As I've told you before, I'm an only child.

As a matter of fact, my mother and grandmother were only children, too.

Aside from the whole "small family reunion" thing, a downside to all this only daughter-ness is that I don't always know how boy children work.

My oldest child is a girl. I've been a girl. I "get" the girl thing.

The boy thing?

Not so much.

My middle child, a boy, is nearly 12 years old, and my oldest is a girl.

She's 13 and is a very dominant personality. It is impossible to ignore her, and sometimes I get so caught up with her, that I forget he's growing up, too.

Earlier today, he responded extremely rudely to something I said, so his punishment was that he wasn't allowed to go to the store with his dad and brother to pick out a movie. He had to stay in his room instead.

He is also very, very, very, very, very bull-headed, (has been since he was a wee child) and he still didn't respond appropriately to me when I went to talk to him.

Did I mention the bull-headed part?

Anyway, I went back and explained to him yet again why he was being punished, and yet again he responded inappropriately.

Here I was trying to talk to him to finish it up and let him out of his room, and he would have nothing of it.

I walked away wondering if the hospital had given me the wrong child 11 years ago and then it dawned on me: he's nearly a teenager.

I guess he never ages in my head since I'm often caught up with his sister. Then, I'm surprised when something like this happens and I remember he's no longer 8 years old.

I recognize that I need to do something about that, but I may just toss him out the window, instead.*

Yep, he's almost a teen.

(* No teens or pre-teens were harmed in the making of this post. It is a joke. I wouldn't throw him out the window, who would mow the grass, then?)

Posted by Busy Mom at 7:37 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

Here I am, minding my own business and fighting with Virginia over the blue playdoh when Jenn calls me and says, "Umm, if you're not doing anything important, could you maybe scout some writing talent? Because I have eight proposals, three cesarean sections and a HIPPA law to rewrite before midnight and I'm a little overwhelmed."

Sure! I say. Give me a password! I shout.

AND HERE I AM.

I have a password and a username and I'm not afraid to use it.

I have ideas and whims and flights of fancy and they are flying, FLYING COME FLY WITH ME.

Ladies? Gents? Shall we take this blogging world by the balls and let it know we're here? Oh, yes. I think we shall.

Bring me your tired and wordy and misspellers and grammatical errors and I will engulf you all and hold you to my bosom for editing. Bring it. And bring it to crystal@mommybloggers.com.

I'm waiting.

And I promise to brew some decaf. Ahem.

Posted by Crystal at 1:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

The following entry was written especially for Mommybloggers by our guest blogger, Julie of Mothergoosemouse.

I was a Girl Scout for five years. While I earned my share of merit badges and went to sleep-away camp each summer, the area of scouting in which I really excelled was cookie sales. And not because my grandmother bought a dozen boxes of Thin Mints each year (which she squirreled away in the freezer and brought out as a treat in the heat of August).

Not because I was a fabulous salesperson either. And certainly not because I spent every afternoon trekking around the neighborhood, ringing doorbells.

No, it was because I knew how to use the telephone properly, and I wasn't scared to do so.

I called all of our neighbors. And my grandmother's neighbors. And my parents' friends. I dialed, I identified myself, I asked to speak to them, I made my pitch, and I wrote down order after order after order - all while I was snug and warm inside my house.

I never called anyone who wouldn't recognize me. Nor did I send my order sheet to work with my father. I only sold cookies to those people who would have happily invited me into their homes anyway.

Fellow troop-mates accused me of cheating. I pointed out that the order sheet specifically said "A telephone call may mean a sale" and collected my prizes (along with dozens of cases of cookies that DID have to be delivered in person).

Continue reading "Why Miss Manners Isn't Entirely Full of It" »

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 9:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

This week we are thrilled to bring you the always entertaining and very charming Julie of Mothergoosemouse. We adored her at BlogHer and have stalked followed her writing and projects since then. Julie is one of those amazing women where what you see is what you get. There are no false pretenses or phoniness when it comes to this blogger. She is genuinely as nice and as sweet as she appears on her blog. Julie has been blogging for a couple of years now and yet she still continues to amaze us with her stories as we learn more and more about her. Julie is the mother of two girls, living and writing in the wild, wild West. She's the modern reincarnation of a 1950's mom, advocating a return to the lost arts of embroidery, baking, handwritten thank you notes, and turning the cell phone off during dinner. She also likes rap music.

