Early into our marriage, I set a hefty goal of bringing FOUR children into this crazy world. When I shared that with my husband, he assumed the deer in headlights emoji face, shook his red head and wisely stated “Why don’t we start with one and see how that goes”. Like many high achievers, yours truly has been known to take on more than she could handle. Go big or go home right? I had never even changed a DIAPER but I was going to successfully pump out four babies in just a few years, get promoted at work, make six figures, be a devoted volunteer in the community and save humanity as we knew it. Totally realistic. Completely doable.

Therefore, you can imagine my frustration when the baby daddy and I had a hard time getting knocked up. Was something wrong with me? Was it those inhaled steroids I had to take as a kid for asthma? Was something wrong with him? Could we ever have kids? If not, could we adopt? Would he have to go to a specialist and study Hugh Hefner’s latest centerfold to determine if this was a possibility? Was I going to have to get on fertility medication and end up birthing a liter?  Then, could I get a TLC deal with my own reality show? Hmmm…I’d have to come up with a catchy name.  Something like “JAWS” to chronicle breastfeeding six kids.


A year and a half went by and no zygote. Because I tended to share most everything about my personal life with my close friends and even random strangers on the street, word got back to the baby daddy’s coworker. She had experienced the same struggle as us, but had success after applying information she learned in the book “Taking Charge of Your Fertility“.

"Taking Charge of Your Fertility"
“Taking Charge of Your Fertility”

She lent it to me and I eagerly started flipping the pages. It gave me a temporary action plan of which I had some control over. I would begin charting my temperature every morning for three months and bring to my next OBGYN appointment.

Let’s just say that sometimes TIMING is EVERYTHING. After two months of charting with that purple ovulation thermometer, a stress free week on a Caribbean Cruise and some divine intervention, we FINALLY saw those two pink lines every couple trying to conceive lives for. YES! Like any rational woman would do, I took 54 home pregnancy tests, including the “dummy proof” kind.


First Trimester: I craved citrus, had mild nausea and was annoyingly GIDDY. I drove my coworkers, customers, family and anyone on the other end of my fabulous flip phone CRAZY.

Second Trimester: I LOVED being pregnant, all food tasted EXQUISITE and  I was still OBNOXIOUS. Over dinner one night we read the ultrasound card together of what our child would be. “It’s a…BOY!”  The baby daddy was thrilled. A kid to carry on the family name.

Third Trimester: I ate my way through the holidays and gained too much weight. Doc scolded me. Eh, oh well. Then I learned my pelvis was unfortunately small and he seriously doubted I could birth the baby without some surgical assistance. Do what? Then the back and abdominal muscles began stretching with discomfort, major heartburn, unsightly kankles, a lone varicose vein, Braxton Hick’s, thought I was in labor but got sent home, the “You’re HUGE” comments, his head bouncing on my pelvic bone, mood swings, etc. Get this thing out of me!  Not so giddy NOW.

D-Day: It was a Saturday afternoon in mid March.  Our parents were hanging out at a local park celebrating a Spring Day event. The baby daddy had grilled out and we were having a lazy afternoon. I stood up, started waddling and POP! “Um, babe I think my water just broke.” Confidently he stated “Naw, you aren’t in labor hun.” I guess he thought if I wasn’t clawing his arm off from pain or cursing his prior “Y” chromosomal possession that I was, in fact, NOT in labor. And he is the medical professional. Go figure.

My doctor wasn’t on call. Of course, right? I remember thinking how huge my nose was when I was wiping away the tears. All would be fine though.  We were assigned a wonderful substitute in his absence.

I made it to 4 cm dilated when they offered me the epidural. I could handle it at that point but 4 was no 10 and who knew when they would be back around. I pulled the O2 mask off and yelled “Heck to the YEAH! HOOK THIS SISTER UP.” The only time I ever used Lamaze was when that needle was going in my back. My “happy place” was me as a size 4, laying in a hot pink bikini, looking 18 again, on a Jamaican beach, under a cloudless, sunny sky.  Like THIS…ahhhhhh.

Swing on a tropical beach - vacation background

Fully effaced and fully dilated, I pushed for a little under two hours. The zygote turned zebra was stuck at +1 in the birth canal and it appeared he would be a permanent resident of my internal structures if we didn’t proceed to a stat C-section.

