

Those who know me, and those who read my "hot-bliggity-blog," know that I detest doing the laundry. I've made reference to my contempt for it a number of times. I do not enjoy keeping tabs on every pair of white socks in my household, especially since my dryer seems to consume most of them on a weekly basis. And don't even get me started on the folding! Oh boy, oh boy, folding the laundry makes me crazy. It's tedious, like math homework. It's dull, like the sound of Larry King's voice. (That man looks like an owl!) Laundry is an endless household chore--one that is never done, over, complete, finished! That is why it is the proverbial pebble in my polka dot shoe...or Tide infused sock.

Sadly, I have a lousy relationship with my washing machine. Don't get me wrong, I AM grateful for it's modern convenience. I would never have made it as a pioneer woman. (First of all, NO mascara.) I couldn't have handled scrubbing clothes against the rocks of a riverbed. And the rinse cycle probably would have been icy cold in that mountain water. Yikes!

I suppose part of the reason why the "GE Super Load Capacity Washer/Mama Leisha" relationship is so lousy is because we can't seem to get away from each other; to catch a break, to gain some space. It seems my washing machine and I are always hanging out--a girls day in, if you will. She says, "Oh! Hello again." And I say, "I really need to get out more, this is starting to get monotonous." (And alarming, since I'm implying I believe my washer to be: a.) female, and b.) alive. I may need to talk to someone.)

Imagine my delight when, in the middle of my "Laundry Day Lollapalooza," I discovered a "tag from heaven" sewn into my dark-denim skinny jeans. (Side note: I am a crazy, compulsive "tag checker." I wholly rely on them to guide me through the ins and outs of properly caring for clothing.) Right there beneath "no bleach" (no duh) and "tumble dry low" is a sweet little message to break up the monotony of the rinse cycles, and to put a smile on my otherwise ornery-looking face:

What a lovely remainder! Something to soften my heart, the way my Downey "Simple Pleasures" dryer sheets (in lavender) soften my towels. And speaking of towels...

I've got folding to do.

Because It's President's Day...

2012-02-19T22:28:00.000-08:00

In 1986, I was the self-appointed president of the "Michael Jackson Fan Club." As an uber hip six-year-old--with jelly shoes AND a Care Bear--I would put on my blue Rainbow Brite t-shirt and dance, dance, dance to "Beat It" in my parent's bedroom. Why there? Because they had a vanity dresser--you know, a dresser with a big mirror attached--and I liked dancing in front of it and checkin' out my own sweet dance moves.

His piano t-shirt in that music vid was pretty rad, right?

From 1989 to 1994, I was the president of the "What in the Hell is Wrong with Your Teeth?" club. I ran the embarrassing (and often physically and emotionally painful) gauntlet of head gears, retainers, and braces. I did not campaign for such a position, being unwilling to put pictures of my buckteeth on posters and flyers. Rather, I was "appointed" to it. By genetics.

When I started attending the local university, something strange happened. I became president of the "Hippie Revolution" club. I owned a pair of olive green corduroy pants and Birkenstock sandals. I would wear them with vintage t-shirts I'd find at thrift stores. I wore lots of hemp. I listened to folk music, and wrote poetry in a notebook that had a cover made out of bark. I would regularly visit a small and obscure shop downtown called "Earthly Awakenings." They had the best selection of incense, and my favorite one--Dragon's Blood--was always in stock. (Don't even ask...I have NO answers.)

Other "clubs" I have been president of:

*The "Big Hair Club for Women" club.
*The "Hugh Jackman Fan Club"--y'all know how I feel about that man.
*"Bookworms Annonymous," for those obsessed with reading and highlighting books, frequenting book stores, and obtaining library cards. (Dudes! I'm a lifetime member.)
*The "Diet Coke Makes Me Happy" club.
*The "I Only Date Nimrods" club--OF COURSE, McMan is the exception to this!
*The "Barbra Streisand Fan Club." (I know, I KNOW...but she's like buttah.)

Currently, I'm the president of the coolest club I've ever been a part of. The "Lilly and Camren Rock My World" club. Because they do. They rock it and bless it and shake it right up. I find myself working and "campaigning" and laboring to be the best mother I can possibly be for them. Days are long, nights are welcome, and boogers are endless. Sure, it's a tough gig. But I am in it for life. (And longer.) For when it comes to being the sweetest, funniest, loveliest, craziest, smartest, cutest kids ever...

They've got my vote.

Happy Heart!

2012-02-16T10:00:00.000-08:00

This sweet picture makes my heart happy!

Would you like to know what else makes my heart happy? Laughing and talking all night with McHubby. My new pink nail polish and the name of the color: "Casanova Is So Into Me." Good looking dentists. Cam's new "Chiclets" teeth. Strawberry cupcakes. Lays potato chips, of the "baked" variety. Heart-shaped ice cubes. Pretty smelling lotion to make me feel all girly after I've been cleaning my toilets. Blue skies and walks to the park...in FEBRUARY. Puppy kisses and cuddles. All the love, support, and comments I receive from so many wonderful (and witty) readers of this blog. (You bless my life more than you know and I appreciate every one of you.)

Have a lovely, "happy heart" kind of Thursday, dear friends!

Deja Vu

2012-02-12T23:58:00.000-08:00

Do you remember this picture? It was taken in February 2011. (And yes, Camren IS wearing his sister's old Tinkerbell pajamas. That's what happens when life resembles a pile of poo-poo and you get REALLY behind on the laundry. When you're just trying to take care of your family and survive the poo-poo, everything else--like a date with your washer--becomes low priority.)

Do you remember this post? About my little man biffing it in McDonald's and breaking his tooth? It was awful; warm, salty fries from Mickey D's couldn't even provide comfort for a stressed out, energy depleted mama!

Look closely at this picture, taken just a couple of days ago. What do you see?

That's right...The infamous "Chiclet" tooth is broken AGAIN! AAAAHHH!!!!!!!

Honestly, the ONLY positive thing I can say about this "toothy ordeal" is that I get to go back to Dr. Babe's office. And well...he's a babe. (In a "He-should-do-Crest-commercials" kind of way.) By this time tomorrow, Cam will have a brand spankin' new crown. His teeny, tiny baby tooth is becoming a very expensive, teeny tiny baby tooth.

I just might make him keep it forever.

A Letter To My Nineteen-Year-Old Self

2012-02-07T21:28:00.000-08:00

Dear Aleisha at 19 years,

You've been dating "Jason" (name has been changed to protect the idiotic) for a while now. He tirelessly pursued you--doted on you as if you were the only chick on the planet--and within a matter of months...Bam!...you were an inseparable item. Now, you are preparing to celebrate Valentine's Day together. Dinner reservations will be made, a piano concert will follow pasta, and there will be hot "canoodling" before the night's end. He'll give you roses and a ridiculously stupid, plush cow the size of a wheelbarrow, and you'll think he's pretty terrific.

But don't be fooled.

Don't be fooled by his "rico suave" good looks, or by the sweet-nothings he whispers into your ear. Don't be fooled by his extensive knowledge of Tupac, or the way he smiles when you walk into a room. Truth be told, he visits the tanning beds regularly, kisses his biceps before bedtime, and is enamored with his Toyota Corolla. (A Corolla?!) Don't be fooled into thinking you are in love with him...

Because he's been sucking face with "Melinda" (name has been changed to protect the ugly) behind the Coke machines in her office's break room. Yep, the girl with no personality, bad highlights, heavy makeup, and a nose that resembles a bird's beak. Melinda and Jason have been sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G for a while now.

I know you, and I know you've got a tender heart. I know when the blinding shock of betrayal wears off your feelings will be hurt. Naturally, you'll want to cry and cry...but can I offer a bit of advice?

Don't waste your time crying over a boy who wasn't good enough for you, who was NEVER good enough for you. It doesn't seem possible now, but time and faith will be the glue that will put your broken pieces back together. You'll walk away from "Tupac and Corollas" a stronger woman.

Oh, there will be others. Other boys. Other stolen kisses. Other love notes. Other romances. Other late night talks in campus parking lots. There will be flirting in library cubicles and hand-holding in movie theaters. There will be first dates and last dates. Other break-ups. Other heart breaks. With the end of each relationship, you'll learn something valuable about yourself. You'll become a better version of yourself. You'll learn more about what you want and deserve in a companion. You'll resign yourself to never settle.

And you won't.

He'll have dark brown eyes that will knock you off your feet, and a kind smile that will melt your heart to a puddle. He'll be tall and lanky. He'll be smart and athletic. He'll laugh at your jokes. He'll have nice lips. He'll kiss you so you feel it in your kneecaps. He'll propose marriage. He'll whisper, "You're beautiful," on your wedding day. He'll take care of you and support you in times of trial. He'll be patient. He'll cry when your beautiful daughter is born. His face will radiate joy when you welcome a son into the world. He'll teach you all about what real love is; what it means to trust it, to feel it in your core. I know you think you know about all of that already, but Girl, it hasn't even hit you yet.

It will.

In the meantime, Happy Valentine's Day. Take care of that heart of yours. It's a good one.
Love,
Aleisha at 31 years

It's February, It's LOVE

2012-02-01T23:06:00.000-08:00

It was raining.

I watched the rivulets of water cascade, like tiny streams, down the Blazer's large windows. The sky was cast a gloomy, charcoal-gray--the melancholy color of a springtime storm. I listened to the steady swoosh-swoosh-swoosh of the wipers as they valiantly fought to keep the rain off the windshield. I sat in stony silence, in the passenger seat, and stared out my watery window.

The minutes passed. The miles rushed by. The storm refused to relent. I tried to read billboards and exit signs, while James drove on in quiet frustration.

There were no wedding rings. No anniversary dates. No brown-eyed children.

It was just me.

I thought about how furious and hurt I was as I folded my arms across my chest. A tumultuous sea of emotions churned within my heart, invoked by our petty, "young love" quarrel. I tightly clenched my teeth in an effort to keep the tears from flowing down my face. I was not going to let him see me cry.

The windshield wipers kept time with my heartbeat. Swoosh-swoosh-swoosh. James cleared his throat, and gently spoke my name: "Aleisha?" I refused to turn my head.

He sighed and said, as sincerely as heaven, "You know I love you...Right?"

Something glorious happened to the 'feeling' in the car the moment those words were spoken. The dark severity of the storm seemed to dissipate as I looked at James' cheek and the curvature of his jaw. I saw a handsome face that had become as familiar to me as my own. I saw genuine love there, too.

And that is what love does--it softens hearts and crushes contention. It's a balm for pain and a guiding light for the lost. It has the ability to uplift, motivate, and inspire. It casts it's warmth on the bitter chill of loneliness. It brings joy to the ordinary and "sparkle" to the mundane. It can change a person for the better.

Think of the people in your life. The people who never forget your birthday, who hold your hand when you're sad, who send you text messages about the newest kind of Oreos, who remind you that you're terrific when you feel otherwise, who take the time to listen, who support you by reading your "bloggy musings," who hug you and kiss you, who stand by your side when life's challenges overwhelm, who know your weaknesses and still see beauty, who make you happy and laugh often.

Those precious people.

They know you love them...Right?

In An Effort To Beautify Myself

2012-01-28T11:02:00.000-08:00

In an effort to beautify myself, I gave myself a manicure. I pulled out the nail clippers, the emery board, and the cuticle cream. I stationed myself in the bathroom, on the toilet (the seat was DOWN!), and went to work on my gnarly hands. After I was finished with all the snipping and filing, I pulled out the nail polish. A dazzling silver with chunky flecks of glitter in it.

And that's when it all went to hell.

I CANNOT paint my nails! I'm sloppy. I make a mess. I apply too many coats, and ALWAYS before letting the previous coats dry completely. I saw a giggle-worthy picture on Pinterest that depicts my "nail polish prowess" to a tee (or is it just "T"?):

I can relate!

SO...in an effort to beautify myself, I decided to shave my legs. It should be noted that I am part primate. I have lots of hair. Hair here and hair there. Hairy, hairy everywhere! (Dr. Seuss just might be our pediatrician.) I turned on the hot water, filled the tub with bubble bath, and slid down into "Calgon bliss."

It didn't last.

I had one leg done when I heard a Bang! Bang! Bang! on the door. Lilly burst into the bathroom and yelled, "Mom! Mom! Camren took all of his diapers out of the bag! He's throwing them down our stairs. He's making a mess! He dumped his goldfish crackers on my floor. And I can't find Sally. I think she's under your bed, trying to eat my sock." (I probably don't have to tell you that I got out of the bathtub. One hairy leg. One smooth one.)

Later, in an effort to beautify myself, I decided to try my hand at "the smoky eye." How to create the perfect smoky eye has eluded me for years...and then my little sis introduced me to Cara. (Or rather, Cara's blog...maskcara.com)

Yep, the girl is smokin'! And a makeup artist to boot. I watched her tutorials, pulled out my enormous makeup bag, found my favorite eyeshadow brush, and went to work. Here's a picture of my end results (and I may have done something wrong):

See? I told you I was muy hairy.

By the end of my "day of beautification," I had thrown in the towel. Instead, I chose to eat an exorbitant amount of Whoppers before bedtime. (You know, the chocolate malt ball kind?!)

Hey. It's what I know.

Have a beautiful weekend!

Attitude

2012-01-23T22:13:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago, Lilly woke up at 8:00am and proclaimed, "Today is the best day ever!"

As I fought to rouse myself from slumber, and to clear the sleepy dust from my swollen eyelids, I couldn't help but wonder, "Is she nuts?"

I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a sweatshirt, and fumbled around in search of my leopard print slippers. (I'm sure no one is surprised I have leopard print slippers.) I cracked open the blinds in our bedroom and was met with gloom, gloom, gloom--leafless trees, dingy and frost-crusted grass, dried up bushes resembling planted twigs, and dark and dreary skies. All the components were there to drive me back to my bed, to hide beneath the warm covers.

Meanwhile, Lilly was skipping through the house.

She opened the blinds in the living room and sang out: "Just look at that?! It's a beautiful day!"

She pranced into the kitchen and parted the curtains adorning the sliding glass door. She yelled, "Today is the best day ever! It really is!"

I buttered my wheat toast, tiptoed around Cam pushing his toy trains across the dirty floor, and fought the urge to reach for a cold can of Diet Coke. As I listened to Lilly's merriment in the next room, I thought about how my hellacious bedhead matched my attitude.

And then I remembered a quote I adore, from the brilliant and inspirational Maya Angelou: "If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude."

Resolving to exhibit (and embrace) a positive attitude can make a BIG difference in your day. Sure, days are long and kids are crazy. Sure, taking care of a puppy and shoveling her poop out of your front yard can be equally overwhelming and disgusting. And sure, it's easy to get bogged down in the monotony of the "winter blahs." But if you strive (and sometimes battle!) to maintain a happy attitude, you'll start to see the good around you. You'll see the dazzling slivers of sunlight in an otherwise gray day. You'll realize your five-year-old IS that sunlight.

Change your attitude. Change your day.

What Do You Do When You Do What You Do?

2012-01-16T15:46:00.000-08:00

A dear, old friend of mine ("dear," because she makes my heart happy, and "old" because I have known her since the ninth grade) recently quit her job to be a full-time mommy to her TWIN BOYS! She has always "punched a time clock" out in the busy work force, and is now going to give being the CEO of SAHM a whirl! She emailed me and posed the question: "What do stay-at-home moms even do?!"

Being one who enjoys a.) "waxing philosophical" and b.) thinking I am SO much wiser than I actually am (ahem!), I gave some serious thought to her inquiry. After pondering, my "Mama Leisha brain"--which is a big ol' storehouse of ideas, according to my daughter--began putting a list together for this dear, old friend. (I really, REALLY love lists!) Here's what I came up with:

What Do Stay-At-Home Moms Do?

1.) Stay-at-home moms watch enough "Yo Gabba Gabba" to make their eyeballs drop out of their heads. (Dear Nickelodeon, or Creators of "That Wacky Show": I would like to mail D.J. Lance Rock a package of Twinkies. That man's legs resemble toothpicks. Are you paying him enough? Because he clearly can't afford groceries. Please email me his mailing address. Love, Aleisha.)

2.) Stay-at-home moms do laundry. Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of laundry.

3.) Stay-at-home moms clean up a colorful myriad of messes. Spilled apple juice. Barf. Toothpaste used as finger paint. Pee. Poop. Stepped on crackers. Mud. Sticky lunch remnants on kitchen table legs. Orange Doritos fingerprints on walls. Toys. Dirty socks.

4.) Stay-at-home moms drink Diet Coke, because it makes them feel blissful in the midst of chaos.

5.) Stay-at-home moms are tough chicks; they occasionally brave the McDonald's playland so that their children may know the joys of cheeseburger Happy Meals...and germy slides.

6.) Stay-at-home moms use words and phrases like: Time out! Don't pick your nose! Did you remember to wipe your bum? Go "nigh-nigh." Where's your blankie? Stop that! And my personal favorite...Why are you handing me your booger?

7.) Stay-at-home moms "pretend play," build blanket forts, and know all the words to the magical spell that turns the carpet from "hot lava" back to carpet again.

8.) Stay-at-home moms kiss and cuddle and hug and squeeze and snuggle their kiddos!

9.) When it comes to making "The World's Best PB&J" or "The World's Cheesiest Mac N' Cheese" for lunch, stay-at-home moms nail it. Every. Time.

10.) Stay-at-home moms write blogs! (*Insert my obnoxious giggle here*)

Here's the thing to remember: Whether you are a stay-at-home mom, a work-at-home mom, a single mom, a working mom, a mom-to-be, or a crazy mama like me, you are pretty terrific! Yes, indeedy!

"You are the guardians of the hearth. You are the bearers of the children. You are they who nurture them and establish within them the habits of their lives. No other work reaches so close to divinity."

(--Gordon B. Hinckley)

Hey! That's MY mama!

Resolutions...More or Less

2012-01-10T09:01:00.000-08:00

Worry less. Stress less. Yell less. Criticize less. Pout less. Assume less. Fear less. Complain less. Doubt less. Laugh more. Read more. Hug more. Sleep more. Exercise more. Pray more. Serve more. Smile more. Kiss more. Forgive more. Praise more. Love more.

Happy 2012!

(What will YOU do more of in 2012? What will you do less of?)

Favorite Aussies

2012-01-07T09:00:00.000-08:00

Confession: I've got it bad for Hugh Jackman.

The man is sexy with a capital SSSSSSS. (Insert "sizzle" sound.) Oh my goodness, he makes my heart go flip and flop and pitter and patter. He's "hot-to-trot" as the The Drover. He's smokin' as Wolverine. He's sexy when he's hosting the Oscars. He's even "easy on the eyes" in that cornball flick, "Kate and Leopold"...which was not my favorite, by the way. (Brief side note: What happened to Meg Ryan's hair in that movie?!)

I can't mention "Hunky Hugh" without sharing a memorable and hilarious dream I once had. It was time for my annual exam with my gynecologist. When I arrived at the women's center, the receptionist informed me that my doctor would not be able to see me, due to an emergency cesarean at the hospital. She said, "Our other doctor is available, if you'd like to keep your appointment." I opted to stay.

I was ushered into an exam room, where I promptly stripped, put on a drafty hospital gown, and attempted to drape the paper sheet (the size of a dish towel) across my lap. (Why are those stupid things always so small?!) I plopped my bare patootie onto the tissue-covered table and waited.

