Mom wisdom debunked... in other words, how in God's dear sweet name am I supposed to do that?

What is the number one piece of advice given to any new mom?

Sleep when your baby does.

By far, that's got to be it. Ignore the dishes growing mold in your sink, the growling in your own belly, the feline sized dust bunnies lurking in the corners of your house, and the fact that you can actually smell the food rotting in your refrigerator WITH THE DOOR CLOSED.  The tumbleweed sized balls of dog hair wafting through your house? Step over.

With any luck the cast of Hoarders will show up with a camera crew and take care of it for you, while you nap peacefully on the couch.

Just make sure that you don't look down at the pouch of your belly which at some angles still looks like it contains a baby, because that will make you want to do sit ups. Don't breathe deeply, or on second thought, you may want to, because the smell of the body odor coupled with the inevitable five or six spit ups may actually induce a sweet, restful coma. And for Heaven's sakes, don't walk past the mirror. You'll want to snap a photo of the stranger in the glass with greasy roots, untamed eyebrows, chipped nail polish clad in sweatpants and an over large shirt, and post it on www.peopleofwalmartwebsite.com, because that sure as hell can't be YOU.

I've got a new rule for new moms.

Delegate. Delegate, Delegate.

Call your friends, your relatives, your neighbors. Stop worrying what the house you look like, and get some help in there.  Have a team of people help you do everything that needs doing, and then, take your nap. You'll sleep better.

I gave birth to the Devil.

It's not the first one. Although she and I only speak the same language every second Thursday, and on days that involve something she REALLY WANTS TO DO, she's genuinely probably the sweetest tween on the planet.

It's not the second one. No. While, if left alone with an empty shampoo bottle, two paper clips and a My Little Pony, she could probably build an atom bomb and solve world hunger, she's okay, too. Because she doesn't have a subtle, or quiet, bone in her body, you KNOW when she is up to something, and her plots are fairly easy to foil. Like, when she was trying to flood the upstairs bathroom, I knew it, without stepping up the stairs.

She's not quiet.

 Nope.

 The real wild one is, by far, the quietest. She's built, solidly, like her marginally older sister, and that provides me some advantage, since if she were mouse like, I'd probably never be able to find her except when she wanted to eat. She can cause mass destruction in the blink of an eye, and you will NEVER HEAR IT COMING.  I just came back from warming up my coffee, to find that she had sidled her way past my homemade barricade, slipped behind the couch, took out the end table, and was attempting to rewire the lamp.

She did this in the time it took me to walk out to the kitchen and pour coffee. No cream, no sugar, because I'm alone with her and I know I don't have time for bells and whistles. Caught, she gave me an angelic smile, and slipped back behind the couch again.

So she could come and give me a huge snuggle, with sweet smiles and giggles. How can I even scold her? She's too freaking cute!

See? The Devil.

Past meets Present

Today was a beautiful day.

The sky was perfect, the sun golden, the wind light and delicious.

My children were almost half as wild as they can be. Actually that's not true, they were perfectly well behaved and remarkably kind to each other.

It was a perfect day.

Except, I miss my grandparents, and their ghosts were following me all around the land of make believe. I could see my grandma standing outside the haunted house (yes, the same haunted house they took me to when I was three.) I'm fairly sure no one has dusted it in the last thirty or so years.

My grandfather standing back and watching me in the field of candy canes. The maze I used to run through as fast as I could. The train ride that I thought was hours long when I was younger was really just a couple of short minutes.

It seemed like every time I turned the corner I was fighting back tears. Sad tears, as I know I missed the ends of my grandparents lives, and happy tears as I watched my own children play with their great grandfather. I get so caught up in every day moments of what I need to get done that we don't visit with people as much as we should. We do the dishes and the laundry and the cleaning and the packing instead.

Oh, it was such a perfect, bittersweet, wonderful day. A day I will hold on to till I'm taking my own grandchildren to visit the same park.

Another minute I want to hold, shining in front of me, and watch it in my mind time and again and again and again.

My Ugly Green Monster rears it's head, does yours?

Well, I'm off to the post office this morning, on the way to visit my dad. I sold not one, but two items on ebay this week, with at least two more to sell today. I'm up... ten bucks. It seems a little effort heavy, for only ten dollars, since I do have to run to the post office to ship, and I can't stop grabbing the computer to see how my auctions are doing. It's like waiting for water to boil. Ugh. Still, ladies who have been doing this longer than I have tell me the initial fascination fades. I hope so.

For father's day, MissAngelBaby took her first steps in front of her great-grandpa. And only her great grandpa. She did it multilple times in front of him, but I don't have an exact count, because the stubborn little thing waited till I turned around EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Still, if I was going to miss the event, I couldn't be happier that he got to see it.

This morning Mr. Lovinangels told me he has a friend who has a baby MissAngelBaby's age, that took five steps the other day. "He's ahead of her?"I practically shouted. My husband gave me an odd look. "Other people have smart babies, too, you know," he laughed at me.

Yes, but my baby is supposed to be the smartest and the best.

