Too much?

This morning I went to Target to do my grocery shopping.  I do most of my shopping at Target for various reasons.  But, mostly because it is my happy place and I like to go there and meander through the aisles and get lost in my Target-y bliss.  I like to go on Sunday mornings for our weekly grocery extravaganza.  The kids stay home with Bowser and I head out by myself with my coupons and my Cartwheel app ready to go.   Sure, I could go on Monday when everyone is in school, but that would be a silly waste of my alone time.  So, I go on Sundays.  I also usually go on Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.  Every once in a while I have to run in for something on Tuesday or Thursday.   Sometimes, when I forget something from the "big list" on Sunday, I will do a quick run through on Monday morning. 

Anyways, today I was doing our big weekly grocery shopping.  I did my usual route through the store.  There is an art to how to go through a Target.  And I never, EVER divert from the path.  When I divert from the path, bad things happen and the bulls-eye gods get angry with me.  Suddenly none of my coupons work, there are only 30% off and not 70% off sales throughout, and it just generally turns unpleasant.  Always stick with the plan.  I did my loop past the registers, through the dollar section, in and out of toys and sporting goods, checked out the Halloween stuff, browsed the clothing and shoe sales, headed through housewares and finally ended up in the grocery section. 

I was about 3 aisles in when I was confronted.  I am still not sure how I feel about what happened.  Good?  Bad?  It is unclear.  Here is how it went down...

Me: walking around corner, into chips and snacks aisle, nearly run over Manager Man.  (Yes, I know his name, but I feel I should stick with my plan and not use real names here, so as to keep his identity a secret.)

MM:  Hi, ma'am.  Are you finding everything ok today?  (at this point, you might THINK I am upset by the "ma'am," but that is not it.  Although, I firmly believe I still look much more like a MISS than a MA'AM.)

Me:  Oh yes.  Thank you!

MM:  Oh.  It's you.  Of course you can find everything.  You probably know this store better than I do!

Me:  uuuuuuuuhhhhh, yeah, probably, I guess that's kinda sad.....   ha? ha?

MM:  Yeah it is! I mean, I see you in here ALL the time. 

Me:  (at a complete loss for a totally awesome comeback) I like Target.  (Good Lord, that sounded LAME.)

MM:  Yes, we can see that!  *chuckle, chuckle, chuckle*

Me:  Well, er, thanks.  Uh, have a good day.

MM:  You too!  I'm sure I'll see you later!  Thanks for helping our paychecks!

I am probably being a little overly sensitive, but I think he might have been making fun of me!  Or, maybe I just really go to Target, like, A LOT.  Too much?  ...sigh...  I think I am going to need some retail therapy to make me feel better about this.  They did have a great looking 70% off rack in women's clothing today. 

Cheers!
~Daisy

The Case FOR Barbie

I can practically hear the eye-rolling as I type.  Yes, I am making a case FOR the Barbie doll.  I know, I know... I have a daughter!  How can I possibly let my little Peach play with a doll that will make her hate her own body, and teach her that boobs and blonde hair are all that matters?  Well, to begin with, I happen to be a former fan of Barbie myself.

I don't exactly remember getting my first Barbie doll, but I DO, very clearly in fact, remember the year that I got Peaches and Cream Barbie and Ken.  Oh, how I wanted that beautiful peachy couple!!!  And when we went to my Auntie Mets house that Christmas morning, oh so long ago, my wish came true.  As I tore through the wrapping paper, I started to see that incredible flowing peach gown, with the orange flower tied around the waist and the stole--the stole!--that could be arranged in so, so many different ways, and I was almost too excited to breathe!  Yes, the bodice of the dress was a weird plastic-y, snake pattern with super stiff pointy boobs, but OH, that dress was breathtaking!  And then, in the second package, was handsome Ken, with his molded plastic head of hair, and just as dashing as ever, with his tuxedo to match Barbie's dress.  I could see my dreams and they were peach polyester perfection. 

And now, my daughter is carrying on my love of fashion dolls.  She will be five years old tomorrow (I know!  OMG!  That is a whole other issue in itself!) and basically all she has asked for is Barbie.  Oh sure, there are a few ponies and fairies in the mix, but mostly Barbie.

Now let me explain to you why it does not bother me that my little girl is infatuated with Babs.