Alrighty then! Delivering at the same hospital where my husband worked meant that bringing our baby boy into the world would be like one big party surrounded by friends who had our backs. Except that the party stage would be my uterus and the only thing party goers could NOT see would be, ironically, my back. Before I could dwell too much on the weirdness, the party had started. I hear “Ok dear. You’re going to feel a lot of pressure” and VIOLA out came my first child!

You know how most birth scenes go down with the kid screaming his or her head off? Well, not my son. He whimpered a little and then got COMPLETELY quiet. And so the never-ending phobia known as “Mother Worry” began for me on a Sunday morning in that cold operating room. “Is he breathing?” “Is he alive?” “What’s wrong?!” He was just a curious kid and was taking it all in. Mothers worry about anything and everything I have come to learn.

Speaking of worrying, it was about this time that the baby daddy brought the curious bundle over for us to formally meet for the first time. I was so amazed that I didn’t even realize the cone head he was sporting from being wedged for so long. I remember he said two things to me. 1) “Hey, do you mind if I go walk with the nurse to take the baby to the nursery?” (Leaving me ALONE with my uterus on the table) and 2) “This baby is HUNGRY! You better get ready!” Oh man.


Next thing I knew, I began feeling a hot sensation on my right side and it was getting worse. “Um Alan (my CRNA). I think my epidural is wearing off”.  Morphine administered. Check. Fist bump.

I kept thinking why the surgery was taking so long? Later I found out that I was the proud recipient of a cervical tear during the C-section and had lost a significant amount of blood. That explained why I had so much trouble staying awake after being rolled back to the room. However, I forced myself to stay awake long enough for the little piraña to latch on…every 1-2 hours…for FOUR days…because I was not yet equipped to provide the liquid gold he so desired. Barely born and already DEMANDING something from me. Three days later and several hormonal meltdowns, we were discharged to begin our life as a family of three.

In conclusion, being knocked up was a wonderful experience for me, until the very end. I mean, who really ENJOYS that last month anyway right? I quickly learned how to change a diaper, found that I had the ability to mass produce liquid gold and realized this was to be the hardest job I had ever held. On the job training is the best kind of experience though.

As I have just finished writing this, I am reminded that children are gifts that keep on giving. Why you ask? Because that same child that I just described being knocked up with 10 years ago just snuck out of bed to “snuggle”, the second just had a nightmare and yelled for me and my third just snuck out of HIS bed and crawled into mine. There you go. I didn’t realize that becoming knocked up ten years ago would alter my goals, motivations and life direction. A REM cycle is foreign to me, I get very little down time, being knocked up destroyed my rectus abdominals, but I am needed, loved and we have a king sized bed.:)

Silence Is Golden…Unless You Have A Toddler

For a parent with small children, silence is GOLDEN.  The constant noises of crying, whining, hitting, slashing, jumping, electronics, Sponge Bob, Mickey Mouse, CARS, biting, passing gas, “Mama I need…”, “Mama I pooped in my butt”, “Mama he hit me”, “Daddy” “Mamma!”, etc. can leave the most together of parents frazzled, grumpy and ALWAYS exhausted.  With my first child, I was a naive girl that thought I could prop my feet up and relax when my toddler would play quietly.  Don’t believe those Johnson & Johnson commercials.  Those little angels turn into escaped convicts when they get alone and quiet.  Often times, they are considered armed and dangerous.

Silence is golden fellow parents or parents to be, unless you have a toddler.  Looking back on my old pictures, I realized that I was able to bust my youngest child with the camera so much more than the other two.  Why?  I can think of three reasons.

#1 – I worked full time with my first two

#2 – Technology: Cameras versus smartphones

#3 – My handling of the mischief. “Wreck-it-Ralph” mom versus “Frozen” mom (Let it go)

Uh hum…I present to you a few of my favorites collected thus far.


