7 Quick Takes about Being Unprepared on Every Possible Front, Becoming an Environmentalist, and Giving Spelling Lessons With Soap In My Eyes

It's 7 Quick Takes Friday! How was your week?

—1—

Like mother, like daughter.

My 6th grader forgot to bring home a permission form for a field trip, so she called me from school on the last possible day to ask if I could bring money and run in to sign the permission slip when I picked her up that afternoon.

Right down to the wire, but that's okay, right? We've got this.

Except that once I got in there, I searched through my purse and realized I'd used my last check and had no cash in my wallet.

Sigh. We are that family.

—2—

Right now I'm working my way through a stack of books the size of Mount McKinley. Nothing exciting, unfortunately. Mostly books on childbirth and other random works of non-fiction that don't interest anyone but me.

Also pictured (at right): the reason I won't get any of these read.

The public library and I are in sort of an on-again, off-again relationship. I'll go for 6 months without reading a book for myself, and then all of a sudden I get a ton of great recommendations and reserve all of them.

It's only once I get home to dump them on my nightstand that I remember that I usually run out of time to shower, letalone read A BILLION PAGES before everything's due back at the library.

—3—

My daughter's violin teacher invited us to come see her orchestra's open rehearsal for an upcoming concert (she probably realizes that admission to fancy stuff for our entire family of 7 costs the same as our mortgage so it doesn't happen too often.)

We were probably the only people in the audience under age 70 (and definitely the only people eating Cheerios out of plastic baggies,) but hey, it was free and the kids got some culture.

—4—

We installed a new desktop (or whatever the terminology is for that thing Phillip did to our computer,) and now instead of a "trash" folder it has a "recycle bin."

Call me crazy, but I feel so much better about how my environmental footprint now.

—5—

When she learned it was my friend's birthday, my 4-year-old wanted to make her a card. The sentiment was very sweet, but I learned that day that it isn't easy to give spelling and writing help to a preschooler from inside the shower.

"How do you spell Happy Birthday?"

"First you write an 'H.'"

"How does an 'H' go?"

Um, I'm soaking wet in the shower. So I'm sticking shampoo bottles over the top of the curtain and pointing: "See that letter right there? That's an 'H.'"

The finished card was from the heart and I'm sure my friend appreciated it, but it was also totally illegible since my daughter haphazardly wrote the letters anywhere she pleased.

—6—

Okay, serious moment. My 4-year-old has been begging for a while to watch Frozen, saying that the last time we saw it was "a long, long time ago when I was 3 and I don't remember it." (Yeah, whatever.)

Anyway, we watched it this week and I was totally shocked by a scene I didn't remember at the end. So they're wrapping things up and Anna bests the bad guy with a witty one-liner, turns away like she's going to be the bigger person, then turns around and punches him into the water.

The kids all laughed and I was like "WAAAAAAIT a minute! Time out! Would that still be funny if the bad guy was a girl, and the good guy was a guy, and he punched her in the face so hard he knocked her off the boat?"

I mean, I'm not Gloria Steinem or anything, but geez. Talk about a double-standard.

—7—

A few weeks ago, I had a slightly embarrassing incident that I decided to put on the blog's Facebook page, doubting that anyone out there would possibly be able to relate:

But the fine people of Facebook came through and I was pleased to see stories come rolling in about how someone's friend or sister showed up at the exact wrong time to collect her kids, making them look like the worst sitter in the world.

The same child came over again this week, and I had to laugh when his mom carried him in without pants. Partly just to mess with me, but partly because he'd pulled them off in the car.

So it wasn't all my fault!

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Why I Don't Want to Know the Gender of My Baby (Until It's Born, That Is)

I can't even remember why we walked into our 20-week ultrasound with baby #5 having decided that we didn't want to know the gender.

With child number 1, 2, 3, and 4 Phillip and I never even thought to ask each other, "Do you want to find out whether it's a boy or a girl?" That was just what you did at 20 weeks.

But for whatever reason, we told the ultrasound tech not to tell us with #5, and I'm really glad we did.

Because that particular pregnancy was the one where I learned by experience that sometimes things go NOTHING like you'd planned.

For starters, they told me I had a complete placenta previa, which made the natural delivery I'd wanted impossible (if we both wanted to live, that is.) My only option was to schedule a C-section, which is one of the last things I'd ever wanted.

And then, at 34 weeks a big bleeding episode landed me in the hospital on bed rest for the next 3 weeks. Also not what I'd planned.

In the beginning, we'd just off-handedly thought, "Hey, wouldn't it be fun not to find out the sex of the baby this time?" but after a series of bad surprises, the way I looked at it changed.

I'd quickly learned that I was in control of approximately nothing when it came to this pregnancy, but the one thing I could control was that I didn't know, and as long as I didn't know, that meant there was one good surprise waiting for me at the end of all of this.

