1 Ketchup packet

1 Chick-fil-A sauce packet

2 mismatched children’s socks

A diaper

Mater (the towtruck from Cars)

3 Rubberbands

Loose change

Coupons

A grocery receipt

My keys

A pen

My wallet

Two Clinique lip glosses

Burt’s Bees Lip Balm

Super old Bath & Body Works lip gloss

A belated Christmas card from my parents

A Post-It note pad

And a hair clip

What’s in yours?

Yeah, it was kind of like that. I stopped blogging last June when I took a part time job working as my husband’s marketing director. It sounded like a great idea–kinda of. But I knew the stress I already felt as a mother of two busy boys, and while the idea of “working” from home sounded great, the reality was a lot less work and a lot more stress.

After a few months I found myself responding to every voicemail and e-mail with the words, “I am sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you…” That’s never a good feeling.

So to make a long story short, I gave him my two weeks. And now I am home with my boys, rather than writing delayed e-mails to potentially frustrated people.

Anyway, that is what has kept me away from my blog for so long. Well…that and laziness, embarrassment, and that sorta thing.

Regardless, whatever the cause of my disappearance, here are some posts I would have written had I the time, the energy, the words, and the brain to remember.

1. Garden Update:

That sunflower in the background is how I felt about the garden by the end of it.

Remember that garden I started? Yeah, that was awesome. For a while. And then it just kept growing. Here was our harvest:

One watermelon, two sunflowers, three tiny early-plucked Butternut squashes, five blueberries, three blackberries, ten strawberries, a handful of cucumbers, dozens of deformed carrots , plenty of delicious Ace tomatoes, and a bagillion sweet cherry tomatoes. (And some grapes that are still in my freezer waiting to be dealt with.) All in all it was a good experience, though not so good as to desire a repeat. Still undecided about the garden this year.

Bribery Works:

Some may call it bribery, some rewards. When I am feeling like a good mother, I call it “rewards,” and when I feel slightly out of control, I think of it as bribery. Whatever the case here, it was a great motivator. Within seconds of saying the words “Lightning McQueen Airplane” to my three year old son and “poop on the potty” in the same sentence, he ripped off his pants and ran into the bathroom like, well, a bolt of lightning.

I’ll save you the back story and tell you that  in the end, it worked. After months of battling and ignoring, he is finally going poopy on the potty. Thanks to the marketing geniuses over at Disney. I’d be more sarcastic about it if I wasn’t truly grateful for the fire it put under my child’s pants. Or out of it, whichever.

Learning the Hard Way:

Life lesson #4678. Don’t pull a boy’s pants up while he is peeing. Even if he is peeing next to the duck pond in a local park with dozens of onlookers. The pulling up of the pants does not solve the issue. It’s not like an on/off switch. The pants may be up, but the pee keeps coming out.

That’s all. Thankfully, I don’t have a picture of this one.

The Runaway Ring Bearer:

My runaway ring bearer on the left. My other handsome son on the right.

This past Christmas I had the pleasure of being in my cousin’s wedding. So did my son, Jacob. He was the ring bearer. Though I am not really sure he saw it as a pleasure, or an honor, or even a responsibility, which of course it was. But I can’t blame him too much. The lack of sleep the day before, the strange people, strange places. So instead of walking down the aisle hand in hand with the beautiful little flower girl, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and ran down the aisle and grabbed on to my legs. At least the congregation had a sense of humor. They laughed.

I have never been on a cruise before. And so like any newbie would be, I have been dreaming of crystal blue waters, sun on my face, and four days of vacation with my husband.

But there is another part of me that is starting to freak out. We are going on a cruise. In February.

February. After three months of unabashed gluttonous eating and wool sweater wearing. It brings to mind two loathed words: chubby and pale.

Yup. Nothing says, “body image crisis” like donning a bathing suit in February in front of 2,000 people. Possibly the worst part about the whole crisis is my lack of ambition to do much about it. My feeble attempts at exercise would make Jillian Michaels head spin. And my resolve to eat only fruit and vegetables for the next six weeks, lasts about as long as it takes to walk by a plate of free cookies at our hotel. Traveling does not lend itself well to dieting, I might add. I’ve often said that if I were to create a restaurant, it would be one that sells peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bananas, and all those other things that are sitting in my cabinet and fridge back home.

(Sigh.) Anyway, if I am not going to be Pamela Andersen on our cruise, I might as well, suck it up (or in), put on my swimsuit, forget all my worries, and enjoy four days of freedom from wiping macaroni and cheese off the walls.

