Mint Condition: A Trip to the U.S. Mint in Philadelphia

Since my kids are obsessed with coins, I thought that a trip to the U.S. Mint in downtown Philadelphia might be interesting for them.

I was wrong.

"This is boring," wailed Cortlen as we watched newly minted pennies move along a factory conveyor belt below us. "Are you going to buy me something from the gift shop?"

"I'm super hungry," cried Kellen. "And my belly hurts!" he cried, clutching his stomach. "Did you bring any snacks?"

"Are they going to give us money at the end of this tour?" Camber asked. After answering everyone in the negative, two out of my three mobile children collapsed on the ground. "My legs hurt!" whined my daughter. "I can't walk anymore! Can I ride in the stroller?"

Before disturbing my sleeping eight-month-old to make room for his six-year-old sister, I clarified my daughter's request.

"You really think it's a good idea to wake the baby up so you can get in there?" I asked.
"Yes," she said seriously.

Fortunately, the tour was self-guided. After politely "excusing" our way through a school group, we exited the building and made haste toward the car, which was parked at a parking meter ALL THE WAY across the street.

"A little further, a little further," I said encouragingly, as I lured my slouching brood across the crosswalk with a bag of licorice whips.

After much whining and gnashing of teeth over the hardships of field trips and cruelty of parents who refuse to buy bags of souvenir chocolate half dollars from the gift shop, everyone made it safely to the car and into their seats.

The stats:
Time it took us to get to and from the U.S. Mint in traffic: 2 hours

Total time spent inside the U.S. Mint including a trip to the bathroom: 12 minutes

Total distance walked: approximately 300 paces

Number of children who claim to have suffered permanent psychological damage from this experience: 3

Number of moms who secretly bought a bag of chocolate half dollars and ate them after her kids went to bed that night: 1

Shark Mouth: Adventures in Loose Teeth

There is a price for being famous. In the case of my son, that price is exactly 5 cents. That is what he is charging his friends at school and in the neighborhood to see the contents of his mouth. I think he could have charged more--maybe up to 50 cents a peek--but Kellen was firm in his offer. He likes nickels.

Kellen became an overnight celebrity last week when he began telling everyone that he was part shark. I humored him and agreed to call him "G. White Boy" until a lady in line at The Children's Place behind me informed me that my son's nickname was technically a racial slur.

"I hate to break it to you," I told my son, "But you're not half shark."

That's when Kellen opened his mouth and showed me the second row of teeth coming in behind his first set.


"AHHHH!" I screeched in the middle of the mall. I called my husband to report my discovery.*

After privileging the authority of the Internet over the advice of the kids' dentist, we decided that at least two of Kellen's baby teeth needed to come out as soon as possible. This was easier said than done, given that neither were particularly loose.

"I vote for pliers," said Cortlen.
My husband liked that idea, but found my son's baby teeth too small to get a good grip.

I suggested the old string and car bumper technique, but that was rejected as too conventional.

"Eat lots of apples," said Camber who, after losing her first two teeth last month, is subsisting on a liquid diet.

At some point in the conversation, someone raised the idea of a Circus sideshow, which in turn, led us to the great idea of charging a nominal fee to anyone who wanted to see a boy with two rows of teeth and a future orthodontic bill of $2,000,000.

So far, Kellen has pocketed 35 cents, all of which has been put into a fund for braces and headgear.





* Yes I did take a picture of Kellen's mouth. Unfortunately, my high quality camera is incapable of taking non-blurry close-ups. You'll just have to imagine.

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The Mother-Daughter Breakfast

Yesterday morning was the annual Mother-daughter breakfast at my daughter's elementary school. Families whose last names begin with the letters A-M were instructed to come to the school cafeteria promptly at 8:00am and pay $5.25 for a healthy breakfast consisting of a sausage, cheese and egg McMuffin, a doughnut, and a carton of chocolate milk.

