Ahh! Spring is in the air and what better way to celebrate this fresh new season than to spiffy up my wardrobe of undergarments? I realized how necessary this was this morning when I opened my underwear drawer and couldn’t tell if I the contents held my undies or our dishrags. “That’s it!” I shuddered. Every woman deserves to know that the apparel covering up her crack isn’t going to be confused for a housekeeping item—it’s time to go shopping!
As an active mom of eight, I sheepishly debate between sliding into Wal-mart where I can casually tuck a few packages of Hanes Her Way into my cart or really throw caution to the wind and rush to the Mall where a real lingerie department carrying more than a one-crotch- fits- all line, in colors other than puce and taupe, awaits me! Is there really any question? The mall it is!
I arrived without incident where the smell of heavenly grease quickly wafted by—ummm, must be fried dough I quivered as I headed past the food court to the escalator (can’t ride one of those in Wal-Mart).
“Excuse me Madame,” said this very sultry giraffe (I’m sorry, but she was tall!) in the intimidating cosmetic department. “You look like you could use a makeover!” Wonder what tipped her off first, the fact that I was using concealer to cover up my roots or the red Sharpie I used as my lip liner?
“Sorry, but I’m on my way upstairs to shop,” I nodded towards the escalator. “Oh, new panties for you today?” Panties? Who the heck with eight kids wears panties? If I walk out of here with those today I could end up with nine kids!
I’m left with no choice--think I’ll go have that dough -boy and then head over to Wal-mart!
As my wonderful husband loves to say around here......."Every Day is Good....Some are Better!" Follow my life as the adoring, yet sometimes harried mother of eight----proud owner of the wonder girdle and chia bra!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
State of the Union--Family Style
(March 2010 Villager / EG Mag Column)
Well, that’s always fun—listening to the President’s State of the Union address. Given one’s current mood, political preference or if we’re presently getting along with our spouse can many times determine if we like what we just heard or are shaking our heads and grumbling… “Haven’t we already heard that before?” I’m not touching politics with a ten-foot pole so rather than discuss the actual speech most of us just listened to on January 27th, I have become inspired to write my own.
This State of the Union, however has nothing to do with Wall Street, Homeland Security or International Policies—it is specifically geared to the people who I serve three meals a day to (no, make that about ten!) and who’s laundry I sort, wash and fold 7 days a week—my loving family.
As I proudly stood in front of my Presidential Seal--a makeshift poster board I had decorated with Betty Crocker boxes, empty toilet roll spools, a pair of dirty socks, a photo of my pre-mommy self, our upcoming Little League Schedule (that took up ½ the board!), and a few other incidentals that represented a “day in the life of” this family, I looked them each in the eye and humbly began speaking from my teleprompter—the magnifying mirror I use to help me apply my mid-life lipstick color—coral raisin—in a matte finish.
Mr. Husband, Madame Black Lab, and esteemed members who make up the eight Butler children--our Constitution does not declare that from time to time, the little woman—also known as your wife, lab’s best friend, and doting mother report in about the state of our family, but if it’s good enough for Congress, well—then it’s good enough for me.
While I realize you will all find it hard to believe, although things in your world seem to be near perfect, there are a few issues in “our family” world that need a bit of attention.
Domestic Issues
· Our Furniture—It is a pleasure to have a sectional sofa that is made in the United States, not China, but let’s all try to remember one thing—the stuffing that is gently dangling from the arms and the back of the recliner should be treated with the utmost respect. This fine piece of chenille needs to last your mother another 14 years---when our little Annie heads off to college. (And…it may need to accompany your father and I to a retirement community such as Shady Pines, so please, no more using it for art projects and the like.
· Going Green—Remember how excited you kids were to come home from school and announce all the earth-saving measures being taken at school to reuse, renew, and restore? I wasn’t allowed to throw out a single item that still had life in it. Well, I am pleased as punch to announce this family’s new recycling and conservation efforts, and I know I’ll have your full support and enthusiasm—just like you showed for school. The heels of all loafs of bread are now as important as the middles—please get used to it. I will happily unplug my blinking neon “The Kitchen is Closed” sign if you are willing to take 7- minute showers as opposed to 40- minute ones and will do so in the dark. Hand me downs in a large family are just part of the deal if we want to continue with the luxuries of electricity and grocery shopping—hey, I do my part, who do you think gets your father’s old leisure knits?
The Economy & International Affairs
· I’ll be brief. It’s not looking too good for our vacation to Europe this spring.
Health Care Reform
· Paid family member sick days continue to be a sore subject, specifically for a certain mother who tries desperately never to become ill, especially if it should interfere with her children’s lives—attending sporting events, helping with homework, providing taxi services at a moment’s notice, preparing hot, tasty meals 7 nights a week (stop rolling your eyes—they might not always be tasty but they do have a temperature), and of course, being available to be your private nurse when any of you take ill. Congress may not have come up with a way to give me a paycheck yet, but the speaker of this house has unanimously decided that my sick days can now be taken in a horizontal position and in the comfort of my Winnie the Pooh bathrobe.
In closing I would like to leave you with a few thoughts. We have just finished another jam-packed year in the Butler household—some of it difficult, some of it outrageous, (we only left one child accidentally behind at Sunday school and he’s no longer having nightmares, so for that I am grateful) but most of it was filled with joy. With the continuing challenges that lie ahead of us during this brand new year (a new driver in the family, six kids on eight different baseball teams, weaning me off the hot glue gun that I bought myself for Christmas) let's seize this moment – to start anew, to help with household chores, to never forget Mother’s Day and above all, cherish the fact that you belong to a family who loves, supports and appreciates you for the individuals you are, even though you’ve all decided those frozen meatballs in a bag are much more delicious than the ones I spend hours making from scratch. We’re all in this together, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Thank you. God Bless You. And God Bless every family in these United States of America.
Well, that’s always fun—listening to the President’s State of the Union address. Given one’s current mood, political preference or if we’re presently getting along with our spouse can many times determine if we like what we just heard or are shaking our heads and grumbling… “Haven’t we already heard that before?” I’m not touching politics with a ten-foot pole so rather than discuss the actual speech most of us just listened to on January 27th, I have become inspired to write my own.
This State of the Union, however has nothing to do with Wall Street, Homeland Security or International Policies—it is specifically geared to the people who I serve three meals a day to (no, make that about ten!) and who’s laundry I sort, wash and fold 7 days a week—my loving family.