During that 3 weeks in the hospital, I became a quasi-celebrity among the nurses, and not just because I was the only one in the maternity recovery wing who hadn't had her baby yet. I was also one of the rare unicorn women who didn't find out ahead of time whether she was having a boy or a girl.

Every day, there were 6 billion nurses (give or take) who want to come in and stick me with needles and put monitors on my belly, and I would warn each of them immediately not to tell me the sex of the baby. I don't know if they put that kind of stuff on your chart or not, but better not to take chances.

I'd started to look forward to the baby's birthday like Christmas morning, and by that point I would've been seriously mad if anyone had let slip what my present was before I opened it.

Three weeks, a second bleeding episode, and one scary emergency C-section later, Christmas morning finally came. 

I asked the doctor not to announce "It's a boy/girl!" when she took the baby out, but have the nurses simply give him/her to us and let us find out.

And let me tell you, it was awesome.

The C-section itself is still a pretty dark cloud in my memory, but the brightest ray was when the nurse took the baby from the doctor and flashed us (literally) with our tiny, perfect son.

I loved the feeling of not knowing during the pregnancy (and to be honest, I loved a little bit driving everybody else crazy because they all wanted to know, too) and I loved waiting for the big reveal at the end.

So it was automatic for me, now that I'm pregnant with #6, to say, "I absolutely don't want to know the sex of the baby before it's born."

This time around, I hope there won't be any (or at least, not so many) bad surprises. But even if there are, I know I can count on there being at least one very good one.

**Update: for the natural hospital VBAC story of Baby Evans #6, click here.

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Coupons: You're Using Them Wrong

Even though I've always been a really frugal person, I didn't see the purpose in coupons for the first several years of my adult life. In fact, I thought they were stupid.

Case in point: I would see a coupon for Cheerios, but upon going to the store it was obvious that the store brand Yummy-Os (or whatever) were still cheaper, even with the coupon.

I was using them wrong.

Coupons on their own are not particularly useful, unless you're a snob brand-loyal person. Combine them with the right resources, and you will never pay for toothpaste, feminine care products, or shampoo again. You'll also get deodorant, toilet paper, and diapers for much cheaper than you could buy even the store brand.

How to Get Started Couponing

First, you need to find yourself a couponing blog. Find one for your region of the country (because deals vary from region to region.) If you live in New England, I like Krazy Coupon Lady. If you don't, you know how to Google.

Second, bookmark your blog-o-choice and check it regularly. There will be all kinds of deals: online deals and in-store deals, deals with coupons and deals without coupons.

My son, helping organize my coupons.

Third, get your hands on the coupon inserts that come with the Sunday newspaper. I used to get a subscription just for the coupons, but stopped because I don't like wasting money on a paper I don't read. You can ask family and friends for theirs, or strike up a deal where the local library saves them for you, or even peruse public recycling bins for newspaper inserts. I won't judge.

However you get your coupon inserts, organize them in a binder by the date they were delivered. You don't even have to leaf through them to know what's inside first; the couponing blog does that for you.

How Couponing Works

Like I said before, coupons by themselves aren't very useful. Coupons are great when they are stacked with an awesome sale and an in-store promotion. That's when you get stuff for free.

The beauty of the couponing blog is that it finds these 'stacked' deals for you, and tells you exactly when and where and how to take advantage of them.

For example, Maven of Savin' recently told me how I could get 4 tubes of Colgate at CVS for free:

1. They were already on sale at the store
2. I used 2 coupons from my Sunday circular binder (it told me the date of the ones I needed)
3. CVS has a loyalty program where you get coupons to use at their store on future purchases when you buy certain products, including Colgate that week 
4. I paid with a $100 CVS gift card I'd gotten for $86 on eBay, which I'd learned about earlier from Maven of Savin'.

What If I Still Think Coupons are Dumb?

Even if you have no interest in ever clipping a coupon, I still think any frugal person should be following a couponing blog.

Many of the deals are online deals that don't even need a coupon. My couponing blog alerts me all the time to good deals at Amazon (yesterday I bought a big case of Pampers for half the price of store brand diapers) and Staples (our source of almost-free printer paper and inexplicably, toilet paper.) At Christmas I took advantage of several great deals, including a Groupon for 50 photo cards for $10.

A Word About Extreme Couponing

If you've ever seen that show on TLC, forget about it: you will not be that person. Yes, that person is getting 247 bottles of mouthwash for "free" in a single shopping trip, but it wasn't really free because:

1. They had to buy bulk lots of 50 coupon inserts on eBay in order to pull off those deals.
2. They still paid sales tax on each of those bottles of mouthwash
3. How many bottles of mouthwash can one reasonably use in a lifetime, anyway?

