Sometimes, life hands us something that we will remember forever. It may bring us to tears, or send us into convulsing fits of laughter. Or it may be SO gross, that we are scarred and damaged for all eternity. I have a story that does all of this. But, you will have to wait, before I divulge to you this sweet nugget of horror. Well, at least until the end of this post. But FIRST...you, oh lucky readers, are going to get a few NMM moments Speedy Gonzalez Paparazzi style!

I am a full believer in a child's autonomy when choosing clothes/hairdo's. You just feel free to pick what you love and feel comfortable and confident in and then, let's rock and roll and go out into the big ol public...except..uh, are you sure THAT'S what you want to wear? I mean, it's great and all...but...ugh...fine, let's go. And this is what the lucky Wednesday noon shoppers at Safeway got.

At least Princess B only wanted her hair straightened. Too bad she looked like I kidnapped her from Who-ville.



Secondly, I would never get so flipping excited to see the sunshine after many dark damp winter months, that I would drag my family to the beach...even when we had to wear sweaters and scarves cause it was not warm IN THE LEAST! That is just cruel.

Third, I only eat organic. Everyone who knows me knows that. I would NEVER touch anything with refined sugar...let alone indulge in any of this on a pms whim...

And lastly, before the big kahuna, I would never get sentimental about Queen S's loss of over a foot of hair, and keep some stands in a bag...and then forget to put the bag away...and subsequently find Queen S getting creative with her treasured find. Although I do think it's super cute, it's hair...and I will admit, that kinda grosses me out. (Oh, and apparently, our family now has a dog. ?)

And finally...the one picture that one day will end up in a wedding slide show. In fact, probably 2 weddings...for it involved both of my girls and a mixed up mother.

Recently, my niece stayed with us. She is a single 24 year old, who is by every meaning of the word FABULOUS. Well, after pulling off a couple of days of extremely good behavior, (threatened by loss of dessert..hehe), my darling children could not hold in their little impness any longer. And oh, did they decide to go big. My niece announces that she has found some, ahem, poo...in the toilet. Well, that's not unusual is it? I mean, she IS from Saskatchewan, and maybe they don't have toilets there, but here in BC...it's pretty common. She then informs me that the poo is actually in the pretend "Baby Alive" potty. Okay. Again, this IS disgusting, and my blood IS beginning to boil, but I've seen worse. Wait, that's not all? The baby alive potty, now full of poo, is actually sinking to the bottom of the REAL potty. Good. Great. Let's go fishing. This can ONLY be the work of ONE child I know, and her name begins with drumroll.....uh huh...B. Well, I put her face reeeeeeal close to that potty, and say, "WHAT is this?" She does not even bat an eye, and claims that Baby Alive did it. Ohhhhh, now, I am starting to fume. My children KNOW that I do NOT tolerate lies. I tell her, she has ONE more chance to tell me the truth and then she has to help me clean it out and no dessert for 3 days. She looks down, contemplates a moment, then looks right in my eye and says, "Queen S did it." (Did I mention, that the potty of poo also has a blue plastic SPOON stiff in the middle? Mmmm hmmm. Not the work of a 5 year old me thinks.) So, I take that bowl, and say, Hold this. She grimaces and reluctantly does as she is told. I, of course take a photo, for the record books when I know one day it may be humorous. Little did I know HOW funny that picture would be. Let's just say, the guilt finally got the better half of my little queen, and she could not bear watching her sister take the blame any longer. Yep. I have a photo now of B holding a potty of S's poo, complete with plastic stirring spoon. Oh, was I ever a cruel Mother. (Side note, the ahem, "bulk", of the waste was removed before this picture. There was a lot more fun where that bucket came from!)

Without further ado, a disgusted B, taking the blame like a star!

For Forsta Gangen

This is a common phrase in our house.
No, we are not Swedish (although, those red berries are to DIE for!)
But King Daddy G, back in his pre-married, pre baby, pre-happy life (:P), had the privilege of hanging out in a few countries, and picked up a few things along the way.

