Edible Art = War

Approximately 12 minutes after leaving a pre greatest eating day of the year get together at everyone’s favorite massive pasta dish maker’s (my mom) house it happened. Twice I heard, “I’m not sure about all of this stuff on your blog, they seem so laid back!” And twice I wondered if Rita’s adorable mullet prevented notice of her eating and spreading plant dirt on repeat in between trips to sneak a handful or five of chewable dog food pellets, as I denied Josie’s seventh request for a fourth sucker and third ice cream sandwich.  James continued to shamelessly flirt with cousins both younger and older and pretend to play chess after jumping on cousin Patrick’s head on the non sturdy side of the convertible couch was eliminated as an feasible behavior option. Josie managed yet again to go over my head to receive not just a fourth sucker, but also a fifth, and Rita preferred dog food and eating pasta from the floor since the sucker kept getting stuck on her sweater or in between the crease of her neck and mullet. 

As we made it home for bedtime, Jim made it his business to tackle bathing the matted slobber/sugar party in the back, as I bribed James to bed with an opportunity to wear his summer dinosaur pajamas out of season AND his one blue, one white lightening Mcqueen socks that are a “coorbinated” pair because “matching is for the girls socks.” He shuffled right up all of the steps after we shook on the final negotiation to the evening’s goodnight contract: permission to continue to wear his Darth Vador underpants.

With my attention on evening attire, and Jim continuing to discover half chewed dog food pellets from the baby’s diaper area, Josie enjoyed a few free to be a natural born hippie moments. 

“Go help Daddy pick Rita’s pajamas,” I said. 

“Okay Mamma!”

But First:

James, while snuggling up to the blond love of his life in preschool this am, made something similar. Not only was it a proud moment in his creative marshmallow decorating skills, but he dedicated his masterpiece to his pint size sweet heart. And since a few days ago he threw himself head first on the ground because he could not marry her yet, the tooth picked stabbed turkey apple was a mighty important love memento for his hopelessly romantic heart. 

As a mother, I will keep it fair and also acknowledge the importance of Josie’s own love affair. While hers is less about a person and more about the irresistible essence of white fluffy sugar made to look like a small pillow, I can see how it would have been difficult to simply allow that apple to continue its reign as James’ crush King, displayed as the kitchen table’s centerpiece. There she was, her curls in an interesting frizzy/matted state, remnants of stolen chocolate still left on her face, her hand unable to control its magnetic attraction to the apple’s toothpick crown. I imagine her first encounter with the fluffy sweetness as reminiscent of Frank the Tank’s decision to “just do one,” and spend his Saturday morning at Bed Bath and Beyond. 17-20 miniature marshmallow bongs later, the evidence was undeniable.

Despite the confidence Darth Vador’s image on the bum of a young boy brings: destroy his edible art made from the depths of his budding masculine romance, destroy his life. 


Happy Monday! 

How to take a family photo

Step One: Reschedule the shoot so many times that neither you nor your husband can actually remember when the photographer is coming to the house.

Step Two: Talk about taking pictures so much that your husband gets so nervous he is physically unable to be anything but passive aggressive about ever taking any type of family picture ever again.

Step Three: Forget to make dinner early and realize T-Minus twenty minutes that each an every child is going to have a hunger meltdown on camera click 2.

Step Four: Freak out at husband T-Minus 19 minutes and 30 seconds and beg him to stop and pick up food and then complain about him being late even though that’s what was asked of him.

Step Five: Accidentally dress children in identical outfits as previous year offering no toddler fashion variety and begging the question, “is he growing ok?”

Step Six: Offer toddler something to hold while she is getting dressed, only to realize much too late that the object was not at all toddler friendly and most certainly an open container of baby powder spread generously all over outfit. Proceed to frantically change attire to find that the only clean pair of jeans are two sizes too small for mom bum.

Step Seven: Inadvertently show all three children the “if you are good,” prize too early. Expect tears and tantrums.

Step Eight: Hire a magician. Meet Margo







Motherhood: removing the simple to make us simple or maybe just crazy.

On Wednesday, I forgot to wear deodorant because I wore the shirt in which I slept for most of the morning.

On Thursday it took me almost 3 hours to brush my teeth.

On Friday, Jim said, “how was your day?” to which I responded “I EMPTIED THE DISHWASHER ON MY FIRST TRY!” to which he responded, “that’s great!!”

On Saturday, I washed, folded, and put away one load of laundry by 3 pm and wondered if maybe I swallowed some type of rare insect the night before and had thus been granted superpowers.