To be clear, I'm not an extreme couponer. I am a person who uses coupons and occasionally uses the word 'coupon' as a verb. I have a modest stockpile of stuff we regularly use in our house, and I pay less for it because I follow a couponing blog.

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7 Quick Takes about Scapegoats Who Are Really Pigs, Early Onset Alzheimer's, and Having No Clue What You Actually Look Like

It's 7 Quick Takes Friday!

—1—

Phillip has been on a pancake-making kick for breakfast lately, and one morning my son looked at the giant pancake he was flipping on the griddle and said, "That's huge!"

Having grown up in the 90s, Phillip's knee-jerk response to 95% of all comments is 'your mom.' So you guessed it, he automatically countered with, "Your mom's huge." (It's not his fault. It's culture.)

"Yeah, she is," my son agreed, and went on his way.

—2—

For the most part I try to stay out of my girls' room, but I went up there this weekend and it was so messy. Clean and dirty clothes mixed up and scattered everywhere. Not sure if I should be scared or sad.

When they came home, I put on a serious face and told them, "Girls! I have terrible news! Someone let a pig loose in your room! It's a total disaster up there!"

They just looked at each other and then looked at me blankly. Not even a little bit guilty.

I sent them upstairs to see if they could straighten up some of the mess, and as they headed upstairs I added, "Oh, and $5 goes to anybody who catches the pig."

They immediately started grabbing each other and yelling, "I've got it! I've got the pig! You owe me $5!"

—3—

This weekend I was saying something like, "They bought it at the..." and my preschooler supplied me with, "Store?"

"Even our 4-year-old is finishing your sentences?" Phillip asked.

Apparently I've gotten in the habit of trailing off in the middle of a sentence. I didn't really realize this. I forget the word for something, and then I just leave it at that because I figure people get the gist anyway.

Phillip listened to my explanation, shook his head and simply said, "You are going to be one crazy old lady someday..."

That's right, Phillip. Buckle up.

—4—

We fought The Man and won! 

A month or so ago we got a toll violation notice in the mail, and after reading it we realized that it wasn't us. It was our plate number, but not our car's make, model, or color.

After sending them our car's registration, we got this in response:

A written apology from a government organization! I'm thinking about framing it.

—5—

Wednesday was Mismatch Day at my son's school. Every month they have a fun dress-up day of some sort or another, but I think this was my favorite.

In fact, I wish every day were Mismatch Day because we can only find one of each pair of socks, shoes, and gloves that he owns.

—6—

Phillip was excited to open the new pair of shoes he ordered online right when they arrived. His face fell as he opened up the box, though. "What??" he yelled. "These are enormous! What size did they send me?"

Upon trying them on and realizing that they fit perfectly, he had to ask, "So my feet just really look like this?"

Glad to know I'm not the only one who has these moments.

—7—

Lastly, for your entertainment, my daughter's rendering of how Yoda probably used the Force as a baby:

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If Toddlers Wrote the Dictionary

Sometimes I wonder if I'm speaking a different language than my children. Really and truly.

In fact, I think my toddler could write his own dictionary — if he had a firmer grasp on how to use his thumbs, that is.

If I had to guess, I'd say these might be some of the entries in his amended version:

Banana (n.) - Hair gel.

Bath tub (n.) A really good place to poop.

Changing table (n.) - More modern form of a Medieval torture rack, from which escape at all costs is advisable.

Cleavage (n.) - Excellent drool-catcher.

Coat (n.) - Also a torture device. (see changing table)

Crying (v.) - A way to entertain oneself at 3 A.M.

Dust bunnies (n.) - Delicious morsels left underneath the couch for no discernible reason.

Earrings (n.) - Smaller version of the rings intended for gymnastic use.

Fun (n.) Pulling all the bristles off the toilet brush while everyone thinks I'm in my room playing trains.

Hiding (v.) - What you do while pooping.

iPhone (n.) - 1. My sole purpose for living 2. Object that causes tantrums registering on the Richter scale if within 100 feet of my person but not in my possession (synonyms: iPad)

Mine (adj.) - 1. The thing in my hands. 2. Anything I had at one point. 3. Something I rejected but then you picked up.

Naked (adj.) - The optimal state of being; all efforts to return to this state (public or private) are justified.

Pantry (n.) - 1. Toy box. 2. Sensory bin.

Spoon (n.) - Catapult.

Toilet bowl (n.) - The appropriate place to store the vegetable steamer and/or the remote.

Trash can (n.) - Receptacle for holding leftover food until I'm ready to finish it between meals.


What would be in your toddler's dictionary?

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Winter is Coming

Here in the Northeast, we were all coasting along right through Christmastime, occasionally donning a light jacket when required but mostly lulled into a false sense of security that winter would never really come.

