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If you happened to be driving along an East-West Interstate running through a residential area of Upstate New York this past Saturday, and you witnessed a grown woman falling flat on her face, I mean, performing a complete nosedive . . . that was me.

My husband found a hubcap at the end of our driveway about a week ago, and he left it there hoping someone would notice a part of his car was missing and come around looking for it. I thought to myself, What are the chances of a person, traveling at 55 miles per hour, will realize that his hubcap is missing, let alone remember that our driveway was where it fell off? But I humored my husband, like I often do, and didn’t say anything.

Now we don’t have a complete hubcap sitting at the end of our driveway, but hundreds of tiny plastic pieces littering our yard, thanks to the newspaper deliverer and/or mailman running it over with his car. Did my husband bother to clean up the mess? No, he’s too lazy (his words not mine, and it’s an entirely untrue statement anyway). Did I bother to clean it up? Obviously not, and it’s not that I am lazy. Forgetful, maybe, but not lazy. It’s too cold in the morning to worry about broken hubcaps as I’m waiting to put the kids on the bus; my entire energy surplus is spent trying to keep them from killing each other. And during the day I just don’t give it much (or any) thought. 

I had just retrieved the paper from the mailbox when I thought to myself, Someone really needs to clean up this mess. And then, in the briefest moment in the history of time, I found myself falling, falling, falling . . . kersplat! My first thought was, Ouch! I can’t remember the last time I lost my balance and fell, and now I know why kids often cry. It really hurts!

Unbeknownst to me, I had stepped into the wire rim of the hubcap, which was disguised in the grass, and tripped. It was as if someone tossed a lasso around my ankles and pulled the rope. Aside from skinning two palms and a knee, I hurt my left forearm, which is now throbbing suspiciously. To add insult to injury, my husband showed absolutely no sympathy when I told him what had happened and proffered my injured extremities for examination. Oh, did you fall?he asked in a slightly patronizing way. Donkey.

Ah, well. It could’ve been worse, for sure. As I mentioned before, we live off a very busy road with a constant flow of traffic. By sheer luck, there were no passing cars at the time of my incident. None of my neighbors were outside, and hopefully none were watching me through their windows.

It was just me. And the f*cking hubcap.

What does one do with over 20 years experience in the textile industry? If you are anything like Fagan and have an eye for little-girl charm, you start a business creating hair bows, tutus, and accessories.In 1999, Fagan opened her own children’s clothing boutique. However, frustrated by the lack of high-quality hair bows available to sell in her shop, she decided to make her own. Although Fagan sold her store 2 years ago, she continued selling bows to local customers. As demand grew, she began accepting wholesale orders and then launched her website. Very Sweet Bows is the result of Fagan’s hard work and dedication.

Very Sweet Bows range from infant (1 inch) to large (5 inches), and you will find specific details about each bow with regard to size, available styles, the kind of clip used, and for what type of hair each bow is suitable. If you are looking for something extra fancy, Fagan also makes Confetti and Novelty bows. She’ll even let you build your own! And for those of you who can’t quite make up your mind, Fagan will surprise you with her Bunch of Bows option in which she sends a bargain bag of beautiful bows. Of course your little one will need a place to store all her bows, so don’t forget to check out the personalized bow holders.

But bows is not all that Very Sweet Bows is about; Fagan also designs tutus, each one custom-made using yards of flowing tulle to make your little one feel like royalty. The tutus are available in small, medium and large, and they can fit princesses from 6 months to 7 years.If your girly-girl leaves the house in nothing less than her boutique best, there’s something for her at Very Sweet Bows, as well. Fagan sews an updated version of the simply sweet pillowcase dress and includes a matching bow. Don’t forget the purse, as no dress is complete without one!

Very Sweet Bows is an eye-pleasing, colorful site that is completely user-friendly. All the information that you need to find the perfect product is located neatly in the sidebar or as a graphic link on the homepage. In addition, Fagan’s products are very affordable. If you’re not yet convinced that you need a few Very Sweet Bows for your little one, be sure to check out what the happy customers have to say.

Fagan would like to share one of her most popular designs with one lucky reader! It’s the Crazy Bow!! You get to choose the size. Simply leave a comment on this post by noon eastern, February 5th, and I will announce the winner on next Wednesday’s post. **Open to US residents only. You must be willing to provide your name and mailing address.**

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Congratulations to Jen of Beebee Mod for winning the American Girl book giveaway. Jen, contact me at woolgatherings@gmail.com.

You’d think that as a writer I might be able to come up with a better word than crap, but it’s a fairly appropriate description of what has accumulated on my bathroom floor over the span of five years. My house may be messy, there may be toys strewn about and newspapers piled on tables, but I assure you, actual grime is not something I let fester for too long, especially in the bathroom. With five people living in such a tiny space and sharing one sink, toilet, and tub, you can imagine how often I have to clean the bathroom to keep it even remotely germ free.

But the floor, oh! the floor. It’s the bane of the bathroom. Once glorious in it’s newness, the bathroom floor was quickly revealed for what it truly is: a hindrance of epic proportions. A quick word to you readers who are thinking of laying new floor, do not, under any circumstances, put down pitted linoleum. Despite your most vigorous and sweat-inducing cleaning sessions, your floor will notcome clean. You may scratch the dirty surface a bit, but you’ll be no match for in-ground dirt and product. Before long, your guests will assume that your floor is supposed to look that way.

I’ve discovered a gadget that does work, however, and it is wonderful! It is the Euro-Pro Shark Super Steamer, complete with attachments. It works by heating tap water and releasing it as highly-concentrated steam. If you’re worried about cleaning with harsh chemicals, whether for the sake of your own health or for that of the environment, the Euro-Pro Shark Super Steamer is great because you don’t haveto use any additional products. For pesky problems, you can pre-treat with a lemon juice or vinegar solution.

I cannot tell you how absolutely giddy I was the first time I used the Euro-Pro Shark Super Steamer. I was insanely euphoric to blast away soap scum and hard water deposits from the faucets, mildew stains from tile grout, and ingrained grease and oil from cabinets. Sometimes even though you can’t see something, it’s still there. Lurking. Disgusting.

My husband filmed a short video of me demonstrating my new toy so you can see how easily five years of crap is steamed away from my bathroom floor. A public speaker and beautiful spokesperson, I am not. Consider yourself forewarned.

See how the Euro-Pro Shark Super Steamer works!

I would LOVE to be able to give a steamer away to one of you nice readers, but Shark has refused my numerous attempts to make contact. Shame on you, Shark. And I just don’t have enough in the blog budget (yet!) to splurge on one myself.

**This is not a paid endorsement.**

Diapers have been a staple on my grocery list for close to nine years, but Hallelujah!, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Finally! Once I suggested to Bridget that she wear big-girl panties and use the potty, she agreed and proclaimed diapers to be for babies; she wanted nothing more to do with them. Although Bridget wears panties during the day, she still requires a nighttime diaper to prevent from wetting the bed. Occasionally Bridget will wake up dry, but ten hours is a long time for a toddler, and even some adults, to go without having to visit the loo, and I am not in the habit of withholding liquid. **Bridget pretty much helps herself to a middle-of-the-night drink (my boob). She’s going on 31 months, and there seems to be no end in sight to the night nursing. As this practice is drastically reducing the quality of sleep I receive, we’ll be addressing this issue in the near future. She has slept through the night once in her life (11PM-5AM). For all you parents out there complaining that your five-month-old has yet to sleep through the night, sorry, but you won’t find any sympathy here. Talk to me in two more years when you still haven’t slept.**

In addition to abolishing the nighttime diaper, there is one more aspect of potty training we must master before I can bypass the baby aisle altogether: pooping. My husband and I were lying in bed the other night discussing the consistency (as in texture, not timing) of Bridget’s poops over the past few days. It occurred to me that a marriage has to be either extremely healthy or in dire need of a little spice when you spend your time in bed with your spouse ruminating on your child’s defecation habits rather than, well . . . you know. Ask any parent, however, and she will attest to the fact that nothing provokes worry like her child’s poop, or lack thereof.

