Girls vs Boys

Will, the very inquisitive almost four-year old, has lots of questions about my pregnancy. He comprehends that I have a “baby growing in my tummy.” He also comprehends that “God gets to decide if I get a boy baby or another girl baby.”
What is not so easy to comprehend it that even when Will is a grown up, he will never have a baby growing in his tummy. He gets to be a daddy, not a mommy. Sometimes this answer is acceptable and sometimes he decides to protest. You just can’t win that fight.
This leads to my point of teaching children about gender. Sure, kids recognize the differences about little girls and little boys. For example, when Abby was a tiny baby, I was changing her diaper on the floor. Will was helping me. Suddenly, he let out a big gasp. “Mommy, where is Abby’s pee-pee?”
I saw this as a teachable moment. “Will, Abby doesn’t have a pee-pee, she is a girl. Only boys have pee-pees.”
Will thought for a moment and then responded, “That’s okay Mommy, we can buy her one at Target.”
Well, at least he understood the difference.
From this relatively simple explanation, we move to a much bigger discussion of social gender differences. The topics of hair, clothes, shaving and nail polish are a slippery slope with almost no easy answers.
I was painting my nails recently and William wanted his toenails painted too. What is the harm? Will got his toenails painted in a beautiful pink color, just like his Mommy’s. Will proudly showed off his toes to his dad. Dad just met my eyes with a dumbfounded look. How could I do that to his boy! (Matt is not going to be happy that I told anyone that I painted Will’s toenails pink.)
My second situation was my recent haircut. I got my long hair cut into more of a chin length bob. So that Will would not be surprised when I got home from the salon, I let him know ahead of time that I was going to go get a fun hair cut.
“Mommy, will your hair be short?”
“Yes Will, it will be shorter than it is now.”
“Mommy, will it be short like a boy’s? Boys have short hair. Mommy’s have long hair.”
“Will, Mommy will still look like a mommy. I am just going to have different hair.” (Whew, barely got out of that one. I needed something shiny to distract him.)
There is no doubt in my mind that my child is normal with his questions and his ideas. I just hope that I am going to get the answers right.

You'll never guess who is pregnant...me!

Oh yes folks, it is that time again. I, in my crazy life plan, am ready for another baby. (I actually want two more, but just one at a time). I found out I was pregnant two weeks ago. I took the test to my husband, woke him up, and made him look at it. His response? “Congratulations, Anna.”
--No sweetheart, this is a shared thing. Congrats to both of us.—
So with that being said, Matt and I are expecting our third bundle of joy in September 2009. Here are some tidbits about my third pregnancy so far:
1. When we asked Will what we should name this baby, he looked at us puzzled. He thought for a bit and replied, “umm, Abby.” His tone reflected that he thought this was a dumb question for his parents to ask him. Of course, we name ALL babies that come to our house “Abby.” We should know this by now!
2. I have decided that this will be my “healthy” pregnancy. I celebrated that decision with french fries at chick-fil-a. At least I didn’t get the large.
3. Apple Butter is disgusting. I had to throw up at work (embarrassing) after smelling it.
4. Kids don’t care if you are nauseous. They won’t share their waffles either, even if you tell them the waffle will make mommy feel better.

French Toast

Two Saturdays ago I got the idea to make French toast with the kids. William is getting to be a pretty good egg breaker so I put him in charge of that. He likes to help so I am prepared with six extra towels and a bunch of patience. Will’s job was to break the eggs, mix in the milk and then dip the bread. He had fun but wasn’t so sure about eating what he made. I never thought I would be talking someone into TRYING french toast! Will is not an adventurous eater…a lot like his father. So what did I do? Bust out the Syrup. Yes, I know it is not good for him but who eats french toast plain?
On the other hand, Abby was just a trooper. She didn’t care that she didn’t get to help, she was just ready for food. She liked it even better that she didn’t have to wear her shirt while she ate.
Here are a few pictures of Will and Abby enjoying the spoils of their hard work. After they were done eating I had to hold them over the sink and scrub to get them clean and de-syruped. I love

Saturday mornings.

A Mom's Christmas List

You may have all seen this but I thought it was great. --Anna

Dear Santa,
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my own doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out -- over several Christmases.

Since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles; and who knows when I'll find any more free time in the next 18 years, so now - -

*** Here are my Christmas wishes***

* I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (-in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

* I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.

* If you're hauling big-ticket items this year, I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

* On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, 'Yes, Mommy' to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

* I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting, 'Don't eat in the living room' and 'Take your hands off your brother,' because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

* If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

*If you don't mind, I could also use a few miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.


*It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing, and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his red crayon back. Have a safe trip Santa, and remember to leave your wet boots by the door, and come in and dry off, so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table, but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours always with love and appreciation,

A Mom
P.S. One more thing . . You can cancel all my requests, if you can keep my children 'young' enough to believe in Santa.