I know now that we were spoiled out of our minds.

The weather has turned. Instead of rain, we're getting snow.

And snotsicles.

And days when my kids actually want to wear coats instead of me begging on my knees for them to at least just put one in their backpack so I don't receive a letter from the school with a polite inquiry as to whether I'm aware of the free coats available at our local food pantry.

It's starting to get cold in earnest now, and I'm already weary of this.

I have readers in Minnesota, Canada, and since Google Analytics tells me a large portion of my readership lately has been coming from Russia, who are all probably banging their fists on the keyboard right now and yelling things at the screen that would make a sailor blush.

For what I'm about to say, I'm sorry. It hasn't even been below 10 degrees Fahrenheit here yet. You have it worse than I do, and you have since October. You win. Unluckily for you, I'm a poor loser and a complainer.

You see, the cold has a way of transforming things I used to love into things I fear.

The hot shower I used to love is now an instrument of torture. There's no conceivable way for all 360 degrees of me to stay in contact with the hot water at the same time, which means I end up freezing my butt off even though the water is cranked up so high I smell burning flesh.

Like an abusive relationship, I'm not even enjoying it anymore but I only stay because I'm afraid things will be worse if I leave.

I'm already a terrible night owl, mainly because I think sleep is boring, but adding the prospect of sandwiching myself between a freezing cold mattress and blankets at night makes it even worse.

Usually there's some sort of intense bargaining ritual involving picking a number or rock-paper-scissors to figure out which poor sap (Phillip or I) has to go in first.

The only thing I dread more is getting up and getting out of bed, which usually happens about 15 minutes after the blankets actually start feeling warm. The cold hardwood floor awaits. My bare feet shrivel up like prunes on contact.

I take that lovely hot shower I mentioned, bundle up, open the door, and feel the piercing sting of my nose hairs instantly freezing as the air hits my face.

I repeat: when I go outside there is ice INSIDE OF MY NOSE. This is not okay.

We trundle out to the car, and by this point my hands are the color of a corpse and the texture of Velcro. I can barely fasten my toddler's seatbelt my fingers are so numb, and the dedicated pair of driving mittens I keep in the car from January to March can't save me now.

We're not there yet, but we will be.

And I am very, very afraid.

Circa February 2015 - Don't you just hate it when you lose your preschooler in the snow?

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7 Quick Takes about the Birds and the Bees, Subtitles with Flair, and How To Appropriately Hail Our New Chief

It's 7 Quick Takes Friday! The last 7 days summed up in 7 quick takes.

—1—

My kids pointed out to me this week that something was up with the cover of their copy of How Your Body Works.

The guy who wants to know about brains is by the brain, the guy who's curious about food is by the stomach, but the dude who wants to know where babies come from seems totally lost.

Not getting any answers there, I'm afraid...

I should read it to see if he ever gets a clue.

—2—

The fact that I haven't watched a movie without turning on the subtitles in 10 years probably doesn't say good things about how gracefully I'm aging, but it's true.

I watched Selma over the weekend, and while it was a very serious movie, the subtitles made me laugh out loud several times.

Usually they're just not so descriptive. In between the dialogue the subtitles would insert asides like [chuckles wryly] or [white people shouting indistinctly.]

At the end when the credits started to roll, the subtitles said [inspirational song playing.]

Thanks, subtitles! If all movies were like you, I could turn the sound off altogether!

—3—

I'm not really sure how this happened, but Phillip and I ended up listening to 90s radio on Pandora for most of the day on Saturday.

After a while, he turned to me and said, "What was everybody whining about, anyway? It was the 1990s: everybody had a job and gas was 99 cents a gallon!"

My kids just thought it was weird.

—4—

Weeks ago, the angel from our Little People nativity set went missing. We all searched high and low, but finally gave up and put the rest of the set away without it.

And this week I found it! I sat down to use the facilities one day and there it was, randomly lying under the baseboard heater in the master bathroom. And I thought, "This sums up what parenthood is like."

Finding random Christmas figurines in January in your bathroom? You must be a parent.

—5—

My 4-year-old has been having a lot of fun with the {affiliate link} colored bath drops she got for Christmas.

Toddler not pictured; he refused to sit down so I removed him to preserve his modesty.

Blue was very soothing, pink was cool, but I wasn't a fan of yellow. I mean, I realize that she and her 1-year-old brother are probably soaking in a tub full of pee every time they take a bath, but seriously, I don't need the visual.

—6—

I signed up for weekly emails from BabyCenter to keep the older kids engaged in the baby's fetal development.

We got our first one this week, and on the sidebar they saw a illustrated video of a baby's head moving through a pelvis. "Isn't that uncomfortable?" my tween daughter asked incredulously.

