This week on Mommybloggers, we are proud to feature Mir of Woulda Coulda Shoulda. With her razor-sharp wit and flair for spinning stories about her daily life into an engaging read, Mir has captured the attention of countless readers. We love her self-deprecating humor and the no-holds-barred look she offers into her life.

We invited several of Mir's admirers to tell us a bit about why they love Mir. We giggled our way through the many comments we received. While we would love to feature all of the comments of praise we received, we decided to feature some of our favorites. Just between you and us, the truth is that if we praise her too much, Mir may stop with the self-deprecating humor and we certainly can't have that. Who doesn't love to read about a haircut gone wrong or a pair of funky boots that just don't fit the bill when it comes to getting Internet approval? We at Mommybloggers love that about her. (But seriously, if you must, you should feel free to tell us and Mir how much you love her anyway. She deserves it!)

Author of the bestselling book "gods in Alabama" Joshilyn Jackson was more than happy to dish about our beloved Mir and had no problem discussing the delicate issue of her mentality:

I read Mir every day---she has more to do with my good morning than my coffee, so small wonder we became friends. She says I like her because when I stand next to her I look tall. And sane. But I submit that her mental illness would fit inside the overhead compartment. It's not like she has so much excess baggage she has to *check* it, you know? The tall thing doesn't hurt though.

When we asked Kira to share a bit about Mir, she was thrilled to be able to gush about her:

Mir is everything you could want in a blog read, of course; funny and insightful and smart and bitingly observant. But more than that, I've been privileged to know her as a friend, and I count her among my very dearest. She has a heart so big and good that it trips her up at times, but blesses everyone she loves. If she only had a penis, I'd totally be marrying her soon. As it is, I'll settle for the friendship of such an extraordinary soul. PS She has a gift for shopping that has to be seen to be believed. I am in awe.

Sheryl was more than happy to share with us her adoration of Mir:

I've been reading Mir since she started her blog a year and a half ago. She's a unique combination of hilarious and philisophical. She can make you snort diet coke through your nose by describing something as mundane as packing lunch for her kids, but sometimes she sneaks up on you and reveals some deep insight that makes you reflect on your own life. And if that weren't enough insentive to read her religiously, how could you reisist the creator of the momune?

Jim Turner jumped at the chance to give us some insight into his friend and co-worker, Mir:

Mir currently works for me at Bloggers For Hire. I recommended Mir to be the writer for a blog client because of her whimsical style and the intelligence she portrays. The client was bowled over by her writing and is very pleased. I knew they would be as soon as they agreed to let her try and after they saw her writing style.

I've read Mir for over a year now and have rejoiced in her peaks and prayed for her during valleys. She is truly a wonderful blogger. She RAWKS!

Karen was excited to dish about Mir and couldn't wait to tell us the real behind the scenes scoop on her friend:

Mir has actually become a very good online friend of mine -- I've been reading her for several months now, and we actually have e-mailed quite a bit in the past. I think what makes Mir so special, in addition to her seering wit and great outlook on life, is that she's so accessible. I've watched other mommy bloggers become quite taken with their newfound fame on the Internet, yet Mir stays refreshingly grounded, and never takes herself too seriously. Coupled with her wry sense of humour (not to mention her fierce love of her children), it would be really hard *not* to be a fan.

We would really love to go on and on with the praise we received about Mir and her writing, but if we did that, we would have to bump her interview. And trust me, you don't want to miss the Mommybloggers interview with Mir. If you think she is funny on her own, wait until you read her answers to asinine questions posed in serious journalistic ways. You, too, will be filling our email inbox with words of praise for Mir.

Posted by mommybloggers at 12:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (1)

"Show me what's in your hands, missy." My three-year-old was standing in front of me, belly pooched out as she hid the contraband behind her back.

"What? Silly Mommy!" A nice try, but I am on to her.

"What is that behind your back?"

"I'm just patting my butt."