Suddenly, there was a staccato knock-knock-knock at the door. It was flung open, and Hugh Jackman walked gallantly in. He wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope. He smiled beautifully and said in his dreamy accent, "Hi there! I'm the doctor!"

My jaw dropped to my naked knees! I jumped off the examination table and sprinted through the door. Nurses started chasing me down the hall, yelling, "Ma'am! Ma'am! Where are you going? Come back! You can't just leave! You have an appointment!" I kept running--hospital gown flapping. A couple of nurses caught up to me and tried to take me back to my room. I held my ground and forcefully said, "No! Oh no, no, no, no! No way! There is NO WAY I'm going through with it. HE IS JUST TOO GOOD LOOKING."

Then I woke up.

Naturally, I had always assumed that Hugh Jackman would occupy the "favorite Aussie" spot in my heart... But then I met Kerry.

Ain't she purty? Kerry is an Australian mum to three beautiful kangaroos....uh, I mean, children. We "met" each other in the great, vast "blogosphere" and quickly connected. Her blog, "It's The Little Things..." is delightful, honest, and always enjoyable to read. Kerry has been wonderfully supportive of me, and a good friend. Her comments are kind, her humor is infectious, and her heart is as big as "the land down under" that she hails from.

And speaking of a big heart...that Aussie mum sent me a parcel of chocolate and sweet treats. (She knows I have a wicked sweet tooth.) Her thoughtful gift was waiting for me in my mailbox yesterday!

I will NOT be sharing any of this stuff! HA HA!

Kerry also gave me a couple of cards; one had pictures of her lovely family in it. As you can see, I put her picture on my fridge. I place special mementos and things that I love on my fridge: cards from cherished friends, humorous magnets, preschool crafts, pictures of people who matter to me.

(I wonder why I don't have a picture of Hugh on my fridge!?!)

I'm grateful for Kerry, for being so generous and nice, and for making me feel like a worthwhile "blogger" and person. I'm grateful for Hugh Jackman, for NOT being my gynecologist! He can continue being my ultimate, "number one" celebrity crush. Kerry can be my favorite Aussie. No contest.

G'day Mates!

(Hmm...I think I'll eat those red frogs first!)

Ah, Friendship!

2012-01-03T22:43:00.000-08:00

A good friend will always share a candy cane with you.

A good friend doesn't mind if you buy the same dress as her; she tells you you look pretty.

A good friend eagerly hands you one of her two most beloved princess dolls and says,

"Let's play! You be Jasmine."

A good friend is happy to see you; her eyes light up and her grin widens when you walk (or dance) into a room.

A good friend will hug away your sadness and replace it with JOY!

A good friend is good for giggling with.

A good friend will love you forever...even when you eat the last marshmallow.

Where would we be without good friends?

"Friendship is the only cement that will ever hold the world together."

--Woodrow Wilson

Meet Sally

2011-12-28T22:32:00.000-08:00

The most peculiar thing happens to you when your in-laws call you and say, "Hey, we're going to be in your area. We're picking up a puppy from a Dachshund breeder, and were wondering if you'd like to go with us." You say, "Heck yes," against your better judgement; you know in your gut the outing spells T-R-O-U-B-L-E. Within minutes, you find yourself (with your hubby and kids) in some strange woman's home (could she be a hoarder?), canoodling the world's most adorable puppies.

And then, somewhere within the deepest recesses of your brain, a wire short circuits with a Snap! Crackle! Pop!...AND YOU BUY ONE.

I am certain I have lost my mind.

I have been the clueless owner of a mini-Doxie for two days now, and I have to tell you...I AM EXHAUSTED. I am ready to run a Diet Coke IV through one of my veins. I am ready to curl up in the fetal position, in a corner in my kitchen, and mutter incoherently. (Oh wait! I don't really have a clean corner to have a nervous breakdown in...THE DOGGY HAS POOPED IN ALL OF THEM!) I'm ready to put those damn Keebler elves out of business with all the cookies I've been stuffing in my mouth. I'm ready to put an ad in the classifieds: How much is that doggy in Mama Leisha's window? It's FREE! It's FREE!

Puppies are hard, hard work--requiring oodles of patience and time. I admit I felt a bit overwhelmed today; wondering if I'm up to the challenge of training a dog, questioning my abilities, worrying the attention our puppy requires would "spread me thin" and make me a lousy mom. My musings resulted in several tears and a visit to my Christmas stocking, to retrieve the Watchamacallit candy bar McHubby had put in there. After taking a moment to myself to "pull it together," (and after licking the chocolate off my fingers), I decided I had been pushed to the brink and that the pup would have to go. I went into the next room and saw this:

Uh-oh.

Meet the newest member of our family.
Lilly wants to name her Sally.

I See You

2011-12-21T13:23:00.000-08:00

Picture this:

I am standing beside the electronics counter at my favorite store, Target. I've got one child in each hand so we form a delightful little family chain. I don't have a cart (BAD!) because I only needed one item. I'm on a mission: Get in. Get out. Get home. Crack open a Diet Coke.

Ms. Lilly and The Cam Man are antsy and anxious. They attempt to run in opposite directions, and would probably succeed in escape if not for my "grip o' death" on their teensy fingers. Cam screams, "Wanna cookie," and does his best impression of a limp noodle, while Lilly barks like a dog. (Sheesh!)

The red-shirted employees behind the counter are swamped; they are "full throttle" busy. Two men are on phones trying to track down video games. One young woman is behind the register. All I want is for someone to unlock the video game cabinet so I can grab "Paper Mario" and go. I wait and wait my turn.

A dapper man steps up to the counter. He's wearing a blue dress shirt and dark slacks. He's tall and built like an athlete. His chompers have obviously been whitened. He's the proud owner of a ridiculous swagger. He reeks of Calvin Klein's "Eternity." As I watch him, I envision myself whipping out my Christmas scrapbook paper, making a glittery gift tag for him, and taping it to his broad chest. It would read:

To: Women
From: God

"Who would like to unlock a game cabinet for me?," he asks, all dashing and debonair. He smiles and his right cuspid sparkles...*TING!*

I watch as the woman behind the register turns to him, meets his smoldering gaze, giggles and says, "Oh! I can help you!"

WHAT?! WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!

I envision myself bouncing up and down like a pogo stick, and waving my arms above my head. HELLO?! HELLO? It's my turn! I've been waiting! CAN ANYONE SEE ME?

In the midst of the holiday madness--the "hustle and bustle" that leaves us spinning--are we remembering to see the people around us? Are we being nice? Are we being considerate of others? Are we remembering to smile, to use our "manner words," and to be patient? Are we paying attention? Because when we see people, when we are sincerely kind and compassionate to ALL those we come in contact with, we become more like the man whose birth we celebrate this month. We begin to love as He does.

With that thought, I envision a new gift tag...

To: The Man Who Cut In Line
Merry Christmas!
Love: Mama Leisha

Love and Math

2011-12-18T15:09:00.000-08:00

(Hip hip hooray, my little brother got married yesterday! After a tear-filled ceremony, friends and family met for a lovely wedding luncheon. The banquet hall was decorated like a "Christmas romance"--complete with holly berries, greenery, candles, white lights, and a Christmas tree. It was fifty percent magical and fifty percent dreamy! I wrote a poem for Tyler and Danelle, and my sweet sis, Erika, read it with me at the luncheon. Just thought I'd share it here!)

1+1=Infinity

(A Love Poem)

Once upon a time,

but not very long ago,

a boy met a girl in his Math class,

and his love started to exponentially grow.

She was the perfect equation

of beauty and charm and wit.

Cupid ran out of arrows in algebra;

he threw a textbook, and the boy was hit.

It didn't take long for this dazzling girl,

to reciprocate all of his love.

They dated and kissed and had lots of fun,

people said, “They fit like a glove!”

Not even a homeless Math teacher

could keep one boy plus one girl apart.

Division was futile; they were inseparable.

Love multiplied in their hearts.

Then one day, the boy measured his heart,

and found at the square root of it all--

The girl with the socks that never matched,

would be his bride, and the jeweler he'd call.

His question was, “Will you marry me?”

Asked by their beloved tire swing.

She solved the proof, by saying, “Yes,”

and donned a wedding ring.

And now we celebrate a marriage,

with snow and joy and laughter.

ALL are grateful Ty and Danelle came together,

to live happily ever after.

Just one final, poetic thought,

from an older and wiser sis--

I've been around, I've learned a lot,

And the moral to the story problem is this...

People will tell you love is about Chemistry or Biology,

and whenever I hear that I always laugh.

What people don't know is that you can find your forever

in something as boring as Math!

Photo Shoot

2011-12-12T22:14:00.000-08:00

We recently had some family pictures taken! My kind, gentle-hearted neighbor and friend, Lauren, spent an afternoon with us in our busy, bustling downtown metro, with her camera and hubby in tow. Lauren has a talent for snapping pictures and an eye for art, and I knew she'd do a great job.

Of all the pictures that were taken, the one below is my absolute favorite! The brick wall. The love seat. The colors. It's quite wonderful.

And would you just look at my children?!

THEY'RE CRYING!

It was chilly and windy the day this picture was taken. Lilly--with her unfounded phobia of wind and "blowing away"--did not want to be outside. Camren was royally miffed because we kept pulling his thumb out of his adorable mouth. Their discomfort and angst is clearly shown on their kissable faces.

I love this picture because it accurately (and terrifically) portrays a universal truth:

Life isn't picture perfect!

There are ups and downs. There are highs and lows. There are times of desperation and fear. Stress can stealthily overshadow joy, and worries can bear down on the strongest of shoulders. There are challenging, trial-filled times that instigate feelings of sadness or frustration. There are long, hectic days with never-ending obligations, that push and pull you into a weary version of yourself.

Or simply...there are days when your preschooler informs you that, "Cam found the Doritos," the moment you're finally ready to walk out the door for your "photo shoot." There are days when neon-orange "Dorito dust" clings to little fingers and faces, and "photo-op" outfits need to be changed, pronto!

There are days when your children cry while having family pictures taken!

But because life is beautiful, and because life is hard, you do what James and I are doing in that precious, "imperfect" picture: You smile through it. You keep trying. You hold your head up. You keep smiling.

And you do the very best you can.

On My Mind!

2011-12-07T22:23:00.000-08:00

What's been on my mind lately?

For starters, I've been thinking about this necklace:

Isn't it fantastic?! Imagine my utter delight when one crisp morning I ventured out to my mailbox to find that a package from the east coast had made it's way to ME! My girl, Ms. Maria--a special friend, a spicy-hot lady, and fellow blogette--thoughtfully sent some "love" my way, in the form of a pretty bracelet and THAT necklace.

So, I've been thinking about how much I love my new necklace, and how much it obviously loves me. It just might be the start of a wondrous, long-term relationship. (Thank you, sweet Maria!)

What else?

I've been thinking about how big nosed people (me) should NOT get big zits on their big noses (mine) because...well...they just look big! It's really unfortunate. (Grrr...)

I've been thinking that the thing I most positively love about kids is that they're crazy! One minute they are sitting complacently in their car seats, enjoying a bit of thumb-sucking (Cam) and listening to the Christmas tunes streaming through the speakers (Lilly). The next minute, everything changes. In a blink of an eye, they're foaming at the mouth and screeching at the top of their lungs--throwing sippy cups, kicking legs, and yanking on seat belts! It really is the darndest thing. But I love crazy. Crazy makes life more interesting. And fun.

I've been thinking about the profoundly moving and timeless movie, "It's A Wonderful Life." (Well shoot, isn't Jimmy Stewart handsome in that film!?) Every holiday season I watch (and bawl through) the whole thing! One of my favorite quotes from the film comes from the whimsical angel, Clarence, who says to the down-trodden George Bailey, "Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?" Goodness, that's beautiful! And true. Sometimes I wonder if we really know how far-reaching our influence is.

Lastly, I've been thinking about my life in general; my abundance of blessings and the preciousness that surrounds me. It IS a wonderful life! (Despite nose zits!) I've got "crazy" children and kind friends. I've got dreamy Mr. Stewart on DVD.

And did I mention that necklace?
It's pretty fantastic.

Places

2011-12-04T22:18:00.000-08:00

It was a quiet afternoon. Cam was in his crib, taking a much-needed nap. Lilly was contentedly playing in her room with her Fisher Price dollhouse. Though it was chilly outside, golden sunlight was streaming through my windows. It felt warm and cozy in my (momentarily) peaceful house.

I went into Lilly's room to check on her, and was met with a big grin and an exuberant: "Mom! Come look!"

"What is it, Lilly?," I asked, curious as to what my smart and witty kid had been "up to."

"I was playing with my dollhouse and the family, and I figured out their places. I put everyone where they're supposed to be," she answered. Then my Lilly-Girl asked, "Would you like to see?"

OH BOY, WOULD I!?! I sat down next to Lilly and said, "Show me!"

First, she pointed to the small, plastic baby in the cradle.

"I put the baby in her room. In her cradle. She's napping, because babies sleep a lot."

"Very good, Lil. That's exactly right," I replied.

Next, she pointed to the dad with the nerdy hair and the worn-down nose.

"He's in his favorite chair. He's watching sports on TV."

I laughed jovially and in between giggles, said, "That's perfect, Lilly! That is where YOUR dad would be!"

She smiled at me and said, "But wait! There is another place for the daddy." She moved him to the kitchen and plopped him down at the table. "A daddy's place is in the kitchen, too! Eating all the food," she said, happily.

I clapped and exclaimed, "Excellent! You are right!"

There was only one Fisher Price doll left. One quintessential piece to the "family whole." Now was the moment I had been breathlessly anticipating since the beginning of Lilly's "show and tell"--the placement of the mother. Where-oh-where did my preschooler put the toy mom (with the green shoes that DO NOT match her outfit)?

Answer: ON THE TOILET!!!!!!

"Lilly!," I gasped, "the mother's place in on the toilet!?!"

She grinned at me, pointed her little finger, and said, "You got it!"

I confess I thought about the "mom on the toilet" throughout the remainder of the day. Does Lilly think I spend all my time in the bathroom? I guess between cleaning it, getting ready in it, and "hiding" in it, I AM in there a lot. Does she REALLY think a mother's place is on the toilet!?

You know what I realized by the time night fell? It doesn't matter where the place is--bathroom or not! The point is I HAVE a place. I have a place in my family. I have important responsibilities in my home. I have a place in the lives of my most treasured friends and loved ones. I have a place in the world. I have an opportunity to serve and love those around me. And, most significantly, I have a place in the heart of a beautiful, brown-eyed, five-year-old girl. I matter to her.

It's funny (and a little wonderful) how a toy mom and a plastic toilet can serve as a reminder of a simple, precious truth; one that I hope you'll always remember, my friends...

You have a place.
You matter.

Road Trip Photo Shoot

2011-12-01T09:03:00.000-08:00

Last week, we took a road trip for the Thanksgiving holiday. Less then thirty minutes into our trip, Lilly started saying all that "road trippin'" stuff kids say when they're on the verge of going looney tooney:

Are we there yet?

How much longer until we get to Grandma's?

Where are we? Why is this taking so long?

In an effort to keep Ms. Lilly entertained and ocupado for the remaining hour of the trip, I handed her McHubby's iPhone and told her to play a game of Angry Birds. Lilly quieted down, and James and I turned our attention to the tunes coming from our speakers (LCD Soundsystem) and to the landscape out our windows (mountains). Occasionally, we heard a giggle or two come from the seat behind us. Other than that, our trip was uneventful.

Imagine our surprise when, a couple of days later, we found SEVERAL humorous pictures of Lilly's mug on James' phone! We had been oblivious to her shenanigans! (And the pictures might explain the sporadic bursts of giggling we had heard while cruising the highway.)

This is what you get when you give a five-year-old a camera phone on the ninety minute drive to grandma's house: Road Trip Photo Shoot!

Shoppin' Eddie!

2011-11-27T23:08:00.000-08:00

Last night, the McD family went on a little excursion to the busy, busy mall to shop at the busy, busy Eddie Bauer. Our mission: Find something for James.

Now, there are a couple of "points of interest" that I must make before I proceed with my retail tale. First, Eddie Bauer is a wee bit expensive. We don't regularly shop there because the price tags scare us. (One hundred dollar sweaters?? Yikes!) But last night was special...the ENTIRE store was a whopping 40% off! (Even on items already on sale.)

Second, Eddie Bauer is a "cream of the crop" retailer that sells world class mountaineering gear for men and women, as well as a variety of clothing and outerwear that one might need if one lived at a ski lodge. Or fished, often. Or enjoyed kayaking glacial fields. Their male models look like this:

Rugged.

James looks like this:

With his trophy. After he won a "ping pong championship" at work.

He's not a mountaineer, and I wouldn't call James a "rugged man," per se. When he grows a beard--brown, with auburn flecks throughout--I think of bag pipes and clovers. NOT Everest expeditions. Sure, he's manly and athletic. He can pitch a baseball like nobody's business, and can hold his own on a basketball court. BUT...he's a computer programmer. His idea of "rugged" is being without the internet for a couple of days.

So, why shop with Eddie? (Hello! 40% off, remember?)

Two words: Tall sizes.

James is fairly tall. (6'4") He's slender. (Every year I ask, "What would you like for Christmas?" And every year he answers, "Thirty pounds.") He has wicked-long arms. (Which I lovingly call his "Go Go Gadget arms.") I cannot begin to explain how difficult it is to find nice fitting, long-sleeved shirts for my Irish bean pole. Shopping for long-sleeved shirts that fit him is like looking for Big Foot or the Loch Ness monster--people claim they're out there, but do they REALLY exist?

Imagine our elation when we discovered that...EUREKA!...Eddie Bauer carries "Large Tall" sizes!

We walked into the store, and James began to wander through the racks of flannel shirts. He selected several items to try on and made his way to the dressing rooms. I sat down in a plush chair, in front of a TV that was running Eddie Bauer ads. (Perfectly put-together people tromping through the snowy woods in their Eddie Bauer garb; clearly on an outing to cut down their own Christmas tree.) Lilly cuddled up on my lap to watch, and asked, "Do you think they'll turn The Little Mermaid on for me?" Cam sat in his stroller, beside a full-length mirror. He kept screaming and crazily laughing at his own reflection. Thankfully, for the moment, the kids were entertained.

After an hour of hanging out in that log cabin-like store, the tots became restless. It was getting late, and Lilly and the Cam Man were tired. James selected a couple of items to purchase, and we made our way to the registers.

A "cool," young kid--with confidence and a swagger--rang up McHubby's shirts. He was friendly enough, despite "zooming" nearby chicks while James was swiping his check card. He put our items in a bag and casually asked, "So, what are you up to tonight? Anything fun? You guys have plans?" (NO! He was not asking us to hang out....just making conversation!)

James and I were like deer in headlights. We did not know how to answer.

Humorously, after a few seconds, we both answered the SAME THING at the SAME TIME: "We're going to go home and put our kids to bed."

I swear I heard crickets chirping in that Eddie Bauer store! The young employee just stood there, looking at us. I laughed, awkwardly. James grabbed our bag and said, "Thanks."

As we walked out to our car, I said to James, "Geez! NOW I feel lame. And old!"

"We're not lame," he replied, simply, "We're parents."

Later--after our little ones were tucked in their warm beds and slumbering soundly--James worked on his computer and I read a book. No ice fishing or skiing or hiking through the woods in search of a Christmas tree for us! No parties, no loud music, no crowds, no journeys to base camps, no wild adventures (aside from bathing Cam). Nope. Our little house was quiet. The glowing red numbers on the digital clock by our dresser read 10:02. 10:02 on a Saturday night and we were lounging in bed!