As I proudly stood in front of my Presidential Seal--a makeshift poster board I had decorated with Betty Crocker boxes, empty toilet roll spools, a pair of dirty socks, a photo of my pre-mommy self, our upcoming Little League Schedule (that took up ½ the board!), and a few other incidentals that represented a “day in the life of” this family, I looked them each in the eye and humbly began speaking from my teleprompter—the magnifying mirror I use to help me apply my mid-life lipstick color—coral raisin—in a matte finish.
Mr. Husband, Madame Black Lab, and esteemed members who make up the eight Butler children--our Constitution does not declare that from time to time, the little woman—also known as your wife, lab’s best friend, and doting mother report in about the state of our family, but if it’s good enough for Congress, well—then it’s good enough for me.
While I realize you will all find it hard to believe, although things in your world seem to be near perfect, there are a few issues in “our family” world that need a bit of attention.
Domestic Issues
· Our Furniture—It is a pleasure to have a sectional sofa that is made in the United States, not China, but let’s all try to remember one thing—the stuffing that is gently dangling from the arms and the back of the recliner should be treated with the utmost respect. This fine piece of chenille needs to last your mother another 14 years---when our little Annie heads off to college. (And…it may need to accompany your father and I to a retirement community such as Shady Pines, so please, no more using it for art projects and the like.
· Going Green—Remember how excited you kids were to come home from school and announce all the earth-saving measures being taken at school to reuse, renew, and restore? I wasn’t allowed to throw out a single item that still had life in it. Well, I am pleased as punch to announce this family’s new recycling and conservation efforts, and I know I’ll have your full support and enthusiasm—just like you showed for school. The heels of all loafs of bread are now as important as the middles—please get used to it. I will happily unplug my blinking neon “The Kitchen is Closed” sign if you are willing to take 7- minute showers as opposed to 40- minute ones and will do so in the dark. Hand me downs in a large family are just part of the deal if we want to continue with the luxuries of electricity and grocery shopping—hey, I do my part, who do you think gets your father’s old leisure knits?
The Economy & International Affairs
· I’ll be brief. It’s not looking too good for our vacation to Europe this spring.
Health Care Reform
· Paid family member sick days continue to be a sore subject, specifically for a certain mother who tries desperately never to become ill, especially if it should interfere with her children’s lives—attending sporting events, helping with homework, providing taxi services at a moment’s notice, preparing hot, tasty meals 7 nights a week (stop rolling your eyes—they might not always be tasty but they do have a temperature), and of course, being available to be your private nurse when any of you take ill. Congress may not have come up with a way to give me a paycheck yet, but the speaker of this house has unanimously decided that my sick days can now be taken in a horizontal position and in the comfort of my Winnie the Pooh bathrobe.
In closing I would like to leave you with a few thoughts. We have just finished another jam-packed year in the Butler household—some of it difficult, some of it outrageous, (we only left one child accidentally behind at Sunday school and he’s no longer having nightmares, so for that I am grateful) but most of it was filled with joy. With the continuing challenges that lie ahead of us during this brand new year (a new driver in the family, six kids on eight different baseball teams, weaning me off the hot glue gun that I bought myself for Christmas) let's seize this moment – to start anew, to help with household chores, to never forget Mother’s Day and above all, cherish the fact that you belong to a family who loves, supports and appreciates you for the individuals you are, even though you’ve all decided those frozen meatballs in a bag are much more delicious than the ones I spend hours making from scratch. We’re all in this together, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Thank you. God Bless You. And God Bless every family in these United States of America.
Friday, January 29, 2010
What's Your Status
(My February Column for EG Magazine and The NK Villager)
Shortly after the last note of “Jingle Bells” had faintly drifted away from my favorite 24/7 holiday radio station, it dawned on me that the number of holiday greetings we received this year were down considerably and worse yet, most of the cards we opened did not include those highly anticipated “Holiday Letters”.
You know the ones—always written on festive computer stationery laced with poinsettias or jolly old snowmen wearing cozy wool scarves—sets the tone beautifully for what’s to come next—a lot of hot air touting how fabulous the individual or family had just sailed through the past year. (Ok, most of them.)
A typical one reads “Morton received his third MBA from Harvard as well as his pilot’s license while I received the broker of the year award from my real estate firm for the fifth year in a row, despite this challenging economy. It was a struggle, but our teenaged twins, Bart and Bella were able to graduate with high honors from high school a year early. Sven, our Major Domo for the past 15 years had to really kick it up a notch by serving extra high-protein hot breakfasts for them every morning so they could excel in both their studies and polo team duties. How we lived through it, I’ll never know!” You’ve seen versions similar, I’m sure.
But that’s ok—once a year I think we all deserve to blow our family’s horn a little bit. As long as we don’t blow out anyone’s ear drums in the process, what’s the harm? With the written holiday cheer way down, it leads me to believe that either our soft economy is to blame or………or is our infatuation with the internet these days the real culprit?
It all started quite innocently when the computer world was rocked with one of the savviest means of communication ever—e-mail. What a high it was to log on to your computer and hear those three zippy words “You’ve Got Mail”. (Remember the movie?) After we were hooked, there was no turning back and the journey into the cyber world continued to grow faster than dandelions on a dank summer’s day.
But it didn’t end there. Socializing on the internet was turned into a multi-million dollar industry with companies like My Space, Twitter and the most popular network worldwide—Facebook. Facebook is a social networking website that is operated and privately owned. Users can add friends and send them messages, and update their personal profiles to notify friends about themselves. For those who are privacy conscious, this type of social hoopla is probably not for you. I admit, at first, I was skeptical myself, but my how that has changed.
Little by little I started to reconnect with friends from high school, college, my dental days, and with family members that live all across the country, and in the process I’ve met new friends that I absolutely adore. For those unfamiliar with how it all works, there is a place on your profile page that allows you to post photos and your status (what’s on your mind)—as frequently or as little as you like. Let me give you some examples:
There is your “random” status facebooker that will post things as simple as “Tired”, “Indigestion”, “More snow!”, “In laws!”, “Mocha Cappuccino” and anything else that sums up in one or two words what is on their mind at that particular moment.
Moving right along we also have the “Play By Play” status facebooker that will log on the moment he awakens and will list everything he’s done, in specific order, from brushing his teeth, to finding a hair in his oatmeal to what time he will be leaving the house to buy anti-fungal cream (and where the itch is), shop for yesterday’s bake and then back home again to drain the puss out of his three-legged cat’s infected ear. As my kids love to say “TMI”—too much information!
