My Toddler: Genius or Tyrant?

I know every parent thinks their baby is some sort of genius/musical prodigy/math whiz, with the language skills of a toddler twice her age, more friends than anyone else in her pre-pre-school, and the most beautiful silken curls to ever grace a human head. Ask any mother on the street, and if she doesn't hit you with her diaper bag first (Stranger danger!), she'll probably tell you that her darling angel learned how to solve quadratic equations while potty training herself in the womb, and had all her adult teeth by the time she was two.

I can tell you to shut your pie hole in six languages.

But that said, my little girl really is pretty advanced for her age. Yes, she's super smart, already exhibits the early stages of sarcasm, and dances better than some kind of John Travolta/Baryshnikov hybrid. But the main reason I think she's advanced (Gifted, even?)  is because, at 20 months, she's already bossing me around at almost a 9th-grade level.

When there's a decision to be made, this kid takes the initiative and tells you how things are going to be, before you even realized the issue was up for debate.

Didn't know your skin was dry? Well, it must be, because she's insisting you dispense lotion into every hand in the house. For the fiftieth time.

Thought the house was looking pretty tidy? Nope, she's in the mood to hear the vacuum, and you'd better believe you're going to carry her in one arm while you push the sweeper around with the other.

Tired of hearing her favorite song? Don't be an idiot. What part of, "AGAIN!" don't you understand?

It's hard to keep track of all the daily minutia that falls within her realm of expertise, but this graphic touches on some of the main categories.

It's actually kind of a relief to have someone else dictate my every move, all day long. Otherwise I might have to weigh the pros and cons of ramming a pretzel stick into the roof of my own mouth, or wonder if it's a good idea to lift my shirt for the little old ladies in the Frozen Foods section. With my toddler already showing the qualities of a corporate CEO who was formerly a prison warden with a background in Drill Sergeantry, I can just relax while she takes care of all the big decisions for me.

If you'd like to know the benefits of having a Genius Tyrant Toddler taking over your life, I hate to hog all the fun. Feel free to stop by my house for five minutes. Just be sure to wear a headband. It's required.

Click the banner below to vote - the baby says you have to.

I Could'a Been A Contender

What I like to do at night, instead of sleep, is stare at the ceiling and get worked up about stuff that I couldn't possibly do anything to change even on my best day, not even if it was daytime and I'd taken my multivitamin and I was someplace useful instead of in bed staring at the ceiling.

I stew about things that irritate me, such as inflation, or the fact that muffin tops won't go away if you insist on eating a steady diet of Reese's Cups.

Sometimes I fret over the fact that I'm stunting my children's social development by refusing to answer the phone when their friends' parents call to set up play dates.

Occasionally I'll obsess about the possibility that the girl from The Ring lives under my bed and is waiting for me to drift off to sleep so she can slither up creepily between the wall and my headboard like that girl from The Grudge (related: I shouldn't be allowed to watch scary movies before bedtime).

Only rarely do I concern myself with the small matter of my increasingly obvious aging. However, one night not long ago, the insomnia-fodder of choice was Life Goals and how I haven't really attained any. Because clearly the proper time to tackle these issues is at 3 AM when you're just a few hours away from being jabbed enthusiastically in the eye by a baby who's ready to get up and play.

At that point it occurred to be that I graduated from college (rechecks math twice on fingers) FIFTEEN years ago. Fifteen years is sort of an eternity, and one would think a person could've made great strides toward any of her goals in such a time, were she the Striding type instead of the Lollygagging Around type.

Then I saw that today's Monday Listicles prompt over at Stasha's The Good Life was "10 Things You Thought As A Child You Would Be." I figured, Hey, what better excuse is there to sit down and really quantify my life's failures? Sure, I don't remember meeting any of the goals I set for myself as a child. But what the hell were my goals to begin with, anyway?

This is one of those instances when careful reflection has really helped me work out my issues, and I've come to the happy conclusion that (as usual) I was wrong! According to the goals I'd set for myself when I was eight years old, I've actually become (some version of) most of the things I thought I wanted to be when I grew up. Who knew?

I'm starting to feel like maybe there's still time to get around to that magical fairy princess thing, too.

A click below gets me one step closer to world domination! That's right, I forgot I always wanted to be Queen Of The Universe when I grew up, too.

Fake Felt Snacks

I hope you're still hungry, because after last week's felt chocolate chip cookies, this installment of Craptacular Crafts is all about snacks. Fake snacks. Felt snacks. Fake felt snacks that I wish I could eat.

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I've had these chips served to me at least a zillion times, as a side dish with a sandwich in Zoe's "restaurant," or as part of the sack lunches she makes for me to eat when we play school so she can write down how many demerits I've racked up for eating chips in class. The popcorn is cute and quick to make, too; I've always thought it would look great as part of the decorative packaging in a "movie night" gift basket with a DVD or movie theater tickets, a theory I'll be sure to test out if I ever make any friends and feel compelled to give them a gift for some reason.