But here's the thing I realized as I fell asleep: James was right. We're not lame. We're parents. That is pretty awesome.

And a little rugged.
(*wink*)

Giving Thanks

2011-11-24T00:06:00.000-08:00

I'm thankful for french fries and good conversation. I'm thankful for pajama days and laughter. I'm thankful for Pumpkin Spice frozen yogurt and cherished best friends. I'm thankful for growth through pain. I'm thankful for examples of faith and enduring courage. I'm thankful for late nights with good books. I'm thankful for special, surprise packages in my mailbox. I'm thankful for compassion. I'm thankful for my health.

I'm thankful for light. I'm thankful for joy. I'm thankful for ice cubes and house plants. I'm thankful for fuzzy slippers. I'm thankful for warm toes. I'm thankful for sticky kisses and for chubby hands to hold. I'm thankful for prayer and for the reminder that comes when I'm on my knees, that tells me I'm never forgotten.

I'm thankful for kindness. I'm thankful for inspiration and creativity. I'm thankful for support. I'm thankful for the people who love me for me.

Happy Things

2011-11-21T10:29:00.000-08:00

A little ol' list of things that have made me happy in the last couple of days:

1.) Mint M&Ms.

2.) Being featured on Angie's pretty blog, "A Little Inspiration." And for being reminded of what inspires me: my children, my faith, my small corner of the world and the good people who occupy it. Thank you, Angie!

3.) Ms. Lilly asking for an iPod for Christmas just so she can listen to Selena Gomez's song, "Love You Like A Love Song," all day and every day. (Yes, she knows the lyrics. Yes, she is five going on fifteen. Yes, this kills James...but only because he's concerned about her taste in music. No, she will not be getting an iPod. "Santa" will probably be bringing her a....dancing baby???...which was her second choice.)

4.) Zipping around SLC in my ride (which is NOT as cool as it sounds), running errands, and following a VERY old man in his PT Cruiser. He had a simple, one-word sticker in his back window: Boobies.

5.) All the lovely comments I get on this silly, crazy, squirrely, wonderful, hot-bliggity-blog of mine! Thank you for your support. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for uplifting me and for making me laugh. Thank you for being a part of my "Mama Leisha" world. If I could, I'd give all of you a big hug and a shmooshy kiss.

And a Diet Coke.
And a cookie.
And a Selena Gomez song download.

I'm The Featured Blogger...HOW NICE!

2011-11-19T19:18:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the weekly Super Stalker Sunday hop!

What is Super Stalker Sunday?

Glad you asked! Super Stalker Sunday is a weekly blog hop hosted by

April of Mama on a Green Mission

Mariah of Formula Mom

Kortney of Kortney's Krazy Life

and Emily of Nap Time is My Time

Blogs hops are a great way to meet other bloggers, socialize and gain more followers. Do you like to socialize? Well, we all like followers, right?!

If you've been around the blogosphere you know there are Blog Hop's for everything you can think of and every day of the week: RSS Feed, Google Friend Connect, Email Readers, Facebook Fans, and Twitter Followers.

Well, why not get all of your followers in one place once a week? This is the place to do just that!

How to Super Stalk

Follow each host at least one way. Don’t forget to let them know you did so by commenting on their blog. We will return all follows, but please be patient as we are busy mama’s it may take us a few days to return the visit and follow.

You will only have to link up on one of the host sites and your link will appear on all as we use the same linky.

After you follow the hosts and the featured blogger, follow at least the four blogs listed above you on the linky. If your time permits, follow as many other blogs are you are willing!

If you’re already follow somebody via GFC, consider following them in another way as well!

Remember: You will only get as much as you give. The more blogs you can visit, the more visits you will gain in return. We are all here to socialize and greet, not visit only your blog.

While we encourage sharing our button and hop with as many as possible, it is not required. The more you spread the word though, the more we socialize and all gain followers!

This week's featured blogger is

Aleisha loves participating in blog hops, finding new blogs to follow, and meeting new friends. She feels so fortunate to have met wonderful women and mothers 'out there' in the blogosphere; women who are working hard to do their best everyday. Once she starts following a blog, she loves sending emails and leaving comments. And believes that the establishing of friendships is the greatest!

If you would like to be a featured blogger, being shared with more than 4,000 combined followers between the hosts of this hop, please link up! At the end of each week we will select a blog via Random.Org to be the featured blog for the following week.

This linky will remain open until 3:00PM EST on Monday! Each week, we’ll choose a featured blogger from all active participants. Go ahead, stalk up a storm!

What IS Victoria's Secret?

2011-11-18T15:46:00.000-08:00

I went to Victoria's Secret today.

With the kiddos. And my bulky-ass stroller. I even had a Diet Coke in the stroller's convenient cup holder. I put some red lipstick on, wrapped myself up in my sassy, zebra print scarf, and walked right on into that store. With my little head held high.

Cam started screaming and pulling brasseries off of tables. (He kept going for the holiday "jingle bell" bras because they were...noisy?) Lilly started doing the "potty dance" while continuously asking, "What are we doing in HERE?" She would follow up her inquiry with a snappy retort of: "This store is weird."

Good grief.

"I told you, Lil," I said with a sigh, "Mama needs to get a gift for Danelle." (Side note: My "cute as a button" little brother is tying the knot a week before Christmas. I adore his sweetheart, Danelle! I'm taking a road trip over the weekend to attend a bridal shower for her, my "soon to be" sister-in-law. Hence my excursion to purchase something "va va voom.")

Well, today I learned a valuable lesson: Don't even bother taking your little children into that store. Even if you're armed with Diet Coke. Somewhere between the lacy panties and the bustiers, my baby boy went berserk. He kicked his legs, swung his arms, and started grunting and snorting like a wild hog. (But I've never met a real wild hog.) Ms. Lilly thought this was hysterical, and commenced shrieking and laughing like a dolphin--high-pitched, chirpy, and LOUD. She quickly discovered that the more she poked Camren, the louder HE got. Truly, it was an all-out fiasco. A couple of annoyed patrons glanced my way with a scowl as I rubbed my aching temples. I could think of only one thing: Victoria's "secret" is birth control.

I made my selection and draped it across the stroller's "canopy." (Which Cam was trying to RIP OFF!) I zigged and zagged around hot pink nighties and polka dot slippers, finally making my way to the register. Lilly tugged at my pantleg, eager for my attention.

"Mom? Mom? Are you going to get something for you?"

I was tired. I was ready to leave. In a weak moment of utter frustration and exhaustion, I muttered, "Nope. Nothing for me. Having kids has killed my sexy."

The real kick in the hip-huggin' yoga pants with the word, "PINK," on the butt is this: My "mutter" wasn't as quiet as I thought. When I looked up I saw three employees staring AND giggling at me. I felt my cheeks flush a hue of red. A warmth signifying embarrassment crept up my neck. The gentleman behind me cleared his throat. All I could do was smile.

Anyone know how I can get my sexy back?

One Two Three

2011-11-16T23:53:00.000-08:00

Hip hip hooray! In true "rock star mom" fashion, I have been working (and working) with "the little man of the house" on learning his numbers.

One. Two. Three.

And guess what? That brown-eyed, dreamboat son of mine is exercising his "gray matter" muscle and is learning to count!

Sort of.

(If you listen closely, you can hear the Cam Man say, "Nine." NINE!)

(Did you hear it? Did you? Did you?!)

(Oh...and sorry about the quality...that black "frame" stuff is totally weird. ???)

Guest Post: SPIDERS!

2011-11-13T21:35:00.000-08:00

It's been a looooong time since my sweet and sassy friend, Sunshine, guest posted. Too long, if you ask me! Well...never fear, another "Sunny Sunday" is here! ENJOY!

The Icky, Icky Spider Crawls Up the Water Spout...BLAM! Got Him!

A few things you should know about me: I've jumped out of a moving airplane at 10,000 feet. I can deadlift 200 pounds. I can do real push ups. I've run a marathon...in the rain, in a forest, by myself. I can handle my husband's Walther P22 hand gun with a reasonable amount of confidence. There are very few things that intimidate or scare me with one BIG exception...spiders.

Now that you know how I feel about spiders, let me share a little story. All this cold weather we've been having has meant a higher-than-usual number of creepy crawlies making their way indoors, which means my nerves are shot. So, I'm walking by the front door and notice the biggest, meanest, hairiest, blackest, jumpenest, spider you've ever seen. He's hanging out on the door frame, smoking a cigarette and sharpening his switch blade. Okay, that last part might be a SLIGHT exaggeration, but you get the idea. My heart starts pounding and I steel myself for the task of disposing of this thug, who's tattoo is COMPLETELY misspelled by the way. I'm trying to stay calm, but I keep making these squealing sounds--followed by muttering and pacing--all of which draws the twins right into the drama.

As they approach I tell them, "Stay back you guys! There's a spider and we're all going to just stay calm, okay? Nobody panic." The two of them just stand there looking at me like I have lost my mind. "I'm serious, nobody panic." I get the fly swatter, grumble something about not having any stiff alcohol in the house, and approach the tarantula terror that keeps moving ever so slightly just to freak me out. After a couple of pep-talk like statements, including, "I got this, no worries, you can do this!," I take the plunge. I swat that spider with all the might and fury of a woman protecting her young (who, by the way, are terribly entertained and still looking at me like I am a few tacos short of a combo platter).

I missed.

No, I didn't miss! But once I smacked it, it went MIA. Now, if you think finding a brown-recluse-science-experiment-gone-bad on your door frame is scary, try picturing not knowing where said death angel is and then weigh that with the idea that you may very well have just smacked it right onto your shirt front.

Oh. I. Flipped.

I scan the twins (still staying a safe distance per my constant threats). Nope, they're clean. I start at my head and do a swiping, dancing, shimming, hopping, twitching move all while shouting, "WE ARE STILL NOT GOING TO PANIC." (You have to say it with a hysterical rise in your voice, on the last word, to really get the effect.) After what felt like roughly 45 to 50 minutes, I locate the dead beast with his guts spilled all over the black gym bag he landed on and then blended in with. If I didn't think it would give me nightmares for life, I would have that sucker mounted on my wall.

The moral here: I don't like spiders. The other more meaningful moral here: How many other little/silly things am I afraid of, that are holding me back? Armed with a fly-swatter and some serious courage, I'm pretty sure I could conquer the world.

Noah, Jaws, Pretend Play...OH MY!

2011-11-09T10:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, I think I'm a poopy mom. I am terrible, horrible, no-good, and very bad at "pretend play." Ah...you know the play of which I speak? I'll explain.

Let's say your doting daughter approaches you with her two Barbie dolls, and with pretty, pleading eyes and a sweet, sweet voice, asks, "Would you like to be the Ariel Barbie, and I'll be the Belle Barbie?" You shudder at the prospect because it involves talking in a high voice on Barbie's behalf, and moving her legs around to mimic dance moves. (With your feeble beat-boxing providing the music.) You can't say no to your kid, so you brace yourself for "pretend" trips to the grocery store, "pretend" visits to the salon for pedicures and up-dos, and "pretend dinners" around "pretend tables" with those "too perky to be true" dollies. UGH! (Confession: I don't love it.)

Essentially, "pretend play" is when you make inanimate objects... well... animate?

The other night, Lilly walked into our bedroom with her "Noah's Ark" toy (thank you, Fisher Price) tucked under her arm. She climbed up on our bed and plopped down beside me. When I saw her staring at me, I knew what was coming. I admit, I broke out into a cold sweat. I was like that Roy Scheider fella in Jaws. I could see her question looming--a shark's dorsal fin cutting through the water, moving towards me.

Da-Dum. Da-Dum. Da-Dum Da-Dum Da-Dum.

"Will you play with me, Mom? Please?," she asked.

AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I was caught! I kept thinking, "I can't say no to her. I can't say no. I. CANNOT. SAY. NO. I can't, I can't, I can't!"

"Uh...sure Lil," I managed to say, brightly, "I'd love to!"

A toothy (hee hee...get it?...Jaws theme?) grin spread across her little face as she dumped the contents of the plastic ark onto my bedspread. Animals went flying!

"Are we supposed to be the animals?," I asked.

"Yes," she responded, as she pushed her hair out of her eyes, "I'll take half and you take half." We started picking out our animals, and before I knew it (and without prior discussion) we were assembling them in a circle.

The conversation went something like this:

Lilly, talking for her animals: Does anyone know what's going on? Why are we all just standing here?
Mama Leisha, talking for her animals: I'm not sure. See that guy? Noah? He asked us to meet him here.
Lilly: Oh, right. I think he wants us to get on his boat.
Mama Leisha: Are we supposed to do that right now?
Lilly: I don't think so. I think we're supposed to wait for rain.
Mama Leisha: Okay. I hope we all fit in there.
Lilly: What should we do while we wait?
Mama Leisha: Hmmm... Not sure. What do you think?
(Insert pause here.)
Lilly: I know! I've got it! We could eat some steaks!

HILARIOUS!

You know, maybe I'm changing my mind about pretend play. Maybe it's not so bad after all. Tomorrow is a rendezvous with Strawberry Shortcake and Orange Blossom at Strawberry Shortcake's bakery. Could be entertaining...

Da-Dum. Da-Dum. Da-Dum Da-Dum Da-Dum.

"Running" Seems to Be The "Theme" This Week

2011-11-03T22:44:00.000-07:00

I am not a runner. No siree! There are a few things I will run for, however:

1.) If the house is on fire.
2.) If Cam is making a "beeline" for the front doors of Target, in a wild and kamikaze attempt to escape.
3.) If I am in the basement and the buzzer on the oven starts beeping, indicating that if I don't run up the stairs the pizza (or chocolate chip cookies) will burn.
4.) If someone is trying to kill me. (Heaven forbid.)
5.) If I find a gigantic, black spider in the laundry room.
6.) If Lilly Mae says, "I'll race you!"
7.) A DSW shoe sale.

Other than that, I'm happy to "casually stroll." Or meander. Saunter. Dawdle. Smell the roses.

About a month ago, I had the opportunity to visit the gorgeous, red-rock desert of St. George (UTAH!) with a group of my friends. Our friend Rachael--after training, working, and preparing for months and months--was going to be running in the St. George marathon. Due to certain circumstances (that are no longer pertinent), she was going to be bravely crossing the finish line with no one there to meet her. Rachael's sister, upon hearing this news, exclaimed, “Absolutely not! She WILL have supporters there!” And thus began a bombardment of scheming emails and plotting texts amongst friends, with Rachael's sister at the helm! It was decided that we would make the trip to St. George, unbeknown to Rachael, and SURPRISE her.

After an early morning start, some lemon poppy seed muffins, and a lengthy road trip, we arrived in the southern-most part of the Beehive state. (And were greeted by palm trees and ninety degree weather!) We stationed ourselves on the corner of an intersection—at about the 24 mile mark—and waited, hoping to spot Rachael run by. While we waited, our friend Sunshine distributed generic, “Go runners!” signs and we got busy clapping and cheering for every person that passed us.

The spirit of the race, the endurance and camaraderie of the runners, the energy in the air, and the excitement over our "big surprise" got us talking about the “race of life” that we are ALL running. We talked about how we ALL need "cheerleaders." We need supporters. We need people in our corner. We need people who will say to us: “You can do this! I KNOW you can do this! I. Am. Here. For. You.” We need to be encouraging and uplifting one another.

Oftentimes, the "race of life" is a grueling and lonesome relay. There are hurdles to jump, there is pavement to pound. There are tears, sweat, and pain. But something extraordinary happens when we cheer for each other, when we let compassion serve as a healing balm: The loneliness dissipates, the despair ebbs from the shores of our selves, and we are strengthened.

What were once thought of as unobtainable finish lines, become sweet successes. And then? We know we can do anything.

Guest Post: What is Ragnar?

2011-11-01T20:54:00.000-07:00

(Wow! It's already November; a special month that reminds me of all the good things in my life--my bounteous blessings. What better way to kick of the month than with a guest post from one of those said blessings: My rad dad! Enjoy!)

The Vikings called a warrior of judgment, Ragnar. But here’s the real definition according to your guest blogger and biggest fan of the blogmistress, Aleisha, after I returned from participating in the Las Vegas Ragnar.

A close friend came to me this summer and told me his high school buddies traveled to San Diego this past spring to run a Ragnar. (I can’t believe these guys have stayed in touch with each other over the past 35 years. I’m trying to remember who I went to high school with!) For those of you who don’t know, in a Ragnar Relay there are two vans with 6 runners in each van. After the first 6 legs of the race have been completed by the runners in Van 1, Van 2 takes over with its six runners. The vans "leapfrog" over each other after all participants in the van have run their designated legs of the relay. (Each runner has three legs that range in length from 3 to 10 miles. Total miles run in the race? 188!) My friend asked me if I wanted to join a team he was putting together to run from Lake Mead to Las Vegas. I asked him why anyone would do this and he answered, “Because it will be fun.”

I lovingly caressed the girth that had accumulated around my midsection. “Count me in,” I said, "After all, how hard can it be? I’m only 56 years old!”

The closer it came to the relay date (October 21-22, 2011), the more I started to question the wisdom of the demon friend who kept telling me, “It will be fun.” Then he had the nerve to tell me I owed a $100 entrance fee! What? Pay to be punished? Has everyone lost their mind? Someone should pay me! I looked for any excuse to pull out of the competition. Maybe I could say I had an injury? I mean, that happens all the time to professional athletes, doesn’t it? (And they still get paid!) Maybe I could say I don’t know anyone else in the group besides my ex-friend’s daughter? No, that wouldn’t work. No one has ever accused me of being shy! Oh &%$# – looks like I’m stuck!

Race day. There’s a slight chill in the desert air as the morning sun peaks over the purple mountains and gives Lake Mead new life. I go to my starting position with about 50 other runners. (Starting times are staggered with 480 teams.) Teams are announced and the excitement grows. Our team name is “Geezers and Gals” because the dudes are over 50 years old and the girls are young maidens. I look around me and suddenly it dawns on me that I’m not supposed to be here. I’ve made a huge mistake. There’s no one here that looks like me. No one has gray hair, wrinkles, or is packing any extra weight! I am a meandering manatee amongst a pod of young porpoises frolicking in the vast ocean! This won’t work. I don’t frolic anymore! I’m lucky to find the keys to the car in the morning! Other runners ask me what DNR means, that I have hand-written above the number affixed to my running shorts. (Do Not Resuscitate!) And the gun goes off signaling the start of the relay. Oh &%$# – looks like I’m stuck!

The Ragnar motto is, “Run, Drive, Sleep?, Repeat.” That’s right – Sleep with a question mark. There was no sleeping. (And don’t talk to me about personal hygiene, either. Sure these guys sweat when they run but they add insult to injury by rubbing Tiger Balm all over each other, before and after each turn running! Have you smelled Tiger Balm? It’s a smell that you will never forget. It’s like Ben Gay on steroids. It had to have been extracted from the glands of real tigers. It made my nose run, even in the arid, desert air!) What I needed most was sleep. I crashed and got about 1 ½ to 2 hours of much needed sleep before I was awakened and told it was my time to run AGAIN. The clock flashed 2:30 a.m.! Oh &%$# – looks like I’m stuck!