Next up is the “Woe is Me” facebooker, who will post just how dreadful her life is going to which anyone with a conscience and a beating heart will comment back that things aren’t really that bad and the world really is a better place because she is in it.
One of my favorite status types are the “inspiring” ones. They will usually post an upbeat or thought provoking quote such as “Don’t ask what your mother can do for you, ask what you can do for your mother!” (Or something on those lines) Those types of status remarks leave me wanting to be a better individual.
And lastly, there are the “life’s a bowl of cherries” facebookers, which I believe yours truly would fall under. It took me a few months to get the hang of regularly posting my status, but I soon realized it was pretty neat to share what was going on in my world, as long as I could make it fun. Though I’m private by nature, there is something very refreshing about sharing the comical trials and tribulations of real family life—no one lives in a perfect world, but why not live in one where we can laugh a little each day.
Greeting cards may be down but that doesn’t mean our friends and family aren’t thinking about us and wondering how we are doing. Whether you facebook or not, why not be prepared. The next time someone asks “What’s your status?” what will you say but more importantly how will you say it?
Shortly after the last note of “Jingle Bells” had faintly drifted away from my favorite 24/7 holiday radio station, it dawned on me that the number of holiday greetings we received this year were down considerably and worse yet, most of the cards we opened did not include those highly anticipated “Holiday Letters”.
You know the ones—always written on festive computer stationery laced with poinsettias or jolly old snowmen wearing cozy wool scarves—sets the tone beautifully for what’s to come next—a lot of hot air touting how fabulous the individual or family had just sailed through the past year. (Ok, most of them.)
A typical one reads “Morton received his third MBA from Harvard as well as his pilot’s license while I received the broker of the year award from my real estate firm for the fifth year in a row, despite this challenging economy. It was a struggle, but our teenaged twins, Bart and Bella were able to graduate with high honors from high school a year early. Sven, our Major Domo for the past 15 years had to really kick it up a notch by serving extra high-protein hot breakfasts for them every morning so they could excel in both their studies and polo team duties. How we lived through it, I’ll never know!” You’ve seen versions similar, I’m sure.
But that’s ok—once a year I think we all deserve to blow our family’s horn a little bit. As long as we don’t blow out anyone’s ear drums in the process, what’s the harm? With the written holiday cheer way down, it leads me to believe that either our soft economy is to blame or………or is our infatuation with the internet these days the real culprit?
It all started quite innocently when the computer world was rocked with one of the savviest means of communication ever—e-mail. What a high it was to log on to your computer and hear those three zippy words “You’ve Got Mail”. (Remember the movie?) After we were hooked, there was no turning back and the journey into the cyber world continued to grow faster than dandelions on a dank summer’s day.
But it didn’t end there. Socializing on the internet was turned into a multi-million dollar industry with companies like My Space, Twitter and the most popular network worldwide—Facebook. Facebook is a social networking website that is operated and privately owned. Users can add friends and send them messages, and update their personal profiles to notify friends about themselves. For those who are privacy conscious, this type of social hoopla is probably not for you. I admit, at first, I was skeptical myself, but my how that has changed.
Little by little I started to reconnect with friends from high school, college, my dental days, and with family members that live all across the country, and in the process I’ve met new friends that I absolutely adore. For those unfamiliar with how it all works, there is a place on your profile page that allows you to post photos and your status (what’s on your mind)—as frequently or as little as you like. Let me give you some examples:
There is your “random” status facebooker that will post things as simple as “Tired”, “Indigestion”, “More snow!”, “In laws!”, “Mocha Cappuccino” and anything else that sums up in one or two words what is on their mind at that particular moment.
Moving right along we also have the “Play By Play” status facebooker that will log on the moment he awakens and will list everything he’s done, in specific order, from brushing his teeth, to finding a hair in his oatmeal to what time he will be leaving the house to buy anti-fungal cream (and where the itch is), shop for yesterday’s bake and then back home again to drain the puss out of his three-legged cat’s infected ear. As my kids love to say “TMI”—too much information!
Next up is the “Woe is Me” facebooker, who will post just how dreadful her life is going to which anyone with a conscience and a beating heart will comment back that things aren’t really that bad and the world really is a better place because she is in it.
One of my favorite status types are the “inspiring” ones. They will usually post an upbeat or thought provoking quote such as “Don’t ask what your mother can do for you, ask what you can do for your mother!” (Or something on those lines) Those types of status remarks leave me wanting to be a better individual.
And lastly, there are the “life’s a bowl of cherries” facebookers, which I believe yours truly would fall under. It took me a few months to get the hang of regularly posting my status, but I soon realized it was pretty neat to share what was going on in my world, as long as I could make it fun. Though I’m private by nature, there is something very refreshing about sharing the comical trials and tribulations of real family life—no one lives in a perfect world, but why not live in one where we can laugh a little each day.
Greeting cards may be down but that doesn’t mean our friends and family aren’t thinking about us and wondering how we are doing. Whether you facebook or not, why not be prepared. The next time someone asks “What’s your status?” what will you say but more importantly how will you say it?
Monday, January 4, 2010
Living with PPS--Post Purging Syndrome
(My column from the NK Villager/EG Magazine)
So, here we are, the end of the holiday season is still lingering in the air and 2010 is officially on our calendars. No matter how we managed to either celebrate or just barely survive the past few weeks, ready or not a brand new year awaits!
I’m not going to kid you, by the time I’ve hauled the last box of shiny ornaments back up those attic stairs, I’m more than ready to change gears and get back to basics like figuring out what kind of hair accessories I can still carry off as a 40-something mother so as not to embarrass my teenage daughters (or myself) when we’re out in public. Good news, though, that shouldn’t be a problem this year because now that I’ve been diagnosed with PPS—Post Purging Syndrome, if in fact I do choose to grab a cheesy pony tail holder for my tresses, I will know exactly where to locate it.
PPS is a real shock to the system. While PMS is a much laughed at (or feared!) topic of many, PPS is fairly new on the radar screen in the medical community. In fact, it’s so rare that those inflicted with it are facing an uncertain future for themselves and their families. I mean I know we can’t be the only household in town that has way too many broken pencils, expired coupons, empty gum packages and useless C and D batteries stuffed into several gadget drawers in the kitchen. And that’s only one room in the house! Go ahead, you can admit it, your secret is safe with me.
