Baby Spit Jungle...

Years ago I convinced my husband that we needed HBO just so that I could watch "Sex and the City." I loved the clothes and the idea of girlfriends being so close. That is what all women want-a group of girlfriends that will be there for them no matter what. There was also a lot of sex on the show, and well, I didn't need to see all of that because I was in a reality show called "Sex in my marriage." It was fabulous and is still my favorite show. It is one of those long running series... going on 15 years.

Anyway, there are two television shows that are trying to win over the "Sex and the City" followers. One is "Cashmere Mafia" and the other is "Lipstick Jungle." I have watched both and have to say that the Lipstick is the clear winner.

Not only are there girlfriends who love each other unconditionally, but they have fabulous jobs that we get to ooh and ahh over. As I sit on my couch with my oversized pj bottoms and my older-than-dirt favorite sweatshirt, I watch Lipstick and fantasize about what it would be like to actually have a fast paced, high power job.

What would it be like to live in a 3.5 million dollar apartment and be able to run into the street with my arm raised high and simply tip my finger and have a taxi stop dead in it's tracks? Would I be able to get used to wearing Prada suits and carrying around Kate Spade handbags? Could I stand having an assistant who has an assistant?

I don't know... let me think about it for a moment. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

Sure it would be fun, but look what I would have to give up. I would have to stop wearing sweat pants for one thing. I would also never be able to run into Target on a early Saturday morning for tampons before I even brushed my teeth (the high paced life would never stand for that.) And what about baby spit? Would I have to throw away half of my sweaters because they have yellow baby spit stains on the shoulders?

How could I ever think of giving up the baby spit?

A Mothering Must-Have...

I finally figured out motherhood. That is right... I finally figured out the one thing I needed in order to be a fabulous mother.

A mini trampoline.

I bought one today under the disguise of it being a fun workout routine for me while I watch the Food Network. It seems that it is better suited for my 4 year old.

She has been jumping for 2 hours straight now. She has not had one tantrum since she started jumping. She just jumps. She still talks nonstop... but she has to take talking breaks in order to catch her breath.

I was able to watch Oprah today without interruption (and is was a good one too... it was about suburban exotic dancers. Made me think twice about what my neighbors may actually be doing to pay the bills.) all because Emma has been jumping her little heart out and not asking me to entertain her.

Sometimes she jumps the farts right out of her... better out then in I say. Nothing stops her. I may have to call the World Record people.

I tried jumping for a while and thought my uterus was going to fall out. Ah, to be four again. She is going to sleep sooo well tonight! Yeah!

A House Divided...

My 13 year old daughter will just DIE if this little cupid doll gets voted off. She will just DIE I tell you!

I personally want Jusin Timberlake... I mean Robbie Rocker to win.

But we both agree that Jessica Alba needs to hit the road... seriously, I don't know who she thinks she is fooling.

Happiness Is...

Happiness is being 36 and still getting carded!

That's right... Saturday night we went out to dinner and I ordered a Blue Moon on tap. Our waitress asked me if she could see some i.d. I don't know if I overdid it when I jumped up and started humping the air, but I don't give a crap. Do you know what this mean? It means that all of those homemade Botox shots I have been giving myself are working! Who ever said that injecting Anbesol in your wrinkles would never work is crazy. That's right... who is laughing now?

No... I do not inject Anbesol into my face.

I do exfoliate though. I exfoliate like a crazy woman. I have told you about my OCD tendencies before with mascara, deodorant and weighing myself, but I also suffer from exfoliation OCD. Some days I come close to exfoliating my skin right off of my body in my attempts to be equally exfoliated.

Anyway, I used to shrug off exfoliating, but after Saturday night I am devoted to it like never before. I started fully exfoliating just a few days before my 36th birthday. I went out and bought those sandpaper-like bath gloves that cost a whopping $4.50, and my whole world opened up.

