I'm Such A Novice

I was pretty convinced that the only people that read my blog were a few of my friends, my family, and well, me. Imagine my surprise when I got a comment from Bradley saying that I had received an award. If you don't believe me, check it out- it's there, I promise. While you're there, take a look at some of the other blogs listed. It's always fun to find some new favorites.


The reason you don't see the award on my sidebar is because I'm an idiot. I have no idea on how to get it there. I'm html/javascript illiterate. I really think I've tried everything. If anyone has any suggestions, please, please, please help me.


But if anyone tries to take back my award because of this, I'm not going down without a fight.

Lessons Learned

Like most three year olds that I know, Maddie has way too many toys. That she never plays with. Or hasn't in the last 6 months. So, yesterday I had a great idea.


"You know, Maddie, you've got lots of toys and I think we need to get rid of some of them."

"NO"

"Well, there are lots of boys and girls that don't have very much, so don't you think it would be a great idea if you shared some of your toys and took them to Goodwill?"

"Not really."

"Um, well, we need the room for all the other toys Santa is going to be bringing you, so we need to pick some out that we don't play with much anymore."

"Okay"


Lesson #1 Don't try socio-economics with a 3 yr old. Greed and the prospect of more toys works better.


So I made her a pile of toys- some that she hardly ever plays with, some she loves, and some I can't stand because they are so freakin' annoying. I wanted her to be able to make the decision on which toys she wanted to keep and which ones she wanted to give away. I told her to pick 15 toys and to call me when she was done.

Lesson #2 Don't do that.

First, I hear sounds of joy. Apparently she had forgotten about some of her long lost toys and rediscovered how much she loves them. Second, I hear that stinkin' piano. Need I say more?

Lesson #3 If you do decide to let 3 yr old make ridiculous decisions, remember to take out the batteries and tell her that it doesn't work anymore. Perhaps then, she will decide it is Goodwill material.

After 15 minutes or so, she tells me that she's decided on her toys. I go into the living room, and take a look, hoping against all hope that she has made some good choices (piano.must.go).

And, I find this.

Lesson #4 Take out all McDonald's and Wendy's kid's meal toys before telling 3 yr old to choose between a plastic Happy Feet thing and an electronic keyboard that has no volume control.

No Martha Stewart Here

"Mommy, what's that thing? What're you doing that for?"

I was ironing a shirt. Has it really been that long since I've ironed, that my 3 year old doesn't even know what it is?

I've never claimed to be a domestic goddess, but sheesh. Give me a break. The dryer is sooo much quicker.

PTA Nightmare

I am the poster child for the parent who is not welcome to the PTA meeting. It's true. I'm afraid I'm simply not cut out for it. And this year has proven it.

When I walk through the halls to take Maddie to her class, I see perfectly coifed hair, high heels, and smirks. I'm usually wearing exercise clothes, with a sloppy ponytail and no makeup. There must be an alarm that goes off when I walk through the door to tell all the other moms that an inadequate parent just walked in and to come see for themselves.

There is a crate to put the folders in at the beginning of each day. For most parents, it just takes a second. For me, a lot longer. I usually have to take out all of the papers I forgot to ooh and ahh over and hide them so no one will know how bad of a parent I am. And then sign the sheet of paper that says Maddie behaved herself, from the last time she went to school. I usually end up holding up the line and dropping the cotton ball masterpiece on my way out.

Did you know some of the moms actually brought baked goods to the teacher. On Halloween. And Thanksgiving. I'm sure it was made with good intentions and with no ulterior motives, but it sounds like bribery to me. Think about it. If it was the norm, and everyone brought banana/pumperknickel/zucchini bread on holidays, don't you think they would have sent out a letter to tell the rest of us?

Today reinforced my belief that I'm just not made for this whole preschool/PTA mom thing. I couldn't find Maddie's jacket, and when I did it was in the bottom of her school bag.

Right on top of a rotting banana. And I'm not sure how long it had been there.

Driving Ms. Bettye

It's been in the works for the last seven years. And Thanksgiving weekend, it happened. It was almost a relief, really. Because, well, I'm not perfect. And now, my mother-in-law knows it, too.

I've maintained a healthy relationship with her. In all honesty, I love her dearly. We talk (okay, she talks and I listen) almost weekly. She comes up and stays with us some weekends and we go shopping (okay, she wanders around aimlessly, while I smile patiently and hold back a blood-curdling scream). I don't think I've ever given her cause to talk bad about me to her other children, or pray for her very life. Until Wednesday.