Barbie has been around for a long time.  Has it always been perfect?  No, probably not.  But it was invented as a PLAY THING.  You know, something to inspire IMAGINATION in little girls (and boys, no judging here!).  I realize that most toys now give you step by step instructions on how to play with them and which piece goes where and what house they should live in, etc, etc.  But, the Barbie doll does not come with instructions.  Ever thought about that?  No instructions necessary, because the doll inspires girls to act out scenarios with friends, family, pets, and so many other things.

Which leads me right into the fact that Barbie has done pretty much everything and anything.  What other doll out there has been a computer programmer, a doctor, an astronaut, a scientist, an architect, a weather girl, a soccer star, a ballerina, a fairy, a mermaid, an actress, a teacher,  a big sister, a wife, a friend, and oh so much more?  Let's be honest.  No other doll has ventured into that many fields.  I think it is pretty cool that Barbie knows no limitations.  She knows what she wants and she knows how to get it.  Someone could say, "Oh Barbie, you KNOW a girl can't run for president," and watch how quickly she proves them wrong.  Now, THAT is the kind of confidence I want my daughter to have as she grows up.

Ok, sure, she is a fashionista on top of all that.  But, really.  Show me a woman that wouldn't love a closet full of designer clothes and shoes and I'll show you.... well, nothing.  I will show you nothing because I don't think you will find her. 

Since we are talking about how Barbie looks, we might as well get to the heart of the matter.  A lot of people dislike Ms. Roberts because of her looks.  Oh, what?  You didn't think she has a last name?  Of course she does!  Google it!  That is right, Barbara Millicent Roberts is put through the gauntlet nearly every day because of her looks.  Here is the deal from my humble perspective...  She is a DOLL.  Of course her proportions are weird!  If she was life-size, she would look like a freak.  But she is not life-size, she is a doll.  I don't see anyone wigging out over the fact that Tinkerbell has wings.  OMG!  She has wings!  Little girls around the world are going to start hating themselves because they CAN'T HAVE THEIR OWN WINGS!!!!  What about Monster High?  (don't even get me started on those dolls, but bear with me, I am making a point.)  I don't imagine that girls are sitting around saying, "Woe is me!  I just want purple skin and stitches all over my body to make me beautiful!!!!"  And why is that?  I am guessing because they understand that Monster High and Tinkerbell are CHARACTERS, not actual people.  Let's give our future female population some credit here.  And while we are at it.... Cabbage Patch Kids are like real babies?  Sure, if your head is abnormally gigantic, your 3 fingers are sewn together and your feet look more like balloons with nubs on the end than actual feet.  See what I mean?  Imagination, people. 

Now, besides her body, B is usually blonde with blue eyes.  As a short, sorta stubby, brown-eyed, brown-(sometimes purple)-haired girl, I can't say it really bothers me.  I mean, I am kinda used to it.  Saying that only Barbie makes blonde the "beauty standard" would be like saying only McDonald's holds the French Fry standard of the world. Plus, if you go down the Barbie aisle these days, you will find that she has friends of many hair color and ethnicity.  Wouldn't it be weird if you went to the store one day and found Asian Dora?  Shyeah!  Dora is a Latina little girl.  Just like Barbie is a blonde American.  And Doc McStuffins is an African-American, and Kai-lan is Asian, and Twilight Sparkle is a pony, and Hello Kitty is a cat.  They are what they are.

I know someone who once told me she would never buy her daughter a Barbie doll because she didn't like the look or attitude that Barbie portrayed.  She didn't like that Barbie made it so "unrealistic" to be a woman.  Now, she has a daughter who obsesses over the entire Barbie aisle at the toy store.  And, well, I think you can see where this is going...

Barbie, my dear friends, is not the enemy.  She is just a doll, with a penchant for fashion, that wants to make her mark on the world.  Just like so many other fine women that I know in real life.  And yes, I am looking forward to seeing Peach's eyes sparkle tomorrow morning, on her 5th birthday, when she wakes up and opens a long-dreamed-for Barbie doll to add to her collection.

Cheers!
~Daisy

Daisy Goes Bipolar Over Back To School

Do you want to know what I did today?  Of course you do.  Well, first, I checked my news feed on my phone about every 15 seconds to see when the Duchess of Cambridge had been safely delivered of her child.  I love that.  Safely delivered of a son.  Ha!  It makes it sound so...  sweet and peaceful.  I digress.  That was actually not ALL that I did today.  Are you ready for it?  You may want to sit down. 

I registered my baby girl--my BABY--for Kindergarten. 