I’ll try to make this brief so I don’t scare you away too quickly. This past November, I started showing peculiar symptoms that I just couldn’t put my finger on. When my children left for school each morning I would scurry about the house scavenging coins for milk money from so many drawers, purses and black holes in the house that I asked for a metal detector for Christmas to turn it into a sport. When the bus rolled out of our neighborhood and I had actually beat the clock by getting them on it each day I would then go inside and take care of my daily business and I’m not referring to a few moments in the bathroom. I’m talking about cramming our freshly folded laundry into drawers that were already bulging with clothing that either no longer fit, was no longer decent enough to be wearing or in my own case was severely outdated—like all my jeans embedded with jewels and such from my best Ronco purchase ever, the BeDazzler.
As if feeling harried after scrounging for loose milk change or nearly spraining my wrists by wrestling with the laundry each day wasn’t enough to get my heart pounding, I knew my symptoms were becoming worse when I’d reach for something in my spice cabinet and find my trusty hot glue gun with a dust bunny attached or my 4-year old’s headless Barbies rather than the nutmeg or garlic powder. Little by little, I saw what was happening to me—I had gone from a super-organized (and dare I admit stylish) 25-year old bride whose biggest challenge each day was deciding which step aerobics class to take at the gym to a 40-plus married (and sadly a bit frumpy) “Little old Lady Who Lived in A Shoe and had so many kids she didn’t have a place to put anything” matron without even realizing it. Clutter had conquered my life and was now leaving me physically drained. If I recall, my doctor called it “Clutterbugitus” and the prognosis wasn’t good. The treatment plan called for either getting rid of all the extra stuff in each and every room, or prepare for many more years ahead of drowning in it. Side effects for years to come may include shortness of breath, uncontrollable perspiration and full blown panic attacks when the simple search for my wonder girdle or brass hair clips is challenged by a condition I have the power to control—without medication (unless wine counts!).
Once I was diagnosed, I set right to work sorting, chucking, straightening and de-cluttering every inch of the house. Room by room, drawer by drawer, closet by closet, hole by hole and yes that would include all my purses and every last tote bag innocently hanging in the mud room were tackled and reorganized.
Warning “Do” try this at home! A painful process, yes, but after I removed that first hunk of year-old Swiss cheese from behind the steak knives, got rid of all the mismatched Tupperware, put the Band Aids in the medicine chest instead of in my daughter’s dollhouse I started seeing that there is indeed something to that phrase—a place for everything and everything in its place—and my symptoms began to slowly disappear. I’m even starting to feel like that 25-year old carefree bride again (Ok, that’s going a bit far, I know!).
Though I’ve temporarily managed to skillfully kick my clutter habit, professionals have placed me in a high-risk category for slipping back into my harmful old ways—having eight kids could do that to a person. But if I take each day in 2010 with a “less is more” stride and don’t go through severe withdrawal symptoms the next time I reach for a pair of those gem-studded jeans I used to own, chances are I’ll be able to enjoy PPS for many years to come.
So, here we are, the end of the holiday season is still lingering in the air and 2010 is officially on our calendars. No matter how we managed to either celebrate or just barely survive the past few weeks, ready or not a brand new year awaits!
I’m not going to kid you, by the time I’ve hauled the last box of shiny ornaments back up those attic stairs, I’m more than ready to change gears and get back to basics like figuring out what kind of hair accessories I can still carry off as a 40-something mother so as not to embarrass my teenage daughters (or myself) when we’re out in public. Good news, though, that shouldn’t be a problem this year because now that I’ve been diagnosed with PPS—Post Purging Syndrome, if in fact I do choose to grab a cheesy pony tail holder for my tresses, I will know exactly where to locate it.
PPS is a real shock to the system. While PMS is a much laughed at (or feared!) topic of many, PPS is fairly new on the radar screen in the medical community. In fact, it’s so rare that those inflicted with it are facing an uncertain future for themselves and their families. I mean I know we can’t be the only household in town that has way too many broken pencils, expired coupons, empty gum packages and useless C and D batteries stuffed into several gadget drawers in the kitchen. And that’s only one room in the house! Go ahead, you can admit it, your secret is safe with me.
I’ll try to make this brief so I don’t scare you away too quickly. This past November, I started showing peculiar symptoms that I just couldn’t put my finger on. When my children left for school each morning I would scurry about the house scavenging coins for milk money from so many drawers, purses and black holes in the house that I asked for a metal detector for Christmas to turn it into a sport. When the bus rolled out of our neighborhood and I had actually beat the clock by getting them on it each day I would then go inside and take care of my daily business and I’m not referring to a few moments in the bathroom. I’m talking about cramming our freshly folded laundry into drawers that were already bulging with clothing that either no longer fit, was no longer decent enough to be wearing or in my own case was severely outdated—like all my jeans embedded with jewels and such from my best Ronco purchase ever, the BeDazzler.
As if feeling harried after scrounging for loose milk change or nearly spraining my wrists by wrestling with the laundry each day wasn’t enough to get my heart pounding, I knew my symptoms were becoming worse when I’d reach for something in my spice cabinet and find my trusty hot glue gun with a dust bunny attached or my 4-year old’s headless Barbies rather than the nutmeg or garlic powder. Little by little, I saw what was happening to me—I had gone from a super-organized (and dare I admit stylish) 25-year old bride whose biggest challenge each day was deciding which step aerobics class to take at the gym to a 40-plus married (and sadly a bit frumpy) “Little old Lady Who Lived in A Shoe and had so many kids she didn’t have a place to put anything” matron without even realizing it. Clutter had conquered my life and was now leaving me physically drained. If I recall, my doctor called it “Clutterbugitus” and the prognosis wasn’t good. The treatment plan called for either getting rid of all the extra stuff in each and every room, or prepare for many more years ahead of drowning in it. Side effects for years to come may include shortness of breath, uncontrollable perspiration and full blown panic attacks when the simple search for my wonder girdle or brass hair clips is challenged by a condition I have the power to control—without medication (unless wine counts!).
Once I was diagnosed, I set right to work sorting, chucking, straightening and de-cluttering every inch of the house. Room by room, drawer by drawer, closet by closet, hole by hole and yes that would include all my purses and every last tote bag innocently hanging in the mud room were tackled and reorganized.
Warning “Do” try this at home! A painful process, yes, but after I removed that first hunk of year-old Swiss cheese from behind the steak knives, got rid of all the mismatched Tupperware, put the Band Aids in the medicine chest instead of in my daughter’s dollhouse I started seeing that there is indeed something to that phrase—a place for everything and everything in its place—and my symptoms began to slowly disappear. I’m even starting to feel like that 25-year old carefree bride again (Ok, that’s going a bit far, I know!).
