The Anniversary Dinner Gone Wrong

On November 20th, my husband and I will be married for 15 years. So, naturally, to celebrate this big, important milestone, we celebrated our anniversary at a new Italian restaurant in town. With my two sons. And my mother-in-law. Oh, it was fine. I didn't mind. We can count this as our anniversary dinner. For now. I have my sights on a restaurant meant just for the two of us down the road.

This is real life.

We decided to visit this restaurant because it was referred to us by my sister's in-laws, which happened to be there! They just can't get enough! (They just can't get enough. They just can't get enough... Where's Depeche Mode when ya need 'em?) My parents tried it before us and my dad said it was "very, very, very good". My dad doesn't usually use that many verys. (The last time I can remember him using so many verys was when he said, "I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY surprised you went out to centerfield to play softball and left your glove in the dugout." Truth. Every word of it.) The place is pretty close to us, in a strip center and a not very expensive. We like all of those things. So, on Saturday night, we ate there.

Since we were there to celebrate our anniversary, I asked the waitress for a wine menu.

"We don't have a liquor license, but there is a liquor store next door."

Well, hot dog. It's BYOW.

(That's one lucky liquor store.)

So, I walked over to the liquor store without hesitation and did my best impersonation of a person who gives a rip about the wine she picks. I tend to stick with the "pinot grigio" because I just learned how to pronounce it right not too long ago and it tastes pretty good. I don't get into all of that wine mumbo jumbo, which should not come as a surprise since I once wrote the post All Wine Is Basically The Same, Right?

Seconds later, I was back with my wine in a brown paper bag like I was headed to a street corner by myself. It wasn't a great look, but I don't think the patrons cared or were surprised, seeing as almost all of them had a bottle of wine on their tables, too.

We drank a glass.

Seriously, like one glass, which is why it's CRAZY that as I was lifting my salad bowl up and then setting back down, I broke the wine glass. As I type this, I can't, for the life of me, remember why I was moving my bowl back down. I wasn't pretending I was holding Bowl Weight Lifts. "And up and down and up and down and lift! LIFT THAT BOWL HIGH! HIGHER! Now, breeeeeeeeeeeeathe..." I wasn't doing that. Who knows? All I know, is that the dingdang wine glass cracked. Crazy enough, the wine didn't spill out. The waitress came to take the wine glass from me, but can you believe she took the whole wine glass and didn't pour the remaining wine into another glass? What a waste! I mean, hey, if there had been glass particles in there, so what? What's a little glass going to do to your digestive system??

So, that was sort of a scene.

Everything was made right and I went back to eating my Pasta Bolognese. Now, here's the deal, I loved that restaurant. I did. The bread was OFF THA CHAIN. Off it. Completely off the dingdang chain. The house salad was so, so good. Next time I go, I'm going to ask the waitress to bring me a glass of that dressing and save the tea for someone else. The Bolognese sauce was good, don't get me wrong (don't do it!) but I wasn't a fan of it being over spaghetti noodles. I thought it was supposed to be over penne pasta or something. Oh, I have no clue. It was good but about 15 bites in, I bit into something hot. I guess it was the pepper flakes that hot shots sprinkle on pizza. Why these people can't be satisfied with parmesan cheese, I have no idea. Why the need to scorch your mouth?

Those red peppers I am certain were in my pasta sauce Saturday night.

I can't take spice.

I can't do it.

I go from zero-to-Matt-Foley-sweat in 2 seconds if I eat something spicy.

"I need water! I need tea! OhmyGOSH, this is hot!" and on and on I went as I gulped whatever I could find, except for my restaurant neighbor's unsweet tea. (I am not a fan of unsweet tea.)

"Kelley, it's not hot. It's PASTA SAUCE. You just had too much wine," my husband said to me.

"I've had, like, a HALF OF A GLASS. The pasta sauce is HOT."

"It's pasta sauce."

"It's hot."





My mother-in-law reached her fork over to see if I was a filthy liar and, of course, she didn't get any of the hot bites.

The waitress walked up a second later, though (she said she heard me going on about the spice), and said that she had noticed spice with it, too, so I totally won one that one. My husband won't admit it, but, yeah, I won that one. Me. Winner.