What you'll need:

• Craft felt: yellow for the chips (2 sheets), white or off-white for the popcorn (1 sheet), and two colors for the bag and lettering (I used 1 sheet of light blue and scraps of red)
• thin, clear plastic if you want your chip bag to have a window (I used a page protector from a three-ring binder)
• Small amount of stuffing for the popcorn (I just used scraps of the off-white felt)
• white or off-white thread, embroidery floss to match the lettering on your bag, needle
• sewing machine (optional)

What to do:

Chips

1. Layer the two sheets of yellow felt on top of each other. Cut out as many ovals as you want - one matching set of two ovals for each chip. You can make them whatever size suits your needs; mine are about 2" long by 1.25" wide, but the sizes and shapes vary, just like real chips.
2. Zig-zag stitch back and forth 3-4 times across the surface of each chip, securing the two ovals together. You can also hand stitch, and/or use a decorative stitch around the edges of each one.
• Tip: Before sewing, you can sandwich a piece of your thin plastic between the pieces of felt. Make sure it's a little smaller than your yellow pieces so it doesn't show on the edges. This will give your finished chips a "crinkle" sound, catapulting your chips into a new level of awesome.

Chip Bag

1. Cut a rectangle of felt (here, I used blue) that's 5.5" x 12". This will be folded in half to create a 5.5" x 6" bag, but you can use whatever dimensions suit your project (this makes closer to a snack-sized bag of chips).

2. 

   Yes, I strive to provide the
   crappiest photos possible.

   On the half of the rectangle that will be the front of the bag, cut an opening for the window (see photo). I made a triangle with rounded corners, but you could cut any shape.
3. Cut a piece of thin, clear plastic that's the same shape as your window opening but larger - you should leave yourself about a 1/2" seam allowance. Layer the two pieces and top stitch around the edge of the opening to hold the plastic in place.
4. Cut the word "chips" out of a contrasting color of felt (I used red). I cut mine freehand, but you could use a template or purchase iron-on decals. Using matching embroidery floss, sew the letters above your window on the outside of the bag.
5. Fold the rectangle of felt in half, so that the folded edge is the bottom of the bag. Machine (or hand) stitch each side of the bag closed. You can do this with your lettering to the inside, so that when you turn the bag right-side-out your seam allowance is hidden inside the bag, or (as I did) simply top stitch along the edges. It's easier, and I think it looks more like the crimped edges of a real chip bag.
• Tip: you can add Velcro along the top edge if you want to be able to seal and reopen the bag.

Popcorn

1. Cut wavy-edged circles from the white/off-white felt, approximately 1.5" in diameter.
2. Using white thread, sew a basting stitch in a circle in the middle of each piece of felt, leaving the ends loose (see photo).
3. 

   Put a small amount of stuffing in the center of your piece and pull the basting threads tight - the stuffing should get closed up in the pocket created by your basting stitches. Tie the threads off and snip the excess thread.
• Tip: For extra realism, highlight a few spots on each kernel with yellow ink or chalk to mimic butter.

There you have it - some quick and incredibly cute snacks that will provide hours of entertainment for any little food lover!

I know, it's not as good as REAL food, but the low salt content will result in less water retention. Less water retention = sexier cankles. You're welcome. You can thank me by clicking that TMB banner down there.

Anatomy of a Mom Purse

There are lots of jokes about how women have to give up on carrying adorable little handbags once they have other adorable little things to carry - namely, babies.

Of course, the real joke is that it isn't a joke.

New mothers kiss their dainty purses goodbye, and prepare to cram all their precious essentials into a tiny mesh side pocket on their new 231-gallon diaper sack for the next several years.

Sure, it's sad at first. You miss being able to sling your bag over the back of your chair at a restaurant without blocking the path between tables or knocking your server unconscious. You can't leave the house without restocking more items than the night crew at your local Baby Crap Emporium. You might start to resent the fact that carrying so many tubes of lanolin, sunscreen, and hand sanitizer frequently causes you to smear diaper cream all over your hands instead of lotion.

Fear not - it doesn't last forever. But to be totally honest, you don't get your purse back right away.

Once you leave the Diaper Bag Phase, you enter the Mom Purse Phase. It's smaller, yes, but you're still the family's equivalent of a Sherpa to mountaineers, lugging around every item someone might conceivably need as they venture out into dangerous parts of the world that they're unqualified to navigate without you (like Wal-Mart).

I'm about to get "purse-onal" (go ahead and roll your eyes, you knew it was coming) and prove it by dumping out my bag on the dining room table (I told  you we had one) and showing you what I, a Real-Life Mom, would be toting around with me in the event I ever actually left the house.

