Courage is not the abscence of fear, but simply moving on with dignity despite that fear.   ---   Pat Riley (Miami Heat Coach)

That reminds me of "Wipeout Tuesdays".

Wipeout Tuesday is easily explained. My family gets together each week to watch a show called "Wipeout" where 24 daring contestants of all ages, shapes and sizes go head to head through four rounds of grueling and physically demanding, but wildly hilarious, obstacle courses to win the title of Wipeout Champion and the grand prize of $50,000. In the end, only one contestant will win, while everyone else will Wipeout! his takes place weekly the day after Monday...hence the name we gave it... "Wipeout Tuesday"

There are several things to be learned from this lunacy:

1: You are responsible for your preparation and understanding of what you are about to embark upon. At the very least, you need to know the course you are about to traverse and protect yourself by putting on a little armor and condition yourself appropriately.

2: You need to understand the risk vs. the reward. How much do you have to risk. What do you stand to lose if stuff doesn't work out so well? Similarly to some of the calculated risks we take every time we cross the street, juggle an egg a bowling ball and a chainsaw, or take another bite of Fugu.

3: You need to commit to your decision and follow it through to the finish. Even when things go wrong, there are ways to get the job done. You have to work harder...but you can still finish with your dignity...kinda.

4: You have to be courageous. All the preparation, understanding and commitment is for naught if you don't have the guts to get moving. The hardest decision of any of the challenges is taking the first step.

I was thinking about making this blog about the challenges of being a kid and the responsibility that a parent has to prepare them for the journey... ...but I changed my mind. I couldn't stop thinking of what good advice this actually is for parents that are challenged with raising children.  As a matter of a fact, the more I thought about it, the surer I was that these 4 lessons learned from the hysterical misfortune of all but one contestant, weekly, is exactly what we need to keep us on our toes as parents.

So let's run through the numbers one more time:

1: We are responsible for understanding things from our child's perspective. We need to understand their thought process and their ability to comprehend from their level of experience. We need to plan out our words and actions and be prepared for a few speed bumps.

2: We need to decide that our child's physical, emotional, and spiritual growth are at stake and we have to be prepared to take risks. Risks that may degenerate our popularity in the race for "coolest parent of the year" as selected by the MTV Kids Choice Awards, all for the sake of the rewards that will be showered upon them thanks to our efforts in cultivating them into a well balanced decision maker.

3: We need to figure out what the goal is and keep our legs moving until we get there. Do get sidetracked, limit your discouragement, and remember what you are fighting for. Do what you intended to do, when you intended to do it.

4: Don't be afraid...be a DAD. Our kids are waiting for us, but they won't wait forever. Get in the mix, be a part of the game, get dirty, get bruised. If we don't wake up a little bruised, bit sore, and a tad tired, we probably didn't work hard enough.

Life is full of "Dizzy Dummies", "Dirty Balls" and "Dreadmills". But as you can learn from one episode of Wipeout, the most unlikely of the contestants has just as much of a shot of winning as the next.

But you can't win if you don't take the first step. (and, of course, start watching "Wipeout")

Every morning DD#2 and I wake up after a good night of sleep.  We go wake up DD#3, and we all brush our teeth and get dressed for the day.  We go down stairs where with the help of the children I cook a delicious and healthy breakfast.  My husband joins us for a quick bite to eat before heading off to work with kisses from everyone.

After cleaning up the breakfast dishes and the kitchen table, the kids and I settle in to do a craft project, work in workbooks, or do some other educational and interactive activity.  After an hour of that the three of us work together to do chores to keep our house comfortable and tidy while the baby rests quietly and contently in her bouncer.  Once our chores are finished we go on to have a healthy and delicious lunch followed by snuggling on the couch to read books together out loud.

Next the children go upstairs to play in the playroom while I spend some time on the computer checking my e-mail, balancing the checkbook, and reading and writing blogs.  Then we come back together to do a few more chores and have a snack.  Me and DD#2 and #3 go upstairs for a nice two hour nap while oldest daughter reads or plays quietly.  We awaken to find my husband home from work, and I start preparing dinner while the girls set the table.  Did I mention that all of the food is organic and inexpensive?

After dinner together we all go for a nice walk outside.  We return to play some games together before having a bedtime snack.  The kids promptly get dressed in their pajamas and brush their teeth.  They are attentive while we read stories in bed, and snuggle under their blankets as we turn out the lights and kiss them good night.  My husband and I spend an hour together talking or watching television.  Then we go off to bed to get some sleep ourselves before another perfect day begins tomorrow.

That's our day in a nutshell.  Every few days we bake our own bread from scratch, and at least twice a week we meet with other homeschooling families for the kids to play.  Because the kids are all homeschooled they are so polite with each other, and us mothers can sit back and socialize knowing that our kids are safe and content having fun and learning together.  We discuss the latest books we've read and plan our next service projects.

Why is the chorus of that old George Strait song going through my head suddenly?

This is a very broad question, rather than blame the government, the media, loan lenders, the oil companies, or anything else. I'm going to blame it on babies, babies are what is wrong with America, toddlers and babies contribute nothing to society, all they do is take, take, take, make messes and draw on the walls. O.k. I don't really mean that, on a more serious note, I do blame................................, two things, bad parenting and a crappy school system. First of all, it's probably good that parents don't teach their kids critical thinking skills, because this would mean that if little Johnny had critical thinking skills, he would be questioning the relevancy of every homework assignment with his teachers, and the teachers would have to lie to little Jonny because the only thing teachers can honestly say is, " I don't want to teach this, but I have to it's part of the State Curriculum. While parents are busy most of the time, the only thing teaching their kids, are the TV., video games, and the internet. Now if I have learned anything from TV., video games, and the internet, it would be that sex, violence, and lots of money is the American Dream. Probably in this order, the internet = sex, TV. = money, and video games = violence. Omg, I am failing at the American Dream, holy crap. I'm broke, horny and lonely and I haven't killed any bad guys yet, except maybe some invading ants in the kitchen. Luckily I don't believe in sex, money, and violence as the American Dream, and most kids I think are smart enough not to either. That's not to say that it doesn’t affect them though. What does affect them though, is that these three things are for some kids their only venues of entertainment.