Bridget’s poops come in two varieties: small nuggets of concentrated stench or semi-solid poops the size of perfectly-formed tennis balls that leave you wondering how it’s possible that something of that magnitude can manage to pass through such a tiny anus. I know I am not the only parent to have ever questioned the anomoly of why the littlest poops smell the worst or how a 25-lb child can produce so much poop. And to you parents of infants who think diapers are pretty disgusting now, just wait until they get older.

Let’s face it, poop determines a lot about a person’s overall health and dietary habits. As parents, we spend a lot of time thinking about what our kids’ poop looks like. We learn what provokes episodic bouts of constipation and diarrhea and the foods that irritate little tummies. We grow attuned to poop schedules and have a sixth sense for what is going on behind the couch or under the table. We know what the “poop face” looks like even when our toddlers claim they didn’t do anything.

Most toddlers take longer to poop train than potty train, at least in my opinion. Although I am not qualified to offer the physical or psychological reasoning for why this is so, I feel certain that, like potty training, it is a process you just have to accept your child will do on her own terms and not stress out about it too much.

During the first few days that Bridget was wearing panties, she would prance about the house on her tiptoes in obvious discomfort at the impending poo. She’d hold her bottom and insist that she didn’t need to go, crossing her legs and eyes and willing herself not to soil her panties.

It’s okay to poop, I would say. Would you like to sit on the potty, or would you like a diaper instead?

No, diapers are for babies! Bridget was adamant that she didn’t need a diaper, and yet she was just as adamant about not sitting on the potty to poop, either.

Bridget, poop goes in a diaper or in the potty. Poop doesn’t go in your panties or on the floor.

Although Bridget opts to do her business in a diaper (for now), I always give her the option of pooping in the potty, as well. I know better than to force the potty on her or withhold a diaper, as doing so can lead to constipation and bowel infection. Bridget, like all children, needs to feel in control of her bodily functions, and it’s my responsibility as the parent to give her that control by offering her a choice.

Someday, Bridget will decide that she might like to poop in the potty, and she will discover that it is easy and there is nothing scary about it at all. Until then, all I need to be is patient and supportive.

Her new mantra is, It’s okay to poop. It’s okay to poop.

Come on folks! Bridget needs A LOT of votes to win the Toddler Trouble photo contest!!! Click here and then click the photo of Bridget. You can vote today and tomorrow!!

Who would have thought that what started out as a simple hobby would flourish into a successful blog and business? That’s what happened with eMoms at Home, an internet magazine founded by Wendy Piersall, whose mission it is to inspire, motivate, and impart practical information that help entrepreneurs grow their business.

Wendy describes herself a dreamer, and it was those big dreams that enabled her to make eMoms at Home the fastest-growing site in the home-business niche. eMoms at Home is comprised of six different business and parenting channels, and you can find information on everything from marketing a craft business to winning cool stuff, quality information brought to you by brilliant bloggers who are passionate about what they do.

It takes a lot of work to run an online magazine, though. “Blogging is a wonderful business,” says Wendy, “but if you are running a network or magazine, it’s more business than blogging these days. Not like the good old days when I could spend the day writing, responding to comments and visiting my friends’ sites!” Wendy advises that if you are thinking of starting an online magazine of your own to do it in stages and listen to what the community wants and needs from your site. You will need to consider profit margins and be well versed in legal notifications and contracts, all the behind-the-scenes details that differentiate a regular blog from a full-fledged business.

When Wendy is not busy with eMoms at Home, you can find her enjoying life with her family. When asked what success means to her, Wendy replied, “I think I can only be as successful as I choose to be. And success to me means different things on different days. Some days it means making a huge difference in someone’s life. Other days it just means being able to get something done without locking my kids in a closet and “losing” the key. I think a balanced perspective is a big part of success - because I need to have big goals to make eMoms at Home what I want it to be, but I can’t lose sight of the little goals, like making cookies with my kids, getting a date with my hubby, or treating myself to Starbucks.”

Keep your eyes open for changes to take place with eMoms at Home. Wendy informed me the site will be undergoing another expansion with the addition of more blogs, an interactive space for visitors, and a place where entrepreneurs can meet, promote their own businesses, and help each other out.

Welcome to Good News Sunday, the day in which I share nothing but Good News. If you would like to participate, please leave your Good News in the comments section or write a Good News post of your own. If you would like your Good News included in next week’s post, please email the details to woolgatherings@gmail.com . Be sure to put “Good News” in the subject field.

My freelance writing career continues to grow week by week. Not only am I going to help a freelance writing friend with a current project, there is the chance that what we’re doing could be an ongoing endeavor. I was also asked to judge a writing contest and write a guest post - both on high-profile sites that have left me wondering, me? really? me?

Bridget has been using her potty chair on a consistent basis and even told me to GET OUT the other day so she could have some privacy. Well, okay! She knows how to undress and dress herself, flush the potty, and wash her hands (with assistance). We celebrated her success with a new package of Dora panties.

We survived the Sock Hop at the elementary school. With over 500 people in attendance, this was the largest Sock Hop in the history of the elementary school. To say it was crowded would be a gross understatement. The kids had loads of fun, however. Hannah performed all the mandatory “dance” dances perfectly, and Jacob had fun doing his own thing, which included a rather spastic sort of breakdance. He met with a friend, had a slice of pizza, and won a prize for being an enthusiastic dancer. Bridget fell asleep, despite the loud music.

The kids found the perfect icy spot on our backyard hill and spent part of Saturday afternoon slipping down it. Hooray for outside time!

My husband said I looked hot. (well, he used a different term which is not appropriate for a family-friendly site).

I spoke to an old friend on the phone and found out she’s having a baby in March!

She’s due to have a baby SOON, and the baby might even be here now!

This knitted doll bed is TOO cute! Michelle is not only a fantastic writer, she’s creative with her hands, as well!

Probably the BEST news I have to report is Bridget, for the first time ever, giving me a tight squeeze and saying I love you, mommy!! 

Stacy, of Mama’s Doodles, has this terrifically creative idea about a traveling tail. Well, all of Stacy’s ideas are creative; she’s just cool like that.

If you’re at all familiar with Flat Stanley, the traveling tail works on a similar premise. You’ll receive the tail in the mail, photograph it in fun and silly ways, then send it along to the next recipient on the list. I happen to be one of the first participats to get the tail, and I am EXCITED!!! I haven’t told my kids yes because, well, I want to be the first to wear it.

If you would like to be added to the list, or read the complete rules, click here. Stacy informed me that this is an ongoing project, so you can add your name to the list at any time. Pictured ~ a tail Stacy made for my nephew.

 And if you feel so inclined as to support an entrepreneur in her creative endeavors, perhaps you might write a post about Stacy’s project, too! Have fun . . . 

Tub time and water play are lifesavers for any work-at-home parent. Provided that the child is old enough, she can sit in the tub or stand at the sink and play with little supervision. I take advantage of Bridget’s morning bath to get started on the day’s work. Her tub time provides 20 minutes of uninterrupted thought and because the bathroom is located across the hall, I can hear her while she plays and feel confident that she is safe, relatively speaking (read, as opposed to climbing on the kitchen counter and swiping the steak knives or getting into the medicine cabinet).

As I was working the other day, I could hear Bridget becoming increasingly anxious and distressed. I was sure she had found a long strand of hair floating in the water, which often freaks her out, but just as I was getting up from my chair to see about the problem, out of the bathroom she flew, naked and terrified.

It’s scary, Mommy! It’s so scary!

My initial guess about the hair was wrong, I surmised, and I immediately assumed there was a small spider in the tub. Bridget has a talent for finding spiders that are imperceptible to a parent’s eye, and usually you have to humor her by “squashing” and “removing” the invisible spider. Did I mention that Bridget has an imaginary dog named Bob? Who’s to say she doesn’t imagine a few spiders every now and then for the sake of a little drama. Life is pretty boring around here, otherwise.