Toddlers love to color EVERYTHING.  I remember my oldest got ahold of a black permanent Sharpie when he was two and marked up my ENTIRE KITCHEN.  Think wooden cabinets, expensive tile, doors, etc.  My boys don’t do anything half way.  Fortunately, “Goo Be Gone” and a few magic erasers helped to get most of the ink off.  I still have a few spots left to remember that moment.  I recall being furious and shedding a few stressed out tears.  I’ve mellowed out quite a bit since then. My youngest has colored himself every day for the past week and even got my floor. Tasmanian devil strikes again.



This primarily applies to my daughter.  Her claim to fame was getting into my makeup and emptying out all my bandaids for “dress up”.  At least it wasn’t ruining permanent carpet. 🙂



This only applies to my oldest two.  Bailey, the Geriatric Maltese, was an avid lover of Kibbles ‘N Bits.  I tried all the healthier options on him but only this brand would do.  Consequently, dog food bowls are generally just the right height for a toddler to help themselves.  They looked like chipmunks feasting on acorns and would run, full mouth and all, through the house to hide from me.  Gag me gross! You learn to develop a tough stomach.  My oldest also ate BUGS but, unfortunately, I was too alarmed to get a picture of THAT.



You walk out of the bathroom for five minutes and you will return to a “Toddlers Gone Wild” scene.  Bath water everywhere, bubbles overflowing, random objects in the bathtub with them, etc. Don’t let your camera get wet!




Salt, salad, pantry, party in the laundry basket, etc. Need I say more…






They all LOVED that dryer.  What was especially alarming about my youngest is that he liked to climb into the dryer and SHUT THE DOOR.  I distinctly remember putting a load of laundry up in my closet and not being able to find him! Frantically, I rushed outside to make sure he hadn’t wandered off and then paced from room to room with no luck.  All of a sudden, I heard this little, whiney voice coming from the laundry room.  “Hey mama. I in heewer.”



In conclusion, silence is golden for a parent with small children, but not so much if the child isn’t actually ASLEEP.  For what it’s worth,  I’ve learned to capture the moment as a humorous one instead of a frustrated, assume the fetal position, suck my thumb in the corner one.  These are snapshots of innocent creativity (well SOME of them) and I choose to laugh.  Life is short and we can’t take our Sharpie stained cabinets with us when we leave this earth anyway.  Memories, however, are timeless. 🙂

Top 10 Baseball Park Lessons Learned To Date

The baby daddy and I have spent the last seven years with our eldest playing baseball at the ballpark each spring.  My husband has served faithfully as an assistant coach through 2 years of T-ball, 3 years of Coach Pitch and is now in the second year of Kid’s Pitch.  I’m the party mom and cheerleader WHEN I actually get to WATCH the game.  Some have it worse, some have it better.  Either way, here is what I have learned this far.

“Top 10 Baseball Park Lessons Learned To Date”.

"Top 10 Baseball Park Lessons Learned To Date"
“Top 10 Baseball Park Lessons Learned To Date”

#10 – T-BALL IS HILARIOUS!  I mean, the kids could just stand out there on the field and be adorable.  They swing a million times before they make contact with the ball, they run clockwise versus counterclockwise around the bases and run in the SAME direction when a ball gets hit or thrown.  Furthermore, they play in the dirt, pick their noses, throw dirt at EACH OTHER, wave at family in the bleachers, and they are still ironing out their coordination skills.   For example, my all time favorite of my eldest was watching him learn to run to first base.  Y’all…I wish I had a video.  Imagine a cross between a marathon runner, a British Guard and Ace Ventura.  Now picture a version of all three of these movements combined but completely UNCOORDINATED.  EPIC.

#9 – BRING CASH.  Once your kids get a whiff of any deep fried, high fructose corn syrup, sodium loaded GLORY it’s on like donkey kong.  Some moms are real sticklers for healthy food and super strict with their kids.  My personality is one of picking my battles, opting for fun memories in moderation and throwing an extra fruit serving the next meal.  To each her own.  In addition, I might get 10-15 minutes of sitting on the bleachers if I fork out cash for the dang corn dog, french fries and blue slushy.