Normally I welcome such healthy starts to the day, but as I sat at a table with my daughter and two of her classmates, I began to lose my appetite.

"I'm going to poke a hole in my doughnut with my finger right now!" said Mary. And she did.
"I'm going to pour chocolate milk into my holes," said Lucy.

Camber reached for her chocolate milk, but I cut her off at the pass. "Don't even think about it," I said.

My cruelty ruined what had promised to be a moment of special mother-daughter bonding. After shoving her food tray across the table, my daughter spent the rest of the breakfast with her arms folded across her chest. "I'm not eating that Egg McMuffin unless it's dipped in chocolate milk," she vowed.

"So be it," I said. Two minutes later, she reconsidered and ate her Egg McMuffin, making sure to gag and cough whenever she caught my gaze.

"Thanks for letting me come to the Mother-Daughter breakfast," I said on my way out. "I had a great time."

"I had a disgusting time," she replied.

"I love you" I said as I walked out the door.
"Wait!" she squealed, running toward me. "You forgot to give me a hug!"

I obliged before the pendulum carrying my daughter's moods swung out of my favor once again.

Community Pools

I have a love-hate relationship with the fourth week in May. It is during this period every year that I renew my membership to the community pool; it is also the weekend that I am reacquainted with other pool patrons. Two years ago, I left the registration line after waiting for forty minutes because the woman in front of me had a braid down to her knees and armpit hair.

"I can't swim with that!" I cried to my husband.
"Why do you care?" he replied. "You never go in the pool!"
After reminding me that it was just my children who would be swimming with Rapunzel, I got back into line.

Last summer, I obsessed over a middle-aged man with chest hair that rose over his shoulder blades like a tidal wave and poured down his back.

This year, I'm worried that the man who swims in his jeans and t-shirt is going to bother me.

"You're no prize yourself," my husband pointed out. He held up one of my tankini swimsuits as proof.

I disregarded my husband's opinion of the community pool patrons and my fashion sense as uninformed and unfairly biased.

"They probably pee in the pool," I grumbled.

"They wouldn't be the first," my husband said. That's when he reminded me of the hot July day three summers ago when one of ours pulled down his pants at the edge of the kiddie pool and urinated into the water.

****
Does anyone feel the need to confess?

The Green Giants

I spent Saturday morning scrubbing the inside of the house from top to bottom while my husband and the kids tackled the rainforest that was growing in our backyard.

Just as I stood back to marvel at the miracle of my accomplishment--a kitchen floor so clean I could and did lick--two jolly green giants burst through the back door and wiped their hands on their shirts...but not before touching every surface within arm's reach.

"We need to wash our hands and feet," they said together.

That was an understatement.

I directed one giant to side on the step in the garage while I carried his brother to the bathtub upstairs. After delivering Twin A to the bathroom, I returned to the kitchen to find Twin B lying on his stomach on my kitchen rug, petting the cat. A long trail of wet grass clippings and green handprints marked his journey from the garage to the bathroom, to the dining room, to the stairs, back through the dining room, and to the pantry, where finally he found a granola bar and a hungry cat.

"I thought I told you to stay in the garage!" I shrieked.

"It's too yuck out there," the giant complained. "I didn't want my shorts to get dirty."

Fertile Stares

Last Saturday, my husband and I took the kids to a local park. While Tim and my older three attempted to make themselves puke on the merry-go-round, I took Cameron for a walk on a paved trail that winded through the woods and several people's backyards.

I had been walking for about two minutes when exhaustion and the fumes from the nearby freeway overcame me. I stopped with the intent of asking the person who was walking several feet behind me if he/she happened to know how long exactly the walking loop was. To my great delight, the person in question happened to be a man in his mid-sixties who was lacking a shirt and most of his teeth.

Instead of answering my questions, the man told me that he had stopped smoking cigars eleven days and 5 hours earlier. Before I could congratulate the man on his impressive achievement, he asked if he could walk in front of me from that point on. "It's hard to walk with my eyes closed," he said.

