I know my friend, Lindsey Stump, is an amazing photographer (well, I call her “friend” because it sounds better than saying “the girl I found on Craig’s list”).  Lindsey, the girl, my friend, the photographer, is remarkable!  Just look at this picture to the right- she makes my life look glamorous.  Trust me -motherhood is anything but glamorous.  Far, far from it! 

Fast forward a few hours from this photo.  I’m nursing the baby, Kiki, in my comfy, swivel, glider, rocker, recliner, enjoying the quiet, allowing the baby to focus on the task at hand (as recommended by Montessori).  Okay – it sounds pretty glamorous so far but wait – in walks my 23 month old, Bunder, with snot dripping down his nose touching his lip and his training pants sagging and stinking with a wet poop. 

You know the kind of poop, Moms, the one that makes pig farmers yearn for a career change.  Now, my glamorous options are to quit nursing, throw Kiki in the crib, listen to her cry, and attack the walking, leaking creature they call a toddler or continue nursing and hope the wet pooh doesn’t seep out of the two-ply cotton undies onto the carpet.  Win, lose, or poop!  How does this story end? 

I chose the latter, but man, did I cringe when he sat down in front of me to work on a puzzle.  Glamorous indeed!

Last Sunday in church, I observed two little girls cradling their American Girl dolls.  Their movements and murmurings struck me as I mirrored them with my real baby.  At that moment, I realized I’m living the dream.  I’m a real mommy – just like I wanted for as long as I can remember (minus the rebellious stint in my 20’s when I thought I’d travel rather than bear offspring). 

Here I am, living the dream and wondering how I’ll survive.  Don’t get me wrong, every day I thank God for my blessed family.  Then, I follow the gratitude with desperation “help me, Lord!”

You’re thinking, that’s fine, but didn’t I click on the “about” button.  Yes, you most certainly did!

Rolling Stones once said, “Even though you’re wearing them citified high heels, I can tell by your giant step you been walkin’ through the cotton fields…”  That’s me – I’m living in the great city of Austin, 15th largest in the nation, pretending to be some sort of sophisticated stay at home mom when in reality I’m a Midwest farmer’s daughter missing the smell of alfalfa and longing to climb a round bale in the field to watch the sunset over the uncivilized world. 

What else do you want to know? 

I’m married to a remarkable man, an Irish Catholic born and raised in Chicago, who has the uncanny ability to turn my dreams into reality. 

I’m a wicked (meaning wicked-cool not wicked-evil) step-mom to three grown beauties: ages 21, 18, and 16.  Unfortunately, you won’t learn anything about Hansel, Gretel, and Cinderella, out of respect for their privacy. 

Because I don’t have a sufficient number of butts to wipe, we have an Old English Sheepdog, Lulu.  “Why do I wipe her butt?” you ask.  Funny, a friend of mine visiting our house asked the same question.  After she goes number two in the backyard, I’ll bring her over to sit on your carpet and you’ll have your answer. 

I have a degree in early childhood and a master’s in music education.  The music degree has proven far more useful thus far in mommy world.

I used both degrees while teaching elementary school for a number of years at public schools in Wisconsin.

I love to read, run, bake, and sing – preferably at the same time.

Anything else?  Ask me below or select the contact button above.  I’d love to hear from you, so ask away!


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