First Day 2006

First Day 2007

Kai has been a part of this great church preschool/daycare since she was 8 months old. I remember the first day I dropped her off there. She was so little and her teacher took her out of my arms and assured me she’d only cry for a little while. I stood outside the tinted window in her classroom watching her for a few moments before reluctantly heading to work.

And she did get used to the environment there. And she grew to love it. And the teachers became family and we trusted these people to take care of our most precious baby.

Each year she moved into a new classroom. Each classroom became more grown-up than the one before. And she grew from a baby to a little girl.

But, tomorrow Kai will be walking through the doors to this school for her last time as a student there. She will leave behind friends she’s known since the age of 8 months to come home for homeschool Kindergarten.

And I am absolutely positively terrified that I am making the wrong decision for her. Because this, I am realizing, is where parenting gets hard.

Knowing what to do when your baby has an ear infection, or a stomach bug, or painful teething is easy. There are concrete and unchanging answers to these problems. Knowing how to potty train, or wean from the bottle, or pick developmentally appropriate toys is something we can all figure out how to do with a little help from Google and our friends.

But these big decisions, the ones where we make choices that affect the emotional, spiritual, and educational lives of our children, the ones where there are no answers to be Googled, no concrete and definitive truth, these are the decisions that define us as parents. And these are the decisions that tear our hearts out every time we make them.

As I sit here, crying on the sofa remembering all of the ways my girl has grown these past 4 years and wondering if we’re going to damage that growth with this choice, I know that we are entering into a new phase of parenting. A place where there are no certainties and no absolutes and no way to know whether we’re doing the right thing until we’re in the thick of it.

I realize that this is the beginning of a thousand difficult decisions to come. I know they are only going to get harder. But, I am thankful that I am blessed with the opportunity to make them. Because these decisions mean we are all growing. They define the direction of my life as much as my children. And I am anxious to see where these decisions take us all…

Not much has been happening on the chicken project since I last posted. They’ve been growing, but that’s about it.

But, a couple weeks ago our good friend David (who, incidentally, has a totally awesome wife who reads this blog and should really start blogging, too. **Hint, Hint**) came over to build our chicken coop with Thomas so we could get the now grown chickens out of our basement.

And, TA-DA! Here it is. Isn’t it nice? The whole project took about 6 hours and $130 to complete. Which isn’t bad when you compare that to the cost of the ones on My Pet Chicken. The coop is built around a chicken nesting box my mom found for us for only $30. The back is on hinges and comes off so we can collect the eggs from the back of the coop.

The chickens love it and I can’t wait until I get to go out and collect eggs from the backyard!

Here’s another pic of our little agricultural project. We’ve got the garden and the chickens and, well, I suppose that’s it for now. Until I convince Tal to let me get a goat! (preeeetttty pleassseee, honey?)

Check out my zucchini. Can you believe this? And I’m proud to say this zucchini was grown in my very own backyard. I’m gonna make some fierce zucchini bread with this. Lots of it.

Anyone want some?

I’ve had several people email and comment with questions on how to make a diaper cake. So I thought I’d do a little tutorial. Now, I’m just giving directions based on my totally non-expert experience so there are probably a million better tutorials, but I thought I’d do one just the same.

It’s a fun gift and one you can actually adapt for other occasions. I’ve made a lingerie cake (see bottom pic) for a bachelorette party and I think it could easily be done with t-shirts for a birthday, too. Once you get the basic concept down you can do all kinds of cool things with it!

Supplies:
2 packs (or more) of diapers (I usually get generic since they tend to be white with little printing on them and make for prettier cakes)
1 package of light colored assorted sized rubber bands
decorative tray or cardboard for base
Wooden dowel rod or paper towel roll
Decorative ribbons, cake toppers, baby charms, silk flowers
optional, gifts (pacifiers, baby wash, etc.) to hide within the cake or use to decorate the outside of the cake.

Step One: Roll diapers starting at the top of the front side of the diaper. The back of the diaper should be facing out when the roll is completed. Secure with rubber band.

Step Two: To make the layers of the cake, take one very large rubber band and wrap it around several diapers. Continue adding diapers shaping the layer into a circle. I’ve found it works best to add diapers to the center of the layer. Once you have the circle shape you can add diapers until you reach the size you prefer.

Step Three: Follow step two for the subsequent layers making each layer smaller than the one before it. I usually make the second and third layer smaller by one diaper row.