I fell right into this one.

"Why are you walking with your eyes shut?" I asked.

"I'm a father of seven," the man explained with a straight face. "I can impregnate a woman just by looking at her!"

At that, I abruptly turned the stroller around and began jogging briskly in the opposite direction.

By the time I reached the playground, I had thought of two good reasons why I should be immune from this man's fertile stare:

1. The Pill
2. A person wearing knee-length shorts and a sun visor bearing the name of an over-the-counter heartburn medication can hardly be called a woman.


P.S. My daughter gave me the visor for Mother's Day. They were handing them out at the grocery store a few weeks back.

Mother's Day Tea

Almost two weeks ago was the annual Mother's Day Tea Party at my daughter's elementary school. My friend Tina and I signed up to be co-hostesses, which meant that we had to decorate a table, smile through adversity, and bring enough finger food to feed twelve people.

Upon arriving at the school cafeteria, Tina and I were greeted by the event coordinator, a woman named Suzanne who signed all of her emails in hot pink Lucinda Sans.

"I remember you!" Suzanne said when she saw me.

Once I saw her, I remembered Suzanne too. We had met last summer at community pool. Suzanne grew up in North Carolina, but moved to Philadelphia with her husband and two children eighteen months ago. At least twice a week, I would pull up my lawn chair next to hers and ask her to tell me stories of the Motherland, so I wouldn't forget.

"Tell me again about pulled pork sandwiches," I would say. "And houses that have double sinks in the master bathrooms and no popcorn ceilings."

Needless to say, Suzanne thinks I'm weird. Being from the South, however, Suzanne is far too polite and well-mannered to ever say this out loud.

One of Suzanne's goals for the evening was to teach the room something about Southern hospitality and good manners. Her lessons went over pretty well with all of the party guests, with the exception of Table 5, which was filled disproportionately with kindergartners and women from New Jersey.

"I could eat a buttload of those," said one of the kindergartners' grandmothers in a thick Newark accent, pointing to my dessert tray. "What's in this?" she asked, after taking a bite of a key lime tartlet (I made up the names of my desserts myself...they sound fancy, don't they?).

I obliged by rattling off the list of ingredients.

"What's in this?" she asked, holding up a mini cheesecake. I repeated the same list of ingredients, substituting cream cheese for lime juice.

"How about those?" she said, pointing to my third dessert, a chocolate mousse. I was growing a little tired of the routine, so I told her that she could find the recipes for all three desserts on the back of a can of store-brand sweetened condensed milk.

I wasn't able to count how many desserts the women from New Jersey ate, or in what variety or order, largely due to the fact that I was preoccupied with the task of getting my daughter to take a picture with me. Like most of the other girls in the room, my precious darling was still in shock over the expectation that daughters would actually sit next to their mothers at a Mother's Day tea party.

My daughter and her pint-sized friends reached across the table until their fingertips touched and puckered their lips into sad frowns. "This is so unfair!" they wailed.

"Knock it off," said one mom to her daughter. The daughter refused to speak to her mother for the rest of the evening. My daughter's revolt came in the form of a picture boycott.

"Just one picture!" I begged. "Please!"
It was not meant to be, at least not by her own free will.

At the end of the evening, and with the assistance of two very buxom New Jersey women, I grabbed my daughter and pinned her on my lap.

"Take it quick!" I yelped to Tina, who was holding my camera.

In the picture, I am smiling. My daughter is about ready to spit the contents of her mouth on my lap.


*****
Anyone have any similar tales of anguish?

Bonnie Love Pictures Photography Session Giveaway Winner!

Congratulations are in order to:

Rachelle who said, "love your family, love your thighs, love your face... (no i'm not a stocker, i just love your blog)... my sisters live in gettysburg so i am commenting in their behalf for some pics.."