She let me drive. Her new car. In the rain. On the interstate.

You would have thought I had taken a needle to my veins before trying to drive her car. That's how far I dropped in her eyes. Yes, I went 65mph, but the speed limit was 70. Apparently, that was just not slow enough for her. If another car put on his brakes, a half mile in front of us, she would yell, "Whoa, whoa. They're slowing up." Then she would stomp on her imaginary brakes.

Fun times, I tell ya.

But, the best part came when Justin betrayed me. He actually told her that he won't ride with me. That's all it took. I'm forever branded the bad driver. I heard the story of her car ride with me 4 times in 3 days.

"Did you know that it's so bad, her own husband won't ride with her? I'm not surprised, you know. I was scared. Scared, I tell you. I should have told her to pull over and let me get somebody to pick me up. And it was raining. Won't happen again. No way."

That's fine with me. I hate driving, so it's a free pass for me. And, if that's all she has on me after 7 years, I'm in good shape.

Because, I promise, there are lots of worse things. She just hasn't found out about them yet.

Spelling Be(tty)e

Shortly after Maddie started talking, we learned that if we didn't want her to repeat what we said, we needed to spell it. And we've gotten pretty good at it. So good, in fact, it's become part of our daily language. We make sure we don't mention people's names- we just use their initials. We try not to use words that we don't want her to say. So, we spell them.

We spent Thanksgiving weekend with Justin's mom, Bettye. Bless her heart. She tried. I really think she did. But, it's been a long time since she's had to guard her words, much less try to spell them. And while the spelling was correct, she spelled the wrong words.

"That lazy d-o-g, I could just shoot h-i-m dead." "That g-i-r-l that works for me named Sue, is so stupid, h-e-r parents must have been cousins." "Those people across the s-t-r-e-e-t from me sell drugs." And on and on.

I really don't want to get o-l-d.

Cookie, Who Wants A Cookie???

We are headed to the mountains of North Carolina for Thanksgiving. No, we don't have family or friends there. We meet up with Justin's brother and his family and spend the weekend at a cabin.

Last year, as we were discussing what everyone was bringing food-wise, I got this from my MIL "I'm bringing the turkey and dressing, green beans, corn, cranberry sauce, bread, pumpkin pie, and strawberry cake. Amy is bringing the ham, breakfast food, milk, a casserole, mac n cheese, etc. You can bring the cookies."

The cookies. I get to bring the cookies. Wonderful.

She has no idea how much pressure this puts on me. These cookies are Justin's and his brother's all time favorite dessert. Justin even had them at our wedding, instead of a groom's cake. I have watched 100+ of these cookies be gobbled up within days. No one can resist these little bites of deliciousness.

But you see, these cookies have a mind of their own. Sometimes they are too dry, sometimes they don't become firm enough to pick up without a spoon. And the same recipe is used every single time. The weather, the color of my shirt, and the music blaring are all factors to the perfect cookie. God help us all if the phone rings.

But, for the last couple of years, they've behaved themselves and turned out just as planned. Which just sets me up for failure. Will they taste right? What if they don't? I can't stand to disappoint his family. It's not fair!! Why can't someone else take over this dessert? Oh, dangit, it's raining, my green shirt is in the washer, and my cd player currently has A Chipmunk Christmas in it! None of which are conducive for cookies. Tempermental jerks. I. Can't. Do. This.

This year, I'm making the cookies again. I'm also making squash casserole, spinach dip, and broccoli salad. Because, you know, I'm soooo much more than just cookies.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!

You've Got A Friend

"Let's race! If I win, I'll jump up and down. If you win, then you can jump up and down. And we'll both clap, and my mommy will cheer for us. Ok?"

What the. . . ? I look down the hallway. Just Maddie. I wonder if Justin is around. He's on the couch. Then I see a Maddie run down the hall and laugh like a lunatic.

"I won!!! No- you don't jump up and down. I DO. Wanna race again?" And she's off. I'm pretty sure she's got an imaginary friend. And apparently one that doesn't listen to the rules.

Great. Now what? Am I supposed to talk to it? Invite it to dinner? Ignore it? That's my number one choice, by the way.

Or maybe I'm supposed to have another baby so Maddie won't be lonely and weird.