I'm still debating whether ADD, or ADHD really exists, I'm sure a lot of kids can be diagnosed with symptoms and be labeled ADD, or ADHD. A kid that does not get enough attention will not be able to pay attention, because guess what, that kid is too busy attention seeking to make up for the deficit of attention their parents aren’t giving them. So little Johnny is too busy seeking attention to focus on the teacher lecturing because little Johnny’s parents are doing a poor job at parenting. What is it really though, I believe ADD, and ADHD is a result of a kid without a structured childhood. If a kid doesn’t have stability in their life, and on top of that regular emotional support, and enough hugs, you take away their security. A kid that feels insecure has vital needs that aren't being met, and this will surface in the form of ADD. ADD can't be cured by pills, it can only be cured by good parenting. In fact, ADD is a disorder, not a genetic disorder but an environmental disorder. So if you change the kids environment into an ordered one, the kids brain will rewire itself and the symptoms will slowly disintegrate. That’s the good news, the bad news is that this doesn’t happen for a lot of kids, and those kids grow up into adults with their brain wired the ADD way. It's much harder for an adult to re-wire their brain, because no one is going to re-wire for them, except themselves.

So to tie back in, to what’s wrong with America. I would have to say it’s poor individual choices that people make. This country will only be as good as the kids we raise to run it. So lets hope our country isn't ran on the crony system, or we'll get rich, spoiled kids with an unstructured childhood running our country. Oh, wait, I think I just described our current president, oops too late, were fucked.

Also making it feel like vacation is that as of Monday, AJ's post-surgical activity restrictions were lifted. This has meant a lot of afternoons at the pool. It has also, however, meant a lot of arguing, mostly caused by summer's oppression of our organizational skills. Yes, I blame summer entirely. It's not the heat, it's the humidity. And it's certainly not my fault.

Here is what our days look like.

7:00 Rise and shine. If I am not awake far earlier and skulking around the house, this is the time AJ bursts in to get my lazy ass out of bed.

7:01 Argue with AJ about the no-screens-before-breakfast-rule. This means no computer, no DS, no TV. It is a rule that is patently unfair, because Mr. Spy and I are always on our computers before breakfast, checking email, weather, posting to our blogs about our scintillating summer schedules. But we do try not to let AJ see. Because when AJ is parked in front of some kind of screen too early in the morning, he is beyond grouchy and the whole day goes downhill. On Sundays, though, he gets to do whatever he likes. Everybody needs a break sometimes.

7:02 We all head down to the kitchen. There is newspaper and coffee for the grownups, and eventually oatmeal. AJ gets juice, complains that he's not hungry, and then, when cereal (no milk), milk, fruit and vitamins are in front of him, he starts to eat anyway. He will, however, say that he is bored, demand to read the back of the cereal box (the same box he read yesterday) and the sports section of the newspaper. Then he will ask to play a game (not before I drink my coffee -- that would give him an unfair advantage and also put him at serious risk of bodily harm as I am never more likely to attempt to defy laws of physics than before coffee. I really shouldn't be allowed to do anything before coffee.), will complain when I say no, and then will ask if he can get a book. Which of course he may. And the grumpy morning Spies sit in our separate corners (Mr. Spy eats on the porch, I eat at the counter, AJ eats at the table), reading our separate books or sections of the newspaper, each trying to regain his morning sense of humor. Fortunately, it usually does not take long.

7:30 By now, I have downed a mug and a half of coffee. Mr. Spy has finished his breakfast and is either in the shower or out for a run. AJ, however, is still picking away at his food, his nose buried in his book. Under dire threats of my forced removal of said book, he begins to move at the pace of a box turtle rather than a tortoise. I suppose this is an improvement.

7:45 AJ is still eating. I have given up and gone upstairs to get dressed.

7:46 Now that no one is badgering him, AJ wolfs down his food, clears his plate and sprints upstairs to find his DS.

7:47 I remove the DS from his room and set him on the road to get his morning chores done.

8:00 AJ is finished with his chores. I make him go back and brush his teeth again, because I'm a mean mommy. I get dressed to go teach water aerobics.

8:05 For 10 solid minutes, the house is blissfully silent. Except for the grinding of a chain saw, a chipper, a lawn mower, a garbage truck somewhere outside. Ahhh.

8:15 There is a mad dash for the exit. Mr. Spy can't find the cell phone. AJ can't find his socks. Mr. Spy forgot his water. AJ has found his socks, but there's a hole in them. Mr. Spy can't find his car keys. AJ is out on the driveway looking like he's been there for hours.

8:20 Mr. Spy and AJ are finally in the car. Mr. Spy is a little grumpy and anxious. AJ is playing his DS. I stand on the porch and wave. Mr. Spy waves back. AJ does not look up. I stand there for a minute watching them go, feeling nostalgic about when, not so long ago, AJ would leave in the back seat of the car and wave so hard I thought his arm would fall off, craning his neck to watch me for as long as possible.

8:21 I am back inside, alone in the house. I do a happy dance. Mrs. Stein looks at me like I'm nuts and then continues to chase invisible mice.

8:22 I check my email. Why is nobody writing to me? Don't they like me?

8:30 Time to leave for the pool. But where are my sandals?

8:31 I've found 1 sandal but the cord for my iPod is missing.

8:32 All found, my bag is packed. I head out the door. But where are my keys?

8:35 After turning the house upside down, I locate the keys...in my swimming bag, where they have been since yesterday. I lock up, hop on my bike and pedal like mad.

8:40 Arrive at pool and set up. Joke around with the 22 year old pool manager who, for some reason, seems to think I'm funny. At least when there aren't 22 year old girls around.

9-10 Teach water aerobics to the most entertaining bunch of women I could ask to have for a class.

10:00 Stow my equipment and head home.

10:15 Check email. Where is the love? Not in my inbox.

10:30 Consider taking a shower. Sniff pits. Smell only chlorine. Decide against it. Get dressed.

10:35 Head to my desk to work. Remove Mrs. Stein from my pile of filing. Plug in laptop. Commence writing.

A minute later: AJ and Mr. Spy are home. How can it be 12:15 already? I'm just getting started!

12:30 Lunchtime. AJ announces that his peanut butter sandwich is disgusting, even though it is made with the exact same bread, peanut butter and jelly that he has every day. I smile sweetly say, "Oh that's too bad. But you still need to eat it." I can practically see the dark cloud forming over his head.

1:00 AJ has finished lunch and asks me about 9 times in a row if he can call a friend. I hand him the phone book and finish eating my sandwich and reading an article about human trafficking in Asia. I wonder if I should have told AJ not to call Asia?