Rachelle: Email me with your contact info and we'll get one of your sisters hooked up!

Non-winners: DO NOT DESPAIR!!!

In addition to Bonnie's already ridiculously reasonable rates, check out her current special:

Mommy and Me Photo Session

• One mom and her children.
• A 1-2 hour session at your home or a location of our choosing.
• All photos edited and put on a CD with the copyright release to use the images for personal use (print for home and family, use images for blog, etc.)
• An online gallery for three weeks available one week after your session.
• One 8x10 print.

All of this for only $55.

"Call it a Mother's Day special. Call it whatever you want but bottom line, I just want mother's to have great pictures with their children."

Offer good through the month of May.

You are so out of excuses for not getting your pictures taken!

Citizens of the World

The parks in my town serve as designated meeting places for several groups of people. In the middle of any given weekday, you will find moms with toddler and preschool-aged children, grandparents and grandchildren, and truant teenagers from the alternative high school.

Last week, we had a play date at a park with a large tubular slide. Camber climbed up the ladder and then climbed back down.

"Why didn't you go down the slide?" I asked her.
"I tried," she explained, "But it's clogged."

I stuck my head up the bottom end far enough to see a couple making out.
"GET OUT OF THERE NOW!" I roared.

A few seconds later, a teenage boy wearing skintight jeans and shoes without laces exited the tunnel. A few more seconds later, his equally well-dressed lady friend followed. Without a backward glance at the picnic table full of evil-eyed moms, the couple sauntered off hand in hand.

The next day, we tried a different park, one with no enclosed spaces and no public bathrooms. Within a few minutes, a compact car pulled into the parking lot, blaring uplifting music. Five teenagers piled out and made their way to a picnic table at the far end of the park. All of the moms stopped discussing the merits and pitfalls of the current Friends & Family coupon promotion at Gymboree and watched the group suspiciously. I crouched behind my son's stroller and took this picture just as the sweet aroma of marijuana wafted onto the playground.


"Mmmmm!" said Camber. "Someone is cooking something good." She scanned the park for open barbecue pits. Finding none, she shrugged her shoulders and ran off.

"One of us should say something to them," said one of the moms, scanning the group. "Or call the cops."

Since I broke up the lovebirds the day before, I was off the hook. Before any lots could be cast, the teenagers finished their drugs and walked off into the woods.

The risks of getting mugged and acquiring a deer tick with Lyme Disease outweighed the desire to find out what five teenagers were doing together behind a large tree.

If it doesn't rain, later this afternoon we're headed to a park that is across the street from a grocery store and behind the cemetery. Included on its grounds are the ruins of an old Mennonite schoolhouse, a duck pond/ drainage ditch, and a crumbling gazebo overrun with weeds... in other words, a school-skipping teenager's dream.

Wish me luck.

****
Announcement: Summer Hours

The days are getting longer and the nights shorter and you know what that means: the end of the school year is near. In a few short weeks, when my kids' 9-11am preschool/kindergarten closes up shop for the summer, my extensive amounts of free time will dwindle into nothingness. In preparation for the inevitable, I'm going to have to temporarily cut back the number of my posts each week. I'll be back full-time in the fall, but through the summer, I'm going to be a little (but not annoyingly so) irregular. Sorry! I feel badly about doing this, but I think you'll understand, and hopefully will stay with me!!!

The Shoes

So I just read the comments for the photo session giveaway with Bonnie and I have been laughing myself silly over THE SHOES.

There is one person reading this blog for whom those pink heels will look eerily familiar. That person is my neighbor's twenty-year-old daughter Brianna, who is away at college. The pink heels are HER shoes and I took them out of her bedroom closet!!!

