She Called You a WHAT?

Confession: I think a lot of parents suck.

Not me of course. I am a perfect parent. Ask anyone. Well, except my mom, my husband, my kids, my friends, etc.

A while back I found out that my daughter, #1, called a little girl in our neighborhood a not so nice name. There is still some discrepancy as to what the actual name was. In any case, I made my daughter walk to the little girls house, knock on the door, and apologize. Her mother seemed grateful, albeit a little surprised. You see in this era of parental non-responsibility for your kids actions, I'd imagine she doesn't get to many personal visit apologies. I would imagine that most of the name calling, bullying, and middle finger flipping goes totally unseen or unheard of by parents. This is not necessarily a bad thing. While I don't think we need to be aware of every little disagreement our kids have, every scuffle over who took who's Barbie be mediated, I do think that it is our responsibility to hold our kids accountable for their actions when we are aware. And that is why we went over to apologize.

Did my daughter like the fact that she had to man up and say sorry? No. Did I care if she didn't like it? Hell no. Why? Because we are so concerned with our kids "liking" us, thinking that we are the nicest parents, the coolest parents, the parents that give them the most stuff, that we forget to be "good" parents. Our job is to produce good and responsible little humans. Who decides what is "good" and what is "responsible"? Who knows. In part, we do. In part the norms, ethics, and values of our communities and society guide us too. Our cultures, and our religious beliefs help out too. In any case, I am pretty sure that nowhere is it deemed that the best parent is the one whose kid has the most Wii games; or the one who gets the nicest car for their sixteenth birthday. I am guilty of it too. No one is perfect. Though I must pat myself on the back just a little and say that I am nowhere near in the same league of culpability as some of the parents that I see. I am forever hearing people ask the question, "what is wrong with the kids of today?" In part, this is your answer people. No parental responsibility. No one around to make kids stand up and take the consequences of their actions. I am in no way a member of the "everything that goes wrong until the day you die is the fault of your parents" club. But a little personal accountability in our own lives and our kids lives might not be such a bad thing.

I have no idea if walking her over to apologize to the girl had the impact that I desired. Ultimately my goal was to make her not want to call kids names. I wanted her to see that it was wrong and hurtful. Eventually I think she will get that message. She apologized. She did what I wanted her to. Is it possible that her motives right now are not so altruistic? Probably. Did she do it to be a better person or to avoid punishment? Most likely it was the latter. But maybe the next time she opens her mouth to call someone names she will think to herself, "I am probably not being a very nice person right now." Or maybe she will simply think, "if I call Lizzy a flaming turd, I'm gonna have to walk like 8 blocks to apologize." Sure, it's not the reaction I am going for, but it's a start. At the very least she will learn to only start trouble with kids who live very close by.

Chew on This.

Confession: I suck at the whole cleaning, laundry, doing house wife-y type stuff.

I am pretty sure we've established this fact in past posts. Still, I think it is always worth revisiting. If for no other reason than because I really do suck at it. Bad. I mean, remember the 1930's housewife test? Did anyone do as badly as I did? Anyone? Uh-Uh. Ward Cleaver would've kicked my ass to the curb the day after the honeymoon. And yeah, I know that wasn't the 30's but whatever. No big deal anyway, since I would've tossed in a red sock with his tighty whiteys and turned all his shit pink before I went. Real men didn't wear pink back then, so he'd have been good and pissed. Anyway...

As you may know there is so, so, so much going on in the world right now. Truly important, critical, monumental issues. North Korea conducting nuclear testing; Potential peace talks between Israel and Palestine; The incredible revolution in Iran after the "elections" that were just held; David Letterman apologizing to Sarah Palin and her daughters for stating the obvious making some inappropriate remarks. The list goes on. I could tell you about any one of these topics. I could give you my modest New Jersey mommyblogger opinion of these events. I could even give you my hard-ass, Philly-girl attitude filled, left wing, social activist opinion of them. Instead of tackling any of this stuff though, I thought I would talk to you about a common mishap that a lot of us moms fall victim to. Yes that is right, not because I think you can't handle the aforementioned topics, but hey, that's what we've got HuffPo for, right? To the real nitty gritty!