Though I’ve temporarily managed to skillfully kick my clutter habit, professionals have placed me in a high-risk category for slipping back into my harmful old ways—having eight kids could do that to a person. But if I take each day in 2010 with a “less is more” stride and don’t go through severe withdrawal symptoms the next time I reach for a pair of those gem-studded jeans I used to own, chances are I’ll be able to enjoy PPS for many years to come.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Happy New Year Stranger!
(My Column from the NK Villager/EG Magazine)
Her visit during the holidays took me completely by surprise. My husband, trying to help preserve the last remnants of my sanity, took the kids to visit his parents where the eight of them would carefully and patiently (ha ha) help to decorate their Christmas tree. Not able to recognize the sound of peaceful stillness, my body started to twitch a bit each time I tried to snuggle up on the empty couch with my book. That’s when my unexpected guest arrived, precisely as I was flipping pages and nodding off simultaneously.
I invited her into my home and she smiled as her cashmere sweater gently brushed against the fresh pine wreath that hung on my front door. “Ahhh, smells great in here…………did you just bake a pie,” she asks? “Be careful on that terrazzo tile, I’ve just washed and waxed,” I caution. “Tell me, how do you keep your entry way so pristine looking and so darn organized--I mean, I could just live right here in this room?” she gushed.
Before I can answer, she’s wandered straight into my living room and is stroking my extra plump chenille pillows. Her eyes dart straight to my mantle where I’ve artfully displayed several paintings--the soft glow of candlelight framing them perfectly. Next, she looks me over from head to toe and gleefully gives me a tight squeeze. We used to be inseparable, but haven’t seen one another in nearly 15 years right about the time I became a mother.
With so much to catch up on we head straight to the kitchen where I debate between offering her a mug of hot steaming tea or pouring us each a large glass of Merlot. The Merlot wins hands down, so we pull up a stool to my sleek, clean island that has nothing but a delightfully decorated miniature Christmas tree on it and we then toast our reunion.
“You still look the same,” she smiled. “Oh stop! We both know I’ve put on a few pounds during the past decade and surely you’ve noticed a few more laugh lines on this here face of mine,” I replied. “But you on the other hand are timeless. Your smile is still as carefree as ever and it’s obvious that you’ve kept up with your exercise routine all these years,” I sing back. With our pleasantries now exchanged, she slowly enjoys the fine wine we are sharing and asks, “Remember how we would sit on the beach and plan our futures—our careers, who we would marry, how many kids we would have, what our dream homes would look like,” she asked? I sigh and nod. “However did we become such strangers so quickly? “ asks my long-lost friend.
I sit and just stare at her. Her presence is very calming and I wonder, too, where she has disappeared to for all these years and what has prompted her return right before the New Year?
I begin to look back on the past 15 years and smile and say nothing--instead I direct her to the family portrait we have hanging outside our Living Room taken nearly three year’s ago before our eighth child was born. Even though I’ve kept a long-distance relationship with her over time, I thought she’d like to see with her lovely brown eyes what I spend most of my time doing—raising a family. The handsome guy in that portrait is my husband of 20 years, and no, not the guy I thought I’d marry when we would sit on the beach and throw Cheetos to the seagulls and discuss such dreamy matters. I met him on my 21st birthday when he had his teeth cleaned in the dental practice I worked in for 15 years, another change in course from the career I had planned for myself in the hot summer sun—that of a school teacher. Funny enough, with eight kids (my plans called for three!) I guess I got my own classroom after all.
She gives me a swift elbow to the ribs and begins to laugh. As she does I look over at my kitchen island and realize I can barely see the top of it because it’s piled high with family stuff and the box of that fine vino we were drinking is right in the center. I sense she wants to ask me something else but she’s now poking around by the mantle and straightening my collection of broken nutcrackers that are hiding the crookedly framed school photos that desperately need to be updated. And why are those plump chenille pillows now looking a bit frayed and tired? The prodding continues until my neck jerks upright and I see my 5-year old staring at me and yelling, “Mom, we’re home!”
I search the room for my friend but she’s gone again. Instead, my husband has returned with our brood and they are all anxious to tell me about their visit to Grandma’s. My book has since dropped to the floor and somehow made it’s way down the stairs into that stunning entryway of mine that is laden with shoes, mismatched socks and even somebody’s toothbrush. I am now completely awake in my dream house—the home I share with my family, and realize that I will never see that girl again, the person I was before I had kids, but I am not sad. A part of me will still always be her no matter where I’m at in life, and I can think of no better time than the start of a new year to reminisce on my leisurely past but to stay focused on the here and now with great anticipation of all the new experiences my friend and I will reflect on in another 15 years.
Her visit during the holidays took me completely by surprise. My husband, trying to help preserve the last remnants of my sanity, took the kids to visit his parents where the eight of them would carefully and patiently (ha ha) help to decorate their Christmas tree. Not able to recognize the sound of peaceful stillness, my body started to twitch a bit each time I tried to snuggle up on the empty couch with my book. That’s when my unexpected guest arrived, precisely as I was flipping pages and nodding off simultaneously.
I invited her into my home and she smiled as her cashmere sweater gently brushed against the fresh pine wreath that hung on my front door. “Ahhh, smells great in here…………did you just bake a pie,” she asks? “Be careful on that terrazzo tile, I’ve just washed and waxed,” I caution. “Tell me, how do you keep your entry way so pristine looking and so darn organized--I mean, I could just live right here in this room?” she gushed.
Before I can answer, she’s wandered straight into my living room and is stroking my extra plump chenille pillows. Her eyes dart straight to my mantle where I’ve artfully displayed several paintings--the soft glow of candlelight framing them perfectly. Next, she looks me over from head to toe and gleefully gives me a tight squeeze. We used to be inseparable, but haven’t seen one another in nearly 15 years right about the time I became a mother.
With so much to catch up on we head straight to the kitchen where I debate between offering her a mug of hot steaming tea or pouring us each a large glass of Merlot. The Merlot wins hands down, so we pull up a stool to my sleek, clean island that has nothing but a delightfully decorated miniature Christmas tree on it and we then toast our reunion.
