I have news.

You already know that I'm pregnant, so that's not it. 

And no, I'm not having octuplets, there's only room enough for one Nadya Suleman (her interview tonight with Ann Curry should be so interesting!).

No, my non-maternal souls, I am moving!

And you're coming with me.

Okay, settle down. Before you pack your skis and sunglasses (because why wouldn't I move to beautiful Colorado), please join me at my new site, drum roll, please . . .

Whoa, baby, that's enough, stop banging that clunky, plastic toy against the hardwood, you're giving mommy a headache (not hard to do when you're knocked up). I know, baby, I said, "drum roll," but that's enough.

Okay, baby, that's ENOUGH! And this is when I call him by his full name, "FIRST. MIDDLE. LAST."

And because he's still banging, this is when I curse my parents who bought him this stupid toy.

And this is when I smash the toy against the wall and flush the pieces down the toilet. 

Phew, silence, much better. I should never have asked for the drum roll.

Oh, right, please join me at:

www.BlessedTreehouse.com

And click on the link non-maternal for all the non-maternal fun!

P.S. Dear Lord, My deepest apologies for clogging up the landfill with yet another toxic plastic toy. 

Stay Tuned . . .

Exciting news coming soon!

Can you believe this?

Moms don't get sick days. 

I know, I know. Ridiculous? Right. Most employers allow their employees at least 10 days of vacation and sick time. Many employers allow more.

And some jobs even allow their employees the option of calling a substitute to do the job for them. 

But the most exhausting, demanding, and emotionally draining job in the world? Ha! Sick or not, moms have to get the job done.

I don't exactly know what would happen if mom took a sick day without back-up, but I imagine it would result in some form of neglect requiring a Children's Services' intervention.

So because of this, I'm taking a sick day from my blogs. (Any laws pertaining to blog neglect?)

You see, some kid passed a bunch of nasty germs onto my kid which ended up in my nose, and guess what? I'm now flippin' sick. 

Whoever started this chain of germs is gonna pay.

But if I were to follow through with that threat then Children's Services might intervene, so I'm just going to leave it as an idle threat.

In the meantime:

Dear Lord,

What does a girl need to do to get a sick day around here?

Oh, and thank you that I wasn't too horribly sick when I ate an entire strawberry shortcake yesterday because it would not have been half as heavenly had I been without the ability to taste it. My, oh my, it was scrumptious. Thank you, Jesus.

To be continued . . .

I promise to continue my usual non-maternal ways, but I'm currently belly-up plopped in the middle of torn-open packages and cookie crumbs.
I surely will rise out of this peppermint stupor, but it will take time (and maybe just one more nibble on this black forest cookie).
Santa was good to me - too good - and now I must return to reality {oh, the horror!}.
More to come next week.

Disclaimer II

Maybe this isn’t a disclaimer, but I want to include the following thoughts before I begin whining and groaning about the sometimes dark-side of motherhood.
In many ways our non-maternal instincts are simply derivative of our maternal instincts. When the little guy screams bloody murder in the middle of the grocery store, we experience such humiliation and frustration because it’s our kid. When it’s someone else’s kid, we continue pushing our cart and sifting through coupons. But when it’s our own flesh and blood, we usually have a less-than-tolerant reaction. You know what I’m talking about: we either jump ship leaving the cart, groceries and all, smack dab in the middle of aisle seven as we drag our toddler out of the store by half of his arm, or we continue shopping as if we had the grocery store all to ourselves only to bust open a bottle of wine the minute we get home in the hopes that a few swigs will diminish any memory of the scene caused by our little monster and witnessed by hundreds of innocent grocery shoppers.
Yes, our non-maternal instincts are very much maternal, but rather than taking ownership of my crazy-mom-in-aisle-seven moments, I’ll just call them non-maternal and pray that tomorrow offers the chance for my maternal instinct to shine.

Disclaimer I

I should start off by making one thing very clear – I love being a mom. I am in month seven of motherhood, and honestly and truly it has been the best 6+ months of my life.
But as much as I love my son and motherhood, it ain’t all blankets and booties. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t give myself this pep talk, “okay, I can do this, I don’t know how, but I can do this.” Yet in the same breathe I thank God everyday for my precious little man.
So here I go. Genuinely, whole-heartedly, painfully, frankly, truthfully, tenderly and sometimes heartbreakingly, spilling my tales of motherhood no matter how ugly it gets. The good news, I won’t be doing it alone. The big man upstairs will always be on my side.