I highly recommend exfoliation to everyone. Just imagine the pure joy I felt when I realized that I am finally getting rid of 36 years of dead skin cells that have accumulated on my body. Gross. Now I am smooth and shiny... and feel at least three days younger than what I am.

So if you want to pass for an underage drinker... just wear a miracle bra and exfoliate. You'll be one happy old person!

Et Tu Sophie?

Last night was one for the books. You should all know that I love to sleep. It is my favorite thing to do at the end of the day and I look forward to it starting at around 6 p.m.


Mary Claire does not feel the same way about sleep as I do. This is a bummer, but I have learned to adjust and I hope and pray that she will be sleeping through the night by the time she goes away to college.


I have never had that "She slept for 10 hours straight!" joy that many other mothers have with their babies. I had that with the other kids... more so with Hope and Emma. Aaron did not like to sleep either, and I adjusted.


So what if I look like a walking zombie most days. So what if I forget to comb my hair or evenly button my top. So what if I have bags under my eyes and a constant nagging headache that cries out for a little sleep during the day but I refuse to nap.


I refuse to nap because I have a very precocious 4 year old and if I went down for a nap the next thing I would know is that there would be police and reporters in my home after she would have escaped from the house and walked one mile up the road to Starbucks. The newspaper would say "4Year Old Found Wandering Through Starbucks While Her Mother Was At Home Napping."


Anyway, back to my current little night owl Mary. She goes to bed very well, but she just does not stay asleep. On average, she is up at least 2 times, sometimes 3 times. I have become a pro at making my way to her crib, feeding her and changing her diaper while I sleepwalk.


Last night Mary decided that she did not want to sleep at all. She was up until after 9, and then again at 12:30, again at 1:40, again at 2:15... then Emma was up to go potty at 2:45. Mary was up again at 4 and just wanted to cry. She cried for over an hour until she finally collapsed on my chest and slept... until 5:30, but she only was stirring (false alarm) and then was up again at 6:25. Oh, Emma was up again at some other point in the night, but I can't remember what time that was, but I know it was during one of my sleep moments.


Do you feel sorry for me yet? Well, listen to this...


When I finally got Mary back to sleep after 6:30, I walked back in my room to find my stupid dog rolling and rubbing herself all over my pillows and sheets. I walked in and she stopped and looked at me as if to say "Phew, that was GREAT!" I half expected her to light up a cigarette.


I know this about my dog and I usually prepare myself for this. She would never jump up on the bed when my husband is in it, but my husband is out of town so she must have thought, "That man who sleeps on my side of the bed is gone! Bonus!" I usually throw my covers up over my pillows when I walk out of my room and actually look at her and say "STAY" when I go feed Mary in the middle of the night because I know that this dog loves me so much that she has to roll in my sheets and get her snot and hair all over my pillow. But due to my enforced insomnia last night, I forgot to do this and she obviously thought I was signalling her to go right ahead and make my sheets and plump pillows smell like dog.


ARGH! So by 6:40 this morning, not only had I NOT slept all night, but I was now stripping my bed of its sheets and cursing like a sailor at my dog. I believe this is why dogs get kicked. I will not get upset about a baby waking me up 8 times in one night, but if I find the dog slobbering all over my pillows, well all hell will break loose. The only thing that saved her is the fact that I was too tired and the windows were probably frozen shut due to our winter weather.


Oh, you would have wanted to toss her out the window too-you know it! She is just lucky that I am a card carrying member of PETA... but my membership expires in 60 days.

Congratulations... It's A 7lb 2 oz Terd.

Today Emma came running into the room and said to me: "Momma? Do babies come out of your butt?"

Me: "What? What are they teaching you at this preschool of yours?"

Emma: "Do babies come out of your butt? [panic] Did I come out of your butt?"

Me: "No Emma, babies do not come out of your butt. They come out of a special place that God made."

{silent contemplation}

Me: "But you are a little shit sometimes."

