IOU Easter Bunny


Guys. We IOU’d Easter.

It’s a long story, but the point is this . . . we forgot about the Easter Bunny.

I was laying in bed Easter morning, thinking what a beautiful, wonderful day it was, pondering peaceful thoughts of my Savior, when the hubs and I heard our son burst forth from his bedroom proclaiming to the world, “IT’S EASTER!! WE’RE GOING TO DYE EGGS! YAY!! (SISTER), WAKE UP AND LET’S FIND OUR EASTER BASKETS!!”

I’d be lying if I said my thoughts of heavenly things didn’t go south quickly with a swear word or two.

We forgot. Completely.


There were no hidden eggs. There were no baskets. I didn’t even have any eggs.

I kid you not, the kids searched everywhere. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so . . . not hilarious.

I ran to the laundry room and drew up a note from ol’ E. Bunny that said, “Your door was locked! I’ll come back tomorrow!” which the hubs taped to the back of the house while I was helping confused children get ready for church.

Seriously. We IOU’d Easter Bunny.

It gets worse. How do you put together Easter baskets when you observe the Sabbath day? Without going to a store? I’ll just let you ponder that one for a minute or two.

In the end, it worked out. Our children are not traumatized. Mostly.

Are you ready for the kicker? The punchline of all punchlines?

A few days later, we forgot the tooth fairy.

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Ba-dum tchhhh.


Pee-Pants. A horror story.


PEE-PANTS Horror StoryIn case you were wondering what I mean by said “pee-pants,” we’re speaking of toddler/kid night time pull-ups. And, dear readers, PULLS-UPS ARE THE KINGS OF THE NECESSARY EVILS.

They’re disposable (yay!) and suspiciously expensive (boo.)

They’re easy for kids to pull on (yay!) except every 3rd time, when they rip up the side (boo) and render themselves useless. Unless you’re a parent willing to use duct tape. No comment.

They’re everywhere & always within reach (yay!) until it’s two hours past your adorable hellion’s bedtime and you discover you’re all out (major boo).

But dear readers, let me tell you a horror story.

It happened on a very recent dark, stormy night. We did laundry. More specifically, we did the kids’ laundry. If you know where this is going, then shame on you for not warning me ahead of time.

The buzzer buzzed oh-so-innocently and hubby got up from the couch where we were watching reruns of “New Girl” to forward that load to the dryer. I heard the washer door open, then an incredibly long silent pause. No sounds of sloshing wet clothes. No little “hmphs” from Nick begrudgingly bent over transferring those wet clothes to the dryer. Nothing. Sickening silence.

Then, the dreaded, “honey . . . ?”

I didn’t move. Maybe if I just pretend I didn’t hear it, time will rewind and fix whatever horror it is. 

“Seriously. Something is wrong. Come look at this.”

Nope. Nnnnnope. Nothing is wrong. Everything is just fine.

“Tara. There is something seriously wrong with our washer.”

I blew out a sigh, bid Schmidt to wish me luck, and trudged into the laundry room WHERE FREAKIN’ SLIMY SNOW AWAITED ME.

I kid you not. Little, clear-ish/white-ish slimy pellets of snow were spilling out of the washer and clinging to the wet clothes.

“I don’t want to know what that stuff is,” said my dashing, debonaire, total scaredy-pants husband.

I bravely picked up a clump and squished it between my fingers. Then images of a long-forgotten Youtube gardening video flashed through my mind. A video where the crystals inside of diapers are soaked with water and placed in the soil, thereby providing a source of water for thirsty plants and also preventing overwatering.


My son’s ***PEE-PANTS*** literally expanded to 5 times their normal size and violently disintegrated.

With more attitude than was probably necessary, I impatiently carefully removed each article of wet, slimy clothing and shook out slimy crystals all over my laundry room floor, then threw them in the dryer. We plugged a wind-turbine in front of the washer to dry out the crystals and hoped (or just pretended) the clothes now in the dryer wouldn’t do any damage. “This thing is under warranty, right?”

Nick vacuumed out the dried crystals in the morning, and the kids clothes are no worse for wear. (Though I cannot attest to their emotional and mental state.) I still haven’t tried to use the washer or dryer since. Too scared. Should we take bets on how long I can go without doing a load of laundry in this house??

Moral of the story: warn your kid not to put their pee-pants in the dirty clothes. And warn yourselves to be on the lookout for the little disposable traitors when throwing in a kids’ load late at night in the dark.

Stupid pee-pants. Stupid, stupid little pee-pants.

*If someone dares make a joke about them not being “little” pee-pants when they’re five times their normal size, I will publicly unfriend you.


She’s finally here!



Guys, I’m going to start this post by saying how GLORIOUS it is to not be sick anymore! I CAN’T STOP SMILING!! I can talk! I can walk! I can laugh! I can mom!