In addition to her own blog, Julie writes for Cool Mom Picks (and was able to go review cars at the Detroit Auto Show!) and contributes to The Soccer Mom Vote. She recently launched Parent Bloggers with Kristen Chase.

We could go on, but we know you would rather hear from her fans and friends.

Izzymom was more than happy to jump in with her praise for Julie:

I always enjoyed Julie's blog but I got to know her better at BlogHer '06. Yes, she's really nice and a great writer. Those are a given. What you may not know about Julie is that she is totally real and honest and loyal and fun and so very cool. LOVE HER!

Amy Davis from The Lovely Mrs. Davis Tells You What to Think couldn't wait to share with us her adoration of Julie:

I love that Julie writes so openly and boldly about some really weighty topics. She's so thoughtful and intelligent in the way she approaches politics and religion, and she stimluates such interesting discussions on these issues. Julie's military background has always intrigued me -- that is what first struck me about her when I first read her blog last spring. But I've kept on reading her because I love her style and her courage, and I admire how comfortable and confident she is in her role as a mother.

Kristin of Motherhood Uncensored took time out of her now very, very busy life with 2 kids to gush to us about her admiration for Julie:

I'm quite certain it was Julie who reached out and commented on my blog first, and ever since then I've been hooked on hers. Sure, it helps that both our daughters have the same nickname (Goose), but really, it's her honest smart writing and unique voice (with just a little bit of sass mixed in) that sold me. Now that we've collaborated on several projects (Her Bad Auction & Parentbloggers), I can truly say she's more than my blogpal. She's my friend.

And of course we have Mrs. Chicky of Chicky Chicky Baby who was thrilled to give us the scoop on how much she adores Julie as she jumped in with immediate praise for her:

I just can't say enough about Julie! She's one of those bloggers that never ceases to amaze me with her intelligence and humor. I know that whatever she writes will be interesting and thought provoking - or grab-your-sides funny - and her posts routinely make me think and oftentimes force me to see an issue from another point of view. Julie forces me out of my comfort zone with a gentle shove, but she's always there in the end with a smile, a kind word or two and a (virtual) nice cold beer.

Now don't forget to check back with us later today when we feature our always fun interview portion with Julie of Mothergoosemouse. If you simply cannot wait that long, go check out her blog now. But, be sure to come hear what she has to say when we put her in the hot seat with our burning questions!

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 8:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

I have a baby book for each of my children. Of course, they are all filled out in different degrees of completion, but they all have a book to record the moments of their childhood. Page after page is filled with "firsts." The first time they: sat, rolled over, said "mama", and slept through the night (oh praise be the gods of infant sleeping). It has a place for first steps, first foods and the first day of school. Each with a spot for the date and thoughts about the event. I confess not all of them are filled out even though the tasks have been accomplished. However, each one of them is permanently embedded in my brain. I remember these firsts. For each child.

Last night my teenager came in the room and sat down on the couch beside me. He was all limbs...long legs and arms. Awkward, yet in that stage where he is between a boy and a young man. How is this my baby? As I stared at him I began to think. Obsess, really. When was the last time I picked him up?

I mean, he is now a good inch taller than I am and weighs what a 5'8" male should weigh. There is no more picking him up. But when did I last pick him up? Was he crying? Was he just tired of walking? Did he need just a bit of comfort or snuggling? Was I tired and frustrated that I had to pick him up and didn't cherish the moment? I wish I could remember when it was. I am sure, as it had happened a thousand times before, for whatever reason I had for picking him up eventually passed and I put him down. Never to pick him up again. I had my "Last time that I..." moment and never even knew it. And cannot even recall it now.