#8 – YOUR KID WILL GET HIT WITH THE BALL  It’s inevitable.  It’s a devastating thing to watch your little slugger go from a confident batter to a timid one who steps out of the box and starts striking out frequently.  This happened to us and has continued into this season.  We have begun a more competitive environment, competing for positions with younger kids that have invested in yearlong travel ball.  This is the timeframe when ball might not be very much fun for a parent or a child.  It should also be the time, in my opinion, for development of a child’s ability, not playing the same players in the same positions just to win or to promote certain players.  When your child comes homes from a game with tears in his eyes and says “Mom, I’m just not that good” or “I asked to play this position but I don’t get to”, and they put in the extra practice time, it’s rough.  Parenting gets stepped up a notch at the ballpark folks.

Parenting get stepped up at notch at the ball park folks.
Parenting get stepped up at notch at the ball park folks.

#7 – YOUR KIDS’ BOWELS COME ALIVE AT THE BALLPARK.  Never fails.  They eat ALOT, run around…BOOM!  Code brown.  Tonight at the ballpark I had one tugging on my shirt for 10 minutes to go potty.  I see my son at bat, wait another 15 minutes for potty time with that kid and then I come out to locate the third.  Which brings me to #6.

#6 – YOU MAY LOSE A CHILD  My three year old is so fast. So fast that I can literally look away for three seconds and he’s GONE.  I’ve considered a leash, taser, shock collar, etc.  Tonight I FINALLY exited the dreaded park bathroom with child #2 to return back to the game.  We are winning. Yay! Where’s the wild child? Uh oh…thought the grandparents were watching him.  Mental note made for handcuffs and a shock collar for next Thursday’s game.  And this leads me to #5.

#5 – MAKE FRIENDS WITH ALL THE BALLPARK MOMS YOU CAN.  Case in point…right before that panic attack almost set in because I couldn’t find my child, I see one of my mom friend’s running towards me.  “Are you missing a child?” she says. “Oh I knew where he was!  Did he run around towards your way?” I joke.  She gets it. “Yes! Please tell me you have his crazy self.”  He had wandered over her way because he wanted to go play on the playground.  I then take him to the playground where I am subjected to code brown #2.  “Mama, I pooped in my ‘biaper’.” Sigh…I get his bag. Dang it! HOW am I out of wipes?!?! Oh yea…the push pop.


#4 – ALWAYS PREPARE FOR THE INEVITABLE.  Diapers, wipes, mosquito repellent (if applicable), band aids, Benadryl, Xanax, antibacterial gel, Lexapro, bloody nose, etc.  Don’t do as I do, do as I say.  You’re welcome.

#3 – A CHURCH LADY WILL GO ROGUE.  For anyone reading that is not from the south, this happens a lot down here.  They are the first ones to say how blessed they are and invite you to their bible study but then as soon as a ref makes an unfavorable call or a coach disses their baby…HORNS I SAY!.  The HORNS come out! I remember recently, one lady was SCREAMING across the ball field about how the game was “rigged”, that the coaches were “cowards” and on and on.  Some have terrible things to say about the opposing team members. They are just babies. This brings me to lesson learned #2.

#2 – YOU MAY GO ROGUE AND GIVE NEW MEANING TO THE TERM “REDNECK”.   For the most part, I am too distracted to go deep southern.  However, sometimes I hear an opposing coach talking NASTY to a kid and mama bear is ready to POUNCE. I may not know the coach or the kid but grrrr.  lt can happen to the best of us.  Count to 10.


#1 – BASEBALL IS JUST A SPORT.  Most kids will not go on to be the next Babe Ruth or Hank Aaron and it’s OK if mine doesn’t.  I’m not going to let him quit because he is scared or backing down from good, old fashioned, hard work but it’s OK if he has other interests he is more passionate about.  Children are their own individuals and have their own unique abilities and journey.  It’s our jobs as parents to help them find their way.  So if my son strikes out the next game he is still AWESOME.  He will be successful.  Maybe an engineer, a boy bander or an outside salesman.   Just make sure your daddy gets the ESPN channel and take me to the hair salon son.  I WILL die a brunette. He knows we will always be proud of him, strike out or homerun. 🙂




Finding The Positive In Losing A Pet

As many of our close friends know, we ADORE our fur babies. Like many of you, we love them so much we consider them our family and occasionally let them eat baked chicken off of our plates. This past summer, we sadly had to say goodbye to “Bailey the Geriatric Maltese”. He was my faithful, four footed friend for 14 years.


