Friday Funnies: Four-year-olds and Curators Don’t Mix

(not laughing–not yet)


I’m not sure if I’m ready to laugh about this incident yet. In fact, I know I’m not. But I haven’t done Friday Funnies for awhile, and if I don’t document this now, it won’t be readily available to torture my son with later.

I love genealogy.

I’ve loved it since I was a little girl and my mom would tell me stories about my ancestors fighting in the Revolutionary War or coming over in the Mayflower. It’s fascinating to see pictures of great, great, great grandmothers who have my eyes—or I should say, I have theirs. It’s very cool.

There is one line of our genealogy that has been stuck in the 1800s forever. This family lived in America, in Ohio actually, so this has been very frustrating. It seems like there should be more information than there is.

My sister in Utah emailed me earlier this week saying we might have a lead. Someone found reference to a book, a diary, of one of the daughters in this family, that dates back to 1863. In this diary, she lists not only her parents, but her grandparents and where they were born. A huge breakthrough. The online description told us that much about the diary, but of course, not what those names are.

But the best part was this diary is being preserved in a library 45 minutes from my house. In Michigan. Of all the places for it to be, 45 minutes away from me!

Cool, right?

Wednesday, I dropped the two middle kids off at school, looked in the rearview mirror at the youngest (4yo), and said, “You want to go for a little drive?”

He’s bored to tears at home. Our house is too quiet now that the other kids are in school. So of course he agreed.

Keep in mind here, I’ve been a mother for 16 years. I’m experienced. I’ve taken many four-year-olds on many adventures. I know better, right?

It wasn’t until we get lost in Ann Arbor trying to find the address, that I realized this library was smack dab in the middle of the U of M campus.

There wasn’t any parking within three blocks. But it was a beautiful, fall day in Michigan. The air was cool and crisp. Perfect. I hoisted my laptop bag over my shoulder and convinced him to go on a “little” walk. This little walk ended up being over a mile, because apparently there are two University Avenues on the U of M campus. A North University Ave and a South University Ave.

That would have been nice to know going into this.

But I was still stoked. I’m about to make a major breakthrough.

The 4yo got tired two blocks in.

I carried him around with the heavy laptop bag, trying to figure out why I couldn’t find this library on N University Ave, while trying my best to fit in on the prestigious university.

FYI: 4yos don’t blend in at prestigious universities. Just in case you’re wondering.

As soon as we found the library, I realized this wasn’t the massive library I envisioned. It was a tiny, quaint library. A special library. Which meant it wouldn’t have the world’s cutest children’s department where the 4yo could occupy himself. In fact, from the lack of children I’d seen on campus, I figured this tiny library wasn’t going to have a children’s department at all.

But I was an experienced mother. I knew how to distract my kids. I didn’t let this deter me. My family had waited 80 years for this breakthrough. I drove 45 minutes and dragged a 4yo around the UofM campus. I wasn’t turning back. I could do this.

We took a ten minute pretzel break outside. I got him in a happy mood, and ventured in.

Clue #1 that this wasn’t going to end well:

I was greeted by a receptionist who sat in front of a closed door. Closed. I couldn’t even peek inside the library.

Clue #2 that this wasn’t going to end well:

While eyeing the 4yo, she asked why I was there. Then she gave me paperwork to fill out. Paperwork. They wanted to know who I was, what was my intent, schooling, and research history. I’m surprised it didn’t ask for my height and weight.

Clue #3: She asked for two forms of ID.

Yep. Driver’s license and a Visa. And she wrote down my license #. Keep in mind, all of this is to READ A BOOK. I’ve already learned from the paperwork that I’m not allowed to copy or photograph the book. I can only read it and take notes. But it still required two forms of ID.

Once I went through the screening, she called a man down to escort me inside the library. He, too, eyed the 4yo, but introduced himself. As a curator.

Clue #4: Not a librarian. A curator.

Suddenly I felt like a scene out of a Dan Brown movie, where Robert Langdon breaks into an old library vault, and searches through documents he shouldn’t be touching, ruining books right and left.

The guy, this curator, was wearing a white shirt, bowtie, and sweater vest, fulfilling all stereotypes. He informed me that all of my bags must be stored in a locker before we could enter.

Clue #5: Bags in locker.