I am talking about my little teeny tiny fairy nugget of a baby.  Peach is going to Kindergarten.  And I must admit, I am feeling a little bipolar about it. 

My thoughts today went something like this:

Out loud:  "Yay!  Peach!  Let's go get you registered for Kindergarten!"
Internal Dialogue:  "Wait.  Peach.  You are still a baby.  Silly Mommy, thinking you are ready for Kindergarten!"

Out Loud:  "Look at your new school!  This place looks like fun!"
Internal Dialogue:  "Ew.  How old is that playground equipment.  Looks like a death trap.  No way I'm leaving her here without my supervision."

Out Loud:  "Hi!  I'm here to register my daughter, Peach, for school!"
Internal Dialogue: "Ummm...hello?  I am about to trust you with my baby.  My youngest child.  And I'm really not sure how I feel about it.  So, if you would just give me a damn minute to fill out these papers and stop throwing information at me, that would be fab."

Out Loud:  "You are going to learn so many new things and make so many new friends, Peach!"
Internal Dialogue: "And I will be sitting at home all alone, without my little shopping buddy.  My little curly-haired sidekick.  Just get back in my belly, little baby girl!"

I guess it all just sort of snuck up on me.  I mean, I really enjoy my alone time.  All of the Goombas were in school last year, the boys full-day, and Peach in 1/2 day preschool.  I really enjoyed those 3 hours in the afternoon.  So, why am I being all weird about Kindergarten?  I guess it's because Peach is my baby.  When Mario went to school, it was so exciting and new!  When Luigi went to school, I knew he was so ready for the adventures that he was beginning!  With Peach, well...   I guess I just feel like we are closing a chapter in our lives. 

I am looking back over some of my old blogs and it really seems like only yesterday that I was losing my mind over peeled crayons and grapes squished on the floor.  Although we have been done with diapers for quite some time, I still had "little ones" at home.  Now, little sticky fingers that wanted to hold on tight to my hand walking across the street are turning into bigger hands that let go more and more often.  Scribbled coloring pages and drawings of happy stick figures with no necks are being replaced with written reports and fancy art projects. Mommy and Daddy are more often becoming Mom and Dad. 

This is natural, I know.  I am loving watching my Goombas grow and change and learn.  They amaze me every day. I am so excited to see them follow their paths and do all kinds of new things.  But, it's like...  You know when you are "in" something, and it kind of feels like it will never end, and you will always be stuck "there?"  Then, suddenly, one day you realize, you aren't "there" anymore.  Now you are "here" and you aren't really sure how you got there.  You know you muddled through, but you forget why you felt so stuck and how the days and hours seemed to just drag on sometimes.  And then you look at the beautiful beings that you have been teaching, nourishing, and loving and you think, "I am so blessed to have been there for all those moments... the really, really long ones, and the ones that flew by too quickly," and then it kinda takes your breath away for a minute. 

Of course, five minutes later, you are all getting into the van, and those "beautiful beings" are screaming at one another over who got their seatbelt on first and you think, "Oh dear, LORD, these kids need to get back to school, like, YESTERDAY!!!"

 Cheers and love to all!
~Daisy

Drama Aint' Just for Girls...

Another typical night in the Mario house.  We are getting ready to eat dinner.  Since my oh so graceful injury, my dear Bowser has been doing MUCH of the housework.  (By the way, Bowse, my man, thank you and I love you!). Bowser and I had chicken caesar salad wraps, and since the Goombas wouldn't touch lettuce if it were dripping in chocolate (or ketchup in Luigi's case), they were having nuggets and fries. 

I was starving.  Starving!  I needed to eat immediately.  So, the wraps were done before the nugs and fries. We all sat down at the table and said grace and I started stuffing my face.  Meanwhile, Bowser was still waiting for the fries to come out of the oven.  Luigi was getting desperate.  He needed some french fries.  Not just wanted, but NEEDED some french fries.  He started frantically looking around. 

"Wait?  What?  Where are the fries???"  he cried. 

Bowser said, "What fries?  I ate them all already." 

Wrong. Answer. Daddy. 

As Bowser was trying to get the very hot fries out of the oven, Luigi started crying.  But, not just crying.  Actual wailing over the "loss" of his beloved potato-y goodness. 

"Daaaaaaadddddddyyyyyyyyy,"  he howled, "wwwwhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyy??????  Why did you eat all the fries????????????????????????"