Bridget yanked me from my chair and pushed me into the bathroom, all the while hiding behind my legs and covering her eyes with one hand.

It’s pretty scary, she panted, as if the fright of whatever-it-was had taken her breath away entirely.

What? I bent down and examined the water.

That, she pointed.

I followed the path of her finger. What? You mean your (pause) shadow?

My shadow?

Yes, your shadow. I demonstrated by waving my hand.

My shadow. Ohhhhh, yeah!

Further proof that I have a maggot for a child. Vote for Bridget in the “Toddler Trouble” photo contest!!

*That’s chocolate milk powder on her face and stove (it was also on the range hood and floor). Oh, and that would be pink marker on her forehead. You should have seen it yesterday. Sigh.*

There is a reason why my husband and I refer to our children as The Three Maggots. First of all, I must add, for the sake of any first-time visitors, that this particular moniker is an accurate representation of how our kids behave on a normal basis. Secondly, there is a whole lotta love flowing in this house, and our children have never questioned our devotion to them, regardless how we refer to them.The kids were not born maggots. Nay, they emerged from my womb the embodiment of perfection, and they each earned their maggot badge at a different time in their life.

Hannah, who was a lovely and easy baby, didn’t become a full-fledged maggot until she entered elementary school. Sure, she made her share of messes as a toddler, but it was never more than I could handle. It was in kindergarten, however, that we realized she was a little Junie B. Jones-ish. *Junie B. Jones is a fictional character in a series of stories about a little girl who gets into trouble. Junie B. Jones is a modern Ramona Quimby.* I should point out that Mother Nature, God, or the random intermingling of chromosomes played a cruel joke on my husband and me with Hannah being the firstborn. The easy ones should always, always come last, because that’s when us tired parents of multiples NEED A BREAK.

Jacob became a maggot his second night at the hospital. Thank goodness for the nurse who took him and gave me the BEST five hours of sleep I have EVER had. Sleepless nights. Endless crying. Refusal to eat. Inability to soothe or be soothed. Looking back, I don’t know how I managed to function as a stay-at-home mom to both a toddler and a high-maintenence infant. It was a dark time for sure. Post-partum depression is very real. 

Bridget avoided maggothood until she learned to walk. To you parents of crawlers who think your child is into everything, just you wait. Enjoy this time of partial immobility. Things go downhill quickly once they learn how to walk and climb. 

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I will preface this story by saying that I try not to be uptight about the messes my kids make. As long as they are having fun, using their imaginations, and not killing themselves or each other, I stay out of their fantasy games. Like most kids, mine love to make forts. Never mind the fact that their forts generally consume every ounce of space in our main room or require the use of every chair, pillow, or blanket. They know that as long as they clean up the mess before Dad returns from work, life is good.

So my kids were downstairs the other day crafting yet another fort. I had just sat down at the computer to work when Jacob came flying up the stairs. Mom! Hannah spilled soap all over the floor! It’s leaking everywhere! I didn’t do it, Mom. Hannah did it. I promise I didn’t do it.

My initial thought was, Damnit! An entire bottle of Tide is wasted on the floor. My second thought was, Damnit! It’s gonna take forever to clean laundry soap out of the carpet.

My third thought, as I was descending the stairs, was, Damnit! That’s not soap. That’s bleach!

Yes, one of my children (they each blame the other) got into the laundry room and decided a bottle of bleach would be the perfect heavy item to weight the edge of one of the fort blankets. They perched it on a shelf rather precariously and when one of the kids jerked the blanket, it caused the bottle of bleach to come plummeting down and explode.

My husband didn’t react a bit to the mess or smell, which is odd, since he’s the one who often overreacts. And me? Well, I was screaming as loud as I possibly could, TOXIC! TOXIC! EVERYBODY UPSTAIRS! in a rather frantic, yet comical, sort of way. My kids were panic-stricken, of course, crying at the mess, crying because I was screaming, crying because they were afraid they were going to die of toxic fumes. *I should say that I am a bit phobic of ALL cleaning products. The bleach is for our convoluted water-treatment system.*

Meanwhile, my husband and I were left sopping up a gallon + amount of bleach from the carpet with all the windows open and fans running (while it was 17 degrees outside). Entry to the basement, the main play area, was banned for two days until the fumes dissipated.

This morning my husband said to me, The basement actually smells clean for once.

Maggots!

I recently posted an article that deals with talking to kids about sex. No matter how liberal and open-minded a parent you may be, THE TALK still causes a bit of uncomfortable squirming, hand-wringing, and eye aversion. I’m speculating it’s not a fun event, and I won’t be making popcorn for the occasion. (or maybe I should?)

My oldest daughter is eight-years-old, and in March she will be learning the basic facts about human reproduction during a health unit at school. Before you begin lamenting that she’s too young and shouldn’t be burdened with that sort of information, the discussion is clinical and matter-of-fact. The school, in addition to my husband and I, has been preparing Hannah and her peers for this unit since kindergarten. The information is cumulative and presented in an age-appropriate manner.

I believe part of the problem we face when talking to kids about sex, especially us parents with daughters, is where to begin. There is so much information to convey besides the physical act of sexual intercourse: body changes, hormones, mentruation, boobs, bras, pads, tampons, kissing, holding hands . . . .

Crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your eyes seems like a nice alternative, indeed.

For Christmas, I presented Hannah with two books: The Care & Keeping of You and The Care & Keeping of ME, The Body Book Journal. As an eight-year-old girl, I knew these two books would appeal to Hannah, and they would help me break the ice to lead up to THE TALK.

The Care & Keeping of You is geared for girls, ages 8-12. It is a picture-filled, easy-to-read book that covers body basics, including proper hygiene, body changes, buying the first bra, healthy eating habits, eating disorders, and more. There is a detailed section on getting your period, including what it is, why it happens, choosing between pads and tampons, changing and disposing of pads and tampons, PMS. The book talks about shaving, sports safety, sleep troubles, and dealing with feelings. In my opinion, the information is accurate, thorough, and provides the jumpstart I need to talk to my daughter about another part of growing up: sex.

The Care & Keeping of ME, The Body Book Journal is the companion book. It allows your daughter a private place to answer fill-in-the-blank questions about what she’s thinking and how she’s feeling. 

You can WIN a copy of both these books! All you have to do is leave a comment on this post between now and noon eastern on January 29th. The winner will be randomly selected and announced on January 30th. Due to cost, this contest is open only to those living in the United States.

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Nicole John, consultant for Heritage Makers, has announced a Valentine’s Day Special. To ensure delivery of your photo storybook or other photo product by Valentine’s Day, be sure to complete your order by February 1st. Contact Nicole about the available Love Packages. If you are just getting started, inquire about the Storybooking Starter Package. Do you have a lot of people that would like a photo storybook? Ask Nicole about the Buy More And Save option.

For toddlers attending daycare or preschool, there exists yet another dimension to potty training. Instead of parents helping the child exclusively, parents and teacher(s) must become co-leaders for the event.

Holley Padula, a teacher in a Montessori toddler classroom, is well versed in toddler potty training, where the process begins when children reach 18 months old. At first, toddlers play an active role in diapering and are simply encouraged to sit on the potty with each change. “I find the younger you start, the easier it is,” says Holley. “Eighteen-month-olds are so eager to learn and try. I find children over two have issues with diapers, and it becomes a control struggle. What are required then are patience and the ability not to get upset by accidents.” Once the child starts using the potty, Holley transitions her to panties and discontinues diapers (with the exception of poo, which is another issue entirely). Above all, Holley stresses that potty training depends largely on the child and can be a slow process.

So what can you, as a parent, do to facilitate potty training at your child’s school?