But, that was sort of a second scene.

And then my 10-year-old son burped. And giggled.

"You don't burp like that in a restaurant! Say excuse me!" I hissed.

And the waitress heard.

And giggled.


And, not one to really love only making three scenes at a restaurant if at all possible, I made a fourth one. I wouldn't have made it, except that I noticed the toilet was stopped up in the ONE public restroom at the place. I came out of the bathroom REALLY fast when I noticed that because I wanted no one blaming me for being the toilet stopper upper. I'm really sensitive to people thinking I did something in the bathroom that I didn't. One time my husband blamed skid marks on me in college right in front of all of his college roommates because he thought it was funny. Just so, so, super funny. They thought it was hilarious and one of them actually did it!!

"I'm sorry to bother you again, but the toilet is stopped up. I didn't see a plunger in there or I would've totally un-stopped it up for you. I'm sort of a pro at that. You just stick that thing in there, push down 2 or 3 times and BAM, done. No, no, no...not because of anything I do, but, you know, well, anyway... I'm good at it," I quickly blurted out to the wait staff.

"Oh, don't worry about it, ma'am. We'll take care of it."

Those nice people had to go next door, probably to their BFF's place (the liquor store), and borrow a plunger. Isn't that crazy? They didn't have one of their own. No one has yet to stop up the toilet, but it was stopped up when I got there. Wouldn't you know it? I think they need to stick that thing right smack dab beside the toilet and move on with life. They could dress it up like I suggested in my post, Where Do You Keep Your Plunger?.

I was so grateful that someone else in the restaurant was making scenes of their own. That someone was unknown, but they still were embarrassed inside. I mean, THEY STOPPED UP THE TOILET! I was just grateful that, after my walk through the restaurant with a large brown bag, breaking the wine glass and acting like I needed someone to dump all of the Gulf of Mexico into my mouth so that the spiciness could be conquered, someone else was actually making a scene, too. Finally, it was somebody else's tu--


"Yes, son?"

He leaned over to whisper very, very, very quietly, "We stopped up the toilet. We were playing in there and put too much toilet paper in the toilet."

And, there you have it, my friends.

Scene FIVE.

Next year, we'll just celebrate our anniversary outside the hot dog warmer at gas station. Maybe we'll splurge to make it extra romantic and get matching Icees.

Everyone has a made a scene at a restaurant before, right? Don't make me feel all alone!

The Bowl: A poem

Oh, bowl of mine,
You ain't that pretty.
You're from another time
When lots of people were named Betty.

Still, if you broke?
Well, I wouldn't be happy.
You belonged to my folks
Which is why this bad poem is about to get sappy.

When I look at you, 
I don't see a 70s circle of brown.
I see you like a timeline of food.
Turning my frown upside down.

You remind me of love,
You remind me of my parents.
Which is why people out of the way I'd shove,
If I ever saw you at a store on clearance.

Pretty sure they bought you in '72.
An era of thick mustaches, tinted glasses and plaid.
With love, they prepared food in you
And fed it to me when I was good (and when I was bad.)

When I see you, I think of my carefree youth,
A time when I was so tiny, sassy and dependent
I think of you holding my favorite "melted corn" (what I called creamed corn- the truth)
It's crazy- you are so remniscent.

You also remind of my caring and loving mom that I'd beg
To let me help her make breakfast.
So, she'd give me a spoon and crack into you lots and lots of eggs
That I could stir, stir, stir while pretending to be my parents.

You also remind me of imagination and chocolate ice cream
And times with Lisa, my younger sister.
We'd share it at the butcher block table & dream,
Of a day when we'd be older, wiser & richer.

So, though you aren't a gorgeous sight,
I will always, always keep you close by, 
You remind me of happy, in-the-way-back-past family times,
And inspire me make good, positive memories for the two boys of mine.

What is the point of blogging?

We all have different answers to that. If you don't write one, maybe you could tell me what the point is in reading one. If you are looking for a quick answer to my question that isn't "Everyone has different reasons" or "It helps us feel connected and heard and unafraid and inspired and entertained", I'm afraid I can't help.