Nah. I'm good. And in the spirit of Thanksgiving, it's invited to our family dinner. As long as it doesn't eat too much.

When Will Enough Be Enough?

Last week, I made a confession to Justin, and as soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. I mean, really- does he have to know every single thing that goes on in my mind? Is honesty really the best policy? Now, he's looking at me like I'm crazy, doesn't really believe me when I tell him I'm not hungry, and I kinda think he secretly moniters what I eat throughout the day. Let me start at the beginning. Please be warned- it's not really funny at all. And this is really hard for me to write this.

In high school and college, I was an average size 8/10. Nothing wrong with that, but I would look at thinner girls, and dream about being that small. It wasn't a big deal, but I was always aware of it.

After I had Maddie, the pregnancy weight came off pretty easily. But as soon as I stopped nursing, a year later, it came right back. Plus some. I was now a size 10/12. But I was okay with it. Until I went to visit my family one weekend. I made the remark on how I had put on some weight, and no one disagreed.

I joined a gym the next week. And became addicted to working out. I go exercise usually 4 or 5 times a week. I try to watch what I eat, but don't really go overboard (except for those 5 months I tried to be a vegetarian).

That was almost 2 years ago. Since then, I've lost almost 35 pounds. And I'm now in a size 4. By far, the smallest I can ever remember being. And for some odd reason, I don't feel like it's enough. I keep thinking, Just 10 more pounds and I can lay off a little bit. If I eat that, I will need to work out an extra 15 minutes to burn off the calories. Is it worth it? It usually is. Cause I love food.

And this is how I ended up at Waffle House telling Justin that I ate a Krispy Kreme donut last week and considered throwing it up. I didn't do it, but the thought was there. And I think that's what is the scariest thing. I went home, researched how many calories were in one delicious, maple-glazed donut, then went running the next day to take care of it.

These thoughts scare me. Yes, I've had them several times. No, I've never acted on them. And I never will. I promise. Justin won't let me.

Whew- that was tough.

An Open Letter

Dear Restaurant-goer,

Hi, It's me. Your server from last night. After a grueling, thankless night, I spoke with my fellow servers, and we decided that the only reason some of you are so rude is because you are sadly uninformed. I elected myself to give you a few hints. This may not apply to all of you, so if you treat servers like people and tip well- you may want to skip this post.

When your server approaches your table, greets you, and asks you how you are doing, please do not a.) ignore them b.) demand drink or bread c.) wave them away like a pesky fly d.) laugh when your child says, "chop chop" and waves you away. It's rude, and we will talk about you.

When your server repeats your order back to you, please do not a.) sigh and roll your eyes b.) ask us why we didn't listen in the first place c.) change your order completely. We do this because we want to make sure that everything will be correct when it comes to your table.

If your food comes out to your table incorrectly, please do not a.) yell at your server, it's probably the kitchen's mistake b.) suffer in silence c.) eat it and then want to get it for free. There is a polite way to address a problem. Yelling does no good, but then neither does not making the server aware of the issue.

If you need something, please do not a.) whistle for your server b.) slurp your drink as loud as you can until someone notices c.) assume that your server knows what it is you need without asking. I promise that if you whistle or slurp your drink, people will notice and the servers will not be the only ones talking about you.

When it comes time to paying the bill/tipping, please understand that a.) we make $2.13 an hour b.) we work for the same reason you do- to pay the bills c.) $1.01 tip on an $88.24 is not good (that one is for the table I had last night). Servers remember good tippers. We also remember bad tippers. And we have an uncanny knack for spotting both. And treat them accordingly.

I think that just about covers it. I will leave you with this advice. Just. Be. Nice. It won't hurt. Promise. Oh, and do you really want to be rude to the person that is in control of, well, your food?

I hope this helps, Chelsea and the rest of the staff at RL

Mother Goose Day

She nailed it!! My little Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary absolutely nailed it. Let me start at the beginning.

Woke up about 30 minutes late. Not a good sign. Rushed around like a mad woman trying to get her dressed and fed, Grendal walked, me showered and dressed, etc. I didn't even have time for my requisite 3 cups of coffee. Another bad sign.

As I was getting Maddie dressed in her costume, she wanted to know why she didn't have a real costume. Okay- we're on a budget. She was wearing a t-shirt that said "I'm Crabby- Leave me alone". I know the subtlety of that shirt and the whole "contrary" thing was lost on her, but please, give me a break. She also had a basket that we worked on for an hour last weekend, gluing silver bells and sea (cockle) shells all around it. I gave her a straw hat and she had a freakin' costume.