When was the last time I sat up in the middle of the night with my tween and rocked him to sleep after a bottle? Did I stay alert and stare into his eyes, memorizing the way he looked in that moment? Did I caress his baby cheek and love how soft and smooth it was? Or was I too tired and rushed the moment praying he would fall asleep quickly? After I rocked him to sleep and placed him in his crib, did any bit of nostalgia hit me? Probably not because I had no idea that would be our last middle of the night date with just the two of us, the rocking chair and soft music.

I thought I would never forget the last time I changed my last diaper of one of my children, but I have. With my daughter being the end of the diaper line in our family, you would think there would have been a parade to celebrate, but there wasn't. I wiped, changed and sent her on her way like I had done with my children thousands (or it feels like millions) of times before. That day she took off her diaper, went into her drawer for "big girl" underwear and we never went back to diapers again. I never knew it would be the last diaper I would change of one of my own children. Another last forgotten.

Continue reading "Do you remember the last time you did it?" »

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 2:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

I’m not always a good sleeper. Actually, I am a great sleeper when I can actually get to sleep. It is the getting there that I struggle with the most. More nights than I care to recall have been spent watching the clock. Minutes slowly changing into hours until I am convinced my clock must be broken for time to be moving so slowly. Surely, sixty seconds cannot last that long.

So I lay there and toss and turn unable to get comfortable. I kick off the covers for about five minutes until my feet get cold then I pull them back up and try to snuggle into them only to repeat the process moments later.

Tonight as I tossed and turned and kicked at the covers and sighed at the obviously broken clock, I realized I probably couldn’t sleep because I was so overdressed. I had not taken off my many outfits from the day. You know the ones we as women wear that overlap in so many layers that we become a fashion “Don’t.� One outfit on top of the other which layers on top of even more because in one day we need each ot them all at one time or another. Therefore, we have to wear each of them. Sometimes at the same time. Every day.

The play clothes of the mommy that have a smell somewhere between Play Dough and spit-up. The outfit that most certainly has finger paint stains left behind from the loving hands of one of our children.

The business suit we don complete with strangling pantyhose and high heeled shoes that are meant to merely torture us. The uniform we wear when we must dress for success to be seen as the competent and confident business women we must become from nine to five.

The outfit of the friend who hangs out with you and laughs with you over a cup of coffee or just shares the latest news in her life. Those comfortable sweats we throw on that say “I am here for you, so be free to be yourself.� . This outfit says it is okay to cry on my shoulder or laugh until we wet our pants.

And we shouldn’t forget the professional yet reassuring outfit of the local psychologist that we play to our family, friends and that woman in the grocery store who actually thought about buying the gossip magazine that claims Aliens have Elvis living among them.

Then there is the lingerie for the sex kitten we once remember being for our spouses so long ago. Sometimes-- to be perfectly honest with you-- that “outfit� doesn’t come out of the back of the dresser drawer for days or even weeks at a time. That is just as well, though. Naked serves the same purpose and is more comfortable.

Oh, and of course we must not forget the casual Capri’s and button down shirt that says “Put together Mom who volunteers at the school and could not possible make a mistake in the raising of her children.� (Complete with sensible, yet fashionable shoes.)

Then –much to my exhaustion-- there is the maid uniform. It’s nothing sexy or worth fantasizing about. It smells like bleach and pine. It has many pockets usually stuffed with cleaning supplies or a stray Lego or Matchbox car. It is the ugliest outfit of them all, but the one we put on every day more times than I want to count.

Continue reading "Too many outfits, not enough sleep" »

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 7:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

Have you ever heard or read something and thought, "I wish I had said that! That is so what I have been trying to say!"? I have recently been reading...actually devouring... Arianna Huffington's book On Becoming Fearless. In one of the first chapters she quotes actress Rosanna Arquette in what I think is one of the most brilliant statements I have read in a while. After reaching out to other during the process of producing a film called Searching for Debra Winger, she states (and here is where it gets good):

"It set me on my path to stay positive...to connect with other women, my tribe. We have to cut out competition, because we are all on the same path of fearlessness, to be truly who we are, and this is our birthright! It's time we support and love each other in what we want to do in life so we can look at each other and know we are safe. Let's celebrate each other's individuality, blessings--and cellulite."

