I Want To Be That Mom

So, we've all been there (if you haven't, then more power to you).

I'm standing in line at the supermarket, and I glance back and this is what I see.

A beautiful mom, hair intact, perfect make-up dressed to the nines. The cute, angelic baby resting quietly on her hip looks fit for an Anne Geddes photo shoot. Her little girl sitting peacefully and happily appears like a mirage…is she actually reading a book?...she can't be more then 4 years old....her red bow matches her red shoes.

I think to myself.....I want to be that mom!

That mom that you see around town that seems to have it all together.

That mom who is able to keep her kids from wiping their nose on their shirt or who somehow is able to make them follow her like obedient little ducklings while strolling through the mall......and still looking like she's going to the Oscars.

The truth is though, at one moment in time, we've all been that mom.

You're sitting at the restaurant with your three kids. They're quietly sitting and coloring on the place mats (thank goodness for those crayons and place mats). You think to yourself, “Wow, I really got it together”...(then you stop yourself from thinking that because you know you've just jinxed yourself).

Then all hell breaks loose and the 2 year old starts sucking on the salt shaker!

The point is, for that split second, some mom might have been looking at you thinking to herself, “I want to be that mom.”

So, my new year's resolution is to take all those split seconds, when I feel like I have it all under control, wrap them up in nice little boxes with matching bows, and put them on my shelf to remind myself that in fact I am THAT mom.

Happy New Year!

Let Down Your Hair

So, this morning my husband tells me he plans on bringing my 4 year old boy, and our two teenage nephews skeet shooting in the Atchafalaya basin...(for those of you reading in Canada, this might seem like an odd thing to do, but for the folks down here in southern Louisiana, it makes perfect sense):-)

My daughter had been asking me to see the newest Disney movie “Tangled” (based on the Rapunzel fairytale) since the relentless advertising had started. My mother-in-law was nice enough to babysit the 2 year old, so my daughter and I set off for our date.

Now, don't get me wrong, I was really pleased to be spending time with my daughter, alone, without one boy begging me to come pitch the baseball and the other wiping the Cheetos dirtied mouth on my pants. However, I was guiltily dreading sitting through another hour and a half of a helpless size 2 princess being rescued by her handsome prince charming.

But, miraculously, I was pleasantly surprised (..well the princess was a size 2...but I digress).

Instead of the same cliché, story book plot, was a tale of soul searching and self actualization. Being scared of reaching your goals for fear of not knowing what to do next.

In a sense it's Rapunzel who saves her prince by realizing that the strength she possesses isn't in what's outside of herself (her hair), but inside of her...her soul.

Now, I don't know if my daughter caught all that, but at least I don't think she'll be asking me to cut her long, curly hair anytime soon:-)

In the end, the prince and the princess do get married (it is a Disney movie after all), but the emphasis was definitely on the journey and not on the end. As it should be!

So, as I left the theater, gummy bears glued to the soles of my shoes, I couldn't help but feel uplifted and full of hope.

Not bad for a cloudy Wednesday afternoon.

Food For Thought

Râpure for lunch, gumbo for supper, or vice versa. Those are the staple meals in my household during the holidays.

Here's a little history before I go on.

I'm a Le Blanc from Nova-Scotia, Canada. Actually, from Pointe-de-l’Église (Church-Point), Nova-Scotia, Canada.

The motherland.

My mother is a direct descendant of Joseph and Marie Dugas, the first to settle in that region of Nova-Scotia.

(Side note: Joseph Dugas was also related to another Joseph Dugas who commandeered an English ship with Beausoleil Broussard during the Deportation of the Acadians)

I guess that's where I get my hard hardheadedness!

So I, a Le Blanc from Nova-Scotia, married a Falgout from Bayou Lafourche.

And from that liaison were born three beautiful coonass, French speaking children from Lafayette, Louisiana.

Seeing our children flourish in an environment where two cultures, that complement each other so well, come together like white on rice (or potatoes) has been a wonderful experience.

The cross pollination of these two worlds, one spawned from the other, makes for pretty cute kids....and vocabulary:-)

It always cracks me up to hear my children refer to their brother or sister as ''canaille'' or when they start a sentence with “y'all”.

