Monthly Archives: February 2012
Four Awesome Things
Four years ago today (four years!) my life was forever changed for the better yet again, when I was blessed to become a mom to a little girl for the very first time. Tegan has brought so very much to our family, and our lives, and I couldn’t imagine this world without her. Here are the top four things that make her the wonderful, unique, and amazing person that she is.
1. She is beautiful. I’m not talking about the big brown eyes and the long curly hair either. She has a beautiful soul, and a kind, loving heart. She walks into a room, and it lights up. She radiates. She shines. She sparkles. She is simply beautiful, inside and out.
2. She is funny. Very, very few people make me laugh as hard as this girl. Period. Whether she’s making up a silly song, performing a one-woman play into the bathroom mirror, or bursting out into a full-on belly laugh because she woke herself from a deep sleep by passing gas, she is one of the most naturally funny people I know.
3. She is confident. I talk a lot on my blog about being true to yourself. Tegan doesn’t need to learn how to do that. She knows who she is. This is a girl who will go to the store in two different neon socks, a loud polka dot skirt, striped tights, a Tinkerbell pajama top, fairy wings, a string of pearls, and marker all over her face. She not only pulls it off, but she ROCKS IT. She is perfectly, authentically, 100% Tegan, and proud of it.
4. She’s creative. She turns our tile floor into hot lava, our living room into a castle, and a stick into a fairy wand. She transforms herself into Dora, me into a flying dragon, and her brothers into zombies. She whips up her own special blends of tea, and coffee, and smoothies, and dinner in her little kitchen. She weaves stories of adventure, and humor, and intrigue, and heart.
And my life is sweeter from of all of the above.
Dreadlocks: How, When, and WHY
As most of you know, a few days after my 38th birthday, I decided that I was going to fulfill a very long-held wish and dread my hair. A faithful friend came over and spent six hours carefully sectioning, backcombing, and keeping me company while we watched three whole chick flicks in a row.
Unfortunately, we weren’t quite as aggressive as we should have been with the backcombing. Less than a week – and one washing – later, they’d all fallen out. I was determined though (I am nothing if not determined), so over the course of the next few days, I re-did them, using a method known as the “twist and rip” method. It simply means taking the section of hair in two pieces, giving it a twist, then pulling it apart again, separating it in a new place each time. It. took. forever. especially since I was doing it myself. But it worked.
That was one month ago today, and I still have dreads! There’s a way to tuck the ends all in to make them all blunt and neat and tidy, but so far I like them free and wispy. They’re just babies, so most days they’re a big fuzzy mess, especially when I wash them (yes, people with dreadlocks wash their hair. I just use an organic, non-residue shampoo) Some are tight and some are loose. I have stray hairs and grey hairs everywhere. They bend all crazy, and they have odd loops and strange turns and random bumps.
I can’t wait to watch them grow and change and mature.
And in the meantime, I’m enjoying experimenting with them.
On the good days, when they’re not looking too ridiculous, I like wearing them with just a headband or a bandana.
So why did I do it?
(From least to most important)
3. I think they’re cool. Mature dreadlocks are just a striking, beautiful look to me, and it’s one I’ve been in awe of for years.
2. I’m lazy. Or more accurately, I prefer to spend the least amount of time as possible on my physical appearance. I’ve never been one to want to spend more than 30 seconds hours doing my hair and/or makeup, and the more kids I had, the more true that became. I barely wear makeup. I don’t straighten my hair. I can’t remember the last time I used a hair dryer. For the last several years, I’ve been a hair-in-a-ponytail 8 days out of 7 kind of girl. So you can imagine how attractive and freeing I find the idea of a hairstyle that I can literally just wash and wear and be ready to step out the door.