On Sunday, we made it to 9:00 am Mass with 35 seconds to spare before the celebration commenced and I declared myself for sainthood, and Pope Francis seems so nice I’m sure he would agree.

Motherhood presents a myriad of paradoxes like “how do I love this tiny human so much whom is the reason why I no longer sleep?” One of which I’ve been pondering today is how in the world I feel like I do at least 4 billion things everyday only to realize many things that take approximately .5 seconds to complete never actually get accomplished? And when/if one of these seemingly simple tasks does get completed I feel like superwoman even though the reality is more like: all of the silverware is put away and the floor looks more like wood and less like spaghetti sauce combined with smeared scrambled eggs?

And while all of these read just like complaints sound, they are more a personal epiphany about motherhood and what it does, gives, takes away, requires.

Before children I think I thought about the privilege of brushing my teeth negative 100 times, and absolutely no one stuck their head in the toilet or emptied the garbage, accidentally turned on the shower with their clothes on, spilled my eye makeup, painted the walls with nail polish, or helped themselves to more toothpaste than they did their breakfast. Emptying the dishwasher crossed my mind once every 3rd or 4th day when it took me 45-60 seconds to take the dishes out and put them away never once fearing any crawling/newly walking children would get accidentally stabbed or shatter glass over their heads by mistake. Making it to the gym warranted a high-five and not an olympic medal and/or diamond. A trip to the grocery store involved 20 free minutes and a lot fewer almost run-ins with cars in the parking lot, and unneeded stops at the deli counter for a free slice or three of cheese.

Since children, I bribe them to exit the furnace room when the kind young man is attempting to fix it by saying “if you take your head out of the furnace we can plug-in the spinning Frosty the Snowman” that makes me feel as if I live in a mental institution without any of the drug perks. When I ask the man if he has children he says, “no I don’t” to which I respond, “oh so this might not make sense,” to which he responds “no it does not,” to which I say “please James, remove your head from the furnace and Josie, stop stepping in the mouse traps, and Rita please don’t eat that stinkbug, and please everyone let’s go upstairs before he runs away and quits working for us!” Anyone else’s kids like to follow worker’s around?

And while to some, this life sounds terrible, like one of this blog’s anonymous commenters who thinks “me and my life sound miserable,” its really pretty awesome to go to bed each night and remember to thank God that no one put my cell phone in the toilet while I washed my hair, because I’m leaning towards “not that many people share that with the Big Man.” So here’s to you, Motherhood. Thank you for teaching me gratitude for even the tiniest of opportunities, and may you never let me forget to keep mints in my car just in case all of my toothbrushes are flushed down the toilet again.

And for your viewing pleasure:

The Promised Land.

The Ten Commandments according to 7 year olds:


“When God says, “don’t steal,” is he referring to my brother’s parachute toys?”

“So we aren’t even supposed to steal when the other person isn’t looking?”

“Can we take it and say someone else did it?”

“To covet is like being jealous. Jealous is when all your friends have a buzz cut and you don’t because your mom doesn’t like buzz cuts.”

“No that’s not what jealousy is. Jealousy is when someone has cooler toys than you. It has nothing to do with haircuts.”

“Putting God first means to never eat a hot dog before I pray.”

“So instead of saying “oh my God,” we should say, “I love God?” I don’t get it.”

“If we shouldn’t say “Oh my God, my mom is in BIG trouble.”

“I don’t understand this assignment so I just drew a bunch of random rainbows. My favorite is the one with the leprechaun.”

“Honoring our parents means we should always smile at them, and sometimes hug them.”

“Not killing means we should never ever pick up a gun.”

“The Sabbath? Does that mean we have to take baths on Sundays? Because I like showers.”

“I lost my diary key, and there is nothing else I can think about. I’m worshipping a false God, aren’t I?”

“I’m 8, so ten is way too many rules.”


Please keep in your prayers:

“There is this place where we go to on vacation, I believe its called North Carolina, and my grandmother comes with us. She has a dog named Wiggles. And this is the prayer part: there is a turtle hospital with a lot of turtles. This one turtle only has one eye because it got hit by a boomerang. And it runs into walls. Or crawls. What is it called when turtles bang into things? I hope that turtle finds a home and doesn’t die in the hospital. But actually it’s not allowed to ever leave the hospital.”

“I would like to pray for myself. I’m going to get a cold soon.”

“My hermit crab got better. In gramitude.”