• Choose a daycare or preschool that is willing to work with you, regardless of the issue. *At the risk of stepping up on my parental soapbox for a moment, I feel I should emphasize that you should never adopt an “us against them” mentality. In other words, it is the responsibility of both the parent and the teacher to achieve a cohesive balance between the home and school to ensure the emotional, physical, and educational well-being of the child.* Many parents I know, especially if their toddler is in all-day care, take the teacher’s lead to reduce the child’s confusion at home. Children are creatures of habit and crave routine. Discuss what the classroom “potty procedures” are, and then follow those at home.
• Keep an open dialogue with your child’s teacher, something that Holley says is important. The birth of a new baby, an extended illness, of other big event can affect potty training. Let your toddler’s teacher know of any out-of-the-ordinary events. Likewise, you should receive a daily report on what goes on in the classroom to alert you to any abnormal behaviors or major changes at school.
• Send your child to school with plenty of extra clothes. She will have accidents.  
• Persevere.

Join me next Tuesday as we discuss (duh duh DUH) . . . poo.

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In unrelated news, Bridget is a finalist in a “Toddler Trouble” photo contest. Here’s the deal, my husband and I are celebrating nine years of wedded bliss on February 5th. We would REALLY like to win the prize, which is a $100 gift card to Target. You can help us win by clicking on Bridget’s picture once a day between now and January 30th. Help us out, will ya? And anyway, Bridget is, by far, the cutest kid in the lineup.

Although he likens himself to a “reclusive flake,” there’s an element of creative genius to Gary Rith, professional potter of eleven years and author of Potter’s Blog. How else can you account for clay pigs, dollhouse miniatures, or elephant-themed tea sets? He’s not your run-of-the-mill potter, that’s for sure, and I’d wager that any Gary Rith Aficionado could identify his work at a glance.

The one thing I like most about Gary’s work is that it is far from ordinary. Whether it’s the curve of a handle or a squared-off rim, there’s a distinctive element to each of his designs that no other potter, in my opinion, has.

Gary describes his experience with pottery as “love at first sight.” Originally enrolled in college to study painting, Gary discovered the ceramics studio on his first day and never looked back. When asked what he thinks makes a person artistic, he replied by saying there is more to being an artist than creating. To be successful, an artist must have skill, whether it’s through natural ability or practice. That skill is a quality an artist should constantly try to perfect. “I respect people who get up early and get to work and make something,” he says.

Like many work-from-home professionals, Gary rises early and divides his day between his responsibilities in the studio and those on the domestic front, which include an early-morning walk with his wife, tending to their animals, keeping a tidy home, and preparing meals (which he loves doing). He is in the studio seven days a week working on both old and new pots and designs, and there are always numerous pictures on Potter’s Blog to account for his busy schedule. Although “deathly afraid of people,” maintaining a blog has provided Gary an outlet for meeting friends, having fun, and marketing his work in the process.

For anyone who thinks throwing a pot looks fun, proceed with caution. Although Gary recommends trying pottery, he also admits it’s much harder than it looks, “like rocket science or brain surgery looks easy when you watch an expert.”

Stop by Potter’s Blog where everyone, it seems, is one big happy family and open to a little ribbing once in awhile. In addition, if you care to purchase a piece or two, it’s all for sale!

Welcome to Good News Sunday, the day on which I post nothing but, well, Good News! If you have Good News that you would like me to include in the next week’s post, please send it to me at woolgatherings@gmail.com with “Good News” in the subject field. I will also include a link to your site. Or, you can leave your Good News in the comments field or in a Good News post of your own. Your Good News can be about you, someone else, or something you’ve read, seen, or heard. As long as it’s good, we’re all good!

Lis Garrett’s Good News:

Jacob has a best friend. The school district is being cooperative with moving forward on evaluations for Jacob. Hannah, at eight years old, is becoming a brilliant writer and has written a TEN page story for school. Bridget has been wearing Elmo panties and using the potty. She even stayed dry during naptime. I conducted my first phone interview for an article I am writing. I sent another query. We had our AWESOME, appendage-friendly garbage disposal installed on Friday (look for an upcoming endorsement). We also had our pipes snaked for clogs and an old water heater removed, which gave us free space in the laundry room. This elephant teaset put a BIG grin on my face. This anatomically-correct drawing made me laugh. I have incredibly supportive blog friends. My niece turns ONE today. My friend turns THIRTY-ONE on Tuesday. A misunderstanding, which left me feeling rather ill, was rectified. My husband brought home Nutty Bars or, as Bridget calls them, Tasty Chomps. After almost three weeks, I am FINALLY over my nasty cough. I got to have lunch with my husband (and Bridget) at a real restaurant - during the week - and had wonderful French Onion Soup. Hannah and Jacob worked together to clean their rooms . . . with NO ONE asking.

It was a week of good news, indeed! 

My husband and I are hardly up-to-date with the latest movies. Going to the movie theater is cost prohibitive, so we are selective about the pictures we see on the big screen. The last time I was at the theater was the afternoon I took my daughter to see The Golden Compass, and I nearly fainted at paying $9.00 for two small drinks, never mind the cost of admission. At the very least, I’m certain I laughed in the attendant’s face in a you’ve-gotta-be-kidding-me sort of way.

I subscribed to Netflix some months ago in order to relieve the weekend boredom that ensues when a couple is too tired to do much more than lounge on the couch with a defeated sense about them. Friday night comes around, and I feel deflated from a week’s worth of too much work and too little play. All I want to do is sit bleary-eyed in front of the television with a tasty snack, cold drink, and fuzzy blanket.

Our latest flick was Crash, the 2004 film with a big-name cast, such as Sandra Bullock, Don Cheadle, and Matt Dillon. The movie is set in Los Angeles, and it follows various characters throughout a few days of their lives and how each of them must contend with personal stereotypes. The film was brilliant, in my opinion, and it got me to thinking about not only how I view other people, but how people view me, as well. I hate to admit this, but I have a laundry list of stereotypes against people that I am too embarrassed (ashamed? afraid?) to talk about here. Were I a gutsy broad, I might divulge those prejudices for the sake of debate. I’m not in the market for controversy, though, at least not today.

But how do other people see me, I wonder?

There were those who judged me based on the grades I received and how I behaved in school. I was the consummate name-taker, admittedly the teacher’s pet. I was the goodie two-shoes. The know-it-all. My friends were few, but loyal. Those who took the time to get to know me often said, I used to think you were such a snob. But why?

When I was twenty years old, I fell into a conversation with a young mother-of-two, a girl not much older than I, who thought me quite virginal. I was curious as to which of my qualities she thought particularly chaste. We had been co-workers for a year, so her observations surprised me. When I questioned her, she replied, You just seem like one. On the other hand, I had formed rather strong opinions about her, because she was a single mother who had bore two children by two different men. My judgments were unfair, to say the least, as she was nothing less than a strong woman and wonderful mother.

My husband’s mother, before she became my mother-in-law, thought I might be Jewish, based only on a picture. Why? Because of my nose? Well, I’m French-Czech, if you’re curious about my heritage. And Protestant.

Having announced the impending birth of our conceived-out-of-wedlock lovechild, I endured a most excruciating three-second once-over by a “friend” of the family. As long as I live, I will never forget that look.

At twenty-one and big-bellied, I walked the local mall for exercise and braved the sideways glances from the older crowd. I felt like screaming, I’m married! We live in a nice house! My husband has a great job!

I’ve been judged on my looks, how I dress, how I speak (too slowly, according to my Irish brother-in-law), where I live, what I buy, where I shop. Most of it an inaccurate depiction of my character. But I’m equally guilty of making snap judgments.

From now on, you can find the Up For Debate articles at www.LisGarrett.com . I’m in the process of tweaking my blogging schedule at both sites to get a better idea of what is working and is not (and to hopefully offer you MORE great content).

So tell me what you like and what you don’t like. Of what do you want to read more, and what type of articles leave you yawning? Now’s your chance to offer constructive criticism, either in the comments field or at woolgatherings@gmail.com .