Step Four: Make room in base for paper towel roll or dowel by removing a center diaper in each layer. Stack diaper layers around for center support.

Step Five: Now that you have the cake structure complete, wrap ribbon around each layer to hide the rubber bands and get ready for the fun part! Add cake toppers and other decorative items or gifts to the cake to give it more of a cake-like look.

Step Six: Put decorated cake onto platter or cardboard base and serve!

The pic below is one of my favorite (and most difficult) creations. It was a lingerie cake for my sister’s bachelorette party. The polka-dot part was made from inverted bra cups. The rest of the cake was made with panties, camisoles, and a towel wrap.

I’ve been slacking in the craftiness department. But, yesterday I got the chance to make a diaper cake for a friend’s shower. I LOVE diaper cakes in a big way. They’re fun to make and make a cool centerpiece for showers.

I’ve made a few for different friends and family, but this one had the coolest top I’ve ever used. Check her out. She’s super mom-to-be. Don’t you just love her? I want her to come with two toddlers and a minivan. Then she’d find a home in the center of my dashboard. Kind of like the patron saint of moms. Except there is a probably a real patron saint of moms that I don’t know about. You know, one who doesn’t wear spandex.

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Proof positive that if fashion can be a crime, my family is the fashion mafia. And we force you into the “family business” at a very young age…

I’ve apparently also inherited my mom’s chop-the-top-off-your-kid’s head photo technique. Just one more way I’m turning into my mother!

For more blasts from the past, visit That Family’s site for Fro’ Me to You…

If you’re like me you are sick and tired of spending your hard earned money on gas.

My husband has the misfortune of spending about an hour a day in heavy highway traffic in order to get to work. Couple that with the gas guzzling SUV and we had about $500 a month in gas expenses for his commute. That’s just his car, people. Seriously, can you believe it?

So, we had to find something that worked for us. Atlanta is one of those crazy spread out cities and our public transportation is kind of a joke. At least, that’s what we always thought. And, taking the train to work every day was certainly no where on our radar screen.

But, when we sold the Xterra and were faced with the prospect of either buying a gas saving car we didn’t love or a gas guzzling car we did, we decided to abstain from buying anything new. And, we did something we never would have imagined in our future.

We became a one car family and started taking public transportation. And, amazingly, we liked it. Every morning I get up and take Thomas to the bus station. He rides the bus to the main train line and hops on. He takes it right downtown and then walks about a mile to work. And, it actually takes him less time to do that than it did to drive it in traffic.

I know it isn’t for everyone and I always thought it wouldn’t work for us, but it has changed our lives in a few great ways:

1. I am forced to get my behind out of bed and take Tal to the bus station which has the added benefit of getting my day started much earlier. This makes me a much more productive mom.

2. We avoided another 60 month loan and saved $$ on car insurance with just one car.

3. Thomas is walking 2 miles a day and getting in better shape.

4. We’re a little greener now.

5. We’re saving about $500 a month in gas in return for a $52 bus/train pass that lasts the whole month.

I’d say all in all it has been a great arrangement. And, while it may not work for everyone, you might be surprised to find out it works for you.

That’s what is working for me this week. For more WFMW, head over to Shannon’s Dryer and check out the great tips!

Dear Feminists,

I have always considered myself one of you. Always.

I mean, I went to an all-girls high school. And a womens’ college. In fact, for years, there were members of my family who wondered if I was more than just a feminist. Maybe ’cause I didn’t date until I was 21? And, geez, I just like the Indigo Girls music. Why does everyone make that such a big deal?

Anyways, I digress. If you were to ask me if I were a feminist I would say yes. Even when I quit my job to stay home with my girls. And when I decided to homeschool. And when I signed up as a Mary Kay Lady.

I believe women should be treated equally with men. Maybe not the same as men, but with an equal amount of respect and dignity. So, that makes me a feminist, right? I mean, heck, I hyphenated my last name. That has to count for something,

But, I am starting to wonder if I’m just fooling myself. Because, my feminist friends, I have been behaving like bad feminist.

Case in point:

The other day it was time to upgrade our chickens from starter feed to…whatever it is that comes after starter feed. So, I went to the feed store to get food. And I could have googled it so I would know just what they needed. But, I didn’t. And I found myself in the feed store (a bastion of masculinity and testosterone second only to the men’s room at the Super Bowl) reverting to some scary gender role stereotypes.