That said, as you might have guessed (or seen on my facebook page), baby girl decided to finally join us. And she’s adorable. (you might remember me mentioning here that my oldest daughter was a gorgeous newborn but my son looked more on the Benjamin Button side of things for a few months. So maybe a little part of me was worried…)

And she’s the best baby EVER. Seriously. From 9:00 at night until about 9:00 in the morning, she sleeps. Even when I wake her to feed her, she basically sleeps through it. Hubby and I are getting a ton of sleep! Scratch that. We could be getting a ton of sleep if we’d stop with our second go-around of Netflix binging all the seasons of Friday Night Lights. Texas forever.


I’ve never understood why family and friends want to know the weight and length of a newborn, so I’ll just say she was born perfect. She is on the long and lean side, though this past week she’s started to plump up with that ridiculously cute cheek and thigh squish.

She’s super curious and has these ginormous, searching eyes, which you might get a glimpse of if you happen to be around during the few minutes she decides to forgo her beauty sleep and grace us with her awake presence.


She’s named after her great grandmother and her grandma. Though I’m on the fence about sharing my kids names on a public blog, so I’ll keep those to myself for now.

Delivery was a cinch, recovery has been awesome, and again, I CAN’T STOP SMILING! Two days after delivery, I was already anxious to be normal again and started making plans. “Nick, let’s go camping! Let’s throw a party! Let’s start going back to the gym! I’m going to church this Sunday! I’m gonna make the kids’ Halloween costumes this week! What do you want for dinner?? Ooooh, let’s host Thanksgiving for EVERYBODY!!” I tell you, pregnancy is not my forte. Newborns? Newborns I can handle like a boss.


We’ll see how long it lasts. I’m sure you all remember this post when I was definitely not on my A-game.

So, dear readers, I know I announced that I was “back” a few months ago, but in reality, my fingers were typing away some thoughts while I whithered away behind the scenes in misery.

But Oh Glorious Day, we have arrived! The land of the living has beckoned and brought with it a perfect, beautiful little girl! Our family is healthy, happy, together, and smiling. What more could we ask for?

I’m feeling tremendously grateful. I have the best husband. He’s thoughtful, and caring, and works hard for our family, and brings spontaneity and laughter. He’s my best friend. He’s my love. He has sacrificed so much to keep our family running smoothly during my pregnancies. He is strong, he is wise, he is brave, and he is mine. He doesn’t just make me smile, he makes me feel like I’m glowing. There is no one better for me than him, and I’m so lucky to have found him.


I have the best little 5 year old daughter. She’s super smart and creative. She reasons through everything, making sure she thought of every detail. She’s very beautiful with big, bright blue eyes. She is very aware of others around her and tries so hard to be helpful. She never forgets anything (both a blessing and a curse), and her giggle is freaking adorable. She’s a lover if ever there was one, laying on kisses and hugs and cuddles like they’re going out of style.


My 4 year old son is so stinking cute! What a charmer. He’s one of those people that never laughs at his own hilarious commentary, even though the look in his eyes says he knows exactly how funny he just was. He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. I get unsolicited “I wuv you, mommy”s all the time. He has to run everywhere, because walking is for chumps. His energy is never-ending. Except at church. At church he’s the epitome of shy, reserved, quiet, and tender. Oh, and he’s completely and utterly obsessed with Star Wars.


And now, I’ve been blessed with another beautiful soul. A sweet, sleepy, curious, pretty, perfect little baby girl. And I can’t wait to get to know her!

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Love, Tara

World War III


We might not survive this day, dear reader. It is World War III over here. Screaming toddler, sassy 5 year old, messes beyond the capabilities of FEMA, bribes, threats, revoked privileges, “time-in” that quickly escalated back to the old school time-out . . . all things I’m going to regret in the morning.

Today has not been my best day as a mother. And it’s barely noon. Somebody say a prayer – there’s a good chance mine are struggling to be heard over the scream-whining of my littles. I may be only one step above bed rest at the moment, but you’d think I could at least keep things recognizable.

I could tell you the whole story, but I think my husband’s response to my text sums it up nicely.

“As long as everyone’s breathing and not bleeding.”

What a trooper.

So you know what I did? 30 minutes ago I gave up. I took myself and my unborn child back to bed. The kids officially have free reign. My knives are out of their reach, the pool fence and back door are locked, and my bedroom door is open.

And guess what. By the time I got to this point in my blog post, the house is filled with sounds of toys being put back in their rightful place. My kids are getting along as they put the war to rights, probably signing a peace treaty as we speak.

This is totally not where I thought this post was going.

My conclusion? Either 1) an angel came by and whispered in their ears some heavenly, secret phrase that suddenly inspires obedience and responsibility; or 2) I was the problem.

Yeah, totally not where I thought this post was going.



That moment after picking up your toddler son and sitting him in your lap while you finish up just one more paragraph, only to discover the reason he came to you in the first place was because he needed his bum wiped.

Then the moment after changing your own pants, wiping up your son, and washing that poop smear from your forearm, that your daughter points out the little tiny glob on the bathroom floor that you just stepped in.

This just got real.

Mother/Writer hybrids out there, don’t pretend this type of thing hasn’t happened to you.