My boys are always, "Are you blogging, Mom?" or "She's probably blogging!" I'm all, "Boys, PLEASE." My 6-year-old thinks texting is called blogging. I hardly ever blog anymore, especially not when they are awake. They need to get with the program. It's like when they say to my husband and me, "Don't fight!" when we are barely having a disagreement. They don't realize how bad it really could be. Just like blogging, they don't realize how often I could blog. Once or twice a week? Or even a month? Please.

Here I have this blog but sometimes I wonder why. Why do I write these words and why do I care?

Over the years, I have loved this blog. I don't want to let it go and, still, today I want to cling tight to it.

But, why?

A blog is sort of like you being the person at the lunch table and not letting anyone else talk. You just blab, blab, blab away while everyone looks at you.

I don't want to be a blabber.

Sometimes I want to drop kick this blog to my old alley way behind the house I grew up in. That same alley way where a truck hit my sister and she flew through the air like a rag doll.

She's okay now.

In fact, she just had a baby on November 1st. She is more than okay now. She is the happiest I have ever seen her.

But, yeah, sometimes? Drop kick this blog is what I feel like doing.

Why do I write the dingdang thing?

Here's the deal: I don't care about going viral. I don't want to be controversial. I don't want to capitalize on the latest thing. I don't want to reveal all my family's secrets or things the kids are doing that they may not appreciate that I shared when they're older. Things like that. Zilch desire. I am, but what is the point of my blog if it isn't to make me internet rich and famous? 

And here you are. Still reading.

That is why I still write it, I think. You read it even though I am nothing special. I am just a person like you. I'm just writing things down a little more often.

I really think I write it because you read it. If I wasn't here, though, you would read something else. In fact, in a nanosecond, you will be reading something else and you will have forgotten you were here. I know because I do the same kind of thing errrrday.

(This may be your first day here and you're all, like, "Ew!" in your best Jimmy Fallon voice. "Ew! Mushy! Too serious! Not funny! Ew!")

I would feel sad if I let the blog go.

Or maybe not?

So, what is the point of this post? I guess I am just checking in. I'm wanting the cleaning crew here in the Break Room to know I appreciate how often they re-stock the vending machine. I want Rose at the front desk to know I've noticed every time she hasn't forgotten to water the ivy in the macrame holder.

I think mostly I'm wanting to be transparent as I contemplate the future of this place. Can I give it what it needs to be a thriving blog? I haven't updated certain pages in a while. I haven't written posts about hitting five ducks, getting Chinese foot massages, the lack of female hibachi chefs at Benihana, what I do at Home Depot when my husband shops there forever and ever, sort of meeting Adam Levine (but not really), why Mister Rogers stresses me out, ridiculous shoes worn at Disney World, inventive Ben & Jerry names or Pepto Bismol in a long time. I had more time for inspiration when I wasn't working outside of the home part-time, carting my kids around to practices so much, navigating the world of two elementary school-aged boys that I love with all of my heart and trying to figure out 4th grade math homework.

Do I want this to be a thriving blog anymore or do I want to...not do that?

The truth?

I think I'd miss it.

I think I'd miss you.

Why do you blog or why do you read blogs?
Let's talk about blogs, baby. Let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things that blogs may be. Let's talk about...blogs.

The Four Types of Huggers: Which One Are You?

There are basically 4 types of huggers out there. Actually, there must be 7, if my Venn diagram means anything. I hate when I screw up a good Venn diagram. I'm pretty sure I make a Venn diagram at least once per day and this is the first one I've screwed up. You've got to give it to me that I get so many Venn diagrams right.


Actually, I think there are just 4. If a screwed up Venn diagram is what really sets you off, then this is probably where we should part ways. I have never been able to be really close to people who have really high Venn diagram standards.

Here's how I see the huggers:

The Back Patter: A pat is essentially a "there, there". So, I think a hug from a patter can sometimes make you feel like a preschooler. "There, there. It's okay that you peed on the circle time rug right in the middle of our 'hot potato' game. There, there." You see, that kind of statement is always followed by a Back Patter hug. If you get one of those kinds of hugs as an adult, you might have flashbacks to that time you peed on the circle time rug. It can be very uncomfortable. I think a patter also wants you to know that they have somewhere to be. When the last pat has been given, it is time to move on with life. I guess this can be said of all the hugs, but that last pat just seems sort of final. "THE HUG IS DONE!" it seems to yell out.

