Amy Sprenger's Blog

Dear Jack,

Clearly this should be a 10.5-year post because that’s when I am actually writing it, but life got in the way this year. And because I didn’t want to end this yearly tradition on an odd number, I figured I better get a 10-year post up so we can end with a nice, round decade of posts. Back-dating is a beautiful thing.

I couldn’t let this momentous occasion pass without comment because WOW has this year been phenomenal. Last summer we spent a month in Europe with you and your sisters and grandparents and it was amazing. We visited France, Spain, Italy, Croatia, Turkey, Montenegro and Greece. We saw ancient ruins, ate our weight in gelato, weathered the worst heat wave in recorded Parisian history, walked hundreds of miles, cruised the Mediterranean on a ship and endured what I can only describe as some of the most hellacious behavior ever. There was plenty of fun, but also plenty of non-fun.

But when we arrived back home and you started fourth grade, it was as if the heavens themselves shone down upon us. You became a different child almost overnight. Personal responsibility? Check. Improved attitude? Check. Empathetic responses to situations? Check. Maturity? Check. I could go on and on. I give mad props to your incredible teacher for this change, but I know in reality that it was you who did the hard work. Everyone told us you would grow up, that you would figure it out. And we waited, sometimes impatiently, for that day to come. And now that it’s here, it’s oh so sweet.

This was also the year you started putting it all together in soccer. In the past, you subscribed to the “power right through them” theory of play, which worked well when you were younger and bigger than the other kids. But now, especially in travel soccer, the kids are good enough to use tricks and footwork to get around you. And suddenly, powering by people wasn’t an option anymore. So you started doing the hard work to get better. And you fell in love with goalkeeping. And that’s when it all clicked for you. People say it takes a special kind of mindset to be a goalie — you need to be able to shake off mistakes, to direct the people in front of you, to trust in your instincts and love being the center of attention. And you’ve harnessed all of those things this season, securing a spot on one of the top teams in your age group for next year. We couldn’t be prouder of you and your efforts — attending up to four practices a week because you want to, not because we make you. It also makes us chuckle that you prefer to be called “Jackson” at sports and we’re the only people who cheer for “Jack” at the fields. We say it’s your sports persona.

Your love of sports doesn’t stop when you step off the soccer field, the baseball diamond, the basketball court or the tennis court. You love to watch the Cardinals or the Bears or the Bulls, constantly checking game highlights and reciting obscure stats to us. But your one true love, the Blackhawks, are the thing you focus on the most. You can tell us stats, scores, averages, injuries and trivia for days. Watching the look on your face when the Hawks won the Stanley Cup in June of 2015, the three of us in the stands at the United Center as the clock wound down, was worth every penny we paid for the tickets. Seeing it through your eyes, how excited and genuinely happy you were, was one of my greatest moments as a parent.

It was a big year for change in school, as I mentioned earlier. You left the comfort of the classroom, teacher and friends you had for three years to move up to the next level. You were nervous — I joke that you looked like a dead man walking on your way to line up on the first day of school — but it was exactly the change you needed. More challenging work, new friends, new expectations. Your math scores are off the charts and your language isn’t far behind. I love watching you work things out in your head, the same look of concentration you had when you were tiny and trying to figure out everything from getting your toes into your mouth to velcroing your own sandals to crossing the monkey bars. There is nothing you can’t do once you set your mind to it.

Your relationship with your sisters has changed as well. You still like to beat the hell out of your middle sister on the regular, but you also can spend hours playing Minecraft or Xbox or LEGOs together. You like to make sure they know who’s boss, to tell them exactly what they’re doing wrong and to make sure we know it as well. But you’re also so good with Maeve, helping her learn things and putting on plays and shows with her.

And then there’s piano, which we truly believe is your Thing, with a capital T. You’ve learned to play real songs this year and killed the school talent show when you played Coldplay’s “Clocks” in front of a hundred people. You practice all the time, to the point where I might be the only mother on earth who yells, “Get away from the piano!” But you love it and it seems to come naturally to you.