Leave your two cents and then hop on over to www.LisGarrett.com to read about a rite of passage all us parents will have to go through at some point. ;-) 

It’s been too long since I’ve provided an update on Jacob, mainly because we’ve been delayed in having evaluations performed (thanks to snow and sick children). Although some of you may not care in the least about my six-year-old son and his challenges, there are others out there reading this that do benefit from my occasional reports. I love receiving your emails, whether it’s to vent about your own child’s challenges, to offer hope, or to say I know what you’re going through.

My husband and I attended a meeting at Jacob’s school on Monday, where we met with several people, including Jacob’s kindergarten teacher and two Academic Intervention Specialists. I requested this meeting, nay; I began fighting for this meeting and pleading Jacob’s case back in October 2007. 

Based on initial reception and testimony that the school district is the enemy, I was certain I would go into this meeting and receive the cold shoulder. Jacob’s pediatrician first recommended we meet with the IST (Instructional Support Team) as a possible first step in getting help with Jacob’s supposed sensory issues, particularly with how he relates to food. I say supposed, because he has never been formally diagnosed with anything. Jacob’s pediatrician reasoned that if he were to receive Occupational Therapy in school that might work in resolving his food sensitivities.

Do you know how difficult it is to get help of any kind unless you are formally diagnosed with something? It’s not often that professionals are willing to help based on a mother’s hunch. Some people may question my continued persistence with having Jacob tested, tested, and tested some more, but here’s the thing: we (meaning mostly me and the peiatrician) know that there is something unique about Jacob. In my heart and soul and gut, I know that he is special and, perhaps, extraordinarily gifted. However, his uniqueness often gets in the way of normal day-to-day functioning, and that’s a real problem.

In addition to Jacob’s sensory issues, he’s lagging behind in his fine-motor ability. The IST didn’t want to meet with Jacob or us about his sensory issues alone; at the time, they felt we needed to see a doctor in a private practice in order to get help for that. I’m not sure how much our health insurance plan will cover for that type of therapy. Frankly, I’m scared to find out. However, the IST was willing to meet with us in regards to his fine-motor skills because, in their opinion, that is definitely something that would affect his ability to learn (you think?).

On a side note, I’ve been reading a book by Dr. Mel Levine called A Mind At A Time, which I’ve been talking about at www.LisGarrett.com. It’s a fascinating look at children, how their minds are wired, and how their brain plays an important role in their ability to function. If you’ve got a school-aged child who you suspect might be lazy, unmotivated, or simply a troublemaker, I urge you to read his book. It’ll make you think.

My husband and I arrived at the school and sat down for the meeting. The first thing that occurred was Jacob’s teacher assuring us that Jacob is one smart cookie. He scored well above average on his PALS, which is an assessment test given to students during various times throughout the year. In fact, he did so well on some parts that there is no reason to retest his abilities. Jacob has a fascination with numbers and, during his free time, often writes the numbers 1 to 100 repeatedly on a piece of paper (he does this at home, as well). This is not normal behavior for a kindergartener, and it’s definitely abnormal to have such an obsession with numbers (at his age) so that it consumes him.

Jacob still is quite anti-social at school and doesn’t make eye contact with many people outside his comfort group (namely us). He has formed a strong friendship with another little boy (who we had over to our house recently – fine young lad!). Jacob is not malicious; in fact, he is quite sweet. However, there is a boy whom Jacob likes to provoke. According to his teacher, Jacob enjoys drama and gets a rise out of seeing this other little boy effectively blow a gasket. I nodded my head in agreement and attested that Jacob often provokes his sisters intentionally. Don’t hit the nice kitty, Bridget, he will say, even though Bridget may have had no previous inclination to do so. Then guess what she does?

After his teacher concluded, we heard from one of the specialists. She shared her concerns not only about his fine-motor skills (which are actually graphomotor skills), but his speech, as well. She found him to be pleasant, but almost lifeless (he often won’t eat much at school). He barely made eye contact with her and shuffled when walking down the hall (yes, he does that at home).

Jacob scored perfectly when tested about certain aspects of language and was able to associate letters with their respective sounds. He was even able to provide an example of an object beginning with each letter, above what children his age should be able to do. She had Jacob copy words on a paper and noticed his weak pencil grip and almost inability to bear down with the tip in order to produce any sort of mark. Jacob also did something interesting to her, which merits further investigation, in her opinion. Instead of copying the words one underneath another, he copied them at a perfect diagonal. She said this often signifies some sort of perception dysfunction. When asked what makes school difficult, Jacob replied, When we’re at the reading tables, I look at the words, and they just disappear.

Both specialists see a real need to have Jacob evaluated further. So, here we go again. While still in preschool, Jacob was evaluated and determined to have no issues that warranted intervention. Yeah. Right. I remember leaving that meeting with the Committee for Special Education and sobbing in my car because I knew they couldn’t be right. Their determination was what prompted us to take him to a child psychologist. She was the one who alerted us to the fact that Jacob hovers on at the autism spectrum. We still can’t rule out Asperger’s. 

Now that Jacob is a year older and in elementary school, we have to again move forward with evaluations done through the CSE (Committee for Special Education). In short, we will, again, be meeting with the school nurse, school psychologist, school social worker, reading specialist, speech therapist, special education teacher, and a partridge in a pear tree. It’s their ruling that will determine if Jacob will be eligible for any sort of intervention.

I asked the two specialists, off the record, if they thought Jacob needed intervention. They both said definitely, whether it’s Occupational Therapy or Physical Therapy. When I mentioned that the child psychologist wouldn’t rule out Asperger’s, one of the specialists grinned and said,  I wondered about that.

Jacob is a special boy. It’s the sort of special that I don’t really understand. But, darn it if I’m not trying. The two specialists were impressed, I think, by how much I knew and understood about the whole evaluation process and how passionate I am about getting help for Jacob. One of them said, we can tell you have your speech memorized. I’ve been searching for answers since Jacob was a toddler, and I feel like I am so close . . .

So what’s the lesson in all this? I’ve received many emails from parents who say, we suspect. All I can say to you is, you have to go with your gut feeling. Aside from Jacob’s pediatrician, I have had no real support (although the support from YOU never ceases to amaze me). My family, husband included, wavers on whether or not they think something is different about Jacob. Different doesn’t mean bad. I am convinced that Jacob is a one helluva kid, yet I don’t know how to manage him appropriately. While we are getting some aspects of his behavior under control, there are others we don’t know how to handle: the strange noises, the obsessions, the quirks, his inability to understand personal space, his anti-social behavior, his food issues.

How can I, as a mother, ignore all of this? I don’t want him diagnosed with a disease, disability, or dysfunction for the sake of labeling him. I don’t think it would be cool or hip to say I have a child with Asperger’s and then flaunt him like a new accessory. I am well aware of those who make the argument that too many kids are being diagnosed these days, for whatever the reason. Is it environmental? Genetic? Both? Jacob’s problems didn’t manifest over night; they have been present since infancy. I knew, I knew, from the minute he was born that something about him was different. But God, how I love that boy . . .

Getting back to suspicions. Don’t delay! If you suspect there might be something not quite right about your child, talk to your pediatrician. Early intervention is best. In my case, I proceeded with little support from my husband. That’s not to say that he is a bad father; he is reluctant to admit our son might have real issues, behavioral or learning. As far as I’m concerned, even though Jacob is our child, I don’t need my husband’s permission to talk to the pediatrician about any concerns I am having. I handle their healthcare anyway because it falls into the jurisdiction of me being a stay-at-home mom. Will I consult with my husband and family first? Absolutely. However, they won’t determine what I do in the interests of my child. If I thought Jacob had a broken leg and my husband thought it only a sprain, do you think I would hem and haw about what to do? Of course not; I would receive professional help and guidance immediately.

I have my own paperwork to fill out now and get back in ASAP. The one thing about dealing with school districts and committees is that everything takes a long time. Too long, as far as I’m concerned.  