This one, in particular, means, "For the first time."
Having small children, we get to use this phrase constantly, as they are continually doing things...for the first time.

Today, we had another 'For Forsta Gangen' moment.

Queen S, had her hair cut for the very first time. What's that you ask? Her hair has NEVER been cut? Oh, me..yes, I have cut...er...mangled her tousles a few times...in fact...I believe her first introduction to scissors was at the tender age of 8 weeks. You know how babies turn their heads side to side when they sleep, and subsequently rub their hair off, creating an awesome bald strip in the middle of the back of their little heads? Yeah, Queen S did that BIG TIME, and since she had little hair on top, well, let's just say, have you heard the term 'skullet'?



Yeah. Not good. So, while she lay peacefully sleeping, her little 8 week self got her first feel of clippers. But that doesn't count as her first haircut in my books, b/c getting a haircut to me implies that you are creating a new style, whereas in this case, we were more eliminating an unwanted, encroaching style. And the 3 or so times since then, that I have hacked, er, trimmed her tresses, well, those don't count either...for a similar reason. No style was ever achieved, rather she just wore a hat for a month.

Getting a new hairstyle can help you feel more powerful, flirty, confident. Queen S certainly never had those emotions in results to a hack job, um, haircut until this day. Because on this glorious day, I had a REAL hair stylist do it. You know, one who actually went to school. It's makes a huge difference I found when you aren't constantly chanting to yourself, "How hard could this be?" or thinking, "Now where did I pack the summer hats away?"

So, here are a few windows into my Wednesday...into Queen S's For Forsta Gangen hair cut.



You know you have an awesome stylist, when instead of a shelf loaded with Redken products, her shelf boasts Kahlua and Bailey's.



And only at this place might you also be able to hold a hamster while getting your new look.



But all in all, the end product speaks for itself...there's a new Queen in town!



Ps. A HUGE thank you to Ashley from SMG for giving Momma's Magic Moments a new do!! Loving all the bright colors!! YOU are a STAR!!

Just for you

Seriously, I have like 30 seconds on free time...this week is going to be a whirlwind...but I wanted to post a blog link for you to check out. By now, you probably know I am a fan of photography, and I am also a fan of big beautiful pregnant bellies...ok, you might not have known that last one, but now you do. LOVE IT!

So, go here
http://pacingthepanicroom.blogspot.com
and check out what this Daddy-to-be is doing with his wife's pregnancy. I think it's a fabulous twist on the classic belly pics we all take!

K, loves, I will be on soon again...and keep your eyes peeled, cause Momma's Magic Moments will very soon be going to the salon to get a whole new look!

Much love to all my chocolates!!

No words necessary...but...

Seriously.

Who signed me up for this?

And why don't they ever sign up my darling husband?

And what kind of sick mother just lets their kid sit in it while they take pictures?

Is it Monday already? But I don't have any NMM material, b/c I am the perfect mother lest we forget. Oh, wait, yah, there was that. And, I suppose that counts too. Hmmm, yes, that was an interesting moment...ok, so maybe I have a few. (read:hundreds). I'll just have to stretch my mind to remember. (read: pick out which out of the hundreds make the cut.)

I think this week, we will focus on my outstanding virtues, and how they absolutely never falter.

Let us begin with

Patience.
Because my patience levels never run low, and I always have a smile on my face as I try the same task for the millionth time, I would never become frustrated when attempting to put on baby L's pants. The fact that he is trying to turn over from his back to his tummy the entire time I am ineffectively getting him dressed would not make my blood pressure boil. And after the 17th go at it, I certainly would not blow a small gasket in my brain and just throw the pants at the wall and declare with defeated surrender that he will just not wear pants today, possibly whilst random curse words flood my mind. Let me assure you THAT would NEVER happen to someone like me, who has exemplary patience at all times.