This was the year where I saw the first glimpses of the teen-ager you will become. You’re nearly as tall as me now and we wear the same size shoe. You throw down six tacos or half a pizza at a time and can’t get enough fruits and veggies. There are times where it takes my breath away to look at you because I can see exactly the person you will become. I actually had to sit down one afternoon at your baseball game when I spied you from behind, your catcher’s shin guards on, your batting gloves stuffed in your back pocket, your hat on backwards, laughing at something a teammate had said. In that moment, I literally saw the future you and it brought actual tears to my eyes.

But we haven’t lost the little Jack yet. You still hold my hand when we walk places, you still hug me and snuggle up to me on the couch. We still read together at night, that is, when you’re not too busy trying to sneak in some computer time under the guise of “looking something up real quick” before you go to bed. You still watch kid movies and read kid books and like to play outside. You adore your grandparents and love spending time with all of them. You are helpful and thoughtful, silly and sarcastic. You’re learning how far you push it when you’re trying to be funny, which makes for some occasionally tense stand-offs at home. It’s definitely going too far to say, “Listen up, woman” to your mother, believe me.

I’ve always looked forward to the day when I can relax, when I can say my job is done. No more carpools to drive or lunches to make or clothes to wash or soccer bags to pack. But now that it’s on the horizon, I know I will miss it. Which I try to remind myself during the eighth soccer game in 48 hours, during the five-minute standoff over why you have to shower, while the three of you are screaming at each other about who’s job it is to load the dishwasher. But this is truly my favorite age so far, the one where I glimpse who you will be with the memories of the baby you were still fresh in my mind. And while this is the last letter I will write for you, know that I remember everything — your first smile, your first steps, your first day of school, your first goal — just as I will remember your first date, your first car, your graduation, your wedding. You’re forever my baby, forever my little boy, forever my heart.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Jack,

You’re nine now. That’s halfway to 18. We’re making the turn and heading for the back nine, the final years of your childhood. It doesn’t seem possible that the baby I held in my arms just moments ago is now the boy running down the basketball court, the soccer field, the baseball diamond and the tennis court. The boy playing songs from the radio on the piano. The boy reading Harry Potter on his own and constructing LEGO sets and playing Xbox and making us laugh.

This last year has been one of genuine surprise. You’ve mellowed (slightly) from the ball of energy you’ve always been. Little by little, we’ve seen the maturation happen. You’ve developed more empathy, more sympathy and more understanding that the world doesn’t actually revolve around you. You ask thoughtful questions, make interesting observations and genuinely want to know what makes things work.

I’ve always said I could see the wheels turning in the brain of yours, but now, more than ever, I can. You do long division in your head, you can think three moves ahead in chess, you’re actually starting to understand that changing one small thing can result in huge differences down the road. You like to help fix things and often ask to tag along when grandpa and daddy are working on home improvement projects.

You’re (mostly) helpful around the house and with your sisters. You are patient with Maeve, teaching her different things, playing less roughly and helping her when she struggles. But you’re also impatient with Emmie when you want to lord it over her that you’re bigger, faster, stronger and have learned more in school than she has. But you’re also willing to play video games with her, to explore with her, to put on nonsense performances and skits with her.

This was the year you’re sports fandom exploded. You wake up every morning and the first thing you do is check online for the results of the Blackhawks, the Bulls, the Cardinals or the Bears. You’ll watch sports on TV all day if we let you, often begging to stay up “just until the end of the game!” This year your true obsession was the Blackhawks and you couldn’t get enough of them. Our house is overrun with Hawks gear and you even asked Santa for tickets to a game for Christmas. Lucky for you, Santa came through with club-level seats and a parking pass. I think it was the best night of your life. But it’s not just watching, but playing, too. Your soccer game has really come up a level this last year as you get bigger and stronger, better coordinated as you grow into that tall frame. Your soccer coach said one of your best qualities is that you’re aggressive and you have endurance, two things I feel are actually handy life skills off the pitch as well. But you like baseball and basketball just as much as soccer and I think you really enjoy being part of a team, of having the shared camaraderie and experience of just joking around on the bench sometimes.