1. A stylish bag is essential - I picked this one up at a garage sale for $2.
2. Coin purse that contains my kids' college funds - in pennies - and weighs more than everything else in the purse combined
3. Paperwork. This is a broad category including a volunteer sheet for school (still blank - oops), a stranger's school photo, a doctor's referral I never followed up on, a sweepstakes entry I never filled out for a giveaway that ended last July, Goodwill coupons (score!), and a sticker we picked up at the Apple Store to (unsuccessfully) distract the baby while we complained about our bill.
4. Gift card to a spa, the interior of which I don't expect to ever see
5. Edibles. Half a confiscated blue candy cane, a pack of gum (empty), expired Tylenol
6. A small hand, because it isn't a Mom Purse unless a child's hand is in there trying to grab something they aren't supposed to have.
7. "Make Up" bag. In quotes because, these days, my make up bag contains two hair bands, a Tide stain stick (dried out and useless), one of those rubbery tubes you slide onto a pen to make it grippy, and mint lip balm I got from the dentist's office. Clearly my beauty regimen isn't what it used to be.
8. Wallet. Contains one of everything on Earth made of paper, except money
9. Clothing. Mismatched baby socks and breast pads, because... of course
10. Toys. I did a purge a few weeks ago, so we're down to one cheap pinball game, crayons, a pen and a tube of Aquaphor (which count as a toys because the baby likes them).
11. Sunglasses belonging to...?
12. Cleaning supplies. Ancient hand wipes, wadded up napkins (probably clean)
13. Plastic bag to contain a dirty diaper, in case I need to perform clean-up duty on the go. Please note that I'll be totally hosed if that happens, as there's currently no diaper in the Mom Purse inventory.
14. Pad, for "Mommy accidents" or situations when I might laugh or sneeze suddenly. Luckily it's wrapped in plastic, since it appears to be covered in pencil shavings, just like everything else in my purse, even though I don't have a pencil in there

So, what about your purse? Is it a hot mess, or do you still carry around a tiny clutch with nothing but lipstick and an ID inside? Is it organized and tidy, or would the erupted contents of your ginormous Mom Purse even fit on your dining room table?

Tell me all about it in the comments (I need moral support), then stop by to visit my friend Kelley on the Kelley's Break Room Facebook page to check out other people's purses. To make people feel better, Kelley posted her own bag today, which she aptly refers to as "a garbage can with straps" - then you can even submit a picture of your own!

For the record, I put everything right back in my purse after I took this picture, including the broken candy cane. No, I'm not proud of myself, but I know you'll click the banner below anyway! Won't you???

As The Dollhouse Turns: Dinner Time

Dinner Is Served - Sort Of

As darkness falls outside, Sunny heaves a sigh of relief. It's been a long day - the baby got shots at the doctor's office, she politely sat through a two-hour pitch from a traveling vacuum salesman, she lost her internet connection just when she was about to Facebook about how annoying the salesman was, and on top of everything else, the school had an early release day.

But all that's behind her now. She sits down to reward herself for a long day's work with a little "liquid snack," when the family suddenly joins her at the table.

What do these clowns want?  she wonders.

She glances nervously at her wine, but then relaxes. She knows it can't be an intervention. That would require Buzz to organize a family activity without her help.

They stare at her expectantly. Someone's stomach growls.

At this point, Sunny realizes she forgot to make dinner.

She forces a smile. "Of course, dinner! Let me go get it."

In the kitchen, she pokes her head in the fridge and starts opening Tupperware, looking for leftovers she can toss in the microwave. "Hmm, there's not enough of that to feed everyone. No, the kids wouldn't touch this the first  time I served it, let alone reheated. Eww, I don't even know what that is!" By the time Chenille walks in, she's resorted to shuffling through her collection of carry-out menus and expired fast food coupons.

No, I'm not eating cookies back here
while I look for something to feed you.

"Mommy, Daddy wants to know what's taking so long."

Sunny scowls. "Tell him to hold his horses - he's welcome to make his own dinner any damn day," she grumbles.

"What?"

"I said, 'Tell him, of course his wholesome dinner is on the way!'"

A few minutes later, Sunny emerges from the kitchen.

"Good news, everyone," she announces with artificial glee. "We're doing something special tonight - breakfast for dinner!" She places a bowl of cereal in front of each member of her family.

The girls squeal with delight and dig right into their bowls of Krack-Koated Kandy Bomb cereal. On Buzz's side of the table, however, the meal is met with silence and disbelief.

"Um, I thought we could have a nice pot roast tonight, honey. What about that? Can't you whip that up real quick?" Buzz asks.

Sunny speaks slowly, through clenched teeth. "I suggest you drum up some enthusiasm, honey,  because right now," she jabs her spoon in the direction of his bowl, "this is happening." 

Uh-oh...

Maybe it's the tone of her voice, or maybe it's the murderous look in her eyes, but Buzz finally seems to catch on. "Oh, yeah, this is great, right girls?" he backpedals quickly.

Sunny smiles and almost sits down, thinking the light at the end of this tunnel of a day might have reappeared - but before her khaki pockets can meet the seat of her chair, Chiffon flips her bowl upside-down, spilling milk and cereal bits all over the floor, then Chenille, having consumed two spoonfuls of food, declares, "I'm full. What's for dessert?" and Charmeuse starts yelling about how the baby's milk has absolutely ruined her new favorite butterfly t-shirt.

