Not so adventures of the St. Clair clan...

 I'm thinking about adding advertisers to my blog.  The pop-ups are super annoying though, so I haven't pulled the trigger.  I thought I might earn an extra twelve to fifteen cents a month if I did that, and I'm trying to save up for a family milk cow.   Ross says under no circumstances are we getting a family milk cow.  Which I interpreted as  under most circumstances.  I'm pretty sure there are a few circumstances that would allow it.  I'm working on discovering those, but first I need some financial backing.  I'm also considering a go-fund-me, a Kickstarter fund, or a cow share.  Those things sound hard though.   Unlike owning a cow.   Never mind that I know nothing about owning a cow - I'm listening to podcasts.  I've already picked out my miniature jersey.  We just need to build a shelter.  And some fencing.  A way to get water to her and her baby.  Somewhere to put feed.  Somep...

I used to think I had started to hone my parenting skills.  Fischer was a much more mellow toddler than Sawyer, and I credited Ross and myself having the experience of one child under our belts.  It turns out, I was wrong.  Fischer was just a more mellow toddler .  That, or we have substantially regressed in our skills since having the twins.  It could be that. They are terrorists.   Nobody and nothing is off limits.   Our walls are covered in crayon and pencil.  Our new kitchen table has been branded with marker.  There is crayon on the windows.  My cupboards and drawers are empty.  My counter tops are full. They have figured out how to climb up on the table, and how to climb onto the windowsill and over the back of the couch, how to climb out of their cribs, and how to climb out of their clothes!       Our boys did not do these things.   I wasn't prepared.   I thought we had a plan...

 Can we just not let them grow-up for a little bit longer?  I know that eventually, our kids are going to be introduced to all of the sin our temporary world has to offer, but can we wait?  Can we just let them be little?  Let them be innocent?   "Mom, did you know God has the whole world in his hands?" asked our middle child. "Yes!" I replied. "So we're stepping on Him right now?" Hmmm, I think I need to explain that better. "Mom?" The same child asked a little later, "Is the girl elf with Santa really the Easter Bunny?" "Um, nope.  That's a...that's a really interesting question." "How does he get his reindeer to fly?" "Magic." "Where does his magic come from?" These questions are getting hard.   "Look!  I think I see a deer in the yard.  Do you want a snack?" Crisis averted.   "Mom, I can't wait for Dad to get the presents I circled for him in this catalogue,...

In seven years, I've been asked never times for parenting advice, so I thought I'd go ahead and offer some here.  This comes to you at no charge.  Unless you feel an overwhelming gratitude for my astute insight by the end, in which case, I take cash.  I can feel your anticipation mounting, so I'll get right to it.   Have your baby, and then get some friends.  For real.  This is the easiest time, besides elementary school, to make friends, and you're going to need them.  Take your baby to the nearest library, or church or playground, and find someone who has a kid close to the same age as yours.  You have an immediate talking point, and start friend-dating them to see if they are a good fit.  Next find a person with a kid slightly older than yours, and friend-date them.  Or join a mom's group, that works well too.  But get some friends.   Once you have your friends, tell them when you're struggling.  Chances are,...

 In middle school, I had my first glimpse of self-awareness.  It was only a glimpse because I still rocked the Little House on the Prairie dress ( Target would be proud ), but it was notable.  I talked too much, and I knew it.  My parents will tell you I was a talker from an early age.  They had to give me talking time-outs so their ears could catch a break.  (Our kids come by it honestly.)  It never occurred to me that it was a problem, however, until middle school.   In middle school I realized my chattiness was kind of annoying.  I also began to realize it was not endearing me to my friends' parents or my teachers.  But I had a problem - I had things to say , and I couldn't seem to stop myself from saying them.   I'd pray that God would help me not to talk.  He was either trying to teach me self-control or the people in my life patience because I never got laryngitis or the Ariel complex . I was mildly better at listen...

 I sent the boys outside to play with fire this afternoon.  I'm not even kidding.  It's wet out there.  What could possibly go wrong? Out they went with their flint and steel and about two dozen cotton balls.  I reasoned that at best, they might actually learn some legit survival skills, and at worst they were getting some outside time.  I felt like it was a pretty genius parenting move.  The boys were thrilled to be given permission to start a fire, and I was able to make dinner without anyone telling me what they didn't like (at least until it hit the table).   Fischer is so obsessed with fire that I'm fairly confident he will grow up to be a fire fighter or an arsonist - depending on Ross and my parenting skills.   Yesterday Fischer woke up, came into the living room and poked his head out the door.  "I think it's a burn day," he told me.   "Why is that?" I asked. "It smells like a burn day.  You should call."...

 Back before kids, when we had a tv and time for watching, some of my favorite shows were cooking shows.  I loved seeing what contestants came up with in the various competitions.  I thought Gordon Ramsey was a little bit much, but otherwise I was a total sucker for anything cooking related.  I found inspiration from those shows for my own cooking, which I thoroughly enjoyed.   Fast forward seven years and four kids.   Gordon Ramsey looks like a good natured grandma compared to my crew.  My one-year-old can out Ramsey, Gordon Ramsey.  She literally spit her dinner in my face because it was, to her standards, sub par.  These critics are no joke.   I've been told, by people who don't live under our roof, that my food is edible.  But for those whom I birthed, survey says....no.   The only thing I can get a 100% success rate on is watermelon.  Watermelon.  That I cut.  And serve.  That's it....