“You still look the same,” she smiled. “Oh stop! We both know I’ve put on a few pounds during the past decade and surely you’ve noticed a few more laugh lines on this here face of mine,” I replied. “But you on the other hand are timeless. Your smile is still as carefree as ever and it’s obvious that you’ve kept up with your exercise routine all these years,” I sing back. With our pleasantries now exchanged, she slowly enjoys the fine wine we are sharing and asks, “Remember how we would sit on the beach and plan our futures—our careers, who we would marry, how many kids we would have, what our dream homes would look like,” she asked? I sigh and nod. “However did we become such strangers so quickly? “ asks my long-lost friend.
I sit and just stare at her. Her presence is very calming and I wonder, too, where she has disappeared to for all these years and what has prompted her return right before the New Year?
I begin to look back on the past 15 years and smile and say nothing--instead I direct her to the family portrait we have hanging outside our Living Room taken nearly three year’s ago before our eighth child was born. Even though I’ve kept a long-distance relationship with her over time, I thought she’d like to see with her lovely brown eyes what I spend most of my time doing—raising a family. The handsome guy in that portrait is my husband of 20 years, and no, not the guy I thought I’d marry when we would sit on the beach and throw Cheetos to the seagulls and discuss such dreamy matters. I met him on my 21st birthday when he had his teeth cleaned in the dental practice I worked in for 15 years, another change in course from the career I had planned for myself in the hot summer sun—that of a school teacher. Funny enough, with eight kids (my plans called for three!) I guess I got my own classroom after all.
She gives me a swift elbow to the ribs and begins to laugh. As she does I look over at my kitchen island and realize I can barely see the top of it because it’s piled high with family stuff and the box of that fine vino we were drinking is right in the center. I sense she wants to ask me something else but she’s now poking around by the mantle and straightening my collection of broken nutcrackers that are hiding the crookedly framed school photos that desperately need to be updated. And why are those plump chenille pillows now looking a bit frayed and tired? The prodding continues until my neck jerks upright and I see my 5-year old staring at me and yelling, “Mom, we’re home!”
I search the room for my friend but she’s gone again. Instead, my husband has returned with our brood and they are all anxious to tell me about their visit to Grandma’s. My book has since dropped to the floor and somehow made it’s way down the stairs into that stunning entryway of mine that is laden with shoes, mismatched socks and even somebody’s toothbrush. I am now completely awake in my dream house—the home I share with my family, and realize that I will never see that girl again, the person I was before I had kids, but I am not sad. A part of me will still always be her no matter where I’m at in life, and I can think of no better time than the start of a new year to reminisce on my leisurely past but to stay focused on the here and now with great anticipation of all the new experiences my friend and I will reflect on in another 15 years.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
My 2009 Holiday Wish List
Shortly after Labor Day they start trickling in. One here, two there until you finally start praying you’ll actually find a piece of real mail—even a bill, in your mailbox—anything but another holiday catalogue. Of course, I can’t say that too loudly in front of my children. They consider these items very valuable property. In case you didn’t know, legend has it that anything they circle with their Crayola Sharpie’s practically guarantees that they’ll find it under the tree.
Years ago I thought this was a harmless enough way to keep them all busy and out of each other’s hair (and mine). For hours there wouldn’t be a sound in the house other than the intense swoosh of their markers and a few “oohs” and “ahhs” when something really tickled their fancy. Albeit it did seem a bit ridiculous that my girls were circling GI Joe accessories and the boys were A-OK with the pink Barbie jeep, but I think the rush they were getting over the endless possibilities, ok the greedy gimme-mine-mine-mine, blinded them from what they really wanted and would actually play with. Since this was happening at Halloween time, however, I figured they’d forget their 50-gift wish list well before the holidays were in full swing, so what harm could it cause?
I learned fast that I didn’t give my young offspring the credit they deserved. Out of the blue, hours after the last gifts had been unwrapped I overheard their 4 and 5-year old voices commenting on what they didn’t get, instead of what they did get. That was a painful lesson to learn. As I got ready to serve the roasted turkey dinner with all the trimmings—I should’ve been sitting down to eat crow instead.
Well that promptly ended the days I’d let the Toys R Us Big Book babysit my kids. Thereafter, as soon as those toy catalogues would hit our property, I made sure they were placed in the recycling bins instead of on the coffee table.
Of course, now we have something far more accessible for them to go window shopping with, and my kids are far savvier at navigating it than I am—the internet. Who needs to touch the glossy pages of a 100-page toy pamphlet when instead, all they need to do is surf the net and print their wish lists, or worse—e-mail me what they want with a CC to my husband’s business e-mail along with a text thrown in for good measure.
Listen, I’m not trying to be a Scrooge here, honest! I enjoy the magic and wonder of holiday surprises more than my kids do, but when I get home from having a root canal, the last thing I want to do is play back my answering machine and listen to my 10-year old disguising his voice as my husband asking if I remembered to pick up the Play Station 3 that was on sale at Target.
This year, I decided to beat them all to the punch. It’s no secret in the Butler household that by late October, I’m frantically searching the radio stations for those 24/7 holiday music marathons. Call me anything you like, but there is something outlandishly uplifting about hearing “Frosty the Snowman” wafting through the house when you’re stuck cleaning the bathroom that five boys under the age of 15 share!
With the festive holiday tunes blaring from the cable channel on TV, I got right to work making the very first holiday wish list I can remember since my days of wearing a training bra.
On a simple white piece of copy paper which I decorated with Save the Children stamps, here’s what I came up with.
Cheryl’s—AKA Wife, Mom, Chef, Dry Cleaner, Merry Maid, Gardner, Nurse, Dog Walker, Chauffeur, Errand Girl and Anything Else You Want Me To Be—2009 Holiday Wish List
· New Kitchen Sink Stoppers---Ick!
· New wastebaskets for all bathrooms and bedrooms—anything but wicker
· A designer Flea Collar—if I can’t beat em…might as well join em!
· One (or two) packages of band-aids that I can stash away for those times when we actually have a bleeding cut. Cartoon character brands not necessary.
· A dozen or so pencils—sharpened please Pens---double bonus
· A new dustpan and brush—one where string attaches brush to dustpan
· A new-aged wine opener—do I need to explain?
At the bottom of my list of material desires, I scrawled an addendum.
Dear Family, Please forgive my confusion. I seemed to have forgotten I already received many of these items at my bridal shower 23 years ago. Don’t burden yourself by shopping for me, instead, consider giving me something that you can’t find in catalogues, malls or on-line—a holiday season where the focus isn’t on what we think we must have, but instead, what we are grateful for already having. Love Mom
P.S. Please don’t share these ideas with your father—let’s see what he comes up with all by himself.