I Think I Was Born Today... I Am Not Sure

Today is my birthday. I am 36. I know… can you believe it? I seem so much younger.

My mother called today to wish me a happy birthday and asked me if I remembered what time of day I was born.

I replied that I didn’t… and she was there so she should remember.

I don’t even recall how much I weighed.

I pointed out to my mother that I would know all of this important information if I had a baby book. But I don’t have one. I never had one. All of my siblings have one… my little sister may even have two, but I was never fortunate enough.

She told me that she wrote all of that information on a piece of paper once and gave it to me.

I don’t remember this… she must have put it in the Buffet drawer, right under the 1972 atlas of Canada.

She suggested that I call my older sister and ask her what my birth weight was since she now owns the Buffet and that piece of paper may be wedged in the back somewhere.

Funny thing is… she is probably right.

I Blame The Irish In Him...

The other night we were playing a grueling and challenging game of Chutes and Ladders. I remember playing this game in college... it was pretty much the same playing it with my kids, only they had to chug lemonade instead of Keystone. I am trying to instill life lessons here.

Anyway, at one point Carl landed on the one coveted square. You know the one I am talking about... it is the one that takes you from square 12 all the way up to square 84, bypassing all of those tedious squares in between. This is the money square. This square not only allows you to skip over all other players, but it also gives you the hope that this forsaken game may possibly end in the next hour or so.

As Carl was doing his happy Chutes and Ladders dance, our son Aaron nonchalantly said:

"Lucky Bastard."

Now, this shocked my husband and I completely. I mean, I may say shit or crap, but I never use the word Bastard. I have no idea where this came from.

It was obvious that Aaron did not realize that he said a curse word and looked like a deer in headlights when he started getting the police interrogation from us. "Where did you hear that word?" "Were you watching Grammy and Papa's home videos?" and even "Tell us now and you may be able to leave your room by the time you are 35!"

He gave us some lame excuse about a video game but I know the truth... it is his Irish starting to come out.

Eventually he will grow a beer belly and start saying things like "Move your arse" and "A woman told me that a woman told her that she saw a woman who saw a woman who made ale of potatoes."

I know this because I have seen it happen. Just the other night my cousin Steve called... by the end of the conversation both of us were talking with an Irish brogue and saying "lucky bastard" at least 10 times. It is a lot more fun to say it with an Irish accent... try it.

Rumor has it that my own father used to be an even-keeled young man as well until the Irish took hold of him. My dad's toasts always start with "May you be..." and end with "You lucky bastard!" All with an Irish accent of course. He also has the Irish ability of telling a man to go to hell so that he looks forward to making the trip. Ahh, me da...

I can't really punish Aaron for being Green can I? I didn't think so... he understands the heritage, just today I asked him for a cup of scaldy and he knew I wanted hot tea. That right there is a fine young lad in the making.

God Bless the Irish... the lucky Bastards.

100 Reasons Why June Loves Ward...

100. You take care of me.

99. You stand up for what is right.

98. You have strong hands.

97. Your smile lights up your face and makes me smile in return.

96. You laugh at my jokes… even when you try not to.

95. You are a gentle father to your daughters.

94. You are a strong father to your son.

93. You are a man your son can strive to be like.

92. You give each of our kids their own nicknames that only you call them.

91. You mow the lawn… sometimes twice a week!

90. If I tell you something needs to be fixed, you drop what you are doing and try to fix it.

89. You would give me the world if I asked for it.

88. You eat every meal I cook… and you always compliment it.

87. When we go on walks, you hold my hand.

86. When we share a DQ Blizzard, you will order a M&M one even though you don’t like them, just because they are my favorite.