1. I wanted what I looked like on the outside to match what I felt like on the inside. My whole life, I’ve felt “different.” I’ve never been one to fit in with the crowd (any crowd), instead identifying most strongly with those on the outside. And rather than running from that truth, I want to embrace it. I want to embrace anything that helps me to feel more comfortable in my own skin, that helps me feel even more free from constraints, more free to relate to others, more free to be me. A couple of days ago in church, the lesson was in part about judging people by their hearts rather than by their physical appearance. People – whether they openly admit it or not – often tend to do the latter, while God looks strictly at the heart. At one point the pastor started listing things off: “God looks at your heart… not your tattoos, or your piercings, or your mohawk, or your purple hair, or your ‘tramp stamp’…” Mike and I looked at each other and just laughed, because you can find all of the above in our household. And while people may judge us for any or all of those things, God does not. God wants us to be free.
So while in many ways it’s just a small thing (it’s only hair after all), in a symbolic way, it is a huge thing. An outward reflection of an inner decision to reject being spoon-fed, to challenge the status quo, and to whole-heartedly embrace the search for truth and authenticity.
And over the next several months and years, as my dreads change and grow and mature…. so will I.
Filed under about me, acceptance, dreadlocks, life
15 Awesome Things
Fifteen years ago from right now, I was in labor. Just a couple of hours away from meeting my five pound, eleven ounce oh-so-breathtakingly handsome and hairy first child. In honor of each and every one of the last fifteen years, I give you fifteen things that make Spencer one of the coolest people I know:
1. His sense of humor. No complicated, deep, not-sure-if-you-get-it kind of humor here. Just straight up corniness, with a big hearty laugh on the side. If you know my dad, you know why I’d appreciate a corny sense of humor.
2. His taste in music. He has one of the most eclectic ears of anyone I know. You might find anything from Broadway show tunes to Christina Aguilera, to classic rock, to modern pop, to heavy metal on his play list.
3. His exceptional memory. He never forgets a name, a street, or a “remind me to…” request.
4. His ability to fix things. He’s been taking things apart and putting them back together again since he was old enough to hold a screwdriver. This means our house is often overrun with stray screws, nails, and various parts and pieces… but it also means he has an admirable (and useful!) skill that will serve him his entire life.
5. His loyalty. If you’re fortunate enough to gain Spencer’s friendship, you’ve made a friend for life.
6. His JOY. It just bubbles out of him. He loves life, and he wakes each day excited for new experiences.
7. His unshakeable sense of self. Perhaps one of my favorite things about him, he’s a person who knows exactly who he is and never tries to be anything else. Right now that means a person with one foot in adulthood, and one foot still firmly in childhood. A person who will unabashedly build with legoes one minute, and have an in-depth conversation with his mom about Law and Order: SVU the next.
8. His determination. Apraxia has made certain things more difficult for him… but he never lets it stop him.
9. His love for his family. If I only could have bottled all the hugs and “I love yous” he gave me when he was younger, I would be set for life. Fortunately, he hasn’t stopped showing his love for myself, his father, and all his siblings (even the little sister who often tries with all her might to drive him crazy) Over the past few years, while we were still working out all my gall bladder-related issues, he’s also always been the first to offer a sincere, “I’m sorry you’re not feeling good” even if it was the third day in a row that I’d been sick.
10. His fascination with fascinating facts. He loves to watch Dr G: Medical Examiner, Untold Stories of the ER, and a host of other real-life medical and crime shows that make a lot of people queasy. When we go on field trips, he’s right up front, intently listening, asking questions, and mentally filing away information for another time.
11. His concern for others. He has such a huge, huge heart. He’s always touched by stories of illnesses and hardship, especially when it comes to children. We’ve been praying for a little girl with cancer here in the valley for a few years now, and he continually asks how she’s doing, and reminds me to give him updates as soon as I have them.
12. His enthusiasm. I don’t think I can adequately describe just how enthusiastic he is unless you’ve seen it for yourself. Excitement isn’t an emotion he does half way and I LOVE that about him. He throws himself into new hobbies, new pursuits and new friendships.
