We like many families are trying to find ways to cut little costs and make economical choices.

Now I’m not totally sure WHY this never occurred to me before, but we gave it a try.

My live-in helper Jackie and I got the very scientific ingredients.

You ready?

• gallon of whole milk
• empty milk container
• water

Watch this ( start at 1:25) and it talks about the accidental milk brilliance.

I love roller roasters. I used to be the parent that would take other people’s kids on rides  TO SAVE THEIR PARENTS. The slow rise to the peak followed by the instinctive panicked gasp at the drop and then the fall. The wild careening twists that leave your stomach twenty heartbeats behind you to catch up.

Man, I loved those roller coasters.

I got to go with each child on at least one before I had the strokes that took coasters away. I got to witness their fear, apprehension, excitement, exhilaration and complete joy at the experience.

I cherish those memories.

There are many things I won’t do with my kids because of my handicap but the roller coasters REALLY hurt for some reason.

It is one tiny thing in the plethora of adjustments my kids have to make post-strokes.

When I was a kid there was always something bigger, something better than what I had. My toys were never the newest thing (even though my mom stood for hours to get me a Cabbage Patch Doll) or the fanciest (which I showed I would take excellent care of by leaving my Barbie on the porch)during a tornado.

My childhood seemed to be one long exercise in wanting something else.

I kinda want to go back and slap the crap out of childhood me. Instead, it helps me better deal with the wants and whines of my own children.

And then I see these.

I become 5yo again.

I watched the 8yo walk by me with slumped shoulders.

I called her over and asked what was wrong.

“I can’t do this level on my game,” she answered with a healthy dose of discouragement in her sad voice.

“Forget about the game, you said the sentence wrong,” I quickly told her.

Her look made no mistakes of how crazy she thought I was.

My 8yo was on the phone with a friend.

A landline.

How archaic!

I heard my daughter’s classmate ask, “Do you have an IPhone? So we can text?”

“No,” my daughter answered mournfully.

“Well, what do you text with?”  the friend asked, obviously bewildered at this answer.

“I don’t have a cellphone,”….you could almost hear her finish the sentence “BECAUSE MY MOMMY DOESN’T LOVE ME”.

My 10yo daughter has been called my “reflection” and my “mini-me”.

Going through old photos, she is. She’s built the same as me. She looks like I used to. Her weaknesses and strengths are the same as mine. Her temperament is mine. HER TEMPER IS MINE. Her deep belly laugh is also mine. From tip to toe, THIS IS MY CHILD.

This is a game you should be able to play with any of your friends who are parents. It’s better if they drive a minivan, but an SUV or regular car will suffice just fine.

This can also substitute as a valid zombie apocalypse strategy.You can survive on the food supplies mentioned for weeks.

To play you will need:

• A vehicle that you have driven with one or more child(ren) inside
• Game pieces (gum, taffy, gummy anything) to mark your found items
• Enough vodka to self-medicate in case you get a BINGO and are forced to clean the car

If you complete a row before your vehicle is completely clean, you get a BINGO!


BINGO BOARD PROVIDED BELOW

OOOOOffff, my heart

My first day of kindergarten I came home from school and announced, “They didn’t teach me to subtract or to write. This is a waste of time. I’m not going back.”

I went back.

My relationship with math never got much better.

I learned to write. I fell in love.

When I was small, it was in crayon.

When I was older, I wore pencil after pencil down to a nub.

Through the years, I filled journals and notebooks with my hopes and dreams. And really emo poetry about butterflies.

When my baby girl got sick, I first published my words for other people to read.

When I had my strokes, the doctors warned that I’d never be able to communicate again.

I remember sitting at a window while a therapist held a pen waiting for my brain to form sentences out of the words trapped inside.

I still find ways to communicate.

Being a woman definitely comes with it’s advantages.

Guys will open jars for you, they’ll (usually) hold the door for you and there’s just something so RIGHT about the smell of good shoes.

From the time you’re born a female you have the innate ability to weave magic with a swish of your little fingers.

In high school you are a walking, talking, breathing jigsaw puzzle with breasts.

In your twenties you become slightly less mystical but still challenging….with breasts.

Thirty sees men begin to get a grasp on women just when females will realize the truth: THEY MAY NEVER REALLY UNDERSTAND US.….but they like breasts.

Every stage of life will change. You will grow. Mature. Yes, you will have breasts.

I turned 38 at my birthday this year.

There was something I learned this close to 40.

THIS GIRL NEEDS TO BE SLAPPED STUPID.

Yes, I DO like being a girl.

But, I gotta tell you, for me? There are times and things that just sucked.

So I’m giving you another list of the 10 THINGS I DON’T ENJOY ABOUT BEING A GIRL.

It’s a hard lesson to learn to appreciate yourself.

There’s always that five pounds you wish you could lose.

A zit that pops up like a daisy at the most inopportune time.

That picture circulating Facebook where you look terrible but EVERYONE has seen because your friend looks great and the douche-biscuit won’t crop you out of it.

Not that THAT has ever happened to me.

FACT: There will always be a part (s) of your body you aren’t happy about.

FACT: You will look back at old pictures of yourself and wonder why you didn’t appreciate that (INSERT BODY PART HERE) when you had it.

FACT: Read Fact #2 and know you will feel that way about the body you have RIGHT NOW ten years from now!

FACT: I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. PRETTY IS A FADING TRAIT, BEAUTY LASTS A LIFETIME.

I’ll even give you more!

5 things to just accept about your beautiful self