My last leg was 6.9 miles and classified as VERY HARD – NO VAN SUPPORT. The baton was passed and I gave my teammate a hug, not knowing whether I would ever see her again, and left the exchange running on what I now call the “Trail of Death." It was a trail with big rocks, sandy bars, deep ruts, gravel pits, etc. That’s exactly what I ran on with nothing more than a headlight to show me the way at 3:00 a.m.! It was a path for 4-wheelers and jeeps and not for the faint of heart prancing around in tennis shoes. You’re kidding me right, Coach? You said I would have fun. When does the fun begin?

My soon-to-be-dead friend’s words kept echoing in my mind, “Because it will be fun.” It seemed like I was slowly morphing into Forest Gump. I just kept running and running and running! I was VERY TIRED to say the least but I finished! I had completed what I set out to do and there is definitely a sense of elation in being able to say that. Honestly, I couldn’t have done it without my team.

We ran across the finish line together as a team in our matching yellow shirts to end the relay. It was very cool. Success! I’ve learned in my 56 years that the secret to success is your supporting cast. It’s your family and friends. This relay only strengthened my conviction of that truth. So when it looks like you’re stuck and fearful of not completing a task or of failing, make sure you have the right people on your team to guarantee your success. There are no losers!

The Many Faces of "Best Buddy"

2011-10-31T00:09:00.000-07:00

Remember my post about "Best Buddy," the "modest" skeleton hanging on our pantry door? Well, he has been in top form this month! It's been a fun-filled, "bone-shakin'" October filled with NUMEROUS trips to the pantry for Halloween candy and a visit with Best Buddy. His various poses have surprised and delighted us!

For my lovely, "sweet-as-candy corn" readers and bloggy friends, a real treat for you for Halloween:

The Many Faces of "Best Buddy"

(Daaa da-da!)

*Best Buddy must know my hubby's clan hails from Ireland. He favors "the jig."

*When I went to Beijing, I saw the Chinese acrobats perform. They were AMAZING. They kind of looked like this. Kind of.

*Best Buddy sees no evil, hears no evil, and speaks no evil. He's a really nice guy.

*Best Buddy is a true Thespian. He has a flare for the dramatic. Le sigh. (Or perhaps he's just tired of watching me mop the kitchen floor...over and over again.)

*Best Buddy turned all "zen" on us and took up yoga. I'm pretty confident the madness of the McD house forced him into a quest for peace. Strike the tree pose and rest in peace, Buddy!

*Lastly, look who finally confessed his undying love for little ol' moi...

Aaaahh.

HAVE A HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Because It's Breast Cancer Awareness Month

2011-10-27T15:24:00.000-07:00

Ta-tas. Boobies. "The girls." Whatever you want to call them, people, I'm here to tell you that I don't really have them. My boobs seem to be lacking in...girth? Volume? Stature?

Don't get me wrong, before I had kids I had boobs. Granted, they weren't huge...just nice and perky. During my pregnancies, something marvelous happened to "the girls." They plumped right up and filled out nicely. For a brief time, I was curvaceous! (This is a VERY BIG DEAL for a girl who resembles a praying mantis.) It was uncanny, unheard of! It sort of made up for the raging heart burn and the "pain in the ass" constipation that pregnancy induced. (And you bet that pun was intended!)

After my babies were born--and after discovering I was unable to nurse them--my ta-tas decided to retire from their "milk maid trade" and become magicians. They pulled a "David Copperfield" trick and disappeared. Poof! Just like that.

Sometimes I find myself yearning for bigger boobies. (Remember that one post about the man in Staples?? HE THOUGHT I WAS A DUDE!) I'm not prepared to embark on any kind of "surgical enhancement" (too scared--I mean, I've been known to hyperventilate while having my teeth cleaned), and I'm still coming to terms with the fact that my boobs are non-existent--diminished, wilted, gone, poof! So in the meantime...I rock a padded bra.

I recently went bra shopping with my mom. Twenty years ago, that would have been as embarrassing as the time my "fourth grade self" farted in front of the boy I had a crush on while standing in the school lunch line. Now, bra shopping with my mom is pretty tame...and mostly fun.

Her "Perfect Brassiere for Leish" radar must have been tuned to ULTRA PADDED, because as we wandered through the racks (hee hee...racks) of "intimate apparel," she honed in on the most padded bra in all of creation. There it was--in the midst of all the lace and leopard print, the demi-cups and push-ups--two pillows attached by an elastic band. She held it up for me and giggled: "What about this one, Leish?"

"I know you're showing that one to me to be funny, Mom," I laughed, "but it's actually perfect. Hand it over and I'll try it on."

Guess which one I bought?

Shortly after the bra shopping excursion, I was cleaning the toilet of our guest bathroom (blech!) when Lilly appeared in the doorway; panicked and out of breath. "Mom, Mom!," she said, "Come quick! It's Camren!"

I threw down the Lysol Toliet Bowl Cleaner and sprang to my slipper-clad feet. I felt my heart flip and flop in my chest as I thought about what could be wrong. "He's finally managed to shove an entire stick of string cheese into his mouth, and now he's choking to death," I thought. Has he gotten tangled up in the blinds? (Oddly, he loves to play in them.) Has he tripped and banged his noggin?

"Follow me, Mom," Lilly shouted, as we raced into my bedroom. She pointed to the floor--to where Cam was sitting with his toy cars--and screamed, "LOOK! CAMREN'S GOT YOUR BOOBS ON HIS HEAD!!"

I looked at my grinning, beautiful, brown-eyed baby boy--with my padded bra draped across the top of his head in such a fashion as to resemble ear muffs--and thought two things:

1.) He looks like Princess Leia.

2.) Lilly is right. Indeed, those are my boobs on his head.

Here's the thing: It doesn't matter what you call them--ta-tas, boobies, or "the girls." And it doesn't matter what size you are--big, just right, or itty-bitty. (Or so itty-bitty your bra is ULTRA PADDED.) What matters is that you take care of them; valuing your body and taking a proactive stance on women's health issues. Check yourself. Visit your doctor regularly. Your physical well-being is important. YOU are important.

May the force be with you...and your breast-a-roos!

Funny, Funny!

2011-10-24T16:32:00.000-07:00

Sometimes being a mom is really funny.

Like when you go to the thrift store with one of your "besties" to peruse used books in insanely good condition and at insanely good prices, and you notice your son is trying to crawl into a dressing room that is muy ocupado.

That's funny.

Then there's the time you're "crafting" at a friend's house while the four children play. Suddenly, two of the four are buck-naked and running through the house and the bathroom smells strongly and peculiarly of hand soap and NO ONE under three feet tall is talking about what really happened upstairs while "the moms" were into the mod podge. The "newly potty-trained" third kid emerges from the bathroom (after needing to "tinkle") and forgets to put his bottoms back on, so now HE is running around partially naked and your mom friend keeps saying insanely hilarious things like, "Put on your pants! Cover up Mr. Bo Jangles!"

See? That's funny too.

Or how about when you take a trip to the craft store and your kids start acting like monkeys in the cart. Your toddler keeps yelling, "Gee oww! Gee oww!," because he really just wants to "get out" of the cart and run around. When you finally succumb to his pleadings you wish you hadn't because NOW he's chasing the little old man in the Rascal Scooter. The kid is undoubtedly obsessed with ANYTHING with wheels, and the little old man seems slightly ticked. So back into the cart he goes, only to pitch a colossal fit that involves his big head butting into your preschooler's big head. Now SHE'S crying and you can't help but think about how ridiculously small the stinkin' craft store carts are. All you can say is, "Geez! What IS with you guys and the craft store?! I can't bring you in here. It makes you weird." That's when you hear the woman in the next aisle start giggling, because she totally heard your rant. After waiting in the checkout line, you make yourself feel better by purchasing TWO candy bars. (Which you will eat at bedtime, while the kids are sleeping.)

Sometimes being a mom is really funny.

It's a darn good thing I've got a sense of humor!
(And chocolate as my therapy!)

EUREKA!

2011-10-21T22:31:00.000-07:00

I've got it!

I finally know what the Cam Man is going to be for Halloween, thanks to my nifty hair-styling prowess. (And a smidgeon of pomade.)

THE MAYOR OF WHOVILLE!!

(Of course, he might have to kick the "blanket toting, thumb sucking" habit before he goes into office.)

Hope your weekend is filled with "who-mongous" fun!

Hot Mom

2011-10-16T22:36:00.000-07:00

I once saw a young guy wearing a t-shirt with the words, "I {Heart} Hot Moms" printed on it. Sure, it was cheeky...but I have to admit, it made me smile!

Here's the thing: I've never really considered myself a "hot mom." (I'm much too squirrely for such a title.)

At thirty-one, I have as many pimples as most fourteen year old girls. (I know this because I have made comparisons while standing in line for the Twilight movies.) I don't have time to wash my hair most days. Though I adore Sephora, I could probably use a couple of pointers on how to apply makeup. I wear a retainer at bedtime. If I don't, the gap between my two front teeth starts to look like Letterman's. I love to wear my pajama pants almost as much as I love to eat tacos. And if it wasn't for Joann at "Wax Me Too," my gnarly brows would look like Martin Scorsese's.

Or Peter Gallagher's.

Remember THIS post?

Or Sean Connery's.

(You get the idea.)

A couple of days ago, I decided to "doll" myself up. (No "frumpy mom" for me!) I put on my new, red and white striped shirt. I pulled out my skinny jeans with the teeny tiny rhinestones on the back pockets. I wore shiny flats with little bows on the toes. I remembered to put on red lipstick!

McHubby called from work and suggested we get together for lunch. I loaded the kids into the car and drove to the mall (a good "half way" point) to meet him at the food court.

After Cam had dumped most of his chocolate milk down the front of his shirt, and after we had snarfed Chick-Fil-A nuggets, it was time to part ways. James had to get back to work and I HAD to make my way to Bath and Body Works to smell all the new Christmas candles. As I walked through the mall--with a bulky, sticky, messy stroller, and a prancing pre-schooler, and a two-year-old "mooing" like a cow--I began to notice something. Attention from strangers.

The elderly man sitting in the plush lounge chairs outside of Macy's smiled at me. The obnoxiously "shmoozy" dudes working the "Exotic Serums From The Center Of The Earth" kiosk did not offer to obliterate my crows feet with their magical lotion, but rather winked and smiled at me and said, "Hello." The bearded guy working in Bath and Body Works (yes, he was even wearing an apron) stopped restocking shelves of anti-bacterial hand soap long enough to glance my way. Even the middle-aged man working the counter at Mrs. Fields (hey, I wanted a cookie!) did a double-take when I approached the glass case.

I couldn't believe it. "What is going on around here?," I wondered.

Had I finally, FINALLY obtained "hot mom" status!?! I mean, holy guacamole, I was wearing a cute outfit and red lipstick and I WAS GETTING CHECKED OUT! I left the mall feeling giddy (and not at all frumpy) and holding my head high.

When we got home, I slipped into the bathroom to use the "potty." (Too many Diet Cokes at lunch!) I looked down to undo my snazzy jeans and was met with SHOCK and MORTIFICATION!! The perpetual light bulb clicked on above my head, and suddenly all the attention I was getting made perfect (and embarrassing) sense...

My ZIPPER was already DOWN!

I Didn't Mean To Be A Witch

2011-10-12T13:03:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time,

on a dark and scary night,

I walked into the kitchen

and was met with such a fright!

Sticky, sippy cups resting

in puddles of juice on the tile.

A trail of mashed up Froot Loops,

that could have measured a mile.

A mischievous ghoul and goblin,

stomping around on the floor.

Yelling and kicking and banging pots--

destruction, like I'd never seen before.

My upper lip started sweating,

my eye began to twitch.

I felt my blood start to boil,

Oh no! Here comes my “mama witch!”

"Don't make a mess," I yell,

"and would you stop hitting each other.

Why won't you two listen to me?

After all, I AM YOUR MOTHER!!!"

With a snap and a snarl, I turn on my heel,

and gruffly leave the room.

“I didn't mean to be a witch,” I say to myself,

as I tackle the laundry that looms.

I'm certain we've all felt like witches,

with our tempers and ornery glares.

As mothers, we work hard for no recognition

and wonder if anyone cares.

We frequently feel frustrated--

we feel patience is a virtue we lack.

If brooms were a mode of transportation,

on tough days, our bags we would pack.

No matter our ages or stages in life,

being a mother is tough.

We question our abilities, we doubt ourselves,

we wonder if we've done enough.

But, in the midst of all the questions,

and the cobwebs and the cauldron a bubbling--

There IS something marvelous about being a mom,

that really is quite humbling.

We must never forget that our children,

are Heavenly Father's children too.

We are wonderful, and on witchy, imperfect days,

there are a few things we can do.

We can take a deep breath, put down the broom,

and pray to our Father above.

We can change our perspective, recall the good,

and resume mothering with an increase in love.

So when a dark and scary night rushes in-

when our responsibilities overwhelm us with fear-

We'll remember our roles are especially divine,

and we'll shout, “There are NO witches here!”

A Modest Skeleton???

2011-10-04T12:56:00.000-07:00

It's October! Can you believe it? I love autumn. I love when the leaves trade their green hues for shades of red, orange, and gold. I love when the temperatures drop, warranting sweaters and scarves. I love Halloween candy (no surprise) and carving pumpkins. I love decorating my house for the season.

Every year, I pull out the autumn/Halloween decorations and get to work. I turn the basement into a bat cave. I hang crepe paper ghosts from the ceiling. I adorn my kitchen table with a candy corn table cloth.

And, I hang a paper skeleton on my pantry door.

Oddly, Ms. Lilly is attached to the skeleton; with his non-threatening, goofy-looking face. She refers to him (and yes, we are assuming it is a male) as "my best buddy." I know. It's kooky.

"Can I sleep with my best buddy?," she asks.

No.

"Can I put my best buddy in the tub?"

Nope. He'll dissolve.

"Can I take my best buddy to preschool?," she inquires; hopeful.

No, Lilly!

And onto the pantry door he goes.

Our paper skeleton is the kind that comes with brads attached to the bones, creating moveable joints. Throughout the month of October, his "poses" frequently change. Sometimes his bony legs are positioned to resemble a rousing Irish jig. Sometimes his arms are raised above his head in a symbol of jubilation. Sometimes his arms bend at the elbows, forming ill-shaped "Ls" that make him look like a marionette on strings. Occasionally, one hand rests atop his head as if he's trying to scratch an itch. (Or maybe soothe a headache caused by all the raucous at the McD abode.) Ninety-nine percent of the time, Lilly is responsible for "best buddy's" morphisms.

Last year--on a beautiful, crisp, October morning--I walked past the pantry and into the kitchen, casually glancing at the skeleton. I stopped in my tracks and turned on my heel, eager to retrace my steps for a "second look." This is what I found:

Hmm... Apparently, Lilly felt it necessary for "best buddy" to cover his...privates?? Perhaps "best buddy" is a...modest skeleton??? Ha!

Either way, I can't wait to see what poses await me this year! Happy October!

My Good Things List

2011-09-30T10:55:00.000-07:00

American writer, E. B. White (of Charlotte's Web fame), once said, "I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."

Isn't that terrific?!

Lately, I have been making more of an effort to "enjoy the world." I've been looking for the joy in my life; acknowledging to the heavens that I am blessed with good and wondrous things. All of us have good things in our lives, and the good things make us happy.

Though life can be challenging and painful, it can be beautiful too. And as a truly extraordinary man once said, "Happiness is the object and design of our existence..." It's a big part of who we are and why we are here. We are meant to be happy. We are joy!

I've decided to more fully enjoy my little corner of the world by recognizing and appreciating "the good things" in it. Here's what made me happy this week; my good things:

--Singing Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up" with McHubby, totally impromptu and off key. (It wasn't pretty!)

--Having my hair colored the day after I discovered six white hairs atop my head. (SIX honest-to-goodness old lady hairs, people!! Eek!)
--Emails from Aussies and cool chicks in Phoenixville, PA.
--Pepsi Max, on the rocks, with a slice of lime.
--Talking on the phone with my cutie pie brother, Tyler, on his birthday.

--My new Halloween candy bowl, with vintage "horror flick" posters printed on it. (AWESOME!)
--Dancing to Maroon 5's, "Moves Like Jagger," in my kitchen...and making Cam laugh while doing it!
--Lots of hugs and kisses from the McKiddos.

What about you? What made your "good things list" this week?

(Remember to enjoy the world, lovely people, wherever you are!)

Church and "Cats"

2011-09-25T16:10:00.000-07:00

Ah, Sunday.

A "day of rest" that always seems a bit chaotic (and "unrestful?") for my little family. We are often rushing to get to church. Someone (of the "under four feet tall" variety) is usually taking their church clothes off right as we're about to walk out the door. Someone needs to poop, someone needs a snack. Someone needs their hair combed, and someone throws a fit. (Uh...okay, that would actually be me throwing the fit.) By the time we slide into a pew I'm already upper-lip sweating.

Something strange happens the moment we say "amen" to the opening prayer: my little tots turn into apes.

Then, my juggling act begins! I juggle sippy cups, coloring books, and finger puppets in a resolute attempt to keep order in the Lord's house. I juggle animal crackers, sticker books, and toy cars; tools used in an effort to maintain some semblance of reverence. Unfortunately, my children's attention spans are a short as Tom Cruise.

The madness doesn't end when our church services do. Once we get home, clothes need to be changed, lunches need to be made, and Cam needs to be put down for his nap. I do all of this with lightening-fast speed, since everyone's sanity seems to go kaput at this point.

Today, I was in the middle of changing my clothes, hunting for Cam's nap time blankie, and getting Lilly more milk, when I trotted into the kitchen. McHubby was there--quickly eating before leaving for a brief church assignment.

McHubby: Are you going to wear that?
Me: What? What do you mean?
McHubby: I mean, is that your outfit? Are you going to wear that for the rest of the day?

I looked down and saw my favorite Beatles t-shirt, coupled with my black leggings. (Side note: I wore a terrific red dress to church today; accented with black and white polka dot trim. I wore leggings underneath the dress. The same leggings I was wearing in the kitchen, with my shirt that barely touched my hips.)

Me, a little surprised and laughing: Oh my gosh! I was in the middle of changing my clothes and I got distracted by the kids. I didn't change my bottom half!
McHubby, smiling: I wondered.
Me: You know how I feel about leggings. They are NOT a substitution for pants!
McHubby: Yea, well...you look like you're auditioning for Cats.

I watched his face as he began to laugh. The way his eyes crinkled and shut. The way he let an occasional snort slip out. The way his shoulders shook just a bit. Encouraged, I twirled around the kitchen and tried out some nifty ballet moves. (That were not ballet at all!) James chuckled and grinned, and I became keenly aware of how much I adore him...of how much I love him.

I'm so grateful for my man; that "Tom Cat" that makes me "purr." ("Memory, all alone in the moonlight...") I'm grateful for a partner who helps me laugh through our CRAZY, sweet, beautiful Sundays...and every day.

I'm glad he's the one I get to share a pew with.

Scary

2011-09-22T23:00:00.000-07:00

And to think...

One day this young, awkward, painfully dorky, frizzy-haired, "eyebrows like Peter Gallagher," fifteen-year-old girl (wearing a shirt with cows on it??? looking like a zombie from "Night of the Living Dead???") will be charged with the bearing, nurturing, and raising of the future generation...

Scary.

(But not as scary as those brows, right?! Yikers!)

LillyBob Birthday Bash, Pt. Deux

2011-09-19T20:43:00.000-07:00

Ode To Lilly

(By her mother, Aleisha)

My little girl has big, brown eyes

and a beautiful, goofy grin.

Spend one afternoon with her

and your heart she will surely win.

She has a silly laugh.

