I should’ve known something would go wrong. Early in the morning I had to drop my cat off at the vet’s office for her first teeth cleaning and get home in time to catch the school bus. When my alarm buzzed, I walked into my seven-year-old’s room to discover she was already dressed. Excellent! That left plenty of time for her to eat breakfast. No problem.

Now I had a cushion in case I had to chase my cat around the house like last time. I could even grab something for myself to eat and in my wildest dreams, drink a cup of coffee. As I wrangled my cat into the carrier, I kept worrying that something would go wrong. That’s because pets and kids are unpredictable. That’s because whenever I think we have plenty of time, something always happens.

That day’s “something” was my daughter spilling V-8 juice all over the floor, a white dish towel and of course, on her pink tights. Somehow I remained calm as I used about fifty paper towels to tackle the mess. My daughter, who was succumbing to a cold, did not remain calm. She was wearing a pink shirt, pink skirt and pink tights. In her mind, only pink tights would do. I told her to wear white ones. She went to her room and came back mumbling that her shirt didn’t have any white on it. Because there wasn’t white on her outfit, she didn’t want white tights.  Again, as I mopped up red puddles, I explained that white is a neutral and matches everything. (I’d love to see Stacy & Clinton take on a sleepy seven-year-old on What Not to Wear!)

To move things along, I helped my daughter pull on her tights. She whined that they didn’t fit. (They’re brand new, size 7-10). I explained how tights are probably called tights because they feel tight. She didn’t laugh. Then I thought if anyone should be upset, it’s me. I just had to clean tomato juice splattered all over my kitchen and I’m not sure the stain will come out of the tea towel my grandmother embroidered with a kitten and the word “Monday.”

Was there any doubt in your mind that this was a Monday? As I drove through the morning darkness, listening to the radio dj predict snow, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of déjà vu. It seems whenever we’re relaxed, running ahead of schedule, a spill or a rip or some other minor catastrophe puts the rush back into our routine. Have you noticed that once you have kids, if anything can go wrong, it will? Unless of course, you’re expecting it. 

According to Wikipedia, Murphy’s Law dates back to 1877. I say it’s been around longer than that—ever since the first woman gave birth.

If you’re a busy woman, having a Murphy's Law kind of day, treat yourself to the novella, Made for Two. It’s a “sweet read with depth” for 99¢.    

If you enjoy this type of book, check out On the Verge or Made for Two by Karen Lenfestey. 

Whenever I discover a recipe that everyone in my family likes, I put a star next to it. If it's easy to make, then it gets another star. This starred recipe is so simple and yummy, I had to share it. It's supposed to be for breakfast, but we like to eat it for dinner.

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking sheet with non-stick foil or spray with cooking spray. Place 5 cups frozen, shredded hash brown potatoes in a large bowl, breaking up large clumps. 

How did I miss “the best film of 2005” according to the Los Angeles Times? Oh, yeah. I had a baby. I probably didn’t go to the theater more than once that year. But I don’t even remember hearing about this film. I'm so glad I stumbled across it at my local library.

Now my baby is seven and she loves to watch movies. In fact, if I let her eat popcorn in the living room while watching a DVD, I’ve elevated the event to something special. She still likes animated films, but I especially enjoy a movie that entertains us both. (You know—one with actors, not cartoons). That’s why I’m writing about “DUMA.”

Duma is the name of a cheetah that wanders into the road in South Africa where a father and son find him. (All we ever find in the road where I live are squirrels and skunks!) Since the cub is orphaned, the family takes him home to their farm miles away. The gentle squeak that comes out of that cheetah’s mouth is not what you expect. Soon the cat grows bigger than the boy and proves to be better than a watchdog. Unfortunately, the father dies and the boy, his mother, and Duma must leave the farm. (Be aware that the sad parts of the movie are off-screen. We do not see how the father dies, which works well for my sensitive daughter and me.)

Before the dad died, he told his son, Xan, that Duma needed to return to the wild. (What a great name! I think I'll name my next kid Xan, although he'll probably have to explain to everyone that it's pronounced Zan.) Xan decides to fulfill his dad’s wishes and runs away with the cheetah. African deserts, lions, crocodiles and a suspicious stranger provide plenty of obstacles for the twelve-year-old boy to overcome. He is amazingly resourceful, reading a compass and making a canoe out of sticks. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have fared nearly as well as he did, but I guess it is fiction. There was drama, but no tears until the very end when Duma finally remembers what it means to be wild.

This film would entertain children from ages seven on up and I highly recommend it! 

What’s your favorite family film? I'd love to know, so I can watch it! Would you like "Movies you Might've Missed" to become a regular feature?
 
If you're looking for a "sweet read with depth" after the kids go to bed, check out my 99 cent novella, Made for Two. 

One night when I was still naïve enough to think raising kids was a pretty straight-forward endeavor, I saw a young family at Wal-Mart. Two toddlers climbed all over the cart, whining and crying. I looked at my watch. 10 p.m. “Why aren’t those kids in bed?” I whispered to my husband.