13. His steadfast refusal to curse, or to take God’s name in vain. People are often surprised to hear this since I so rarely swear on my blog, but strong language doesn’t generally bother me. It does bother Spencer though, and I so respect that he takes a personal stand against it… so much so that when he created his own Minecraft server, one of the first things he did was install a plug-in that would filter any coarse language as people chatted. (To give you an example of how seriously he takes this, when he refers to the TV show, “Jackass” he always self-censors it as “Jack Butt.” 
)
14. His willingness to face fears. As a young child, he had a severe fear of the dentist, compounded by issues with having his face touched. Thanks to a wonderfully patient and compassionate pediatric dental team, he faced his fears head-on. Today he’ll sit through HOURS of orthodontia and patiently endure fillings with nothing more than a shot of novacaine.
15. His friendship. Yep, I’m one of those moms, and proud to be. Yes, I’m his mom, but I’m also lucky enough to be his friend. And he – like the rest of my children – is one of the best friends I have ever had.
Where my book begins
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten ~Natasha Bedingfield
So Dan of Single Dad Laughing has done it again. Every so often, he writes something that I can relate to so deeply that it almost physically hurts. His recent post, Whose Life is it Anyway? now tops that list. In it, he writes about his learning to live life on his own terms, rather than for someone else. He tells of the process of finding his own voice, and ultimately leaving a church, a marriage, and a job on his path to happiness.
I’ve never left a marriage (in fact I consider myself very blessed – and lucky – that after having married at 19 with no earthly idea of who we were, that we were able to come into our own beside each other) But I’ve left a church. I’ve left a job. And six years ago, I left New Hampshire. I left New England. I left the entire east coast.
When I look back on old pictures, even of times that were happy, I will often feel a strange disconnect. Sometimes I even feel a profound sadness. I don’t know that person in those photos. She’s a person who made choices not based on what she wanted (and honestly, she wouldn’t know what she wanted even if you asked her) but based on everyone else around her. A person whose entire life… from the colleges she went to, to what she studied, to the kind of wedding she had, to what city she lived in, to what house she lived in… was decided, at least in part, by someone else. She lived her life in a box. And don’t get me wrong. It was a nice box, a lovely box. But it was a box all the same, and it wasn’t a box of her choosing.
I’m here to tell you that you can only live in a box for so long before the walls start closing in. Before you start gasping for breath. Before you start suffocating.
When people ask why we moved to Phoenix, I’m often left grasping for words. It was a big decision, and there were many factors. It was a joint decision too, so I can’t fairly speak for my husband. But I can say out loud for the very first time – and without hesitation – that for me, the biggest reason was clear:
I was suffocating.
I was 32 years old, and I had no idea who I was. I’d never made a decision on my own. I’d never stopped trying to please everyone around me. I’d never given more than a cursory thought to what it was that I wanted, so focused I was on what my family wanted, what society wanted, what the church wanted.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
So six years ago, I started living life on my own terms (and by the way, when I say “my” terms, I mean my terms within the larger framework of God’s terms. Which, ironically – or not – is a concept I hadn’t even begun to grasp until I’d left the church I grew up in.) It was the start of an adventure, to be sure, and a journey that is in turns exhilarating and terrifying and exhausting and just plain awe-inspiring. For the first time in my entire life I’m getting to know and listening to ME. Not society’s version of me, or my parent’s version of me, or even my husband’s version of me. Just ME, the me I was individually created to be.
And it feels so good.
One of the greatest things about it though? Once I started being true to myself, I realized that that respect, that authenticity, that truth that I was living started spilling out into the rest of my relationships as well. It’s made me a better wife. It’s made me a better mother. Which makes sense when you think about it, because how can you really give of yourself if you don’t even know who “yourself” is? How can you expect to have an authentic relationship with anyone if you can’t first be authentic with yourself? I have heard it said over and over that people who are hurting hurt others. So wouldn’t the opposite be true? That those who show love to themselves are then able to love others?
I spent three decades being partially immobilized by fear, anxiety, insecurity, and “what ifs.” Moving across the country was the catalyst that began to change all of that. It made me feel brave. It made me feel like if I could do that, I could do anything. And do anything I will!