She has an adorable nose.

She wants golden hair like Rapunzel.

She prances through the house on her toes.

Dora the Explorer is pretty nice,

all the Disney princesses are swell.

But if you ask her what she'd like to watch,

“SpongeBob SquarePants” is what she'll yell!

You won't catch her eating green beans,

she'll refuse a tomato too.

Want to know her favorite food?

Tacos! They make her swoon.

She adores her grandmas and grandpas,

she thinks rowdy boys are weird.

She enjoys playing in the bathtub,

she makes the coolest bubble beard!

She's a very good big sister

to baby brother, Cam.

She makes us laugh with her funny antics,

she really is quite the ham.

She enjoys visiting the playground,

and Squinkies are her favorite toy.

She is like blue skies and sunshine to us,

and she brings our family joy.

I'm blessed to have her in my life,

Without her, what would I do?!

And so, today,

I'll stop and say,

Lilly Mae, I LOVE YOU!

A Playground Comparison

2011-09-16T16:42:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful day--pristine blue skies, warm sunshine, and enough "chill" in the air to make me think of pumpkin bread, apple cinnamon tea, and my autumn wreath that's buried somewhere in my basement's storage closet. I knew it was a perfect day to take Ms. Lilly and the Cam Man to the playground near our house.

When we got to Millrace park, there were only two children on the playground; handsome boys (perhaps a little younger than Lilly) chasing each other around the jungle gym. They were adorable brothers--polo shirts tucked into little khaki shorts, hair parted and gelled. The older of the two flashed dimples when he smiled, dreamy enough to melt any woman's heart.

As I pushed Cam on the swing, I couldn't help but watch their mother from behind my dark sunglasses. She was lovely, with a sprinkling of tan freckles across the bridge of her nose. I watched as she chased the two boys through the wood chips, then scooped them into her arms with gusto. When her boys began to crawl through the playground's yellow tunnel, she became the "monster" at the end of it--waiting with her "tickle claws" to snatch them from their plastic sanctuary. They would scream as she tried to snatch, snatch, snatch. And when she let them go free, they would take off running and giggling hysterically. She would emerge from behind the tunnel--red faced and laughing.

Her eyes sparkled when she looked at her boys. She was luminous--radiating love from her pretty, pearly-white smile. She was not only filled with an obvious joy for her calling as a mother--clearly embracing it on the small playground, on a September afternoon--she was joy.

And then I did something bad. I compared myself to her.

My playground excursion had been quite different from hers. I had chased away bees, that were chasing after Cam! I had picked wood chips out of Lilly's teeth (literally!) after she fell from a slide's ladder. (Right on her head!) Cam spilled his chocolate milk all over himself (and ME!), and I didn't have ONE napkin on hand! (How is that even possible? I'm a mom! And no, old receipts found in the bottom of your purse DO NOT work as napkins!) I wondered if I was having as much fun at the playground as the other mom was.

"Clearly, she must be a better mother than I am," I thought to myself.

AAAH! Why do we do that? As mothers? As women? Why do we compare ourselves to each other? Nothing good comes from it. More often than not, discouragement, anger, and/or sadness follows such comparative thoughts.

In her book, "A Quiet Heart," Patricia Holland writes: "Surely there has not been another time in history in which women have questioned their self-worth as harshly and critically as in the second half of the twentieth-century. Many women are searching almost frantically for a sense of personal purpose and meaning." How true! And yet, we frequently forget that a great deal of "meaning" resides deeply within each one of us. We are inherently holy. We are literally divine. Rather than compare, we should rejoice over all that is good in us. (I mean, I DID chase those bees away!)

Patricia Holland goes on to say, "We must not feel so frightened; we must not be so threatened and insecure; we must not need to find exact replicas of ourselves in order to feel validated as women of worth." And that's the point...we ARE women of worth already. Undeniably. Equally. On a good "playground day," or a hectic one.

In God's eyes, our worth is so great it cannot be measured. When we know that, we begin to see each other as we really are. We are sisters in womanhood. We are mothers on the playground. We are women in the world. We are all in this together.

(Me and my leetle sis.)

LillyBob Birthday Bash, Pt. One

2011-09-14T21:41:00.000-07:00

When your brown-eyed girl (with the small, angel face) sweetly asks you for a SpongeBob birthday party, you are going to have to put aside your distaste for the yellow "Goofy Goober" and start planning a shin-dig. Bikini Bottom style.

Plywood and a little wood stain goes a looooong way to create a "pineapple under the sea" ambiance; a "Welcome to Bikini Bottom" sign to adorn the front yard. (And to hide the dying rose bush.)

Add inflatable marine life (found at a party supply store) and a paper palm tree to complete your "outdoor decor." While climbing the steps to your humble abode, your guests will realize they are about to embark on an exciting, oceanic adventure!

If "nautical nonsense be something you wish," you might want to consider taping blue, plastic table cloths to the walls. (I found mine at the dollar store! Hooray!) Tape bright-colored cutouts of tropical fish to the blue plastic and....viola! A par-tay under water. Sort of. (About this time my McMan was starting to wonder if I had "gone overboard;" taken a "dive into the deep end." I looked him square in the eye and proudly called it, "bubbling over with creative genius.")

Note: That IS a SpongeBob table cloth in the second pic.

Oh boy howdy (that was for you, Kate), we are not done yet! Remember the brown-eyed beauty? With the big, dreamy eyes and the supplications of "pretty, pretty please," to the SpongeBob party?! Well, we MUST NOT disappoint!

Continue to mimic an "under water experience" by hanging blue crepe paper streamers from the ceiling, to resemble waves.

Get your shell on! Craft stores sell bags of shells (tongue twister?), which are fairly inexpensive. Glue the shells to some cheap plates. They make fun platters for veggies and pickles. (Side note: Cam seems obsessed with pickles lately. He loves a Vlasic dill pickle spear. How crazy is that?! He hangs from the fridge handle and looks at me imploringly and says, "Pee-kull? Pee-kull?") ANYWAY...You can also put shells in small vases you may have lying around. (I placed mine on an end table, next to a baby picture of the guest of honor. It was a nice, cute touch.)

Whew! After decorating for the birthday bash, you may want to "drop on the deck and flop like a fish." It's a lot of work, and it may be a bit exhausting, BUT...when your cutie pie five-year-old sees what you've done, and starts jumping up and down and twirling circles and screaming, "This is the greatest and the bestest birthday ever"... it's totally worth it.

Sunday Night Drive

2011-09-11T23:52:00.000-07:00

Tonight, we loaded our children into the car and went for a Sunday drive. We would have preferred a brisk stroll, but our plans were thwarted when the wind ushered charcoal-gray clouds into our side of the valley. We watched as the sky darkened, threatening rain. We knew a drive would be a better option.

I frequently have the best conversations with Lilly while we are driving around the city; running errands, going to play dates, visiting the library. Our chats are often humorous (like the time she told me about the cute boy in her preschool class) or deeply poignant (like the time she told me she watched my wedding from heaven). Our "transportation talks" (as I like to call them) are quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

Tonight was no exception. As the wind whipped around our car, and an occasional raindrop splattered across our windshield, Lilly started reflecting on Jesus.

"Jesus gives us everything," she said.

"That's right," I answered, contentedly, as I laid my head on my seat's headrest.

"He gave us our bodies. And our house."

"Yes," replied James, from behind the wheel. "And He gave us our friends."

"And our families!," Lilly said, excitedly.

And thus began a tender, fifteen-minute conversation with Lilly, in which she recounted all the things she has to be grateful for; a "gifts from Jesus" list. Her glorious list included:

Beds. Toys. Oceans. Trees. Mountains. Space. All the planets. Ears. Eyes. Our hearts. Feet. Shoes. Clothing. Knees. Arms. Cars. Rain. Snow. Clouds. Sunshine. Animals. Strawberry Shortcake. Our brains. Food. Juice boxes. Toes. Babies. Teachers. Music. Mouths. Teeth. Stars. Playgrounds. Roads. Flowers. Grass. The moon.

With my favorites being:

Nostrils, so we can breathe. L-Bones (she means "elbows"), so we can bend our arms.

Later, as I prepared to retire to my bed (thank you, Jesus, for my bed...I am a VERY tired mom), I thought about our Sunday drive--our family's uplifting "transportation talk"--and awarded it the "best part of the day." Ah, the moments when being a mother is so, so, so fulfilling. The more I pondered, the more I noticed the telltale lump forming at the back of my throat that always precedes the onset of tears. I felt my heart swell with genuine "mama love," until it felt as though it was about to burst in my chest. I recognized the spirit of gratitude at my core and--inspired by my daughter--created my own "gifts from Jesus" list:

Lilly.
Camren.

First Day

2011-09-08T13:03:00.000-07:00

Would you just look at my baby girl?
Sporting the most adorable plaid dress and a brand new backpack.
All grown up and ready for her first day of preschool.

Would you just look at my baby girl?
Wondering if this "school thing" is really that cool.
Genuinely freaked out and asking, "Do I have to go in there?"

Would you just look at those cinnabuns?
A special treat for me, because sometimes being the mom is hard.
And wonderful.
And a little bit sad.
(Like when I have to drive away from the school, leaving my baby behind.)

Two beautiful cinnabuns. One to celebrate. One to cope.

The One In Which I Get My Craft On

2011-09-06T14:01:00.000-07:00

I like crafts.

I just wouldn't call myself a super crafty person. I can't sew. I don't know how to refurbish old furniture or make a quilt. I can't cross stitch, and paper mache freaks me out. To emphasize my lack of craft prowess, I recount an incident I had with Lilly a couple of months ago:

It was a quiet, peaceful Sunday afternoon and I was feeling inspired. I pulled out my craft bag and my glue gun and went to work on a summertime wreath for the front door. Lilly wandered into the kitchen and saw me hunched over a large square of burlap. "What are you doing, Mom?", she asked.

"I am making a craft," I replied.

She was silent for a moment, then said, "I will pray for you."

AAHH!!! See?! I am NOT Mama CraftHead--a fact that is not lost on my preschooler. When working on a challenging project, I spend most of my time cussing! (Sorry, Mom.)

But, I like crafts. I DO enjoy making them, as long as they aren't too difficult. That's the key.

Would you like for me to teach you a craft that isn't hard, that is right up Mama Leisha's alley? (A little something my friend, Sunshine, taught me.)

First, you will need a messy kitchen to promptly neglect. (Hey! I may not be GOOD at crafting, but I know enough to choose "doing a craft" over "doing the dishes.")

Next, you will need a package of Oreo cookies to eat while making this craft. (If you desire to obtain a level of "crafty greatness," you'll want to go with Double Stuf. They have magical powers.)

Take any fabric of your choosing, and cut out six circles. (My circles are 3 inches in diameter.)

Fold one of the circles in half. (Do you like my sparkly, pink nail polish? It's new.)

Fold it in half again, so it looks like a triangle.

Grab a needle and thread. Stitch along the bottom of your triangle. (Sorry about the picture. Not sure why my fingers look...neon????)

The next step is fun! Gently pull the thread to gather the fabric.

Pull it tight. It will look like this:

You will do this to all of your fabric circles; folding them, then stitching and pulling them along the thread. You'll want to pull them tight, but be careful not to break your thread. When all six are done, bring them together to form a circle. Stitch the two ends together.

Hooray! I just made a flower! Isn't it dreamy?

Use your creativity for the flower's center. The sky's the limit! An old brooch from Grandma's jewelry box. A fabric yo-yo. A big button. It's fun to try out different looks. For my flower I made a yo-yo out of cream fabric, then sewed on a white button. I took my yo-yo/button combo and hot glued it onto the flower.

The last step is to glue this adorable flower to a headband. (Or glue it to a pin to make a brooch. Glue it to a hair clip, an oven mitt, a scarf, or a tote bag. Whatever you'd like!) I made this headband for Lilly to wear in her hair, on her first day of preschool. Such a fun and easy project with a delightful end result.

(Oh! And don't forget to clean the Oreos from your teeth when you're finished making flowers!)

HAPPY CRAFTING!!

Undercover

2011-09-02T22:02:00.000-07:00

Things have been a little weird around here.

Undercover police officers have been hanging out in my neighborhood; wearing plain clothes and parking in "unassuming" vehicles. Apparently, my neighbor's creepy, weirdo son is a "wanted" man. I'm not sure what he's done, what crimes he has committed, or why he wears the ugliest jeans known to man...I just know that the police have been looking for him.

Earlier this week, as I went to the fridge to get some milk for the kiddos, I happened to glance out my kitchen window.

"Why hello there, handsome," I said, as I looked at the man who was being framed like a portrait by my window pane. He was in a dress shirt, gray slacks, and a pretty silk tie. He was talking on his cell phone. He had a gun in a holster and a sparkly badge on his hip.

"James!", I yelled, "I think there is a federal agent in our backyard!" Because you see, I am an expert on federal agents. I go to the movies. I watch TV. I can spot one from several yards away...which is about how far away he was from our house, leaning slightly on the fence beneath a tree. (McMan's response was typical--uninterested and unimpressed. "Uh...okay," he said.)

Mr. Handsome Agent looked up and noticed me and my kids standing at the window. We waved cheerfully at him. No response. He donned his dark shades (sooo classic) and started to walk towards the front of our house.

Well, shoot! My curiosity had been tweaked! I ran to the front of the house, to the large window in the living room, and looked out at the parking lot.

"Holy shmokes, there's another one!", I yelled. Equally handsome. Equally dressed nice. Equally carrying a gun. They got into an unmarked car and drove off.

To make a long story short, we have been asked by a local authority to be on the lookout; like a neighborhood watch. As residents of this nice little community, we are keeping our peepers open! We are like that dog that takes a bite out of crime. We are peeking from our blinds and watching for an ugly "low-rider" and a dude who styles his hair like a goober. (Blech, too much gel.) It's DEFCON 1 around here, and I'm seriously contemplating camouflage as my new wardrobe staple. Good people live here! We are not going to stand for poo-poo-ca-ca on our street. No, sir!

I'm ready! You bet I'll help my local officials. (And those cutie pies who wear silk ties.) I'll call the authorities at the very appearance of "shadiness"...or bedazzled jeans. My neighbors and friends can rest easy knowing I will protect our street from all the forces of evil!

And I don't need to know where to go to purchase handcuffs. Trust me (*wink*), I already have them!

(Note: There is a "happy" end to this story. I'm very relieved. The "ending" came last night, when close to 20 police officers swarmed my neighborhood and made their arrest. Thankfully, they caught the guy they had been looking for. I celebrated by eating a doughnut.)

What I Know

2011-08-31T15:38:00.000-07:00

In nine days, my daughter turns five.

FIVE! Cinco! A nickel! A whole handful! Five fingers! I. Cannot. Believe. It. She is growing up so quickly.

I cannot believe that I have been a mom for five years. FIVE! Naturally, I still feel like such a novice; like one stumbling around a pitch-black house during a nighttime power outage. I keep thinking the lights will come on any minute, and then..."A-HA!"...I'll get it! Illumination! (AKA, wisdom.) I'll finally know how to handle all things and all situations when it comes to being the mother of my munchkins! Until that day comes (ha!), I'll sip my Diet Coke with a slice of lime. I'll think about what motherhood has taught me. As I have admitted, I don't know much. But here's what I do know:

--I will never "summit" the Everest-like mountain of laundry I constantly find overflowing from the hamper. *Sigh* There will always be laundry to do. It will never go away...unless we stop wearing clothes. I look totally weird naked, so that option is o-u-t, out!

--More often than not, eating out as a family is a scary adventure. (How scary? "Tomato-slices-flung-at-old-ladies" scary! "Chocolate-milk-dumped-in-laps" scary! "Annoying-fellow-diners-with-shrieks-of-'Cam-stop-touching-my-fries'" scary!)

--When Sharpie claims their markers are permanent....they mean it.

--Poop in the tub will always and forever be as disgusting as hell.

(NO poop in this tub pic, I promise!)

(Or this one!)

--Grocery shopping or running errands while kids are hungry and/or tired, is a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, bad idea.

--Watching my husband play "house" with our daughter is like enjoying a warm funnel cake at the state fair...It is a sweet, special treat!

--Being a mom is a very tough job. My "employers" are frequently difficult to work with. There is no pay. Sometimes, it is a thankless job. BUT...it is by far the coolest and most extraordinary job I've ever had.

--The cure for a long, hard day is a cinnamon roll. Or a cookie. Or a doughnut. Or a cupcake. Or Taco Bell. (That one was for you, Maria!)

--The names "Ma, Mom, Mother, Mama, Mama Leisha, and Mommy" will never, ever grow old for me. They make my heart soar.

--Lastly, I am blessed.

(I don't know much, but I do know that!)

Fire and Sass

2011-08-26T23:35:00.000-07:00

Ms. Lilly has "fire"--a sassy spunk that curls my toes with utter frustration and makes me want to jump and shout, "Hooray," at the same time. She is fiesty. She puts her hand on her hip often. She walks the runway (that is, the shag carpet in my living room) with a diva attitude and a "don't mess with me" flare. She happily answers to, "Your Highness."

I love it. And I hate it.

I hate it when she cops serious sass and informs me that she's moving to the neighbor's house:

Me: Raul and Bertha's? They are very nice, but they don't speak much English. Do YOU know Spanish?
Ms. Lilly (eyes rolling, of course): NO, Mom! But they have a dog.

I hate it when she tells me I'm not her favorite parent anymore. (Punch-in-the-gut insulting, right? Especially when you consider my competition....McHubby? Really? HE'S the better parent???) Or when she accuses me of not loving her anymore:

Me: You bet I love you, Lil! What would make you say such a thing?
Ms. Lilly: Well...you didn't get me any apple juice.
Me (irked): You didn't ask!!

I hate it when she dumps the dirty laundry all over my floor, coaxes Cam into the hamper, then immediately blames HIM for all the mischief:

Me: So...Cam did this all by himself?
Ms. Lilly: What can I say...he's a crazy baby.

BUT...

I kind of love it when she scrambles up our bulky, age-worn sofa with those skinny legs; climbing until she is perched on top of it like a baby chickadee. She slowly stands and surveys the toy-cluttered landscape of the living room. Then, with a flick of her ponytail and an over-the-shoulder glance at Camren (who is sitting on the floor), she yells, "Watch and learn, baby!"

And then, she jumps.

My little girl leaps from the couch and lands in an impressive Tom Cruise-esque "tuck and roll" that resembles a stunt from a Mission Impossible flick. She shows no fear.

I believe her fire--her ferocity--is what gives her the courage to take that leap. As she grows and matures into a lovely, smart woman, I hope she never loses her fire. When she is told she's not good enough, when she feels she's not pretty enough, when she wonders and worries, when she loves and loses, when she doesn't make the grade, when she feels lost or down-trodden, when a man breaks her heart, when disappointment outweighs hope on life's scale, I hope she climbs high above it. I hope courage and strength and a unabashed belief in her own magnificence will give her the confidence to jump; to overcome her unique challenges. I hope she'll remember to say to the world, "Watch and learn," because God did not send her to earth to fail.

With a little bit of faith, she'll soar.

She Saved the Day

2011-08-23T21:38:00.000-07:00

UGH! It was one of those mornings.

Cam was perched in his highchair, combing strawberry jam through his "barely-there hair." He was playing a rousing game of "Throw-the-Waffles-Onto-The-Floor-And-Score-Extra-Points-For-Beaning-Lilly-In-The Head-With-Them." Lilly was squawking like an eagle and insisting on eating Oreos for breakfast. I had had it up to my eyeballs!