Sunny isn't sure if she's going to laugh, cry, or run screaming from the room. She looks pleadingly at Buzz, who instinctively starts sopping up milk with his napkin. Then, for the win, he says those words that every woman longs to hear at the end of a tough day.

"Can I pour you more wine, dear?"

More real-life dollhouse drama next time - until then, please feel free to catch up on previous episodes of As The Dollhouse Turns. Then please click the Top Mommy Blogs banner below, while I check the Grape Nuts I have simmering in the crock pot.

My Journey To Jogging And Back

For no reason whatsoever other than possible spontaneous brain damage, I suggested to Gerry that we should start jogging.

"It will be good for us," I said. "We'll feel better, and my zippered pants might fit again. It will give us time alone together, time during which I'll be completely unable to have my face glued to my phone." I knew that last part would be a huge selling point for my husband, who often comments how beautiful my profile looks illuminated by the sickly glow of my iPhone screen.

Secretly, what I was really thinking was, My friend and her husband started running, and in the Facebook pictures she posts of them finishing marathons and whatnot, they both look so happy and fit and proud of their accomplishments, not to mention they're outside of the house without any children!

Either way, Gerry was on board. I set myself some goals to help with that pesky Motivation stuff people are always talking about.

With that, we were suddenly Joggers. People who jog. Without any training, doctor's notes, or paperwork from any kind of governing authority, we simply decided that we were going to become the types of people who carve out a piece of our day several times per week to go outside in the cold and briskly run away from nothing in particular.

I felt under-qualified for this endeavor, to say the least. Gerry ran track in school, but I'd never once in my life run, on purpose, without a PE teacher yelling at me, aside from two separate occasions when I was being chased by a swarm of wasps.* But I figured, Hey, I didn't have to pass any tests or get anybody's permission to start having babies, and that's arguably even more life-altering than jogging, on some levels. I can do this!

On our first day, I started showing my inexperience immediately. "You're not supposed to stretch first, it's bad for your muscles," Gerry informed me before we'd even left the house. Apparently my exercise-related information was outdated, not having learned any new fitness facts since legwarmers were required gym apparel.

Then I shared one of my few jogging tips with him, by helpfully pointing out that if we intended to do this properly, he probably shouldn't bring his coffee along in a travel mug. Teamwork!

Unstretched and under-caffeinated, we reached the end of the driveway, exchanged a look that said something like, "What the hell do we think we're doing?" and began to jog.

And I can't lie.

It was glorious.

For half a block.

At that point, I started to breathe heavily and lost whatever tiny scrap of motivation I had previously mustered. Gerry, who never once broke his stride or gasped pitifully for air, tried to encourage me. Meanwhile, I wasted what little strength I had on bargaining with the Jogging Gods.

Dear Jogging Gods, I swear I'll run the rest of this block all the way to the stop sign, if you'll just allow me nap for the next two blocks.

Please, let that sensation I'm feeling be a major earthquake, and not my femurs shattering into a thousand pieces while my heart implodes.

Jogging Gods, if you can just make my legs continue pumping in some sort of a rhythmic fashion, I promise to point us toward a hospital.

The next time was not easier. But we did it, and congratulated ourselves, and I messaged my friend to let her know what an inspiration she and her Facebook pictures had been in setting us off on this healthy path (and also to make myself more accountable by admitting to someone else that we'd started jogging).

We jogged again. I complained. Gerry was a natural, always ready to hit the road whenever the opportunity arose. I, on the other hand, revisited my earlier goals.

However, Gerry soon became concerned for my heath and well-being, based on the weird whimpering noises I made every time I crumpled onto the sidewalk and started twitching, which was an alarmingly frequent occurrence.

That was when I learned that, when it came to jogging, the power of my will to quit is powerful enough to overpower my willpower to keep going. (Go ahead and crochet that on a pillow, I'll wait.)

That was a few weeks ago. We decided to save jogging for the spring, and spend the winter months reconditioning our neglected cardiovascular systems on the dusty elliptical machine in the basement.

I love that idea. The elliptical and I go way back, and I absolutely love it. I used to work out on that thing every day, and I have no doubt that using it will be a fitness program I'll be able to stick with.

I'll let you know when we get started.

*It won't shock you to hear that I didn't successfully escape from those swarms of wasps, either time. Those things are pretty fast.

I'm Feeling These Felt Cookies

It's Craptacular Craft time again! (I swear, at some point I'll come up with a better name than that.) Today's tutorial is the first in a series about felt food, which is similar to real food but considerably less delicious. I wrote these posts after making my daughter a metric ton of felt food for her play kitchen over a year ago, and believe it or not, she still loves the stuff. She actually slept with the cookies for a while, but that's a story for another post. Now get crafting!

