You got questions, I got answers.

There are two questions I get asked daily.  Mostly, I get one at a time but sometimes people ask them both together.  I can almost guarantee you that I don't escape any venture outside my home without being asked at least one of them.

First off, are they twins?
No, but I wish they were.  You'd be awesomely amazed at how much growth a child experiences in 9 months.  Not physically, no.  I mean, well, that too but emotionally it is two different ball parks.  I have a vision in my head that having them on the same emotional grounds might help the constant deflecting of emotions that happens non-stop but it'd probably backfire and they'd just be the same age screaming about the same things and it'd just be.. louder.

Do you recommend having kids close together?
Do you recommend sitting on a bee hive with a honey covered hiney?  No.  Look, I love my kids.  That goes without saying, but I'm not that mother that sugarcoats life as one big frolic in the park.  Raising children is hard.  I'm not referring to the physical aspects.  I mean, we all get tired.  Kids get up early, yo.  But physical exhaustion is much easier to cope with than emotional exhaustion and when you have three young kids grappling for your attention, touch, and direction all day every day it's tough.  It's beyond a full time job, and when you add house work, husbands, chores, errands, jobs and the rest of life on top of it it's overwhelming. Any age gap between children is going to present obstacles.  But, trust me, you find a way to balance them.  Mostly.  I have days where I can't bare to venture out of the house or take a shower so I dub thee:  Pajammie Day.  And we rock it. We rock it hard.

Regardless of how hard it is, it's the most beautiful job on the planet.  It's the supreme learning experience that'll test you to infinite boundaries you didn't know you had.  Your children will make you laugh and cry but at the end of the day, exhaustion and all, you're thankful for the crazy life you lead.

Sweet dreams.

I just spent a solid five minutes consoling a suddenly awake and hysterical 3.5 year old. She's known to have night terrors but this was different. She was totally lucid and adamant that "I want some lbajeialjgeaijgleasdg e."  She wanted that very same thing every time I asked her.  Her words would blend between wanting to go back to sleep and wanting to convey her need and it was just disaster each time she tried to tell me.  Finally, I gently reminded her that once she was able to tell me why she was upset I could try and make it all better and tuck her back to sleep.

Lacey:  Oh, I just want some fruit snacks.
Me:  Fruit snacks.. really?
Lacey: Yes, just want some fruit snacks.
Me:  Baby, no.
Lacey:  K, goin' back to sleep now.

I'm serious, y'all.  Motherhood is NEVER dull.

Macklamore, baby style.

I'm gonna pop some tabs

'cause I gotta poopy in mah diaper

I, I I'm hungry

Lookin' for a booby

MILK IS SUPER AWESOME

-word

Alright, Disney.

You could start sending the royalty checks anytime now.  College isn't cheap these days.

Much love,
broke momma.

Yes, you have to feed your children.

As a SAHM I try to cook most of our food and treats from scratch.  But, let's face it.  On a cold and rainy morning, ain't nobody got time for that.

Do your kids a favor and make this easy, 15 minute breakfast that will not disappoint.

Servings: 8
Prep: 5 mins
Cook time: 10-13 minutes
Calories: Who cares, it's a lazy day.

1 can refrigerated crescent dough
2 eggs, scrambled
1/2cup grated cheese*, or cheese slices.
*you won't need this much for the rolls, but you will need extra pinches to feed ravenous children while they wait for breakfast.

Unroll your rolls.  Layer cheese, egg, cheese, and roll up.  It's not rocket science. Bake those bad boys for 10-13 minutes until golden brown.  Serve with a side of fresh fruit so you don't feel completely horrible about your breakfast choice.  Eat.  Enjoy.  Nom.

Let me tell you about little boys.

They never sit down.

No, really.  They never sit down.

They eat.  Like.. a lot.

They can make anything look good.

Anything.

They rarely use a toy for its intended purpose.

They don't have time to color. But hey, climbing = sitting!

They be craycray.

They like to be dirty.

And naked.

They really DO love football.  Especially with Daddy.  And their favorite trucks.

And they really, really love their mommy.

That's not a french fry.

It's a dagger.  A long, crispy salty dagger designed to protect the Universe (read: local family dining establishment) from the squalls of disapproval from a restrained infant, toddler, or angry teenager.

Most of the general populace has done it.  You probably have.  I previously have.  We've watched in horror as a mother or father handed their infant a french fry.  A FRENCH FRY!  How dare this parent feed this tiny little cherub something that could clog up their tender little arteries!

Trust when I say that 9 times out of 10 they're doing this for you.  For the dining crowd.  For the lobby.  And for a tiny sliver of their own sanity.  When that baby grasps that french fry with his tiny little dimpled fingers he has grasped the world.  This french fry holds the key to the center of his bobble-headed universe.  Momdukes isn't worried about that french fry, or the six subsequent others, damaging her precious babies body because she knows that 98.3487% of the french fries will end up on the floor.  The floor that she will guiltily sweep with a napkin for the server because she feels horrible about the mess.  Once her family is settled back home that evening she'll say to her partner, "Why do we do that?  Never again!"  Never again, that is, until the next long and stressful day where she just can't stand the sight of her own kitchen.

Once you've been that mother you don't even see it anymore.  You want to run over and steal the embarrassment from the mother that is frantically trying to quiet her baby while side-eyeing her burger that's getting cold because she doesn't want to ruin the atmosphere for the other diners.  This mother or father is putting the needs of the baby and fellow diners ahead of themselves when really, all they wanted was a hot meal.  But that's what parenting is.  It's sacrifice.  It's hardship.  It's worth it.

Trust me, and trust me hard.  A fast food burger on your couch with a beer (or seven) after the baby is in bed is so, so much more rewarding.