Mr. Independent

So I wake up this morning at 6:30 to the sounds of my youngest son calling my oldest son's name.

My first response is to get up quick as I think he is going in my eldest's room and going to wake him up.

Now after assuming this was the scenario I was about to walk in on, imagine my surprise when I walk into my youngest son, naked from the waist down, in the bathroom up on a stool, water everywhere trying to fill his sippy cup in the sink.

Upon closer inspection I think I see some chocolate-like debris on his face. knowing we are usually in the habit of washing their faces before they go to bed, I ask him, "what's on your face?"  His response: "chocolate."

Oh jeesh ... I know where this is going. I asked him what chocolate and he points towards the kitchen (we live in a bungalow) and I ask him to show me. Sure enough when we get to the kitchen counter, there is only one advent calender visible.

Turns out he has brought his calender over to the couch, found a chocolate (today's if you can believe it!!!), eaten it and turned on the television.

This kid had been livin' it up for who knows how long on his own this morning before I woke up.

I guess it's time to put a hall gate up (and some night time video cameras).

Source

A Parent's Nightmare

Can you guess what it is?

If you take these three items:  

your couch,

Link


your towels,



a bucket,

and throw in your child, what do you have?

THE STOMACH FLU

Every parent dreads being summoned to their child's room only to smell that all-too familiar odour and their offspring crying something about throwing up. Of course it's dark so the wonderful display that awaits is at first concealed, but once the lights are turned on, the nightmare takes on techni-colour (literally).  You try not to gag yourself as you try to be strong and comfort your child, changing their clothes, stripping their beds and putting fresh sheets on (only to change them again 15 minutes later when you are summoned again).

Ahhhhh. Tis' the season.

One night and so far nothing more.

Crossing my fingers that the stomach bug will enter and exit our family with our eldest son.   All I want for Christmas is .... no throwing up!

Mmmmmm ... Cookie Balls

Who knew adding crushed up cookies to cream cheese and dipping it in chocolate could be so good? I mean based on the ingredients that I just mentioned , how could it be bad?

 Have you tried cookie balls? I was just introduced to them- easy delicious, different, tons of variations, and perfect for almost every occasion.

 For a whole bunch of cake ball recipes , including these:

Peppermint Oreo Cookie Balls

 these:

Melting Snowmen Cookie Balls

 and these:

Nilla-Banana Cookie Balls

 visit Kraft's website.

Mmmmm, enjoy!

A Beautiful Christmas Story

Yes, I'm still alive.

I'd like to apologize for my MIA status recently. No real excuses other than lack of time (as I'm sure you can all relate), volunteering to organize a bake sale at my son's school and Christmas craziness.

At one time I wrote new posts five times a week, I would like to start things back up, but am trying to be a bit more realistic with my current schedule and will aim for twice.  Bear with me please.

Today, I share with you a very sweet Christmas story that was sent to me on email.  I have to admit that tears came to my eyes as I read it.  There's nothing like that feeling that you get when you truly give from your heart to someone that truly needs.

______________________________________________



I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma.  I was just a kid.                                                                
                                                                            
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb:  "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered.  "Even dummies know that!"                                  
                                                                            
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been.  I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me.  I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns.  I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.  It had to be true.                        
                                                                            
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm.  Between bites, I told her everything.  She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous!  Don't believe it.  That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad,  plain mad!!  Now, put on your coat, and let's go."                                        
                                                                            
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked.  I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.  "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked  through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.  That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car."  Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.                                                            
                                                                            
I was only eight years old.  I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.  The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.                                          
                                                                            
For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.                                                                
                                                                            
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors,the kids at school, the people who went to my church.              
                                                                            
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker.  He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat.  I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter.  His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement.  I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!                                                      


I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it.  It looked real warm, and he would like that.                                  
                                                                            
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."                                  
                                                                            
The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat.  I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.  
                                                                            
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, >From Santa Claus" on it.
  
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.  Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.                
                                                                            
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."                                                        
                                                                            
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.                                            
                                                                            
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open.  Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.                  
                                                                            
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.  
That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were  --  ridiculous.  Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.                                  
                                                                            
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.                                                                                
                                                                            
May you always have LOVE to share,                                  
HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care...                            
                                                                            
And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!