I’m not suggesting that a 1800 mile cross-country move is the answer for everyone. But you know what, maybe it is. Or maybe it’s leaving that job. Or that church. Or that unhealthy relationship. Maybe it’s taking that pottery class, or belly dancing lesson, or volunteering in that soup kitchen. Maybe it’s the haircut you’ve always been too scared to get, or the tattoo you were afraid your dad would disapprove of, or the hobby your friends think is silly.
Two days ago, I sent in my enrollment paperwork for yoga teacher training, something I have been wanting to do – and putting off for various reasons – for years now. When I woke up the next morning, I felt more excited than I’ve felt in years. And it wasn’t just about the yoga. I was excited about life. I’m excited about all of it. I’m excited about the yoga; I’m excited about new friends; I’m excited about the shiny, colorful rings that I’ll transform into lovely chain maille jewelry; I’m excited about the mess on my head that will one day be beautiful and mature dreadlocks; I’m excited to know that I won’t be afraid to just chop it all off if I change my mind; I’m excited to get another tattoo; I’m excited to get better with my camera; I’m excited about cupcakes; I’m excited to write and to read and to learn and to grow; I’m excited for road trips and park days and singing loudly with my children and having drinks with my girlfriends; I’m excited about new adventures with the kids and new experiences with my husband.
I’m excited, for the first time in my life, to be REAL.
This. This is where my book begins. And it. is. awesome.
When is it okay to “judge”?
8. to form a judgment or opinion of; decide upon critically: You can’t judge a book by its cover.9. to decide or settle authoritatively; adjudge: The censor judged the book obscene and forbade its sale.10. to infer, think, or hold as an opinion; conclude about or assess:
13. to act as a judge; pass judgment: No one would judge between us.14. to form an opinion or estimate: I have heard the evidence and will judge accordingly.15. to make a mental judgment.
Not my idea of a hero
So by now, you’ve seen the video. It’s gone viral …. nearly 3 million views on my last check. A father, angered by his daughter’s rant about him on her Facebook page, video-taped himself berating her, laying out her punishment, and ultimately taking his gun and shooting nine bullets through her laptop.
I don’t want to talk about that man. All I can do is feel sorry for him. Happy, well-adjusted people don’t go around taping themselves shooting holes in other people’s property.
I don’t want to talk about his daughter either. I feel sorry for her too. Being a teenager can be hard, and I can’t imagine that having a father who publicly humiliates you is helpful in that regard. She obviously has an unhealthy, broken relationship with her parents. And knowing first-hand what it’s like to have a GOOD relationship with my children… my heart breaks for her.
But no, the people I want to address aren’t the father or the daughter. I want to address the people, the tens of thousands of people, who lauded him as father of the year. Here are just a couple of remarks from his recent viewers:
This father ROCKS! Parents need to enforce more discipline with their kids these days instead of trying to be their friend or act their age.
This guy should be voted FATHER OF THE YEAR in the US and Canada!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DAD OF THE YEAR! I think this is amazing!
Dude…you are my HERO.
Seriously, I applaud you. A parent who is a parent and not the subjugated slave to the child. Love it.
Awesome! Well done.
You’re my new, best friend!
Has the world gone completely mad? I don’t mean that facetiously either. I am quite literally shocked and sickened that this is the behavior we as a society hold up as model parenting. I hear people crying that kids today are too entitled, too spoiled, too disrespectful…. and this is going to help with that?! If this girl IS in fact acting too entitled, spoiled, and disrespectful, where might she have learned that?
Yes! Let’s strive to be more like this man! Let’s belittle and humiliate our children. Let’s destroy their property. Let’s respond to hurt and frustration with violence. Let’s throw discussion and mutual respect and love out the window and grab our gun when it’s time for conflict resolution. And let’s tape ourselves doing it!! Let’s make parenting into nothing more than a schoolyard fight, a tit-for-tat war of words in which NO ONE wins, in which we stoop to the lowest common denominator, and we see who can throw the biggest tantrum. Yes, let’s look to this man in awe. What a hero. What a father. What a MAN.