And that’s when I remembered, I’m not Robert Langdon. They weren’t going to let me ruin any book for this lifelong search of mine. Or my four-year-old son who suddenly stuck out like a freckled red head in Bangladesh. But I played along. I signed my life away, locked my things away, and, under my breath, I did something I try to never do as a mom. I bribed the 4yo.

It’s not that I’m against bribery. I’ve used it plenty of times, but most times it backfires, turning seemingly wonderful kids into monsters. Next thing you know, they expect every candy bar from every grocery checkout simply because they woke up for the day. No. I keep bribery in my back pocket to pull out in the most desperate of times.

As I follow the bow-tied man through the doors to the main room, I knew I was 100% desperate.

Whispering, I promised the 4yo that if he was silent the whole time—the whole time—we’d get ice cream and lunch as soon as we left. I’d even buy him a pony. Okay. Not the pony, but I wasn’t against throwing it in if needed. I’d received ‘the look’ from every employee I’d passed thus far. They don’t get kids to their library. Probably ever. He had to be perfect. I had to prove these people wrong about kids. Kids are great. Kids are awesome! And mine know how to behave, right?

Sort of.

For fifteen minutes.

The curator had already pulled my book from the back vaults (or wherever they stored it), and it was waiting for me at a table, perched on top of a special stand—a stand!—that protects the binding and book cover.

What number is that? Clue #6?

You’d think I was asking to read the Declaration of Independence.

But at last, Bow-tie man left me alone with the book in the dead silent, drop-a-pin-and-hear-it-echo room. I sat my son next to me and pushed him as far away from the book and the stand as possible. I prayed a silent prayer that he wouldn’t get a sudden case of stomach flu and vomit all over it. That would be just my luck. In front of us sat another curator, watching all of us in that room with our books, making sure we didn’t breathe–or vomit–wrong. 

My time was limited. I was smart enough to know this. Yet, I was so anxious to see this precious diary with the keys to unlock my heritage. My family has waited 80 years for this moment. I could break through, I could get us to the next level. But I had to balance it with my present issue of bringing my 4yo into a Robert Langdon movie. Have you ever seen a 4yo in a Robert Langdon movie? Neither have I.

There’s a reason.

(Why didn’t I leave him home with a neighbor??? My spontaneity backfired. Big time.)

I flipped through those pages like my eldest flips through his chemistry book.

I skimmed, pretended to read, yet saw very little. And it was amazing stuff in there. Entries about the civil war. Hand-copied obituaries. Even old recipes for pickled cherries. It was awesome and totally worthy of Bow-tie man’s protection. But I was flying through the book, passing it all up in search of “the page.”

The son finished his drawing and said, “More paper, please.”

I looked around. I panicked. My bags were in the locker. My bag of tricks.

Not good!

I shoved my copy of the paperwork I just filled out (yes, they gave me a copy!) and knew I had to wrap things up. There was very little white space on that paper. I had three minutes, tops, before he was done.

More flipping, and I found the page in the diary. There it was. Name after hand-written name on that page, giving us the links we’ve been searching for. I started scribbling frantically.

The son messed up his pictures and threw his pencil down.

He wasn’t happy. And to let me know, he made a peep. A small peep, but it echoed through the room. I felt patron eyes glare at the back of my head. The curator up front gave me a warning look.

I started erasing his mistake for him.

He peeped louder. He didn’t want my help. He wanted another piece of paper. So I whispered in his ear and reminded him of the ice cream and pony awaiting him. He clamped his mouth shut, but more peeps tried to break through. And more escaped. He still wants another piece of paper.

Stupid lockers.

I no longer had three minutes. I had 30 seconds before all heck broke loose. I could see it in his watering eyes.

I gathered my things, left the book on the special stand, and informed the 4yo that it was time to go.

He freaked.

Yep. Freaked.

I overestimated. I didn’t have 30 seconds. I had 10. And even then, I wasn’t fast enough.

You see, my bribery backfired. I promised him he could have the ice cream only if he was quiet while I worked. He knew he hadn’t been quiet. He wanted to stay and try again. He was desperate to fulfill his end of the bargain. But I knew there was no way he’d be able to pull himself together after driving 45 minutes and walking a mile. Not even for a pony. He was done. But he was convinced otherwise. He tried hard to cry silently. He even pinched his red eyes to keep them from watering. But he wasn’t fooling anyone. Not in the silent room.