So now that your toddler is showing signs of potty readiness and you have thought long and hard about how best to tackle the process, now is the time to implement your plan. Those of us with experience in potty training can tell you that, as with most well-thought out plans, even the best intentions can go awry. I cannot express to you enough the importance of being patient. If you’re lucky, your toddler will learn quickly. If she is “slow,” however, the frustrations of wondering if she will be the only kindergartner still wearing a diaper will leave you feeling exhausted and frazzled. Chill, mama! Just go with the flow . . .

Purchase a pair of training pants. There are several options regarding the type of training pants you might use. My mother used what was available to her in 1978-1979 when I was being trained – thick, cotton underpants topped with a protective, plastic bulletproof covering. Or maybe that was leak-proof. Although modern moms can still opt for these types of training pants, we also have the option of choosing disposable underwear (i.e., Pull Ups), or regular panties. Me? I prefer regular panties. My kids love designs on their underpants vs. the no-frill variety; Bridget was adamant about choosing both a package of Sesame Street panties and Dora panties, and she is more cooperative with putting them on. Although she doesn’t usually have an accident, it’s evident when she does because there is very little cloth to absorb the mess. In other words, she’s caught with pee running down her leg. We have wooden floors, by the way. Although I don’t recommend Pull Ups or other disposable pants for the simple fact they are too much like diapers, they are nice for car trips or outings where a public toilet is not always available or the best choice.

Get rid of those onesies. Your toddler is not a baby anymore, so nix the baby clothes. Likewise, don’t buy clothes with complicated buttons, snaps, or zippers in the important nether region. Your toddler is supposed to be learning the whole process of potty training, not just control, so purchase a few simple pants with elastic waistbands that she can yank down and pull up easily. Trust me, if she is on the verge of having an accident, you will appreciate clothes that can be removed quickly.

Let her bear her arse. Take away the security of a diaper, and what little assurance underpants provide, to help her get in touch with her body and its pee pee cues. Weather and privacy permitted, you can even let her run around outside, sans clothes. Just don’t let her play in the sandbox.

Watch your kid and the clock like a hawk. I usually set the timer for 30 minutes and, when it beeps, I ask Bridget if she has to go potty. If she says no, I set the timer again. If she has an accident, I reassure her that accidents happen but that pee pee goes in the potty. And that’s it. Do not, do not, do not ever, ever, ever yell at or belittle your child for having an accident!! After all, it’s called an accident for a reason. True story – I once worked at a daycare in which a 5-year-old boy had problems controlling his bladder. On more than one occasion, one of the adults yelled at him for wetting his pants. It got to the point where he was so scared to tell anyone, he would hide. Ugh! That was over a decade ago, and it still breaks my heart to think this one moronic woman caused such misery in this little boy. Why, if I had been his mother . . .

Do not force your child to sit on the potty. In other words, do not make your child sit on the potty longer than it takes you to read a board book. Don’t forget that going potty requires muscle control, something of which she is just learning, and she can’t always produce when sitting. Try turning on the water to see if that helps. Again, don’t say things like, “You can’t get up until you go pee pee.” Come on now, really.

Praise your child’s efforts, but don’t go overboard. You don’t need to do a song and dance each time your child pees or poos in the potty, but a little positive reinforcement goes a long way toward progress. Likewise, if you child has an accident, give her some reassurance.

Say bye-bye to pee and poo. If you are using a potty chair, empty the contents into the toilet and let your child flush them away. Remember to always, always help her wash her hands afterwards. Learning about proper hygiene is part of the process, too.

Join me next week as I talk about potty training at preschool.

“We believe in the ozone layer, but we’ve never seen it either!”

What Lorna and Tamara answered when asked if they believe there is such a thing as balance.

If Freelance Parent were an infant, you might find it playing contentedly with it hands and feet or rolling over on the floor. At four months old, this meeting ground for work-at-home parents, run jointly by Lorna Doone Brewer and Tamara Berry, is still very much in its infancy; however, Freelance Parent doesn’t seem to be suffering any growing pains.

Friends and former co-workers, Lorna and Tamara found themselves in the proverbial pot of hot water when they were laid off from their job. As writers and editors, they decided to go into business together as a way to get by. With complementary personalities and interests, Lorna and Tamara soon discovered their decision was worth the risk.

With Lorna’s Master’s Degree in Organizational Leadership and Tamara’s Bachelor’s Degree in English, the two use their combined skills to run their business effectively. Likewise, they prove continuously to their loyal readers that they are quite the dynamic duo with their get-it-done attitude. Freelance Parent offers “a glimpse into what it’s really like to start a business, run a family, work from home, and all that jazz.” Perhaps the reason why Lorna and Tamara have a faithful following is that they write honest and informative posts on the challenges of working from home, told through creatively crafted metaphorical prose.

On the business front, Lorna and Tamara do a lot more laughing than arguing. “Our number one piece of advice for working with a partner,” says Lorna and Tamara, “is to have a sense of humor.” The success of their business is their number one goal, so they try not to let ego get in the way of the work that has to be done.

In their personal lives, Tamara is the mother of a young daughter, and Lorna is expecting her first baby this month. For Lorna, her role as a freelance parent will certainly change as she is faced with the demands of a newborn. The great thing about being in business with another work-at-home mother, however, is having a partner who understands. Although Lorna will be taking a step back from her career for the first few weeks to focus on her new family, Tamara will be hard at work, as usual. When I asked Tamara if she had given Lorna any advice, she applied appropriately, “Get a support network.”

Although both Lorna and Tamara are still on the search for the ever-elusive “balance,” they both admit that they feel closer to it now than when they worked outside the home. “I’m happier,” says Tamara. “I make my own schedule, and I don’t have anyone to answer to but Lorna and myself - and I like both of us!”

If you are a work-at-home parent, stop by Freelance Parent today and say hello to both Lorna and Tamara. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed! 

The following is a little disturbing but yes, there is a point . . . 

My local paper ran a story recently that told of a man who tossed his four children, ranging in age from 4 months to 3 years, off an 80-foot bridge. The man, who has a drug habit, reportedly had argued with his wife just prior to the incident. The children have not been recovered yet. **edited to add - the youngest child was just recovered**

I hate stories like this.Feeling a mother’s rage, I want nothing more than to claw this monster’s eyes out with my own fingers and rip his heart from his body with my bare hands. Had these been my children, I would have killed the bastard and then jumped off the bridge myself. I couldn’t live with all of my children being taken away from me in such a brutal fashion. Mine would be a grim existence.

Stories like this do nothing more than cause me to obsess about everything that is bad in the world. I picture my husband tossing our children off a bridge, and I can hear them screaming. I can see their horrified expressions. I can feel their terror. I can imagine them hitting the water and then drowning, little arms and legs kicking the water frantically until they are overcome by darkness.

Stories like this send me to a locked bathroom, tucked away in isolation so I can cry and ask, “Why? Why? Why is there such cruelty?”

My husband and I talked about why bad news is sensationalized. Many people, unfortunately, thrive on bad news; they seek it out to revel in another’s misery or demise. But why? Is it to provoke emotion (obviously, for me, it works quite well). Reading about bad news is all so tiring, so I’ve decided to institute a new feature at www.LisGarrett.com called Good News Sunday. Here’s how it works: simply send any good news you may have to woolgatherings@gmail.com. Mark the subject line, “Good News Sunday.” The good news can be about you, someone else you know, or about a story you have heard. Each Sunday, I will post your good news. Perhaps one piece of good news might seem inconsequential, but an entire post of good news could really brighten a person’s day.

What do you think? Are you on board?

****Don’t forget about my eBay items and our impending road trip to the Midwest!! For all you fabric lovers out there, I have listed my entire fabric supply in one HUGE lot - about 20 lbs. Bidding starts at $20.00**** 

Have you ever questioned the safety of the personal care products you purchase for your family? If so, you will want to visit the Environmental Working Group’s Skin Deep: cosmetic safety database in which you can search the toxicity levels of products such as cosmetics, baby care, skin care (and more!).