Uh huh. "Can you spin in a circle?" I'm going to outsmart this kid of mine.

"Well..." Her eyes are twinkling and she pirouettes for me, showing off the two magic markers she has shoved down the back of her diaper.

I sweep her up in to my arms, and remove the pens.

"My tail! My tail!" She goes limp, wailing over her lost treasure, while I silently congratulate myself on averting a Mr. Clean Eraser moment.

I'm typing this entry with my arms wrapped around my youngest's torso. She's leaning on my chest, her nose nuzzled under my chin. I could just put her down, I suppose. Oh, wait.

No. I can't.

It seems that we have reached a new 'thing' - me and this three-year-old monkey girl of mine. When I sent her sister and brother off to school in August, I figured that she might be a little bored without her siblings. Actually, she seems delighted that she has all the toys and space to herself. And me. She has me, too.

I'll admit, half of me is thrilled to death that she is so devoted, so possessive of me. The other half is a little bummed. I mean, she's all but given up naps, spoiling any 'free' time I might steal during the day. She trots around at my heels, observing every step of my day. She is eager to participate, and barring that, delighted to interrupt any workflow that may be happening. She will not peacefully pass the hours until her siblings return. No, she must express herself. Her will must be done, and I am the chosen handmaiden.

We do have hours where she is content to play quietly. I am eternally grateful for those hours. LIke the day she camped out on a stack of lawn chairs with a pair of binoculars for hours, playing lifeguard. That was a great time for both of us. Or the time she hid beside my bed all morning, being a bear in a cave. I gave that game a 10.

I am torn, because I feel like a bad mother of one toddler. I've always had a herd of them around, willing and able to amuse each other. Now, I find myself in the glare of a three-year-old's high beams, and I've done all the same dances over and over. She's sitting there, hands on her hips, waiting for the next song to start, and I'm thinking that aside from shoving sparklers into my bra and doing a one armed handstand, I've pretty much done the whole routine.

I know I could think about preschool - a couple hours, a couple days a week would be great for her, I suppose. It feels like defeat to me to admit that maybe I'm not one hundred percent loving spending time alone with my youngest, my last baby, my toddler who is growing like a weed and rapidly leaving the baby years behind. I feel like I should be drinking it all in, memorizing every scrap of who she is now.

I feel guilty for wanting me time. I want to give my children my undivided attention when they speak. I just wish they would take a breath every now and then. I want to learn who they are. And I want to show them who I am. Now, if I could just figure that part out.

For now, I'm just typing around the soft form of my daughter, who likes to pull my ear, and rest her cheek on my cheek while she's sucking her thumb. She smells like lemons tonight, a result of a late afternoon lemon-tree raid in the backyard. I have a sand pail full of half-ripened lemons at my feet, and a demand for lemonade to fulfill. Cliches come to life around here. I'm literally making lemonade from greenish lemons, yanked prematurely from their stems by my wild-haired toddler.

There's a poem in there somewhere.

Posted by Jenny Lauck at 08:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

What an amazing week we have had here at Mommybloggers!

The support we've had from you readers has been incredible! We also want to thank our good friends over at BlogHer for getting the word out and supporting us. That amazing group of women have been behind us since the idea of a mommyblogger panel was first introduced before BlogHer '05. (You can just blame them!) We also want to thank Sheri McConnell with the National Organization of Women Writers for her enthusiasm over our project and for featuring our Mommybloggers venture on the NAWW blog.

Since we are new, we've received some questions about the site. We wanted to take a moment to answer a few of the questions posed to us this week.

Several of our readers wanted to know if we were all about babies or toddlers or if we would be featuring topics about middle school aged tweens/teens and high schoolers.

Absolutely! Jenn's kids range in age from 4-12, so she feels that middle school pain with you. She wants to hear from some of our featured bloggers who have older children as well! (Teens are tough!) We have featured bloggers scheduled with tweens, teens and adult children as well. In a word, yes...we will feature bloggers and essays that explore motherhood from infancy to being a grandmother.