And a little theology for your Tuesday:

A conversation between James, and his best friend and cousin Bailey:

“James, God can never die. Not ever.”

“God can die!”

“No! God cannot die and he doesn’t even have a lightsaber.”

“Yes he can, he died on the Cross!”

“But that didn’t really kill him.”

“Well, it killed him a little bit.”


A nighttime prayer by Josie:

“Let’s sing Patty Cake to Jesus.”


James’ take on the 5th commandment:

“Can I have this candy?”

“No, not before dinner.”

“Oh. But, God says I can. So, could you open it for me?”


Happy Tuesday.


Happy Birthday Big Sister!

A Birthday Message to Maria, My Older and Wiser Sister.

November 8, 2013. Another year, another baby!  Since you are recovering from such a terrible ordeal after nearly cutting off your own finger in an effort to juice a lime and just had surgery yesterday, I will only briefly mention the day you called to say “I caught your car on fire!” and then proceeded to abruptly hang up the phone in the exact moment that my mom friend lay flat on my kitchen floor after fainting at the sight of her bleeding baby. Since everything was ok, I forgive you, but, please, in your 33rd year, learn how to use jumper cables and/or borrow someone else’s car. Just kidding, what are little sisters for other than to torture and take advantage? Just kidding again, just please don’t ever light my car on fire ever again.

What can I say, that Swiss cheese hand/arm cushion looks good on you, and I doubt anyone can wear it and also hold a baby at the same time like the doctor told you not to. It does not, however, look as good as my leather pants, trench coat, black shoes, bronze shoes, various jeweled accessories, maternity pants, non maternity tops, dresses both dressy and casual, purses, clutches, skirts, blouses, and boots. May I kindly remind you that I neither made you attend college astronomy as a 13 year old, nor did you have to write a single Spanish paper in order to earn the rights to any such clothing items? De Nada.

I guess what I am trying to say is, I’m sorry I threw your makeup all over your room as revenge for locking me out of the bathroom all those mornings before 7th grade, and hiding the clothes I took from you under my bed and for cutting off your jeans when you studied abroad, and the leather pants looked really good.

We have a special thing going, you and I. Since we are married to brothers, and next-door neighbors, I can demote you to sister-in law and/or crazy neighbor with too many kids any time I want.

Despite your close proximity to my person, you still take up the most minutes on my cellphone plan. Mom calls the most, but you tend to have a better attention span.

I only had to receive your mail for four months, tops, after the mailman boycotted delivering mail to your house because “you have too many kids harassing (him)”. In your kid’s defense, the United States Post Office should avoid hiring deaf mailmen who don’t like kids. Not in your kids defense, its got to be the first time a mailman boycotted delivering mail to a residential family home. Anyway, you’re welcome and I’m super glad FedEx didn’t quit you too.

I’m also happy I could help you that day when you got your hand stuck behind that drawer and your circulation was being cut off, and there is literally no worse person you could have called to dislodge a drawer than your uncoordinated, clueless to the way mechanics work, little sister. But, we did it and your arm didn’t fall off like your finger almost did.

One year since your last birthday when we set our sights high, we still can’t play tennis.

Thank you for taking me to your pool all those days in the summer.

For forgiving my kids for messing up your pretty house all those days.

And for lending me a pair of shoes once, ok maybe twice.

And for letting me witness the birth of your sixth baby boy.

And for teaching me everything I know about motherhood (this may or may not be a compliment).

And for inspiring me to follow the will of God no matter what, and to do it with reckless abandon and steady perseverance.

You are the strongest woman I know and you are the best mom. If I were you I think I would probably shut down harder than the government. But, you don’t. You wake up and do it again and laugh as they hide stuffed animals around the house to hunt with their toy guns. Or when they hang from chandeliers in the non-cliché way, or flood the tub, or spread cake all over the stairs, or etc x 5billion.

Your baked goods are the best, and how you find the time only Pinterest knows. I’d make you a cake, but I already know you don’t want it.

You beat me in every race we ran together. I blame it on leg length, but let’s face it, it’s your heart and your will and I’ll die looking up to it. And maybe if you didn’t just almost cut off your finger I could have panted behind you on a birthday run. Maybe next year.

When I gave birth to Rita last year, I wanted so badly for her to be a girl. Beyond the desire to own matching girl outfits, there was nothing I want more for Josie than to have a sister, because sisters are the best, after they stop being so mean during the middle school years.