My formal apology:

Dearest Brianna,
This is as good of time as any to let you know that the minute that you and your sister leave for school after any given holiday or break, your mom calls me up and together we rummage through your rooms and pilfer any item of clothing that you have left behind and that we can squeeze ourselves into. For future reference, don't believe us when we tell you that your new shirt is unflattering or that we think that your knee-high boots say 'exotic dancer.' Take comfort in the fact that we lower your self-esteem for purely selfish reasons; namely, we want your stuff. Instead of getting angry and texting us ugly messages that include the phrases "invasion of privacy" and "thou shalt not steal," think of us as adoring and covetous sisters, preferably younger ones without frown lines and coupon organizers.

Love,
Your Awesome Neighbor

Out of Service

Attention church people, preschool moms, and hospital billing representatives:

Today and probably tomorrow and quite possibly the next day, I will be unavailable to speak to you. As much as I would like to discuss the various uses of wheat grinders/what's on sale at Gymboree/the hospital bill I never received but you say is overdue, I'm going to be unable to take your calls. While delivering a stack of questionably clean towels to the bathroom closet this morning, I tripped on the bath mat and accidentally dropped my cell phone into the toilet....which one of my children forgot to flush. We don't have a house phone. I dug the phone out of the commode with the fish tank net and sprayed it with Febreze. I haven't found the courage to physically touch the phone yet, but even if it still works, I'm not sure that I can, in good conscience, get so close to an object that is saturated with urine and who knows what else.

Then again, I sniff my baby's diaper fifteen times a day, so really, what is the difference?

Photo Session in PA Giveaway!!!

When Camber lost her first tooth a month ago and the boys starting tugging and pulling at all of theirs, it hit me like a ton of bricks: we are fast approaching the age when I will ask my children to please NOT smile for pictures. Before the era of buck teeth and braces is fully upon us, I decided (against my entire family's wishes) to get our picture taken. Not counting the experienced teenagers employed by the J.C. Penney Portrait Studio in the mall, we've never worked with a professional photographer. Needless to say, we were all were a little anxious.

"I'm not wearing the shirt you picked out for me," announced my husband as we got into the car to leave.

That would have been nice to know, say, a day earlier, but I held my tongue. For even the most minimal of requests, there is always a price to pay.

"I'm getting hot and sweaty already," Cortlen warned, yanking at his collar.
"I'm not going to smile in any of the pictures," promised Kellen.
"I'm going to rip this disgusting flower out of my hair!" screamed Camber.

Cameron just sat peacefully in his car seat, smiling at all the crying babies around him. Then he choked up a handful of curdled milk onto his shirt.

When we arrived at the location of our photo session, half of my family members refused to get out of the car. The other half asked if they could inspect Bonnie's (the photographer) huge and expensive camera. Bonnie ignored my crazy dance and furious head shakes and agreed. She sat on the ground and let the kids take several pictures of her (and a colony of ants) before turning the camera on them. Click. Click. Click. For the next two hours, Bonnie played (and I mean this quite literally) with my kids, snapping pictures the whole time. At the end of our ridiculously painless "playdate," I said something to the effect of "There's no way you got anything good out of that." With a wry smile, Bonnie replied, "I'll bet you I did."

As you can see for yourself, I would do poorly in Vegas.



I am beyond thrilled with the results and am kicking myself for not doing this earlier in my kids' lives. Even my good-natured husband, who was so supportive over getting our family's picture taken in the first place, has been humbled into complete and total adoration for Bonnie and her camera. The pictures here represent only a small sampling of what we received. To see more of pictures of my family, check out Bonnie's photography website and her accompanying blog.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive
Me: "Bonnie, will you please please do a giveaway on my blog? It's called the Meanest Mom."
Bonnie: "That sounds kind of scary."

Fortunately for all, Bonnie walks on the wild side!

Here's what Bonnie from Bonnie Loves Pictures Photography is offering to one lucky family:

* 1-3 hour photo session in York, PA
* Online gallery with all the enhanced images from the session
* CD with copies of ALL of the enhanced images from the session, including copyright release for personal use (printing for home, family, or using images for blog).