85. You try not to wake me up at the crack of dawn when you leave for work.

84. You are the Faithful leader of our family.

83. You bought me a vanity license plate just because you know I love those!

82. When I am in a room full of women, I know that I am the most loved.

81. You make me feel sexy, even when I don’t want to feel sexy.

80. I trust you.

79. You would shave your chest hairs if I really wanted you to.

78. You look really good with a tan in the summer… I mean REALLY good.

77. You wear your “World’s Greatest Dad” t-shirt the kids gave you.

76. When I was shocked about being pregnant a fourth time, you were overjoyed just to help me through my shock.

75. You always call to check on me throughout the day.

74. Your bad moods don’t hang around too long.

73. You wipe down the bathroom sink after you shave.

72. You love to get dressed up and go out.

71. You miss me when you are away.

70. You keep secret pictures of me in your wallet.

69. When you told me not to buy a dog and I bought one… you weren’t mad.

68. When you told me not to buy a guinea pig and I bought one… you weren’t mad and actually
bonded with the guinea pig.

67. When you call to remind me about things, you aren’t doing it to pester me, you really want to
just help.

66. You are always considerate of others.

65. I have never heard you utter a mean word about another person.

64. You are a really really good son.

63. You love your brother.

62. You like my friends.

61. You are a flirt, but you don’t realize it.

60. You are better looking than Rob Estes.

59. You try and sing me songs while you are in the shower.

58. You are 100% present in your children’s lives.

57. You coach every sports team your children are on.

56. You always watch your daughter ride her horse.

55. You hit balls with your son.

54. You love to cuddle.

53. You take me out on a date just about every Saturday!

52. You turn me on.

51. You would be the person I would call if I were on “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.”

50. You always supported me when I was finishing my degree.

49. You love my blog.

48. You do fabulous PR work for my blog.

47. If there were only one piece of dessert left… you would give it to me.

46. When I said I wanted that stupid treadmill… you bought it for me.

45. I knew I was going to marry you on our second date.

44. You told me you loved me after only knowing me for 2 weeks.

43. You used to be a drummer in a rock band… that is so hot!

42. You hate reality TV, but will watch it because I love it.

41. You turn off the news when I am sick and tired of looking at Presidential Candidates.

40. You like my hair long… but when I cut it short you always tell me it looks good.

39. You would give your life for your country.

38. You forgive me when I need to be forgiven.

37. You took me to Ireland… TWICE!

36. You know when I am in a bad mood, and you don’t make it worse.

35. If I called you and asked you to stop and get me a candy bar… you would.

34. You make the kids your famous “white bread, pizza sauce, and American cheese” pizza.

33. You have saved every letter I have ever written to you.

32. You always ask me to dance at parties.

31. You help me make the bed on weekend mornings.

30. You never give me a reason to get jealous.

29. You bought me a stinkin’ HUGE wedding ring.

28. We share the same dreams.

27. You have great looking toes.

26. You are always in the mood… even if you are sick with the flu and cannot even stand up.

25. You trust me.

24. You don’t complain when you come home from work and the house is in chaos.

23. You love being a family.

22. You mail me cards on Holidays because you know how much I love to get mail.

21. You will sit with me on the couch just because I ask you to.

20. You laugh at my interpretation of Greta VanSusteren.

19. You smell really good… and you don’t even wear cologne.

18. You keep a t-shirt next to the bed at night “in case of burglars.”

17. You vacuum my van and don’t complain about the French fries you find under the seats.

16. You organize my closet.

15. You have a great rear.

14. You back me up when I set rules for our children.

13. You will move heavy furniture for me.

12. You try very hard to follow my “no farting in the van!” rule.

11. You trust me to educate your children.

10. You dropped your girlfriend of 4 years after knowing me for only a weekend.

9. You tell me about your day.

8. My parents can depend on you.

7. You don’t sweat the small stuff.

6. You love the Chicago Bears.

5. You do the gross jobs like unplug toilets, clean out the pond, fix the garbage disposal, and unclog the bathroom sink.

4. You feel bad when you do the laundry and shrink my favorite sweater.

3. You tell me I look good… no matter what the scale tells me.

2. You do that thing that makes me laugh…

1. You are mine!

June v. Blogger...