I grabbed my laptop in one hand (extremely awkward, considering it’s not in its case), I shoved the paper and pencil and 4yo’s jacket on top of it, and stood up.

“Let’s go.”

He freaked his freak.  

No longer would his tightened lips contain his displeasure at leaving this locked-down, oval-office-type-security library. He wanted to stay! He wanted ice cream!

Pride flying out the window, I picked him up with the free arm that’s really not all that free. So he went limp noodle on me and dropped.


His lip hit the corner of my laptop. Suddenly, he was mad and injured. I scrambled to keep hold of the laptop and papers, knowing I would never be allowed back on the U of M campus, let alone in their precious, special library.

The 4yo was on the floor, flailing.

Mind you, he hadn’t pitched a fit like that since he was two. Why in that place, at that time, did he choose to regress, I’ll never know. But I was mortified.

The lady curator was kind enough to ask if I needed help. I shoved my laptop and papers at her, and picked up the limp noodle. Man, he’s heavy when he wants to be. We got out of the main room and were greeted by the receptionist who gave me a look like, “Why did you ever in a million years bring a kid to a place like this?”

So the fun part was, I still had to get my stuff out of a locker and packed up. I dropped the 4yo on the ground so he could flail around without injuring me. But he’s an intelligent boy. Once free, he jumped up and ran back to the door. Remember his goal. Ice cream. He was determined to get back in there and earn it. (May I never bribe another kid as long as I live.)

He got the door half open before I realized his plan. Stupid lockers.

Sadly, the doors weren’t made out of steel. They weren’t soundproof either. In fact, the building was probably 100 years old, so every sound of our episode in the hallway was probably echoing in their perfect little setting.

I wasn’t happy.

It seems like the incident would have ended with me dragging him, literally, outside. It almost did. But alas, even that was too dignified an escape for us. Life wasn’t done laughing at me for the day.

Thirty yards away from the building, the crying, screaming kid informed me I’d forgotten his jacket. I stared at him for several minutes, contemplating. If we didn’t have a mile to walk in the crisp, cool air, I would have left it. I would. But cold skin leads to more screaming. College kids passed us right and left, carrying their heavy backpacks and giving us ‘the look.’ I couldn’t exactly leave the screaming child outside with them. Could I? I’m not proud to admit that I considered the possibility longer than I should have. But I did the right thing.

I picked him up and dragged him back inside.

The receptionist looked up as we entered. Words cannot describe the expression on her face.

Without speaking because, really, what was there to say at that point, I walked past her, snatched up his jacket, and walked back out. And then we started the long walk to the car. 

I’m not quite ready to laugh at this episode that is sure to live a long, vivacious life in the minds of those curators at the U of M. Someday, maybe, but not yet. But I can promise you that when this child of mine has a child of his own who throws a fit at the worst time, in the worst place, I will be quick to remind him of this day.

In case you haven’t lost all respect for me yet, I should finish the story.

We got ice cream on the way home.

Yep. I’m officially that mom.

Anyone else have a story that reaches far beyond humiliation? Anyone else ever momentarily tempted to give their child up for adoption? (jk) Comment here.

(Oh. Since they took all my information, there’s a chance that the U of M curators have tracked me down and are reading this post. If that’s the case, I absolve you of any and all disdain you feel towards me for putting all of us in that situation. I knew better. I did. And I will never make that mistake again. Hopefully.)

related posts: Friday Funnies

What Writing Really Feels Like…


One more week until school starts. One more week!


The best way to describe my feelings is something like this…



Just kidding. Sort of.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids. Really. I do. I love the days we’ve spent in pajamas, playing board games, and eating Doritos as fast as humanly possible.

But . . . well . . .

Come May, I’ll be ready to have them back home again ALL. The. Time.


As I anticipate getting back into writing, I came across this post today by Nathan Bransford. It is about the funniest, most accurate post I’ve seen on writing. It’s nice to know we all feel the same in this crazy business. Just when you think you’re done with the emotional roller coaster, you start up the next hill.

Check out the link here about what writing really feels like.

It’s worth the few minutes for a good laugh.