Normally Bonnie would travel to you, but for this giveaway, you have to come to HER. She lives in central Pennsylvania (1 hour from Baltimore; 2 hours from Philadelphia & Washington D.C.) in a gorgeous little town called York. Sadly, there is nothing cool to do or see anywhere close to where she lives.




In other words, if you don't live in central Pennsylvania, there is no way that you could work this photo session into a fun family vacation. It would just be impossible.

All you have to do in order to get yourself entered in this awesome (and very last giveaway) of the season is to post a comment! Contest ends THIS SUNDAY, May 17 at midnight. The lucky winner will be announced shortly thereafter.

Good Luck!

The Baby Shower

One of my husband's coworkers is going out on maternity leave at the end of this week and my husband is in charge of the woman's baby shower, which means that I'm in charge of the woman's baby shower. Last week, he tossed me an envelope filled with money collected from his coworkers and gave me some very specific instructions: "Buy as much as you can with this...but don't buy junk."

I scoffed at my husband's suggestion that I take pleasure in buying cheap and useless things, especially for other people. Besides, one person's trash is another person's treasure. If my husband really cared so much about the presents, I figured, then he would buy them himself.

Over the past several days, I have busied myself buying up the contents of the clearance bins at TJ Maxx and Ross. Anything with a red sticker and a fragment of its original packaging still intact went into my shopping cart.

"What is this?" asked my husband when I returned home, pointing to one of my purchases.
"Unsure," I replied, "But it was $3.00."
That's when my husband asked to see ALL of the gifts that I had purchased for the shower.

I pointed to a stack of wrapped presents in the corner. "I'm not rewrapping them," I told him. Either you're going to have to do it, or you're just going to have to trust me.

My husband bit his nails nervously. "What kind of cake did you make?" he asked finally.

I pointed to the top of the refrigerator where my masterpiece was waiting.

"The top didn't come out of the pan," I explained, "But it still tastes good. After I frost it, no one will know the difference."

After looking at my cake and my presents, my husband said he had some errands to do and would be back in awhile.

Had I known the standards for corporate America were different than for academia, I would have coated the cake pan with cooking spray before I baked it.

Mother's Day on the Freeway

My family loves sports, so it was fitting that my husband got me tickets to Saturday's Phillies baseball game for Mother's Day. My husband bought the tickets several months ago and to mark the special occasion, paid extra for seats with backs.

My kids and I spent the entire week planning the outing. The morning of the game, we filled our cooler with sandwiches, drinks, and special snacks. We were so eager to get to the game, in fact, that we left the house without our tickets. Thirty minutes down the road, my husband realized the error and we all returned home to retrieve the tickets from our kitchen counter.

The second time we pulled onto the expressway, we were greeted by every person in the universe, who also happened to be driving into Philadelphia at the exact time on the exact same two-lane freeway built in 1700. Construction delays, ramp closings, and the spectacle of a man urinating on the shoulder made the eight mile trip last THREE hours. By the time we pulled into the stadium parking lot, it was the top of the 8th inning. The crowd was beginning to trickle out of the stands.

"I won! I won!" I screamed, reaching into the almost empty snack bag. At the one hour and forty-five minute mark, it was decided that the last piece of licorice would go to the family member who correctly guessed the inning of our arrival.

My husband did a quick u-turn and got back onto the freeway.
"I'm sorry," he apologized to three hysterical kids. "Happy Mother's Day," he said in my direction.

I began to tear up, not because we missed the game, but because I missed what might be my only chance to sit in a stadium seat that can be accurately described as a chair.


In the end, my husband made it up to me by letting us eat our lunch at a dirty park in the middle of the city. We shared the picnic area with a middle-aged woman who had a fixed stare and a bloody piece of gauze taped to the middle of her forehead. I was in the process of asking the woman if she wanted a sandwich when another woman emerged from the bushes wearing slippers and a plastic rain poncho. Without a word, the duo linked arms and shuffled into a lane of oncoming traffic. We closed our eyes and braced for the inevitable. When we opened them a few seconds later, the pair was on the other side of the street and making their way into a McDonald's restaurant.