Yes! Exactly! Now, in the book she was being quoted in a chapter on Fear About the Body, but is that not exactly what we all would love to happen. Especially with people shoving the Mommy Wars down our throat?

Continue reading "Ladies, welcome to your tribe" »

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 12:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I cannot even begin to tell you about the amazing things that blogging has brought my way. Friends. Life lessons. Support. Encouragement. Jobs. Agents. Old college roommates. The list goes on and on. The doors that have been opened to me by being a mommy blogger have astounded me. I have been given opportunities that I never would have dreamed of a few years ago. One of the greatest doors that has been opened is this site and the women I have met through it.

Mommybloggers.com has been so blessed to have been able to interview many amazing women. Each of them with stories to tell. Each of them sharing some things in common, yet enough variation that we all learn from each other. The time may never come when we all meet face to face and drink coffee as we share our stories of motherhood. But through this site, in a way, we have been able to do just that through the cyber world.

If you are new to the site, I recommend you read through our guests and their interviews and essays. They each have had amazing things to say. Each of them inspirational, encouraging and beautiful.

Here are just a few of the faces of mommybloggers. We are diverse. We are powerful. And we are a community that can give not only to each other, but to the world.

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 9:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

The following essay was written especially for Mommybloggers by our featured guest, the beautiful Karen Rani.

Eight years ago, when I was pregnant with Dylan, I walked into a Starbucks on a Friday morning, as I did every Friday morning of my pregnancy, and ordered my weekly treat of a tall Mocha Frappuccino and a slice of Banana
Bread. It was 5:30 a.m. and I was on my way to work at the Big Box Store where I had met the father of this heartburn-inducing baby I was carrying.

The woman in front of me nearly whipped her own head off as she hissed, "Should you be drinking coffee while you're pregnant?"

"Should you be talking while you're brainless?" I quipped back.

It was on the way to work that day, that I realized, I was about to become an expert.

A parent.

Eight years later, I am proud of that day. I am proud to tell people I treated myself to a Frappacino every Friday of Dylan's gestation. I will also tell you that when that little bugger was 12 days late, I had a Kahlua and milk.

*gasp!*

Yes, I did.

And I don't regret it.

When the cross-eyed doctor told me I would feel better if I squatted during labour, (my first blog entry EVER!) I told her to go ahead and squat on the effing floor. When Dylan got sick, my instincts told me to take him to the ER. Those expert instincts saved his life.

I don't subscribe to parenting magazines. I don't read parenting books anymore. Someone gave me a toddler book when Thomas turned one and I still laugh when I read it. It says things like, "Don't make a face or say "ew" when your son has a bowel movement. Or, when he smears it all over his room. Whichever. Just don't make a face.

What?

Shit stinks. Life is full of shit that stinks.

By not saying "ew" and crinkling my nose, am I not being honest with my child? Am I showing him that it is okay to repress my own feelings to protect him from feeling, uh, shitty?

Huh?

The experts in the book also says you should give your children alternatives to the word "no." How about, "never," "not today," and "NOT!" Do those work any better?

What I'm getting at is, life can be shitty. People are going to say no to your children at every age of their lives. Why would you not want them prepared for that? Sure, give your children choices. You want them to grow up confident that they HAVE choices.

For example, let's say you want your little one to go to bed. The experts say to use phrases like, "Would you like teddy or bunny to go to bed with you?"

I say, "Why ain't your chunky ass in bed yet, boy?" in my best Brit-Twit accent, "Now pass me mah Cheetos." Dylan usually laughs, but he goes to bed.

Experts say, "Offer your children a choice of dips in order to get them to eat vegetables and other healthy foods."

I say, "A choice of dips? Do you think this is a restaurant? Eat your dinner for 4 points toward your X-Box." (Dylan has to get to 500 -healthy eating habits should kick in by 500, right?) And Thomas? He will eat ANYFINK.