Um, yes.

—7—

I've also been reading a couple of books about birth lately. One of them had a section outlining the responsibilities of a doula and included something like, "if the mother wants a specific kind of music played at the moment of the baby's birth, the doula can press play."

Whether we end up with a doula or not, Phillip and I are pretty sure we want this song:


What do you think? Too much?

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Babies Do Not Cost a Fortune

In a phone conversation with a friend once, she let slip the F-bomb. Not that F-bomb. The other one. She said in passing, "...and you know, babies cost a fortune."

Ha!

I'm glad she couldn't see me because I'm sure I made a face. Eleven years and 5 kids into this becoming a mom thing, I'm convinced that babies simply cost whatever we want to spend on them.

I didn't bother to correct my friend because I hear it everywhere.

Babies are so expensive. 

You have to save up for years if you're considering having a baby. 

Don't even think about having a baby until you've moved into a ginormous house and achieved financial nirvana.

Mailings from Babies 'R Us would have me believe I need to devote an entire room of my house to my baby, furnish it with a coordinating crib and dresser/diaper changing table combo in walnut or cherry (depending on my style,) and buy a thousand dollars of matchy-matchy decor to fill out the room.

But up until the late 1900s nurseries weren't even a thing, and you probably have at least one grandparent that spent his or her first few months of life sleeping in a dresser drawer.

I'm not necessarily advocating a return to dresser drawers, but I am pointing out that babies don't need a lot of space or stuff, they just need love and enough room to set up a Pack 'n Play in the corner.

I know because we've done this, when our third child joined the family and we were living in an 820-square-foot apartment.

Nowhere we've lived have we ever had a nursery. Over the years we've had babies rooming with us, with their siblings, or even temporarily in a closet, the basement, or the master bathroom. 

We've found that they don't really need a changing table (beds, couches, or the floor work just fine,) a dresser (wire dorm-room shelving from Target is $20 and holds clothes,) or a high chair (we bought a yard sale Bumbo for assisted sitters and a portable booster seat for bigger babies and toddlers.)

I've seen babies with their own personal closets full of baby-sized clothes on baby-sized hangers and 2-year-olds with more purses and shoes than I've owned in my entire lifetime, but most kids just don't need more than a week's worth of clothes and you can find them at a consignment/thrift shop, yard sale, or your friend down the street giving away her son's outgrown things.

I have to admit, the USDA's estimate that it costs an average of  $245,000 to raise a child from birth to age 18 makes me freak out a little.

But when I do the math and multiply the per-month cost by 5 for my 5 kids, I realize it's either a super-inflated number or the average parent is buying diamond-studded pacifiers on Etsy, because it's nowhere near what we spend or have ever spent on any of ours, even though we live in a stupidly expensive area of the country (Northeastern United States.)

I decided to spend a little time playing around with the USDA child cost calculator myself to see what's supposed to make little people so expensive.

It asked what region I live in, how old my kids are, and what our household income is, then told me how much each one of them cost to raise this year — broken down into housing, food, transportation, clothing, health care, child care and education, and miscellaneous expenses for each one.

I know it's just a computer-generated algorithm, but there were serious problems with this thing. 

First, it added a $6,800 yearly housing allowance and a $2,100 annual transportation allowance for each child, even though I have the exact same house and car with five kids that I did when we had three. Basically, it's assuming that I'm getting more house and a bigger car for each child. (I wish, but no.)

Second, it must assume I'm exclusively formula feeding (since I'm told to budget $1,591 for baby's food for the first year) and using full-time daycare (since it projects over $5,000 in childcare costs.) In reality, we've dropped maybe a few hundred on formula to supplement and $30 for that one time we got a sitter in the spring.

Actually, I thought the numbers in every category were too high, like the estimated $45 per week on food for my 11-year-old when really, a weekly grocery trip for our entire family of 7 is about $150.

Long story short, since we're not teetering on the edge of financial ruin like the USDA calculator says we should be, I think it's wise to take the old "babies cost a fortune" adage with a grain of salt.

Possibly one of those giant blocks of salt lick they make for horses.

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8 Awesome Side Effects to Having a Baby

Welcome to parenthood! As an initiation, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: not only is your baby going to be pretty cool, but you're also going to discover a bunch of awesome side effects to becoming a parent that have nothing to do with him.

1. People no longer expect you to wear makeup, style your hair, bathe regularly, or wear real pants. Ditto for cleaning your house. (Unfortunately there's an expiration date on this.)

2. Taking a baby with you to the grocery store makes you look less insane when you talk to yourself.

3. You now have an excuse for everything:

• "I'd love to stay but it's somebody's naptime." (You don't need to mention it's yours.)
• "Uh-oh, I hear the baby crying so I'll have to call you back later."
• "Sorry I'm late, the baby pooped and/or spit up all over me right as I was leaving!" (Actually, this one is probably true.)