But you’re also still so attached to us. You want to hang out with us, want to be around us. You’ll still cuddle up with me on the couch when we’re watching TV or when we’re reading at night in your room before bed. You come out of school searching for my face, smiling when you lock eyes with me. A few more years and that won’t be the case, so I’m enjoying it while I can.

This is your last year in your current classroom, a place you’ve spent the last three years. I know you’re anxious about moving up next year, having a different teacher and different friends. But I think you’re ready. I think the challenge and the fresh start will be good for you. It will be scary and you’ll be nervous, no doubt, but you’ll do fine. All you third-graders know each other anyway. It’s just a different group of kids to spend the day with.

After watching how much you’ve changed and matured from eight to nine, I can’t wait to see what happens from nine to 10. And then I stop and think about the fact you’ll have completed the first decade of your life. And that’s just absolutely crazy. You grew two-and-a-half inches in six months last year and you’re up to my shoulder now. The day isn’t that far off when I’ll be looking up at you. But for now, you’re still my little boy. The one who made me a mom nine years ago. The one who brings a smile to my face and exasperation to my brain and love to my heart. I can’t wait to see what nine has in store for you, and for us.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Emmie,

I think there must be a mistake because there is no way you are seven. Three? Sure. Five? I can see that. But seven? No. Just no. But alas, tis true. I can see seven in you every day, although there are some days where I see seventeen in you and that makes me want to shake my fist at the sky.

What a year this has been. The biggest change for you was that you left your beloved Room 109 after three years and moved on to a new room with a new teacher and new friends. You were ready, oh-so-ready for first grade, but I think a little apprehensive as well. The first week of school you cried every night that your tummy hurt and you couldn’t sleep. I deduced it was nerves and your body’s way of working out the stress. And then, just like that, it stopped and you were fine.

First grade has been amazing for you. You’re learning new things in new ways with new teachers and kids surrounding you. No more being the big kid, you’re back to being the first-year kid in a three-year class, which isn’t something you remember so well. But the addition of the older kids means you have peers that challenge you and push you to work harder. Your reading is off the charts and your math isn’t far behind. You read the entire Little House series on your own this year, as well as countless other books that are well above your grade level. And you can’t get enough of them, which makes the bookworm in me so very happy.

But it’s not just books. You played baseball with the boys this year and showed them a thing or two at the plate. You had an awesome soccer season and honed your skills at camp even further. You school the boys in your basketball league and have scored in every game so far. Your tennis game is on point and we can’t pull you out of the pool once you’re in it. You love piano lessons and have even picked up a few songs that Jack is playing two years ahead of you. And you started chess club this year, which you also seem to really enjoy. If you were applying to Harvard right now, you’d be a shoo-in with your well-rounded portfolio.

When you’re not flitting off to one activity or another (a rarity in our house), you’re obsessed with your Skylanders and Disney Infinity video games. But you’ll sit still and quiet for hours with your iPad playing Minecraft. You’re as equally obsessed as your siblings, all of you playing in each others’ worlds and discussing where to find things and showing off what you’re created. I have to admit, I have no idea what you’re talking about when you excitedly tell about the game, but I nod and smile because you’re just so enthusiastic.

This was also the year we finally forced you to go without training wheels on your bike. One Sunday afternoon we took them off (while you screamed and complained) and within fifteen minutes, you were riding loops around the soccer field and playground in the neighborhood. You were so proud of yourself and we were equally as proud of you. Learning to ride a bike, like other things in your life, meant you needed a little encouragement. Just like when we dragged you kicking and screaming (literally) onto the Space Mountain roller coaster at Disney, you ended up loving it and telling us how it was your favorite thing ever.

Knowing this about you makes life both simultaneously more difficult and easier. More difficult because convincing you to do something is painful, but easier because once we do it, you’re off and loving it without a second thought.