Argh! Ok, what is going on with Blogger? I have not been able to check my spelling in days and now I can't get my music to play.

I am seriously thinking of switching... any thoughts?

Does anyone out there have a better way of blogging than this blogger contraption?

June Cleaver... Plus Size Model

A few months ago when I started Weight Starvers, I bought a new scale. It was only $6. It is the kind of scale with the dial... no fancy shmancy buttons that tell me my fat index or my water weight. It is just your average, run of the mill, dial scale.

One day my husband stepped on the scale and said, "This scale is about 6 lbs off. It says I weigh less than I know I do."

I chose to ignore this statement of his for the simple reason that if this scale was telling me I weighed less than what I actually weigh... well then I do not want to know the truth! I prefer to live in weight ignorance thank you very much.

Well, the other day I was in Khol's and they were having a sale on scales. I found the Weight Watcher's scale on a serious sale and decided to buy it. The bells and whistles on this thing are amazing. It not only tells me what my water weight is, but it also tells me how much alcohol I have drank and if I should drive my children to their activities or not. (Just kidding, it doesn't tell me that... but wouldn't that be helpful?) This scale also offers you the option to record your weight so that you can track it. Well... I am not recording anything because I would rather there be no permanent record of my weight for any Joe, Dick or Harry to see. I do not want my husband to ever know just how much I weigh. Some women like to lie aboout their age, I like to lie about my weight. My drivers license says I weigh 127 lbs. That is my story and I am sticking to it. The only downfall to that is if I ever come up missing my husband will tell the police that I am a 5'8'' blond woman who weighs 127lbs. I may never be found, but that is a chance I am willing to take.

Anyway, after I figured out all of the options to my new scale, I hopped on to see if it worked. My husband was right and our old scale was about 6 lbs off. That means I am 6 lbs. heavier on this scale-the accurate scale, than on my old cheap lying scale. Damn.

As if that wasn't enough punishment, I was looking through a magazine and saw the ad for the new season of America's Next Top Model. They have one token plus model as usual. Do you know what size jeans she wears? Are you ready for this one? She wears a size 8!

What is this world coming to?

It's Official... I Am Pitiful

I have a dilemma. I gave up sweets for lent. It started out with just cookies because I am a cookie fiend. I love cookies more than I love my children... seriously. I decided to go from just giving up cookies to going all out and giving up all sweets because I know myself and if I couldn't have cookies, I would just eat some cake or ding-dongs, or some candy or a cinnamon roll and so on.

I have been doing very well with this sacrifice and I have been very happy with my self control.... that is until I had a bowl of Chocolate Chex cereal. Oh. My. Goodness.

But now I have met a moral dilemma. Since this cereal is sooo very yummy, and it does taste like chocolate, I feel like I am seriously cheating God out of my sacrifice. Sure, it would have been ok if I only had ONE bowl of this cereal, but after I tasted it I had to have a second bowl, and then a handful or two every time I walked past the pantry.

Part of me is saying "Aw, it is just cereal... not dessert!" and the other part of me is saying "June Cleaver! You know very well that you are enjoying this cereal too much and we all know that you are not supposed to enjoy anything during Lent for the LOVE OF GOD Woman! Walk away from the cereal!"

Word on the streets is that my Girl Scout cookies will be delivered during Lent as well. I wonder if those low-carb, low fat, no sugar ones count as an actual cookie. Yep, it is going to be a long Lent.

Words Of Wisdom... From A Naked Bongo Player

I subscribe to the magazine Women's Health. I do so because I strive to be healthy... and I want my mail carrier to think that I lead a healthy lifestyle. Each month Women's Health gives you a page preview of the hot topic in their mate magazine Men's Health. I usually don't pay much attention to it because, well, it is guy stuff and I am a gal and therefore can get bored with guy stuff.

