You know how when you give somebody a job, say a little yard work, and you expect it to take about an hour and so they go off to do the job and then come back and say it’s done but it’s not been an hour but only about 3 minutes? So you think to yourself how awesome that person must be to get the job finished so quickly but then you check and realize they only pulled, like, 3 weeds out of the grass and didn’t sweep the porch at all and there are still big rocks in the yard and about 152 little maple trees trying to grow in the mulch and their hands aren’t even dirty or anything?

I like to be the fun one and give my boys special game privileges sometimes but it always blows up in my face.  Always.  If my boys are allowed more than, say, 2 minutes of video game time something goes wrong in their brains so when I ask them to do something real it’s like they are robots and you’re throwing water on them and it’s making them short circuit and their insides start frying and drool comes out of their mouths and they no longer understand simple English words like clean and rock.

It’s a complete malfunction.

Then I spend somewhere between 35 and 52 hours reteaching them simple tasks like how to hold a spoon and pee goes in the toilet, all while questioning my own sanity because how many more times will I make this mistake and will I never learn?

But I don’t like blaming myself for things.  Like I’ve mentioned before, I’m a blame-shifting gold medalist.

So I’ve decided to blame the devil.
Or maybe the government.
Or maybe they’re the same thing.

Whatever.  I just don’t like video games because after my boys play them I have to re-boot their systems all over again.  It’s nuts.

I really like Cheerios.  You know, that little round whole wheat cereal with only 1 gram of sugar per serving that you’ve been eating since before you could talk?  Yeah, those.  I like them a lot.  Mostly because Jesse thinks they’re the best snack ever, but also because they just taste really good with milk.

So I wasn’t about to say no to the Cheerios giveaway offer made to me.

My Blog Spark along with Cheerios offered me a fun create-your-own-books kit, along with one to give away here on my blog, as a way to help kick off Cheerios annual New Author Contest. The winning book from 2009 is adorable and was included in the box of Cheerios that came in my prize pack. Laurie Isop’s book, How Do You Hug a Porcupine?, is the sweet story of loving even the prickliest of friends. And the create-your-own books kit came with two blank hard cover books, colored pencils, and letter stickers.  There is so much potential with these. We are going to be creating a story together as a family with our kit. And you can enter to win one of these fun kits yourself below.

But first, listen up, or read up because this might be right up your ally.

Calling all aspiring children’s book authors!!  
The 2011 Cheerios® New Author Contest is open for entries!

Cheerios® is looking for the next great children’s book by a never-before-published author.  Enter your story in the 2011 Cheerios New Author Contest between March 22 – July 15, 2011.  Winners will be announced in March 2012.  Judging criteria, contest rules and eligibility information can be found at www.spoonfulsofstoriescontest.com.  There is no cost to enter.  The contest is part of the Cheerios Spoonfuls of Stories® program to get great books to kids and nurture a love of reading. 

If you have an original story in English or Spanish, written for children who are ages three to eight, you can enter the Cheerios New Author Contest here.  There is a grand prize of $5000 and a possible book deal with Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing. What a great way to help encourage ambitious authors!

And if you want to win your own box of Cheerios with Laurie Isop’s book inside, as well as a “create-your-own” books kit for kids that contains two hard cover books and all the necessary materials to creatively fill the pages inside, including story starter ideas and colored pencils, well you can do that right here by following the directions below.

The rules.
It is so easy to enter and there are 4 ways to win! You’re only required to enter using one method below to win, however, if you use all four methods you’ll have a better chance!

US address holders are welcome to enter per the rules below. Pay special attention to the closing date! You can enter 4 times by following the directions here by 5/4/2011. Everybody is welcome to enter – even if I ‘know’ you.

1. Leave a comment telling me about your favorite book as a child, or the one you love to read to your own children now.
2. Leave a post on your blog or website spreading the news about this giveaway. Make sure to leave a link back here.
3. Twitter about this giveaway (see quick Twitter link below this post).
4. Subscribe to We Are Culbertson’s RSS feed or follow me.

To receive each entry you have to leave a separate comment for each of the 4 entries.

1 winner will be chosen on or around 5/5/2011.

We will announce it on the blog here. I’ll also email you if you’ve provided your email address. But, I can’t hang onto your winnings forever so make sure you check back!

Subscribe to our RSS Feed so you don’t miss any of our giveaways and winner announcements!!!
Contact me if you would like me to host your giveaway!
Visit this page to see our complete contest rules.
View our privacy policy.

Maybe I’ll write now about how my ears are stuffed up and my equilibrium is completely off and I’ve got a little something called vertigo. 

Did you see that girl walking normally and then all the sudden she took a weird big step sideways like the ground just went out from under her but it really didn’t and then she kind of crumpled over and it made her look a little bit like she maybe drank too much of something fermented? 
Yeah. That was me. 