Please rest and get better soon! Don’t worry, your kids are only mildly driving me crazy, and baby Brendan was only once accidentally body slammed by an overzealous Rita trying to give him a hug. I’ll be sure to send the furniture-cleaning bill to you directly just in case the mailman quits again.

Here’s to so many more years, and at least a few more boys.

Happy Birthday Big Sister! May it be filled with cake not made by you, something shiny from your husband, and fewer trips to the Emergency Room.



Five Favorites: Marriage


Jim and I have once again been asked to present our “marriage advice” to a group of lovey dovey dating and engaged couples. While popular demand may be one reason to be asked back, it’s more like ‘we have lots of siblings/close family members’ that are priests and looking for willing speakers and nothing says “baby of eight siblings” like “yes I’ll give a talk.”

So I have a poll for you kind and generous readers that are married or soon to be. When did you know you were in love? And how do you keep the fire burning?

My favorite of answers to the first question comes from my good friend Kristi. Asked by a young girl confused about where her relationship was going, Kristi, engaged and convinced, said the following: “It’s just that I’ve always hated vomit. Like HATE. It makes me puke. One time Patrick was puking and needed my help and I was able to help him. That’s when I knew I was in love.” (This answer was given about 8 years ago and she has 3 boys and has been happily married for 6 years, so he had her at throw up.)

Her answer has always stuck with me because 1) its disgusting 2) its pretty hilarious 3) there is actually some truth underneath all the bile: love gets us to do crazy things, things that we thought we were very much incapable, and if it had been just feelings or infatuation? Poor Patrick may have been alone in his gross sickness.

So in preparation for our presentation, I’m writing my five favorite ways that we keep our marriage in love as a brainstorming exercise/desperate plea to poll my 7 readers. And since we have almost zero marriage professional credentials and even less expertise it would be fine to ignore it all, except #5, that one is true. And also #4, I’m positive that one’s awesome too. And maybe one day I’ll share the details of the moment I knew that I really loved Jim. It involves a cassock and a few billion tears.

Feedback would be most appreciative, especially for the sake of the poor souls signed up to hear us talk!

My five favorite practical Marriage tips that work for us:

1.) Keep a hobby, Grant a Hobby, Find a Hobby

For us, this one is paramount. We both have hobbies that the other does not enjoy, or in my case, is incapable in participating due to the likelihood of enduring serious injury and/or debilitating embarrassment.

I run and swim, he plays hockey and soccer. I shop, he gardens. I watch Project Runway, he would rather eat sand.

My non-point, ramble is this: maintaining personal hobbies is important, and granting spouses time to do them is vital. Marriage, kids, jobs etc can be overwhelming, and maintaining the sense of self that I was before I giddy upped down the aisle and popped out these babies is essential to my sanity, and his. Not all of our hobbies are enjoyed each week, but, I make sure he plays some type of sport alone, and if I forget to, he kindly asks permission and I grant it and vice versa. While certain moments in our marriage have put some of these things on a burner far far in the back, knowing that he is the first one who will say, “why don’t you go out to dinner with a friend or for a run, or something,” and maybe its because I’m driving him crazy, but its so nice. And since, for the most part, our alone time is spent playing sports (a generous term in my case since I only possess skills to do exercise alone and no one would ever want me on any type of team) there are physical and mental benefits, including serotonin, time to think, burn off steam, and in his case, a chance to see his friends.

And finally for this point, choose a hobby together. Ideally, we would ski, but since that’s a hard one with kids that are still on a bunny trail and harder not living on a mountain and best at most quickly draining a bank account, we now do CrossFit. It’s new to both of us and it’s a fun date on which we both agree. Before we discovered a new hobby on which we agreed, we took turns planning hobby dates for each other. Sometimes it is a matter of taking turns to pick restaurants based on each other’s tastes, or generously driving 70 minutes to attend a boxing match for 4 hours (it was actually really cool), or going to a concert of a band not particularly liked. And since quality time is my love language, I’m allll about this point.

2.) Find something to laugh about

It was two nights before we were married. The older and wiser siblings on his side each gave us one piece of advice before we hitched it. “In serious times, find something to laugh about. See the humor God has for you to enjoy,” his oldest sister said. I’ve never forgotten it, and in the times we’ve missed a flight, encountered mess and frustration, ran 2-3 hours behind schedule, and I just about what to scream…Ok I usually scream, but it IS VERY HELPFUL to try and laugh once the yelling is over. God is funny, and takes himself lightly, and spouses should too!