"Kids," I said, "we are going outside to get the wiggles out!" Lilly was shaking a milk carton bird feeder--a preschool project--like a rattle. I got an idea.

"Better yet, let's finally hang the bird feeder in the backyard," I said. ("Any activity to get you to stop acting like hyenas," I thought.) I was met with a chorus of "yipees" and "hoorays" as the kids scrambled for their shoes.

Now, it must be said that I have a sliding glass door that leads to the backyard. We have a large wooden dowel--that serves as a "security bar"--wedged horizontally between the door that slides and the frame. Simply, it serves as an additional (albeit makeshift) lock for added home safety. When the dowel is down, the door will not open.

I propped the dowel up (vertically) in the door frame, slid open the back door, and shooed the kids on through. Once we were all outside, I turned to slowly slide the door shut again.

And that's when I heard a clunk. I could see our "security bar" being "oh-so-secure" at a 45 degree angle; snugly resting between the frame and the door. Somehow, it had toppled over.

Panic, panic, panic! I pushed the door! Nothing. Not even a smidgen of a budge. Nothing but an inch of open space I could barely stick my nose in. I was starting to sweat, and I could feel the refreshingly cool whisper of my AC through that blasted crack! I could see my front door through the glass. Locked. I could see my keys on the table. Taunting me. I could see my cell phone sitting next to my keys--equally taunting me. AAHHH!!

CRAPPITY-CRAP-CRAP! I was locked out.

I quickly took "inventory" of myself and my kids:

Lilly

Wearing dirty pajamas? Check.

Bird feeder in hand? Check.

Messy face and disheveled hair in need of a shampooing? Check.

Cam

Wearing a sticky and crusty pajama top? Check.

No bottoms, just a saggy diaper? Check.

Looking like a poor miscreant? Check.

Mama Leisha

Polka dot pajama pants? Check.

Mismatched t-shirt? Check.

Teeth in major need of a brushing? Check.

No bra, no makeup, and bed head? Check, check, check.

What to do? What to do? I picked up Cam, fluffed my hair, grabbed Lilly's hand, took a deep breath, put my chin up, and said, "We need to get some help. We are going to Amanda's house."

To make a long story short, Amanda saved the day! She welcomed me into her home with all the kindness a true friend can muster. She let my kids play, she let me borrow her broom (which was used in my attempt to jimmy the kitchen window open), and she let me use her phone (when the broom failed to work)! I called James at his office and he happily and willingly (har, har) left a work meeting to drive home and unlock the front door for us. (McHubby: Well...this is to be expected. Mama Leisha: What on earth do you mean by that?!?! McHubby: You ARE accident prone. Mama Leisha: You love me.)

Here's how I know my sweet Amanda is a true friend--She didn't judge me for being bra-less and ugly! She didn't even bat an eye when she saw that my children looked like vagabonds. She offered her car, in case I needed to drive to James' office to pick up our house key. She never made me feel dorky about my predicament. (She never would.) We laughed about the whole ordeal. We had a good chat while we waited for James. She told me that my bedhead was cute. (HELLO!! TRUE FRIEND!)

And she offered me a cold Diet Pepsi and a candy bar. Which I gratefully took.

I think I'll get locked out tomorrow.

A Staples Story

2011-08-20T22:55:00.000-07:00

I'm a cornball.

I am. I admit it. I am an absolute cornball. Not only do I secretly listen to really bad and really cheesy pop music on occasion (*gasp*), I also have a silly infatuation with office and school supplies. I love spiral bound notebooks and new packages of pencils. I love folders and highlighters and binders. A new box of crayons makes my heart do a little flippity-flop. And don't even get me started on how much I adore post-it notes! I just can't handle it.

It's no surprise I went to Staples today, cruising the vast aisles in search of these:

(WOO-WEE!!!! Saw an online ad for them and KNEW I had to have them.)

And these:

You bet I found them! And with minimal disturbance from the kids, too. (Only one "hiccup" from the Cam Man over a small, dry erase board. I said he couldn't have it; he laid down in the protractor aisle.) A nice girl with raven-black hair and an exorbitant amount of dark eyeliner ("emo?" or "misunderstood?") smiled her best "Staples employee" smile (more like a tired grimace) and offered to help me at her checkout stand.

In the middle of the transaction, an elderly man approached from behind and asked for assistance. Seconds later, he saw me and said to the Staples employee, "Oh! I'm sorry. You finish helping this gentleman first."

WHAT?!

Naturally, his comment caught my attention! I turned around, looked right at him, and smiled. His jaw dropped. "Oh my goodness! I am...so sorry," he stammered. "You are a lady! I'm sorry! I...I...I didn't know...because of your hat. I'm so sorry."

(Side note: I was wearing an Old Navy baseball cap.)

Clearly, this man was flustered. I could tell he felt bad. So, in true "Aleisha fashion," I acted like a cornball. You see, I have this thing I do whenever I am nervous or uncomfortable. I always, always say something really stupid or really embarrassing, in a vain (and lame) attempt to be funny. You know...to lighten the mood. To help everyone feel less uncomfortable. Call it a coping mechanism. Perhaps it is a defense mechanism. Maybe, simply, it's a cornball mechanism. Sometimes it works; most often I end up sticking my foot (clad in pretty, polka-dot flats) in my mouth.

I turned to the blundering man and said, "It's alright. I DO look like a guy, especially with this hat on. With my hat, my short hair, and my flat chest, it is easy to make that mistake."

He just looked at me. The mom that was third in line, buying school supplies with her kids, just looked at me. The "emo checker" just looked at me. I giggled nervously, like a five-year-old, and lugged Cam up onto my hip. I simultaneously grabbed my purchase and Lilly's hand, and bolted for the door.

As I ran across the sweltering parking lot, my brain was screaming: "Foot in your mouth! FOOT IN YOUR MOUTH!!"

Later, I was telling McHubby my Staples story. When I told him what I said, his comment was: "Oh no! You didn't!?! Good one, Aleisha! You probably made the situation more awkward by drawing attention to your chest. I mean, he was an old man!" Ugh!

So before I go to bed tonight, I'll write, "I will NOT make comments about my lack of boobs to old men in Staples," one hundred times. I think I'll write it in my Justin Bieber notebook. I'll use my spiffy, new, leopard-print pen.

(For another "gender blunder" story, check out my dear friend's blog, A Day in the Life. Amy also writes a wonderful food/recipe blog. www.famousberriesandbeans.blogspot.com)

I'm a Guest!

2011-08-19T09:33:00.000-07:00

Today, I am being featured on the blog, Midnight Mommy! What a neat opportunity for me, and I'm grateful to Midnight Mommy for giving me a chance to strut my stuff on her blog. Hooray!

In other news...I was bringing groceries, my huge purse, takeout, toys, and sippy cups into the house when I dropped an OPEN can of Diet Coke onto the floor. What a mess! Lilly said, "Mom, why are you always dropping things?"

I sighed and said, "I don't know, Lil. Probably because I try to carry too much stuff at one time."

As I reached for a roll of paper towels, she said, "You really need to be an octopus, Mom. Wouldn't that be great?! Then you would have enough arms to carry everything!"

That would be nice...but TWO is enough! That's all I need to hug and squeeze that darling daughter of mine.

2011-08-17T09:53:00.000-07:00

Why I Live Here

Mountains.
The rugged and rocky terrain. The steep, jutted cliffs.

The streams and waterfalls
that carve white, ribbon-like paths down the mountain face.

The smell of pine sap. The sound of river rapids.

The cooler temperatures at a higher elevation.

The closer I feel to God.

Something interesting happens while traversing mountain trails.

I start to think about how small I am in the big, wide world

--but how significant I am, too.

I count my blessings.

I smile at the chipmunks.

I don't mind the wind in my hair.

I turn my face to the sun.

I think about climbing every mountain.

Why I Love Him

He is climbing mountains with me.

Guest Post: Back To School

2011-08-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

I'm thrilled to be having my dear friend, Sunshine, guest post today. Since her post is of a "back-to-school" nature, I thought it would be only fitting (and funny) to upload some of my school pictures. A few words about the pictures: I cannot justify my hair. Also, I had man-brows until I was in college. And don't knock that red sweater--it was my favorite. Remember, I was a product of the 1980s.

Sharpen your pencils, it's time for school! AND HAVE A SUNNY SUNDAY!

(Cue music: "It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year)

That's right kids your days of firing off rockets for the better part of July...OVER. (Yes, I'm still holding a grudge for those of you wondering.) Eating enough junk food at the local amusement park to kill an African elephant...GONE. Tan lines from living in your bathing suit for 3 months...VANISHED. It's back to school you go.

This year, I get to hold my head up high and join the ranks of "carpool moms" across the country as my oldest daughter begins kindergarten. I'll let you in on a little secret: It's just about killing me. Let's face it, I don't know this new woman in our lives--this new kindergarten-teacher person. Will she know that my young-un is just learning to ride her bike (and as a side note here, for all you kids out there WITHOUT training wheels I would like to remind you that you had to start somewhere, and if I have to hear one more of you tout your two-wheel awesomeness to my 5-year-old we're very likely going to have a good-old-fashion Mommy smack down right in the middle of the side walk where I call you a name and stick my tongue out so bad your face will probably fall off.)

Anyway, where was I...oh yes, kindergarten teacher...will she know that the princess doesn't like mushrooms, that she has a high tolerance for pain and a low tolerance for little brothers? Will she know she gives her dolls names that make no sense what-so-ever, or that a princess band-aid has miraculous healing powers? Does she know that spot on her knee that, when squeezed, sends her into hysterics, or the fact that one of her toes is just slightly crooked in it's perfect-little-girl way. Will her teacher know that she loves toe-nail polish, her Daddy, and cotton candy more than anything in the whole world? Sigh.

This is my problem. I've had the last 5 years to learn all these things and why am I suddenly feeling like it's somehow going to be different?

So, to all you other seasoned veterans. Help. When you see me in the hall, curled up against the wall, clutching an abandoned brown bag from the hyperventilating, tears coursing down my cheeks as I watch her new Hello-kitty back pack disappear into the public school system, could you hand me a kleenex and offer a hug? I just recently read the book The Peach Keeper by Sarah Allen Addison and the following quote has been following me around like the smell of unopened crayons and big pink erasers:

"We're connected, as women. It's like a spiderweb. If one part of that web vibrates, if there's trouble, we all know it, but most of the time we're just too scared, or selfish, or insecure to help. But if we don't help each other, who will?"

I solemnly swear that next year, mine will be the first hand you'll see,
Yours,
Sunshine

(Carpool extraordinaire and exhausted, frightened Mommy)

BUTTON!

2011-08-12T16:46:00.000-07:00

If you ask Cam, "Where's your button?," a wide smile slowly spreads across his little-boy face. He lifts up his shirt, pokes his belly button with a chubby finger, and laughs happily. It's adorable, and I love it!

Now, if you were to ask ME, "Where's your button?," I would NOT lift up my shirt to show you. Nope. No how. No way. Not ever. I've had two BIG, watermelon-sized babies (I'm not even kidding about that) and thanks to my pregnancies, my belly button is now a deformed, stretched-out, mutant of its former self. (I know, don't think about it too much!! It's gross!!)

What I would say is, "Oh! If you go to callmemamaleisha.blogspot.com, you'll find a tab labeled 'Buttons.' The tab is right below the picture. Click on it! That is where you'll find my button!" Ha ha!

It's true! I have a blog button. My little ol' blog-a-roo has been in existence for almost a year now. I figured it was time to create a button...or two! If you read "Mama Leisha," think "Mama Leisha" is wacky-doodle, or would just like a "Mama Leisha" button to put on your blog, then by all means...TAKE ONE! I'd love it. (Just wish I could give you a chocolate chip cookie and a can of Diet Coke to go with it. I mean that!)

A final note-- My blog buttons are free of charge. Unlike a peek at my "real" button, which will cost you. Your eyesight.

Frosty and The Power of Lipstick

2011-08-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

I think Lilly has a multiple personality disorder.

There. I said it.

It's just that she's been acting "coo coo ca-choo" lately! Her new favorite activity is to put on a frightening amount of lip gloss (I'm talking about GOBS, people) and run throughout the house hollering, "Frosty is back! Frosty is back!" ("Frosty" is the alter ego??)

Alarming, right?

When she is "Frosty" she prances on her toes, up and down the halls. She growls like a Gremlin. She talks like a robot circa 1985. She becomes wildly boisterous. She laughs maniacally. She slides down the stairs on her belly. She jumps off the night stand in my bedroom.

When Lilly grows tired of these "funny farm" shenanigans, she calmly strolls into the bathroom, wipes the gloss off with a piece of toilet paper, and says with a serene smile, "Frosty is gone." She goes back to watching Dora the Explorer. When the lip gloss is gooped on, Frosty is back. When the lip gloss is wiped off, Frosty is gone.

Being the obsessive and analytical "Mama Leisha" that I am, I have thought a lot about Lilly's new-found hobby. (Better to spend time pondering than to spend it Googling specialists in my area who are used to handling this sort of thing.) In all my thinking, I made a surprising discovery. (Besides coming to the conclusion that my kid is normal. Squirrely, but normal.)

I can relate!

I can totally relate to Ms. Lilly! When I am Queen Sweat Pants--looking out over my domain of sticky floors and windows that need to be washed--I feel a little glum. When my hair hasn't been washed in a week and my t-shirt is grubby and filthy, I get a case of "the blahs." When my face is "makeup free" for an extended period of time, I start to feel like the Kraken.

BUT with a lipstick as hot pink as Barbie's corvette, or as red as a chilli pepper, I can conquer the world! I step a little lighter. I prance on my toes too! I get out of the house more. I smile at the boy bagging my groceries at Smith's. I laugh more. I feel good. I feel pretty. And there is power in feeling pretty (aka being "Frosty") and in doing something nice or special for yourself; like applying lipstick. (Side note: That's the key--doing something nice or special for yourself, so you feel...well...nice and special.)

I act more confident. I hold my head a little higher. I face monotony with a sultry pucker. ("Take that, Monotony. Mwah!") I can grocery shop with crabby kids and change diaper blowouts. I can keep my gagging to an absolute minimum when my son hands me his booger. I can tackle laundry and fix dinner and play tag and build blanket forts and clean the oven with zest. When my lips are smokin' like a four-alarm blaze, my attitude is smokin' too! I can do anything.

Even jump off my night stand.

2011-08-08T12:02:00.000-07:00

Don't you just love grandpas?

And hot pink bows?
And sugary, "little girl" kisses?
Sticky-sweet lollipops and warm summer nights?
Don't you just love backyard birthday parties
and pinatas shaped like ice cream cones?
And soft, green grass?
And the welcome shade from a towering, old tree?
Saltwater taffy that melts in your mouth, and tootsie rolls?
Don't you just love cupcakes frosted with icing
as fluffy and pink as cotton candy?
And light-hearted laughter?
And sisterly cuddles?
Moments shared with loved ones, who are wacky and wonderful?

Don't you just love making memories with the people who matter the most?

I do.

2011-08-05T21:16:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, Kristina at Peaches Reviews notified me that I would be the featured Smiley Hopper for her weekly "Smile With Me Saturday" blog hop! Hooray and what fun! I'm excited to have this opportunity and just wanted to thank Kristina. Happy Weekend and Happy Hopping!

First off, smile with me :) You made it through another week and deserve a big smile. You've got the whole weekend ahead of you so make it a good one!

This week's featured Smiley Hopper is Aleisha from She Calls Me Mama Leisha!!

I asked Aleisha a few questions about herself and her blog so you could get to know a little bit about her.

1) When did you first start blogging? Why?

I started blogging about a year ago. I have the most hilarious four-year-old. I was constantly sharing funny stories about her with my dear friends and family. Several people asked me if I was writing them down. When I replied, “No,” my loved ones said, “You really should. People would enjoy reading them.” That is what got me thinking about starting a blog. Plus, I've always had a passion for writing. My blog is a creative outlet for me and I enjoy sharing it with other people.

2) What's your favorite part about blog hopping?

That's an easy question to answer! I sincerely enjoy meeting new people out there in "Blog Land." I especially love connecting with other women. Through our trials and our triumphs, we are able to relate to one another. Women have an uncanny ability to do that! When we relate to one another, we start supporting and encouraging one another...even if it is cyberly!! Plus, blog hopping is such a stellar way to make new friends...and you can never have too many!

3) What's your favorite hobby

Eating chocolate chip cookies! HA! Goodness, it's hard to pick just "one thing" or an "absolute favorite." My favorite hobbies would include reading, writing, biking, going on picnics, traveling, crafting, gardening, and spending time with my family

4) Who's your role model?

I deeply respect and admire Mother Theresa. She strongly believed and taught that we should "leave people better than we find them." Her beautiful life was a message of faith, compassion, service, and love. Also, my mother is a terrific role model for me. She has always been an excellent and loving mother, who wasn't afraid to run through the sprinklers with us when we were kids!

How it Works

* Follow Me and the Smiley Hopper of the week! (Spots 1 & 2) Leave us a comment with your blog/twitter/facebook url so that we can follow you back

* Grab the Smile With Me Saturday button then post on your blog to give your new followers a place to comment

* Add your blog/twitter/facebook to the list- (NOT YOUR BLOG HOP or GIVEAWAYS PLEASE) These entries will be deleted.

* Follow as many people on blog/twitter/facebook as you would like, Make sure you leave them a comment so they know you stopped by. Then Follow Back everyone that follows you & comments.

You can link your blog every Saturday at 12am EST. Have fun!!

Honesty Is Such A...Lonely Word???

2011-08-03T12:12:00.000-07:00

Dearest Lilly,

As your doting mother, I feel it absolutely necessary to teach you ethical standards. The world has a lot of beautiful and wonderful things to offer...BUT...sometimes it is like a pond, and there is a lot of scum out there! It is imperative for you to maintain your integrity. That is why I strive to instill in you the value of honesty. I want you to always tell the truth!

When you want to fib about smacking your brother in the head for putting one of your Barbies in the toilet (what IS up with Cam and the toilet??), be honest. Truthfully tell me what really happened...because I already know what happened. (Thanks to the eyes in the back of my head.)

Accept responsibility for your own actions. When your report card is distributed, don't hide it. If you get a "D" in English, you'd better own up to it. If you don't, I WILL make you read Shakespeare the ENTIRE summer break. (Your mama has an English degree! Don't think I won't do it!)

If you are considering lying, try to think of the consequences. When you are tempted to lie to me about being out all night with a shady hooligan who drives a Camaro and answers to the name, "Toker," don't. Tell the truth. Your lying will only hurt yourself, your conscience, and your character.

It is important to be honest, and...

Alright, alright! I admit it! This letter is not entirely about pointing your moral compass in the right direction. Truth is, I must confess something to you. I should be practicing what I'm preaching, and because I feel so strongly about the principle of honesty I must "come clean" about something. (I refuse to be "Mama Hypocrite!")

Yesterday, you asked me, "What do you have in your mouth?" I answered, "Carrots," knowing how you despise them.

I lied. I'm so sorry. I lied to you because I did not want to share with you.

They were pretzel M&M's.

Forgive me and remember, "to thine own self be true,"
Your "Mama Leisha"
(Who has been reformed. Honest.)