The program started on time and one by one, these adorable 3 year olds got in front of everyone and recited their nursery rhymes. The sweetest part was when one of the kids didn't want to say his, the class pitched in and said it with him. Then gave him high fives when he was done. Wouldn't that be awesome if we could do that as adults? When it was her turn, Maddie walked up to the front, waited for everyone to be quiet and said her entire rhyme by herself. Loud and clear. And added a little bow at the end.

I left after the program was over and went about enjoying my day. Until about 1:45. I got THE CALL. "Chelsea, I'm the nurse at DA, Maddie started vomitting, but she's not running a fever."

When I got to the nurses' office, my pitiful little girl was laying in the bed, looking all pitiful. I spoke with the nurse and she said there was a virus going around, some lasting up to 3 days. I saw her teacher and she told me that no other child had been sick in her class, but it is in the school.

Maddie was so sweet on the ride home. She told me that since she was sick, I was supposed to feed her in bed. And rub her tummy. And read her books. Until she feels better. Looking at her face, I agreed.

When we got home, Maddie was hungry and running around like her regular banshee self. Strange. I thought she was sick. I called her teacher to get some more facts. She said that it happened during quiet time, and no one saw it happen. Just that they heard some noise, and then her crying. Poor baby.

When I was telling Justin about it, and wondering if it was something serious, Maddie was listening intently. "Mommy, it happened when I did this. . ."

And she proceeded to stick her hand in her mouth as far as she could and try to gag herself. Not a virus. Yet. She's fine. Just a little weird.

And to end the day, we went to a basketball game. She was eating some cheetos and I asked if I could have one. "No, but you can lick my fingers when I'm done, if you want to." Thanks, honey.

Love Rollercoaster

I sometimes try to imagine what Maddie will be like in 5, 10, 15 years. Will she still like me? Will she be athletic or a bookworm? Introverted or extroverted? Popular or the weird kid? None of it really matters to me. As long as she is happy with who she is, all is well.

When I picked her up from school today, her teacher told me a story that gave me a clue about one of Maddie's classmates' future. A little girl that I'm keeping my eye on. Ms. Teacher-lady told me:

"Maddie has a new boyfriend. Ben just loves her to pieces. Last week, he loved Elizabeth, but it's Maddie's turn, I guess. When Ben told Elizabeth that he loves Maddie now, she went up to him, and gave him a kiss full on the lips. Then she asked him, 'Now, do you love me more?' "

Oh my. She's 3. Check back in 10 years to find out if she's the, well. . . um. . . the popular one.

Why I Love Technology

I love getting mail. Magazines, sale papers, and especially invitations to friends' wedding/baby showers, weddings, and parties. But, today, I got an invitation from someone that I barely know- and I don't really like what I do know. And the wording of the invitation irked me. Business Launch Party.


Stop. Right. There. From the top- I know she wants me to buy something. I read further. Yep- overpriced skin care products.


I tried to think of an excuse on why I couldn't come, then tried to gage when I should call to make sure that I wouldn't have to talk to her. I do much better lying to answering machines. Then, I see her email address. MUCH BETTER.


Dear So and So,

Thank you for inviting me to your business launch party. It was so sweet of you to think of me, even though we've barely spoken in 3 years. I must say I was surprised, however. I mean, this is HUGE- starting to sell face cleaner from your home. And you thought to include me. I'm touched. Really.


One of the last times we spoke was at your wedding, in which I was a bridesmaid. Where you told me that if your other friend had been able to do it, you wouldn't have needed me. Oh, and that the reason I wasn't invited to the pamper party the day before was because you didn't think I would like it. Thanks for sparing me, by the way, from a pedicure and manicure. I really appreciate it.


And I should be very grateful that you consider us to be close enough to share in this important time in your life. It really shouldn't matter that you were unable to attend my wedding, much less either my wedding or baby shower. But, you see- it kinda does.

So, in other words, I won't be able to make it to your business launch party. I'm sure I'll either have or make other plans.

Hope to hear from you in a few more years, when you start another business because this one just failed,
Chelsea

Isn't email great??!!

Alex, Queen of the Squirrel Mob

It was such a beautiful fall day, I traded running on the treadmill to going to the park for my run. The air was crisp, there were very few people on the trail, and I had all the problems of the world solved. It was one of those days when you just couldn't help but enjoy yourself.

