Wednesday, August 12, 2009


Yesterday I was driving Maggie home from an orthodontist appointment. As we were stopped at a stop light, there was a truck in front of us. It was a delivery truck for Keebler cookies and crackers. (mmmm....)

Maggie looked at the truck and then did a double take. "Oh my gosh!" she said. "I thought that truck said 'A Little Effin' Magic'!!"

I looked at the truck and read it as it pulled away. It said 'A Little Elfin' Magic.'

I nearly crashed the car and peed my pants at the same time. Then I immediately called dibs on the computer for when we got home so I could post it on Facebook.

Yes, I'm nice like that.


Hear that? That is the sound of silence. All of my children are in school. Granted, Mary doesn't start every day until next week, but still...

School back in session means that I will no longer be interrupted by whines of "I'm bored!" and "She/he is looking at me/touching me/not sharing with me/occupying my space/breathing wrong/annoying me simply by existing!" My house will stay picked up for longer than 2.5 seconds. I will be able to run errands without a tag along.

To quote the fabulous song stylings of Mr. Andy Williams--it's the most wonderful time of the year!!


When someone in this house celebrates a birthday, it is our tradition that whomever is being celebrated gets the last piece of their own birthday cake.

Maggie's birthday was the last birthday we celebrated and she chose an ice cream cake. There is a piece sitting in my freezer big enough for 2 slices. It is mocking me. It is tempting me. Do you think she would know if I shaved off a tiny sliver of the cake?

Who am I kidding! She's probably measured that cake and would bust me in no time flat.

Stupid delicious ice cream cake!! Why, oh why, are you so creamy and tasty? Must. Not. Give. In. To. Temptation....


My husband contracted poison ivy recently. Having never had it before, he was unsure of what it was. I've never had it either, but I am a mom and I don't know if you know this, but there is a clause in the mom contract that automatically qualifies you as a medical intern. (Ya'll can just start calling me Dr. Sara.)

Apparently after you have borne children, you are suddenly imbued with medical knowledge. You are able to detect ear infections without equipment, diagnose rashes and symptoms, and are able to dispense this medical wisdom with authority. So when your child comes to you whining that they are gravely ill, you simply look in their eyes, make them stick out their tongue, and then either declare that they will live or send them to their bed. One of two things will then happen: a. Said child isn't really ill and will whine when you tell them they will live or when they are sent to bed. If they are able to argue either point, they are well. Or, b. Said child goes directly to bed, in which case you know that a medical professional with actual credentials that they can hang on a wall and that haven't been marked up with crayon should be consulted.

After you've done the Doctor Mom thing for a few years, even your husband will be convinced of your medical knowledge. Then you will find yourself looking at angry, red, weepy, itchy bumps and declare it poison ivy. At that point, you will tell him he is only allowed to give you air kisses on your cheek until such time as his leprosy rash goes away.

Then as Dr. Mom, you will send your husband to the drugstore for OTC medicines to help him dry up the rash and alleviate the itchiness. Be sure to add earplugs to the list. These are for you, Dr. Mom, because bless your patient's heart, he will not be able to stop talking about how much his rash itches. If you forget to have him buy earplugs, it is at this point that you will tell him that you absolutely DO have an idea about how much it itches. Your patient will look at you skeptically and then you will say the magic words, ladies: "yeast infection." At this point the patient will cringe and make a face that says "Ewwww! Too much information" and he will quickly run away.

Then, you may want to call out "make an appointment with your doctor because I only play one in real life!" And if you've done your job as Dr. Mom well, he'll be on the phone quicker than you can say "Cortisone!"

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