How many times have you done laundry and not checked the pockets first? My husband is constantly reminding me, and still I just suck at it. Let me be clear about my hatred for all that is laundry related. Look here if you don't believe me. I hate washing. I hate drying. I hate folding. Good lord, do I hate folding (as evidenced by the 6 baskets of unfolded loads of clean laundry you can find in my house at any given moment). And so my mission is usually to grab heaping mounds of dirty stuff and throw it in the washer as quickly as possible. Shhhhh don't tell, but 90% of the time, I don't even separate colors and stuff. So you know that pocket checking is like, way, way, way down on the list. And that is why today I pay homage to Stride Gum. Yeah, you heard it right Stride gum.

I have washed pens. I have washed lipstick. I have washed AND dried (insert mom gasps here) crayon! Each and every time I have spent hours, sometimes days, cleaning out the inside of the washer and/or dryer. Thankfully, this was all with our old appliances. Because well, now we have those expensive, energy star, high efficiency deals, and crap if I dried a crayon in that, I might as well just look for a new place to live. So where was I? Oh yeah right, the gum. In my generally frazzled state I tossed in the laundry forgetting that I had previously confiscated some contraband gum from my #2 earlier in the day and put it in my back pocket. So the 3 pieces of Stride gum went through the washer, through the dryer, and into my laundry basket. Have you ever washed gum? It is not pretty. In some cases. it is cause for new appliances- and clothes. So imagine my horror when I saw the gum wrappers sitting in amongst my fine washables. Then, in what can only be described as a miraculous, life saving turn of events, I pulled out three intact pieces of gum, still safely ensconced in their protective wrappings. Could it be possible? I feverishly searched through the rest of the pile. Was it possible that all three pieces of gum had survived the laundry basket, the washer, and the dryer, without unwrapping? Without melting into a sticky, molten mess, all over my beautiful energy star dryer? Yes! It could! Yes! And that is why I write to you today not of the tragedies, injustices and atrocities of the world, but rather of three little pieces of gum that made this mommy's day.

This is NOT a sponsored post dammit. I am not being paid by Stride gum. I didn't get any free gum. I am not giving away any gum. No gum was harmed in the making of this post.
Though if Stride gum reads it and wants to sponsor my trip to BlogHer where I can tell everyone how great it is, I probably won't say no, no matter what all of you anti-product endorsement bloggers have to say about it.

Mom: An Equally Oppurtunity Screw up.

Confession: When you've got more than 1 or 2 kids, someone is going to get the shaft.

Sorry, it's just true. Chime in all of you parents of many. Or maybe you were a 3rd or 4th or 5th kid yourself. In a lot of cases it tends to be the baby who, in larger families, gets forgotten about, forced to wear hand me downs, shares a room with siblings, etc. In my family, apparently it is my oldest, my #1. I am not sure if it is because she is well behaved and for the most part quiet, so she just slips under the radar. Perhaps it is because my #2 requires so much attention and time. Is it because #3 is the only boy and gets a kind of attention that none of the girls do? I have no idea. All I know is that at the pediatrician this morning, I felt like the worst mom ever.

I know this is a recurring theme on this blog. It's not as though this is the first time that I have written about something I have done that I am feeling badly about. I am human, and in fairness it has been a rough week month year decade. Hell, I wasn't even planning on writing a post today. I have been sick for over a week. As of today, all of my kids are officially sick, we have a family member who is critically ill, so you know, thing are pretty much par for the course around here. I had Mel, from Behind The Stall Door, all set to do a guest post for me. And then I went to the pediatrician with #1 today. Don't worry, she's fine. She has a sore throat and a headache but she is no worse for the wear. And she is definitely returning to school tomorrow (for both of our sakes). But while I was there this morning (my 3rd visit of the week), the nurse mentioned to me that they needed to weigh my daughter because it had "been a while" since they had gotten a weight for her. Odd I thought since it is only June and she generally has her well check ups around December. So when I questioned her about she very nicely told me that my daughter had not had a well check up since 2007! Huh? Excuse me? Come again? Are you telling me that my daughter has missed 2 well child exams? Well, just give me the award for the worlds shittiest parent now and let us move on.