At about mile 1, I hear something behind me. I glance over my shoulder and don't see anything but a cute little squirrel. And I realize that it is following me, jumping from tree to tree. I am so overwhelmed by her cuteness, I give her a name. Alex. Alex keeps up with me and keeps getting closer and closer, until I started getting a little freaked out. "Now, Alex, I don't have any food for you. Go wait at the picnic tables, I'm sure some other human will share."

Alex looked at me with the saddest eyes. Then it jumped to the next tree and started chasing another squirrel. Squirrel #2 then started following me, until it came to squirrel #3. This went on for quite a while. I think it went all the way to 6 or 7 squirrels. I started imagining that the squirrels were telling each other that I didn't have any snacks and not to bother following me. (Hey, I do what I can to make the time go faster.)

As I was finishing my run, I came to this area that is away from the trail. It has military style strength training equipment arranged in a circle. I decide to try some of it out, you know, just in case I ever want to join the military. And I hear a little noise, kinda like a chirp. I look- IT'S ALEX!!

I smiled like a little kid. It was like I had found my long lost hamster. Alex gets a little closer. And then closer. I'm not really liking it. What was that? I look to my right- I think it's squirrel #2. Well, that's strange. To my left is another freakin' squirrel.

They had me surrounded. There was a full circle of about 7 or 8 squirrels. That sneaky Alex wasn't telling all of her little friends that I didn't have any snacks. She was planning an ambush! It was like the squirrel mafia, and Alex was the head of it. First I felt betrayed, then, well- I was scared. What if they had plans to attack me? Don't these things have rabies?? And one by one, they start getting closer. Would they go straight for the eyes, or start biting my ankles first?

Think, think, think. What would Survivorman do? I started to explain to them that I didn't have any food with me. That didn't work. So I looked each one in their beady little eyes, gave a little nod to acknowledge the challenge, started yelling at the top of my lungs and ran around in circles until they had all scattered.

And when I was done, I left with my head held high. But I'm never going try to make friends with a squirrel again. No matter how cute it is.

She Really is a Nashville Girl

I think Maddie's love of music began when she was around 1. She couldn't get enough of The Wiggles. She would stop whatever she was doing to watch them sing "Fruit Salad" or "Hot Potato". And it was cute. For a while. Until I began fantasizing about how Dorothy the Dinosaur and Wags the Dog would get revenge on all of the camera- hungry, tummy rubbing, salad stirring men and their friend, the pirate, and take over the show.

So, Justin and I began the campaign for good music. We would let her listen to her kiddie songs, but only after she listened to Bruce Springsteen, or The Floating Men. We tried our hardest to listen to a wide variety of musicians, while subtly teaching her the lyrics to the songs. This ranged anywhere from The Clash, to George Strait, to James Taylor, to 311, to Gnarls Barkley.

It is music (literally) to my ears when I can listen to my favorite music and hear her singing along. I really have to watch myself and not laugh, when she butchers the lyrics. One day she came into the room and sang her version of "All Mixed Up" by 311. What was once "all mixed up, don't know what to do. . ." became "all dressed up, got my purse and shoes."

Yesterday, I knew all of the brainwashing had finally paid off. It may actually be my proudest parenting moment, yet. We were in the car, and she said to me:

"Mommy, can we listen to Johnny Cash?"

Will I Ever Win??

While driving Maddie to school today, we had this conversation:

"Mommy, you know what? I'm berry, berry smart."
"Yes, you are."
"Did you know Daddy isn't really berry smart?"
"What do you mean, of course Daddy is smart."
"No, he's not. He thinks mosquitos and crickets are not the same thing, but they are."
"Well, honey, they aren't the same thing. They are both bugs, but different types of bugs."
"NOOOOO!!! MO-UHM, THEY ARE THE SAME!!!! UGH!" insert rolling eyes.

I honestly thought I'd have at least ten more years before she started thinking we were complete idiots.

Maddie:2 Me: 0

Beauty School

I purposefully keep an extremely easy hair style. I can shower, rub in some mousse/gel/balm/whatever I'm not out of, and go. I go to the cheap salons for cutting it and for waxing my brows. I don't consider myself to be high maintenance. But even I have standards and a few basic requests.

Since I go to whichever salon is having a sale, I rarely get the same person. I don't mind. I figure that they need all the practice they can get, and I'm helping them train for the real salons. With that in mind, here are some tips I gathered at my recent visits.