3) Never say never, always avoid always

Instead of being just another Regina ramble, this one is actually based in the science of Relationship Enhancement Therapy and I love it because it is so true for us. Never and Always are absolute terms and they are hardly ever (never!) true. They isolate, shutdown, and hurt. And since they are just two words, removing them from normal vocabularly, or at the very least, becoming increasingly aware of when they are used and how they could hurt or distort the real meaning of things is not ultra difficult.

For instance; “You NEVER take out the trash! You Never spend time with me! You never do this, that, and the other…”

Actually, he probably took out the trash yesterday its just that my two year old stuffed it with who knows what all day, and we went on a date two days ago, and I’m just feeling frustrated and making very unfair statements that I don’t actually mean.

A better version: “the trash is full, could you help me?” “I’d like to spend more time with you.” And maybe the halo angel speak won’t come out right away, but, the man deserves some credit for completing a chore last week or even last month.

Always statements: “You always choose hockey over me!” (wink, wink)

Better version: “I’d like to spend more time with you.” (this is usually the root)

And jim’s: “You are always on your phone!” translation “this is a really bad time to be on the phone, please call back your sister who is 10 feet away from you after dinner.”

“You never put the laundry away!” and while its mostly true, sometimes a sock actually makes it to a drawer and I’m positive it was hard to get it there so skip the absolutes.

One day I’ll elaborate on the skills of Relationship Enhancement Empathy because it is the best and does wonders in the learning how to express actually feelings category.

4). NFP

While this one may be a bit of a hot button, I’d like the internet to know I approach it with no judgment, just a personal experience that makes me oh so very happy.

And I’ll skip reasons #1-100 why I think it’s the best because this post is a novel and just give this tid bit. Yahoonews and Cosmo-trash publish approximately 10 billion (massive exaggeration) articles each year of ways to keep your sex life interesting after ‘all those years’ with just one person. “Doesn’t it get boring?” they ask. No! it doesn’t, and NFP is, in my opinion, the main reason why. The time of abstaining, if child spacing is desired, is a great opportunity. Sure, it sucks at moments, but there is something very incredible about learning to slow down and just enjoy holding hands or a kiss. It becomes a constant rediscovery of each other. A new, and exciting, constant rediscovery, and I just love it.

5.) Prayer

Just try saying a Hail Mary and continuing to yell. Its almost impossible. Fall in love with God, fall deeper in love with the one he asked you to marry. Laugh with God, laugh harder with your spouse. Its almost like magic.

This marriage prep series at which we are presenting is part of a movement to remind couples that marriage is hard and is a lifetime long, so its best to be ready. I would like to add, however, that with 5 ½ years and three children to show for our 8 year relationship, hard is never the first word I would use to describe our commitment. It’s not even the 10th word I would use. Fun is #1, and I have so much of it that I might say it three times in a row, even in moments when he asks if he can finish watching “Are you Smarter than a 5th grader” when I’m absolutely positive we should have started driving to the hospital to deliver a baby two hours before.

And as a bonus objective truth of a happy marriage: NEVER, EVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, EVER, USE THE WORD FAT.

Happy Wednesday, Happy Marriage. Send me some of your favorite marriage tips and moments you knew you were in love! Pretty please!

now go see Hallie

7 Quick Halloween Takes

7 Quick Takes: Things I learned on Halloween and a Blog

1. Kids take costumes seriously.

In his most difficult decision of 2013, James continued to waver his Halloween Costume dilemma of Jesus Vs. Darth Vador. While his mother hoped maybe he would identify more with the archetype that provides salvation for all mankind, her son ultimately decided Darth Vador to be more appealing because “he has a light saber, AND he’s a bad guy. Jesus just has a light saber.” Mom gets an F in Catechesis and spiritual nurturing.

Josephine, having never seen a Disney Princess movie because she only sits still for 30-45 seconds at a time, in addition to some of her parents moral apprehensions involving a desire to shield her from bra exposing fish who like to disobey their fathers, diss their identity, and run away, still possessed the innate (?) female desire to be a princess, so long as she had a “weapon.”

With a baby who uses growl as most preferred form of communication, the role of Chewbacca was filled quite naturally, and since nothing like THEME! makes a mom like me happier, the Internet was hit up and Star Wars costumes delivered by emergency next day air hours before Trick or Treating commenced.

