I’m a woman who blogs. I’m a Mommy blogger. It’s not a secret that I write details about my family’s life and feelings on the Internet. After the first half a dozen “I found your blog” phone calls, it no longer phases me when I get those calls. Once your children find your blog, there’s pretty much no more hiding it. This doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed that someone called my parents and asked if they had seen the naked pictures of me yet. As comfortable as I am with my blog, I am extremely uncomfortable with the condition of my house. Although it is in much better shape than it was when I moved in, it is still a cross between Ma and Pa Kettle’s house and the Money Pit house just after the demolition team. I joke about the house and post pictures of various “projects” but it drives me crazy. So, when someone wants to take a picture of me in my “blogging environment” I get nervous. Having a moat around the house an unfinished French drain and a giant hole in the living room wall gives me something to blog about, but in person, it is pretty horrible. So, if you happen to see Style one day next week and see the beautiful home of Dr. Helen, please don’t complain that my home looks like a Jeff Foxworthy joke because of all the time I waste blogging. The unfinished renovations are beyond my skill set. If anyone wants to tackle one of our projects and blog about their experiences, I’ll make some sweet tea and the children are always entertaining to watch. I’ll keep Doug out of your hair. Somehow. It might involve maramalade.

Tommy says: “Who is going to do the dishes when I’m away at college?”

My children like to remind me that they are the only children who have to do chores and get no allowance. I used to think they were exaggerating. After a million sleepovers, I’ve found that there is a lot of truth in their claims. I have had multiple children matter-of-factly state they “have a maid to do that stuff.” I have heard parents shrug and tell me that their children are too busy with activities or that it’s easier to do it themselves than it is to force their children to clean. I would very much like to have a cleaning service visit my house once in a while and do some scrubbing, but that would not release my children from their obligation to contribute to this household. Everyone helps and I don’t care whose mess, dishes or laundry it is, everyone cleans. Don’t get your hopes up, OCD branch of the family. The house is still dirty. The children clean like, well, children. I praise them and I don’t re-do the chore when they aren’t looking.

I have actually met some children from other families who do chores. I know this because they have told me what they are paid when they do them. Apparently, I am the meanest mother in the world, because I don’t pay my children for doing what they should do. If my children need money for something reasonable and I am able to do so, I give them the money. Otherwise, they usually have money from holidays or small jobs like pet sitting for a neighbor. Sometimes, they just don’t get whatever thing or activity they wanted. I feel bad when they miss out on things, but my children know that life is not always fair and you don’t always get what you want. They also know that sometimes you do things because it’s the right thing to do and not because you want something in return.

I’m just doing my part to make sure my children have something to complain about to their future therapists.

I wish I had some more of those cookies. They were yummy.

Doug’s sister was in marching band. She got her hair cut above the neck, wore military shoes and a hat with a big poof on top.

Sarah twirls flags around, in front of and mixed in with the marching band. She wears liquid eyeliner, false eyelashes and no underwear.

Soldiers and showgirls. One looks like more fun but the other seems more appropriate for teenagers.

“You like Evan better than you like me.”

Since Evan decided that the rocking chair is his personal tv viewing spot, Amy has suddenly become interested in it. I turned on a cartoon and Amy raced to the previously ignored chair. As soon as he realized a cartoon was on, Evan went to the chair. He tried to climb into the chair already occupied by Amy. Instead of scooting over and sharing, she gave him a hard shove. Evan tumbled backwards and began crying just after he landed with a loud thud. I rushed to check him and then I picked him up. As he shoved his head into my shoulder and I whispered in his ear, Amy declared her perceived injustice. “You like Evan better than you like me.” I turned to Doug for support and he laughed so hard he almost fell down the stairs. Then, he went out for a concert and champagne. While he was gone, Amy’s charm bracelet got stuck in the dryer, Evan stole my Ben & Jerry’s stash from the freezer, I had to take care of the neighbor’s children, Evan pooped on the floor (”Look Mum”), and Sarah announced that she needs pantyhose tomorrow morning. Raise your hand if you think it’s okay for me to run screaming when Doug gets home.

I’ve read about BlogHer for years and tried to attend for the same amount of time. This year, BlogHer is taking the show on the road for eight separate one-day events. Scroll down the list and you’ll see . . . Nashville! Even though I think EAST Tennessee is the blog capitol of the world, Nashville is just a few hours and one mountain plateau down the road. Let’s see if I can actually attend this one.

Take a three minute break and watch this video. You might need to turn up the speakers to catch everything. Or, you can just spend a day at my house.

Thanks BusyBody Joan!

I don’t expect a medal for giving birth, but I do deserve a medal for sitting through an hour of this.

I know you have a lot to celebrate. Your life is good. Because it is such a good life, you have lots of choices. You can hire a limousine, take a taxi, have a “personal assistant” drive you, ask your family for a ride, bum a ride with one of your many friends or call any of the millions of fans who adore you for a ride. There are zero excuses for you to be drinking (or drugging) and driving. Stop being so reckless with your life and the lives of everyone else on the roads.

Disappointed,
Cathy

“I have to be at school in two hours for a band performance. I need to wear my shirt that’s in the dirty laundry.”

Start washer, shuffle plans and turn usual chaos up twenty degrees.