What stage of writing are you in? Sadly, I’m in several stages because I’m working on several projects. Lucky me.

As always, have a great one!


Leave a comment here.


Friday Funnies: Neon Moons and Sparkly Nails



My boys seem to star in every Friday Funny post. That’s because they’re…well…crazy.

I have three boys. 16, 11, and 4.

Between the three of them, they’re always coming up with something that makes me want to laugh (or pull out my prematurely graying hair).

The 16yo wanted to paint his room this week. He sleeps in the almost-finished basement, which means his room has been in various stages of construction for five years. He’s a patient kid. When I asked him what color he wanted to paint his room, he said, “Blue and green.” In my mind, I was thinking, navy blue and forest green. A very masculine combination. But dark. Too dark for a basement, in my opinion. I tried to talk him out of it and got him to agree to one wall blue, one green, one white, and one striped with the three colors.

A compromise.

Then we went to the paint store. I suddenly realized what he meant by “blue and green.” Not just any blue, but bright royal blue. And not just any green, but neon, hurt-your-eyes green. In fact, the technical name of the green paint was “Shockingly green.” And it is.

I stared at the paint swatch and thought, “ARE YOU NUTS!” Yet out of my mouth came a calm, controlled, “Are you sure? It’s pretty bright.”

“Yeah. It’s sweet!”

Since his room is the absolute furthest room from mine I consented to this crazy color combination. I have been priming and painting ever since. Here’s what we have so far.

You walk into the room now and everything is cast under a greenish glow. It’s awesome. (And reminiscent of a snow suit Sadie wore in my book if you’ve read it). I must say, it makes me laugh every time I walk in. Love that kid.


The 4yo gave me and our neighbors a great laugh this week.

Us adults were sitting back on our deck one evening while the kids played capture the flag. The perfect way to spend a summer evening. 

The 4yo came tearing onto the deck and said, “Mom. Mom! The moon is following me!”

He then darted back and forth on the deck, dodging the chairs and us adults while keeping his eye on the sky. “See! It’s following me!”

We laughed. But he wasn’t done.

This continued for five minutes! He dodged left, faked right, ran back and forth and over to the driveway, trying to lose the moon. But that clever lunar beast knew exactly where he was headed.

Thankfully my son found this terribly funny and not terribly frightening.

I mean, think about it. How creepy is it that something as big as the moon follows you EVERYWHERE you go! No wonder why some people insist that the universe revolves around them. :) I found it too amusing to correct him. If you haven’t noticed yet from my posts, I rarely correct my children. I know. I’m horrible. But…if he still thinks the moon is following him in his adult years, I’ll assure him that the world does not, in fact, revolve around him.

Even though right now it does–at least for our family (and neighborhood).

To prove this, the last story is also about him. Actually, it’s about my eldest daughter as well. I guess it’s not just the boys doing crazy things.

I was gone several hours today, taking care of many things, including getting a driver’s license for my eldest son (STAY OFF THE ROADS!).

My daughter has had to babysit the other kids a lot this week because of my crazy schedule. She wasn’t too happy to babysit again today. You see, her summer hours are very limited and very precious. She only gets to see her friends every day, not every hour, and as she often reminds me, that is JUST NOT ENOUGH.

Feeling sorry for her, I told her she could still hang out with her friends as long as they kept an eye on my youngest. The 4yo being followed by the moon.

Note to self: begrudged daughters will take out frustrations on unsuspecting children to get revenge on trusting mothers

Not only does he have these amazing pedicured piggies (and really, they are quite amazing with the orange sparkly polish and perfectly formed daisies), but he can describe them sooo well, too.

Him: “Um, it is pumpkin orange. Um…and it’s sparkly. And it’s gray sparklies. And, and it has flowers on it!”

Me trying not to burst out laughing: “What do you think daddy will say?”

Him: “Oh. Those are beeeautiful!”

Sadly this is not the first time it’s happened. (See related post here; I’ll never learn)

Even more sadly, I’m sure it won’t be the last.


Have a great weekend!


Anything funny happen to you this week?


Related Posts: Friday Funnies

Leave a comment here.