Besides, maybe no one else will notice me after all: they’ll be too busy looking at Pamela.

And the naked part?

I knew I put him to bed with pajamas and a diaper on. Where were they?

Excellent question.

I should have thought about the reason he was naked when I decided to scoop him up into my arms, because I scooped up more than him. I scooped up poop.

I am really sorry. I hope one of these days my blog consists of more than potty humor. But right now, that’s the humor I got!

So yes, he had a messy bottom, hence the no clothes and no diaper. He took them off himself, and then figured the next reasonable thing was to search for an orange airplane that has been missing for months. Oh, three year olds.

Well, needless to say we cleaned up, had breakfast, and have now played with play-doh for about an hour. And it’s 8:15 a.m. Oh, the life. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world!

Maters with the “Ta”

We have tow-maters growing in our garden! (Sorry for the lame Cars reference, but I couldn’t help myself!). Our squash and our cucumbers are also flowering and I am stoked about that. It is fun to watch our garden grow. Hoping and praying that the birds don’t get them. But either way, I am learning to garden, and that is fruit enough, I suppose.

I am learning that gardening really isn’t that hard. It looks scarier than it is. There is, of course, some hard labor in the beginning getting things planted, but now all I do is go out there and spray them with the hose. Any dummy can do that, right?

But here’s what I am learning gardening does require: a little bit of time and a lot of dedication. Watering doesn’t take very long, but I have to be dedicated to do it every day, or else the plants will die. I guess that is like a lot of things in life. Some things in life can look scary, overwhelming and utterly impossible. But if you commit the time and dedicate yourself to doing it, you will most likely see some fruit.

At the suggestion of Melissa from Writing for Daisies, I decided to e-mail my best-selling-author-previous professor, and congratulate him on his success and tell him how it inspired me (to stay up late dreaming…) and he actually wrote me back! I made some comment about hard work and he wrote, “You’re right, of course. Success in just about anything has more to do with sweat than inspiration.”

Good reminder. I can dream till the cows come home, but am I willing to work hard with all my might to achieve my goals?

Ah well, deep thoughts. I meant to write about tomatoes. But I guess they are pretty boring.

Although, on the other hand, I suppose they are teaching me what life is all about. Soil + Water + Sunshine = Towmater; Time + Dedication + Labor = Fruit.

Just kidding. Sorry, mom.

No, it’s even crazier and stranger than that. I just found out that one of my former English professors, Ed Falco, is on the New York Times Bestsellers list! I can hardly believe it. The man who read, critiqued, and graded my creative short stories, is one of America’s best selling authors. Insanity.

Here’s the roundabout way I found out:

It all started with the Hatfields and McCoys. The history channel produced a seriously good six hour three part movie series on the infamous family feud. My husband and I were immediately hooked. And as can sometimes happen when I see a movie or read a book that is historical, it leaves me yearning for more. Although I love movies for bringing the story to life, I want to know the truth, what actually happened. Give me the facts.

So I’ve been looking at the library online catalogue to see if there are any books on the Hatfields and McCoys I might be able to check out. But, of course, there are a gazillion holds on the three books they have that discuss the Hatfield/McCoy feud. I guess other people watch the history channel too.

Then my husband suggest I check Amazon. I did. Some good options, some more expensive than free, so not sure I will purchase yet. And some, believe it or not, some are “temporarily out of stock.”

While I was there, I decided to browse the NY Times Bestseller list, so I can feel like I am somewhat educated, or will at least be privy to the knowledge that next year’s box office smash was actually a book first.

As I browsed, I noticed a familiar name. Ed Falco. No, could it be? A quick google search popped up his picture. Hmm. That’s what I remember him looking like…Then a click on Wikipedia and I found out it WAS my creative writing professor from Virginia Tech!!

Oh my goodness!! He’s famous! And that makes me famous too, doesn’t it?!

Somehow, in the five minutes it took me to find out this wonderful life changing (probably not) information, my husband  who had suggested I check Amazon, fell asleep. I excitedly gave him the news, but I only got a grunt. Now, who do I tell?

Yup, I will not be able to sleep tonight.

Too many visions of grandeur, following in the footsteps of my beloved tutor, Ed Falco. (Okay, so I took one class from him nearly 10 years ago). Funny how the fame of one person you actually know, makes it seem possible for you too.

Nevertheless, I will be dreaming tonight of my own fame and fortune as one of the greatest American fiction writers of our time. It’s a darn shame I haven’t written anything yet.

Oh this is going to be good…

Then just like that, a wave of inspiration flowed over me. Was it the Holy Spirit? I wish. It was poetry. About poop. Most likely inspired by the rhythmic story about the little blue truck I read to my son at least three times while he sat on the potty trying to push “it” out. Glorious, I know.