This neurotic little guy was my roommate before the baby daddy and I got married, so they ended up having a love/hate relationship. He didn’t like having to share his mama and it took the hubby awhile to get used to a white, sissy fur ball growling at him every time he went in for a good night kiss. 🙂 The kids were a little sad when he passed but they got over it quickly. After all, he was MY dog and a GRUMPY old man in his older years. His claim to fame was living up to the “severe separation anxiety” diagnosis a vet gave him and dry humping my leg when company came over. We all have our battles, right?

Fast forward six months later to Christmas. Baby girl was DYING for her own puppy. So badly, in fact, that when her daddy told her he didn’t think it was a good time to get a dog, she had a full on diva darling meltdown…for WEEKS. Remember, girlfriend is an avid adorer of all things animal related and she had her heart set.

Let me fill you in on a little secret. BABY MAMA wanted the dog just as badly as her daughter. So what does a fine, upstanding wife do in this circumstance? Well, use it to her advantage to get her way of course. Mwahahaha.

NOW! Where to find our new family member? We needed a small house dog that was somewhat hypoallergenic. No luck finding a rescue pet and I didn’t want to pay $1000 for a dog. Also, no puppy mills, inner breeding, ringworm, etc. Consequently, I called our veterinarian’s office and they alerted me to one of their client’s that had puppies for sale. Long story short, they were a precious family and we fell in LOVE with “Bella the Shinese” (a Shih-tzu/Pekingese mix).

Baby girl was BESIDE herself
Baby girl was BESIDE herself

Then my son started begging for HIS own dog and Bella was having adjustment issues. She had a brother available. Baby mama caved. We brought “Bo the Shinese” home two days later.

Tonka Terror
Tonka Terror

Although more work with the potty training, Bella became ALIVE once her brother arrived and she never had another restless night’s sleep. That is, until a few weeks ago. 🙁

The Tasmanian devil angel child and I were inside the house and the baby daddy was playing Nerf guns with the oldest two in the back yard. The pups were on the back porch playing. I would even look out the window periodically to check on them because that’s what overprotective maternal beings do. They NEVER left each other’s side.

All of sudden, baby girl burst into the house with Bella in tow, sobbing the most gut wrenching sound you can imagine. “What’s wrong?!” I yelled. “Bo’s dead mama! He’s gone!” she cried.  I then noticed she had blood on her leg and arm. I quickly realized it wasn’t hers. No one was in the backyard. “Stay in here and do NOT come out” I said as I rushed outside, heart rate increasing and hands shaking. What was I about to walk into?

Immediately, I knew. The baby daddy and the eldest were on all fours around a lifeless Bo on the grass in our front yard. My son was crying and beating the ground. My husband, a medical professional, was doing everything he knew to do to save our fur baby and was doing CPR on his little chest. He whispers to me “He’s gone babe. He’s gone.” I’m screaming inside but stoic on the outside. That’s how a parent rolls sometimes. It was so bad that our kind neighbor came out to check on us. He thought one of our biological kids had gotten run over by the car.  We still don’t understand how he got out of our sight and away from his sister.

Like so many of us that lose a pet under unfortunate circumstances, it was a very hard week. None of us slept, the kids cried at school, Bella was very quite and subdued and our youngest kept asking “Where Bo mama?”

As terrible as it was (and is because we always miss those we love then lose…humans or animals), the kids learned a valuable lesson on how to grieve. I have the baby daddy to thank for this. I have to admit I was paralyzed in that moment but he just knew what to do. He gathered the kids around Bo and told them that he didn’t suffer, that they should pet him and tell him goodbye, that he was with God and even found this wooden post for them to decorate for his grave.

While he was placing the pup in his final resting place, my two oldest sat on the couch and, unprompted, placed their hands to their chest and prayed for their little pup. Between salty tears running down their cheeks and trying to console one another, they asked God to take care of him and thanked him for being such a good dog.

In that raw moment and thinking back to that surreal scene when my better half was doing chest compressions on a 7 pound fluff ball, it hit me. A manly dude, the baby daddy has a kind, selfless heart and that’s a ginormous reason why I married him. Isn’t it easy to forget the reasons why we fell in love with someone in the middle of the chaos of living? Furthermore, despite imperfect parenting, my kids were going to be ok.