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My little girl loves her pretend kitchen, and she can't get enough play food. Try making these chocolate chip cookies - they're perfect for make-believe snack time, or would be so cute tied to a bag of homemade cookie mix for an unforgettable holiday or housewarming gift (assuming that, unlike me, you regularly get invited into people's homes). Bonus: they won't ruin your diet. Unless you eat them. Then they also probably ruin your stomach lining.

What you'll need:

• Medium-brown craft felt
• Small scrap of dark brown craft felt (for chips)
• Embroidery floss in medium brown & dark brown
• Cotton or polyfill for stuffing
• Scissors

What to do:

1. For each cookie, cut two circles about 2.75" in diameter from the medium brown felt. I used the bottom of a cup as a guide, but you could trace around anything that's the desired size, or freehand your circles - remember, when you're baking cookies they never come out perfectly round anyway (at least mine don't).
2. From the dark brown felt, cut several small triangles (or circles, if you prefer) for the chips. Arrange them on one of the medium brown circles.
3. Using the dark brown embroidery floss (1 or 2 strands, whichever you feel looks better - I used 2), tack the chips onto the circle with two stitches per chip.
4. Place the circle with chips on top of the remaining circle, making sure the chips are on the outside/showing.  Blanket stitch around the edges of the circles, securing them together.
5. When you get within an inch or so of completing your blanket stitching, tuck a small amount of cotton, polyfill, or other stuffing between the layers to give your cookie some dimension. Complete your blanket stitching, and you're done!

Make as many as you like, or make an assortment of cookies using my other Felt Food tutorials (umm, coming soon, or view them on my abandoned craft blog for a sneak peek) - enjoy!

FYI, voting for me by clicking the banner below burns enough calories to offset eating a plate of REAL cookies (probably)!

That's a Wrap

Where has the week gone? Is it already time for another weekly/intermittent wrap-up? Methinks yes, it is.

It won't surprise you to hear that I've been slacking this week. It will surprise you even less to hear that I haven't really been slacking, I've actually been working my buns off, but I barely managed to get anything done. Chalk it up to inefficiency. And too much time on Facebook.

I also spent more time than I'd care to admit creating a splash page for As The Dollhouse Turns, which is sort of ironic because it prevented me from having time to write another episode. Actually, that might not be ironic, but Alanis Morissette screwed me up forever on the real definition of that word. In any case, now there's one spot where all the ATDT episodes are summed up and accessible and in order, even!

Thanks for being so supportive of the first installment of Craptacular Crafts, a new series in which I repost things that I already wrote on my old craft blog, which I've unceremoniously abandoned like a drunk prom date. We kicked things off with a purse you can make with pockets from a button-down shirt - as a bonus, once you cut the pockets off, the shirt becomes the perfect top for easy-access nursing (results may vary).

Also, I embarrassed myself at a fancy party.

I shared how I got blindsided by some unforeseen rites of passage.

And on CraftFail, I revealed a Pinterest-inspired button bowl that imploded.

But other people are awesome, besides just me and you! Here's some of the stuff you don't want to miss:

This laugh-out-loud list of things that cook better than an Easy Bake Oven, by Let Me Start By Saying

The painfully familiar diary entries of a mom with a sick kid by You Know It Happens At Your House Too

This Girl Scout cookie meme by Ninja Mom

Not to mention, I have three fabulous, talented, good-looking blog sponsors who would just adore a visit from you. Tell them I sent you, and then give them a big kiss on the face (from me, of course - a kiss from you might be awkward, if you've never met before).

My Pretty Chic Boutique is the place to go for beautiful, handmade jewelry - you can select from the gorgeous pieces she has pictured (They're like eye candy you get to wear!), or you can place a custom order.

You're My Favorite Today is where the sweet and funny Michelle shares her opinions, thoughts, and stories and where you'll start blog-crushing on her (it's true, it'll happen). Check out her Then and Now comparison of how life has changed for kids, and you'll see what I mean.

Cloudy, With A Chance Of Wine is the bloggy home of Dani, who will make you laugh and want to be her bestie. Go ahead and read how she fell off a treadmill and try to tell me you don't want to take a bottle of wine over to her house and hang out.

And finally, a huge thank you to all of you - for reading, and subscribing, and for clicking on that brown Top Mommy Blogs banner every day which, with the awesome Power Of Your Clicks, has made me the #4 humor blog over there! You guys are the bestest! Please, each of you, give yourself a hug from me, and feel free to go out and buy yourself an appreciation gift - make it something nice, money is no object.

P.S. As long as we're talking about your money.

Surprising Rites of Passage

When people start a family, there usually comes a point when they're relatively certain of what parenthood has in store for them. Not entirely, mind you - once those rascals are born there's really no telling how many nights they'll be up at 3 AM screaming in your face or how many times you'll find yourself sitting in the emergency room, counting ceiling tiles while your kid gets something x-rayed (also usually at 3 AM).

