Beautiful Minds

I looked out the window and saw my children all huddled around the slide on the swing set peering at it. I continued cooking supper and would steal glances every now and then. All of them stayed put in their places and every once in a while someone would throw their arms in the air and say “Yes!” or “Go, Go, Go!”

Curiosity filled me but I was intent on getting the meal ready.

Soon, my husband arrived home from work. I saw him walk across the yard and approach the children. He entered the house shortly after and announced, “Please make sure those kids wash their hands good before supper.” When I asked why, he informed me the kids were having slug races.

Slug races? What is a slug race? I had to run out and see for myself.

The kids having slug races

The kids having slug races

Apparently my 6 year old son discovered 3 slugs and everyone decided they wanted to enter them in a race to see who could get down the slide first. Surprisingly, even at a downward incline, slugs move at a very slow pace. My kids had engaged in this activity for over an hour and it probably could have entertained them much longer as the slugs had only completed half of their course when I called them in for dinner.

The racers

The racers

There are days that I lose faith that children remember how to play. As they grow older their imaginations wane as they are introduced to technology and television. The phrase of “I’m bored” is added to their daily language. The simple things they used to find enjoyment in are now babyish.

And then something like slug races comes along.

It restores my hope that they do know how to be creative. They can find pleasure in nature. They are satisfied with the simple joys that this world has to offer. They don’t always need something blinking and beeping to keep them entertained. They don’t need something that has come in a colorful box and found on a toy store shelf.

They just need their beautiful minds.

And they just need to wash their hands good before supper.


I Wonder if My Great Grandma Knew What She Was Making

I come from a long line of amazingly creative women. From Great-Grandmas down to my Mom.

My Great-Grandma Palma, on my father’s side was only in my life for a short time. I believe she passed away when I was 7 and I only got to meet her a few times. Those few visits though inspired me greatly and were wonderful memories. She had a huge collection of salt and pepper shakers and other beautiful things that I loved to look at and made me want to start collecting antiques. She gave me quite a few of her salt and pepper sets that I still display in my home. She also gave me a very old miniature cast iron stove to use with my Barbies that my daughter now uses with her dolls. She crocheted doll dresses for me that my daughter also still uses.

My most loved gift from her though was my crocheted collars. She made me about 10 in all different colors. I wore them all of the time in elementary school. I thought they were the most extraordinary things! I began putting them on my own daughter when she was in Kindergarten and she thinks they are equally as cool as I do!

I wonder if my Great Grandma knew as she crocheted those little collars for me and gave me those little gifts that they would be with me forever and that I would pass them down to my own daughter. I wonder if she knew that she was making me more than a crocheted collar….she was making a piece of herself, a gift of love, that I can hold on to forever and spread her love to many more.

Iris wearing one of the crocheted collars to school today.

Iris wearing one of the crocheted collars to school today.

A close up of the collar

A close up of the collar



I Totally Thought They Were Wooden Blocks

As you all know I believe that motherhood is an art form. It takes a lot of creativity and humor to navigate your way successfully through parenting.

This philosophy is particularly true when it comes to potty training.

I am in the throes of potty training my third child. My 2 year old Cesar has insisted on using the toilet. I actually would like to wait a few more months but seeing as he’s the third child and has two older siblings to look up to, he has proven to be very independent and wants to do everything they are doing.

So the potty training commenced a week ago.

I put underwear on him, showed him how to put his potty seat on the toilet and then how to sit on it by himself.

We’ve had some successes and plenty of accidents throughout the past week.

5 days ago Cesar and I were upstairs changing bedding when I noticed two of Cesar’s wooden blocks on the floor. I went to pick them up but quickly discovered they weren’t blocks…yes, they were poop that were amazingly square shape.

As I ran to his room to grab a new pair of underwear and run back to where he was, I discovered him picking it up…

So now he has poop streaked down his legs, all over his hands, it’s ground into the carpeting and I have to try to figure out a way to get him downstairs to the bathroom to get him cleaned up!

(Insert creativity and humor here!)

2 days ago Bency came downstairs and in a very nonchalant voice stated, “There’s something really weird happening in my room, Mom.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I asked

“Well, the decorations on my dresser have all been turned backwards and my baseball hat was moved and there’s poop on the floor.” Bency replied in the most casual voice possible.

I stood there shocked. I wasn’t shocked that there were things moved around in Bency’s room nor that there was poop on the floor. Obviously, after my go around just the other day with the poop on the floor fiasco I have kind of braced myself for future occurrences as Cesar is still running amok with only loose fitting undies on.

What I was most shocked about was the ho-hum attitude that Bency had about discovering poop on his bedroom floor. I certainly think he could muster more surprise, disbelief or outrage.

So as I tried to wrap my head around his calm, cool attitude about the discoveries in his room, I made my way upstairs for a poop scavenger hunt to pick up before Cesar did….

(Insert creativity and humor for the next few months!)

Business on top, Party on the bottom

Business on top, Party on the bottom

Be Wrinkle Free

Mondays are laundry days here at our house. Tuesdays are ironing days unless laundry day exceeds into Tuesday… then Wednesdays are ironing days.

I love ironing day.

I didn’t always love ironing. It is the most incredibly boring, tedious task in the world. There is a proper way to iron. My mom tried several times to teach me the correct way. Once again, not being a fan of proper ways or following rules I devised my own unique style of ironing. Martha Stewart would not approve.

I for one do not care if the creases in my husband’s pants are crisp and perfect. I do not care if every ruffle on my daughter’s dress is wrinkle-free. I get the majority of the wrinkles out and go on with my day!

When I was pregnant with my three kids, my mom would stop by the house occasionally to see if there was anything to help with. I think I said, “No” but would then mutter something along the lines of “I don’t care if this whole house comes crumbling down.

My mom would delightfully grab the overflowing ironing basket and begin humming, ironing away and rejoicing in the fact she finally got ahold of those pants to put the creases back in their place.

Nowadays, the ironing basket is never overflowing. My best ideas come to me when I’m ironing. It’s a task that requires no thought and leaves my mind open to wander and ponder. If I were to just sit down and close my eyes nothing would pop in my head. I guess I require doing something with my hands and it has to be the most boring activity to really get my juices flowing!

A few months ago we were in the market for a new washing machine and dryer. The salesman showed us the top of the line model claiming you never have to iron again….the dryer takes care of it for you. He said, “See these pants, I pulled them out of the dryer this morning and just threw them on and came to work.” I may not have “Martha Stewart” expectations but my qualification for being ironed and his were completely different. Not only did he not have creases but there were wrinkles everywhere and the cuffs were really messed up! In defense of “high-end” dryers, this guy had blood-shot eyes, smelled weird, and had serious bed head. I think he was actually still half asleep and forgot he actually pulled these pants from underneath a couch cushion and not “straight from the dryer.”

I smiled and told him, “We’ll take the middle of the line option…I like to iron.”

My source of inspiration