Well, this month Men's Health did an article on Matthew McConaughey. I am not a big fan of his-I like the characters he plays in movies, I like the way his mouth forms his words, and I even like the fact that he is serious eye candy... but I think he is a little nutty. I try and stay away from nutty. The fact that he plays bongos naked does not frighten me, it is the fact that he has not worn deodorant in 20 years makes me want to run for the hills. If you have read me long, you know that I have an obsession with deodorant-a compulsion in you will.

BUT, aside from the fact that he plays bongos naked and is obviously smelly, he said something in this article that completely and totally made my uterus ache. It made me want to go rip all of the clothes off of my husband and bask in the fact that he is a man.

Matthew said this when asked what the one thing he thinks women need to know about men... "Sometimes when a woman falls for a guy, she asks him to change, and he changes so much that she loses her Huck Finn, the rascal in the man she fell in love with. Men are willing to change to make you happy-because when you're happy, we're happy. But don't completely take the boy out of the man. You're gonna miss him."

Now, I don't care who the hell you are... that right there is friggen hot!

Phew! Slap a pickle on me and call me a grilled cheese sandwich! I had to reread that quote a good 4 times before I was able to calm down. Huck Finn... who knew you were so irresistible?

Women should read that quote, and men should thank Mr. McConaughey for opening our eyes to such raw sexual honesty.

Thank you, you smelly, naked, bongo playing nut!

6 Words That Will Strike Fear...

There are 6 little words that will leave my husband moaning and groaning and trembling in fear. I use them only when I really need something. They are..."You know what I was thinking..."

He hates these words because they are always followed with phrases like:

"we should move the 1000 lb. treadmill from the guest room to our bedroom" or, "the paint in the living room needs a fresh coat." and sometimes, "wouldn't it be fun to have another baby?"

Yesterday I was sitting in the baby's room and I started thinking. There was entirely too much furniture in there and we needed to move some things around. You see, I love to move furniture. I figure if I am going to move the couch to clean behind it, I may as well move it across the room and down the hall while I am at it. Soon after my husband and I were married he quickly discovered my furniture moving vice. His back has never recovered from the time I wanted him to move the grandfather clock from one side of the room to the other, and then back again when I decided that I liked it better where it originally was.

Anyway, yesterday I called my husband and said those dreaded 6 words to him. His response to my "You know what I was thinking?" is always a muffled groan, a "please-stop thinking" and then finally a "what do you want me to do?" He is such a good guy. He also knows where his bread is buttered.

Last night we ended up moving the big oak entertainment center that is in the baby's room, down the hall and into the toy room. It has great storage capabilities and what does the baby need with an entertainment center anyway? The TV that was in the toy room was moved down the stairs and into my van because I am taking it to Goodwill. The remote control was lost years ago during a move and so it is like a torture devise every time you want to change the channel... you have to actually get up and walk to the television set. Ridiculous! The TV stand that was in the toy room was moved down the stairs and then up the stairs to the attic.

Now I feel better about things... although I would like to put Emma and Aaron's beds back into bunk beds. I may just have to go teach Aaron those dreaded 6 words. It is about time I pass on the thinking gene. It is a burden sometimes being the only one who thinks around here...

God Would Laugh...

Just a little Ash Wednesday humor to get us through our fast...

What do John The Baptist and Winnie The Pooh have in common?

Their middle name.

C'mon... you get it. Oh, don't be so snobby... admit that it was funny and that you can laugh on Ash Wednesday. I bet God thought it was humorous.

For those of you who have given up laughing for lent... see you after Easter.

Crazyhusbandsayswhat?

Picture this if you will...

My husband is upstairs in the baby's room playing with the baby.

Emma is in the next room taking a shower.

I am downstairs cleaning the kitchen and folding laundry.

My husband's cell phone rings so I stop what I am doing and run to answer it because it could be someone important (like the President-or our friends Mike and Lori).