But overall, between asking your mom for advice, crazed Googling, a dog-eared copy of every book in the What To Expect  series, and random old ladies at the supermarket telling you your children are going to catch Bubonic plague from not wearing a hat, you start to feel like you have a pretty reasonable overview of what Major Milestones you should be expecting. Namely:

1. First smile that definitely isn't gas
2. Rolling over
3. First step
4. Some other stuff
5. College

Aside from a couple other baby firsts you might prefer to forget, if you're like me, you thought that pretty much covered it.

Wrong!

Apparently, kids keep having more rites of passage, even when they aren't babies anymore. (I know! The nerve.) They grow up in subtle ways, somewhere in between that first "Ma-Ma" and the first call home from the dorm to ask sheepishly for money that you know darn well they're just going to spend on beer.

This became painfully clear to me the last time I took the kids to the dentist. First of all, neither one asked me to tag along when the hygienist called them back to the examination room. Nope, they confidently trotted off without me, without even looking back.

Fine, I thought, without a twinge of sadness (lie). No, better than fine.  I was by myself for once, so I settled in to enjoy some time alone with my thoughts. Well, with my thoughts and those of the lady sitting next to me who wouldn't shut up, between hacking coughs, about how she'd already seen the movie they were playing on the TV in the corner. For the first time ever, I would've paid good money to play I Spy with one of the kids.

Finally the little ones were finished, and I was freed from Hacking Cough Lady and the pressure of coming up with my own thoughts to think about. But as I floated out of the office on a cloud of Parental Dental Superiority (No cavities!), I was still feeling a little sentimental that my kids suddenly don't need me to hold their hands all the time. What's a parent to do when their children no longer need protection from a stranger in a mask picking at their teeth with sharp sticks?

That's when the second whammy came along. I informed 10-year-old Jake that it was his turn to push the elevator button, because any parent knows that hell hath no fury like a child whose sibling got to push the button on the way up and on the way down. It makes for a long, pouty trip to the ground floor. But instead of rushing to the button, he surprised me.

"Nah, that's okay. Zoe can push it."

Record screeching.

What? This wasn't in the books. Fine, they can handle sitting in the dentist's chair solo, but nobody warned me about this, the day when my baby would be too mature to derive pleasure from summoning the elevator. What's next? Taking the stairs instead of the escalator at the mall? Walking around  puddles? Skipping dessert???

But, cool, calm and collected as always, I didn't make a big deal out of it. Just a few dozen photos and a little bit of quiet weeping.

I can't help it, it took me by surprise - kids go through so many little changes, too random or insignificant for your pediatrician or the woman at the supermarket to warn you about, so small they're barely noticeable. But when you add them all up, suddenly your little 2-pound-10-ounce preemie baby boy is a young man.

A few days later, he got new boots. He'd outgrown the kid section, and already needed to shop in the men's department. Ouch, my heart! Can it get any worse?

Of course it can. A few days after that, he requested the sex talk.

Please click the banner below - counting votes gives me something to do while I rock in the corner pretending this isn't happening!

Linked up with Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop in response to the prompt "Acceptance," because... what choice do I have???

Fancy Pants Party Poopers

Last week, I shocked the world by revealing that we'd been invited to a party - and since the party was at the home of some Wealthies, I also felt compelled to share a few differences between me and a rich person.

Now that you've all recovered from that info bomb, based on all your (completely silent and/or nonexistent) clamoring, I suppose you're eager to hear what happened at the party.

Did you learn anything from the experience of being intentionally invited into a fancy home, the mortgage payment on which is probably larger than the national debt of most small nations?  I believe I hear you asking.

Probably not. But let's see.

The evening began with us driving through a dangerous, blinding snowstorm to get to their Country Estate (such is our desperation to participate in polite society), where our aging mid-sized sedan promptly slid several times backwards on its bald tires down the curved, hilly driveway.

Thankfully, the caretaker (yes, caretaker - you heard me) came out to instruct us on gaining the proper momentum to avoid sliding off the road into the adjacent, picturesque ravine to our adjacent, picturesque deaths, which probably would've ruined the party if anyone had needed to run out for more caviar and been delayed by a call to the caretaker to remove our unsightly corpses.

Eventually, determined to eat our weight in mini quiche, we made it to the door.

I'm excessively socially awkward under the best circumstances, so as we entered the foyer (which in this case, I'll need you to mentally pronounce foy-yay) full of posh people and leather ottomans, I was already questioning my choice of lipstick (none - I applied some in the car, then changed my mind and wiped it off, leaving only whatever had smeared onto my teeth), clothes (I had ditched the festive sparkly sweater in favor of a solid black one that more effectively hid the ever-widening circles of stress-induced perspiration under my arms), and purse (the adorable clutch that said "Hot Mama" was buried within the ginormous diaper bag that said "Hot Mess").

Obviously I was feeling a tad out of place.