I need to see a doctor about this but to make a short story shorter I’ll just say that Tricare is dumb. I could have sea legs for another 2 weeks or so before I can get into the clinic.  And I’ve never even been out to sea so it just doesn’t seem fair.

This isn’t the first time this has happened to me.  I aquire a bit of vertigo easily. Even for weeks after a trip in an airplane, which is something I avoid at all costs because God did not give us wings because he just didn’t and that makes going up in the sky completely unnatural for humans. Plus, falling out of the sky makes you dead and going up in the sky increases your chances of falling out of it by, like, a gazillion percent.
I don’t do math but that seems like pretty bad statistics.

So for now I’ll just have to get used to slight dizziness, occasional nausea, and the feeling of being tipped over all of the sudden by nothing without any warning.

I feel like I’ve had one too many go-rounds on the gravitron.

This post isn’t about those warm fuzzies you made for your BFF in elementary school out of little pompoms and googly eyes and that Elmer’s glue you used to pour all over your hands when the teacher wasn’t looking so you could peel it off. 

No.  Because that might actually be delightful.
This post is about baby poo.  Read at your own risk.

It all started when I was just sitting here minding my own business.  Lucy was all like, I’m happy! And I was all like, You’re so happy! And then she was like Yay!  And I was like Yay! back.

I didn’t smell anything wrong.  It was a happy moment.

But then everything changed.  I got up from where I was sitting and Gabe said, mom what were you sitting in, and I said, what?, and he said ewww!, and I looked and I said, Oh my goodness that’s baby poop! and he said, I’m going to leave the room now.

How it happened that a tea saucer sized glob of Lucy’s poo managed to work it’s way under my behind while I sat unknowingly is beyond the scope of my imagination.  But, somehow it did happen and I have to deal with the fact that I sat in poop yesterday.

You know my blog would never be right without the occasional poop post.  And I want to do the right thing, you know.

Now go.  And have a nice day. And look before you sit.

Mud happened.

Matthew: I’ll just get a baby wipe and clean this up.

Everybody was caked in mud. Matthew had it in his ears.  Ben had it up his back.  And Sam had it covering his pants front and back.  And his feet weren’t even recognizable as feet anymore and looked like solid blocks of black filthiness.

But Sam’s shirt. His sweet white and blue shirt. The one I had taken care to wash, dry, iron, and wrap carefully around a small, plastic hanger. In all the muddy chaos his shirt remained spotless.  And a ray of ultra bright light shone down directly upon it. And everywhere there was the sound of birds chirping. And the lion and the bunny were friends at last. And somewhere from far away I think I heard the echo of giggling angels.  It was as if, in that perfect moment, God was showering a sort of laundry grace directly upon my son’s perfectly stain-free shirt.

It was a sight to behold. Breathtaking beauty.
And I’ve captured the event forever with this picture and a blog post

Fairy tales can come true. It can happen to you…

The zoo is only 10 minutes away from our house and we have a family pass my sweet inlaws paid for as a Christmas present.  I needed to get away from the stuff here for a little while so we grabbed up our neighbors and took a trip to see wild animals in their unnatural, natural habitats. 
That’s 12 children, 8 of which are boys, at the zoo for 4 hours.

I learned something from this little outing. Boys are drawn to the sound of frogs croaking like flies are drawn to the smell of poop.  That, and I simply must have a squirrel monkey of my own.  You know, because there is not enough chaos around here as it is and I could really use more diapers to change.

I also learned that it’s wrong to forget to drink your coffee before you go spend 4 hours with 12 children at a crowded place.  I had to apply for a loan just to afford a Pepsi.

It was a good day and being able to spend it with friends made it even better.  And you wanna know what exhibit seemed to fascinated the kids the most?

The catfish.

Dear guys with the really large earlobe holes that make my stomach turn (you know, assuming I have mutilated earlobe blog readers),

Someday when you’re old you will say to yourself, Self, that was really dumb of you to do that to your earlobes.

I’m just sayin’.  It makes you kind of creepy. And gross. And nauseating.  Like when somebody has a really huge booger hanging out of their nose and you just can’t stop looking but you have to because you think you might be sick but you just can’t and you tell them to please wipe that thing and they reply that they had it attached there permanently on purpose because it makes them look unique but really it only makes people’s stomachs feel turny.

What I’m saying is that you make people’s stomachs turn.  Was that your original intent?
I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop you.

Sincerely,
The lady who almost threw up on your shoe

There is this odd phenomenon that has taken place in my house.  I have no idea what the cause is.  My husband has shrugged his shoulders because he really doesn’t care. And my children have no idea what I’m talking about. 
But it’s getting serious. 

And I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not talking about troll dolls. 

No.

I’m talking about ugly clothes.

There is this stack of ugly boys clothes, a fairly large stack, in my bedroom.  And it isn’t the first time I’ve cleaned out my boys’ closet and come away with a bunch of ugly clothes.  However, this is the first time it’s dawned on me that I have no idea where these ugly clothes are coming from?  Did I buy them one time when I wasn’t looking?  And if I did, how did I keep myself from seeing what I was doing? 
Is there such a thing as sleep shopping? 