Years ago I thought this was a harmless enough way to keep them all busy and out of each other’s hair (and mine). For hours there wouldn’t be a sound in the house other than the intense swoosh of their markers and a few “oohs” and “ahhs” when something really tickled their fancy. Albeit it did seem a bit ridiculous that my girls were circling GI Joe accessories and the boys were A-OK with the pink Barbie jeep, but I think the rush they were getting over the endless possibilities, ok the greedy gimme-mine-mine-mine, blinded them from what they really wanted and would actually play with. Since this was happening at Halloween time, however, I figured they’d forget their 50-gift wish list well before the holidays were in full swing, so what harm could it cause?
I learned fast that I didn’t give my young offspring the credit they deserved. Out of the blue, hours after the last gifts had been unwrapped I overheard their 4 and 5-year old voices commenting on what they didn’t get, instead of what they did get. That was a painful lesson to learn. As I got ready to serve the roasted turkey dinner with all the trimmings—I should’ve been sitting down to eat crow instead.
Well that promptly ended the days I’d let the Toys R Us Big Book babysit my kids. Thereafter, as soon as those toy catalogues would hit our property, I made sure they were placed in the recycling bins instead of on the coffee table.
Of course, now we have something far more accessible for them to go window shopping with, and my kids are far savvier at navigating it than I am—the internet. Who needs to touch the glossy pages of a 100-page toy pamphlet when instead, all they need to do is surf the net and print their wish lists, or worse—e-mail me what they want with a CC to my husband’s business e-mail along with a text thrown in for good measure.
Listen, I’m not trying to be a Scrooge here, honest! I enjoy the magic and wonder of holiday surprises more than my kids do, but when I get home from having a root canal, the last thing I want to do is play back my answering machine and listen to my 10-year old disguising his voice as my husband asking if I remembered to pick up the Play Station 3 that was on sale at Target.
This year, I decided to beat them all to the punch. It’s no secret in the Butler household that by late October, I’m frantically searching the radio stations for those 24/7 holiday music marathons. Call me anything you like, but there is something outlandishly uplifting about hearing “Frosty the Snowman” wafting through the house when you’re stuck cleaning the bathroom that five boys under the age of 15 share!
With the festive holiday tunes blaring from the cable channel on TV, I got right to work making the very first holiday wish list I can remember since my days of wearing a training bra.
On a simple white piece of copy paper which I decorated with Save the Children stamps, here’s what I came up with.
Cheryl’s—AKA Wife, Mom, Chef, Dry Cleaner, Merry Maid, Gardner, Nurse, Dog Walker, Chauffeur, Errand Girl and Anything Else You Want Me To Be—2009 Holiday Wish List
· New Kitchen Sink Stoppers---Ick!
· New wastebaskets for all bathrooms and bedrooms—anything but wicker
· A designer Flea Collar—if I can’t beat em…might as well join em!
· One (or two) packages of band-aids that I can stash away for those times when we actually have a bleeding cut. Cartoon character brands not necessary.
· A dozen or so pencils—sharpened please Pens---double bonus
· A new dustpan and brush—one where string attaches brush to dustpan
· A new-aged wine opener—do I need to explain?
At the bottom of my list of material desires, I scrawled an addendum.
Dear Family, Please forgive my confusion. I seemed to have forgotten I already received many of these items at my bridal shower 23 years ago. Don’t burden yourself by shopping for me, instead, consider giving me something that you can’t find in catalogues, malls or on-line—a holiday season where the focus isn’t on what we think we must have, but instead, what we are grateful for already having. Love Mom
P.S. Please don’t share these ideas with your father—let’s see what he comes up with all by himself.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Jeopardy--The Motherhood Edition
(My Family Zone Column November 2009--NK Villager/EG Magazine )
I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult to find decent programs that I can comfortably watch with my kids. If the content of the show doesn’t make me squirm then the commercials certainly do. I mean, how many times do we need to see an ad for Beano or feminine hygiene products? Please! Even game shows are a bit of a risk. It is quite humbling when you’re gathered on the couch watching “Jeopardy!” with your middle schoolers and have to cough or sneeze because you haven’t a clue what Alex Trebec is talking about when he states “Glycine is the simplest one of these, the essential building block of all proteins and your 6th grader shouts out “What is an amino acid?” And here I thought the answer was Sweet & Low. Not good!
That wouldn’t be the case, however, if good old “Jeopardy!” decided to shake things up a bit with something many women in my circle could relate to--say “Jeopardy! The Motherhood Edition”. I can picture it now—women all across America vying to get a spot on this show and tuned in every evening at 7:00 PM no matter how many dinner dishes were piled up in the sink.
Mom Contestant #1 “I’ll take “Body Noises for $100, Alex”
Alex Trebec “This happens every time you ask for help with the garbage, cleaning their bedroom or tell them “no” you will never have a pet snake in this house”
Mom Contestant #1 “What is whining?”
Mom Contestant #2 “I’ll take Last-Minute Chaos” for $200, please.”
Alex Trebec “It’s 10 PM on Thursday evening and your 6th grader looks at the clock, then at you and says “Mom, I forgot to tell you something I still need to do.”
Mom Contestant #2 “What is a full-blown last-minute Science Project due the next day, Alex?”
Mom Contestant #3 “May I please have “Family Members” for $500, Alex?”
Alex Trebec “They are the most difficult species of all human beings to decode. One moment they kind of like you, the next—you’re a dundering chowderhead. Staple wardrobe items may include a touch iPod, ear buds, low-rise jeans and a scowl. They can text faster than the speed of light and you must never let on that you know them out in public.”
Mom Contestant #3 “What is a teenager?”
Mom Contestant #1 “Favorite Statements” for $1000”
Alex Trebec “This question is part of every child’s vocabulary at birth. Many times you will hear this on a rainy day, but millions of mothers are attesting to the fact that they hear it even when their offspring is surrounded by state-of-the art electronics, dozens of books and games, paradise-filled backyards and lots of neighborhood buddies or siblings to play with.”
Mom Contestant #1 “I’m bored! There’s nothing to do around here!”