***
What did YOU do for Mother's Day?

Ready or Not...Here They Come!!!

My final mom this week is Heather. She was busy raising two toddlers when she woke up one morning so sick with nausea that she though she was going to die.


SURPRISE!

Completely freaked out, Heather emailed me and asked for advice and tips on raising twins. I calmed her down by telling her that her life is pretty much over and to gear up as much as possible for a trip through the Twilight Zone.

Elizabeth Lyons, the celebrated author of two twin parenting books, confirmed via email that I said exactly the right things.

Heather: Elizabeth Lyons' advice isn't as good or accurate as mine, but she is a famous motivational speaker and a published author, so that has to count for something! To help you out and to help me feel less guilty about scaring you half to death, Elizabeth is sending copies of her two books to you PRONTO.



Elizabeth has also agreed to answer any and all of your questions about life with multiples LIVE in a thirty-minute phone conversation.

In addition, you'll also be getting the Black Licorice Headband from The Orange Plum. You're going to like this thick, washable, custom-fit no-slip headband AND you're going to need it. Good luck finding time to go to a hair salon after the twinsies are born. By my estimates, this headband will cover at least 3 months worth of roots :)

Congratulations on your pregnancy and good luck!

***
This hereby ends my Mother's Day spotlights. Congrats to all the nominees who were featured this week and thanks to those who nominated them. A HUGE THANKS also goes out to my amazing and super generous sponsors. What you do know is that these companies have agreed to send some free stuff to the women I've spotlighted. What you don't know is that some of these companies have also volunteered to send things (without recognition) to A. the people who nominated these women B. other special moms on my list. Some of the stuff they have sent to these total strangers is pretty darn incredible (packages worth hundreds of dollars).

Sponsors: Thank you. You did good.

Counting Eclairs

Tonight is our elementary school's annual Mother's Day Tea Party. My neighbor and partner-in-crime Tina and I signed up to be co- hostesses. With this honor comes the responsibility of decorating a table and providing (and I'm quoting from memory one of the 23,000 emails that I have received from Suzanne, the event coordinator, over the past three weeks) "an experience that twelve party guests will never forget."

People don't usually forget the parties I host, but not for the reasons Suzanne implied. At the last party I threw (for the women in my church), I unwittingly made a guest cry by telling her that it was inappropriate to take half of a cake home to her husband.

For obvious reasons, it was decided that Tina's hostessing duties will include engaging our table guests in polite small talk; my job is to avoid making facial expressions and any noises that may be interpreted as Morse Code or a death moan. I have also been asked not to count the number of eclairs each guest consumes, nor am I allowed to say the words "Swine Flu."

"If you don't like people, why did you sign up to be a hostess?" Tina asked me yesterday, as we hot glued plastic flowers to ribbon napkin ring holders.

I responded that I like people just fine; it's being in large groups of them that is hard for me.

"Would counting eclairs help alleviate some of your anxiety?" Tina asked me, rolling her eyes.

"Yes," I replied. "And maybe one small allusion to pigs."

***
I'll let you know how it goes. Now excuse me while I go make/buy the eclairs that I'm going to be counting from 6-8pm tonight.


******
Today's mom--D0lores from Texas--was nominated by her sister Marisol.
Here are her stats:
* mom of FOUR young boys
* wife to one awesome hubby
* garbage disposal just went out
* substitute teacher (I substituted for a middle school class once. Never again).
* mom of FOUR young boys
* washing machine just broke
*mom of FOUR young boys (check out the little guy in front of his mom! I am loving it!)