Being our middle child, I always worry about you a little more. I try to make sure everything is fair, that everyone gets the same treatment. But oh, do you make us work for it now. Our cuddly little snuggler now has to be corralled into hugs, cajoled into kisses, begged to sit next to us on the couch. But when we finally convince you to join us in a show of affection, you throw yourself into it wholeheartedly.

You’ve already asked me if you can go to sleep away camp this year. Nice try, but no. Of all our kids, you are definitely the independent one. The one who could care less if we’re there or not. I truly believe if I let you, you would walk yourself to school and book your own plane tickets for solo vacations. But that’s who you are — you do what you want and you really don’t care what other people think. I really hope this carries through to the teen-age years, but we’ll see.

Leaving one classroom and joining another meant you added to your social circle. I say added instead of swapped because you are just as happy having playdates with your new friends as you are having sleepovers with the old. Your teachers say you’re kind and caring, playing and getting along with everyone. I see that at home, too. You’re just as happy playing Minecraft with Jack as you are coloring Fashion Plates or playing Frozen with Maeve. You’re happy to keep the peace, although I’ve seen flashes of brilliance when it comes to manipulating your siblings. You and Jack play mostly nicely, but there’s still a fair amount of physicality, which sometimes you bring on yourself. You and Maeve are usually the best of friends, playing in your rooms with your American Girls or some other nonsense. But your favorite game of the last year, which you’re legitimately good at, is Bananagrams. Kind of like Scrabble, it’s a word game and you excel at it.

This was the year where I felt like you really grew up. I saw a picture of you at three years old this week and I did a double-take because it didn’t even look like you. Chubby cheeks, bangs, mischievous grin. Your legs now go for miles and I often joke I’m not sure how you even stand upright on them. Your face has lost all traces of baby-fat and your bangs are all grown out. You can even pull your own hair back in a ponytail now, a feat you mastered after repeated attempts one afternoon. You have definite opinions about your clothes — you always have — but for now we’re not battling it out. You still prefer dresses and skirts to jeans and T-shirts, and this season you were rocking a pleated leather skirt. Girl’s got style.

Some things never change, though. Practically from birth you’ve loved to make us laugh with your wry observations and dry humor. You love to tell us stories of all kinds, sometimes silly, sometimes serious. That’s the thing with you — you keep us on our toes. We didn’t know if you would be too cool to meet Elsa and Anna at Disney, but you were practically levitating when it was your turn. The look on your face was priceless. And that’s why I love this age — little girl enough to love princesses and big girl enough to have a rational conversation.

The one time of day when you don’t want to push us away, when you actually seek us out is still bedtime. We read together and when we turn off the lights, Daddy or I sit on the edge of your bed and chat for a few minutes. That’s the time when you really tell us what’s on your mind, when I hear about perceived slights or wrongs, when you reveal what you did at school, who you played with on the playground. After you’re asleep, I check on you before I go to bed and that’s when I pause and see the baby you were. Your face slack in sleep, cuddling your pink fuzzy blanket, you look just like the baby you once were. In the half-dark, I smooth the hair away from your face and pull the blanket up around you. I remember the sleepless nights with you, the nursing and the rocking and the shushing and the bouncing. I remember the first smiles and the first steps and the first words. I see it all in your sleeping face and I smile. Because you’re still that baby, still a little girl, no matter how much you want to believe otherwise.

This is going to be an amazing year and I can’t wait to experience it with you. I know our time with you is precious — soon, too soon, you’ll disdain our advice and keep us at arm’s length. So for now, as much as we can and as much as you let us, we snuggle you close and try to point you in the right direction. I can’t wait to see what seven brings you, Em. I know will be amazing and full of flair. Because I expect nothing less from you.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Maeve,

As I sit here listening to the Garden State soundtrack, I can’t even believe this same song was playing five years ago today. I was so ready to meet you, the baby who would complete our family. I didn’t know if you would be a Finn or a Maeve, but I knew I couldn’t wait. And neither could you, our girl who burst into the world just three hours after my water broke. You didn’t even make it past the third song, coincidentally titled “In the Waiting Line.” Ironically, you’ve kept us waiting many times since that day.