Experts advocate talking, reasoning and positive reinforcement.

The experts that wrote this crap had robots for children. Or they lied. My guess is the latter.

The experts I know are Mommybloggers. Call them what you will, these women taught me it's okay to yell at your kids, to feel uncontrollable anger during PPD and beyond, to feed them pancakes for dinner, to steal from Thomas' "kiggygank" for a Frappucino, to obsess about constipation, diarrhea, barf, teeth, tummyaches, butt cream and oh so much more.

I have come a long way as a blogger in the last year and a half. And thanks to every Mommyblogger I have ever read, I have become a better mother because of all of your expertise, and very realistic experiences that you have shared. You are very important to us.

Thank you, from my little family, to yours.

Love Karen
xo

To read more by Karen, be sure to visit her personal blog Troll Baby and make sure you stop by Troll Baby Graphics if you are in the market for a blog make-over (because you know you are)!

Posted by mommybloggers at 7:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (20) | TrackBacks (0)

The hardest part of motherhood for me--excluding the physical toll on my body-- is the emotional weight being a parent carries with it. Whenever my kids hurt, I hurt. Suddenly, my heart needs to have the capacity to hurt and rejoice for not only my own life, but for the lives of each of my children. As much as I have tried to tell myself that they have to live their own lives and own their own hurts, I can't help but hurt with them when something goes wrong. By the same token, I also have the ability to love in capacities I never knew existed before having children. With each child I wondered how I could ever love another child as much as the next. Then when child number two was born I realized the ability for my heart to love expanded beyond anything I had known. After 5 years of just having two children, I knew that my heart could not possibly be able to expand even more to fully love a third child. Yet, my heart fooled me and expanded to fill with unlimited amounts of devotion and love once again.

But the hardest part of motherhood for me has been knowing when to let my children own their own hurt and when to try to protect them. I learned this lesson the hard way. It was a complete trial by fire when my own Mom became sick and then later passed away. I wanted to do everything to keep them from the intense pain of that loss. I didn't want their safe world to no longer feel safe. But honesty had to win out. And then, though my heart was broken, I found a way to take on as much as their pain as I could. I reassured as much as I could. I gave them as much comfort as I had within me. And it was hard. I was empty and yet I had to find a way to give support and love and comfort to my children.

We got through it. In the 6 months since my mother passed away, we have found ourselves in a new groove and it is working.

And then another phone call came that again has rocked our world.

And I am torn. Torn between being totally upfront. Torn between half truths or full disclosure. Torn between letting them in on scary realities or soft spoken reassurances. Again, my heart has to find a new way around possbile life changing events. Frankly, I don't know how to do it. I immediately called one of my closest friends and did the initial freaking out. I cried, "I just got my feet back on solid ground only to find out it might be ice!"

What do you do as the emotional support to so many when you feel your own stability slipping from your grip? I don't really have the answer, but I can say that I am holding on tight and praying that I know what to say, what to do and how to handle it in the best possible way.

The hardest part of becoming a mother for me has been the emotional part that is required and that we are blessed with as parents. A heart meant for one that has become a heart that feels for four. It has been the most challenging yet rewarding parts of motherhood. And yet, I still struggle with it. Daily. Especially when I feel the ground beneath me rumble once again.

What about you? What has been the hardest part of motherhood for you?

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 6:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

When first meeting someone, what is the first thing they say to you? (Unless of course your fly is undone or you have a trail of toilet paper stuck to your shoe!) Usually they say something along the lines of "Tell me about yourself."

Quick. Don't think. Answer that. Tell me who you are.

I could answer that in my sleep. Me? Oh, I am a wife of 16 years to Clint and have been a homemaker and stay-at-home to my three kids for 13 years.

Bam! Four labels in one sentence. And I am the one who answered.

1) Wife
2) Homemaker
3) Mom
4) Stay at home mom (non-career woman)

What do you know about me that you wouldn't know about a thousand other women? Nothing. Now what if I said, "Tell me about yourself and don't use labels but descriptive words."