That’s how I was for many years—a childless parenting expert. Everyone who knew about my Franklin calendar priority lists and my desperate need to keep my desk clean, must’ve secretly laughed when I announced I was having a baby. They probably thought,“She’ll never finish another to-do list again.” They were right.

Motherhood threw me off-balance. I tried to figure out my infant daughter’s schedule by writing every feeding and nap down. I needed some kind of predictability, but there wasn’t any clear pattern. As soon as I thought I’d figured her out, she’d change. My biggest fear was that we’d be out in public, she’d start bawling and everyone’s eyes would be on me. No one wants to hear a baby cry, I reasoned, and it was my job as her mother to make sure she didn’t disturb others.

Well, baby’s first Christmas arrived. Cry, cry, cry. Everybody tried rocking her—me, her dad, grandma, great-grandma , etc. I was mortified. She was ruining everyone’s holiday dinner. She wasn’t hungry, tired or lonely—just miserable. Nothing we did helped. Finally, we put her down in a quiet bedroom and gave up.

A little while later, we found out why she had been inconsolable. She’d eaten prunes for the first time and it upset her insides. One very messy diaper change later and my baby’s smile returned. (There should be a warning label on prune baby food containers!)

Seven years later, I still think about that family at Wal-Mart. Perhaps they’d run out of children’s Tylenol and one of the kids was sick. Or maybe they just hadn’t figured the whole parenting thing out quite yet. Either way, I try not to judge any more. I want to tell all of the new moms out there to stop worrying about what everybody else thinks. The ones who give you disapproving looks probably don’t know any better. The rest of us see your two year old having a meltdown and remember when we were in your shoes. How there’s no reasoning, no placating kids sometimes. Sometimes you just have to wait them out. And sometimes they just need to go poo. 

If you liked this post, please comment and click the like or tweet buttons below. To show my appreciation, I will enter everyone who leaves a comment into a drawing to win my novel What Happiness Looks Like!

We’re planning a family vacation and I must confess, I’m a little scared. Even the research shows that happiness surges most when anticipating a trip rather than during it. I suspect that’s especially true if you’re bringing along the munchkins.

 Until now we’ve only ventured a few hours from home with our little one. We took the South Shore railroad (how cool is that?!?) to Chicago. On day three, our toddler had a tearful meltdown in Shedd Aquarium because she was so tired. (All right, I might have had a meltdown, too, but it was because I had an untreated sinus infection.) We stayed home the next summer. 

              But inevitably, the vacation bug bit us again. Recently we visited Jack Hanna’s zoo in Columbus on a day the forecasters marveled would be sunny and in the seventies. Instead, it was in the fifties and during lunch, thunder and lightening forced us to bolt for the parking lot where we searched in the pouring rain for our vehicle. On the ride home, our daughter choked on a sip of water and threw up in our brand new car. (My husband had a meltdown that time.)

            So yes, I’m afraid. But I’m excited too. Today we ordered our seven-year-old her first passport. (I didn’t get mine until I went on my honeymoon!) I’m tickled at the opportunities we are providing for her. She’s going to see Niagara Falls from the Canadian side. She’s going to mine for “diamonds” and visit the chocolate-scented town of Hershey. What could possibly go wrong?

            No--please don’t tell me. It’ll ruin the surprise.

What was your most memorable vacation? 
When did you get your first passport?

If you enjoyed this blog, please click “tweet” or “like” below. If you’re looking for a book to read on your vacation, check out novels by the author Glo Magazine said is "a charming writer. . .with a gift for storytelling”: A Sister’s Promise or What Happiness Looks Like. 

Is motherhood a full-time job? Yes. But it doesn't pay very well. I think that's why my husband freaks out when our seven-year-old daughter announces that she plans on staying home when she grows up and letting the "daddy" work. Other times, she talks of living with us forever, which freaks him out even more.

Just yesterday my daughter wouldn't eat much dinner because she'd filled up on Triscuits. Her dad declared, "You're never eating crackers for snack again." She piped up, "Yes, I will. When I grow up and have my own house." I chimed in, "That's another reason to get a good job, so you can move out and eat all the crackers you want." (Sell it--sell it.)

It's my own fault, really. I think I've sent my daughter mixed messages. Since she was born, I've stayed home with her, arranged play dates and chaperoned school field trips. Now that she's in school all day, I work from home, but as far as she's concerned, I'm still just home. I feel lucky I can do that, but my daughter never knew me before. In my life B.C. (before child), I put myself through graduate school. I worked a satisfying job (and several unsatisfying ones). I traveled to Europe. I supported myself.

That's my husband's real concern. Will our daughter turn into a happy, independent adult? It'd be nice if she met a great guy and could afford to be a stay-at-home mom, if that's what she wants. But it'd also be nice if she had a rewarding career. A job that allowed her choices like I've had. 

Some days I think she gets it. Recently she said, "When I grow up, I want to be a vet. But I'll quit when I become a mom." If that's what you want, dear. Motherhood may not pay well, but it definitely has its perks. 

Whether you work at home or away, you deserve a treat. Click below for an excerpt about women whose lives are even more complicated than yours: A Sister's Promise or What Happiness Looks Like. If you liked this blog, please click "like" or "tweet" below.