A Paper Crown, A Reminder

2011-08-01T15:25:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday--when I picked the Camster up from his darling, "toddler-ridden" church class--I noticed three things that warmed me to my "mama core" and made my heart melt like buttah:

1.) When I walked into the room, my little man greeted me with a happy, toothy grin that made me want to kiss his face off. 2.) He yelled, "Ma," and squealed for joy--no longer able to contain his elation over seeing my crazy face. It made me want to kiss his face off. 3.) He was wearing a paper crown that had the words, "I Am A Child Of God," printed on it.

As I scooped Cam up into my arms, looked into his sparkly, puppy dog-brown eyes, and felt his chubby hands reach around my neck, I was struck by a deep realization: I knew he was exactly what that crown said--a child of God.

Occasionally, we go through discouraging periods in our lives when we feel painfully unimportant. We may feel as though we aren't smart enough or good enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough, not patient and kind enough, not fun enough. We question our abilities (especially as mothers!) and wonder why our weaknesses outnumber our strengths. We wrongfully compare ourselves to others and find we never, ever measure up. We wonder if we matter. Well, what a lovely and blessed reminder--sitting atop my baby boy's head--of our inherently divine nature!

We ARE Children of God...and sometimes, we forget.

In those moments, we need our own paper crowns to proudly wear; to remind us of the value of our souls. What would those crowns tell us? That we DO matter. We are irreplaceable. We are wonderful! God did not send us to this earth to fail. Our spirits are so special; our worth as infinite as the stars in the night sky. Our potential for good is extraordinary. We can do great things.

(No thumb sucking required!)

Candyland...or Jurassic Park

2011-07-27T22:18:00.000-07:00

I have a wicked sweet-tooth.

I love candy and chocolate almost as much as I love shoes and Hugh Jackman. (That. Is. A. Lot.) I'm crazy about Reese's peanut butter cups. I'm cuckoo for chocolate chip cookies. (Were you expecting me to say, "Cocoa Puffs?") I adore Swedish fish. I want to change my last name to "McHershey." I would sing through the hills in unbridled, "Fraulein Maria-like" fashion for pretezel M&M's. If you want to "taste the rainbow," I can suggest my favorite bag of Skittles. (Hello, Blenders!) If you are struggling to decide whether or not you should go with a "Whatchamacallit" candy bar, or a "Thingamajig" candy bar...I will tell you to go with the "Whatchamacallit" EVERY TIME.

See what I mean?

Wicked. Sweet. Tooth.

Is it any wonder my favorite game when I was a little girl was Candyland?! The red and white of the Peppermint Forest, the gingerbread-man shaped game pieces that traveled the brightly-colored squares to King Kandy, the Lollipop Woods, and the chocolate swamp--I loved it all.

Recently, Ms. Lilly has discovered she also enjoys a rousing game of Candyland. We have oodles of fun playing the game together. ("Family time" is often spent at the kitchen table, huddled around the delightful game board!)

Last night--as we prepared to embark on a journey through Candyland (aka play the game)--we discovered our game pieces were missing. Not to be dismayed, Lilly proclaimed, "I have an idea! I know what we can use!" She quickly ran upstairs, retrieved Cam's plastic, dinosaur finger puppets, and returned with a grin. "Let's use these," she said, proudly.

Scary!

A youthful, sugary-sweet Candyland turned into a prehistoric rendezvous. Suddenly, we were playing a game of "Jurassic Park On A Sugar High!" The worst (and perhaps most humorous) part was the appearance of playing with JUST the HEADS of dinosaurs. I mean, how creepy (and Godfather-ish) is that?!!

Suffice it to say, those dinosaurs--with their formidable heads set against a drippy, "Willy Wonka" background--gave me a severe case of the giggles! And laughter is almost better than candy and chocolate.

Almost!

(*wink*)

Boys Are Weird

2011-07-23T21:55:00.000-07:00

Tonight, as I was giving Cam his routine, "pre-bedtime" bath, something happened.

My soapy little man was slippin' and slidin' in the tub, merrily laughing at the yellow duckies that were gliding through the bubbles. After I had lathered and rinsed his hair (I know you're thinking, "What hair?") with lavender-smelling shampoo, I briefly turned my back on him to return a damp towel to the towel rack. When I turned back around, I saw him do something so ridiculously stereotypical of his gender it made me freeze in my tracks.

He stood up, took a whiz in the tub, and happily exclaimed, "OH WOW!"

(I saw his face, people! He was focused on the "range," he was admiring "the splash value." He was...proud??? And fascinated?? And IMPRESSED?!)

Sometimes, being the mother of a boy freaks me out!

So tonight--before some much-needed beauty rest--I'm going to "cope" by doing something ultra girly. Like tweeze my eyebrows...and watch Pride and Prejudice...while I paint my toenails...and apply a mud mask.

Sheesh! Boys are weird.

Accessories! Accessorize!

2011-07-20T23:31:00.000-07:00

"The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize."

--Clairee, "Steel Magnolias"

Aren't accessories fun?! A pretty scarf. A bright-colored belt. An animal-print flat. PEARLS! A flower hair-clip. Big earrings. Red heels. A gorgeous handbag. (I'm drooling a little on my keyboard...) I adore all of it! I have always loved accessories.

As a little girl, my favorite thing to do while visiting my beloved grandma was to play "dress-up" with her old costume jewelry. I'd sit on a stool in her kitchen and snap vintage, beaded, clip-on earrings onto my earlobes, while she rolled my hair into pin curls. Talk about glamorous! I would look through her red, cedarwood jewelry box and marvel at the glimmer and glitz of the contents within. I could never decide which necklace I wanted to wear...so I would wear all of them!

My grandma. Her kitchen. That old jewelery box. Some of my most cherished memories of childhood.

As a very mature and very grown up woman (I can hear you giggling from here), I still love to adorn myself with things that sparkle and shine...BUT...it was my Lilly who once reminded me of my very best accessory. Even better than the contents of a cedarwood box.

My smile.

One peaceful summer afternoon, I was rocking Cam to sleep for a nap. Miss Lilly came into the room and whispered, “Mom, I want to show you something. I drew a picture of you.” I laid my slumbering, baby boy down in his crib and followed Lilly out of the room.

“Where's your picture?,” I asked, enthusiastically, as we walked into her bedroom. She said, “Right there,” and pointed to her closet.

My daughter had drawn a picture of me in blue marker on her closet!!

Now, there were several reactions I could have had after the initial shock wore off. I could have been annoyed about having to take time to clean marker off the door. I could have felt frustrated at having taught Lilly over and over again that "we DO NOT color on anything but coloring books or paper Mom approves of." I could have felt stressed over trying to figure out what kind of cleaner I was going to use to get the job done. (I heart you, Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser.)

Honestly, the most alarming thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that Lilly had drawn me frowning!

"Does she think I'm mad and ornery all the time?," I couldn't help but wonder. "I know she knows how to draw smiley faces," I kept thinking. I pondered on my "portrait" all afternoon and well into the evening. The more I thought about it the more resolved I became to cultivate a happy and joyful home for my children; an environment of acceptance, contentment, and laughter. I decided to start by smiling more.

Your children watch you. They watch your face.
Remember to smile!
It's your greatest accessory.

(And don't forget the pearls!)

Confession

2011-07-18T15:18:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make.

Sometimes my kids drive me nuts.

There are days when I'd like to send them to work with McHubby! Days when I'd like to hide in the bathroom. Days I'd like to pull my hair out. (But the pretty, new hair color I'm sporting prevents me from doing so!) There are days when I feel like I might be raising zoo animals!

Today was one of those days.

After breaking up fights, mopping a flooded bathroom floor (bath time=FIASCO), and cleaning toothpaste out of the carpet, I had had enough! "Alright, alright," I hollered, "that's it! Get your shoes on, now. We are getting out of the house!"

I grabbed my keys and ushered us out the front door. Harmon's--our "friendly neighborhood grocer," with a deli that is to die for and a bakery that is deliciously sinful--was to be our sanctuary...err, destination. I hoped to locate some sanity somewhere between the cereal aisle and the snack foods aisle. Plus, we were out of milk and laundry detergent (and Monday is laundry day...blech), so a trip to Harmon's was absolutely warranted.

While perusing produce and inspecting bananas for optimal ripeness, I happened to notice Ms. Lilly was dancing around the cart with a bag of gummy frogs in her hand. (I told her she could have them as long as she "shared them with Cam" and "stopped squawking like a rooster" because she was "startling the other shoppers.") She was prancing and twirling around on her tiptoes; her messy ponytail flopping against her small shoulders. She was happily chanting: "Mom, you are the best mom ever. You are the greatest mom ever."

I was a little preoccupied by the nectarines, so was halfheartedly and distractedly replying, "That's nice, Lil" and "Thanks, Lil."

"Excuse me?," an older woman in a funky, floral dress asked. "Did she just tell you you're the best mom ever?"

"Oh! Yes, yes she did," I said, somewhat embarrassed.

The woman dropped some broccoli in a clear, plastic bag and said, "Overhearing her say that to you made my day!" She began to laugh, then asked, "Does she say that all the time?"

"She does," I said, also laughing.

The woman replied, "Well then, she must make your day too!"

KA-BOOM! Her comment, like a bolt of lightening, struck me down! I looked at Lilly--skinny legs pirouetting and brown eyes sparkling--and realized she does make my day brighter. Even hard days, like today. I just have to remember to look for it. Suddenly, in that epiphanic moment, everything changed. My day changed. My perspective changed. My attitude changed.

Had I just found my sanity in the produce section of Harmon's?!

As I walked out to my car--with a grocery cart full of kids (and lemon poppy seed muffins and jalapeno salsa and "Chile Picante con Limon" corn nuts...OH MY!)--I thought about attitude. Sometimes, all we have to do is change our attitude to improve our day. Sometimes, we need a woman in a funky, floral dress to remind us.

Art On The Lawn!

2011-07-15T10:43:00.000-07:00

Vincent Van Gogh, the brilliant and eccentric post-Impressionist artist from Holland, once said, "If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced."

To that inspiring quote I would add (no disrespect towards you, Mr. Van Gogh): "If you hear a voice within your mommy brain say, 'you can't paint on a big sheet, in the front lawn, with the kids..the neighbors will think you're crazy,' then by all means paint on the front lawn anyway. And enjoy a lovely afternoon art project with your little ones."

First, you need a BIG sheet (and a twirling preschooler).

Any ol' sheet will do. We purchased ours for two bucks at a thrift store.

Next, you'll want to stake the sheet down on your lawn. I pushed some long nails through each corner of the sheet, all the way down into the grass so that only the nail heads were showing.

Fill some styrofoam bowls with a variety of paint colors. Don't forget the sponge paint brushes! (Oooh, or kiddos could use their fingers and hands to create messy, Pollock-type art!)

Last step: Have fun painting happy little trees...or whatever you'd like...with your children! (Did you catch my Bob Ross reference?! Did you?! Did you?)

I asked Ms. Lilly Mae what she was making, and she replied, "I'm making a souffle."

Make a soufflé.

Make art.

Mostly, make memories.

"All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up."

--Pablo Picasso

Two Brothers And A Sister

2011-07-12T08:17:00.000-07:00

Do you have siblings? Are they as crazy as mine? Do you have a brother who tells hilarious stories about "stealing" a basketball standard from a foreclosure, while under the cover of night? Or another brother who refers to himself as, "Optimus Prime?" Do your grownup brothers enjoy "Phineas and Ferb" as much as most seven-year-olds? Do you have a sister who laughs like Shirley Temple and has the best-shaped eyebrows EVER?!

I do!

My siblings are nutsy and wonderful, funny and supportive. They each represent an important piece of the "B Clan" puzzle that, when put together, creates an endearing, beautiful "whole"--our family. We get along well, love one another immensely, and...

CAN NOT take a "normal" picture if the shape of Erika's eyebrows depended on it! (Wait, what?)

Observe:

See what I mean?

And finally...the "most normal-looking photo" we were able to take:

(I STILL look crazy!)

Clara Ortega eloquently stated: "To the outside world, we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time."

Perhaps that's why we take pictures like that...because deep down--and when we come together--we still feel like this...

Just kids.

Guest Post: Happy Fourth of July...Now, Simmer Down

2011-07-10T09:23:00.000-07:00

My Sunshine is a real "sparkler"... on the Fourth of July AND every other day of the year! Have a "Sunny" Sunday!

Dear Child/Teenager/or Child-like-teenager-like Adult,

I love the 4th of July, and heaven knows no one likes the prospect of small explosives more than yours truly, but I am telling you right now YOU NEED TO SIMMER DOWN (best said with a southern accent, so that is sounds like, "Simma dawn") with the fireworks!

As a child, I adored this wonderful time of year where we remember our amazing country we live in and all the men and women that serve in our military. I couldn't wait for the sun to go down and the fireworks to begin. I loved the junk we ate while enjoying the show, I loved the fact that we got to stay up waaayyyy past bed time; it was awesome. Speaking of military personnel. I feel this would be a good time to tell you about my Grandpa. He was a World War II veteran. He was IN the Battle of the Bulge (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Battle_of_the_Bulge), he didn't sit in some high school history class reading about, he was IN it. When he returned from the war he was physically unharmed, however, he was terribly shell shocked from being on the front lines during such a serious time of fighting in that war. Loud noises, such as balloons popping, doors slamming, or cars back firing, sent my poor old gramps diving for cover--hip replacements and all. Imagine how dreadful he found this time of year. Rockets red glaring and bombs bursting in airing left him as jumpy as a 5-year-old on a pogo stick (trust me on this point of reference). So, are you getting the irony? A holiday specifically designed to honor our veterans ended up somewhat traumatizing him. I didn't understand it...until now. Kind of.

You see, my children have the stomach flu. Not just any old stomach flu, we're talking the "armageddon" of stomach flus. If regular stomach flus were guppies, this one would be a full grown humpback whale. The conversation between my husband and I went something like this yesterday:

Me: "Good golly, we're gonna need a priest."
Husband: "What like 'last rites' kind of priest?"
Me: "No, no, like 'exorcise the demons' kind of priest"
Husband: (long pause while he considers this) "I'll get the yellow pages."
Me: "Nice try, but the yellow pages can wait. Now help me strip off these pillow cases...again."

So, you can imagine how traumatized I have been, when upon finally getting my poor sick babies settled in their beds for some much needed rest, you start with your loud popping and cracking of the fireworks at 11:00 on July 7th?? I'm not asking you to forgo the sparklers, I'm just asking you to please, for love of all that is good, limit your activities to the hours before 10:00. If you continue to kick up the kind of ruckus we've been experiencing these past couple of nights, you should know that I have a rolling pin and a temper and I'm not afraid to use them. Keep in mind that you shouldn't be difficult to locate as you keep sending up "signal flares" that make tracking you a cinch (rubbing my hands together evilly). Seriously, SIMMA DAWN NOW.

Thank you for your cooperation in this matter,
Sunshine
(Patriot, Proud Granddaughter, and EXHAUSTED Mommy)

Free Stuff, Dudes!

2011-07-08T16:10:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't love getting free stuff?

When I worked in the Distance Education office at USU, once a year the university would host a "Staff Assistant Appreciation Day." All of the staff assistants on campus would come together for a catered lunch and a "meet and greet" with office supply vendors...lots and lots of vendors. The vendors would bring stuff to give away--like pens, highlighters, tape dispensers, sticky notes, etc. I would fill a plastic bag with free "Office Depot" goodies. It. Was. Awesome. (And how nerdy do I sound right now?!)

I'm a sucker for the free hot dogs at RC Willey's Labor Day sale. I love the free samples you can get at Sephora. (Heaven!) Recently, I had a hankering for a burrito at Chipotle. The nice man working the pinto beans gave me a handful of coupons for free kids meals. HOORAY!!!!! Bless his burrito heart!

And of course, I can not forget my beloved "Big Burly Dude" at Great Harvest, who hooks me up with free cookies all the time. (I love that man.)

My point is, free stuff is fun! Would you like ME to give YOU something, for free? Like a DVD? From Feature Films for Families? Called, "The Velveteen Rabbit?" YOU WOULD!?! Well, here is what you need to do:

1.) Follow my blog. Click the "follow" button and make it official. (Sorry, this one is only open to newbies but I promise to do another giveaway in the future.)
2.) Leave me a message in the "comments" section and let me know you are a new follower.
3.) Leave your email address in the "comments" section too! I will contact you via email about where your DVD needs to be shipped. (I'll even tie a ribbon around it...and include a thank you note. Pretty awesome.)

I have SEVEN, brand new DVDs that need a good home! The first seven people I hear from will get one.

(UPDATE: THANK YOU TO ALL WHO ENTERED! MORE giveaways to come! I heart free stuff! 10:20am MST, 7/9/11)

As always, THANK YOU for reading!

(Note: Not affiliated in any way with Feature Films for Families!)

Bath-o-saurus

2011-07-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

I took a bath with a dinosaur today.

As I slid down into the lukewarm water, a plastic dinosaur floated by me. (Side note: My bath water is always lukewarm because I can't manage to get in the tub when I want to. Someone needs a diaper changed, or someone needs a drink and a snack, or someone needs help getting their head unstuck from the arm hole of a shirt. Sound familiar?)

I watched as the dinosaur "bobbed and weaved" around the Barbie that was floating at my feet. I couldn't help but notice the alphabet foam letters stuck to the wall, forming a "bath toy" perimeter around me. Suddenly, Cam threw open the door and ran into the bathroom. He launched his toy truck into MY tub, laughed, and then promptly left.

In that moment, I thought, "It is apparent I am a parent."

Do you ever have moments like that? When the reality of your situation hits you like a baby boy's truck flying through the air, and you realize with uncanny certainty that you have become the mother you always thought (or never thought) you'd be?! Does it become blatantly apparent to you that...well, you're a parent? Do you think to yourself, "Wow. I am such a mom!?"

Like when you talk extensively with a friend and "fellow mommy" about stretch marks, vacuum cleaners, and curing diaper rash; or when you go to the grocery store with bedhead because you're out of milk and your kids cannot live without it, even for a minute...you feel like such a mom. When your husband comes home from work and politely asks, "Didn't you wear that yesterday?", or when you insist that pancakes are a legitimate dinner item...you feel like such a mom. Your four-year-old weeps and wails because she can't wear panties with "Thursday" embroidered on them when it's a Tuesday, so you promise to wash "Tuesday" while she's at preschool if she'll "please, just wear Thursday" for now and then change later...you feel like a mom then, too!

You feel like a mom when you take a bath with a dinosaur.

And that's okay! The graham cracker in your hair, the spit-up on your shoulder, the house smelling like poopy diapers, the sippy cups, the missing toothbrushes because the baby is a "klepto," the preschool crafts, the messy kitchen, the stinky fridge, and the dinosaur in the bath tub--it is all okay. It's the "evidence" that you are a mom--and when you get right down to the nitty-gritty core of it, being a mom is pretty awesome-saurus!

Don't you extinct?...err, I mean, don't you think?!

And then there was James...

2011-07-01T09:59:00.000-07:00

My world sparkles a little more because my McHubby is a part of it. Where would I be if he wasn't in my life? With the creepy, goober-like USU cheerleader (or do they call themselves "stunt guys"?) who was SEVEN inches shorter than me and liked to serenade me with bad 80's ballads on his guitar??? (*Shudder*)

So today I celebrate McHubby's birth, because I think he's pretty spiffy! (And let's face it, a member of "The Lollipop Guild" singing "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" is just not right. It's not right, I tell you!)

Happy Birthday to James, a man who:

-once reassured me I DID NOT have cancer of the kneecap.

-got a little choked up when Lilly Mae was born.