I could answer: "I am a passionate person who throws herself into things she believes in and can be a bit obsessive about it, but that comes with the passion! I love being a writer and being with my children and husband."

Have you learned more about me? Do you feel you know me better? And no labels!

This time you learned I am:

1) A writer
2) A wife
3) A mom
4) Passionate
5) Can be obsessive
6) Happy with my family

Which answer do you prefer? Which type of answer would you prefer people give to you when you ask to tell you about themselves? What happens when our "labels" change and we find it awkward to use them to describe ourselves? Should it really be that hard to describe ourselves to others?

Take for instance my initial answer. I am technically a work at home mother. If you add up the total time I spend on the blogs I am paid to write and the total time I spend on the other blogs that are also bringing in an income, plus other writing gigs I have that are paid, they all average out to be about five 8-hour days a week. That is a full time job. At home. So, technically, I am a woman who works full time at home. I am also a mom who is at home with her 3 children. Hmmm, stay at home mom? Work at home mom? Oh the horror of not knowing the CORRECT LABEL!

I for one would love to meet people and have them tell me WHO they are not the LABEL that has been slapped on their forehead by either others or themselves. So tell me. Tell me here or tell me on you blog and link back to this post so that we can REALLY meet you.

Because honestly, I want to get to know you. Not a label maker.

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 9:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

When I was 5 years old, I threatened to run away. Some horrific injustice had been done to me and I just could not stand for it a moment longer. It was my duty as a child to fix this by running away. That would teach my parents the ultimate lesson: Mess with me and I am so out of here! (Thinking back, I am pretty sure this "grave injustice" involved cowboy boots, a mini-skirt with fringe, a tube top and 30 degree weather. See?! They were just wrong to not let me go to school in that.)

I packed my bag with essentials. My teddy bear, my favorite shoes, a box of cookies, my Donny and Marie album, and lots and lots of clean underwear. (Because really, do you want to be in an accident and NOT have on clean underwear? By 5 I knew this lesson well.) I was ready to hit the road. Get the heck out of Dodge. Damn the man.

I wrote a note that was both eloquent and precise. It went something along the lines of "You are mean. I am running away. You are so mean. You will learn not to be so very mean!" (You can totally see the inner future writer coming out in me!)

I left. Defiant and determined. (I am sure not only were my parents watching from a window, but every parent along the street we lived on was sneaking peeks at this little runaway.) I walked down the driveway onto the sidewalk. I walked until I hit a stop sign. I had 2 choices. Go around the block or stand there. I was not allowed to cross the street alone yet. I chose walking around the block. Before I knew it, I was back at my own driveway. Frustrated. My box of cookies gone and the underwear and Donny and Marie doing me no good whatsoever. I decided to try again. When I reached the stop sign one more time, I stood there and wondered if I should tempt fate and cross the forbidden zone. Dare to go where I knew I should not go. Where I knew it was not safe.

I chose one more trip around the block. By this time the suitcase was annoying. The teddy bear was out and no longer feeling so comforting and Donny and Marie with their sick smiles were just bugging me. When I reached my driveway I marched up defiantly to my Mom standing there smiling.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too, Mommy. Have you learned your lesson?"

She smiled and bent down to hug me. "I certainly have."

"Good. Then I am going to come home now. But, seriously, Mom, let's think these things through in the future."

She supressed a laugh and took me and my things inside to a warm home with no judgment on my Big Adventure.

I am 36 years old with 3 kids. If you think there are days that I am not in the mood to run away, you are crazy! Especially now. I would love to run away to the comfort and non-judgment of my Dad's home where Mom's love is still everywhere and teach the big bad world a lesson in hurting me.

But I find myself in the same predicament. There is a huge stop sign and I know better than to cross the street alone. The stop sign in this case would be my family here. My babies. My husband. I could break the rules and run away. But it wouldn't work. So, I will just take my teddy bear and my many pairs of clean underwear and walk around the block a few times until the world learns its lesson. And one day, I will walk up the driveway to my waiting Mom who will have missed me and welcome me Home with open arms.

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 6:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)