In all sincerity, I want to ask you this: If you agree with this man’s actions, if you think this is something we should emulate… how would you feel if you were his daughter? For that matter, how would you feel if he’d taken this action against you as a co-worker, or a relative, or a friend?
And if you tell me it’d make you see the error of your ways, if you tell me it’d make you have new respect for him… you’re lying.
All of us – as parents, as children, as friends, as citizens – respond to kindness, not to cruelty. We respond to gentleness. We respond to patience. We respond to feeling that we are being heard.
This man was no doubt hurt by his daughter’s words on Facebook. Was she wrong in posting them? From the little that I can tell, this was a child venting to her friends, not unlike something one would write in a private diary. Her words were strong, yes, which only shines light on how deeply she was feeling when she wrote them. I saw many comments that said something to the effect of, “Oh she was just trying to get attention.” And I agree! She probably was. It was a probably a last-ditch, desperate attempt to say, “Hey. Mom. Dad. I’m hurting here.” If that were my child writing that letter, I would first take a good long look in the mirror. Then I would TALK TO MY CHILD. I would try to heal that relationship before it was too late. I would not put the final nail in the coffin (or the bullet in the laptop as it were) by publicly humiliating her, mocking her, and destroying her things. I would not act with a knee-jerk reaction that would almost certainly ensure that she’d be pushed further away, possibly for the rest of my life.
Our job as parents is to protect our kids. To love them, to guide them, and yes… to model appropriate behavior for them. This man called his daughter disrespectful. Were HIS actions respectful? He called her immature. Were HIS actions mature?
Parenting is hard! I won’t argue that. Just as with any other worthwhile relationship, there are bumps. There are ups and downs. There are tough spots, and sweet spots, and every-other-kind of spots in between. It takes a lot of heart, a lot of patience, a lot of listening, and a lot of give-and-take. What I saw in that video wasn’t heart. It wasn’t patience. It wasn’t listening. It wasn’t give and take. It was a bully of a man having a public meltdown, and making sure he took his daughter down with him.
His behavior is not something to emulate.
It’s not something to aspire to.
It’s not something to praise.
It’s a sad, angry spectacle by a sad, angry man. It’s a cautionary tale about what not to do if you ever want to have a close, mutually respectful relationship with your child.
(If you want to read more, check out Demand Euphoria, A Bona Fide Life, and freeplaylife. Thank you for being voices of reason in the midst of insanity)
Filed under mindful parenting, parenting, rant
The woman at the park
There was an incident at the park the other day. I witnessed, and ultimately tried to stop, a sad display of hatred towards children.
I have written about unkindness I’ve seen in public before. Two I can think of right off the bat were Natalie’s mother, and the old man at the grocery store. In those two cases though, I was a silent observer. Just another person in the crowd, watching what was unfolding, and not doing anything to stop it. This time I was a participant. Right there in the front lines as it were. I voluntarily inserted myself into the situation, boldly hoping for…. well, I don’t know what I was hoping for. I just knew I had to do it.
But I should start at the beginning.
It was a Friday, and most Fridays we’re at park day. I say “most” Fridays because I often try to get out of it. Not because I don’t have a good time (I do), and not because the other mothers aren’t wonderful (they are). Just because I’m a homebody and an introvert, and the thought of socializing for hours with dozens of other people makes me… tired. But this Friday, we were there.
The boys were all off with their friends clear across the park, playing football or frisbee, or whatever it is that they do. Tegan (almost 4) had just run across the playground with our friend Hannah (11), settling in to play in one of her favorite spots: the shady spot in the sand under the little kids’ playground.
They hadn’t been playing for long before Hannah came running back over to us, telling us that “an old lady had yelled at them,” and had told her and some other older kids that they had to leave the area because it was for younger kids only. We looked over and saw the lady in question, a couple of preteens simply hanging out and chatting, a toddler happily undisturbed in his play, and Tegan, still quietly sitting in the sand.