4. People will give you as wide a berth as possible when you take public transit. No one wants to sit next to a crying baby at 30,000 feet. (Possibly you don't, either, but that's not a choice.)

5. Connect with your Ninja side. You can stealthily sneak in or out of a sleeping baby's room as if your life depended on it. You also gain the ability to do amazing things like catch vomit one-handed from across the room without letting go of your basket full of laundry.

6. Keep your mind sharp by closing your eyes and reciting from memory every word of The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the 467th time that day. Or work on your critical thinking as you selectively leave out as many words as you can while leaving an intact, coherent narrative. (You realize they can't speak English yet, so it's more for your own entertainment.)

7. Heightened sense of hearing. You can discern the sound of quarters being dropped into the toilet from the other side of the house, or wake up from a dead sleep because you hear little footsteps where they shouldn't be.

8. Perfect your poker face. "Ice cream trucks play songs to let people know when the ice cream is all gone." "Where did the last four cookies go? You know, I really have no idea." These lies are a normal part of your life now. Embrace them.

Being a parent is great for all the reasons you imagine, and then some. Just think, for the next several years you won't ever have to worry about finding a place to sit — when you enter a crowded room with a baby or two, people will literally leap over each other to give you their seat. Which is good, because for the next several years you'll always be late for everything.

See more unexpected perks at Things I Didn't Expect to Love about Motherhood.

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7 Quick Takes about Trashy Obsessions, the Day Our Garage Blew Up, and Gloves to Get Excited About

It's 7 Quick Takes Friday!

—1—

Ordinarily, it wouldn't be noteworthy that our kitchen trash can broke and needed to be replaced. But did you know that you can spend over $200 on a fancy one that opens by motion sensor? On. Your. Garbage.

That blew my mind as I was shopping around Amazon. We ended up going with this no frills-simple model, probably influenced by this honest customer review:

"You step on the pedal and the freakin' top opens!! It's cray cray. Not sure what this sorcery is, but I love it..."

Sometimes I love the Internet so much.

—2—

However, we didn't realize it was slightly taller and the lid would smash into the counter above every time it opened. We had to go back to the drawing board.

This week I've spent more hours online researching than it takes to transplant a kidney, except instead of saving lives I'm poring over reviews for garbage cans to see how tall they are with the lid open. Some thoughts I had during the process:

• I'm so glad I went to college. What a stellar use of my education.
• It's a freaking trash can! WHY IS THIS TAKING SO LONG?!
• That's it, we're just nailing a black garbage bag to the wall. The end.
• If old me went back in time and told young me she'd someday spend a whole day obsessing over garbage cans, one of us would've gotten slapped and the other one would've cried.
• Seriously, my bachelor's degree is basically paying for itself today.

Anyway, I read the whole Internet and ended up finding exactly two that could work for us. So if you have questions about any trash can in existence, I can answer them. I've seen all the reviews.

—3—

I often have the thought that my life is like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. We want to finish our basement, which means we have to clear out the things we have stored down here, which means we have to move most of it into the loft above our garage, which means we need to build a proper set of stairs to get up there.

To build the stairs, we needed to take down all the bikes hanging in the garage (which the kids promptly threw all their crap on top of) and now it looks like this:

May not be readily apparent how this is a step toward a finished basement.

The stairs are coming along nicely, though.

—4—

The kids have been occupying themselves outside a lot, even though the snow is just an inch of hardened white crust on the ground.

Can't build a snowman or have a snowball fight, but they can fly across the ice on sleds.

In retrospect, I'm glad we never ended up having the money to level our yard to make it look respectable, because the kids' favorite sledding hill is everywhere on our property.

—5—

The year I got an ice scraper has long been my favorite Christmas gift memory, but I think it's finally been replaced by this year's gift: USB-powered gloves.

Enjoy the painted nails. It happens about once every 3 years, and my 4-year-old wanted us to match.

I plug them into my computer and glorious warmth flows into them. I realize that leaving them plugged in and burning the house down is a remote possibility, but in my opinion it's well worth the risk.

—6—

We don't have TV, but my preschooler recently discovered she can watch kids' shows on our iPad using Amazon Prime.

One day she gave her dad and I a group hug and said, “I feel like I'm in a herv!”

“A herv?” we asked. “What's a herv?”

“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Like in Dinosaur Train.”

She meant 'herd.' I'm not so sure educational TV is working for us.

—7—

Last of all, I'm not a sports fan. But I might be if it were as entertaining as this:


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Why I Believe in God

If you're a religious person, you've probably noticed it before. I see it written in articles, I hear it echoed by friends who don't believe in any particular religion: "I understand that some people believe in an afterlife because it brings them comfort" or some such variation.