You walked a little later, talked a little later and slept on your own a little later than your brother and sister. But you’re also the one who has always been eager to cuddle up with us, content to listen to the crazy antics of your siblings. You’re our morning greeter, up with the sun asking if it’s OK to go downstairs and watch a video. There’s still a few nights here and there where you crawl into our bed in the middle of the night and while I should be annoyed, I just move the covers and let you settle between me and Daddy, your little feet constantly looking for a place to tuck themselves under me.

This last year you exploded in growth. It’s like the baby in you disappeared overnight, although I know it was much more gradual than that. You’re totally independent and you remind us every waking minute that you are completely capable of doing things on your own. You brush your own teeth, pick out your own clothes (you still favor jeans, but dresses and skirts are now part of the regular rotation), put your own hair bows in, pack your own school bag, get your own shoes and coat on and could probably walk yourself to school if I let you. You unload the dishwasher and clear the table like a boss and you make a mean bed every morning. You get your own snacks, pour your own milk and know how to wield the TV remote as well as any adult.

But despite all that helpfulness, you’re also our feisty girl who keeps us on our toes. If you don’t like how a game is going, you just pick up the pieces and throw them. If you want the iPad your sister has, you just yank it away from her. If you don’t like being told to do something, you just cross your arms and yell, “You’re stupid.” That one goes over really well, as you can imagine. Your signature move if you’re mad in the car, however, is still to take your shoes off and throw them at us. Good times. But those storms are always fast-moving and over within minutes. I don’t think you’re capable of holding a grudge and you’re usually happily redirected to something else.

This past year you finally dropped the nap and it was both a good and bad thing. You were exhausted for weeks this last summer, but it also made everything so much easier. But that was the last thing you did that made me think of you as a baby. Now? You’re so big. I see pictures of you when you were about 18 months old and I wonder who that chubby girl with the wisps of curl went. Now you’re sprouting up, the toddler tummy I love shrinking, the blonde curls cascading down your back. We still haven’t cut your hair yet, so I guess you still have that one remnant of your babyhood! But that’s probably coming soon as well — when we comb it out, it stretches almost to your waist! But it curls up just below your shoulders, so nobody can even tell. I’m loathe to cut it, scared your beautiful ringlets will disappear for good.

You love to run and chase, you play soccer and baseball and learned to swim without a floatie this year. You ride a big-girl bike with training wheels and took your first ski lessons. You love LEGOs and dolls, coloring and writing and dressing up in various costumes and dresses and you’re a serious whiz at Minecraft. Your favorite thing in school is math, although you’re also full-out reading. You’ve just started randomly telling me things like, “Mommy, four plus four is eight” and you’re so proud of yourself when we confirm that yes, it is.

Your also had your first emergency room visit this year. While we were on the El with friends this summer, you decided you didn’t need to sit facing the correct way and when the train started up, you fell backwards and cracked your head open. You were the lucky first person in the family to make use of the new Children’s Hospital location, getting several staples in your head. That wasn’t a whole lot of fun, but you were a total trooper and very brave. I think the popsicle they gave you helped. (The photo below was taken moments before The Fall!)

While you’e a semi-adventurous eater, vegetables are your kryptonite and you sob when we make you try something new. You beg us to hide it in bread and then immediately demand a chocolate pretzel as a reward for trying it. You love hot dogs (organic, grass-fed because Mommy is a crazy person), Cheerios, pizza, mediterranean food, mac and cheese, cheese sticks, fruit of all kinds and raw spinach. You’ll happily munch on carrots and hummus, but if you even suspect a drop of salad dressing has touched your spinach, you will freak out on us as if we’re trying to poison you. Chill out, sister, nobody’s trying to hurt you with a little sweet Italian dressing.