Maegan asked about our dedication to featuring a diverse group of Mommybloggers and if we were committed to maintaining that.

We can assure you that this blog will feature a broad spectrum of writers, reflecting the many faces and realities of motherhood. We have scheduled a variety of bloggers who have different backgrounds, races, religions, orientation and even (*gasp*) gender. We look forward to introducing our readers to the unique outlooks of each of these talented writers.

Matt Gray wanted to know if there was a daddybloggers site

Thankfully, Chris was there to field that one quickly, but in case you missed that, we are happy to let you know that there is in fact a dad site much like mommybloggers. It is Dadcentric. We are thinking of an arranged marriage of some sort between the sites.

---

That covers many of the repeat questions we received. We are more than happy to answer any questions that come up about the site. (There is also a link to the left for media inquiries.) We are thrilled that Mommybloggers had such a great week. Your comments, emails, links and support have been remarkable. We love that you are as excited about this site as we are. Thanks for helping us get off to a strong start!

(I think we are just now catching up with responding to your emails and the media inquiries. Thanks for your patience!)

Posted by mommybloggers at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Six months ago, while cuddled up on the couch watching Animal Planet, I was put on the hot seat after we caught a teaser promo for a special program on Pompeii. My oldest had crossed that threshold where she became aware of Bad Things That Sometimes Happen. Naturally, seeing cities buried in a cataclysmic cloud of fiery volcanic ash raised some questions for this girl of mine.

"Could it happen here? Did the people get away? When the people found the city under the ash, did they save everybody?"

Despite my best attempts to downplay the whole volcano thing, she still sat next to me with her brows furrowed and her arms crossed on her chest, wanting a better answer. By better, I mean she wanted a happy ending.

As the show started up again, they were doing something about leopards, and had a nice little segment on Aztec warriors feeding the hearts of human sacrifices to leopards. Six o'clock in the evening, and I had so much explaining to do.

I knew this was coming, and I've guarded against it as best as I could. We hadn't discussed the war in Iraq with our children, yet when my five year old daughter came home from school asking for toilet paper to send to soldiers, wondering what will happen if we lose the war, I wanted to make her watch "Teletubbies" until she forgot all about it. More than that, I wanted to have the wisdom to explain it to her. I didn't even know how to start.

While other children live with the absence of a relative who is serving in the military, and the constant fear that their loved one may not return, my children didn't even know that there was a war going on.

Hurricane Katrina roared into the Gulf Coast as I sat on a sun-warmed bench, watching my children play at the local park. We strolled home together, enjoying the beautiful weather as thousand of people fled their homes, desperate for shelter.

As the news reported levy breaks and widespread flooding, I followed the situation behind my closed bedroom door, horrified at the growing scenes of agony and heartache pouring out of the region. I made dinner with tears in my eyes, and scoured the Internet for news after the kids had gone to bed. I donated to the Red Cross, but still I kept mum to my children.

I didn't want to discuss the hurricane devastation with my children. I wasn't sure that I could share it in a way that would convey the seriousness of the situation without giving them nightmares. More than that, I didn't want to see fear and worry cloud their innocent faces.

How spoiled I am that I can choose ignorance for my children. How naïve I have been, thinking that I could protect them from the terrible knowledge that bad things happen to good people. Finally, I told my first-grader and kindergartener that there had been a "big storm" that had destroyed many homes and that there were many people who had lost everything.

Immediately, my children wanted to know how we could help. I explained that we had sent money to help, but they weren't satisfied. They offered to share their rooms, their toys and clothes. They wanted to act, to do something. Seeing the concern in their eyes, I realized that they might not understand, any more than I can grasp the magnitude of the disaster wrought by Katrina, but they can empathize. They struggled to find a magic answer that would put things right.