To my stylist of the day: Please do not dialogue every step you take, like you are explaining it to your teacher. It does not make me trust you or your scissors. I also do not want to have my head bent at an unnatural angle and hear you say, "Now, how did that happen?" I will most assuredly move my head from that awkward position and then you will forget about whatever it is that you just did. When you think you are done, please don't hand me the mirror when it is obvious that there is a 2 inch difference between the right and left side. And I beg of you, please do not complain about having to sweep up the hair off the floor when I'm still sitting in the chair.

To my eyebrow waxer: First, please do not get offended that I was shocked when it was you doing my brows. I was simply surprised to see a bearded woman working in a beauty salon, and I really didn't mean to stare. Please do not tell me how long it has been since you have waxed someone's brows and ask your co-worker where your little strippy thingamajigs are. And if you ask what I want, please don't interrupt me to tell me that you go for the natural look. Believe me, I know- I saw your beard. Please don't let the wax get cold before you put on the strips because you got mad at me for laughing as you expounded on the wonders of body hair and how each one serves a purpose.

That just about covers it. Did I miss anything?

Deceptively Evil Genius

I was taught at an early age how to cook and mostly from scratch. I loved it. The measuring, the mixing, the stirring, the letting my mom clean up the mess afterwards. And I would dream of the day that I would be cooking for my very own family and they would love everything I made.

Fast forward about a decade. A typical menu for any given day consists of frozen waffles, Kraft Easy Mac, instant potatoes, pb&j in a bowl, a banana or two, and an ice cream sandwich. For Maddie. Believe me, I know how terrible it is.

How did it get to this point? It's true- I blame Justin for a lot of it. But there is also the convenience factor. And the fact that Maddie is 3 and is just as stubborn as her dad about veggies.

I borrowed Deceptively Delicious from a friend. I saw her on Oprah and really wanted to try some of her recipes. And this book is chock full of them. But none that include instant potatoes, easy mac, or salmon patties.

So I started making up my own recipes using the basic premise of hiding veggies. In overly processed food. Guess what? IT WORKS!!! Butternut squash goes really well in pancake mix and Easy Mac. I had to tell Maddie that her pancakes were orange because it was fall, but that was her only concern with it. When it is pureed and stirred in with the other cheese, it looks just like the goo that becomes Kraft Easy Mac. But the real test came tonight.

Mashed potatoes and salmon patties. I added almost a cup of cooked, finely pureed cauliflower to the mashed potatoes. Chopped broccoli went in the salmon patties. I was scared. What if it's terrible? They might never trust me to make a decent meal again. What if Justin sees the broccoli? Oh, I feel so bad about this. I shouldn't lie about food. Especially to Justin. About his absolute favorite meal. I'll never do this again. Never. Ever.

I GOT HUGS, PEOPLE!!! And I'm doing it again tomorrow.

Appreciation Is SO Over Rated

"I think you need to get another job, Mommy."
"Why? I work at night so Daddy can keep you while I'm not here."
"Daddy works 2 jobs, and Ms. LouLou works 2 jobs, so you need another job."
"My most important job is being your mommy. That is my other job."
"Well, you can just find someone else to watch me now."

That sound you just heard was my heart breaking.

Game On

When I first started this blog, I thought I would have people reading it from all over in a matter of days. And they would love it. And comment. Religiously.

Not so much.

I do have some regular readers. Most that I know and they started reading it because I sent them a link- and I asked them all the time if they read it. No pressure, though.

And when I discovered how cool stat counter is, I was hooked. I checked my stats constantly. I wanted to know who was reading, how long they read, or if my friends and family were lying to me about reading it at all.

I worried if my blog was interesting enough. I wondered if it would draw a laugh from a stranger, or even ellicit an emotional response from anyone. And then I stopped.

I am doing this blog because I enjoy it. I like writing about my family and our experiences and my thoughts on random issues. I can only hope others enjoy it and continue to read it.

So I made the conscious decision to stop worrying about stats and numbers. The day I did this, Justin decided to tell me that he wants to start his own blog. And I was happy for him and even agreed to help him get it set up. Until he had the nerve to ask me:

"You won't get mad when I get more readers than you, will you?"

So. . . if anyone has any ideas on how I can get more readers, please feel free to share. Should I try to join a blogging community? He. Can. Not. Win.