But, I thought I might just as well share my inspirational poopy poetry with you all. Enjoy .

I call it, “Please Lord, Let Him Poop.”

I’m losing my patience,

He needs a nap.

All we need is a little splat.

Or maybe a plop,

Maybe even three,

Or just as many as there needs to be.

He runs back and forth from potty to potty.

Don’t know if he’s serious,

Or being naughty.

This is taking too long.

It’s been half an hour,

And this whole pooping thing is making me sour.

Poor kid is having hard stools, I know

He needs some Miralax to let it flow.

He wants to go on the potty, that’s great!

But going at all,  I will celebrate.

So put on the diaper, kid, and do your thing,

And we can all rest–this is so tiring.

Whenever, wherever, however he goes

I will holler and shout and give a big “Woop!”

So, please Lord, just let him poop!

Folks, I have just incurred a $20.00 fee for returning damaged books!

Yes, it was my fault. I’m guilty. Here’s what happened:

I set the books on the floor of my van next to my water bottle. My water bottle that occasionally leaks water. And they got a little wet. I did not notice this until I picked them up to put them in the return box. Figuring they only got a little damp, I wiped the covers of the board books and threw them in the slot. Apparently they were more wet than I thought. I called to question and received something about pages sticking together.

Good grief! I am having the worst library luck ever.

The irony of the situation? The book that was actually peed on, isn’t one of the ones I am paying to replace. Shhhh.

Don’t worry, we’re not going to visit the library for another 100 years.

My friend and I before running like mothers for 3.2 miles.

As with most things these days, I am a little late, but I’ll say it anyway–Happy Mother’s Day!

Motherhood. Wow! What a crazy, important and potentially disastrous adventure. The thing about motherhood is it is a trial by error, trial by fire sort of thing. And that is what makes it, I believe, the most difficult job on the planet.

This Mother’s Day, a friend of mine and I ran a 5K race called “Run like a Mother.” The tagline on the eco-friendly reusable bag we received was “Run like a mother is not just a race, it’s a way of life.” Hmm, as I think back over the last three years of motherhood, nay, the past two days, I believe this would be true.

Yesterday, I was chasing kids who were chasing ducks around a golf course, as we tried to cheer on daddy at a local golf fundraiser. Today?

Today, I decided to do something new. Now I know, I will never do it again.

Jacob has been learning to ride his bike (with training wheels of course), but the problem is practicing. We live on a semi busy street, and it makes me nervous every time I step onto the sidewalk with my two boys, one on wheels, the other on feet, which can be fast. But it was 9:30 a.m. traffic was light and there was a soft breeze. The kids wanted to go to the park. Great idea.

Since Jacob had been getting the hang of the bike, and could always use more practice, I thought we would all take a stroll to the park while he rode and Landon and I walked. The park was only 3 blocks away. Surely we could handle it.

It started out well. We moseyed to the park and arrived ready to play. The lawn care men were mowing the grass, but this only added to the wonder of the park for my boys. So we see-sawed, we stared at the industrial sized lawn mowers. We ate a snack on the bench. And then, when the mowers were gone, the boys wanted to run. Since our backyard is so small, the park is the best place for the boys to get out and run. So they did.

But then Jacob began to get frustrated from the newly mown grass getting in his crocs and itching his feet. So he took off running. He ran with abandonment, fast and far. And he wasn’t listening.

I hollered at him to stop, but he did not respond. So, I took off running and literally ran like a mother to catch him.He finally stopped about ten feet from the curb.

I was so scared. I could just see my worst nightmare coming true. I grabbed his little hand and did my best scolding/explaining without flat out yelling, that I could as I gasped for air. We had just made a huge scene in the neighborhood park. But for the first time in my life as a mom I didn’t even care. I only cared about his safety. So as I hollered, yelled, and ran as fast as my legs could go, afterwards I had no shame. Really, I had done what every other mother would have done.

When it was all over, I learned something very important, something perhaps I would have learned no other way than to try it: A two year old and a three year old are too young to “walk” to the park without restraining devices, no matter how close it is. I need a leash. Okay, or a wagon. To be sure, I will never do it again. It doesn’t solve the issue of my son taking off, because that could certainly happen just like it did today while playing at the park. But it makes the walk to and from the park much easier and much less stressful. Especially, when you realize how untrustworthy they are.