1:05 Fortunately, AJ has not called Asia. He has, however, called every kid in the neighborhood and none of them is home. "Can we got to the pool, Mommy? Can we? Can we? Can we?"

1:15 The kitchen is clean and we are getting ready for the pool. I begin the difficult process of putting on a swimsuit that is still wet from this morning.

1:20 Swimsuit mission accomplished, with only minor injuries best left undescribed. I cover myself in sunscreen. I think I got everything. Maybe.

1:21 AJ is ready to go. But where are my sandals? I send AJ off to look for a ball to bring so I can search in peace.

1:22 Strangely, the sandals were right where I left them when I came home from the pool this morning. But where are my keys? AJ returns with a ball and asks for a snack.

1:25 I pack some goldfish and a bottle of water. AJ asks, "Can I bring change for the soda machine? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

1:26 I try to decide whether it is more efficient to bang my own head against the wall or AJ's. Then I notice that AJ is not wearing any shoes. "Where are your shoes?" I ask. "I don't know," AJ replies as if the thought of shoes has never occurred to him. And I still haven't found my keys.

1:28 AJ finds his shoes and puts them on. Keys? Still missing.

1:30 I tell AJ to put his ball in my bag. He unzips it. "Hey, Mommy! Are these your keys?"

1:31 I slather AJ with sunscreen. He complains when I get it too close to his eyes, by which he means his elbows. I say to him, "Good! Now your eyes won't get sunburnt!" He rolls his eyes at me and I make a mental note to keep him away from all teenagers in the future.

1:35 We are finally off, on foot, to the pool. We stop to look for frogs in the pond, to smell some flowers, to watch a dog roll onto his back on someone's front porch. Then, when we get to the hill above the pool, one of us starts running. I'll give you a hint: It wasn't me.

1:50 We have arrived at the pool. we stake out our chairs, take off our outer layers. AJ heads for the water when the whistle blows: Adult swim! My book will have to wait. First I need to deal with, "Can I have a soda now? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

1:52 I am in the water at last, along with several other harried-looking mothers. We swim lazily up and down the pool to the accompaniment of a chorus of "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" shrieked from the sidelines.

2:00 The kids are in the pool. AJ is playing gutterball with some boys he knows and some boys he does not. The mommies are on the chairs discussing school budgets and summer camps and occasionally pretending to read books. Ah, this is summer.

4:30 We are all hot and tired. It is time to go home. I am informed that I am the meanest mommy in the land because I have made Prince AJ set his delicate feet to the earth in order to return home while everyone else is whisked away in magical cars filled with delicious snacks and maybe a pony.

4:45 We arrive home. "Can I call one of my friends, Mommy? Can I? Can I? Can I?" I am too weary to object. I am not, however, too weary to kick him outside. "No kids in the house!" "Okay, Mom!"

5:00 I am cooking dinner. The entire neighborhood is at my front door. "Can we have water? Can we have a snack? Can I use the bathroom? Can I call my mom? Can I? Can I? Can I?" Why yes, you can. And by the way, is it too early for cocktails?

6:00 AJ is having dinner. Mr. Spy is having dinner. I am having dinner. We ask AJ questions about his day. He replies in monosyllables. And then, as if our questions are too tedious to be tolerated any further, "Mommy, can I bring a book down? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

7:00 I am washing the dishes. Mr. Spy and AJ are playing football in the backyard. Mr. Spy pokes his head in the front door. "Can I use your yoga bolster for a tackling dummy? And can you get it for me?" Of course. Om.

7:30 It is time for AJ's bath. But where is AJ? Mr. Spy thought he was inside. He turns up at the neighbors in a sprinkler. "But why do I need to take a bath? I'm already wet?" I point to his mud-caked toes. He hangs his head, and returns home.

8:00 AJ is in bed. Mr. Spy is reading to him about the Revolutionary War. I am falling asleep in front of the Dick Van Dyke show. Why is Richie never home? Do they chain him up in his bedroom? Has he moved in with Millie and Jerry Helper?

8:20 It is my turn to read. AJ is all snuggled up under the covers. I pick up our copy of The Mysterious Benedict Society, sit down next to him and begin to read the latest chapter.

8:40 I close the book. "Aw, Can we just read a little bit more? Can we? Can we? Can we?" Not this time, AJ. Not tonight.

8:45 Lullaby and goodnight. AJ is sleeping in his room. Mr. Spy is sleeping on the porch. I am wide awake. And damn, still no email.

W

To the Saudi's because, by golly, if they can put a daggum indoor ski resort in the middle of the friggin' desert, then I can darn sure spend $50 going to see my mom (and play in the river!). This isn't a joke. My old boss went there and brought back pictures.

And I thumb my nose at the Democrats because, despite their best efforts, I still drive a pickup truck that gets terrible gas mileage.  BUT, until they make a pickup truck with a full-size bed, that can pull a couple of jet skis outta the water (I don't have one, but I'd like to), and gets more than 25 mpg, I'm keeping what I've got! It's paid off and it runs great! Can't beat that!

I've contemplated running my "ROLL TIDE" flags on the outside of my windows as I drive through T-town, but I figure that's asking for trouble that I really just don't need, so I'm going to sneak in quietly, running my radar detector the whole way.

For the unitiated, Tennessee is a HUGE Alabama football rivalry ever since their coach ratted out one of our players for allegedly taking bribes, which as it turns out, we didn't even keep the player. For all of that, Alabama football got several years of academic scholarship penalties that killed our chances at winning any kind of championships for several years. So yeah, we pretty much hate Tennessee, and I'm sure the feeling's mutual.

With luck, I'll get some good pictures to share with you all next week. So until then, you all have a wonderful, safe weekend!

       Britney Spears continues to receive visitation; which at this point, according to media reports, includes one, over-night visitation and a couple of visits per week.  Britney has had a rough time physically and emotionally over the last year or two; since her divorce. 

         Britney had very public outbursts and was hospitalized twice, involuntarily.  She has been doing remarkably well since her father Jaime took over a conservatorship many months ago.  He was successful in removing some negative influences by having the court's approval in deciding who could be physically present around Britney.  She has had more stabilized public appearances and has even been productive professionally.  She has appeared on television in a couple of acting roles and she has been getting back to her music.  This, after a much publicized effort to get back into shape physically by working out. 

      All of those accomplishments have allowed the courts to reward her efforts, to get her life back on track, by increasing her time with her boys; after having stopped visitations previously.  It is crucial for Kevin Federline and those in the court system to continue to see Britney Spears'  improvements in areas of concern that affect her children and herself.  Working on the relationships in their family is wise and will be to the benefit of the children as well as the adults involved.