Upon closer scrutiny of her file, a call to my husband, a conversation with not one, not two, but three different nurses and a doctor, she is actually only one well visit behind. Well, whew! I am only a half-ass parent instead of an all out case for social services. Now I feel so much better. Still, I had them check on the other kids, and they were all caught up and right on schedule. And while my husband seems to feel that there is some lost paperwork or something somewhere, I am left wondering; Did I really just forget to take my child to the doctor this year? Is that possible? I mean, I have forgotten lunches, I have forgotten book fair money, hell I have even nearly forgotten the children themselves from time to time, but the doctor? Really? So now I promised hubs that I will put in a call to the school and the insurance company to see if all her stuff is up to date. Maybe it is just a missing page in her chart or something? Right? A girl can hope.

Ease my pain. Share a bad mommy moment of your own. Please.
Oh and that guest post from Mel, it'll be up soon.

Can You Relate?

I don't tend to get involved in online debates. I don't usually worry about who's disclosing or not disclosing. I don't really worry about who's talking about who in blog world. Would I love to see everyone who is reviewing products let us know that they are being paid, or receiving the product for free, absolutely. Would I appreciate an honest and fair review of said product, of course. For the most part, I write about my kids, my family, my lack of parenting ability, and so on. Every once in a while, I discuss what is going on with other bloggers, if I feel it is of interest to my readers. The massive wave of bloggers plugging products, reviewing, making deals and getting free stuff from major companies to discuss with other bloggers, is definitely of interest to the people who read this blog. Maybe not for the reasons you think.

I have often wondered how PR firms decide which bloggers they are going to pitch which products to. I can only assume that many of my readers, most being moms and blog readers, wonder the same. Just who is going to get to review, represent, and recommend their products and services? One would think that companies would pick bloggers whose readership most closely matches that of their target demographic. And that similarly bloggers would review and giveaway products in the same manner. I am in no way a marketing expert, but I would venture to guess that a company like say, Purina, is smart enough not to approach wehatedogs.com (such a site does not exist to my knowledge). Nor do I imagine that Mommy The Dominatrix is the right blog for say, GoodChristianMoms.com to advertise on.

Nowhere is this issue more heated than in the "mommyblogger" community. Mommybloggers, AKA moms who blog, mothers who also have blogs, or whatever non-offensive term we're using this week, are constantly being pitched by PR firms and companies to do their bidding for them. I am constantly amazed at the odd pitches I get in my inbox. Penis enlargement? Really? Is it because that is what my mostly female, 25-60, largely mom, majority demographic is interested in? It always leaves me wondering if these companies think at all about who they are trying to appeal to, or if some spambot somewhere spits some randomly generated blog name out of thin air. Some companies I am sure will pitch the "blog of the moment", any blog that they think will get a lot of hits on their site. They just don't get it.

I now hear that companies are steering clear of bloggers who are using too much profanity on their blogs, or who are blogging, tweeting, posting things that are deemed "offensive" or "controversial". This I do not get. I would rather have a blogger who I can identify with, who is someone I can relate to, someone like me , pitch me a product, even if that blogger said "motherfucker" every third word on her blog; then to have someone with whom I have nothing in common, any day of the week. Why? Well, ask yourself this question; Are the majority of bloggers that you see reviewing and recommending products to you, people you can identify with? Are they people like you? Do they face the same daily issues and struggles that you do? Will they understand what products and services you need to make your life a little better? If they do, do you care if they say 'shit' on their blog or call someone a 'douchebag'? Give me someone who knows where I stand, who knows what I need, and what I deal with in a day, and I will listen to what you are selling all. day. long. Give me someone honest, someone forthright. Give me someone who will tell me when something sucks, and when there is something I can't live without. Integrity. Credibility. Honesty. Idenitfiability. I may have made that last word up.