And I think I get it, I do.

They're not trying to be condescending, just trying to make sense of it. To a person looking at a religion from the outside, it seems ridiculous. Incomprehensible. Why else would a person hold such far-fetched beliefs that can't even be proven by any conventional method, if not to fill some kind of emotional void?

Truth be told, religion does fill a space inside you, but that's not why I believe in God. That's not why I believe anything I believe.

To say I believe because it gives me happiness would be like saying I got married so I could have someone to fix things around the house. Of course I like the fact that Phillip knows his way around a toolbox and a roll of duct tape, but it's certainly not why I married him.

The comfort and peace I get from my religion, like the handyman skills I so enjoy for free in my marriage, are only a pleasant side effect. They naturally flow from something much bigger than that.

So if you're shaking your head because you just don't get it, here's why I believe. I believe in God for the same reasons you believe in your neighbor, or your kids' teacher, or your mailman: because he's there.

You're completely free to disagree or think otherwise, but please know that my beliefs go much deeper than the fact that they make me feel better. I've received sufficient proof that God is real, through my experiences, and that's why I believe.

It's true that many people initially come to religion because they were looking for a deeper meaning to their existence. Many people were first attracted to a faith because of the sense of peace they found in its teachings.

But eventually, a conviction that it's true has to grow in their soul, or they won't stay there. No one can go on indefinitely believing that God is some happiness-dispensing candy machine that may or may not actually exist.

I won't deny that my faith brings me comfort in a lot of different ways, but really, my feelings aren't especially relevant here. I believe simply because I think it's true.

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A Parent's Cheat Sheet to Cleaning Anything Out of Everything

I don't consider myself a true expert on many things, but with 6 kids in the house I figured if I'm ever going to be an expert on anything, stain removal is it.

Here are the messes my kids have made where I've been totally at a loss for how to clean it up, clean it off, or remove it — and what finally worked.

(Now, I cannot guarantee that your kids aren't more creative than mine and will find messes to make that mine haven't discovered yet... but I doubt it.)

This post contains affiliate links — if you buy something through these links, it costs the same to you but I receive a commission which I will use to buy a lavish vacation home in Costa Rica. Full disclosure.

Pencil on Walls or Painted Furniture — It sounds like you should just be able to erase it, but if you've ever tried that you know it ends up looking worse than before. You can use a Magic Eraser to remove drawing from walls (and pretty much everything from everywhere,) but it's gentler on paint to spray a paper towel with alcohol and wipe it off. You have to follow each pencil line and really scrub vigorously, but it works. The surface looks a little discolored if you leave the alcohol residue on it, so rinse with a damp paper towel afterward and dry.

Ink on Fabric —  Put the inked area on a folded paper towel, spritz with hairspray and rub it in with an old toothbrush, then dab with another paper towel until it doesn't get any lighter. Scrub with Fels-Naptha soap (my all-time favorite stain remover) and rinse with cold water. I've done this with both black printer ink on white curtains and colored pen ink on a white shirt (why we even bother to have white anything in a house with 5 kids is beyond me) and it's worked great both times, even when straight-up bleach did nothing to reduce the stain.

Marker/Pen on Microfiber — Almost anything up to and including Sharpie marker comes right out of our microfiber sofa with rubbing alcohol and a paper towel. However, I have a love-hate relationship with microfiber. It's easy to clean, but it stains easily (even water stains it!) so no matter what, our cushions end up looking pretty gross after a few months. We zip the cushion covers off, wash and dry in the machine, and they look great. Ours haven't shrunk at all, but proceed with caution if you want to try it (i.e: no suing me for a new couch.)

Melted Candle Wax in the Carpet — Boil yourself a small pot of water and calm down. You can fix this. A little at a time, pour the boiling water on the wax to liquefy it and sop it up with paper towels. Repeat. Over and over. Then banish all candles from the house until your youngest child turns 18. 

Crayon on Walls, Hardwood, and Tile — WD-40 is my best friend. Phillip keeps a can in his shop for something, but I probably use it way more than he does. If my kids draw on the walls or floors with crayon, I can wipe it right off with WD-40. I've also used it to remove artwork from a plastic toy and it worked great.

Pencil and Pen on Computer Monitors — I just about died the first time I walked in to see scribbles all over the computer monitor, thinking I'd have to trash the whole thing and sell my child on eBay (partly for punishment, partly to fund the purchase of a new monitor.) But it's super-easy to clean off with a paper towel and rubbing alcohol so I didn't need to worry.

Pee on Mattresses — Obviously this is one place where the best offense is a good defense, in the form of a waterproof mattress protector. But stuff happens and sometimes kids pee on the mattress. I've tried different ways to clean it out, but my favorite is this tutorial from Yellow Bliss Road. It calls for vinegar and baking soda.