       If things continue to stablize in her life; the court could always increase her visitation time with her children.  This agreement by the parents shows their ability to put their children's needs ahead of their own desire for control.  Well done!      

In our community, this has created significant discomfort with some parents. A friend told me that since her daughter was born she had a plan that when her daughter turned 12, she would explain topics like menstruation and sex.

We’ve taken a different attitude in our house. I’ve always answered my kids questions—of course that doesn’t mean giving them adult answers, but doing so in age appropriate ways. This means starting with the most simplistic answer first and seeing where the child goes. Someone was told me a story about a child who had been watching television with her dad. When the commercial came, she turned to her dad and asked, “What’s a climax?” He turned red and got very flustered. Fortunately, he gathered his wits enough to ask where she had heard the word. Her answer, “The television just said ‘stay tuned for the climax.’”

My daughter knew the basics of menstruation from when she was a toddler. Why? Because sometimes I had to go to the bathroom when we were out, and in Washington, DC I was definitely bringing her in the stall with me. She saw things first hand, and it was either let her be terrified that mom was hurt or give a simplistic, yet accurate, explanation.

As for sex, when my daughter was in second grade, she wanted to know what those penguins were doing in March of the Penguins, and I answered her questions, while all of the time inserting our moral values into the conversation. I also told her two important things.

1. This was not a topic for her to discuss with her friends. It is up to her friends’ parents to convey this information.
2. If she did hear things from her friends, she should talk to me because kids often don’t have the facts straight.

My son hasn’t asked any questions yet. So for him, we just make sure he knows the proper names for all of his body parts. Including his scrotum—a word that caused a Newberry winning book to be banned by some school librarians. “The Higher Power of Lucky” includes the word "scrotum" to describe where a dog gets a snake bite.   At the time, NPR talked to boys in a Tuscon library and most had no idea what a scrotum was--much less that it was a body part that they had!

Many kids are taught all of the proper names for part of their body except for their genitals. In her book, “From Diapers to Dating: A Parent's Guide to Raising Sexually Healthy Children From Infancy to Middle School,” Debra Haffner notes, “When you use euphemisms only for the genitals, you are giving your child a message that these parts of the body are uncomfortable or different.  You may, without meaning to or realizing it, even introduce a sense of shame or guilt about this part of the body.”

Haffner’s book is the one parenting book I actually did read and highly recommend to any parent. I suppose I had my own parental induced hang-ups and wanted my children to avoid that. And, I really wanted to create an environment where they would get their information from me and felt comfortable coming to me with questions.

And when it comes to talk to my son about sex, I’ll be doing that too. Consider the findings from the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health.

• Teens who reported more satisfaction in their relationship with their mother were less likely to report having sex in the subsequent year, more likely to use birth control the last time they had sex and less likely to get pregnant.
• The more disapproving adolescents perceived their mother to be toward their engaging in sexual intercourse, the less likely they were to have sexual intercourse.
• Teens perceptions of their mothers’ attitudes toward abstinence are more predictive of sexual outcomes (e.g., intercourse, use of birth control, pregnancy) than actual maternal attitudes.

One evening, during our before-bed routine (wherein we lie together on Mommy & Daddy's "big bed" to sing songs, retell what happened in our day, say a prayer, and then usher Smooch off to bed in his own room) he suddenly reached down, clutched his crotch, and said, "I pee-pee!" with a look of urgency on his face. Gruff was doubtful he knew what he was talking about & thought it was a new stall tactic, but I took him off to the bathroom anyway. And what do you know? As soon as he was seated comfortably, he did exactly what he said he had to do!

The next morning, he asked to put on his "unna-way-uh" and it was just steady progress from then on, for a few weeks. He seemed to increase the amount of time he'd spend dry in his underwear each day, still accepting diapers for naps and bedtimes and excursions. Then one day he protested as we were on our way out the door. "Unna-way-uh to liberry! I do it!" I didn't let him - the mental image of a puddle amongst the stacks just mortified me, so I wrestled him into his diaper and off we went. Upon returning home, do you know what I discovered? A completely dry diaper. I felt horrible - he could have worn his underwear. He was fine. So I emailed a few moms who've been down this potty learning road with a bit of panic in my tone - what on earth should I do?

Basically, I was advised to just chuck the diapers - other than sleeping, and even then, maybe try to be sneaky (let him fall asleep in underwear and rush in and change him into a diaper after he's zonked out) - get a few pairs of waterproof trainers, especially if I could get my hands on ImseVimses, for outings - and buy a portable potty to keep in the car and diaper bag for "emergencies" when we couldn't find a public toilet to use. Then, just go for it. Be prepared for messes and successes and just see what he does.

So I girded up my loins. I bought the necessary equipment, plus another dozen pair of teeny-tiny boxer briefs. And then... I don't know what happened. Maybe I seemed too eager? Maybe it became less about his interest and more about mine? Whatever it was - a cosmic shift in the universe or something - my no-accident boy turned into what feels like a willful pee-er. He stopped telling me he needed to use the potty - so I started offering and reminding. Each of my comments was met with a forceful "No! No potty!" If I insisted he sit and try, say right before leaving the house, he'd hop off in two seconds waving his hands in the air. "All done! No pee-pee!" Then, literally moments after leaving the toilet? A puddle would appear.

My frustration level is, shall we say, rising. I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm hormonal. I know for certain that it doesn't help that yesterday, I raised my voice and got a little bit scolding at the last accident. (It didn't help that Daddy has had social things after work the last two days in a row and hasn't been home to pitch in during Smooch's waking hours since Tuesday - Mommy is fried at this point.)

We headed out to the mall yesterday and stopped in at Bear Central, where, on a whim, I decided to try a motivational technique. We chose a new T-shirt for Smooch's previously naked pal Bobo the Panda. Then we picked out a pair of underwear for our furry friend! Back at home, Bobo got dressed in his new duds and Smooch proclaimed him a "big boy!" A few times yesterday, I remarked that both Smooch and Bobo had dry underwear - how wonderful. We were accident free for the evening, which was a real blessing for my sanity.

Laying in bed just before bedtime, Smooch cuddled his panda and recalled what we did all day. "An'... Bobo new unna-way-uh and g'een shut too!" I couldn't help myself, and piped up,

"Yep, and his underwear is still dry! Bobo is getting so big!"

"Psssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Smooch sound-effect-ed. "Bobo go pee-pee!"

So much for motivation.

******************
In other news, the other thing we did at the mall yesterday? "Mama hair all gone floor!"

Today finds me feeling much more satisfied. I stopped by today and this time he invited me in for coffee and we spent quite a lot of the morning just talking about books and science. It was really nice, just a pleasure. And it felt easy, without me feeling worried or self-conscious about some of the sexual stuff. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any sexual tension at all, and it was nice. And it makes it seem hopeful for continuing friendship with him. I really do like being with him. I asked if dropping by was ok, just as I was leaving, and he seemed surprised that I’d ask, and that it was a foregone conclusion that it was more than fine. So I just felt buoyed and…satisfied the rest of the day. It felt good to have such a solidly good interaction. And it’s kind of nice to feel a bit freed from any sexual urgency. More comfortable.

Gary’s mom’s coming over for dinner Thurs, because it’s her birthday. It’s sort of a cloud over the week to have that pending, but then I leave the next day to go to the beach for book reading group retreat. So that’s something to get me through Thurs. Then hopefully won’t have to see her for a while. Though she said something about going for lunch. I hope she doesn’t bring it up again because I think it’ll be awkward if I fend her off again, but I really don’t want to go just because I don’t know how to graciously and without rousing suspicion say no.

10/13/05

I’m feeling a little low today. I don’t know if it’s coming-to-a-sudden-halt in all this activity low, or what. I suppose part of it is knowing that Darlene’s coming over tonight. I keep telling myself it won’t be so bad. Chances are it won’t.

I think it’s maybe slowing down enough to realize how sad I am that Gary and I can’t make a happy home for our kids to grow up in, and that probably the best we can do is to treat each other reasonably well in front of the kids. I wish they could have modeled for them a really loving relationship, though. There’s a shadow of sadness following me today, where I don’t feel like I’m parenting Scott adequately. It’s been less than 2 weeks since we moved in. It’s been insane trying to get moved in, with workers around and the inconveniences that come with living in a construction zone. I’ve not had a lot of patience with Scott and his 4 year old ways. I’ve been leaving him to eat alone while I go accomplish a few more unpacking chores. It makes me feel tearful to think of him eating alone.

Conrad doesn’t have school tomorrow and it looks like x might bring the kids and come up. That was my surprise this morning. I wasn’t expecting his kids would be off tomorrow too, like Conrad, and I didn’t even really expect to hear back from him since recent experience has told me that he doesn’t answer e-mail very often.

I’m feeling a bit torn between sitting with my sadness and doing some things that need to be done if I’m going to be going to the beach tomorrow evening. I need to get some clothes washed ahead—maybe Gary can do it this time. Tomorrow is the start of the book group weekend where we choose our books for next year. I’m sliding on the dinner preparation, and skidding by on the book selection process too. They’re being kind to me, and I hope it’s understood that I just can’t add much else to my plate.

There is some sort of sorrow that is epitomized for me, and a trigger of sadness, in the image of someone eating all alone. It seems they must be lonely, and using the food sensation to comfort themselves with. I don’t know why that feeling would be shrunk so tightly to that image.

Some troubling thoughts were triggered last week when I was listening to a KBOO broadcast, and someone who is a teacher, I think, in the Nonviolent Communication Project, was being interviewed. It was very interesting, and the little I heard was enlightening. It was about using language patterns as a way to build connection, and recognizes that a lot of ordinary language useage sows seeds of conflict. And the two people that I have the most uncomfortable conflicts with right now are Gary and his mom, and I find that I really DON’T want to understand them, and build connection with. I think this realization might be part of the reason I’m feeling sad today. Funny, I can’t say I’ve felt sad like this for a long time. Angry, yes. Irritated, yes. Busy and overwhelmed, yes. Harried and fragmented, yes. Pulled too many directions at once, yes. Stimulated and a little high (on account of the combined dose of the Wellbutrin), yes.

The libido thing seems to have waned a bit. My guess is that we’re beginning to approach the end of this moving process that’s been going on for a year now, and what I’m experiencing is the let-down. That would make sense. It may also be something like last year at this time when I began to feel very depressed. I just think I did too much and so got depressed. It’s been such a big push to get in here to this place, and now we’re on the verge of that big push being over and it’s hard to fathom not living with that big push anymore. I suppose doing too much can kick off a depression. Perhaps what did it last year was having done too much, but it was unacknowledged and in fact people expected me to do more. I felt unsupported in every way last year, by Gary and by my parents. I think that may have been the crux of it. Now I’m thinking that probably I never will feel supported by Gary, because he keeps doing passive-aggressive stuff and isn’t honest about what he’s mad about. So the things that alienate me from him will continue to happen.

Turns out she wasn't kidding. Long story short, I'm now the father of twins.

Please help! I know absolutely nothing about being a parent! The other day one of them wouldn't stop crying so I just put a Darth Vader mask on it and left it in a tree. And now Social Services is totally on my ass. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU CAN'T DO THIS?

Any parenting advice? These twins are a handful! Each! That's two handfuls! Each! That's four handfuls!

Sincerely,
Nate "Super Dad" Fernald

Please note that I had the nickname "Super Dad" before this whole baby fiasco. I won it in a game of college ball.

God tells us that if we train a child in the way he should go, when he is old he will not depart from it. Kids need a lot of guidance - training to grow up to be healthy adults. They need lots of love, appreciation, attention, instruction and good ol' discipline from the adults in their lives to turn out to be productive, caring, and moral people. Genetics is not a done-deal for behavior. Family matters. Always has. Always will.

Good kids raised in a good home raised by good parents will almost always result in good people from good families. And we're all nicer to be around when we behave ourselves. Genetic predisposition just shows us the potential for any of us to be our best or our worst. There is just no subsititue for good training from responsible adult-acting parents for helping kids to be and become the BEST they can be.

A side bonuse is that I'm getting more sleep.  Sometimes.

I'll keep you posted on the move and settling into the new routine.  I'll have more scam alerts soon, too.

Daddy Brain is scheduled to be a guest on At Issue With Ben Merens, 
a daily radio show on Wisconsin Public Radio.

When: Thursday, July 24th, 2008
Time: 5 pm (CST)
Where: Wisconsin Public Radio, The Ideas Network

At Issue with Ben Merens, is an hour-long talk show that is "dedicated to current events and hard news, includes expert guests, policy-makers, commentators, and authors." 