When we finally got home from the park, I was exhausted and frustrated. I was tired from carrying my two year old son the whole way home and keeping track of Jacob and his little bike. I was frustrated with Jacob for not listening, and frustrated with myself for deciding to do something that left us all drained and grumpy, when we had started out so well.

I was helping my boys wash their hands in the bathroom after using the potty (well, Jacob used the potty, Landon just watches) when I looked up in the mirror and happened to notice what I was wearing for the first time since putting it on this morning.

It was a baby blue t-shirt that read: “Run like a mother, 2012 Mother’s Day 5k.”

I smiled for the first time since embarking on our epic journey to the neighborhood park. Yup, I was definitely just running like a mother out there.

Thus, it is with humor that God lightens my load and gets me to laugh a little.

Aside from the humorous kismet of it all, it was also reassuring. For there to be 5k races across the nation with this title, I guess that means I am not the only mother chasing my kids at the local park. It brings a little peace to the soul to know that I am not alone in this truly epic journey, trial by fire thing we call motherhood.

Running like boys. Chasing ducks at the golf course.

Yes, you can! But not on the books, please.

We haven’t had the best luck with the local library. Maybe I should rephrase that. They haven’t had the best luck with us.

The last time we checked out books from the library I unwisely let my children “read” them on the way home. Moments later I realized the folly of my decision when I heard what sounded like the rustling of plastic and the ripping of pages, which it was.

When we got home, I opened the car door to see paper all over the floor. The very large, very non-board book version of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, had lost its library jacket. I feared we had just bought one very hungry caterpillar.

Thus, being the upfront and honest person that I am, I mentioned this to the librarian when we went to return the books. (I could have shoved them in the outdoor return, but I didn’t. See how good I am?!) Other than the missing cover the book was intact. Still, I felt the need to apologize for the damage and offer to pay, figuring it would be about a $10.00 fix.

When I heard the words “thirty dollars” come out of her mouth my jaw literally dropped. Thirty dollars?!? For that price, I could buy six copies of the now very expensive and irritating little caterpillar. But, left with few options after my confession of damaging property, I forked over money.

As I stood there writing a $30 check for a $5 book, while my children ran back and forth in the lobby, I decided that we were no longer going to check out library books. In fact, maybe we would take a break from the library all together. So we did.

But last week, I weakened.

On a nice sunny day we visited a park that was next door to another branch of our local library. As soon as we got there, the sun went behind the clouds and the wind kicked up. After a few minutes of freezing, I tore my children away from the slide and enticed them to the library by saying something about toys, computers, and books.

Grasping the tiny wrists of each one of my precious babies now toddlers, we marched into the library like we were on a mission. Well, at least I was. My mission was to get in and out of the library as quickly as possible without any screaming or running. This was not necessarily their mission.

When we reached the kids area at the back of the library, I put earphones on my boys, plopped them in front of a computer where a bunny sang “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” and hurriedly browsed the DVDs and board books. We were definitely not going to check out any book with flimsy pages. Landon was soon disinterested in the bunny and began helping me pick out books, which went fairly well.

I had collected a nice pile of books when I realized I had of course left my wallet in the car, containing my library card. So, we set the books on the counter, grabbed hands again, and walked aaallllll the way out to our car and back in again, and checked out our books. My boys behaved marvelously. There was a bit of squirming and darting, but all in all, it went well, even if it was exhausting.

But here’s where it gets interesting.

God bless them, my sons like to read books! So when my three year old son wanted to lay down in his bed for a nap and look at one of the books we had just checked out, what was I to do? Of COURSE you can read in your bed. There was no cover to be torn off, no pop-up bunny to be ripped, no page to tear. Harmless, HARMLESS, I thought.

And then he woke up.

He came into my room without any pants on and said, “Oh no.”

Oh, no.

I went into the room to survey the damage and I saw that my potty-trained son had apparently woken up from his nap with the urge to pee. Somehow he did not think about using a bathroom. So naturally, he peed on the floor. Right on the library book…naturally.

Now, I know that my experience is not that of every mother, but when I go to check out my next set of library books (when my kids are 13) the sight of stains and tears will make me wonder a bit about the history of the book.

Was this book peed on? Has it ever been thrown in the toilet? Bathtub? What is this pink stuff? Fruit punch? What is this brown stuff? Nevermind. Just get me the Lysol.

As for the poor little Helen Oxenbury book who got an unwanted shower, we did our part. We wiped, we Lysoled, we let it air dry, pages spread open and all. And in a few weeks, we will return it to the local library so some other kid can enjoy it as much as we have.

Read it, pee on it…you know, whatever.

Anyhow, I don’t think I’ll be telling the library ladies about this one…