Most moms on any given day are tired, overwhelmed, frustrated, happy, sad, overworked, underpaid, under appreciated, and phenomenal. If a mom has a way to make another moms life a little easier, great. If a mom knows of a product that we simply can't live without, we're listening. But pitch us something we can use. If they really wanted to pitch something to me that I could use, they would pitch the secret of how to get 3 kids up and dressed, fed, off to respective schools, pick up toys, do the laundry, work, feed the pets, and still have time to shower, dress, and look presentable myself. Or how to make my house look like a Better Homes & Gardens photo shoot is about to take place, even though my 3 kids and 2 dogs spew so much crap around on a daily basis that it generally looks like a bomb hit it. This, this, would be useful information.

Sure it's nice to say that motherhood is universal, that we all share the same experiences and face the same challenges. And when it comes to feeling love and emotion for our children, or wanting to make the world a better place for our kids, maybe that is true. As for which dishwashing soap I am most likely to use, not so much. Because- marketers, PR people, take note- no matter how popular their blog is, I am not taking dish soap advice from someone who has not washed a dish since Clinton was in office. Do your homework. Know who is selling your product. Know who is representing you and who will believe what they say. And for goodness sake, please bloggers, disclose.

So, Maybe the British Are Funny After All. Who Knew?

You may have heard me mention on Twitter that my brain has been reduced to thinking in 140 characters or less. At home, this is divine. I find that short, clear, concise answers work best when dealing with 3 small children. It also works well with my husband, who is a really cut and dry, get to the point, kind of guy. However, when you are a writer and a blogger, succinct will only get you so far. So, if you couple my (soon to be a real medical condition- mark my words) Twitteritis, with my serious lack of free time lately, you get a really bad blogger. A blogger who doesn't, um, blog. Lovely.
Luckily for you, I have friends who blog. Though some of them are known to me primarily through Twitter, they still seem to be able to form complete thoughts and full sentences. I have to ask them how they do that. For now though, I give you a Mommy Confessions guest post from all the way across the big blue ocean. Here is writer, editor, blogger, mom and of course fellow Twit- Hoola.

Confession: Sometimes I hide from my children

Before you judge me, imagine this scenario. You have two kids. You work from home. Your husband works from home. Your house is small. Really, really small.

So you see, it’s a pretty tight squeeze. We’re in each others hair, like, constantly. All four of us and an over sized house rabbit. And sometimes my sister…or the in laws. Not to mention that the walls are so thin that we probably know as much about our noisy neighbours as we do about each other.

So what does an exhausted mummy do when it all gets too much? She hides, obviously.

Not in an amusing-the-kids way, like hide and seek or anything. More in a ‘please don’t notice I’ve been gone longer than you thought I would be’ way. On occasion I’ll sit them in front of their lunch and just go and walk about in the garden. I’m surveying the land, seeing what needs weeding, doing a bit of deadheading. But I’m also hiding. Don’t worry, our garden, like our house, is the size of a postage stamp so I’m never out of earshot. I can hear the food filled plate crashing to the floor when Ted decides that he no longer likes pasta or that his cheese sandwich looked at him funny. Or when Lillie needs to pee two minutes after she’s sat down to eat. Which is a pretty regular occurrence.

But now the kids are getting big enough and brave enough to breach the threshold, clamber out of the back door and, for goodness sake, follow me. So on other occasions I might say ‘I’m just popping to the bathroom’.

This gives me at least five to ten minutes in which I can hide, if I pick the right bathroom, behind a locked door. If I pick the wrong bathroom, the en-suite in our new attic room (the no-kids – ha! - private sanctuary which meant that our youngest could stop sleeping in bed with us by the time he was nine months old.) the door will be flung open after three minutes and Ted will start slamming the shower doors open and shut or Lillie will announce ‘I need a poo poo mummy’. But otherwise that’s a potential ten minutes to read Elle Decoration and maybe, if I’m really, really lucky, brush my hair.

Other times it’s possible to just disappear for a bit whilst my husband gets the kids ready for bed. He’ll be struggling them in to pyjamas and I’ll just, you know…wander off. I can push the door of the attic room closed and sit on the stairs just, well, sitting. I can hear what’s happening so I’ll go and help if things get feisty – I’m not a total waste of mummy space – but otherwise I’ll just keep really quiet hoping that no one notices that I’m not doing anything productive.