Bowser replied, "Well, I was hungry."  I would just like to state for the record here that I knew this was a bad, bad, bad response.  However, as previously stated, I was so hungry that I could have eaten my actual plate.  I was not interested in stopping an argument at that particular moment. 

Suddenly, Luigi, my dear sweet child, screamed, "Daddy!  You have RUINED MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!  RUINED IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Now, I might have expected this from a teenager.  Or from Peach, who at 4 years old is on a level of drama I could never even try to understand.  I did not expect it from my 6-year-old son.

Fast forward 5 minutes.  There are, indeed, french fries at the table.  Luigi is happily drowning each one in massive amounts of ketchup.

Bowser says, "Hey, Luigi.  I'm sorry I ruined your life."

"Huh?"  (as if nothing ever happened.)

"I'm sorry that I said I ate all the french fries and ruined your life," Bowser said.

"Oh," Luigi said nonchalantly.  "Well, I THOUGHT you did.  But, now I have some fries, so you really didn't."

Well.  At least we got that cleared up.

Cheers!
~Daisy

Spray Tan

Yes, it has been another long stretch without hearing anything from or about the Goombas.  We are in the throes of summer break and.... well, you know how I feel about that. 

This is just a quick story for you. 

This morning, I was dropping off some handpainted glasses at a local boutique.  I love this place.  They have bling out the booty, and such super cute stuff.  Their newest addition...  A spray tanning booth.  Awe. Some.  When I went in this morning, the owner and some others asked if I would like to volunteer to do the first spray tan so they could practice.  A free spray tan?  Sure!  I'm game!  I have never had a spray tan before, and since my injury this summer (loooonnnnggg story, don't ask) I have not had much sun time.  Thus my pasty white legs must have alerted these women that I would be the perfect candidate. 

Now, I love all these ladies, they are all so sweet.  But, I don't know them that well yet, so I left my panties and bra on (straps tucked in) and said, "spray away!"  The owner of the sprayer thingy showed everyone how to use the sprayer and how to hold it and spray.  It was a little cold and sticky.  But, I couldn't believe it!  I had a beautiful golden glow within minutes!  WOW.  I am totally doing this more often! 

I should tell you that before I went to the boutique, it was early on Saturday morning.  I had not yet showered for the day, and I was still wearing my scrubby, comfy clothes.  And underwear.  This information will come in handy in a moment. 

Did you know that spray tan gets darker as the day goes on?  Something about the chemical reacting with your skin and activating.  Whatever.  I love it.  I have not looked this beachy bronze in YEARS.  Mostly because the sun and I, we don't get along.  It tries to give me sunspots, and wrinkles and cancer, and I frankly don't want any of those things.  Some people find this hard to understand.  And, that is ok with me.  I will be the one wearing the 800 spf when I see you at the park.  I digress....

I was so excited over my newly non-ghosty skin, that I was showing off my tan to the family at dinner.  And that is when Bowser, my love, my life, my husband, noticed the stripe on my back from between my undies and bra, and said, "It looks great!  Next time, though, you probably shouldn't wear your granny panties that go half way up your back." 

**Facepalm** 

So, I highly recommend a spray tan.  I also highly recommend NOT wearing your granny panties. 

Cheers!
~Daisy

Mother's Day!

I am sitting on my sofa right now, surfing the internet, and enjoying the happiness that comes with my husband and Goombas doting on me.  But, as Luigi sits and snuggles in next to me, telling me I am the "best Mommy ever," my heart is with someone else. 

So, I am sending out this Mother's Day wish to someone very, very special to me.  Luigi's BirthMom.  I think sometimes, we forget that these amazing women--who tear their hearts out over a decision to give their child to another--are mothers, too. 

BirthMom, when I met you, you were calm and at peace with your decision.  You knew what you wanted for your baby.  You knew that he could have a better life and that you were not ready to give him what he needed.  And yet, I could see the pain in your eyes.  As a mother in the unique position to have both biological and adopted children, I know how those first few minutes, hours, and days are after giving birth.  There is a sea of hormones drowning you.  There is fierce attachment to this tiny little person that has been growing inside your body.  There is love that you never, ever knew could exist.  When I think about how it must have felt, knowing what needed to be done, it makes my heart break into thousands of pieces. 

There were so many OTHER decisions you could have made.  You could have chosen abortion.  You could have chosen to keep him.  You could have chosen to give him to BirthDad.  You could have chosen to give him to your parents, who so desperately wanted him.  But, you chose us.  You chose US!  And every day I thank you for that. 