Of course, the situation wasn't improved by me being physically present or opening my big fat mouth. Within 30 minutes of our arrival I:

• Told a woman, who was lacing up the coolest, most expensive-looking boots ever to be hand-sewn by an enclave of Tibetan monks, that her shoes were "really neat"
• Expressed my interest in an attorney's line of work by informing him, "It's always good to know a lawyer; we get into a lot of trouble"
• Asked a winery owner for his expert opinion on which types of wine are the least likely to cause a hangover
• Explained to my daughter within earshot of several Poshes that, no, those aren't mini tablecloths - some people use cloth napkins. And no, we can't take them home ("Heh heh heh," to the Poshes). But no, we don't just throw them in the trash! *digs through trash*
• Got crushed by an automatic sliding pocket door, because you can't prepare for something that you didn't even know existed
• Chased my children out of a huge, clear acrylic, egg-shaped chair because it's not a swing, even though it was in fact swinging from the ceiling, so I can see why there was confusion
• Nervously declined sampling anything from the buffet table because, as I informed the host, I couldn't pronounce most of the sauces without breaking into my phony Alex Trebek French accent

Needless to say, these people didn't find me amusing. Nor were they probably impressed by my Alex Trebek impersonation.

Anyway, I think I started this post by claiming I learned something at a Rich People Party, but after writing the summary I realize that the conclusions I drew were all things I already knew.

I already knew that even the stretchiest "dress denim" is not a fraction as comfortable as my pajama pants. And that no matter how many offers I get from people willing to refill my beverage, I can never drink enough to be truly comfortable in a place where the glass I'm holding is worth more than the car I arrived in. And that Fine Wine sipped from Waterford crystal tastes just as good as Boxed Wine sipped from my chipped coffee mug (essentially).

But most importantly, I learned I should probably not attempt to leave the house. Ever.

Or impersonate Alex Trebek in public.

But then again, I sort of already knew those things, too.

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a vote for me is a vote for drinking wine in comfortable pants! **clinks mugs**

Shirt Pocket Purse

Here we are, as promised, our first Craptacular Crafts segment!

Eh, I'll work on the title.

In the meantime, if you missed this post when it was originally published on my craft blog (that's everyone but you, Mom), get ready to repurpose those old shirts your husband refuses to get rid of, even though they have holes in the sleeves and ring around the collar.

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My daughter wanted me to make a purse for her birthday, but I wasn't sure if I'd have time. I was cutting up a flannel shirt for another project, and got the idea to make a purse from the leftover parts! It was so simple, and incredibly fast.

What you'll need:

• A button-down shirt with two front pockets (an old one from the closet, or pick one up at a thrift store)
• Sewing machine, or needle and thread
• Scissors
• Embellishments, as desired (optional) - I used some iron-on decals

What to do:

1. Cut the row of buttonholes off the front of the shirt, from the bottom to the collar. Then cut the pockets off the front of the shirt - just cut around the edges as close as you can without snipping into the pocket.

2. Sew opposite ends of the buttonhole strip to the top left edges of the pockets (see photo). Make sure that the buttonhole strip (which of course becomes the purse strap) won't be twisted up when the pockets are back-to-back. I used a zig-zag stitch for extra strength.

• Note: I used contrasting thread for a fun look, and since the stitching shows I sewed all the way across the top of each pocket flap so it would look symmetrical. If you use thread that matches your fabric, you'd only need to sew where the strap meets the pockets.

3. Place the pockets back-to-back and sew around the left, bottom and right sides, being careful not to sew the pocket flaps closed. Embellish as desired.

That's it! Now you have a purse with three pockets (the pockets themselves, plus the space in between the backs of them). Plenty of room for a little girl's treasures!

I used a man's shirt, but if you can find a woman's shirt with two pockets you could make a more delicate purse for a different look, since the pockets are usually smaller and a lighter fabric. With the right fabrics and embellishments, it would even make a great gift for a teen!

You can personalize this purse in so many ways - try hooking a key ring through a buttonhole and adding a charm. You can mix and match pockets and straps from different shirts. You could weave fabric through the buttonholes to decorate the strap.

On my daughter's, I added iron-on appliques, tied a bow through one of the buttonholes with a scrap of fabric, and changed out the pockets' buttons for something more colorful. She loved it!

Weekly Wrap-Up?

I'm willing to bet you can relate when I say that, some days, I have so much going on that I feel like my nerves are going to vibrate right off my skeleton, like over-strummed guitar strings in the hands of a toddler on a sugar high, if one more person utters one more syllable that results in one more thing my mushy, saggy brain needs to remember.

Thus, the weekly wrap-up was born!

All the crap you need to know so my brain doesn't explode from wondering if I forgot to tell you stuff! Yay! In reality I lack the organizational skills to make this a weekly thing, but Occasional Wrap-Up didn't have the same ring to it.

First, in case you missed it, my blog wife, Bethany at Bad Parenting Moments, made an in-faux-mercial for a product called Wine-Not, a sanity saving beverage I could probably use right now. I won't often promise you you'll laugh at something, but this is one of those times - you WILL laugh. And if you don't, at least you'll get to see me in a mud mask, so there's that.