Baby Daddy and the Fur Babies
Baby Daddy and the Fur Babies

We miss the little guy but I’m pleased to report that fur baby Bella is back to her old self and the kids have developed this overprotective, hovering nature towards her AND their baby brother (except when he is trying to bite, scratch or slash them with a sword.  In addition, she gets baked chicken for dinner much more frequently. 🙂

To all you pet lovers out there that get it, thanks for listening to one of our many moments that teach us.

Santa Paws 2015
Santa Paws 2015



Stuff Kids Say

My boys had (and have) a hard time saying “st”. The convo gets a little dicey in public when they ask for chicken or fish sticks. 🙂 What’s the craziest thing that’s ever come out of your kiddo’s mouth? Seriously, share away…

chicken sticks

(This fine, upstanding image can be accessed through my Pinterest account under “Meme”)

Peace out,
Three Kids & a Baby Daddy’s Baby Mamma

P.S. Don’t be all church lady and not hit the “Like” button. You know it’s funny.

Oh man…

Tonight I’ve got…

One with a 104 temp (flu suspicious aaannndddd we are a really close family)

One with this tangled mop (HOW does it gets like this EVERY DAY with CONDITIONER?)


and then one armed with a ball point pen

I may be hiding in the bathroom right now with the door locked. They are now banging on the door. I will get them all to bed, stay up all night checking on the infested one and drop the non fevered ones off at school ON TIME in the morning. I can do this because it’s my job and I am a TOP PRODUCER. At least this illness that may flood my house like a tsunami is temporary. Hair detangler gel and a wet brush is within my grasp. I also happen to have AMAZING eye makeup remover and a cotton ball for the mini beast’s extremities.

Oh man…breathe…hand is on the bathroom door. It’s go time woman. You’ve got this…

“Toddler Meltdown On Aisle 1”

It was a moment of intense urgency and misplaced confidence. I had a Pharmacy pickup and we were out of the baby daddy’s Chobani Lime yogurt. Plus, baby girl was on this health kick wanting apples and peanut butter. What? When someone actually REQUESTS healthy things to chow down on, then mama MUST deliver. Therefore, offspring number three and I enter Publix sans nap and a snotty nose.

Within thirty seconds of walking through the doors I see a friend, we hug, she sweet talks the grumpy beast and then he slaps me in the face. Well, that was fun. I may have disciplined in PUBLIC. Hope no ones calls DHR. Immediately after, I go to put the kid into the “Twuck” grocery cart and then “Stage 5 Clinger” surfaces. Grrr. Now he’s crying, snotty face buried into my left shoulder. I grab the steering wheel cart, secure kid on hip and head to the deli section.

We take a detour as we pass the bakery. “I want cake mama. The ‘geen’ ones.” Ugh, I cave. He’s pitiful. Crocodile tears streaming down his snot ridden face. Check. We resume the intended path to the deli.

Fantabulous! There’s a line for that preservative free, low sodium Boar’s Head turkey. Do the baby daddy and I really need this? I don’t have to cook a couple meals if I buy this stuff. Motivated, I choose to endure it.

Next thing I know he has squirmed his way from my grip and grabs a glass container of pickled olives. “Wook mama!”, and starts running from me. I can’t blame a pickle jar disaster on my water breaking. This child’s mama is spayed. He wants down and nothing is working to alleviate this desire.

Then the public toddler meltdown commences. The crying crescendos to epic proportions as the stares of all those loyal deli customers pierce into my back. I think “Well, there’s no going back now. Don’t be that mom that yanks the kid up by the arm. Show them your maternal side. CAMERAS are on you woman.”

I then kneel down to his level, give him a gentle hug and he sobs snotty tears (again) onto my left shoulder. He doesn’t feel well. Time to pick up the pace. I quickly leave the scene of the crime and let him down in the freezer section. Somehow, opening the door to freezing air and grabbing veggie bags provides just the right amount of substantial serotonin needed for BOTH of us to survive this trip.