The day that you placed him in my arms and walked out the door, I cried.  I cried a long, long time.  Not because I was so happy for my long awaited child (which I was!), but because I cannot even fathom the strength it took for you to walk out that door.  Part of me wanted to rush after you and hold you in my arms and tell you it would be ok.  But, that wasn't my job.  My job was to take care of the precious angel that you had given me.  The other part of me was sick with terror that you would change your mind.  That you would come back in at any moment and say "I made a mistake."  But, you didn't.  And I will never know how difficult that was.  But, I can imagine and I can honestly say, I don't think I could have done it. 

BirthMom, we saw you again, when Luigi was 6 weeks old.  We met at our adoption offices.  You looked beautiful.  (He has your eyes, you know!)  I was once again terrified that you would see how awesome he was and want him back.  You held him for a while.  You looked at him with the shining light of a mother's love in your eyes.  And then, when he cried, you gently gave him back and said, "Go to your Mommy."

Dearest BirthMom, happy Mother's Day to you.  I love you more than you will ever know.  And thank you, once again, for your amazing gift. 

love,
Daisy

ps--And to all the Moms, Mamas, Mothers, Mommys, step-moms, moms-in-law, Godmothers, aunts, single moms, adoptive moms, moms who have given babies in adoption, moms with angel babies, dads who need to be mom, pet moms, angel moms and anyone who has ever taken a child into their heart--HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!!!!!  Cheers!

An Advertisement

I have decided that it is time for me to capitalize on my strengths and at the same time, teach my Goombas... something.  So, I am starting my very own business and here is my first advertisement.

Daisy's Home Hospice for Dying Plants

Do you have a beloved Fern that has seen better days?

Are you having a difficult time letting go of your splotched-leaf Colea?

Are you ready for your Peace Lily to rest in peace, but aren't sure how to make it happen?

Look no further, Daisy is here to help!

At my Home Hospice for Dying Plants, I use my gentle black thumb to help put your plants out of their misery.

 

  I use my special techniques that allow your plant to let go without pain or agony.  These techniques include:

Forgetting to Water

Letting Cats Nibble

Allowing Cats to Use as Litter Box

Children Digging and Playing in Dirt (thus effectively destroying roots)

 Leaving in Sun 'til Burned

Drowning in Water

Using Beer instead of Water to Nurture

No plant is too hardy for me to help--even Cactus!

 

Stop the struggle today.  Bring your plants to my Home Hospice and I will help put your loved ones to rest.  

Call 1-800-BLACK-THUMB to schedule your free consultation today.  Don't live in the area?  Ask for my PDF booklet, "How To Kill Your Plant in 10 Days or Less."

Cheers!

~Daisy 

Crafty Daisy

I love to craft.  I'm sure I have mentioned this before, but in case I haven't, I just thought I would throw it on out there.  Crafting makes me happy.  It really doesn't even matter what it is.  As long as I am making something with my hands, that will beautify something somewhere, I am as happy as a clam.  I have done scrapbooking (which I still do!), jewelry making, crocheting, glass painting, wall art, flower arrangements...  You name it, I have probably at least tried it.  Well, everything except sewing.  I mean, I tried once to sew a badge onto Mario's scout uniform, but it really wasn't that pretty, and in the end, the sticky Badge Magic was just an easier choice.  Fast forward to this weekend.  I cleaned out some stuff in our bedroom and I found probably 15 pillows.  Not really new enough or good enough to sleep on anymore, but hey, I'll make some pillow covers and upcycle!  Not gonna fill any dumps with my old pillows.  I will re-purpose and it will be beautiful.  How hard can a few straight seams be, right? 

First, I borrowed a sewing machine from a friend.  Now, I haven't actually used a sewing machine since I was in 8th grade Home Ec., but I figured it out then, I should be able to figure it out now.  Then Peach and I went to the store and looked at some fabric.  She picked a lovely Barbie print so that I could make a pillow for her.  We decided not to buy any fabric for her brothers until they were there to choose for themselves.  Then, I picked a lovely beige canvas-y, burlap-y cotton to make throw pillows for my couches.  I also bought a little handheld seam-stitcher thing. You know, so I could sit on the couch and watch tv while I made my covers.   I was so excited to get started!  Finally!  Something that I can post on Pinterest that I actually made!  And I will brag about how EASY it was, and how it is something that ANYONE can do.  Can you see where this is going?