We told her she was fine, and that there were no hard and fast rules about who could play where. Besides, she was there with Tegan, clearly a “younger kid”, and was in essence acting as her caregiver.
A few minutes later, she came back to tell us that the lady had called them “stupid.” Now, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Not because I didn’t trust Hannah’s word, but because I know that sometimes when you’re already feeling downtrodden that it’s easy to misinterpret. Maybe the woman had used the word “stupid” but hadn’t actually directed at anyone in particular.
So I waited, and I watched. Eventually the woman left the area to sit on a bench, and as more and more kids – of all ages – gathered to play on and around the equipment, she eyed them. Oh how she eyed them! Tegan wanted me to dig with her in the sand, in the middle of the playground, so I had a front row seat when the woman went from eying to acting. She strode over to where the kids were playing, and just as Hannah had reported, ordered them to leave. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but I could clearly hear her as she shouted, “You stupid kids!”
I got up and approached her.
(Let me stop here for a minute. If you’ve read my blog for any length of time you know that I DO NOT LIKE confrontations. Do not. Even over the internet, I have to be pretty provoked, it gives me a stomach ache, and I stress about it for days. So you can imagine my enthusiasm for the real-life variety)
But there I was, striding across the sand, feeling all Erin Brockovich.
“Excuse me,” I said to her, interrupting her as she demanded that one of the little boys take her to his mother. “I was just wondering why you’re calling these children stupid?”
“They are stupid! They’re disrespectful little brats who are blatantly disregarding the law, and this legal notice for them to stay away from this equipment.” She waved her arm at the sign in front of the playground. “This is for little kids only.”
“M’aam, I really don’t think that sign is a law. Those are just suggested ages.”
“THAT’S NOT WHAT IT SAYS!”
I wanted to get the full story, I really did. If they were truly doing something wrong, I wanted to know about it. From what I could see, they’d simply been playing, until she harrassed them. So I calmly asked, “Were they disrupting any little kids at all? Getting in their way, hurting anyone?”
“No, but they’re hurting the equipment!! It’s not designed for bigger kids.”
And she wasn’t done. “And when I told them they needed to leave, these stupid kids did not respect me as an authority figure. They have no respect for authority.”
“Well, to be honest with you, I would have a hard time respecting someone who was resorting to calling me stupid too.”
“I don’t have to show respect for children!! We don’t have to respect children. But they are supposed to show respect to adults no matter what!”
(Oh no she DID NOT just say that. But sadly, she did.)
“Kids have just as much right to be treated with respect as – “ she cut me off then, and started shaking her head.
“Go ahead, defend them, and they’ll grow up never respecting authority, never having any respect for anyone, thinking they can do whatever they want….. Stupid disrespectful kids…”
“Well, maybe if you tried talking to them without name calling…”
She’d pretty much turned her back on me by then, shaking her head and scoffing, “Say what you want. They’re disrespectful kids. Black is black.”
Now - in the interest of fairness – I have to say that somewhere in the middle of all of this, one child (out of the group of at least a dozen that had gathered around us) had started arguing back with her, telling her to “shut up”, and at one point returning one of her “you’re stupid kids” with a “well, you’re old!” Was that the right way to handle the situation? Of course it wasn’t. I’m not arguing that. But was he provoked? Absolutely. And at what I’m guessing to be about 10, he lacks the maturity that one would hope the 60-something year old lady he was arguing with should have possessed. And honestly, with her attitude and flat-out assertion that she doesn’t need to show respect for kids, I don’t blame him for his feelings.
I wish I could say that there was a tidy ending to my story, but there was not. It just…. fizzled. It ended with her turning away from me in a huff, realizing that I wasn’t going to stop defending the kids; and me realizing that she was not going to stop calling them “stupid” long enough to listen to anything I had to say. I ultimately told the kids to just let it go, and that they’d maybe be better off playing elsewhere. Ironically, park day was close to ending by then anyway, and moms were starting to gather up their kids to go home.
