I’m not here

I experimented with this blog for awhile, but now can be found at

karenedmisten.blogspot.com

I would never erase her

Ramona just turned to me, a pencil mark on her cheek, and said, “Recently, I crossed myself out.”

Fortunately, those myths about pencil lead poisoning aren’t true.

One of the reasons I married him

My husband made fudge last night. He does the usual yummy-marshmallow-cremey type thing, but he adds his own touch. He shells and crushes a bunch of hazelnuts, and then throws in toffee bits. Then he encourages me to enjoy it and tells me no, of course I don’t look fat, and I should just stop worrying about that.

If we weren’t already married, I’d ask him to spend the rest of his life with me.

This is life, we can’t replay it

Last night we decorated the tree, and afterward, Betsy exclaimed, “Oh, no! You didn’t videotape anything!”

“Hmmm,” I said. “I guess we were too busy living our life to record it.”

I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

Not that I don’t cherish past videos of the kids oohing and aahing over dearly beloved or until-now-forgotten ornaments, but sometimes it’s nice to just go about things, without thinking of how it will end up on tape. I have a love/hate thing with that video camera, and to be perfectly honest, I was glad I forgot all about it last night.

But don’t tell Betsy.

We need to stay home

You know you’ve been too busy when your child draws a picture and describes it to you this way:

“It’s a little girl who’s tired … see all the bags under her eyes?”

My kids aren’t totally gross

We visited our local Children’s Museum this weekend, and I’m happy to say that my children, while they enjoyed the “Grossology” exhibit, are still sensitive enough to have said, after a sufficient amount of gross-out time, “Can we go play in the farm area again? We’re starting to get stomachaches.”

Anne and Betsy enjoyed making the giant nose sneeze, and Ramona loved crawling through the digestive system. An extremely loud simulation of breathing and burping sounds sent Ramona running into my arms, though, and Anne felt some stomach flips at the sight of a large, drippy-nosed character. We aren’t completely crude around here … just enough to have fun. And, besides, if my kids couldn’t laugh at this stuff, how would they relate to Daddy and creatures like him?

Another reason some moms don’t allow pets

Because pets bring stuff home. Mr. Putter, the cat, has roundworm, an ear infection and possibly fleas. And he’s an indoor cat. How did that happen? He’s not supposed to bring anything home … he’s always home. We’re supposed to bring stuff to him, like ponytail holders (his favorite toy) and little aquatic-smelling treats.

He’s a breathing mound of vet bills (has been since we adopted him) and yet we love him. Because Mr. Putter is lovable. Having animals in the house is a splendid thing. It teaches kids all the usual stuff: responsibility, blah-blah-blah. But more than that, it’s just good. It’s really good. It’s really charming to see a child stop and gaze in wonder at this silly, beautiful creature that God made.

If you read Melissa Wiley’s post the other day about glitter in which she quotes a delightful post by Billi-Jean (whom I don’t know but, based on this post, like immensely) then you know what I’m talking about. Stuff that is “inherently good.”

Mr. Putter is the glitter of cats. He’s a mess but we don’t ever want to get rid of him.

Only in the age of computers

do you hear a three-year-old, upon coming up behind you at the computer, say,

“What are you Googling for?”

And now for something completely different

My kids love this.

Froguts.com

It doesn’t get any better than this sans formaldehyde.

I’m in trouble

Eldest Daughter was teasing me the other day about something I’d bungled (can’t remember what … the bungles are too many to catalog….) She said, “That might require a stay in the Mommy Jail.”

“Yikes,” I said. “What’s that?”

“It’s a jail for moms only. It has a time-out corner and it is manned entirely by kids.”

Uh-oh. Sounds like payback.