Bedtime brought the opportunity for me to debunk the rumor that zombies are in the neighborhood. I encouraged my daughter to surround her bed with an army of My Little Ponies to serve as bodyguards. My Little Ponies can blind zombies with their rainbow brightness, did you know?

It is difficult to know what information to share with my children. How much can they understand? Is the urge to keep them unaware socially irresponsible? My little girl believes that toy ponies can protect her from zombies, and that a kiss from mom makes a hurt elbow all better. When she offered her bedroom to a child who lost their home, it made me choke up. If only there was a quick solution, a mother's kiss, that could fix this.

For me, there is an overarching sense of guilt. The aftermath of Katrina has opened my eyes to the ramifications of catastrophic loss. I sit in my comfortable home, surrounded by the people I love, while across the country, people are waiting to hear what has become of their families, their homes. I feel ashamed as I prepare to host my daughter's birthday party – how can we make merry while there is so much hurt in the world?

I guess we make it up as we go along. We reassure our children that while bad things happen, it is rare, and promise that we will protect them. We help with relief efforts; we stock up on supplies, and go over our own emergency preparedness plans. Then we cross our fingers, buckle our seatbelts and hold on tight, since we are determined to enjoy the ride.

*A huge thank you to all our members of the armed services, and your brave families - you have our thanks, and you are in our thoughts.

Posted by Jenny Lauck at 08:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Are you hungry? Want to take a look in the pantry for a snack?
Here. Put on a protective helmet. And take this flashlight and machete. You are going to need them. It’s a risky venture, opening that cupboard door. There are cans and boxes stacked precariously from top to bottom. Careful there. If you move that can of chicken broth, it could all come crashing down on your head. Just like “jenga” but with cans and boxes of non-perishables instead of small rectangles of wood.

When it comes to food, I am a hoarder. Plain and simple. There are two adults and one toddler in our family. Based on the contents of my pantry, one might think we are parents to at least 5 ravenous teenagers. We are not. One might think we live in a bomb shelter and are preparing for the big one. We do not. My name is Meghan. I am 33 year old food hoarder, and I am not afraid to admit it.

We went to Costco on Saturday. I spent three hundred dollars. I came home with two flank steaks, two large pot roasts, 5 pounds of boneless short ribs, two whole chickens, 6 pounds of boneless chicken breasts and a five pound package or chicken sausage. And that was just the meat section. There are two adults in our household. Two.

So why the scarcity mentality? I wish I knew. I was fed as a child. Every day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. My mother cooked for us every single day.

My sisters and I did have to improvise every once in a while. We made our own bag lunches for school. When the cupboard got a little bare, we had to get creative. Like the times we made “Doritos” out of stale taco shells and table salt. Not so good. My younger sisters once made a seven layer cake of wheat bread, margarine and cinnamon sugar. Visually, it was a masterpiece. Their excitement turned to disappointment when they took a few bites and went into nauseated margarine overload. It looked like cake, but really, it was just heavily buttered bread piled up with cinnamon sugar. Hic. Excuse me. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

I used to make my own “mounds” candy bars after school. While watching “Inspector Gadget” in the kitchen on our black and white television, I would pile coconut and chocolate chips on a piece of saran wrap and cook it in the microwave until it became a bubbling, smoking, rock-hard lump. Then I ate it. Happily. I can only imagine what ingesting melted saran wrap fumes has done to my insides.

The good stuff went fast at our house. When my mother came home from the grocery store, we would make a mad rush to “help her with the bags”. The kind of help we offered was not altruistic. Oh no. We helped with the groceries so that we could take a silent inventory of the treats, and then stash the fruit roll ups and oreos away. We could then return to gorge on them with no one being the wiser. Our hungry, beady little eyes scanned the brown paper sacks. Bag of oranges… broccoli… cheerios….BINGO! CHOCOLATE CHIP GRANOLA BARS! There are eight, so I need to make sure I get at least four of them before Molly, Betsy and Julie spot them! If I act fast, I can do it!