Friday (sort of) Funnies: In Case of Emergency



I haven’t posted Friday Funnies for a few weeks. Sorry. Summer with 5 kids is crazy, but fun. Actually, it’s more like summer with 13 kids since my kids’ friends are in and out quite often. It’s not surprising I’m running three days behind on everything.

Anyway, plenty of things have made me laugh lately. Here’s just one.

I was just asked to teach the early morning seminary class in our ward (the Bible class for teens that starts at 6am every morning before school).

Yesterday, the previous seminary teacher gave me this:


I’ve been laughing ever since. (Thanks LeeAnne!)

For the record, you’re my witness that the glass has not been broken yet. Good thing the chocolate is protected or it wouldn’t be there. We’ll see how long it lasts once the school year begins. It’s sitting next to my computer tempting me right now.

Have a great one!


PS – Anything make you laugh recently? Care to share?

Friday Funnies: Fish and Cats and Monsters, Oh MY!



My youngest son wins the prize this week. He had me laughing several times, along with entertaining a bunch of teen girls at the tennis courts with his wild stories. Here are three:


1)  I turned around yesterday to see him playing basketball . . . wearing this.

I still can’t figure out why he’s dressed as Sulley from Monsters, Inc. He must have seen it in the dress-up box and thought, “Wow! Look at that sweet slam dunking costume!”

When I turned and started laughing, he got super embarrassed. He tore that costume off faster than anything I’ve seen. But I caught him several other times putting it back on to play some hoops. I had to bribe him to get his picture.


2)  This is the same kid who told me this week, “Before I was a baby, I was a cat.”

I said, “Oh, really?”

Meet Potential Belliston Kid #6

“Yes. I was a cat, and I looked out the window and saw a shark standing up in the backyard.”

With a few probing questions, I realized he was 100% serious. He honestly thinks he was a cat before he was a baby. Reincarnation isn’t something we’ve taught in our home, but apparently he’s picked it up from somewhere.

(We have two cats. Maybe he thinks they’ll turn into babies soon.)

Being the kind of mother I am, I can’t leave it alone. I tell the other kids and their friends about this funny phenomenon. At tennis, they start asking him a hundred questions about what it was like to be a cat.

“Did you like having a tail?” “What color were you?” “Did you eat mice?”

Still completely convinced, he answered every single one. “Yes.” “Gray.” “No, that’s gross!

Oh, we had such a good laugh.

My husband started to correct him at dinner. I jumped up so fast, I probably scared him. But why crush his dream that he was a cute, furry cat once? There are only a few short years where belief in things like cross-species changes is possible.

He’ll learn soon enough.


3)  Last Saturday we spent the day at Kensington Metropark, a gorgeous lake in Southeast Michigan.

We had a blast. The guys spent most their time fishing, while us girls and our previous feline 4yo spent our time swimming.

Scaring Fish in Kensington
The boys had so much luck fishing, the rest of us joined them. I’m happy to report all five kids caught at least one fish, and my daughter caught four. Usually when we go fishing, we catch NOTHING, so it was a great day.

My eldest caught the largest fish, a largemouth bass (at least, we think that’s what it is).

My father-in-law said, “Let’s cook it for dinner.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! 

We are catch and release kinda people. We don’t eat fish. EVER.

Everyone always tells me, “Oh, just try tilapia” — or halibut, or whatever — “and it won’t taste fishy. You’ll love it!”

Here’s some news for you. It always tastes fishy! Always. Stop pretending it doesn’t because it makes anti-fish-ites like myself angry.

But I digress.

My former feline 4yo jumped on Grandpa’s idea. “Yeah, let’s eat it!” Must be the cat talking.

Picture my face here. Something uglier and meaner than the fish. But I tried to smile through my gritted teeth. “Yeah. Let’s eat it.”

That’s when the 4yo grew serious. “But only if it’s cooked, dry, and not moving.”

He repeated this sentiment the whole way home. COOKED. DRY. And NOT MOVING. I can understand the cooked and not moving part. Especially the not moving part since my husband neglected to fully kill the thing and it flopped around in a grocery bag for five minutes right behind our heads. Traumatizing to my son and me. But I still can’t figure out the dry thing. Why was that such an adamant necessity?

By the time Grandpa had it cooking over the stove, the 4yo added, “And not talking.”

I suppose when he was a cat he saw a lot of talking fish.