Was I drunk? 

Today I developed a strong aversion to camouflage.  With each camouflage piece I came across while going through my boys clothes my insides felt just a little more scratchy.  It was never ending for a little while until it ended.  I haven’t done the science on this but I think camouflage may be asexual and capable of producing more camouflage all on it’s own.  
And why is it that a boy’s favorite pair of shorts are always the ugly camo ones that they like to think matches the striped shirt because they have some of the same colors in them? 

[The events in the following story actually happened. Names may or may not have been changed to protect the ugly clothes picker-outer or his accomplice.]

Me: Dude, camo shorts are awful all on their own. And that striped shirt isn’t drawing any attention away from them.  I can’t let people see you in that.  We don’t need to look any weirder than we already are.

Dude: What? Dad said it matches.

Dad: What? He looks good.

Me: Have you gone mad?

Kait: Dad! You can’t be serious. He can’t wear that out of the house.  Or inside the house. Or anywhere. Ever. This is unacceptable!

Kait and I actually had to suffer watching the boy leave the house with his father to go buy some man stuff at the hardware store while he was dressed like that weird homeschool kid who grew up next door that everybody thought was part of some freaky cult because he never came outside and when he did he was wearing camouflage shorts and a striped shirt that had matching colors but didn’t really match at all because one was camo and the other was stripey. 
It was painful.

So I’m getting rid of the camo.  And I don’t feel bad about it. It’s time they learned to dressed like they have some sense. Or a mama. Or an older sister.

My future daughters-in-law will appreciate me for this.

P.S. Why is the plural of daughter-in-law daughters-in-law, instead of daughter-in-laws? Putting the ‘s’ after ‘daughter’ is like mixing fruit in with ice cream.  Somebody said it was the right thing to do, but something just seems very wrong about it.

I rarely drink. Partly because I’m always either nursing or pregnant, but mostly because I tend to get a little brazen with the debit card after I’ve downed a few.
It’s that darned Mastercard logo. It’s like holding a superpower in the palm of your hand only you’re not a superhero so you don’t know how to use it in a safe manner but that little devily guy on your left shoulder is starting to sound reasonable and you think what could go wrong? so you go ahead and use it and all feels good until you learn that you just exploded the eastern hemisphere which is where the world’s coffee beans are grown and you realize all of the sudden that you’ll never drink coffee again and you’re ruined.

This post isn’t even about superpowers and I’m not quite sure where I’m going with this.

I think what I meant to say was I don’t drink much but I still sometimes wake up with the same feelings of regret that over-drinkers often get after a night of bad decision making. This morning was like that.  Seeing all those boy clothes all over the place…  I thought to myself, Self, what on earth got into you last night? (read here first if you’re confused)

I spent some time in conference with me. We discussed ways to prevent mishaps like this in the future. And went through the pros and cons of lighter fluid and matches.

I ended up making it through about a forth of the clothes. And there are still a handfull of collared shirts left to iron.  On a side note, whoever invented the ironing board is dumb. It was probably the government. Or maybe it was you and I just called you dumb and now you’re feeling bad about yourself.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. But seriously, you couldn’t do better than this? Maybe you should feel bad.
Were did all the smart people go?

On a positive note, I did learn that all my boys do, in fact, have clothes that fit.  All this business of, I don’t have any pants that fit me, can I wear my camo shorts with this striped shirt to church today? just isn’t going to fly anymore.
So, that’s a bonus.

You know like how some people collect weird things like rusty metal. Or lint. Or air?

Yeah. I think I might be becoming one of those people.

There is no other explanation for why I did what I did this evening other than my decision making skills must have definitely left for an extended vacation. Probably somewhere paradise-y.  They’re likely sitting in a resort hot tub and sipping on tropical drinks with cute little paper umbrellas in them while I get to stay here making un-smart choices. 

This evening I did this:

This is my bedroom all hopped up on cotton/polyester blends.  I was struck with an insomnia induced wave of pure, unadulterated derangement and decided that my boys’ clothing situation needed a complete overhaul.  
It was a moment of insanity that I will have to live with forever. Or at least until sometime tomorrow.
And the picture above, which isn’t doing the current situation justice at all, isn’t even showing the 50 collared shirts piled up on the ironing board.  I counted them.  No hyper-bowl there.

I have six boys.  Not twenty-six.  Just six.  What in the name of all that is sweet and salty do six boys need 50 collared shirts for?  They don’t even have jobs.  Or attend meetings.  Or conferences.  Or school. 

Am I a hoarder now?  Will I be famous like the lady with the 3 year old yogurt that wasn’t puffy? I’ll probably be household discussion. Did you see the one with the mom who hoarded little boys collared shirts? What a psycho!

It’s a big job I got ahead of me, yes-sir-e-bob.  But at least there aren’t any socks to match.

Wait. Where are the socks?