Learning to Leap

The Great Pumpkin I have a theory about the world of gambling. I think it originated in the mind of some young child observing his peers at a pumpkin patch. A couple weeks ago Lauren and I accompanied Olivia on her class field trip to a nearby pumpkin patch. We were thrilled by the intrigue of the corn maze, cuddled with the oh so clean barn animals, and even listened to the story of how a pumpkin seed becomes a pumpkin. But then, at long last, came the much anticipated moment, the hayride leading to the pumpkin patch. That magic land of orange, that field that holds the promise of the best, most jack-o-lantern worthy pumpkin ever seen. I could almost picture the casino lights and music as I helped my children climb up into the hay-filled tractor trailer. The kindergarteners all watch with wide eyes as the pumpkin patch draws ever closer. They wring their hands nervously and tap their fingers on their knees, as if signaling the dealer that they want another card. Will ...

Vacation. Relaxation. Rest. Serenity. Those are the words my mind instantly conjures up when I hear my husband suggest I should tag along on his business trip to the beach with him for five days. I picture a sunny coast, comfy chair with a big umbrella, a “brain candy” kind of book, and sleep. Wonderful, uninterrupted sleep. And then, as it always does, reality sets in and new words come to my mind. Temper tantrums. Multiple bathroom stops. Crying. And then I stop thinking just about myself and wonder what my kids might be like. Vacation is something that, exactly like my previously flat tummy and skinny jeans, disappears into the mist at the moment your first child is born. Unless you are so fortunate as to have willing grandparents, you must f ace reality that your children will be accompanying you on any trips for at least the next 20 years. That being said, vacation with your kids can be a wonderful experience. Filled with laughter and fun, the memories you will...

Occasionally I hear comments about how stay-at-home mothers are “wasting their intellectual abilities” or “eroding their critical thinking skills” by leaving the workplace. I watch these people on t.v., usually women, and as they adjust their trendy glasses with their perfectly manicured hands and push a freshly cut and styled hair back into place while putting me down, I have a few thoughts I’d like the chance to televise myself. I put down my teething child, step out of the maze of freshly folded clothes, and stand up on my coffee table to better proclaim to the t.v. my adamant positions. I am not a proponent of gambling, but I know how to fix our great nation’s financial woes. Every stay-at-home mom in this country could hold a gigantic bet....let US come run the business world for a few days and YOU people step into our shoes to take a break from your high pressure jobs and power lunch breaks. After just one week, I guarantee mommies would emerge the victors in our little wa...

I am a decisive, determined person. Once I decide something, that’s how it’s going to be. Period. My husband can tell you that I am slightly stubborn. If my mind’s made up, there’s no turning back. I am like the tree that withstands the tornado, the levee that does not break, the bird nesting outside your window that will not die. Could someone please then explain to me why, on a regular basis, I cannot do something as simple as holding my ground when it comes to daily life with the three small little people who live in my home? I am beginning to suspect that these darling daughters, these lights of my life, are more than meets the eye. I have been keeping notes of times when their charm overtakes me, and as if they have superhuman abilities, I find myself doing things I SWORE I would never do. Case in point: birthday cakes. I HATE decorating cakes, and every year I swear that is the last time I’m going to do it. My resolve on this point cannot be swayed. I am in the ...

I recently had to make a visit to my eye doctor. I have the eyes of a 103-year-old in a 29-year-old (ok, ok, 31-year-old) body. The technicians literally gasp when they first see my prescription and I get the feeling they dread the “which is better, one or two?” game just as much as I do because I answer “blurry is blurry” for so many times they have to quit to take a smoke break. But this is not my point. Because this was my first time to this particular office, I had to fill out the 1000-page medical and insurance forms before I could be seen. No problem, I thought, I won’t have the girls with me and will quickly and easily fill out any forms and answer any questions necessary. I am a college educated adult, after all. Name, Sharon Webber. Male or female? Female. So far, so good, I think. I breeze through the form asking for my address, maiden name, and medical history. No one asks me to take them to the bathroom. No one colors on my shoes with a sharpie. No one ev...

Vocabulary and I go way back. With a minor in literature and all the reading and writing assignments that came along with that, I have done my fair share of studying word meanings. But as a supermom, I have found that all my college training is basically crap. My new professors are my three daughters, and some days they are lenient and patient as they teach me new definitions, sometimes they are slave drivers giggling with glee as their mother fails miserably to get their drift. Below are a few of the terms I have learned as a supermom... * back massage - when I lie down on the floor and let the girls take turns walking on my back * steam treatment - putting my face over a steaming pot of boiling potatoes during dinner prep * willpowe r - saying no after allowing my children to eat just 4 popsicles...each * adu...

I'm telling you...feeding my family is a result of the Fall. I've already explained how cooking (and the grocery shopping necessary) is caused by sin in the world. Today I'd like to explore this line of thinking and how it plays out in the world of restaurants. At my house, we have an understanding on Sunday mornings. I, Mommy, am supposed to go to church to worship Jesus. After dressing three children (two of whom argue with me about wardrobe choice and one who spits up on at least two outfits), enduring the hair brushing scene (which we may explore in a later blog), directing breakfast, and getting myself ready (why, yes, it WAS another ponytail kind of morning), I am already struggling mightily to have a heart ready to worship. If you add in being responsible for an edible meal when we return from church, Satan just won the battle that morning. Look out, here comes Mama on the rampage. That being said, our only other option is to venture into the world of food ind...