I am happy to report that every single one of us anti-fish-ites tried that bass. Grandpa smothered it with herbs and butter so it was actually pretty good. (Don’t tell anyone I admitted that.) And like requested, Grandpa made sure the fish was COOKED, DRY, NOT MOVING, and NOT TALKING.


Well, that’s just a little of what made me laugh this week. How about you? Any funny stories you want to share?


Related Posts:

Friday Funnies: My Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle



Friday Funnies are a time for me to reflect on what made me laugh this past week. 96% of the time, it’s something relating to my kids.

Today’s post comes at the expense of my oldest. I must say, I laughed over and over again as I made the video. (I got his permission to show it.)

Hope you enjoy!



Have a great weekend!




Previous Friday Funnies here.

Friday Funnies: Rookie Mother Mistakes


We interrupt the previously scheduled Friday Funnies for an emergency (not really) message. What I planned to write today can wait because if I don’t laugh right now, I’ll cry.
I’ve been a full-time mother for 15 years. I have 5 kids. I’ve seen it all, learned the pitfalls of motherhood and become—in my mind—quite efficient. Line up all kids in a row before spraying and brushing hair, ala assembly line style. Do all ten peanut-butter sides before moving to the jam. Only wear water-proof watches. Don’t buy shoes with ties (even for myself). I am the master of efficiency.
Yet today proved that in the last 15 years, I’ve learned absolutely nothing. Here’s a list of rookie mistakes made in a twenty-minute time period:
Rookie mistake #1): Wear nice clothes.
After 15 years I’ve mastered the art of frumpiness. Clean jeans and a non-stained t-shirt are my idea of dressing up. But today, I ventured. I dolled up. I shaved my legs, painted my toenails, did my hair, and actually put on makeup. I even put in some cute earrings. Big mistake. Don’t ever venture. Was I going on a hot date with my hubby? No. GNO? Nope. I was going to the U of M hospital for a follow-up appointment for my middle child who has recurring sleep problems. We’ve waited for this appointment for nine months. Literally. We’ve actually waited for a solution to his sleeping problems for two years, but when the pediatrician was out of ideas and recommended the world-renowned U of M pediatric sleep clinic, I was excited. I never dreamed it would take nine months from the first desperate phone call to get results. Results were today. Something worth dressing up for. Mistake #1.
Rookie mistake #2: Leave the house. Hahaha. I should know better. I am not meant to leave the house. Ever.
Rookie mistake #3: Plan on plans. Dude, I have five kids. Things never go as planned. I know this. I know this!
However, rookie mistake #4, is where it turned ugly: Ignore 4yo when he says, “My tummy hurts.”
You see, I was driving to said appointment in Ann Arbor, 45 minutes away. I was smart enough to leave 15 early—I have learned a few things over the years, because I have scientifically proven that if I leave 15 minutes early, I can sometimes be on time. Anyway, I was driving. 4yo said, “My tummy hurts.” I was…somewhere else mentally and kept going. Five minutes later. “My tummy hurts.” “Sorry,” I said back. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
A minute later, I found out exactly why his tummy hurt.
And no, we weren’t there yet.
We were stuck on the freeway.
Going 70mph.
In the space of five seconds, I figured out five things.
1) 4yos can’t aim when vomiting. Actually they can, just not at what they’re supposed to. He hit everything I cared about and nothing disposable.
2) There aren’t nearly enough exits on the freeway.
3) I’m an idiot. Amateur. Dunce. Pick a word.
4) We weren’t going to that appointment we’ve waited nine months (two years) for.
5) 10yo boys who have waited two years to sleep through the night don’t react well to changes in plans. Especially my 10yo boy. His personality forbids spontaneity.
Rookie mistake #5: McDonald’s napkins. While driving, I reached in the glove box and found McDonald’s napkins. Come on! Everyone knows mothers should have wet-wipes in the car at all times, day or night, rain or shine. This one hurts the most. I threw a couple napkins back there, but sadly, he wasn’t even close to done.