-screamed (a very manly scream) in the movie theater, while watching, "I Am Legend."

-drove over fifty blocks (DURING A JAZZ GAME) to Crown Burger to get me the fries I was craving while I was pregnant with Cam. (Sorry, but it HAD to be their fries. Nothing else would do. I'm sure some of you can relate to being prego AND crazy!)

-can quote "Better Off Dead" in its entirety.

-held me in his arms and let me cry on his shoulder when Cam Man was two weeks old and I was feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.

-ALWAYS makes me laugh.

-loves me for me..."warts and all."

Happy Birthday, James! You could have been a born-on-the-fourth-of-July baby! To me, you're a real firecracker!

Ruby

2011-06-29T12:32:00.000-07:00

In a ballroom in the Little America hotel, a woman laughed and shouted, "Hey there, sister! Hey, girl!" I turned in my seat--away from the round luncheon table and my alfredo linguini--to see where the jubilant laughter was coming from. My eyes met two women in a familial-like embrace; talking and grinning while enjoying their affectionate reunion. I couldn't stop staring at one woman in particular---her dark hair twisted into a thick bun at the back of her head, the scarf traversing her forehead just above her eyebrows, the twinkle in her coal-black eyes--she was enchanting. Her smile lit up her face like a fourth-of-July sparkler against a night sky. She was magnetic.

I knew I HAD to meet her.

The next night, at the American Mothers' national convention, I found myself in the same beautifully decorated ballroom. My friend, Chantel, and I were preparing to leave after a fun-filled day of empowering workshops, good food, and keynote speakers. As Chantel and I walked through one of the many ballroom doorways, I saw her...

I timidly approached her and introduced myself. "I'm happy to meet you," she said to me, sincerely, "but you should know I don't shake hands. I give hugs and kisses...if that's alright with you."

"Absolutely!," I exclaimed. I laughed while she gave me a grandmotherly squeeze and planted a kiss on my cheek. She whispered in my ear, "May the Lord bless you and keep you." I knew I was in the presence of a special woman.

Her name is Ruby, and she's from Nebraska. In 1991, she was nominated for AMI's "Mother of the Year" in her state and won. The next year, she won the recognition of "National Mother of the Year." (An incredible honor that celebrates a mother's efforts in the raising of her family, as well as the service she gives in her community.)

Ruby, like most mothers, was eager to talk about her children. She showed me a couple of pictures of her two, handsome sons. Both are smart and successful and have had prestigious military careers. One is currently teaching in a professorship at a university in Michigan.

Then she told me about her "other sons"...the two hundred and twenty boys she has fostered over the years. She has provided a safe haven for delinquent and neglected boys (mostly adolescents) who would have otherwise "fallen through the cracks in the system," or ended up on the streets. She saved many from lives of substance abuse. She saved many from suicide, loneliness, and despair. She saved many young boys from habitual crime and disorderliness.

She loved all of them.

The world is a better place because Ruby is a part of it; the calling of motherhood is more noble because Ruby embraces it. What an example she has set for a "new generation" of mothers. In Christ-like emulation, she has openly and uninhibitedly loved those who are difficult to love. The outcasts. The down-trodden. The lost. The rejected. The unlovable. She took them in and exposed them to the sacredness and security of "home," and taught them about "belief in self" by example. She ultimately showed them that there are better and brighter paths to choose on life's journey; instilling the beliefs that they don't have to settle, they can rise above the ashes, it's their choice.

Ruby is inspiring. She is the embodiment of a beautiful truth, that reminds us of the power of a woman's influence: A good mom can teach her son to be a good man.

www.americanmothers.org

http://amiutah.blogspot.com

Guest Post: Sponge Who? Square What?

2011-06-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

Read a blog. Wear a fancy hat. Have a "Sunny" Sunday!

Dear Nickelodeon Animation People,

I would love to have been a fly on the wall in THAT brain-storming session. My guess is it went something like this:

Head Animator (hiccuping after a few too many): I've got it! It could be a sponge, um, yeah, that's it, a yellow sponge guy.
Second-in-command animator (drowsy from too much allergy medication...yawn): Yeah, that might work, he'll need a best friend, should we just do the star fish thing so it doesn't get too weird?
Head Animator: We're really cooking now (rubbing his hands together), and speaking of cooking, I just had the biggest idea since sliced bread, FRY COOK. He could be a fry cook for a cranky, greedy crab that runs a fast food joint the FDA wouldn't endorse if it were the last culinary establishment on earth...brilliant!!

Right, so you get the idea. My guess is, it went on like this for sometime with people who were not in their right mind throwing out ideas that were instantly ratified leaving us, the viewers, too stunned to even vocalize the questions bubbling (excuse the pun...but not really) up inside us. Questions like:

1.) Why a pineapple? Why not an eggplant (pause here for everyone to appreciate my brilliant reference and tie back to Aleisha's introduction post about me...snort)?
2.) How does a sponge named Bob cook fries at the bottom of the sea??? Hmm, I mean that defies every law of physics I ever slept through in high school.
3.) A squirrel? One of his friends is a squirrel...you don't think that's crossing a line somehow? A SQUIRREL?
4.) Why on earth would you go with briefs instead of boxers? Boxers are already square, doesn't that make more sense? This is madness!!

I digress. Originally, I drafted this letter in a vain attempt to suggest you re-think your programming. As a mother, I really couldn't find any redeeming qualities in your blue-eyed-phylum Porifera. Then one day I was watching an episode (hey, I'm a Mom, sometimes I zone out and this just happened to be on), where something catastrophic happened to poor Bob resulting in his being a melted puddled of goo on the ocean floor with two round eyes peering up at his peers. In the blink of an eye, he shook it off, bounced back (into his square shaped self) and tackled the trouble. As pathetic as this is going to sound, I realized that there have been plenty of times I, myself, have felt like a shape-less mass of goo; worn out, beat down, and um, um...less than attractive. In these moments, as much as it pains me to say it, I guess I can take a lesson from old Bob. That lesson being to say to myself, "Get with the program, you're a Mommy, time to pull yourself together and make some lunch." Sigh.

So, while I'm not asking you to pull the cartoon completely, maybe you could just limit it to one episode a day?

Now, "Who wants to lick my cheeks?"
-SpongeBob SquarePants

Sincerely,
Sunshine
(Cartoon connoisseur, common sense advocate, and exhausted Mommy)

Dissolve Soap Scum On Contact

2011-06-21T15:15:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie.

I had a crappy Monday. (What is it with Mondays, hmm? Why are they so frequently "blech"?)

The crappiness of my Monday involved:

     *Exhaustion, due to stinkin' allergies.
     *Headache, due to stinkin' allergies.
     *Adult acne. (Why is this an issue? Why, at 31? Why? Why, why, why, why, WHY, WHY??!!!!)
     *Washing, folding, and putting away 800 loads of laundry. (I really do not enjoy doing the laundry. I have spent a substantial amount of time pondering why this is so. The conclusion I have come to is this: It's the folding. I hate it. More specifically, I hate folding the socks. Yesterday, I sat on my bed in the middle of an all-out sock fiasco, and I wanted to scream. I have to keep track of socks labeled, "24 months," and socks labeled, "5T." I have to keep track of socks that have a black stripe on the toe and socks that have a gray patch on the heel. Ankle socks! Athletic socks! Crew socks! AND THEY'RE ALL WHITE! AAHH!!!)
   *Vacuuming the stairs...and almost falling down them in the process.
   *Scraping and picking and wiping sticky, mushed-up granola bar out of my kitchen tile's grout. (I thought Cam had been eating a granola bar. In actuality, he had chucked granola bar bits all over my kitchen floor. I pulled him out of his high chair and went to retrieve my broom from the closet. In the thirty seconds it took me to do that, Cam had stomped and jumped all over those bits like a crazy baby. He may have been laughing, manically...)
   *Deep cleaning my master bathroom, to include scrubbing and scrubbing the soap scum/nasty filth/slime/mold/gunk out of my shower. (It was a really dirty job and somebody had to do it. That "somebody" is me. Blech! Thank heavens for the almighty Tilex! It "dissolves soap scum on contact!")

I hate to admit this, but in the midst of my Monday madness, I neglected Ms. Lilly. I did not put together puzzles with her. I did not help her look for her tiny, plastic princess dolls. I was ornery. I was easily annoyed. I lost my patience with her, more than once. At the day's end, I felt lousy--despite a sparkling shower--because I knew I hadn't been a very good mom.

As I was putting Lilly to bed, she asked me if I would snuggle with her for a minute. I happily obliged and collapsed on her bed, utterly exhausted. We were lying on our sides, facing each other. Her small, skinny arm was draped across my neck, and my arm was around her waist. She put her dainty little face right on top of my nose. I could faintly feel her warm breath on my cheek. The following conversation transpired:

Ms. Lilly: Dad is my parent because he's my dad. And you are my mom, so you are my parent too.
Mama Leisha, yawning and smelling like bleach: That's right, Lil.
Ms. Lilly: So that means you guys are my parents.
Mama Leisha: Yes, indeed.
Ms. Lilly, happily: You are the best parents ever!
Mama Leisha, SHOCKED and completely "losing it": Oh, Lil! Such a sweet thing to say! I'm going to tell you a little secret, though...we have NO idea what we're doing. We've never been parents before. Sometimes we mess up. I mess up. I make mistakes. I really try to be a good parent to you. Every day, I try. I'm so sorry I wasn't a very good parent to you today. I love you, and tomorrow will be better.
Miss Lilly, sweetly, and like a wise old sage: Mom, it is ooh-kay. You already are the best parent. You don't need to worry. You are doing a great job, and I think you are a great mom.

Wow! Can you believe that? I thought about our "pillow talk" all night, and this is what I realized today: I had been so caught up in a crappy Monday and in making my bathroom sparkle, I forgot to see the "sparkle" all around me. And you know what? She's four, she's forgiving, and she thinks I'm doing a great job.

It's easy to feel like a lousy mom sometimes. It's natural. Common. Understandable. Being a mom is a tough gig! But remember (and most especially when you are feeling lousy), to your little ones you are everything.

That's waaaay better than Tilex.

Happy Father's Day!

2011-06-18T22:40:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day to my rad dad...who's still so hip I can't even handle it! And check out this picture, courtesy of my Auntie Cindy:

What a hoot! I can't decide if I hear banjos playing when I look at this "old school" picture, or Lynyrd Skynyrd's, "Free Bird." (Or "Goin' Courtin'," from Seven Brides For Seven Brothers!!) It's a great photo. And you know what? My dad is a great dad! I have learned a lot from him over the years, and fully respect his goodness, his selflessness, and his fun-loving, kind-hearted nature.

A Little Ol' List of Things I Have Learned From My Daddy-O

1.) When "Friend Bear" from the Care Bears is accidentally dropped into the swift-moving irrigation ditch, a good daddy will show his love for his little girl by sprinting after it and retrieving it.

2.) "Pink" Floyd is an English rock band known for their psychedelic rock music...NOT a Barbie doll, despite such a pretty first name.

3.) Dads can be best friends who take you to get your ears pierced and buy you cheddar popcorn at the mall.

4.) "Daddy Daughter Dates" are a really big deal when you are five or twenty-five.

5.) Dads have magic fingers that are able to pull a loose tooth so swiftly and so efficiently that NO pain is inflicted on the terrified seven-year-old!

6.) Orange sticks are a yummy treat...but can also serve as a peace offering.

7.) Play NICE with your siblings or you'll end up weeding the garden!

8.) Boys who drive fast, claim to be musicians, and have their tongues pierced are usually TROUBLE. Good girls should steer clear of bad boys, or be grounded for life.

9.) When you run out of gas while driving home from a party, and become stranded along the roadside late at night, a good dad will come to your rescue with a gas can. (A good dad will always come to your rescue.)

10.) Mustaches CAN be handsome.

11.) A father's blessing will calm your heart, heal your ailments, or give you the courage to face another school year.

12.) The power of the priesthood is real and magnificent.

13.) Love notes, hidden in scriptures, can prove to be an answer to prayers.

14.) Check the oil in your car often. Change it regularly. Otherwise, your car will explode.

15.) Good dads will forgive you when your car explodes.

16.) Trust in the Lord. Pray often. Heavenly Father hears you. He will help you.

17.) "Family prayer" time is a code name for "Roughhouse-With-Brothers" time.

18.) Many lovely emotions can be felt in a dad's embrace--warmth, peace, security, acceptance, love.

19.) A good man will honor his wife, protect his children, and share his "Aggie Dogs" at USU football games.

20.) Something extraordinary happens when a grown woman hugs and kisses her beloved dad. Her little girl self, tucked away deep down inside, resurfaces. She reminds the woman of all the "My Little Ponies" her dad brought her upon returning from out-of-town business trips. The little girl reminds the woman of the hours spent at the kitchen table working on math problems and biology assignments; of quality time spent together, lessons learned, and conversations shared.

It doesn't matter how old you are, when you hug and kiss your dad, you feel like his cherished little girl. Trials abate. The world ceases to be scary. All that matters is that he rescued your Care Bear.

And you love him more for that.

Summer Love!

2011-06-16T16:16:00.000-07:00

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance."

--Bern Williams

I love summer!   It sends my heart soaring with nostalgia as it reminds me of past adventures with my McMan.   We first met while working the same summer job...THIRTEEN years ago!   Eventually, we went our separate ways (for four years) and lost track of each other, only to be reunited one summer by a mutual acquaintance.   We hung out as pals (*insert heavy-hearted sigh*) and enjoyed various summertime activities and get-togethers--baseball games, BBQs, and late night movies--with a great group of our friends.   We had a lot of fun that summer.

As pals.

We were still spending time with each other the next summer, but in very different ways.   (Stop reading, Dad.)   James would drive his old, white, Chevy Blazer to the base of the mountain behind his parents' home.   He'd drive until the smooth, paved road turned to gravel, and until the gravel came to a complete dead end.   He'd turn the Blazer around so we were facing the valley below us.   It was usually nighttime.   (Ah, summer nights in Cache Valley are heaven sent!)   From our high vantage point, we could see all the stoplights in the distance--tiny and bright, like a strand of Christmas tree lights--and we'd watch them change from green to yellow to red.   James and I would listen to Coldplay's "Parachutes" album and smooch like fools in that Blazer on the mountain.   We made-out a lot that summer.   We said, "I love you," that summer.   We got scared of what the Future held for us--like an ominous stranger standing before us, waiting to reveal what his cupped hands kept hidden.   We grew in faith that summer.   We got engaged that summer.   We prayed a lot.

And finally, we were married that wonderful, wonderful summer.   Eight summers ago.

Summer is for lovers.

Summer is for me and James.

Something New

2011-06-12T17:29:00.000-07:00

It's fun to try new things.

Like the time I went rappelling. It was most terrifying, and I knew my rope would break and send my little body hurtling toward the rocks below. My heart was thumping, thumping, thumping in my chest as I took my first step off the jagged cliff. Guess what? The rope didn't break and the descent was exhilarating.

A new thing proved to be a good thing.

Or, there was the time I tried eggplant. I was traveling throughout China with a stellar group of adventurers. While staying in the southern part of China, in Yangshuo--a breathtakingly lush and majestically beautiful city of jutted mountains and fertile rice fields--a woman offered to cook us a meal and serve it to us in her home for a small fee. Truthfully, I'm not sure how she prepared the eggplant or what she served with it. I could not give a name to most of the items I ate while visiting that mythical country, but I do know the eggplant--served over rice in small, porcelain bowls--was incredible.

A new thing proved to be a good thing.

I have the opportunity to try a new thing on this blog. A couple of times a month, on Sunday, I will be posting the work of a guest blogger. Remember my beloved Sunshine?

I invited her to post on my blog in a series I'm going to call, "Have a Sunny Sunday." (I'm getting giddy with excitement for this "new thing," even as I type this!) The inspiration for the idea came as I was rereading a countless number of emails Mama Sun has sent me over the years. THEY ARE HILARIOUS. I believe Sunshine's posts will be insightful, meaningful, witty, and fun. I sincerely hope they make your day!

Here's a "taste" of what you are in for...and it's even better than eggplant.

Have a Sunny Sunday!

*Email message from March 19, 2010*

I thought this would be good for a giggle, this is an email I sent to the Pier 49 Pizza company, I think it's a true testament as to how I really just don't take things too seriously (well, okay, at least things like this):

Dear Pizza People,

I don't know if whoever is reading this knows what the term "blow out" means in reference to a 19-month-old babies' diaper. But, that is what I was dealing with this evening while dining in your restaurant. You can only imagine my puzzlement upon entering the ladies' room and discovering that there was no where to change my daughter's diaper. "Hmmm, this is a pizza restaurant, most of the tables would indicate 'family' dining...strange." So, I now take my baby, sporting a diaper that would make a grown man cry it's so disgusting, out to my mini-van (I know the stereotype in all of this is ridiculous, I think so too) and try to salvage what is left of my patience and self-respect while wrestling her squirming little self into a clean diaper in a spring snow storm. All the while, my husband is inside chasing my 4-year-old and my other 19-month-old (yes, they're twins... no, it's not as fun as it sounds) all over the now crowded restaurant. So, please, on behalf of myself and the other patrons that politely "tolerated" our presence this evening... have a changing station installed in the bathroom!

P.S. You're probably going to want to consider having more than 2 high-chairs on hand as we maxed you out on that one too.

Thank you for your consideration,
Sunshine
(Patron, pizza fan, and exhausted Mommy)

Cereal Box, or Best Morning Ever

2011-06-08T13:36:00.000-07:00

When you were a kid, did you read the cereal box during breakfast?

For me, that was the best part of my morning meal--plopping down at the kitchen table with a big bowl of cereal in my hands and the bright-colored box in front of my face. I loved reading about the exotic animals Toucan Sam met on his trip to the rain forest (to recover his missing Froot Loops), or helping Lucky the Leprechaun find his way through the shamrock maze printed on the box. What fun! A bowl of crunchy, sugary, marshmellow-y goodness was always a great way to start the day...adding fun facts, games, and cartoon characters to the box the cereal came in was just a bonus. (And DO NOT even get me started on the awesome prizes hidden in cereal boxes in the 1980's! None of this "redeem-five-proofs-of-purchase-for-a-yo-yo-AFTER-mailing-in-the-proofs-of-purchase-WITH-a-$5.99-shipping-and handling-fee" mumbo jumbo. No way! We got Yoda pencil toppers and squirt guns in our Frosted Flakes. It was rad.)

The other day I was sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast with my kids. Sure enough, I found myself reading the back of the box of Apple Jacks. (Gosh, those are good! Cam likes to eat them too...when he's not launching them at me or trying to stick them in his ears.) I discovered something so delightful to my heart, so wonderfully hilarious, that I HAD to share.

I looked at my cereal box:

I looked at my Cam Man:

I looked at my cereal box again. I looked at Cam again. Cereal box. Cam. Cereal box. Cam. Then I laughed out loud--a blaring, honking, uninhibited belly laugh that frightened Lilly and made my sides ache.

MATER!! Oh my goodness, I have a Mater! CAM IS MATER! Isn't that funny?!!

I laughed and laughed. I kissed that sweet boy right on the lips and gave him more Apple Jacks. He just grinned at me with those "Mater teeth." Best. Morning. Ever.

You know, I don't need a prize in my box of Apple Jacks. Those tasty apple and cinnamon Os are enough for me. Besides, I already have the best, best, best prize in the whole entire world...

The little man who likes to throw cereal in my hair!