Everyone was out for themselves. It was dog eat dog.

One time, I managed to be the first one to get to a box of Twinkies our grandma brought over. I stuffed my pockets and snuck out of the house. “I’m going for a bike ride!” I said as I slyly slid six twinkies into the basket on my banana seat bike. I ate all of them during my covert bicycle mission. I pedaled home weakly, and retired to my bedroom in a nauseated stupor. That was the end of my love affair with alll things Hostess.

Our father used to try to beat us at our own game. He hid cookies in the upstairs hall closet, behind a pile of musty sleeping bags. We always found them. It we were lucky, we got to them before the dank closet smell permeated the box and made them taste funny. If we got there too late, we typically ate the foul, stinky cookies anyways. It wasn’t about taste, it was about WINNING!

I suppose my food hoarding did have some historical rooting in the family culture that we all helped create. The scarcity mentality continues today. I just like to eat exactly what I want, when I want. My husband Jim loves leftovers. I let him eat them all. I have no interest in dining on food that was cooked yesterday. That is so, well… yesterday. I like to ponder what exactly it is that I want to eat, and then make it and eat it. This requires a well-stocked pantry and freezer.

If we are ever faced with Armageddon, and my family survives the initial attack, we could easily hole up and subsist on the contents of the pantry for at least 3 months. All we need is a can opener.

Let me think……hmmmm……Tonight…. I want……. pasta with pine nuts and brasied short ribs. Now hand me that helmet and flashlight. I’m going in. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call the fire department. I've likely been concussed by a can of garbanzo beans.

Posted by Meghan Townsend at 08:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

When I became a first time mom, I'll admit it, I devoured the parenting how-to books. I am pretty sure I had all of the most popular titles as well as quite a few of the lesser known as well. I read whenever I could. While I was pregnant, I went to Childbirth Education Classes and a How to Breastfeed Class every week for about 6 weeks. I surrounded myself with the tools and advice of the self-proclaimed experts. I wanted to make sure I did this "mothering" thing well. I looked to the experts and those who had gone before me to reassure me that I was capable of raising this little person without causing too much harm to his psyche. I researched all of the "right" ways to burp, change and rock a baby. I was ready. I was armed with knowledge. I am mother hear me roar!

As my children aged, the books changed. As they went from one phase to the next, the books became fewer; the parenting from the hip style became more apparent. The books have also become more focused on one or two aspects of parenting rather than covering entire phases. Welcome to the teens; you’re on your own! The experts have left the building. (Unless of course you count the true experts. The parents. We are the ones standing on the sidelines of our teens' lives looking perplexed and a bit overwhelmed.) What I need is a book with practical advice on getting through this. Something with chapter titles like these:

“How to Make Yourself Invisible When Dropping Off Your Teen Anywhere, Anytime.” Because let’s face it, your teen will need you to drop him off many times at various places but really wishes you didn’t actual exist. I have discovered that singing “It’s Getting Hot in Herre” is not appropriate drop-off behavior. Which of course, means I do it more often when he give me attitude!

“My Teen Only Writes In IM-Net Lingo…Will He Ever Get Into College?” With the ever increasing popularity of Instant Messages, most teens have created their own language. AAMOF, U need the 411 if u have POS, KWIM? (Translation: As a matter of fact, you need this information if you have your parents over your shoulder. If you know what I mean.) See? I don’t see Harvard all over that essay.

“Getting Your Teen to Speak To You: Going Beyond Whatever, Huh? And The Four Syllable Version of the Word Mom” How often have you tried to speak with your teen about his day or his social life only to be rewarded with a riveting “Whatever, Mooooooom!” There must be a way to have a conversation with more than one word responses that do not involve the words “I need” and “money”.

“Toilet Training Made Me Mental But Teen Training Just Might Kill Me!” There was a time I couldn’t wait until my children were old enough to do things for themselves. Now, all they want to do is to do things for themselves. By themselves. With nothing but my money to aid them. Certainly, there is a middle ground in there somewhere. Show it to me.