Do you ever fall into this trap? Pushing your child towards a milestone simply because her peers have reached it? I thought I was above such nonsense, but there it is. My gut reaction is, my baby should be first. Wow. I've got some soul searching to do. I should just be grateful my kids are progressing normally, that God has given me three healthy, beautiful girls.

Oh, well, perfection as a mother has not been achieved by anyone to date. I'll work on it.

In the meantime, crawling over stacks of boxes is getting to be quite an adventure. And I'm up ten bucks in my goal to make money, bringing it to -140. Yay me!

Coping with Picky Eaters and Food Jags.

If you've spent any time at all around a group of mommies, you've heard of a picky eater. The child who will eat NOTHING but grilled cheese. You see the smiles pass through the group, as each mom recalls at least two seemingly unending months when each child consecutively would eat nothing, nothing at all, but one or two things. The battles, the endless frustration, the fear that said son or daughter would stop growing completely if not fed meal after meal of the same. exact. dish. Prepared the same. exact. way. (No switching out elbow noodles for penne, Mom!)

Personally, I don't buy into it. My little monsters, ahem, ANGELS go through, and get over, their food issues in a relatively short amount of time. I put what I make in front of them, and move on with my life. I like my food hot, and I'm not going to waste time with someone who's not even hungry when I am.

That's right, I said, NOT HUNGRY.

But, it's dinner time!!! (or lunch, or breakfast!)

Children don't have a disfunctional relationship with food. They are born with a clean slate. We teach them to be crazy about food. It's the one surefire way a twenty eight pound toddler can best a two hundred pound daddy. We beg, we plead, we cajole, we make giant asses out of ourselves trying to get the little monsters (ahem, angels) to eat whatever we've prepared for them. And they love it. They love the attention, the show, the way the world stops for them.

Enough, already.

The next time your child refuses a meal, remember a couple of things.

His or her stomach is the size of his or her little fist. Chances are that stomach has crackers, juice, milk, banana, grapes or cookies in it. If you are that concerned that he/she isn't eating at meals, cut off the all day buffet table.

He or she will be LESS HUNGRY as the day goes on. Grown ups have a strange relationship with food. For some reason, we eat our biggest meal at dinner, when we are winding down for the day. Kids, who haven't been psycologically reset yet, eat when they need to eat.

They only need about 40 calories per inch of height per day. Ok, so lets say that's 1000 calories, which is a good average. So in the morning, the little one eats a half of a bagel, (100 calories) a glass of juice (100 calories) and maybe some cream cheese (50 calories). Then at snack she has a banana and a glass of milk (230 calories). At lunch she eats the better part of a grilled cheese, milk, and some apple slices (approx 400 calories). Then, after nap, you offer her some whole grain cookies, and a glass of water. (100) cals.

By dinner, you're having a panic attack because she won't eat. Guess what? She doesn't need to!

At this point, you can enter a power struggle, and reteach her to keep eating when she's not hungry (obesity epidemic, anyone??) or you can smile, and give her veggies with her breakfast from now on so she'll eat them.

At the risk of sounding Grandma, no kid ever starved themselves to death. They are learning their cues from you, so teach them well!

In Defense of Modesty...

I spend a lot of time over at cafemom...love the prizes, giveaways, the political discussion, and a lot of the bloggers. The militant mommying, not so much. From carseats to breastfeeding, express a dissenting opinion, and the naysayers come out in force.

I've seen hundreds of opinions expressing that it's perfectly ok to breastfeed in public. Even that you should encourage a nursing mom not to hide. Personally, this nursing mom thinks it's bull. Breastfeeding is my choice, and every witty word has been expressed by loftier thinkers than I extolling its virtues. But the bottom line is, it still involves a breast. A part of the body that is considered highly sexual in nature. Heck, not even considered. Breasts are fondled, photographed, fantasized about, and exposure in a film is strictly PG13. Men (and some women) see them and think sex, sex, sex. What is so hard to understand about that?

Nursing a baby changes your relationship with your breasts. Suddenly, they are function over form, and nurturing hormones flood your body every time you do it. It's good for you, it's great for baby, and it's completely free. No wonder women get so enamored with the right to do it. No wonder they stand up, passionately, for their right to do so. No wonder witty words abound.

I will never be one of those women. I think a breast is a breast and it belongs in a shirt. I believe that it is easy enough to feed your baby modestly and still go about your life, without forcing your opinions, and the sight of your breasts on everyone surrounding you. Nursing accessories abound to help people stay covered. I've breastfed three babies, for over four years of my life. When my baby is hungry, we find a quiet, private place to go, where both of us can concentrate on nursing.

I can't imagine that many babies nurse well in a public environment. I know none of mine do, even if I go in a bathroom to settle down with Angelbaby, she's looking around every second there is a noise. It seems like public nursing is more for the convenience or political stand of the mom. It sure doesn't serve the baby, if they are like mine.

That's just me. I know the militant mommies abound. I understand their passion. But please don't tell me I don't need to cover up, or that my parenting skills are somehow inferior because I have respect for others around me. I will continue to go and find someplace quiet, where no one else has to look at my breasts. I will sympathize with people who find public breastfeeding "icky". I will continue to live and let live.

It's your right to breastfeed in public. It's my right not to. Neither one of us is a better parent than the other because of this.