The show gives listeners the opportunity to call in, be heard, and be part of the conversation. Just dial (800) 486-8655.

You can listen to the show live from anywhere in the world with online streaming audio. Click here to hear it through iTunes, Windows Media Player or RealPlayer.

You can also listen on any of the following Wisconsin radio stations:

- WHA-AM 970 Madison
- WERN-FM 88.7 Madison
- KUWS-FM 91.3 Superior
- WHRM-FM 90.9 Wausau
- WHAD-FM 90.7 Delafield/Milwaukee
- WPNE-FM 89.3 Green Bay
- WLSU-FM 88.9 La Crosse

I hope you get a chance to tune in. Feel free to call and talk with us! Please spread the word.

And remember, you are not alone...

Related links:
Ben Merens Web Site: Author, Speaker and Communications Professional
Talk Radio Should be Forum, Not Soapbox, by Ben Merens

An NPR story recently referred to a meta-study of happiness and parenting featured in Newsweek magazine (which claimed that parents have 7% less happiness on average) and highlighted research of Florida State University's Robin Simon (sociology) asserting that caring for kids brought greater depression and unhappiness, partly because of the childcaring itself and partly because of shriveled social networks that stemmed from parents staying in more (for the latter finding, Simon cites research by Linsbeth Levin at Duke).

Excerpts from NPR story:

"Dr. Simon: (reporting on parents' self-rated emotions in sample of 13,000 time diary reports): They [parents] definitely experienced more depression. They - people with kids, all parents, that is to say including people with kids who are living at home, young children who are living at home, as well as empty-nest parents, surprisingly, when you combine all kinds of parents in the United States, and ask them, you know, if they experience these serious emotions, what you find is that they report significantly more feelings of depression than people who have never had kids.

MIKE PESCA: [NPR Bryan Project host] Does it correlate to the number of kids, or just having a kid?

Dr. SIMON: Well, we actually didn't look at the number of kids, though I suspect that it does, because other sociological studies have found that the more kids one has the more feelings of depression."

Simon goes on to say that some of this depression stems from the fact that parents are on their own and we don't provide them enough social support and provide enough family-friendly policies for them to reap the full benefits of parenthood, including having access to decent healthcare. And host Mike Pesca describes Dan Gilbert's work (Harvard, psychology) that asserts that parents are happier sleeping and grocery shopping than childrearing.

Simon goes own to admit that the while parents often report lower short-term happiness from parenting, most feel immense life satisfaction and pride from being parents.

Interestingly, this research doesn't accord with careful research of hotshot economist Alan Krueger (at Princeton), whose work I discussed in an earlier blog post. He finds childcare giving as the fifth most pleasurable activity (out of 21 asked), where pleasurability (or their U-index) is the percent of 15-minute segments in which stressed/sadness/pain emotions exceeded happiness. Childcare had the 5th LOWEST U-index score. The Krueger research is preferably methodologically since it controls for respondents' baseline levels of happiness, depression, etc. and thus is able to weed out whether parents, for example, are just more happier people in general. You can read the Krueger study here.

Now I feel bad. We've always had cats. My whole family are cat lovers. Especially my son. He misses having a furry friend, and so do I. It's true that my bf is allergic to cats, though he has had one before. But it's also true that our landlord does not allow cats. Let alone a rabbit! No matter how much my son begs and pleads, my hands are tied. I wish we could move. Then my son could have his rabbit. And I could have my cat. And bf? Well, I'd buy him lots of allergy medicine. :P

We ended up in PinkGirl's room. We were pretty sure it was her room. It was pink. After three play dates, one followed by a sleepover - each with a different pair of sisters, this is what it looked like on Sunday afternoon.

Now, I know these 6 other girls don't have a clue what the Underwear Principle is, but PinkGirl totally gets the concept. And the organization of her room was NOT working for her. The two air mattresses aside, her toys, books, and costumes weren't stored well. We could have just helped her clean everything up and put everything away, but the fact is, it would have turned out this way again. (I know this from experience.) Let me explain:

Let's start with books. PinkGirl is her mother's daughter. She loves books. If you see the pile of books over to the right side of the photo, you can see some cubbies at the head of her bed. (Click the photo to see a larger image.) They went all the way up to the ceiling. The lower cubbies faced outward, the upper cubbies were reversed to provide easy access when she was in bed. Not working for two reasons. See that pink box sticking out of the lower cubbie? We tried to store books in those bins, inside the cubbies. She would take books out (that would be plural) to get to the one she wanted and NEVER put them back. Also, she would bring books (that would be plural) from the lower cubbies into bed with her and NEVER put them back. Not working. She needed access to her books from her favorite place to read. Her bed. She also needed to be able to pull the exact book she wanted without sifting through lots of others. So. Book storage in Pinkgirl's Room? Not working.

Next, the toys. Little toys. Kid meal size toys. Lots of them. Everywhere. FavoriteSon had a box for each. Tarzan toys? In the box with a picture of Tarzan on it. Toy Story toys? In a box with Buzz and Woody on it. Bugs Life toys? You get the idea. FavoriteSon liked everything separated because he played in a very structured world. PinkGirl, on the other hand, can have Buzz Lightyear marrying Cinderella with Tarzan as the best man, fighting off Zurg while the entire cast of every Disney movie ever made attends the wedding. So. PinkGirl does not store her toys by "like kind." She likes to dump a box, pick today's cast of characters, shove everyone else out of the way and play. When she's done, she like to dump everyone a box. Any box. It doesn't matter. (Kinda freaks FavoriteSon out a little, but he'll be okay.)

In addition, PinkGirl has an elevated bed and she LOVES to hang her comforter over the side and make a tent to play in. Santa brought her a Barbie Hotel last Christmas (she calls it "The Tipton") and she has it tucked under there. (It's pretty cool, I saw one just like it a few years ago at a garage sale for $25.00. That would have been a great deal! :) ) Anyway, she needs a place for Barbie storage too.

So. We bought 4 more cubbie units. One 3 x 3 unit and three 2 x 4 units. Each unit was $39.99 at Target. Each cubbie is 1 square foot. In all, we added 33 cubic feet of additional storage space to PinkGirl's room. FirstHusband is a MASTER at putting these babies together these days, but this time he had some help.

AMAZING difference. We lined the wall with them, floor to ceiling. Somehow the height of the bed was just perfect. It didn't block ANY cubbies completely. Check it out four days later. Still straight. (hey. four days is major in this house.)