Mom Contestant #2 “Alex, I’d love “Losing My Mind” for $1000
Alex Trebec “The phone rings and it’s the school nurse calling. You let the machine pick up because you are dealing with an electrical crisis where your dryer and dishwasher seem to be shorting one another out each time they are used. Two of your children are already home sick with the stomach bug and your husband is out of town on business for the week. You assume your third child is now sick as well, but when you actually speak with the nurse, you learn it’s much worse”
Mom Contestant #2 “What is being told your oldest child has just wet his pants in school?”
Alex Trebec “That is not correct.”
Mom Contestant #1 “What is being told your daughter and her classroom have head lice?”
Alex Trebec “Absolutely correct!”
Mom Contestant #3 “I’ll take “Housekeeping Duties” for $1500, please”
Alex Trebec “For centuries this task has literally brought housewives to their knees. Originally mastered in the great outdoors, modern technology has practically made this job mindless, but women everywhere agree, no matter how hard they try, it’s never something they can keep on top of.”
Mom Contestent #3 “What is cleaning a toilet?”
Alex Trebec “No, I’m so sorry, that answer is incorrect.”
Mom Contestant #2 “What is laundry?”
Alex Trebec “Yes!”
Alex Trebec “Ladies, we are almost out of time. Please listen carefully to our final clues. “Her wardrobe is usually several seasons (make that year’s) behind the times though she’s known to raise a few brows when she wears her big, red cape. Sleep deprivation cannot dampen her spirits and neither can a disappointing gift from her husband like that of a toaster. She’s known as self-less, tireless and is always willing to go the extra mile (literally) for the people in her household. She collects no paycheck for the multitude of tasks she performs 24/7 and though she may not be Martha Stewart, she can kiss a boo boo better than any other set of lips in town. Throw in her ability to fend off all monsters
living under beds and gives the best hugs in the world—well, she’s truly one in a million.”
Alex Trebec “Folks—please, quiet down—I am not able to hear one of our contestants because the entire audience and every household in America is shouting the answer so loudly it’s deafening.
“What is a mother?”
“YES, you are all correct, and I urge families everywhere to never forget it!”
Now that’s a show I could watch with my kids. How about you?
I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult to find decent programs that I can comfortably watch with my kids. If the content of the show doesn’t make me squirm then the commercials certainly do. I mean, how many times do we need to see an ad for Beano or feminine hygiene products? Please! Even game shows are a bit of a risk. It is quite humbling when you’re gathered on the couch watching “Jeopardy!” with your middle schoolers and have to cough or sneeze because you haven’t a clue what Alex Trebec is talking about when he states “Glycine is the simplest one of these, the essential building block of all proteins and your 6th grader shouts out “What is an amino acid?” And here I thought the answer was Sweet & Low. Not good!
That wouldn’t be the case, however, if good old “Jeopardy!” decided to shake things up a bit with something many women in my circle could relate to--say “Jeopardy! The Motherhood Edition”. I can picture it now—women all across America vying to get a spot on this show and tuned in every evening at 7:00 PM no matter how many dinner dishes were piled up in the sink.
Mom Contestant #1 “I’ll take “Body Noises for $100, Alex”
Alex Trebec “This happens every time you ask for help with the garbage, cleaning their bedroom or tell them “no” you will never have a pet snake in this house”
Mom Contestant #1 “What is whining?”
Mom Contestant #2 “I’ll take Last-Minute Chaos” for $200, please.”
Alex Trebec “It’s 10 PM on Thursday evening and your 6th grader looks at the clock, then at you and says “Mom, I forgot to tell you something I still need to do.”
Mom Contestant #2 “What is a full-blown last-minute Science Project due the next day, Alex?”
Mom Contestant #3 “May I please have “Family Members” for $500, Alex?”
Alex Trebec “They are the most difficult species of all human beings to decode. One moment they kind of like you, the next—you’re a dundering chowderhead. Staple wardrobe items may include a touch iPod, ear buds, low-rise jeans and a scowl. They can text faster than the speed of light and you must never let on that you know them out in public.”
Mom Contestant #3 “What is a teenager?”
Mom Contestant #1 “Favorite Statements” for $1000”
Alex Trebec “This question is part of every child’s vocabulary at birth. Many times you will hear this on a rainy day, but millions of mothers are attesting to the fact that they hear it even when their offspring is surrounded by state-of-the art electronics, dozens of books and games, paradise-filled backyards and lots of neighborhood buddies or siblings to play with.”
Mom Contestant #1 “I’m bored! There’s nothing to do around here!”
Mom Contestant #2 “Alex, I’d love “Losing My Mind” for $1000
Alex Trebec “The phone rings and it’s the school nurse calling. You let the machine pick up because you are dealing with an electrical crisis where your dryer and dishwasher seem to be shorting one another out each time they are used. Two of your children are already home sick with the stomach bug and your husband is out of town on business for the week. You assume your third child is now sick as well, but when you actually speak with the nurse, you learn it’s much worse”
Mom Contestant #2 “What is being told your oldest child has just wet his pants in school?”
Alex Trebec “That is not correct.”
Mom Contestant #1 “What is being told your daughter and her classroom have head lice?”
Alex Trebec “Absolutely correct!”
Mom Contestant #3 “I’ll take “Housekeeping Duties” for $1500, please”
Alex Trebec “For centuries this task has literally brought housewives to their knees. Originally mastered in the great outdoors, modern technology has practically made this job mindless, but women everywhere agree, no matter how hard they try, it’s never something they can keep on top of.”
Mom Contestent #3 “What is cleaning a toilet?”
Alex Trebec “No, I’m so sorry, that answer is incorrect.”
Mom Contestant #2 “What is laundry?”
Alex Trebec “Yes!”
Alex Trebec “Ladies, we are almost out of time. Please listen carefully to our final clues. “Her wardrobe is usually several seasons (make that year’s) behind the times though she’s known to raise a few brows when she wears her big, red cape. Sleep deprivation cannot dampen her spirits and neither can a disappointing gift from her husband like that of a toaster. She’s known as self-less, tireless and is always willing to go the extra mile (literally) for the people in her household. She collects no paycheck for the multitude of tasks she performs 24/7 and though she may not be Martha Stewart, she can kiss a boo boo better than any other set of lips in town. Throw in her ability to fend off all monsters
living under beds and gives the best hugs in the world—well, she’s truly one in a million.”
Alex Trebec “Folks—please, quiet down—I am not able to hear one of our contestants because the entire audience and every household in America is shouting the answer so loudly it’s deafening.
“What is a mother?”
“YES, you are all correct, and I urge families everywhere to never forget it!”
Now that’s a show I could watch with my kids. How about you?
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