But I think the thing that warms my heart the most, is when my daughter (who's menu of choice includes macaroni, spaghetti, quesadillas....and that's it) asks for a second helping of râpure.

(Second [and last] side note: Râpure is a potato dish that is comparable, culturally, to the Cajun's gumbo. It's made of potato pulp, chicken, chicken broth, lard, salt and pepper. Sounds good no?)

As I'm filling her plate, I can't help but feel proud, connected to my mom, her mom and all the moms before her. And I know my husband feels the same way when the kids are devouring his gumbo (with the potato salad in it).

Many people have asked the question, ''How do you live your Acadian (Cajun) culture?” Well in our house, the biggest attestations to our cultures happen in our mouths...language and food.

It’s our gateway to our past, our people.......our children's people.

Bon appétit and go Saints!!!

Noel

Christmas morning.

The only morning of the year when waking up before 6:00 a.m., drums banging in my ears and the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song does not leave me short of a straight jacket and a padded room.

Bing Crosby and Aaron Neville. Ying and the Yang. Comfort and Scotch.

Boudin for breakfast (the Cajun kind, not the Acadian kind!)

My stomach is so full even my fat jeans don't fit and the gallons of water I'm drinking is still not quenching this never ending thirst.
 

Nevertheless, Christmas day is comforting for me.

A day where all rules are broken.

No bedtimes and no time-outs.

So for all of you who feel the same way, Feliz Navidad. And to all the others, counting to 10 always helps for me:-)

Thank Goodness They're Cute!

So, it finally happened. After 10 minutes of a combination of stare downs and shared harsh words followed by little feet stomping up the stairs, my daughter uttered (actually screamed) the words that I had subconsciously waited for since the day she was born..... “ I don't love you anymore!”

She said it to hurt me, of course, because I had hurt her by not letting her watch “Shrek the Halls'' for the sixth time in a row.

The thing is, little kids can get away with saying anything...because they're so darn cute!

The other day, me and my three kids were sitting down having lunch at our local health club and a older man with a walker passed by. My 4 year old proceeded to point and laugh hysterically saying, “Ha ha, look at that old man!”....just for being old! The old man just looked at him nicely, smiled and said “cute”.Incredible.

Yep, they're cute and they know they're cute.

They're like cute little puppies. No matter how much they chew on that wooden coffee table (which, by the way, my daughter has actually done when she was a teething toddler), you still want to take them to bed with you and cuddle.

It's nature's way of protecting them.

So after a brief time out and a few hugs and kisses my daughter decided she loved me again. All was well in the world.

All I have to say is, “thank goodness she's cute!”

Therapy

Get up. Walk to the TV room. Put Nick Junior on. Take the sippy cups out of the dishwasher. Fill the sippy cups with way too much apple juice. Feed the dog. Change a diaper.

That is the first 20 minutes of my day almost every single day of the year. Bombs are launched in Korea, miners are caught miles in the ground, the New Orleans Saints won the Superbowl, no matter what, that is how I start my day!

I'm a mom. No, I take it back. I am my children's servant. That's what should be put in the dictionary under mom, “child servant”, on some occasion “child's maid, child's counselor and child's nurse”.

Basically I have become my own worse nightmare.

The big stamp I once thought I would bestow on this earth has become a mere spec of dust, if that.

My children have watched 4 straight hours of TV today.

My three year old son taught himself to cock a BB gun today and is explaining to his 2 year old brother that's it's dangerous.

Not exactly the Tuesday morning I had envisioned.

Oh and I spent 40 minutes singing Christmas carols to my 2 year old on the toilet doing number “2”..... or as he refers to it “fishies”. Stunk.

Ok, so this is my therapy. I figured this computer can't judge me for not “liking” my kids most of the time or for secretly wishing I was on a beach somewhere where the only decision I had to make was salt or no salt.

This is my attempt at letting go of the image I had beautifully painted of myself as a mom and accepting the television screen that is is.

I hope my captions help some of you understand and accept their reality show a little more.

Stay tuned.

Cheers!