The cosmetic safety database offers a three-tiered scoring system ranging from low hazard (0-2), moderate hazard (3-6), and high hazard (7-10). You can either search for a specific brand, which will return every product available in their database under that name, or by known products. With nearly 25,000 products in the cosmetic safety database, you are sure to find items that are safe for you and your family to use. Read their tips list or various articles on research being conducted by the Environmental Working Group. **Even though a product may score low on the hazard scale, it does not necessarily mean that product is safe. Law does not require safety studies, and the information compiled in the cosmetics database is based on what is available to the public. Refer to the tips list for ways to minimize your risk.**

The important thing is to be informed before you head to the grocery store and fill your cart with body wash, shampoo, or lotion.

Still not concerned enough for yourself? How about for your baby?

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Congratulations to Naomi of Superdumb Supervillian for winning the set of Magneatos from eBeanstalk!! For those of you who didn’t win, head on over to eBeanstalk to pick up a set of your own. Don’t forget to use the coupon code woolgatherings in order to save 10% on your purchase!

Thanks to Deb of Three Weddings (or die trying) for providing this week’s Up For Debate article. Deb is a wife and mother of three girls ages 11, 5, and 3. For the past 4 1/2 years, she has been self-employed as an in-home daycare provider for infants and toddlers up to 18 months of age.

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It has become common practice for women to receive the AFP & Triple Screen blood test during their pregnancy. Many doctors practically insist a woman receive these tests (especially if 35 or older) while others simply offer them. In my three pregnancies, my doctors provided me with the information, but did not push for the tests. I was 35-36 during my last pregnancy. In all pregnancies I asked, “What is the benefit of this test?” All three times the answer was the same, “You can terminate the pregnancy.” As this was not an option for me, I declined the tests.

I have no desire to get into the moral issue of abortion here. The point of this post is about the necessity of this test and doctors who insist on them. The false positive results from these tests can be anywhere from 5-90% and if a woman is 35 or older, they automatically adjust the results so the likelihood of getting a positive result is higher. If a “positive” result is found, then a more invasive test could be recommended, including an amniocentesis, which has a 1-2% chance of miscarriage. This risk of miscarriage is greater than the risk of a birth defect.

Some people I have met wanted to know if their child had Down syndrome because then they could be mentally prepared. I did not want to know if any of my children had Down syndrome because I would have 20-25 weeks of worrying about something I could not change. I would not be able to enjoy my pregnancy. I would argue that it is better to find out after the child is born. When we were told that our youngest daughter had Down syndrome, of course we were shocked. We were scared. We were sad. I cried - - a lot. When I went home from the hospital without our little girl, I went to the nursery and cried. It was like having a child die. I had to bury the child I had dreamed of. The nursery was not prepared for the child I was bringing home. However, I still had a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

The first thing I wanted to do when we heard the diagnosis was hold my baby. Having that baby made the impact so much softer. Today, January 11, my baby girl is celebrating her 3rd birthday. Yes, we have had some sad times but the good times have been so much more. She has taught us so much. We love better. We have made wonderful friends.

I know of parents that found out about health problems with their children while pregnant. These findings were identified by an ultrasound and they were able to prepare for health conditions that needed to be addressed the moment the child was born. I have met parents who where told the Triple screen test was positive and had a typically developing child. I have also met parents who were told that everything was fine and ended up with a child with Down syndrome. I believe these tests give nothing but false hope, unnecessary fears, and risk the health of a child when a less invasive test, like an ultrasound, can identify any true concerns.

More information about these tests can be found at here.

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Have you entered to win Magneatos from eBeanstalk? Did you remember to sign up for your FREE account to preserve your digital photographs and win a 7X5 photo storybook? Furthermore, if yesterday was “Delurker Day,” where the heck was everyone??

Bridget has a favorite book that perhaps you’ve read a time or dozen to your own toddler. It’s the one in which Zookeeper Joe checks on each of his animals at closing, just before heading home to crawl into his own bed  beside Mrs. Joe for a good night’s rest. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to Joe, a certain naughty gorilla has stolen his keys and unleashed all the animals, who file ceremoniously behind Joe until they wind up tucked in his bedroom for the night, too. Of course, as with most wives, it’s Mrs. Joe who realizes her husband’s folly and must return the animals back to the zoo. If you want something done right . . .

Goodnight Gorilla has little text, the perfect book, in my opinion, for making up your own story. Because this is a G-rated site, PG-13 at the worst of times, I’ll refrain from including my version of what Mrs. Joe should have said to her husband when forced to get out of bed to do the job he was too inept to do himself, meddling monkey aside. Anyway, this isn’t my point.

One of the last pages of the book includes an illustration of Mrs. Joe at the precise moment she pulls the light switch to discover a virtual zoo in her bedroom. For some reason, that drawing used to really freak Bridget out in the worst way. She would cover her eyes in anticipation of that page and, like any loving mother, I would practically torture her with it just to get a laugh. I’m horrid, I know. She’s my third kid, though, and I hardly fret about how incidents like this might affect her psychologically down the road. What’s that saying? Oh yeah; there are bigger fish to fry.

Bridget and I had many “discussions” about Mrs. Joe, and we finally worked through her phobia. What scared her, I think, is the face that Mrs. Joe is making. With mouth and eyes wide open, it’s easy for any parent to discern that Mrs. Joe is exhibiting surprise. This concept, however, at least up until that point, was foreign to Bridget. Although I am certain she has felt surprised before, she may not have recognized it visually, like being happy or sad, until reading Goodnight Gorilla.

We have since termed the look of surprise as “the Mrs. Joe face.” Every so often, Bridget will look at you, make the “Mrs. Joe face,” and laugh like it is the funniest thing in the world.

Still I have yet to make my point.

Every time my husband and I say “the Mrs. Joe face,” I get a horrible case of the giggles because I can’t helped but think of this movie, in which a deviant character talks about showing his girlfriend his “oh face,” if you catch my drift.

And that, my friends, was the point of this post.

PS - Would you believe that Bridget just walked up to me and showed me her “Mrs. Joe” face?? 

**This is a paid endorsement and a giveaway.**

If you are anything like me, you have files upon files of digital photos sitting on your hard drive or languishing on a photo-hosting site just waiting to be organized and printed. Or worse, you have tons of photos haphazardly tossed in a box, likely to become damaged or worn with age. With each passing day, the details of the events behind those photos become a little sketchy, with the worry that their story and significance will be lost forever. How can those special moments be preserved?

Capturing and sharing your memories has never been easier, thanks to Heritage Makers, an online site dedicated to helping you tell your story. Simply register, upload your photos, and get started with a new project. Heritage Makers allows you to create products like photographic storybooks, cards, calendars, and posters all within their user-friendly website. It’s like scrap-booking for the digital age, without the mess or hassle of having to deal with paper, glue, and scissors.

Nicole John, consultant for Heritage Makers, expounds on the virtues of storybooking: “When I got my first book back I was hooked. Prior to Heritage Makers, I was not good about printing my digital pictures and displaying them. Now I just upload them from my computer into my Heritage Makers account and create books. I carry two of the smaller ones in my purse and leave the larger ones on my coffee table.”

Get started now! Click here to register for your free account. Nicole will be your personal consultant should you ever need help or advice, as well as offer access to specials and promotions (just use her ID #215167 if prompted). She is also available to do online demonstrations, which include a 20-minute walk-through of how the site works, the available products, and tools you can use to make your project more complete. Of course, you always have the option of exploring the site on your own.

If making a storybook wasn’t fun enough, you can also host your very own online celebration to earn free book credits. Simply invite your friends online at the same time, and Nicole will give a short presentation. Pretty cool, huh?!

Who knows where your experience will take you? You just might want to sign up to be a consultant, too!

Nicole would like to give one lucky reader a FREE 7X5 book ($40 value) for signing up at Heritage Makers. This giveaway will be available to those who sign up between now and January 15th. Once you have signed up, contact Nicole and let her know that you are a reader of this site. She will then choose a winner at the conclusion of the giveaway.