With the costumes in sight, the roles were performed at levels high enough to impress the Academy. It was taken so seriously that even a young boy who requests special non-itchy underwear, agreed to the itchiest- there were absolutely no organic fibers used in the making of his costume- material. And his sister Josie, stood like the golden statue she should be awarded as I parted and hair-sprayed her hair into, I will say so myself, the best toddler Princess Leia hair of all time, hands down. Rita, who, because of her parent’s guilty conscience, was given an opportunity to prance around in a glitter-everywhere!! Cinderella outfit during the day, spotted her Chewbacca uni and growled like the Galaxy was on the line. Even the furry hat was a go.

2. James creates a show whether he is in one or not.

His school put on a medley of Halloween songs in which the preschoolers did not participate. Nonetheless, everyone knew James as he stood on his chair and shouted, “My mammy is here! Everybody! That’s my Mammy,” securing his place as favorite grandchild forever. And any time a friend or cousin participated in a song, James was sure to let everyone know, similar in volume and enthusiasm to Buddy the Elf’s recognition of Santa.

3. Halloween is confusing.

As we parked in the city’s best toddler leg length accommodating neighborhood a few minutes early, we knocked on a house owned by my husband cousins, who eased my feelings regarding my children’s behavior with “its ok, Halloween is confusing.” Each of Galaxy defenders/destroyers, including the one year old, attempted to pile several full size candy bars (they are the most popular Halloween house in the neighborhood) into their pumpkins, one Butterfinger at a time. Following their attempted Kit Kat robbery, James walked all the way into their house and proceeded to empty their toy basket and put it into his pumpkin as well. “I’m trick or treating,” he explained, just before he uttered, “I’m hungry, I want that Pizza” that they were attempting to eat alone as a family before we interrupted. We spent a few more minutes explaining the rules and regulations of taking candy from strangers and moved along.

4. Halloween is really confusing

5-10 seconds after our “take the candy and run,” pep talk, he lifted his cape and climbed up the stairs of the next house, as I remained at the bottom of the stairs, hoping to watch in parental approval. It was the only time I remained at the bottom of any stoop. Possessing no patience whatsoever, before the poor old woman could make it to answer his incessant knocking, he barged right on into her house and said “WHERE IS THE CANDY?” in his Darth Vador voice (a very loud yell). And when I say “into her house” I mean all the way into her house. And Josie ran in behind him, shooting her gun and tapping her feet. We reviewed the rules again.

5. When you turn off your lights, you get called out.

Each and every house that looked like “no one is home,” and failed to leave out a bowl of treats for my kids was both noticed and announced. They stood in front of it, pointed together and yelled “NO BODY IS GIVING CANDY THERE!” Other children noted it, and may or may not have written down their addresses for future devil’s eve antics.

6. Even after Candy is had, HALLOWEEN IS CONFUSING

Questions asked before bed:

“But what are these people names that gave us this candy?”

“Did you know them?”

“Did Daddy know them?”

“Who knows them?”

“When will we go back to their houses to see them?”

“Can we go back there to play tomorrow?”

“Can Christmas be like this?”

7. All Saints Day:

There is nothing like raising three small people with candy hangovers to make me feel less like a saint.

Things I heard today:

“Josie, don’t worry, we can get a chair and reach it later when she talks on the phone.”

“NO Rita. Finish your bottle, then I’ll give you some M&Ms.”

“Here Rita, “I’ll open that sucker for you.”

“Want to be bad, James?”

“Yea, lets be bad!”

“Lock her out!”

“How about we eat our chipkin AFTER just 3 more pieces?”

“I think maybe I’ll just stay inside and watch a wittle bit of TV with some chocolate.”

“Run away!!!”

“Faster Josie, she’s coming!!”

“Want me to feed you some liporish, Rita?”

“Mom! Rita does not want those vegytables! She wants her treats!”

“I know how to open this,” –Josie.

“Look what I’m eating again,” –also Josie.

“Josie, can you help me with this wrapper?”

And if I thought the Chewbacca growls were convincing yesterday, stealing candy from a baby is surely the best way to fire up a furry creature.

I tried to save the day with the super cool puppet craft from Catholic Icing.


Maybe next year?

May the force be with all of you. And may you dare to be Saints.

And while you have your light sabers ready, have you met Jenna? She’s a new blogging buddy, and if there is a blog to get to know, it’s hers. Head to Callherhappy and enjoy a humor, crafting, Catholicism and cute kids. Give her a like and leave a comment!

For a DELICIOUS recipe: here

For the cutest Halloween costumes and much better puppets that actually resemble a saint: here

For incredible Dia De Los Muertos makeup: here She goes from beautiful to scary in seconds!

For a laugh or 20: here

For a spiritual regroup: here


And of course! ConversionDiary for more quick takes!