Self control.
Some people just don't seem to have any of this, which I am at a complete loss of understanding about, for I, of course, have never once been tempted to eat a whole flat of mini doughnuts. And then done it in under 4 minutes. (And no, unfortunately, we are not talking about a juvenile youth group dare or competition.) And I would know absolutely nothing about how those 5 Starbucks empty cups ended up in my van. My only conclusive thought is that while I slept, my vehicle was abducted by a peppermint mocha addict (I hear that's the hardest addiction to break -there are special rehab centers just for this- so sad.), and then obviously returned it before morning because he realized that with 3 car seats, a half eaten happy meal on the floor, and a soccer ball hanging from the mirror, it wasn't much of a chick magnet ride.

Honesty.
Well, besides the aforementioned "Froggy" mishap, I have never once in my 28 years and 8 months of life been dishonest about anything. When out on the town with my 3 small children, I never get comments from people about how I have my hands full, or how I must be the nanny, or how I must have had my oldest when I was 12.And after one comment, which never was said, I certainly did not inform said nosy person, that my hands were indeed not full, because my oldest 3, who were at home, were wonderful helpers. After yet another lovely remark from a check out lady about how these could not all be mine, as I didn't look old enough, I would not have decided to flash her my wedding rings and respond that as a married 34 year old, I think having 3 kids is absolutely valid. I would have never said that, because that would not have been honest, and as any other blameless mother knows, honesty about trivial things to rude strangers is the hinge of a perfected life.

And finally, let's not forget, the very important virtue of

Orderliness.
This one, anyone who knows me, knows that I will not have my life, my house, my kids in any kind of disorder whatsoever. Not acceptable. I would not have taken every item of clothing, yet again, in our entire house and piled it to the roof...to-the-ROOF....in our spare room, to go through it all, yet again, to give away,sort,and wash every detail. And then, instead of doing said organizing, I CERTAINLY would not have just left it there for 3 days, and not touched a bless-ed thing. And because I have instilled proper table manners into my young children, I would never let them eat in the living room, which of course would leave no way of finding a half eaten english muffin, complete with rock hard raspberry jam encrusted on it behind the stereo speakers. And finally, after waking up late, did not rush the girls out the door to their library reading time, only to notice, as Princess B sat there in my lap, amongst 20 some-odd other children and parents, that she had a huge clump of sparkled up dried white glue in her duck fuzz hair. Good thing I brought her a hat. Not that that actually happened...to me. Maybe some OTHER disorderly mother, but definitely NOT...ME!

More red in the face than green

Have you ever read the Froggy books?

They always crack me up, because it seems there will inevitably be a place in the story, where Froggy gets embarrassed and becomes more "red in the face than green." The children I read to, whether my own or the ones in my class, never get that. I think because being embarrassed is not a natural childhood emotion. Wouldn't you agree that children do the most ridiculous things sometimes, without even a hint of red that our cheeks would display had we done the same thing?

So, for us grown ups, what could be more embarrassing than Froggy forgetting to put on his pants and going outside? Or batting the baseball through his neighbors window? How about Froggy not realizing that it was Wednesday and completely missing his Window Wednesday blog post! *gasp* You think that's the worst? Nope. The thing at the top of Froggy's embarrassment radar today, the reason why he is more red in the face than green, is that he must confess that he is a terrible reporter, who, as it would turn out, recorded faulty information in a previous post.

So, since every moment offers a new chance for repentance and forgiveness, please take this moment, and outstretch your hand to Froggy, and let him know that you understand, and will not judge him for his shortcomings and poor reporting skills.

*breath*

You were previously informed that after much digging and careful research,

Spring...was springing.

Well.

The day after that big announcement was made...something happened...that was not, um, so how do you say...spring-like. Best you just see for yourself.

So, from the bottom of Froggy's, pure, sweet, innocent (and ridiculously good looking) heart, please accept his apology, and know that he has learned from this experience and is already on his way to becoming a better person...er...mother...I...mean...anphibian.