Remember when you used to play hide and seek or sardines? Even breathing seemed really loud and you’d just let your feet get pins and needles because if you shifted your weight it might be a dead give away to your hiding place. It’s a bit like that except the result of being found is far, far worse than being made ‘it’ – a combination of guilt and being dragged in to a debate about whether or not a three year old should be allowed to choose her own bedtime.

Last week I was out shopping with Lillie when she told me “sometimes when you don’t come, daddy shouts ‘LAAAAAA!’ doesn’t he mummy?” As we say here in the UK , I’ve been rumbled.

All I Want for Mother's Day Is You. Not.

Confession: All I really want for Mother's Day is some sleep.

Let's be honest, I am tired. Chances are if you're reading this you too are tired. I'm not just talking about the regular yawn, yawn, time for bed tired. As mothers, we become familiar with a whole new kind of tired. It's the kind of tired that allows you to do things that you never thought you would do. It's the kind of tired that allows you to ignore a steaming hot poopy diaper until the neighbors are calling to complain about the stench, because, well, changing it would involve getting up and moving. And since it's the first time you've actually sat down in 5 straight hours, we'll just deal with the smell for a few minutes. It's that kind of tired. It's the kind of tired where you say things like "work it out amongst yourselves" when your kids are smacking each other with whiffle ball bats in front of the cabinet where you keep all of your good china (which you never use because who has time). Yes, it is the kind of tired where you're actually considering whether the combination of a rambunctious 2 year old and a precocious, into-everything, 4 year old is reeeeally too much for your 7 year old to handle if you just go take a nap for a while. I mean, she has the dogs to help her if she gets into a jam, right? This is the kind of tired I am talking about.

So, let's face it, tomorrow moms all over the world are going to be pampered. I say deservedly so. I've blogged many times on here about how we are grossly overworked, staggeringly underpaid, scoffed at, taken advantage of, made to feel bad about our choice to be home with our children, and treated as second class citizens by some. So damnit, we deserve a day. Hell, I say make it Mother's Week. Hmmmm Mother's Week? Is there some sort of official government website I can go to to petition for that? Anyway, as I was saying, we're being pampered. To some being pampered and spoiled on Mother's Day is about going to the spa, getting taken to a fabulous restaurant, and getting gifts of flowers, jewelry, and large kitchen appliances. Then there are other Mother's Day traditions, like brunch or dinner with your family (both of which we will be doing with either side), visiting the in-laws (after all they are mothers too), or spending a fun day with your significant other and the kids that made you a mom in the first place. All of this sounds super fun. And while I appreciate the fact that both my mom and my mother-in-law are mothers too, and that they deserve all of the rewards of this day just like I do, I can't help but wish juuust a little, that they just wanted what I wanted for Mother's Day- sleep!

Yes, I know that I should want to spend the day with my family. I should want to see my kids smiling faces running in wielding handmade construction paper cards at me. I should enjoy them climbing on my bed and jumping up and down while yelling Happy Mother's Day. And I do. I really really do. But when that five minutes is over with, I really wish that everyone would file back out, close the door, go to a movie and come back in say 12 or 13 hours. During this time I will pull the covers up over my head, sleep for as long as possible, possibly watch a couple of bad Lifetime movies, maybe sneak in a few MTV music videos- oh wait, they don't play music on MTV anymore do they? Maybe I'll even take a shower where I don't have to get out 3 times to break up a fight or wrestle my daughters new shoes from the dogs death grip.

I don't know how it works in your house, but around here being pampered for Mother's Day means I will cook no meals, change no diapers, mediate no fights, wash no dishes, and those damn dogs better not come anywhere near me.

So what do you want for Mother's Day? A big fat diamond? Never hurts to dream. A new car? Hell, you've earned it. A bottle of tequila and a pack of Marlboros? Now you're speaking my language. Tell me what you would love to get for Mother's Day and you can win 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep, happy well-adjusted children who get along with one another, and world peace. Or not.