Your best friend moved away this summer, so you were a little lost when you started back to school, but it was a momentary blip. You thrive in your multi-age classroom, friends with the kindergartners and the three-year-olds alike. You love to be the line leader, to help your teachers and I still live for the moment you come out the door after school, your eyes searching the groups of moms for me and the huge mega-watt smile I get when you lock eyes with me. It never gets old.

You also adore Jack and Emmie. I mean, when you’re not fighting with them over an Apple product. You share Minecraft worlds, play dress-up and dolls, put on plays and have dance parties with them. You beg to have sleepovers with Emmie and love nothing more than play American Girls with her. Jack loves to pick you up and give you piggy-back rides and can convince you to play anything with him. I love watching you all together, and not only because you entertaining each other means I don’t have to entertain you. You three genuinely get along 75 percent of the time, which is pretty good in my book. The other 25 percent? Well let’s just say there’s a lot of hair-pulling, back-smacking and shrieking.

You’ve grown so much this last year, but Daddy and I know how the leap from five to six is even bigger. You’ll start kindergarten this next year! You’ll practically be off to college in my mind. But you know what? As much as I loved the baby Maeve, the one who slept in my arms and babbled and loved to play peek-a-boo, I love big-kid Maeve even more. You love to tell jokes, you have empathy when others are hurting, you make connections. You can reason and make predictions. You were even big enough to see your favorite band, Foster The People, at Lollapalooza last year! But you still hug me and spontaneously tell me you love me. You still want to sit on my lap. You’re still Daddy’s Maevie McMaeverson.

I always say I can’t wait for the next year, but I really mean it. Just keep smiling that smile and flashing those dimples before slaying people with the thoughts inside your head. Keep laughing and chasing your friends on the playground. Keep snuggling with your fuzzy blanket and your Baby Ola. Keep telling us that your “eyes are surprised” to see unexpected things. Keep eating hang-a-burgers for dinner. And keep being you. Because you’re amazing and we love you.

Love,

Mommy

Worst mommy blogger ever. First day of school was last week and I’m just posting the photos now. But hey, if you follow me on Facebook, I did post pictures there!

Jack, 3rd grade (whaaat?)

Flipagram of all Jack’s first days

Emmie, 1st grade

Flipagram of all Emmie’s first days

Maeve, Jr. Kindergarten

Flipagram of Maeve’s first days

While we had a great summer, it was time for them to get back to school and me to get back to writing!

Pam Myers, your home will soon be covered in glitter and the rooms will be ringing with the sounds of “Let It Go!”

Thanks to everyone who entered and left reviews for “Yes Mommy” — it’s the very best support you can offer an author in the current bookselling climate!

For hire: Professional chauffeur (uniform will consist of shorts, black tank and flip-flops)

Rate: Free, but accepts hand-drawn pictures with inventive spelling captions and rainbow loom bracelets

Vehicle: Slightly dented, scratched-up SUV (bonus ground-up organic Cheerios on floor)

If interested, please contact Snarky Mommy. But you’ll have to call her cell phone, because she can’t check email while she’s driving. She also can’t actually take your call, because that’s also illegal in the city of Chicago and she doesn’t have a bluetooth speaker because the one she already had sounded like she was in a tunnel and the earpieces make people look like d-bags.

Seriously, I am an idiot. I signed the kids up for this amazing summer camp that was half the price of everything other summer camp. They swim! They play sports! They come home dirty and tired and smiling! It’s great. But it’s halfway across the city in rush hour, so I now spend 50 minutes in the car roundtrip each morning and again each afternoon. So two hours of my day is spend wanting to shoot myself in traffic, praying that the Waze app doesn’t malfunction.

That also means I spend at least 25 minutes each afternoon listening to all three kids fight over who gets to use the iPad on the way home. Because God forbid they should play with the iTouches each of them own. Last week I actually stopped in the middle of a street, put my flashers on and told them I was prepared to sit there until they stopped screaming and worked out a way to share it. As they had friends coming over when we got home, that was a surprisingly effective form of parenting.