Fast forward to check out. He helps me unload the yogurt! This is going fabulous! WRONG. As I am swiping my chip embedded debit card (conspiracy theory 101 on that by the way) baby boy sprints towards the electronic doors that lead to ongoing traffic. EEK! Between the bag girl, the assistant manager and myself, we contain the beast. “No! I do not want cash back.” As I throw the crazed toddler onto my shoulder, the lady who bagged my groceries politely asks “May I help you out with these?” “Yesssss you may! Bless you woman.”

As we head to the car, the offspring is calm with his healthy snack I got for him at checkout. (I bribed my kid with candy…don’t judge). Then the nice lady says to me “Honey, I have been there. They just get older and you have a new set of issues. My son is 16 now and he comes home to visit every three months. He looks 25 you know. I help him clean out his filthy car each visit and last time I found some things that made me wish I could go back to those toddler tantrums. At least he’s being SAFE I guess.”

Double take what?! You heard me right. This lady helped her grown son clean used “birth control products” out of his vehicle slash love shack. Is this what I have to look forward to? We may be introducing that STD manual and ten pound birthing video into bedtime ritual a little earlier than anticipated! I’ll take a toddler meltdown on Aisle 1 any day people. Thank you Publix. An extra fifty dollars in healthy frozen veggies and a fresh perspective. 🙂

3K& goes LIVE!

Today is the day I officially begin this blogging adventure. “ is going LIVE!

Why would I join the millions of bloggers already in cyberspace? I have three reasons to be exact…

#1 – I enjoy working and desire a creative outlet other than dissecting what science experiment awaits me in the kid’s bathroom each week.

#2 – The days can seem long with family responsibilities but the quality time with them and on this earth is brief. I choose to focus on and learn from the moments…the good, bad, ugly and hysterical.

#3 – Parenting, with all its challenges, should provide us with more feelings of commonality and perspective. Let’s chronicle that chaos.

SO! As nerf bullets whiz by my face and as I break up a sword fight, let me introduce the family! Who are the players in


Well, first there is the Baby Daddy. The one besides the Good Lord who makes the three kids all possible. He is a quiet, introspective, objective thinker who is described by his closest friends as steady and loyal. I was first attracted to his manly hands and broad shoulders. We met on a blind date, got married and then got busy.

The three kiddos bare three distinct personalities that make the job of parenting quite challenging.

Kid #1 – The 10 year old firstborn is currently a 110 pound, carbohydrate loving, reading obsessed, baseball and basketball playing beast that is strong willed to the hilt. He is predominantly laid back, yet predictably stubborn, and has the kindest heart except when his sister and video games are involved. His witty self wreaks of preteen hormones and frequently forgets to apply deodorant.

Kid #2 – The introverted, 7 year old middle child happens to be our only daughter. The diva darling inherited her daddy’s childhood need for braces, as well as her mother’s far sighted vision and zest for drama. She is a lover of music, all things animal related and is currently a straight “A” student. For the most part, she is the only child that minds us the FIRST time. (Insert Hallelujah chorus). Also, her scream is so shrill you lose hearing temporarily. Don’t let the sensitive, perfectionist nature fool you. Girlfriend can throw down a temper tantrum. Finally, she is a devoted mama to her fur baby, “Bella the Shinese”.

Kid #3 – The caboose is the 3 year old, extroverted, high energy wild man that we lovingly refer to as the “Tasmanian Devil Child”. He earns his nickname honestly, as you will quickly learn. He is the only child I was able to stay home with. A decision that I have never regretted, despite the permanent eye bags obtained as a result. He has currently gone three days without his beloved “pappy”.

Finally, there’s me, the Baby Mama. I am a take charge, extroverted, people loving personality. Blessed with a very high sense of urgency, patience is not, and never will be, my virtue. I have loads of last minute parenting ideas to share. FUN is my middle name and parties are my specialty. Hang out with me and you WILL have a good chuckle or two. I LOVE to talk and have discovered that I consequently LOVE to write. After serving in a successful Sales career ranging from Human Resources to Pharmaceuticals, I chose to give all that up to be a full time mom and wife.

So I say all that to give the motive for creating this blog. I write to capture each crazy experience of the parenthood adventure, one moment at a time, with the hopes of giving us all an outlet from the insanity in the world. I want to ENJOY parenthood and chronicling the moments forces me to look longer, examine deeper and love fuller.

I welcome you to join me in this adventure at!