Just the fact that they remained quiet and occupied long enough for me to write this, was Mother's Day gift enough for me. Not really. I still want my gifts.

Top Ten Reasons To Follow Me on Twitter

Confession: Twitter may be the devil.

Seriously. Yes, I am blogging about Twitter today. Not that the subject of Twitter has anything to do with parenting per se, but there are a ton of parents on there. Some who blog about it, some who don't. Some who read this blog, some who don't. I just figured that since I hadn't been very diligent about blogging for the past two weeks, I would explain one of the reasons why. I'd like to say that it was because I had been catching up with my to-do lists, going through the kids spring and summer wardrobes, or doing spring cleaning- you know stuff I am actually supposed to be doing. Unfortunately, that isn't true. However, once the subtle hints from advertisers started coming in that I had been noticeably absent from blogging for almost 2 weeks, I figured I had better get moving. I mean, how could I live without that $27.00 a month ad revenue?

So, here I am. I am back at the computer. I had to put down the Iphone. I was forced to close the Twitter Fon app. I had to try to find a way to talk once again, in more than 140 characters. While the week in parenting has been a fun one, filled with doctors visits, loose teeth, poop problems, rashes, and lots of newly learned words (can someone say idiot-face- yes my 4 year old can), I still wasn't sure what to confess today. And then it hit me. Right now, my deepest, darkest, dirtiest secret of the moment, is my Twitter addiction!

I need to make it clear that I was Tweeting away before Oprah or Ellen were on board. Before I knew that Ashton and Demi were the darlings of 140 characters, I was typing away my thoughts in 140 or less. But back then I used Twitter as a way to announce a new blog post, or let people know when I had a profound thought (remember that one tweet?). Now like so many others in Twitter-Nation, I have become accustomed to sharing every noteworthy (and not so much) move that I make. "Just took baby to poop on the potty" or "This coffee tastes like old socks". Riveting, I know. What's scary is that there are over a thousand people out there with whom I am directly sharing this information, not to mention others who just happen upon it. It's kind of like peering in the windows of people you may find interesting, but without the potential for jail time. That in essence is Twitter.

It's a good way to communicate with friends and colleagues. It's a great way to let people know what you have been doing. It's a way to share news and information that is interesting or important with a mass group of people at one time, and possibly most importantly, it is voyeurism at it finest. How else would I know that Tanis aka Redneck Mommy saw some guys penis while waiting for her son to come out of surgery? Or that Joanne aka Pundit Mom had a pedicure (and forgot to shave her legs first-oops)? Let's face it, I wouldn't. And neither would you. And that is why you are there. Or maybe that is why I am there. Whatever. Either way. I am there and you should be too. And if you are there, well, you should definitely be following me. Otherwise you will continue to miss such treasures as "Why do I use the word 'boobs' in so many of my Tweets?" and "Working on the next great American novel. Okay, cleaning toilet. Whatever.".

If it all seems a little overwhelming, trust me it's not. And following me is as easy as clicking on the link in my left sidebar that says (obviously) Follow Me on Twitter (duh). I'll even give you the top 10 reasons why you should:

10. You can keep up to date on what is going on in my fascinating life, without having to read my entire blog. No wait, scratch that.

9. Because I talk about boobs and poop there too. Um, wait, I do it a lot more interestingly here on my blog.

8. You can find out what my kids and I are up to without having to deal with my droning on and on. Wait, this is not coming out right.

Okay okay, here are some reasons to follow me and yet still read my blog.

7. I don't complain nearly as much there as I do here. Yeah, um, this is still not working.

Let me think. Oh okay wait, I've got one.

6. Because Blair Underwood and Maria Shriver follow me. I mean Blair and Maria wouldn't be following just anyone, right?

Still waiting on Ashton- ahem.

And hey how about because

5.There are 1,225 other people who are doing it. Everybody wants to be a follower right?

Damn, I am not very good at this.

4. I am racing with @UTBubble to get to a million followers like Ashton Kutcher and Larry King did. Of course, I can't rent billboards to drum up support or offer massive sums of money to charity for following me. But, I do have about 40 years to kill trying to get a million people to follow me, so what the hell.