Secondly, remember last week when we had the Finding the Funny link-up? It was a HUGE success, thanks to those of you who linked up and had some laughs. Plus, without even cheating (as far as I know), my As (never) Seen On Pinterest post was the most clicked! Rounding out the hilarity in the Top Five are:

Funny Is Family with My Kids Are the Best. And the Worst.
Funny Is Family (Again? NOW who's cheating?!?!) with Foot Love
The Mom Of The Year with I'm Jealous of My Daughter
Cloudy With a Chance of Wine with 50 Things I Want To Teach My Daughter

Congrats, and thanks for the laughs!

Also, I'm going to be making some minor changes around here, unless I get too lazy or forget or crash my blog in the process. For one, I have a craft blog (What? She does?) that I've neglected because... well, something's gotta give, right? Since its very existence is cluttering up my brain, I'm going to start re-posting some of my old crafts over here on weekends, until they're all moved and I can purge my other blog. If you guys like it, I'll keep doing a weekend craft thing. If you all unsubscribe because an extra post per week threw HTV straight over into the spam category, then, um, I guess I'll know it was a terrible idea. (Please consider telling me to cut out the crafting instead of running off like that, though.)

Speaking of subscriptions, I made a handy-dandy subscription page dedicated to people who get enough jollies here that they want me to gently cram HTV into their email, or Facebook, or Twitter, or Kindle, or YouTube, or a bunch of other places. I love those people. Looooove them. It's almost embarrassing how much I slobber all over them. Not actually on them, of course. But I often leave a small puddle outside their windows.

You can even get HTV as an app on your apple device - how high-tech! Plus it's super easy. Go to www.hollowtreeventures.com on Safari. Then:

If I can figure it out, anyone can. Trust me. Actually, although I like to pretend I'm special, you can use that trick to turn ANY page into an app and then click straight to it from your Home Screen. Y'all are smart and probably knew that, but the news only recently reached me here under the rock where I live.

Finally, for more reading and laughing, you can check out the post I wrote for the Scary Mommy Society about Baby Firsts I never want to do again. Then you can pop over to see what I've written at CraftFail this week, like this seriously un-sexy sexy hair, and a seriously un-yummy cake which I would still eat even though it looks like it's having a nuclear meltdown.

This concludes the awesomeness that is the wrap-up.
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Toddler Food Groups

I'll go ahead and admit it - we used to eat a lot of meals in front of the TV. Yes, partly because I'm a terrible mother, but I also place some of the blame on the fact that we didn't have any furniture in the dining room for several years.

These days, we almost always sit at an actual table in real chairs for most meals. However, the main issue we still have at dinnertime - other than clearing off the table, deciding what to make, preparing the food, reminding the kids to wash their hands, making sure the main dish doesn't get cold while the sides finish cooking, preventing everyone from filling up on rolls before the rest of the food is brought in from the kitchen, and yelling at the kids for bringing toys to the table when they've been told a thousand times to leave them in their rooms - is keeping the baby entertained while we eat, now that she isn't zoning out to the Jeopardy theme song during dinner.

"But the baby can just eat while you eat, can't she? Won't that keep her occupied?" I hear someone asking. To which I reply, "Clearly you have never eaten with a baby."

After pushing a few strawberries around on her tray with a plastic fork, Madeline officially loses interest in dinner. The desire to escape from her high chair takes hold immediately. The first plaintive repetitions of, "Down? Down? Down?" begin, and I offer her eleventy million other kinds of food in the desperate hope that the rest of us can finish our meal in peace. She rarely touches any of them, opting instead to bang a bottle of ranch dressing on her head or rip a few napkins to shreds, but occasionally I can convince her to nibble on something, especially if it was something I had personally intended to eat myself. In that case, she'll gaze longingly at everything I put on my fork until I offer her a bite, which she'll hold in her mouth for approximately three seconds before spitting it onto the floor.

Last night my husband made a comment about the baby ignoring all her Real Food and instead gnawing on half a chocolate chip granola bar for dinner, but I assured him it's all part of a Balanced Toddler Diet.

As you can see, "Distractions" comes in as easily the largest Toddler Food category, and it's not hard to imagine why.

As far as I know, it's a documented scientific fact that people don't even require calories or vitamins until the age of four. Up until then, food is used solely as a motivational tool and a diversion technique by parents to coax children into doing things like putting on snow boots, quitting their damn whining, and sitting still while people over the age of four eat their dinner.

So go ahead and give your kids a handful of Cookie Crisp, if it'll keep them from dangling off your pant leg while you're on an important phone call. Bribe them with candy from the bottom of your purse when the long line at Target threatens to incite a tantrum. Use animal crackers to buy five minutes of quiet time at the computer, or break out the chocolate chip granola bars to get yourself three consecutive, uninterrupted bites of your own dinner.

After all, it's all part of a Balanced Toddler Diet.

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