Vomit on Car Upholstery or Carpet — I much prefer that my kids throw up on something I can pick up and put in the laundry, but they don't always listen to me. So when that happens, I sprinkle it with baking soda to absorb odor, vacuum, and use a bristle brush to scrub it with a solution of warm water, vinegar, and dish soap. And then duct tape a big bowl to their chest so it doesn't happen again.

...When All Else Fails — try Fels-Naptha. It's some kind of voodoo magic laundry soap, no kidding. Once my preschooler spilled an entire pitcher of red Crystal Light on a rug in our kitchen. I figured it was ruined but one bar of Fels-Naptha and some repeated scrubbing/rinsing in the bathtub later, I couldn't even see where the stain had been. That stuff is like fairy dust in bar form. There's nothing it can't take care of. I regularly use it both to make my own laundry soap and to pretreat even set-in stains before a load goes in the washer.

What about you? What are your most brilliant cleaning hacks for catastrophic messes?

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7 Quick Takes about Odd Product Reviews, Christmas Ham That Can Clean Your Corroded Car Battery, and Naming Your Unborn Child Darth Vader

It's 7 Quick Takes Friday! That's the last 7 days of 2015 summed up in 7 quick takes.

—1—

Happy New Year! I hope you all had a fun time celebrating and that you find success with whatever goals or aspirations you have for 2016.

I don't always make resolutions at the new year. I briefly thought about trying to find all the Mr. Potato Head parts scattered around the house, but decided I needed something more realistic. Never did come up with anything.

—2—

For Phillip's Christmas gift, I bought him a new suit (actually 2, because there was a BOGO sale.) Maybe some photos of his old one will help explain why this is so exciting to me.

He literally wore his old suit to death.

And judging by the ripped lining, he also wore it with an angry cat inside.

With that in mind, take a look at this:

Finally, his outer beauty matches his inner beauty.

What I particularly loved about the suit was trying to judge the quality based on the online reviews. This one, though not particularly helpful, was definitely the biggest laugh I had all day:

Please note that this reviewer recommended it for date nights. Why you'd need to look like a coy Dutch woman hiding a dark secret on a date, unless you in fact are a Dutch woman hiding a secret on a date, I'm still not sure.

But the suit looks nice, no?

—3—

Our Christmas dinner is traditionally ham, but because I'd (partly unintentionally) made enough soup to feed an army platoon on Christmas Eve, we put it off for a couple of days and had it over the weekend.

And you guys, it's not just any ham. Phillip (our holiday cook) marinates it in Coca-Cola for 24 hours and serves it drizzled with the yummiest Coke-jalenpeno glaze you can imagine.

As you can see, we use the expensive stuff.

My mouth is watering just remembering it (over the next several days, I ate the leftovers cold while crouched in the corner like Gollum hoping the kids wouldn't catch me and ask for some.)

—4—

On Wednesday, we brainstormed baby names with the kids, but I think Phillip and I will have to do some more thinking on our own before s/he is born.

After that conversation, our pool of baby names consists the names of all their friends from school and the entire cast of Star Wars.

On the other hand, we did start referring to our toddler as Wickitt, the little Ewok from Episode VI, so the brainstorming session wasn't a total loss.

—5—

Speaking of Star Wars, they went to see The Force Awakens in IMAX and 3D with Phillip. I don't want to give away any spoilers, so I'll just say that Phillip did say that the female lead was phenomenal and the movie was really well done.

At some point I'll have to see it when it comes out on video. I stayed home with the preschooler, because she practically cried every time R2D2 got hurt in the other movies and we didn't think she was up to the scary parts on the big screen.

—6—

The kids were thrilled to get our first snowfall this week. There was so little snow you could still see grass and by the time we woke up there was already freezing rain coming down on top of it, but the kids still went outside and had a grand old time.

They really do love winter. In the spring and summer, I have to chase them outside with a cattle prod and they still wander back inside bored after 15 minutes, but in the winter they go outside twice a day without me even suggesting it. Even when, like today, the snow is frozen so solid you just walk on top of it.

I have no idea who birthed these children, because I couldn't possibly have contributed to their genetic makeup.

—7—

So far we've had a really warm winter (think record high temps and ceiling fans running at our friends' Christmas Eve party) but that's all over now. Not only do we have some crusty frozen snow on the ground, but it's cold and thoroughly miserable.

As I fumbled with numb, gloved fingers to pry open the trunk of our van (which had frozen shut) so I could haul our recycling to the town transfer station I kept asking myself, "WHY do we live here, again??"

If the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior, I'll say that out loud to myself between 1 and 10 times a day for the next three months.

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