Welcome to my place.

I write about about being a 40-something mum of six wonderfully exasperating children, attachment parenting, my adventures in the kitchen, and whatever else comes to mind. 


Attack of the Soccer Moms!

We just bought a mini-van. I'm horrified.

It's precisely everything I said I would never own after we bought our current car. It's domestic and it seats 7. SEVEN!

On the bright side, we got a good deal on it--complete with a set of snow tires--and it means we can actually travel with more than our family of four in our vehicle. Our Escort has resulted in many trips about town where I've been wedged between carseats in the back, sitting on one very numb bum cheek--this isn't going to be a problem anymore! In fact, I think I'm going to put #1 in the back row and #2 in the middle. :D

It doesn't really dull the horror that I'm finally one of "those moms", though.

On a related note:

Dear Mr. Anger-Management Issues:

I have a tip for you. You need to remember that sometimes shit just happens and it's best to chill out and roll with it. You're not the only person who has a bad day, and you're not helping anyone (yourself included) by wrecking somebody else's.

I was sitting in the dealership parking lot parked across from you during your 20 minute performance, in which you berated a salesperson and chewed-out and verbally assaulted a mechanic about a minor cosmetic problem with your vehicle door following a maintainence visit. I was also, uncomfortably, present for the second act where you proceeded to drone on and on about sleazy, stupid mechanics and opportunistic dealerships to your female companion. The highlight for me was when you inferred that your time was more important than anyone elses and that you were insulted they weren't able to magically produce the replacement part at a moment's notice.

You should really consider some sort of stress management program or, better yet, invest in some duct tape for your potty mouth. I would also suggest a contrite note of apology to the salesperson and the mechanic for flying off the handle because the esthetic appeal of your car door's interior actually isn't a life-threatening situation and really doesn't need to be addressed as a Code Red. In fact, I surmise you don't have children because if you did you'd be used to the imperfect appearance of your vehicle's interior and would likely shrug your shoulders, decide that adding a visit to the dealership for such a trivial problem isn't worth the effort, and just get on with your life.

Remember, breathe in, breathe out, and count to ten.

Yours truely,


Handpainting Yarn With Easter Egg Dyes

Spins & Needles, Friday? Anyone?