PinkGirl's entire library is right within reach when she is in bed. She's got all her books completely organized. Chapter books together, one cubby for paperback storybooks and another for hardback, one cubby for large Christian books and another for small. Dr. Seuss has his own cubby, Disney has two and "learning" books are all grouped together. She put nearly every one of the books on her new shelves all by herself.

Under the bed, she's got all her toys in bins, Barbies in the top cubbies, everything within easy reach. And again - SHE put everything in the cubbie bins.

Just a note here, the white, plastic bins were from Walmart. At a $1.83, they are a great option for these cubbies. Target does sell canvas boxes in different colors but I HATE them. They are thin and cheap and they don't hold their shape. I got the dark pink canvas bins (shown below) at Big Lots for less than half the price -and they are heavy, strong and hold their shape. They don't go all the way up to the top of the cubbie, but we like that because we can see inside without pulling them out. I would have gotten more instead of using the white plastic bins, but Big Lots didn't have the colors we wanted right now. Maybe later. For now, all but one these bins (in the photo below) are EMPTY!!! So we have the flexibility to rearrange some things as we figure out what works and doesn't work about our latest organization of PinkGirl's stuff. Most of the stuff in the photo below is for playing school and for creating art (With everything except paint. No painting in the bedroom.)

We also have some completely empty cubbies at the head of the bed. (she was eating a snack at her table - we don't usually store ketchup in her room)

So. In less than a day, for less than $200, this room went from a pink explosion to pinkalicious. So far. So good.

We even manage to box up over 50 books, lots of toys, outgrown costumes and an old, giant Fisher Price doll house for charity donation. I've already entered it into It's Deductible! Now if I can just get it all moved from the hallway to my van. And then to the charity drop off. Baby steps. Baby steps.

I know. I would have had no clue what that said either. Until I found this link in my blog stats yesterday. Apparently it means "The Cheek of God" in Korean. Someone came upon a post I wrote some time ago about my son and needed to translate it into Korean in order to read it.

How cool is that?!

I imagine a father. A man just like me. Struggling to interact in some meaningful way with his own growing teenage son. He might live right next to this Wal Mart. In a country half way around the world. A land I've only read about. Seen caricatured on M.A.S.H. Heard fascinating stories about from an old friend – a soldier sent there to fight all those years ago.

Perhaps this dad needed some encouragement. A few been-there-done-that words. And then, maybe, he took his own boy aside and told him how much he cares about him. Or wrote his own letter. In a script so beautifully rendered it makes me smile.

My thoughts are with you my Korean friend . . . that you find that bridge, so universal and timeless, between a father and his son. That you discover joy in his boundless energy and poignancy in his perspective on life. And that you too are amazed at finding someone who can relate. Half way around the world . . .

[photo credit]

Gratefully and with alacrity, I would meet him at the door.  The only times that my father and I ever routinely left the house without my mother were on these occasional Saturday nights.  She would host "Liver Lovers Parties," whereby she cooked up an enormous pan of liver and onions, plus disturbing green sides and a heavy red wine, which all created an unbearable stench throughout the house.  She would invite several of her girlfriends for an evening in.

We couldn't escape fast enough.

My dad and I would drive off in our secondhand sedan, with me in the front seat because this was back in the day when airbags didn't threaten the very existence of small children everywhere.  We would stop at the gas station to fill up the tank and buy a package of "Hubba Bubba," a special treat because Mom didn't like it when I chewed gum.  (The smacked lips, the popped bubbles, the swallowed wads of plastic... what's not to like?)  I would help pump the gas, a task whose thrill has faded with practice.  To this day, I associate the smell of gasoline with that sweet, fake pink taste and can still picture my father's hands closing over mine on the handle.

From there, jaws working like cows', we would head over to McDonalds for something unhealthy and with more calories than my eight-year-old body consumed in a typical week.  But these were mere stopovers on the way to the ultimate destination: The Video Arcade.

This was in the early-to-mid-'80s, when video games had taken a big step beyond PONG but were not yet graphically violent or disturbing.  There was a naïveté to the glazed-over stares and quarter-dispensing mania of the gamers, as though they'd be fully prepared if dropped into a Q*Bert world of squares and falling bits but would be mindlessly paralyzed if faced with an actual threat of violence.

We spent hours there, mostly with him playing and me watching, because he could stretch a single quarter into a night's entertainment on Galaga, while I worked through several dollars in the space of mere moments.  There wasn't a lot of interaction between us, but it was bonding nonetheless.

By the time we got home, the house would be cleaned up and mostly empty, and I would drift off to an overstimulated, sugar-crash-induced sleep. 

Once, after the Liver Lovers Parties had been going on for a few years, I decided I wanted to stay home and see what all the fuss was about.  It turns out that, for the most part, the women would pick at their meals, scrape the remains into the trash, and gorge on my mother's homemade chocolate mousse while indulging in an orgy of girl talk and kvetching.  I liked the mousse, but the rest just didn't hold enough charm for me at that age, so after that I continued to opt for the video arcade instead. 

It wasn't until years later that I fully appreciated her genius in getting my father and I out of the house for an evening.

This was all so hard. I knew ending the marriage would devastate him, but I knew staying with him would hurt him even more.  He would always feel as though something were missing.  He would always feel the emptiness of not truly being loved, wanted, desired, or cherished.  And I knew I would continue to get lost in trying to please him.  I would go right back to losing myself and back to my depression.  I would become weak and lose my ability to be a strong, healthy role model to my children.  I knew what was right, but it was just so hard.

I had to just go with the flow and find the right moment.  My opportunity to speak the truth.  The reality of what this would do to him made me feel sick inside. What I kept reminding myself was that it would hurt him now, but continuing a life with him when I was not into him would hurt him even more in the long run.   He would always feel unwanted and inadequate.  I would continue to beat him down.  I had to set us both free of this façade.

There were so many little moments to speak the truth.  I think I just wished telling him how I felt would make him want to leave me.  But it didn’t work that way.  I wanted him to take charge of the situation, to be the one to end it.  I remember on his birthday, I decided to go into the city and meet him out with his friends as a surprise.  I just wanted to do something nice.  On the ride home, all he did was complain about how unaffectionate I was the whole night.  I didn’t hug him when I got there.  I broke down and spoke my mind,

“I’m sorry, Frank, but I just don’t feel it.  I tried doing something nice for you, but that’s all I can offer you.  I just don’t feel like hugging.  I can’t be fake.  I explained to you when we got back together that I couldn’t promise anything, but that I would try.  This is all I can offer right now.  I’m not in love with you.  I can’t force myself to be into intimacy.  I’m sorry…I just don’t know what you want me to say.”