Much love,

Straight Up

No, I'm not talking about how I would like my drink. Although.... ;)

Some days are chock full of NMM material that do nothing but leave me in tears from laughing so hard. And then there are the other days that also have their fair share of NMM's, but they just leave me in tears.

Yesterday was a crying day. I thought several times about blogging up a NMM post, but could hardly bring myself to see the humor in my moments, so rather, opted to do something that required little to no brain power whatsoever ~ catch up on my Desperate Housewives. It was a good one.

When I finally laid my aching, tired body in bed, after a day I'd rather wipe off the map of life, that had been preceded by a night full of screaming babies....I thought about a few little insignificant moments in the last 48 hours...and began to laugh. Yeah, all by myself, the nutjob that I am, began wheezing hysterically and convulsing under the sheets as I remembered the little things.

Like how I didn't even realize that I had made Queen S's PBJ sandwich with 3 pieces of bread, (having no sleep and screaming sick babies will make you do a plethora of abnormal activities, as you are probably well aware of by now) and how when I laid the masterpiece in front of her, her eyes lit up as she stated, "I musta done something really good, huh mom, to get THREE whole pieces of bread." All I could think of was little Oli Twist... "Please, sir, I want some more." Did my child honestly think that that is how I reward her for good behaviour? With bread? (Would be cheaper than Smarties or Kinder Eggs...hmmm, maybe we can work that in...)

Or like when the girls were showing me their sticker books (read: Momma is half asleep, sitting on the couch, randomly nodding and saying "uh huh, uh huh" every few seconds to the non stop chatterings) and suddenly, the air becomes holy as Queen S states, "THIS is my favorite one....HE WHORE." My eyebrows furrowed...did I just hear that right? I ask, "Who's your favorite hunny?" She gravely replies, "He Whore, Mom, Pooh's donkey." Right. Eyore. Ok, yeah, I can see how you might think he's a 'he whore'.

I also thought about how my eyes were burning from being open for so long, and my head was pounding louder than an entire construction site, and when I went to grab 2 tylenols, I actually popped 2 gravols, mid day. I could hardly fight the sleep as an unmedicated person. Well, after 2 gravols, no WAY could those lids stay up. Good thing it was baby's nap time, and lucky girls musta been extra good again, cause they now get an exceptionally long movie time! (Maybe I should give them a piece of bread each for a movie-time snack..they might just think they are in Heaven.)

Let's be honest. Some days just suck. Children don't come with manuals, mute buttons, or a maid that cleans up after them. (Unless you count me.) And the sun doesn't refuse to come up just because it knows you have yet to close your eyes. Our best friends most often live miles, countries, even continents away. This is an unfair place plenty of the time. So what do you do? Well, my advice would be pop 2 more gravol...this time at night...and be thanking the Big Man in the sky that His mercies are new every morning. (I often claim those at 12:01 am..cause I am usually awake, and usually in need of a whole lotta mercy!)

BBBBZZZZZZ....

We interrupt your regularly broadcasted program to bring you this breaking news.

Rumors are swirling.

People are fussing.

Media has been alerted.

The wheels are in motion.

And I have searched high and low to get to the bottom of things, so that I can report exclusively, here, to you, my chocolates, that what they say...IS TRUE. Here's the scoop:

SPRING
IS


SPRINGING!

The evidence is right here, look and see for yourselves!

(The mystery girl trying to find her way will return with Day 3 shortly.)

Day 2

cont....

When our girl opened her email that fateful day, she was blind to the knowledge that her life was about to be radically changed by one little advertisement. On the side bar of her inbox, flashed a bright green and pink blinkie that no one could ignore even if they tried. But, it wasn't the annoyingly vibrant colors that kept her attention, but rather what the large bold font was asking her.

PREGNANT?
JOIN US AT
BABYCENTER.COM
AND MEET MOMS
JUST
LIKE
YOU!