As a mom to 4 boys, D0lores' house must, at times, smell less than fresh. Boys are awesome, but many refuse to shower when necessary (I know from experience). Thanks to consultant/distributor Selena Livingstone, D0lores will be getting some much needed help in the form of a non-toxic, eco-friendly Get Clean Starter Kit from Shaklee valued at $160!





Featured on Oprah's Favorite Things Show, this kit includes bottles of super concentrated dish washing soap, kitchen and bathroom cleaners, laundry detergent, window cleaner...and more. In addition to saving tons of water, the kit replaces replaces 830 bottles or boxes of conventional ready-to-use cleaning products. Gotta love that!

Dolores will also receive a free one-year membership for Shaklee U.S. valued at $19.00.
Everyone else can enter one of Shaklee's monthly drawing for $200 worth of
products at www.landofand.com/selenalivingstone.


In addition, Dolores will also receive a special WICKLESS CANDLE gift set from SCENTSY . The only thing that stinks (to use an appropriate pun) about these candles is that they remove the fire hazard and thus half the fun of having candles in a home with small children.

D0lores' gift set includes one Plug-In Warmer and one Scentsy Bar of her choice from Scentsy Superstar consultant Lori Hall. FYI: Scentsy offers 45 beautiful deluxe warmers, 12 plug-in warmers and over 80 scentsational scents available in wax bars, room sprays and car candles. All of their candles are wickless, flameless, smokeless, and lead-free! Who knew such a thing was possible?

***
Come back tomorrow. I've got one more spotlight!

A Dream Deferred

A few days ago, my daughter received an invitation to a friend's birthday party in the mail. The party is being held at a children's hair salon in town. After being educated in the art of prepubescent hairstyling, each of the party guests will be treated to a beauty treatment of her choice: a manicure, a pedicure, a classy 'up-do,' or a free ear piercing. I was a little disappointed that there wasn't a box labeled "tattoo," because I would have checked it.

"Mani, pedi, or hairdo?" I asked my daughter, pencil in hand.
"I want my ears pierced!" she cried. The panic rose in her throat as she realized that my omission of her desired choice was not by accident.

I reminded my daughter of our agreement: she could get her ears pierced when she was eight. This proved to be small consolation to a six-year-old with a penchant for glittery hoops.

Camber: "I'm going to get my ears pierced anyway."
Me: "I'm not signing the permission slip."
Camber: "I'll sign your name when you're not looking."

I thought about telling my daughter that her plan was doomed to failure, but then I remembered who worked at the beauty salon--high school sophomores--and I was forced to recalculate her odds of success.

After forcing my daughter's hand and talking her (reluctantly) into a disgusting hairdo that she vows to rip out the moment the party ends, I took her shopping for a gift. All of my initial suggestions (snow cone maker, pottery wheel, albino frog) were scorned and soundly rejected. My daughter and I couldn't find anything we agreed upon until we reached the beauty aisle.

"Home waxing kit?" I proposed, holding up a tub of microwavable eyebrow wax.

My daughter studied the box before returning it to the shelf. "That's actually a good idea," she said slowly. "But I want to think about it for a couple of minutes."

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Today's mom is Kristine and she is a hero. In addition to supporting her husband through an MBA program and full-time job, she has also been a foster mom for over a year to two adorable little kids. She finds out soon if she and her husband are going to be able to adopt them. My fingers are crossed!


With three kids under three in her home, Kristine's life is crazy...and loud. That's why LDS Quiet Books is sending Kristine's kids their very own quiet book! If you haven't seen these things, they're lifesavers. These fabric activity kits are great for music recitals, airplanes, church, doctors' offices...pretty much any place where you wish your child had an "off" button.


In addition, Kristine will also receive an eco-chic and appropriately worded reusable bag from Earth Saks.


Last but not least, Kristine will also be getting a one-year subscription to Eliza Magazine.



Kristine: What the world needs is a million more of you.

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Have you seen this music video? If not, be prepared to cry (in a good way).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqfGqOx2iDQ