Frank responded with the same speech I always heard from him. 

“Stacy, you don’t know me.  I’ve always been a little boy, but I’m a man now. You have never met me before.  I’m going to take care of you now.  I’m not going to lie anymore.  Give me a chance and you will fall in love with me.”

  I knew that he meant what he said, it just wasn’t what I wanted to hear.  He did come a long way, but he still wasn’t for me.  He wasn’t motivated or driven like I was, nor did he understand my drive.  He wanted to believe that he would take care of everything, but he still showed no signs of changing any of our problems.  We were still drowning in a financial hell, and he hadn’t made any moves to change that.  And any time I came up with an idea or wanted to work more, he would put me down and sabotage it.  He continued to spend all of our money.  He continued to get up late every morning.  He continued to come home late on and off. He continued to lie about where he was going and what he was doing.  The only significant changes were that he got his driver’s license and didn’t yell as much.  But that was only because he was afraid I would leave him.  He was an angry person.  He couldn’t suppress that forever.

I hated that I couldn’t talk to him or be myself around him.  We were just so different.  I couldn’t share my inner thoughts and passions with him.  He just didn’t get me.  Even my desire to write my book confused him.  He was discouraging and took it personally that I never told him I was a writer.  He couldn’t see it as me getting in touch with my true self.  He viewed it as me changing.  He would say that I’m just not me anymore.  That I think I’m better than him just because I have ideas.  He just didn’t understand that I lost myself trying to please him.  And that being true to myself wasn’t a personal rejection to him.  He didn’t like that I was different than what I had been over the years.  He didn’t like the real me.  It didn’t suit his needs.  In my emotional growth spurts over the course of that past year, I had lost my broken wing syndrome.  I relieved myself of the duty to save others in the complete sacrifice of my well being.  That was the me that he wanted.  I was never going to be that girl again. And I resented that he wanted me to go back to that.

Over the course of the next few weeks, there were several moments where I had the opportunity to tell Frank how I truly felt.  He continued to give me the same speech.  He continued to tell me that he was a man now and that I would fall in love with him.  He was never going to accept that we just didn’t connect.  That he was who he was and that just simply wasn’t what I wanted.  The only way this marriage would end was if I ended it.  And I found my moment…

It was my son’s birthday weekend.  My parents took the kids for a few hours so that Frank and I could clean the playroom a bit and make room for all the new toys.  As usual, Frank saw this as the perfect opportunity for us to have sex.  And I saw it as a precious few hours to actually accomplish something I had been needing to do for months.  I resented that he was going to bully me into wasting that time doing something that we could do later.  Besides the fact that I just didn’t want to do it.  I turned him down kindly and said that I really wanted to just get this done and that we would “get naked” later.  He threw his fit, as usual.  He began complaining about how I never approach him, that I never start sex with him.  That I never seem to be into it, or seem to want him at all.

The thought that ran through my mind in that moment was,

“Newsflash…I’m not into you!  You know this!  I’m not going to approach you because I don’t want you!  I do it just to make you happy so you will be nice to me and leave me alone!  What do you want from me?  I do it to please you, but that’s not good enough!   I have to initiate it and be into it too!  I just can’t!  I don’t want it!  I can’t make myself want it!  I feel like a prisoner to your sex drive.  I just can’t do this anymore!”

I was suddenly horrified to find that I had actually been thinking out loud.  I said every word of that to him.  I didn’t mean for my thoughts to hurt him, but I was exploding inside.  I just couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Frank, I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t do this to you, and I can’t do this to myself.”

“I don’t need sex. I will never ask you to have sex again.  Please just don’t leave me.”

“You know that’s not fair to you.  You do need sex.  You just feel right now that living without sex isn’t as painful as living without me.  But you would continue to feel unloved, unwanted, undesired.  Look how miserable it has been making you. “

“It doesn’t matter.  None of that matters.  I just want you.  I just want my family.  I can live without the intimacy.”

“But I can’t.  I can’t go on like this.  I don’t want to spend the rest of my life that way.  I want to want to be intimate with my husband.  And I don’t want to feel like this horrible person who is always betraying you and letting you down because I don’t want to be alone with you.  Don’t you see that we are both suffering?”

The conversation continued to go in circles.  We got nowhere.  Just as desperate as I felt to finally end it, he was feeling the same desperation in saving it.  There was nothing left to save.  I wasn’t in love with him, nor did I want to be.  I wanted to be free.

The harsh reality of the moment left me feeling numb.  It was over this time.  There was no turning back.  I just didn’t have the strength to do it anymore.  Frank was crushed, and my heart cried for him.  But this was all for the best.  He needed to move on and so did I.  And as difficult and painful as it all was, I knew in time we would heal and we would both be okay.

He asked me to leave him alone.  I left him in tears and went upstairs to rest and to process what had just happened.  I felt relieved.  I felt as if someone had just opened the door to this tiny cage that I had been stuffed into for ten years.  I felt liberated.  I felt euphoric.  But guilt crushed my optimism as I began to feel so sorry for Frank’s pain.  I knew he was devastated.  I knew he was suffering.  I also knew that he had inflicted the same pain on me for so many years and he did not care.  I knew he brought the demise of our marriage upon himself, but that did not stop me from feeling that it was somewhat wrong to feel happy in this moment.  I needed to learn to separate that I could feel sad for him, but happy for myself at the same time.  It was okay to take care of myself.  I was still learning that.

I found a tutorial that I am totally smitten with! It shows how to make a sweet toddler dress out of an adult's button-up shirt. Click here for the original tutorial. By the way, if you haven't discovered craftster, check it out! Tons of tutorials and networking among crafty people like us! :)

I made this dress as a practice run. I had an old button shirt I wore during high school. I never liked it much, but couldn't part with it either. I knew I'd be able to make something out of it someday! I never knew that the something I made would be so darn cute, though! I was saving an cool blue button shirt to make an even sweeter dress to match my daughter's eyes, but while my back was turned, making this dress, my son got creative with his scissors and cut that shirt up!! Oh well, such is the life of a sewin' mama!

 All together, I spent about an hour on this dress. Total cost: ZERO DOLLARS!