Could there possibly BE "Moms just like her"? The hope that lit a fire inside her cold, dejected heart was soon quenched by a train of rational thoughts which bombarded in like unwelcome house guests.

"INTERNET people!" they screamed at her, "are not REAL people." And, "You never know if the 'mom' you will be talking to is actually a 65 year old certified wacknut living in a secluded cabin in the woods with nothing better to do." All those 20/20 stories about people not really being who they say they are, and taking advantage of their innocent prey...is that what she was bound to become, someones virtual spoil, her hope filled lifeless internet soul to be picked at by the lunatic vultures.

Too late..she clicked on the link.

Suddenly, dancing before her eyes, were visuals of mothers cuddling infants, mothers holding a toddlers finger as she attempted her first step, mothers feeding a child macaroni. MACARONI!! This might inDEED be where she belonged! She perused the page and saw several links to all sorts of "clubs" you could join. From the 'recipe' club, to the 'trying to conceive' club, the 'grief after loss' club, and the 'book of the month' club. She furrowed her eyebrows and searched for the 'Not a girl, not yet a woman/hates to cook and clean/wants a winter home in Maui' club, but alas, all she found that was anything close to something she identified with was the 'Due in July' club. Guess that would have to do. Surely, it would be no more than a bunch of newly knocked up, hormone filled, morning sick, exhausted women, all wanting to vent and moan. Yes, perhaps she would fit in nicely here. And she clicked the link.

*Announcer's voice*
Will our girl possibly find a group she can identify with, or will they indeed turn out to be a bunch of 65 year old hermit men posing as pregnant women for a thrill ride? Stay tuned for Day 3, coming tomorrow to a blog near you.

Day 1

I'm going to tell you a story. About this girl. Woman, really; but she always associated that term with older ladies, and she was only 26, and still felt like a girl in many ways. Certain things about her life reminded her that she wasn't a carefree girl anymore. Things like the pile of dishes that wouldn't do themselves, like they magically did when she was still living in her parent's home. Things like that 6'3" gorgeous man snoring quietly on the living room sofa they bought together. Things like the 2 matching red and white party dresses, size 3x and 24 months, hanging on the shower curtain rod to dry. Things like the peels of laughter coming from the family room where Grover is running near...and far....Things like the pregnancy test still laying on the bathroom counter~announcing another chapter in her life had begun.

There MUST be other women out there, who felt like she did. Who felt that the title of "Mom" belonged to someone much older and wiser and more experienced, and definitely someone who knew how to cook more than Kraft dinner and Heinz beans. But where do you go to find such people? Do you take out a wanted ad in the classifieds? Do you post neon flyers on every other wooden telephone pole? And what might these pleas on paper read like anyways?

Desperate new mother, who does not cook, hates cleaning,
and makes up any excuse in the book to get a shower
by every 4th day,
seeking the same?

Hmm. That could get messy, unhealthy, and stinky, pretty fast. She had already tried the good old fashioned way...you know...going to a drop in play group. They advertise it's for the kids, but everyone knew, it's to drop your kids off and socialize with someone who had more that a 25 word vocabulary. What she found at this group was a bunch of women who sewed all their kids clothes (including matching cloth diaper covers), cooked 5 course dinners every night, and cleaned the ring around the toilet with bare hands and a toothbrush all with a smile on their faces. Oh, and how could she forget, none of them slept. At ALL. Because while their families lay snug in their bed, they spent the nights creating pottery and cookbooks to sell to raise money for the orphaned African children. Yep, they did all this. Or, so they say. So desperate to fit in, she just kept smiling and nodding, and finally, in a rare lull in conversation, she tossed in a comment about how she couldn't believe J.Lo's Grammy dress the night before...right, guys? All the blank stares and the deafening silence assured her, she would have to work a bit harder on her add for the classifieds.

**announcer's voice**
Will our girl ever find true friendship? Will she have to study night and day to learn to cross stitch and cook a meatloaf to fit in? Come back tomorrow to see what happens next.