Since I didn’t know what I needed I decided to fake it and ask for a 50lb bag of chicken feed. The very big, very young farmer boy looked at me with a look I recognize as one I give to my kids and asks, “what kind of chicken feed? scratch? or bla-bla-bla*? or something bla-bla*?”

To which, I completely switch into my helpless female voice and say, “Oh, man. I don’t know. My husband asked me to come and get it and I can’t remember what he said to get. I don’t want to call him ’cause he’ll clobber me for not remembering (oh, yeah, and he doesn’t have a clue what I should get) do you think you could help me figure out what I need?”

And, suddenly, I was swarmed with overall-wearing farm boys anxious to save me from my chicken dilemma. It was too fun. I got my feed, had it carried out to my car, was treated so sweetly by those feed store boys, and preserved my husband’s reputation for farm-knowledge.

So, feminists, I think this must mean I’m out of your club. I can’t imagine anything less in keeping with your ideals. Which is a bummer ’cause I sure do like your music…

*not intended to be an exact representation of terms used by the delightfully helpful feed store boy.

Oh, this one might just be as embarrassing as the fact that I am hopelessly addicted to Army Wives on Lifetime. It pretty much guarantees my eternal uncoolness.

My total truth this week is that I LOVE country music. I mean, I looooove it. Listen to it all the time. Cry at the sappy songs. Dance to the “fun” ones. And, generally make a fool of my self while listening to it. In fact, if Thomas came home tonight and said we were going out to a honkey-tonk I’d be in my boots and out the door in under a minute.

But, that won’t happen ’cause Thomas is horrified at this development. See, I didn’t always love country music. I went through a country phase in high school (complete with cowboy hat and boots) and then it went away. In fact, before Thomas and I were married I was into more punk music. I wore vintage tshirts and old Izod cardigans and cons. I was cool. At least I thought I was.

But, then when I got pregnant with Kai I started “craving” country music. What can I say? Some women have really strange and unhealthy cravings for charcoal and dirt and vodka. I craved country music. And then it just stuck.

And as much as I may like it, I know it just isn’t “cool.” Which is probably why I turn it to a rock station every single time I go through a drive-thru. I just am not ready to be the mom in the minivan rocking out to Faith Hill. That is just more than I am ready to admit face-to-face with the 18-year-old kid serving me my Chick-Fil-A…

So, what about you? Do you ladies have any musical dirty secrets or guilty pleasures?

I realize daily what a naive mom I actually am. I think I’m all tough and smart and, whatever, and them something like this happens and I realize I am just a big, fat sucker.

See, Kai HATES having her hair washed. Hates it. With a passion. And I know this. But, still, when we are sitting at the dinner table having mentioned it is a hair washing night and she suddenly falls ill with a teeerrriiibbblllle stomach ache what do I do? I believe her.

Of course I ask her repeatedly if this is for real or just a ploy to a.) get Pepto-Bismol (she’s suck a med junkie) or b.) get out of washing hair. She assures me it is neither and proceeds to ball up and cry - with real tears - about how much her tummy hurts. So, I do what any good mom would do. I believe her. And I call our friend who is a nurse and ask her what I should do. Because this, I say, seems serious.

She gives me a solution that turns out to be the perfect fix though for reasons other than you might think. After asking a bunch of questions and discussing her day’s bowel patterns (or lack thereof) she decides I should try a glycerin suppository. Which, I just happen to have in the medicine cabinet, thank you very much.

And, so I gently go to my precious sobbing writhing miserable 4-year-old and say, “Honey, Ms. Yvonne told me something that is going to make you feel better. I need to give you this medicine.” If I’m honest, at this point, I am really worried because Kai is never sick and I’m thinking this must be really bad. Appendicitis bad. Perforated something-or-other bad.

She looks at me pitifully and opens her mouth so I can give her the medicine. And, then I speak the words that have healing powers over my child, “No, honey, this goes in your bottom.”

Silence.

“In my BOTTOM?? No, I feel much better. My tummy says it is feeling much better. I think if we cuddle and watch Blue’s Clues for a while I will be fine. How about that? Does that sound good, Mommy? Let’s do that. I don’t need that in my bottom.”

And, it is at that point that I realize: I. have. been. had.

It is equal parts frightening and impressive the lengths my girl went to in order to convince me of the seriousness of her “tummy problems.” So I react in the way any good mom would.

I give her the glycerin suppository anyway. And, now, I’m thinking she won’t be faking a tummy ache any time in the near future…