To continue last week’s post on Potty Training: 5 Signs for Readiness, let’s address a few pre-potty pontifications. While I am no expert, I do have experience. The information conveyed on this site is meant to express what has worked with my children.

Before heading out to buy a potty:

Take the time to accentuate the positives of using the potty to your toddler.

You’re getting so big! Won’t using the potty like mommy and daddy be fun? You can wear big-kid underpants instead of diapers.

Refrain from referring to your toddler as a baby, and compliment her for doing big-kid things.

Good job using your words! Thank you for helping to pick up the toys!

Talk about the process of going potty. Read illustrated stories about going potty, or demonstrate how it’s done. Our favorite series is Once Upon a Potty, by Alona Frankel.

This is how we go potty. This is how we flush the potty. This is how we wash our hands.

Use consistent potty talk. Whether you use the word “potty” or “toilet,” use words that are familiar to your toddler. Likewise, decide on which anatomical and urinary terms you will use.

This is how we go tinkle in the potty. This is how we go pee-pee in the toilet.

Remove the changing table, and change diapers in the bathroom. Having your toddler stand while you change her diaper reinforces the idea that she is no longer a baby. Flush the contents of dirty diapers down the potty. *Of course, this is determined by how dirty a dirty diaper is.*

This is where our poo-poo goes. Bye-bye, poo-poo!  

When she is not working for her local school district in Communications/PR, Stephanie moonlights as tour guide to new and expectant moms as they navigate the avenues of motherhood. Metropolitan Mama is Stephanie’s home away from home, the place where she connects with other young mothers and provides thoughtful and engaging content aimed to encourage and inspire.

Having recently celebrated her one-year blogiversary, Metropolitan Mama has given Stephanie the venue to improve her writing through skillfully composed interviews, editorials, contests, and product reviews. When asked what inspires the topics for Metropolitan Mama, Stephanie replied that, “I simply think about what I would like to know more about (childbirth, breastfeeding, nutrition for toddlers, easy recipes, fashion advice for moms, etc.) and then do the necessary research.” Stephanie wants Metropolitan Mama to be a place “where moms can interact with each other, can find answers to questions they have, and can locate creative solutions and ideas to make their lives easier.”

Stephanie also leads an active lifestyle. As a mother to a sixteen-month-old daughter, she knows the importance of maintaining a healthy diet and exercise regime. Wanting to be a good fitness role model to her daughter, Stephanie exercises more now than before she had a baby. “I can’t afford not to exercise,” she says. “Whenever I’m tempted to cut it out because I’m too busy or tired, I try to rearrange my schedule so that I cut something else out instead. My health is too important to skimp in this area.” Stephanie, like most mothers, hopes to teach her daughter the virtues of “kindness, compassion, generosity, strength, unselfishness, and an intense motivation and desire to change the world for the better.” In the future, Stephanie would like to plan baby fairs and mom expos and host, perhaps, a Metropolitan Mama Convention. Sounds fun to me!

Please take the time to visit Stephanie at Metropolitan Mama and keep in touch; she is definitely one to watch!

Are having body issues synonymous with being a woman?

One of my goals for 2008 is to become more active and fit. Whereas my husband prefers to hit the ground, er, treadmill running and really feel the burn, I prefer gradually to coax my body out of its protestations to stay parked in front of the computer. It’s just 15 minutes, I say. Come on body, you can make it 15 minutes on the treadmill.

My exercise goal during 2008 is to walk on the treadmill each day at the break-neck speed of 2.5 mph, with the exclusion of days when I am ill. Would you believe I’ve already used two sick days? Yes, the 24-hour crud that subsequently wiped out each member of my family during the Christmas holiday finally got around to knocking me off my feet on Friday and Saturday. Bugs, be they of the germ or lice variety, don’t care that you have a million plus one things to do already, let alone have the time for getting sick. And let’s face it, we all know what happens when the primary caregiver of the children and boss of the house gets sick, right? The kids are lucky to get a bowl of cereal for dinner while the cat helps itself to leftovers from the sink. And then I have to listen to someone huff and puff and practically blow the house down with his expletive-filled exclamations that the house is a pigsty. Well, yes honey. What do you expect when we have three pigs for children and they’re let loose for one day so mother sow can finish her work and try to rest? I swear to all things . . . Sigh.

But I digress.

Somewhere in that long-winded diatribe, I intended to defend my 15-minute-a-day workout. It’s not much, I know. Each month I plan to increase the duration, speed, and intensity of my workout, just as one is supposed to. Why risk failure by killing myself in the beginning? There was a day when I used to be tough and buff; I even had muscles that weren’t attributed from carrying around a 20-something pound kid all day, but that was at least a decade ago.

Although I am thinner than when I had children (how many women can say that?), I’m not as fit. I’m not toned. Rather, I’m svelte in a sickly sort of way. I’m blah. I’m a size 2-4 with wiggly arms and flabby thighs. And I’m horribly, freakishly white. Think Molly Shannon’s, Mary Catherine Gallagher. Oh yeah, baby!

I am not delusional. I am not one of those skinny people who think she is overweight. In fact, my slender figure can be attributed to good genes and, well, three children who completely run me into the ground. If anything, I could stand to gain a little bit of weight. I just wish I could direct that weight to certain areas of my body up north.

Call me vain, but I want to look good, nay, I want to look HOT, within the limitations of my own body, of course. I know I will never look voluptuous like her or her, especially when I could probably get by with wearing a training bra. I cringe to think what will happen to my boobs when I quit nursing altogether. I’ll weep for my poor deflated boobs. The nursling turned 2.5 yesterday. When she stops nursing, as God as my witness, no one, NO ONE, will be allowed to touch my boobs again! *By the way, I own both those pieces of lingerie. They are buried under the flannel tops and bottoms in my pajama drawer, much to my husband’s chagrin. Oh, and, VS assumes that even though you order an x-small, you still have the chest size of Dolly Parton. Well, I can tell you for certain that when I wear lingerie, I look like a flat-chested 8-year-old playing dress up.*

I don’t want to be PC and claim to be happy with my body no matter what it looks like. That’s a bunch of shite, at least in my opinion. I want to be strong and lean, not skinny and weak. I want to do a cartwheel and not say, Oy! I’m getting too old for this.

I’m 30. I’m still so young. Yeah, sure I don’t have the flexibility I did as a teenager. It hurts to do certain things now, like bend over and touch my toes. But my goodness, it shouldn’t! My back shouldn’t feel like it’s going to break simply by lifting a bag of groceries. I’m an otherwise healthy person, so I refuse to resign myself to growing older and allowing my body to do what it wants to do (or not want to do).

I want my children to look at me, to see me exercise, and feel motivated to do the same. I want my husband (who’s currently on the treadmill) to think, Damn! I married one sexy woman. I want someone other than a friggin’ truck driver to honk his horn at me as I’m out checking my mail. Why can’t it be Brad Pitt? (I should feel grateful, I suppose, as it’s happened twice now. Hey Dave, sorry if all those honking truck drivers disturb you as you try to work. What can I say? You have a hot neighbor.)

I don’t want to feel tired, worn out, or sluggish.

Mainly, though, I just want to look in the mirror and like what I see. Don’t you, when you look in the mirror? Shouldn’t that be reason enough to get off your arse, to get moving, to be healthy?

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Have you entered the contest to win a set of Magneatos from eBeanstalk?

If you didn’t get enough crap, er stuff for the holidays, I’m doing the whole eBay thing. My husband, the one who likes to huff and puff, is threatening to toss all our belongings if we don’t find a proper place for them. What, like a plastic bag in the middle of the floor is not considered proper enough? Picky, picky. Well, we have a summer roadtrip to finance, so bookmark me as a favorite seller and help a family get to Kansas. Yes, I said Kansas. You gotta problem with that? I know it’s not Europe or anything, but a girl has got to go home at some point. Wichita, here we come!

There was one toy under the tree this past Christmas that, altho