After Peach was dropped off at preschool, I came in and got to work.  I pulled out the machine, turned it on and looked at it for a while.  No thread.  Ok.  No problem.  I know there is something about a bobbin...  It took a while of me just looking at diagrams on the machine before I finally thought, "oh yeah!  Try the instruction book!"  Stupid book.  That was NO help.  Might as well have been written in alien language.  I mean, what is a presser foot and who needs a throat plate anyway?  But, I was starting to feel a little desperate.  I wanted to avoid asking Bowser for any help.  This is women's territory, right?  But, I knew that if I could just get the damn thing threaded, I would be good to go.  Bowser came out, took a look at it and said, "Just YouTube it."  Ok.  Good idea.  So, I finally find a video where the person seems like she actually knows what is up with a sewing machine.  I watch it, then go back and pause it at the appropriate times so that I can do what she is doing.  I get my bobbin ready, I push in the clutch (seriously, don't these things come in automatics by now?) and--PING!!!!  The presser foot comes flying off and there is only half a needle left on the machine.  Since this was a borrowed machine, I just quietly put everything back together and back into the box.  And don't worry Mrs. T.  I will get you a new needle.  Just don't ask me to put it in for you. 

But, I was not defeated yet!  I still had that handle little seam-stitcher thingy.  By this time, although not defeated, I was starting to lose some confidence.  So, I figured, I'll make Peach's pillow first.  The Barbie fabric is very forgiving with all that pattern on it, and she won't care if there are a few little mistakes.  I'm not even going to go into detail about what happened next.  I'll just say that I practically sewed my head to my elbow and still missed half the stitches around the pillow.  As I told the Zaz this evening, "It is the ugliest damn pillow you have ever seen, and NOT because of the neon patterned fabric."  There are lumps and strange seams and loose threads everywhere.  Why?  Because I couldn't even figure out how to tie off the end of a stitch.

So, basically, my fantastic idea, that should have taken (according to the directions on Pinterest) about 30 minutes, turned into a three-hour affair, with lots of swearing and not much to show for it.  I guess it is a good thing I didn't buy the pattern for the adorable little dress that I thought would be OH SO EASY to make for Peach.  But, I guess we can't all be perfect at everything.  Needless to say, I will NOT be asking for that Singer sewing machine this holiday season.

Don't look too closely.  The craftsmanship might hurt your eyes.

Cheers!
~Daisy

Survival

This Thursday marks a very special day.  A day that seemed so distant at one time and is now suddenly right here in front of my face.  Mario will be 10 years old.  Which means, I have survived 10 years of motherhood.  We will talk more about Mario later this week.  Right now, I am going to take a moment and reflect on the fact that I have managed to keep three Goombas, one marriage, and a few straggling threads of my sanity alive for 10 years. 

I remember, oh so long ago, in the hospital when I was packing my bags to bring our first baby home.  I was crying because I was hormonal and, oh yeah... because I had absolutely NO clue what to do with this adorable little creature that was suddenly mine to take care of.  The Zaz and the Pop were waiting at home for us with pizza and beer.  Bowser was getting the carseat strapped in just right.  I was pacing the floor of my hospital room, desperately trying to figure out a way to get the nurses to let me stay forever.  Or at least convince one of them to come home and live with us.  I actually grabbed the nurse's hand at one point and told her, through many tears and sobs, that I didn't know what to do with a baby and they really probably shouldn't let me take him home because I was sure to ruin his precious little life.  She smiled kindly, gave me a small hug and said, "You will know what to do, and you will be a good mom."  Then she wheeled me out the doors and closed the car door and left our little family of 3 alone to fend for ourselves. 

You will be happy to know that I have come a long way from that terrified new mother in that hospital room.  I still have my moments, for sure.  But, Mario is still alive, and even thriving, after ten years, so, I mean, I must be doing something right.  Right?!?!?! 

Here are some major advances/changes I have made in the past decade:

~When Mario was that tiny little bundle of joy, I made everyone, and I mean EVERYONE who came within a 20 yard radius of him douse themselves with hand sanitizer.  No germs on my baby!  When Luigi came along, if I remembered it, I would ask that they please use a little, just to humor me.  By the time Peach was born, I pretty much figured that no one had arsenic on their hands, so meh, whatever.  A few germs never hurt anyone.  How else are they supposed to build up their immune systems?