Rookie mistake #6: Store things like purses and laptop bags below 4yo car seat. I watched helplessly in the rearview mirror as my precious items were desecrated.
I’m sure there are plenty of other mistakes made along the way, but I finally found an exit and pulled over. Then I had to do some serious damage control. We were twenty minutes from home, I had nothing but McDonald’s napkins (and not nearly enough) to clean regurgitated Lucky Charms that had splayed ev-ery-where, and the 10yo was freaking his freak about never being able to sleep again.
I stripped the 4yo down to undies by the side of the road (thankfully he’s young enough not to care) and put him in the 10yo’s spot, who was frantic that we could still make his sleep appointment. I may have exaggerated the truth a little at that point, saying that if we took stomach flu into a children’s hospital, kids with cancer would die. Right or wrong, it worked and he calmed down enough to let me focus on the 4yo who suddenly felt absolutely great. “I’m hungry, Mom!”
***I have to give myself a little credit here. I did one mother-ish thing right this week. I saved my neighbors from this vomiting nightmare. Usually I don’t take my other kids to doctor appointments, but this week I kept thinking, Ah, it’s no big deal. This is just follow-up. This is just results. I’ll take the other two and we’ll go to the awesome Ann Arbor library afterward. It’s a great library. They’ll love it. Plus, I look fabulous today. Might as well make a day of it. I never get out. We’ll walk the town. Explore. So I declined both neighbors’ invitations to watch the two youngest. They can thank me later.
Once we got home, I threw the sick child, his shoes, emptied purse, and laptop bag all in the tub together. Probably not the best idea, but desperation has done many a stranger thing. Don’t believe me?
To save his future pride, I cropped my son out of the picture,
however he was grinning ear to ear, ready to conquer the world again. Stupid stomach flu!
An hour later, I’m back in my jeans and stained t-shirt, sitting on the couch next to this sick child, waiting for the next wave to hit. I’ve broken out of my rookie slump and have every surface within a ten feet radius covered with a blanket. Blankets, FYI, are easier to throw in a washing machine–or tub–than 12-foot sectional couches. I’m still waiting to hear from U of M on how many more months we have to wait for my son’s appointment, so I’m typing away, trying to find the humor (and sanity) in all this before I break down. Thank goodness my laptop was saved by the thick laptop bag, or I might be sobbing uncontrollably right now. (Not really.)(Did I mention that I, myself, am sick? Not the flu–thankfully–but still! I’m expecting the best Mother’s Day presents ever this year.)
Some might ask what’s the point of writing all this down in such detail. Aside from the reminder to myself to quit making rookie mistakes, I’m writing because of my dear mother. She keeps telling me I’ll miss all of this some day. She raised seven kids and she insists she misses the noise, the messes, and the chaos.
This post is to prove otherwise.
PS (I’m doing a 100th post writing thing. I was supposed to ask more questions today, but I’m a little frazzled if you hadn’t noticed, so if you’re a writer and you haven’t added your opinion yet, check out yesterday’s post here. I’ll have more questions for you next week–assuming the flu doesn’t spread. Ugh. I need chocolate.)

Happy April!


Hey everyone, have a great weekend? I did. I hung out in my PJs with the hubby and kids and watched 8 hours of the LDS General Conference. If you don’t know what it is, that probably sounds crazy–and maybe it still is–but it was awesome. Trust me. I tweeted about it all weekend if you want to see my thoughts, go here. Or if your curious about what an LDS/Mormon conference with prophets and apostles is like, check it out here. But that’s not why I’m writing.

This is a quick note to let you know I won’t be blogging much in April. I’m hopefully turning in my newest manuscript today for consideration!!!! Between that and everything else, my kids are ready for more mommy time. It’s Spring Break in Michigan this week for half of them, the other half next week (stinks, I know, but they’re in two different school districts).So I plan on doing lots more PJ vegging. LOVE IT! Anyway, I have a few guest posts in April and if anything else exciting happens in my life, I’ll let you know (don’t hold your breath).

If you’re dying to read more (I won’t hold my breath), here’s a small sampling from my blog:

If you like to write, check out March Book Madness.

If you like to laugh, check out Friday Funnies.

If you like to read, check out your local library, or my book SADIE (shameless plug), or some of my recent favorite books here.

If you’re still curious, check out he sidebar to the left where all my -ing topics are.

Um, anything else? I’m sure there is, but my 4yo is standing next to me saying, “Mom, I’m starving!” so have a GREAT APRIL!!!