Okay, forget 3, and 2. They were dumb anyway.

The number 1 reason why you should be following me on Twitter: I will follow you back. Unless you are some lame-o geek, spammer, stalker, or weirdo. In which case, get a life.

What If?

Confession: There are some things just to painful to express in a blog.

So many times I write about how my kids are driving me crazy. Sometimes as I try to write my posts, complete a task, complete a thought even, I am short with my kids. I shoo them off to watch television or play outside, so that I can have just a few more minutes to finish what I am doing. But on Wedesday morning I realized yet again, that there are only so many minutes given to each of us. And the scariest part is that none of us know how many minutes we have.

Madeline Alice Spohr was 17 months old when she died on April 7th. She was the beautiful spirited daughter of a fellow blogger. In my heart of hearts I want to write something beautiful and profound and wise. I want to write words that will move you to the tears that you rightfully should shed for this little angel. I want to put down words that will inspire you to run, not walk, to your children and hug and hold them as tight as you can. I want you to finish reading this, turn off your computer, and go play catch with your child, or bake cookies with your child, or do one of the millions of things that they've probably been bugging you to do with them, but you have been too tired, too busy, too something to do. I want all of these things so badly. But most of all, I want to climb under my covers, curl up in a little sobbing, weeping ball, and bawl my eyes out. Because I am a mother. And who better to feel the pain of a mother who has lost her child, than another mother. A mother who has dared to imagine what it would be like to lose a child. A mother who has thanked God again and again, with shame and guilt in her heart, that it was not my child.

I don't think I can find it in myself to write those kind of words. Not today. Not right now. Right now I am going to turn off my computer and go make some cupcakes with my kids. I am going to look at them and marvel at the wonders that they are. I am going to swallow my tears and squelch my sobs and pretend that my heart doesn't feel like it might explode at the very question of what if? What if that would have been my child?

In the meantime, if you want to read something about Maddie, from someone who seems to be able to write through almost any kind of pain, go here. And when you are done, count each and every one of your blessings.

***Donations in Madeline's memory can be made to The March of Dimes***

Let Them Eat Cake: Part Deux (Brought to you by NyQuil)

Confessions: Sometimes Mommy gets sicks and slacks on all of her responsibilities.

Like now. I am sorry if you have missed me. I am sorry if I have not been a good blogger this week. But, as some of you know, moms get sick. Unfortunately for many of us, we must be sick and at the same time carry out all of our usual motherly responsibilities. No staying in bed. No napping. Rest? I laugh in the face of rest. There are dishes to be washed, lunches to be made, homework to be done, and if we don't do it, who will? And to all of you moms who do have the opportunity to rest and relax while sick- whether it be by way of a nanny, a laid off spouse, an incredibly overly friendly neighbor who really doesn't want to watch your kids, but is too nice to say no- I have a mixture of feelings for you ranging from envy to hatred. But as usual I digress.

I only blogged today to tell you that a verdict had finally been reached in the great cupcake caper AKA naming my sisters blog. The winner is....

The Devil Wears Pastry!
It was just too fitting and too original to pass up! So a big thanks to Maggie at Maternal Dementia, as she had the winning entry. Her Wilton prize package is on the way! And big thanks to Wilton for being so awesome!

I have to give a huge honorable mention to "Mama Bear" for her suggestion of "High Heels and Sugar Rushes" which was oh so close to winning! We went back and forth a dozen times. We had secret ballots, picked from a hat, asked the opinion of toddlers (we're above nothing), and finally the name emerged. But, this was a great suggestion! There were so many great suggestions! Thank you all so much!

The new blog is just in the cake batter stage right now. Still being designed, worked out, and drawn up. But it's up and baking. You can visit at any time. Just keep checking back to see what happens as the dough rises. Okay I really have to stop with all the little cake talk now. Off to the land of Sudafed & Tylenol I go.

Thanks for being part of this contest. I had a great time doing it. I hope you will really enjoy watching the evolution of The Devil Wears Pastry into the premiere baking blog!