~When Mario was old enough to start eating food, I followed what the pediatrician said to a "T."  Mix the rice cereal with formula and make it runny first.  Then gradually make it thicker.  Then veggies first (no fruit or they won't eat anything else!), then meats, then fruits.  Cut everything up into microscopic pieces so he can't choke on it.  No peanut butter or anything else that might cause any type of allergic reaction.  Nothing with sugar, because we all know what that can do to a baby!  (I still don't really know, but if it was in a book, it must be true!)  Now... Well, let's just say that the day I caught Luigi and Peach snacking on cat food, I didn't freak out too much.  I mean, that has to have some nutrition in it, right?  Yes, of course I made them stop eating it, but had it been earlier in my mothering career, we probably would have made a trip to the emergency room to get stomachs pumped.  Now that is improvement.

~I used to answer every little tiny single "peep" that came out of Mario.  I would lie awake in bed at night and listen to the monitor and if he sighed, or squeaked, or chirped, or moaned, I was in his room and on top of him making sure everything was ok.  On the flip side, if he was too silent for too long, I was convinced that he was suffocating and I would run in and stare at him for a good 30 minutes to make sure he was breathing regularly.  Fast forward to the present.  I have been  known, on occasion, to tell my Goombas not to bother me unless someone is literally broken, bleeding, or dead.  If they aren't broken, bleeding, or dead, I don't need to know about it.  Hey, come on.  I'm not the only mom that thinks this way.  Sometimes ya just gotta nip that whining in the bud. 

~When Mario was little, I used to limit the television to 1 hour a day.  And not all at once!  It had to be broken up throughout the day.  Now, well, let's just say Telly V and I have an understanding.  She babysits my kids and shows them movies and entertainment, while I get laundry, dishes, or a shower done.  Or read my People magazine.  Whatever. 

So many other things have changed.  These are only a few.  I am glad that I have learned to relax and let my kids be kids.  I am lucky enough to have been a Stay-at-Home-Mom with them since Mario was born.  Have I loved every minute of it?  No.  Not gonna lie.  There were times when I thought they would be better off with someone else, or when I thought God must be punishing me for something in a previous life, or when I started drinking at 2 p.m. just to make it through the day.  Would I trade any of it for all the money in the world?  Absolutely not.  I love these Goombas.  They make me laugh and cry, they surprise me with something new every day (good or bad!), they keep me on my toes, they make me want to scream and head for the hills, and they make my heart swell with love and pride. 

So, yay for me!  They say the first 10 years are the hardest.  I made it through the diapers, the bottles, the snot, the tears, the vomit, and I came through with flying colors.  Of course, I could never have done it without Bowser, Zaz and Pop, Grandma and Grandpa Bowser, and all of my amazing Mommy friends.  But the point is, I did it.  And now, when I am walking through Target, and I see a new mommy, with her baby and her bottle of hand sanitizer sitting front and center in her cart, I smile to myself and I think, someday she will have made it, too.  And I hope she enjoys the ride as much as I have. 

Cheers to 10 years!
~Daisy

Kids these days...

Wow.  Hello friends!  It has been far too long, I know.  I do plan on updating you on the Goombas and life in Mario-World soon, but today, I just couldn't pass up sharing this story....

Mario and Luigi got home from school a little while ago and we are having one of those rare afternoons where they all like each other (even Peach) and are playing all together.  It is some kind of combination Hot Wheels racing/restaurant/fairy game.  Don't try to understand, just go with it.  

Apparently, on the way to "Kitchen Town," there was a terrible car accident.  Now, do you remember when you were a kid and you would call the police to come help everyone?  Yeah, that is what we did, too. It would be the "natural" response.  But, here is how the scene of the accident played out in our hallway:

Mario:  We have been driving forever!

Luigi:  I know right!

Peach: Me, too!

Mario:  Oh no!  It's a terrible car accident!  Everyone crashed!

(boys make car crashing sounds and smash Hot Wheels together.)

Mario:  Better call our insurance.  Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there! (singing the jingle perfectly)

Luigi:  I have Farmers, bah bah da bah, bum, bum, bum! (also singing the jingle perfectly)

Peach:  What kind do I have?

Mario:  You can have State Farm, too.  

Bowser and me:  (blank expressions)  *blink, blink*

Me:  Did they just call their insurance agents?

Bowser:  Yup. 


Well played, advertising executives.  Well played.  

Cheers!
Daisy