"Convincing Yourself That Eyerolling Really Does Mean ‘I Love You” My children have always been masters at eyerolling. Masters. But honestly, I believe there must be a secret class taught in middle school that helps them to bring this skill to a mastery level. I have yet to see a teen who is not the master of the eyeroll.

But as I said, I have yet to see this book. Have you? What chapters would you add if you could?

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 04:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

The following essay has been written by our featured blogger of the week, Grace Davis.

For those who have witnessed the live, frenetic energy that is Dr. Laura's Worst Nightmare, the concept that I would be severely felled (like bedridden felled) by the wildly fluctuating hormones of menopause is an odd notion, indeed. But, folks, it's happening: I am ex-haus-ted. For those who have hung out with me at latte fueling stations, patiently listening to my caffeine driven rants and raves, it is easier to imagine that my estrogen storm would prompt hollering at the wind, if not the kid, the hubs, and, of course, the Radical Religious Right. Well, I do that too. Ask Molly and her friends. Recently, I committed the dire and ultimate parental sin of yelling at not only Molly, but her entire girl posse. The exact tirade is a blur to me. All I remember is that I had to get out of bed at 11:00pm to drive them from A to B, then they wanted to go to Burger King, where I had to do the dreaded thing - use the drive-through. Who hates having six teenagers holler out their complicated fast food orders past their ear and out the driver's window? I do! I do! Hell, we all do! Thus, it was logical at that moment to screech, "WHY DIDN'T YOU GUYS EAT BEFORE THE MOVIES? WHY? WHY? WHY?"

I know, irrational and dangerous. Estrogen Terrorism. Also, I know what you’re thinking, "Dude. That was totally run on. One word for you - paragraphs."

Time to descend down the wooded path to my Menopausal Hut, which is not a house of banishment or detention but a middle aged woman's retreat. The Menopausal Hut is pleasant, with a sunlit, airy rooms and a full bathroom complete with a Japanese furo soaking tub. There's an efficient little kitchen with a nifty electric whistling kettle for tea and a glass jar full of Snickerdoodle cookies. Books are plentiful as are magazines, mostly the good cheesy ones like People and its tawdry cousin, Us.

There's a feather bed. Ahhhhh! Feather duvet. Oooooo! And ten feather pillows. Mmmm!

I tucked myself in with a People magazine (Jennifer Aniston on the cover), brewed up some chamomile tea then took a luxurious soak in the Furo bath. I recovered nicely and was able to pull myself together to take the kiddo out for a Mother Daughter brunch.

At the table, Moll was distant and apologized for it:

"I'm sorry I'm killing brunch, Mom."

"I know you're upset with me for yelling at you and your friends," said the Mom, taking a bite of Crow Pie.

"Yeah. You know, you can yell at me, but don't yell at my friends, please."

I yammered just a little bit, I swear, just a teeny tiny bit, about the drive-through window business, but then stopped myself to have another slice o' crow.

"Oh, I understand. And I apologize, honey. I really, really do. And I'll apologize to your friends. Your old Mom is tired these days. Menopause is kicking my butt. However, I should have known better."

I almost blurted out that I could make it up to the girls by driving them down to Disneyland and Universal Studios for a weekend, but the dessert tray showed up and I shut the fuck up.

So I'm back at the keyboard. I will answer my email. I will call my friends. I will do the 4:30 pm yoga practice today.
I will be a better mother.

And I will ask my hubs, very nicely and wearing my laciest camisole, if we could build a Menopausal Hut sometime very soon. Because what I described above was a total figment of my imagination. But you were right there in the furo bath with me, weren't you?

read more by Grace Davis at I Am Dr. Laura's Worst Nightmare, and visit Grace's Relief Blogs: Family to Family and Hurricane Katrina Direct Relief

Posted by mommybloggers at 01:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)