Lucky for me, the current camp ends next week. Unlucky for me, I start chauffeuring them to a new camp in a different location in August. But you know what, it’s still better than having them all home screaming and fighting each day, so I’ll just be filling the gas tank every two days with a smile on my face.

A few weeks ago, I came upon the Holy Grail of young girl parenting: two identical Disney Elsa dresses hanging in the Target toy section, along with an Anna dress. I didn’t think twice, I grabbed them all and sprinted to the check-out, leaving the other stunned customers in my wake.

Of course, Emmie was thrilled beyond belief with her good fortune when I presented the dress to her and Maeve was over the moon with her Anna version. But I had an extra Elsa dress burning a hole in my closet. So I’ve decided to offer it up in a giveaway for you, my amazing readers.

What’s the catch? All you have to do it leave an Amazon review for my new book, Yes Mommy: The Mayhem and Madness of Not Saying No. That’s it. Then you’re entered to win a chance at the most-coveted item for the under-7 set.

Use the link below to enter and follow the easy steps. Good luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

We’ve become professionals when it comes to traveling with the kids. We have separate toys that stay in separate backpacks for travel, I can pack with my eyes closed two hours before a flight and I can run the gauntlet of an unfamiliar Whole Foods in 10 minutes flat while grabbing every essential item we need for snacks and meals.

But this trip threw me for a bit of a loop. We just had the kids empty their school backpacks and throw some stuff in there instead of digging out the travel backpacks. That meant we didn’t have any crayons or PlayDoh for the plane. Ugh. I also tried packing for our overnight trip to the lake and our longer California trip at the same time. Which meant Emmie ended up with no pajamas at all for the longer trip. Awesome. And then when we arrived, I was exhausted (see: waking at 4 a.m. for 6 a.m. flight with three kids) and not thinking clearly when I made my Whole Foods run.

While I managed to remember a bunch of snacks, 27 pounds of organic produce, 2 gallons of milk and a box of mac and cheese, I couldn’t remember that I needed butter to make said mac and cheese. And of course, I didn’t realize this until I was back at the hotel looking at the box of mac and cheese and thinking about making it.

After a good night’s sleep (that ended at 4:50 a.m. when the kids woke up, you know, still on their little Central Time body clock schedules), I figured out I could just grab some butter packets from the hotel breakfast spread. Genius!

Corralling three kids at a breakfast buffet requires more than two hands, so unfortunately, I didn’t have a free hand to carry the butter. But I had pockets! So I put them in my pocket and used my free hand to wrestle a forbidden piece of candy snuck from the front desk away from my 8-year-old.

As we got in the car a short time later, I both heard and felt an odd crunch coming from my pocket. That’s weird, I thought to myself, but continued on with my drive. A few minutes passed before I had a sinking feeling about that odd crunch. I was now entering the freeway when I gingerly maneuvered my hand under the seatbelt and into my pocket to discover that yes, one of the butter packets broke as I sat down. My pocket was now filled with butter. And as it had spent some time in my pocket, it was melty and viscous. Perfect for making cookies, not so perfect for the wearability of my shorts.

I unbuckled my seatbelt so I could more easily pull the offending packets out of my pocket, which set off cries of “Mommy! Put your seatbelt back on!” from the peanut gallery. I grabbed a rogue piece of Kleenex, but was unable to contort my body in the necessary fashion and keep the vehicle on the road, so I gave up and let the gooey substance saturate my shorts.

I guess the bright side is that if I need a piece of bread buttered, I can just rub it in my pocket for a minute and it will come out perfectly coated.

Want to win an autographed copy of “Yes Mommy: The Mayhem and Madness of Not Saying No?” Then enter my Goodreads giveaway below! Contest ends tomorrow, June 18…

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Goodreads Book Giveaway







Yes Mommy



by Amy Sprenger

Giveaway ends June 18, 2014.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter to win