It is my husband...

He has called from our house phone upstairs and is wondering when I was planning on taking Emma out of the shower.

No court in the country would convict me.

When Opportunity Knocks...

Hope has an MP3 player. Instead of downloading a book from the computer, she, in all of her 13 year old brilliance, has decided to push record on the player while she is playing a book on tape on her stereo. This requires all of us to be completely silent for the duration of the recording.

Now I ask you? Is that an opportunity or what?

Today in the middle of her recording I opened her bedroom door and yelled "HOPE IS POOPY!" and ran away.

In return I was able to laugh at her while she yelled things like:

"MOTHER! I AM RECORDING! NOW I HAVE "HOPE IS POOPY" ON MY MP3 PLAYER!"

and:

"WHY CAN'T ANYONE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE IN THIS HOUSE!"

I love being a mom.

A Kiss Is Still A Kiss...

Emma has an imaginary friend. This friend is really starting to get on my nerves.

The closest thing that my other children have ever come to an imaginary friend is when we moved to the UK and had to leave our dog behind in the States. Hope made one of her stuffed animals her new pet and dragged that thing all over Europe on a leash. This imaginary friend did not talk like Emma's does. Emma's imaginary friend is like that one little kid you know who just drives you insane.

Her friend's name is "Kiss" Don't ask me where she comes up with this stuff. Kiss has an entire back-story to her. She has a brother named Brian and a mom and dad who are too busy to ever take care of poor Kiss so she spends most of her days at our house. When Kiss first arrived, Emma told us that her dad was blown up and dead and her mom was working. She later revised this story when I told her that was really sad about her dad and now her mom and dad are busy with the new twin babies they just adopted from China. Personally, if they can't even take care of Kiss who is at my house 24/7 I don't think they should have adopted any more children... but what do I know? I am just a real person.

Kiss goes everywhere with Emma. Kiss gets Emma in trouble as well. Apparently it was Kiss who made the hole in the playroom wall and not Emma. Emma was just the scapegoat.

Kiss has a spot at our dinner table, in the pew at Mass, in our car, and she hogs most of the covers in Emma's bed every night. She is a real pill this Kiss kid let me tell you.

At first I thought it was cute... but then I started to worry. Is this imaginary friend a representation of my parenting skills? Am I not giving Emma enough love and attention that she has to make up some little kid in order to have some emotional support?

This is why I secretly hate Kiss. She is making me look bad. Emma goes about her day in constant conversation with Kiss that I was actually starting to believe that this Kiss character may be real. Maybe she was an angel or something... but then I decided to stop watching the Ghost Whisperer on television and get a grip with reality.

Emma and I went to the movies the other day and she asked if Kiss could come along. I said no and actually insisted that Kiss stay in the car the entire time. Emma was fine with this and on the drive home that stinking Kiss told Emma all about the movie she watched in the van while we were in the movie theater.

Emma asked if Kiss could go to school with her one day and I decided that I needed to know once and for all if my 4 year old was seeing ghosts or if she was fully aware that Kiss is not real.In my feeble attempt to nicely ask if Emma knows that Kiss is made up, Emma looked at me and said, "Duh! Of course she isn't real Mommy! You are so silly."

I heard that little brat Kiss in the other room laughing at me the entire time.

Parenting With Prayer and Alcohol...

I am not a fan of Saturday night Mass. I much prefer to go on Sunday morning when I am fresh and happy. The problem with Saturday night Mass is that it starts at 6 p.m. In my home, 6 p.m. is usually the time in which I snap. It is the time that my patience with children has worn thin. 6 p.m. is not good around these here parts and if I ever comit a crime you can bet your bottom dollar that it will be at 6 p.m. No doubt.

Another reason I do not enjoy Saturday night Mass is because it is the children's Mass. This means that there are little kids singing and playing musical instruments. I don't mean to be mean because I know very well how difficult it is to get up in front of an entire Church full of people and perform, but the singing is bad and the music is worse. Usually it sounds like an animal is being sacrificed to God up in the Choir area.