I walked away, my heart pounding in my chest, already thinking about what it was I’d actually accomplished. In many ways, I hadn’t accomplished much of anything. The woman clearly did not like children, and I’d done little to change her mind.
I wish she would’ve heard me. I wish I could have told her that when you realize that children are people, when you treat them with respect, when you treat them the way you wish to be treated, that they (just like their adult counterparts) will respond in kind. How much differently it all would have turned out if she’d just talked to them instead of calling them names!
But what I had done – besides gaining the confidence that comes from doing something I would have been too afraid to do even a couple of years ago – was stand up for the kids. Not by thinking about it, not by sitting behind my computer and writing about it, but by literally standing up, walking over there, looking that woman in the eye, and saying, “Hey, kids deserve respect too.”
I stood up for the kids, and I would do it again.
Filed under gentle parenting, hypocrisy, kids, life, mindful parenting, park, respect
My Mom, by Spencer
So, this further confirms that my life very much revolves around food… specifically chocolate, and cupcakes. And caramel. And it makes me sad when… oh just read. I LOVE these kids.
1. What is something mom always says to do?
Make coffee.
2. What makes mom happy?
That’s easy. Caramel. Chocolate.
3. What makes mom sad?
When people are mean. But before that he said, Well last night you were sad because the shot glass was missing. Ha ha ha ha ha.
4. How does your mom make you laugh?
I don’t know (apparently I only make the 3 year old and 11 year old laugh)
5. What was your mom like as a child?
Well, not very safe. You got hurt a lot when you played with your friend Amy. (He speaks the truth… most notably the time I knocked myself unconscious on a zipline, and won myself an ambulance trip to the ER)
6. How old is your mom?
38
7. How tall is your mom?
5’7″
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Blogging
9. What does your mom do when you’re not around?
Nothing (Ha, nice)
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
Writing a book
11. What is your mom really good at?
Being a mom
12. What is your mom not very good at?
I don’t know what you’re not good at (atta boy)
13. What does your mom do for a job?
Takes care of four kids
14.What is your mom’s favorite food?
Milk Duds (OK, I do eat actual food. Honest. Good food even.)
15.What makes you proud of your mom?
Your cupcakes
16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
I’m not too much of a cartoon watcher.
17. What do you and your mom do together?
Hang out and watch TV
18. How are you and your mom the same?
We both like chocolate
19. How are you and your mom different?
I like licorice, and you don’t
20. How do you know your mom loves you?
You show me by doing stuff for me.
21. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go?
What’s that restaurant up in Sedona? (Javelina Cantina?) Yeah, that.
My Mom, by Paxton
1. What is something mom always says to do?
Do the dishes
2. What makes mom happy?
Everything
3. What makes mom sad?
Nothing
4. How does your mom make you laugh?
By saying something funny
5. What was your mom like as a child?
As wonderful and marvelous and epic as I am right now.
6. How old is your mom?
38
7. How tall is your mom?
5’7″
8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Eat chocolate and drink wine, because you *never* do those things
9. What does your mom do when you’re not around?
I don’t know, because I’m not around
10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
Blogging
11. What is your mom really good at?
Being our mom
12. What is your mom not very good at?
Being our dad
13. What does your mom do for a job?
You don’t have a job… That pays… Yet
14.What is your mom’s favorite food?
Dark chocolate
15.What makes you proud of your mom?
That you’re able to take care of four kids.
16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Tweety Bird
17. What do you and your mom do together?
Quizzes like this
18. How are you and your mom the same?
We both make puns, and we both have a sarcastic streak. (Me, sarcastic?? Noooooo)
19. How are you and your mom different?
Your hair is very different than mine
20. How do you know your mom loves you?
Because you say it a lot
21. Where is your mom’s favorite place to go?
Well, it’s not to park day, because you usually want to skip that. I would say, IHOP.
Did I win the quiz? What’s my prize?
