Things I’ve Never Done

I’m 34 years old.

And I’ve never:

1. Wrestled an alligator.

2. Been to Australia.

3. Ate a bag of cotton candy I didn’t like (or ran from it).

4. Taught anyone how to Dougie, nor do I know how. (I will have to put this close to the top of the “to do” list, even though I’m a year or two late to be cool.)

5. Made homemade gravy, unless opening a jar really does count.

6. Rode an antelope.

7. Successfully changed a tire, but I tried once.

8. Jumped off a waterfall.

9. Walked a tight rope.

10. Met a clown I didn’t like.

11. Waltzed or learned to salsa.

12. Had triplets, but I’ve had twins.

13. Been snow skiing.

14. Met Tom Hanks.

15. Made Chinese food.

16. Peirced my nose.

17. Stood on my head while saying the alphabet backwards.

18. Left the United States.

19. Owned a pair of Crocks.

20. Won the lottery.

21. Climbed Mt. Everest.

22. Been on a talk show.

Now it’s your turn.

Mama’s Losin’ It


Where I’m From – Writer’s Workshop


I am from friendship bracelets knotted and twisted from embroidery floss, jelly shoes and riding a ten speed when it was cool, from Nintendo, Mtv, and dial-up Internet .

I am from the hot summer days with freshly cut grass that sticks to the bottom of bare feet.

I am from stinky marigolds growing around the front porch steps, the streets lined with trees and painted mailboxes. 

I am from boating on the muddy Mississippi and boring parents who were home every night, from Linda and Jean and Lorraine.

I am from the dinner at the table every night at 5  and eat your vegetables.

From do your homework right when you get home from school and do your chores before you go out and play.

I am from sleeping in on Sundays and slumber parties, popcorn and movies, and of course, staying up late.

I’m from the heart of Illinois, Land of Lincoln, hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill, corn on the cob and cantaloupe.

From the nights watching Grandma Linda get ready for Bingo and her fancy perfume, the searching for four-leaf clovers for luck, “Here, Grandma! I just found one for you!” From picking tomatoes and chasing lightning bugs on Grandma Jean’s farm, hot sticky days splashing in an old washbucket.

I am from a box of Polaroids and faded pictures on my parent’s back porch. Some scattered here, others scattered there, old pictures in frames sitting against the attic wall. The old ones tucked safely away, the new ones hanging on the living room wall, smiling grandkids around a Christmas tree.

Thanks Mom and Dad. I love where I’m from.
Mama’s Losin’ It

This post was from the amazing Mama Kat, I just love her site (link on the button above). I had so much fun doing this exercise. If you want to give it a try you can find the template here…and don’t forget to share your link!

This Can’t Be Happening

This post is part of “Mama Kat’s Pretty Much World Famous Writing Workshop.”  Awesome blog! You should stop over to check it out. She just cracks me up.

As I was thinking about the writing prompt and doing dishes, I was relieved; I mean, I have no major mom fail moments. Oh, sure…there are the little things, like letting your kids paint with watered down food coloring and dying themselves blue and orange.  It eventually washed out. Or there was that other time… Ok. So I have plenty of mom fail moments. This parenting business is hard, especially with three kids under the age of two. Thank goodness I have a 5-year-old also, he brings sanity into the mix; “MOM, don’t turn the light off on me. I can only see in the dark when my eyes are glowing!”

Then the memories started floating to the surface and popping like the bubbles of the dishwater, fast and furious. The memory that stands out the most, and I would call my largest mom fail moment… AND that I feel really bad about… is when I locked Collin in the bedroom. Not on purpose though!

I was exhausted, pregnant with twins, and trying to get ready for work with Collin under my feet, who must have been 9 or 10 months old, something like that. He was barely walking, but he could crawl fast. I had him on the floor by the full length door mirror. He was kissing it and making it all slobbery. I was trying to do something with my hair and darn it, I forgot the hairspray. So I took the two steps in the hallway to reach in the bathroom to grab the hairspray, and shut the bedroom door behind me because Collin was hot on my trail…and the doorknob fell off in my hand. I stood there dumbfounded for a second, feeling the weight of the old knob in my hand. Seriously!?! What the hell?!

A screaming wail from behind the door shook me out of my bewilderment. I tried to put the doorknob back on. No luck. I wiggled and jiggled it and tried to will it with my mind to go back on. No luck.

I tried to reach in and grab the old metal piece that the doorknob should be connected to and tried to turn it. No luck.

Baby still crying on the other side of the door. I’m a frantic pregnant mom trying to keep my cool, even though a million pictures from my demented mind kept racing through my head.

My bedroom is sooo not babyproofed! Did I turn the curling iron off? Please don’t be hot. He could find a bobby pin and stick it into the outlet. He could find the pen by my bedside and poke his eye out. He could get tangled in the blankets and suffocate. He could find a penny and choke on it. He could climb onto the dresser and push on the screen and fall out the window.

Adrenaline flowing, mind racing, I tromped (I wish I could have run, but I was ginormously pregnant already) down to the kitchen to get a butter knife. Bradley was zoned out in front of the tv in his SpongeBob underwear. I tried not to alarm him, no luck. “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing hunny. Collin just got locked in my bedroom. Mommy has to try to get him out. Watch your cartoons.”

“Hey, Mom! I know! Maybe Special Agent Oso (courtesy of the Disney Channel) can fly up to the room and go through the window and unlock the door.”

How sweet and helpful. “Great idea! You watch for him and mommy will be right back down in a minute.”

Baby still crying behind the door. I talked to him as I tried to unlock the door with the butter knife, “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy is right here. Hey! Can you open the door? Open the door!” He can’t even reach the doorknob, but it was worth a try. I was getting nowhere, except for bending the knife all up.

“Hold on just a second, hunny,” I said. I can take the hinges off,  I’ve seen that done before. But the hinges were on the inside. Crap!

I go to call somebody. CRAP! My cell phone is locked in the room with him. How can it get any worse? I instantly picture my neighbors’ houses, who would be home? We just moved in, so I don’t even know any of them. I decided on the old people across the street, since old people are usually awake at 7 am.

I held my pregnant belly and trotted as fast as I could across the street barefoot. Please answer the door. I didn’t have a clue on what to say, but it just came out. “I locked my cell phone in the bedroom with the baby and I need to call 911.” He let me in.

The 911 operator kept asking me, “HOW did this happen?” Like I deliberately locked him in. A very young cop, probably just turned 21, came to the door. He kept asking, “And HOW did this happen?”

By this time Collin was screaming uncontrollably behind the door. Bradley was excited, a cop at our house to help us, how cool. “Mom! He has a gun,” Bradley whispered.

“I might have to break down the door,” the cop said. “I’m just worried I will hurt him.”

“I don’t care what you have to do. I just want my baby out of there!”

It seemed like hours; baby screaming behind the door, babies doing somersaults in my belly from all the excitement. I wished I could drink.

Finally he hit the place where the doorknob should be with a screwdriver and hammer and the knob popped. I hoped it didn’t clunk the baby on the head.

It was all quiet except for the gasping baby in my arms with  big crocodile tears covering his face, along with a lot of snot. Tears were streaming down my face, too. “I’m so sorry. It’s okay,” I said softly to him and rocked him back and forth.

I felt terrible.


***Note: I made sure I explained to Bradley’s daycare teachers what happened. I’m sure his version was much more entertaining though. I can just hear it, “My mom locked my baby brother in the bedroom and the cops came…***