And another thing. I have been going to Catholic Mass for, lets see now... MY ENTIRE LIFE! Why do choir directors think it is a good idea to "introduce" a new song to the congregation at the Children's Mass? It would be so much easier if she stuck to the old faithfuls so that the congregation might have a fighting chance at drowning out the children's choir. Instead, we all hold our Glory and Praise books and try to follow along with the melody to a new song that none of us have ever heard before. There is a time and place for change (The Political Campaigns for example...) but Saturday night Mass is not one of them.

Last night we had to go to Saturday night Mass. My husband had to work today (yes, working on the Lord's day... not laying about watching the SuperBowl 12 hour pre-show.) One of the reasons why 6 p.m. is not good for me is because our 4 year old is in rare form at this time of night. Maybe it is because the sugar from the day has finally kicked in, or maybe it is because she is a vampire and only comes alive after sun-down... I don't know. The baby is always a peach in the evening as well. This could be because her bedtime is 6:30 p.m. so she knows she is fightging a losing battle and she is going out like Billy the Kid with her guns a blazin'. She can be the most pleasant sweet child all day long, but come 6 p.m. and she is a squirming, squealing, let me pull you hair and stick my finger up your nose, type of baby.

Last night was no exception and the two little ones were a handful. We were that family in Church that you talk about once you get into the safety of your own car. "Did you see that little girl? She was naughty! Can you believe that mother spanked her right there in the middle of the Consecration? What is this world coming to? This is America's future... Lord help us all."

I could have sold Emma last night to the lowest bidder. There was one point in the Mass when I was holding my hand over her mouth and she kept speaking with a loud voice saying "I AM HUNGRY!" She told me she didn't like me, she told me I was mean, she even told me that my butt looked big in my pants. While all of this was happening, I was holding a squirming, grunting, squealing baby. One that didn't want to be held and only wanted to stand up and look at the people behind her and suck on the kneelers. She pulled my hair, she lifted my shirt up so that the people behind me could see my lovely nursing bra strap and she ripped a chunk of skin off of my nose when she was trying to stick her fingers up it.

Eventually my husband took the baby out and I pulled the 4 year old close and threatened her within an inch of freedom. This did not stop her, children know there is safety in crowds. No way would a mom spank a child in front of all of these witnesses. What a small child does not realize is that eventually they will no longer have the safety and protection of the crowd around them and they will be home, in their bedroom with a sore butt and no dinner.

These are the moments when I simply apologize to God. This was my prayer last night... "I am sorry for not paying one bit of attention today... but I am trying here Lord. I have got to get some points for trying. Also Lord, I would think that I would get some Big points for my amazing composure throughout this ordeal... this ordeal with YOUR CHILDREN I might add. I mean, c'mon God, you would think that you could help out a little at Mass with these kids. Put your big hand on them and tell them to sit down and shut up. Something Lord. A little help would be much appreciated right now. Oh, and can you please always make sure they are protected and safe from evil... because I do love them very much, but right now I want to cry and run screaming from this pew. Forgive me for the alcohol I will be consuming after Mass tonight, and please forgive me for those thoughts about my mother-in-law earlier today. Yes, I know I am supposed to be nice. I am trying. In Your name I pray."

When we got home Emma did get a spanking. We talked. I told her that her big sister Hope only got ONE spanking from being naughty at Mass. She learned her lesson quick. Her brother Aaron received a spanking for 5 years straight after every Mass. Some people take longer to catch on. Emma says that this will be her first and last spanking ever. Let's hope she is right.

So, next time you see a mom and dad in Mass having a time of it with little children, don't gasp or click your tongue in judgement for the poor job you may think those parents are doing. Instead say a prayer for them, and if you see them out at the bar after Mass, by all means buy them a drink! They'll need it!