The Back Smoother: I can only take so much smoothing. I had an opportunity to watch a doula/midwife in action recently. She wasn't mine. No babies over here. No, ma'am and no, sir. I was just watching the doula/midwife lady in full swing. This doula was a Certified Smoother. The Soother Smoother is a good nickname. She wasn't giving hugs. She just did a lot of smoothing movements on the arms and legs of the person having the baby. I would not have been able to take that. I do not like to be smoothed on the arms or legs and especially not during a hug. I mean, one swipe? Okay, one swipe. If you must swipe, FINE. More than one swipe is a full-out smoother. Maybe you like to be smoothed. We're all different.

The Back Squeezer: I am a fan of the light squeeze. I know someone who is a fan of the super-tight-almost-squeezed-your-spleen-out squeeze. That kind of squeeze could stand to scale it back a notch. I like to keep my organs. (I once lost a spleen at a family picnic after being greeted by some Back Squeezer family members.) I become less a fan of the squeeze the longer it lasts because oxygen. In general, though, I like Back Squeezer hugs and I give them.

THE SHOW-OFF: One minute she's squeezing and the next second, patting. Before you know it, she has put a smoothing in there. She squeezes-pats-smooths and then switches it up to a pats-smooths-squeezes. The finale is a squeepatooth and that can really blow your mind. This person makes you feel like you've just been thrown in a dryer.

Hey, they're all hugs, I'll admit. Hugs are nice and connect people with each other. Some people love them. Some people don't like to be hugged. Some people squeeze out spleens.

Which one are you?

(We talk about things over on Facebook so the spammers don't win.)

How To Clean Your Entire Car With One Cup of Water

Do you remember in Back to the Future where Marty McFly's family picture kept fading the more it appeared that his parents weren't going to end up together? You know, when Marty went to the past? And the only way the family started reappearing on it was when Marty started playing "Power of Love" at the high school dance and he interrupted "Earth Angel" big time?

 Well, that is sort of what I got going on on my back windshield. Only, it's a windshield and not a picture and I'm the only person still clinging on for dear life. It actually works the opposite way, though. All of my sticker family members that have been removed are thriving. I'm the only one left and I'll keep dwindling away until I finally get the thing off the window.

(My mom bought us the stickers.)

(Quit your hating.)


This (rather bad Back To The Future) analogy came to my mind as I went outside to try out a new car cleaning product from Eco Green Auto Clean. As you can see from the above picture, my SUV was hurtin'. My friend's husband (also my friend), Stuart Rosenkranz of GreenTouch Auto Care, is selling this spray that cleans and waxes your car fast, for cheaper than a car wash at the gas station (and MUCH cheaper than the stand-alone car wash places) and uses barely any liquid at all in comparison to the water used at those facilities. In fact, it uses ONE CUP OF WATER. Do you know how much is typically used to wash your car? FIFTY GALLONS OF WATER.

One cup.

Fifty gallons.

One cup.

Fifty gallons.

One cup.

Fifty gallons.

Mind blown.

Much to my husband's surprise, I went outside with my two microfiber towels (one to clean with, one to shine with) and my bottle of "Freedom One Green" (which is a cleaner and wax) to wash my car. I was only going to clean a little panel at first- just enough to try it out. It was so easy and kind of addicting, that I cleaned the whole thing myself. I think I was done in 30-45 minutes. Like the makers of the product says, it's sort of like cleaning your kitchen counters. You don't get wet. You just spray, spray, spray and wipe, wipe, wipe and shine, shine, shine (that's basically wiping once more with the clean microfiber towel). I can handle that. Lord knows I've cleaned a lot of kitchens.

(You caught me! One of those towels wasn't microfiber!)

My mother-in-law came outside as I was doing it and marveled at how shiny the car appeared. She said she had just paid someone to wash and wax her car the day before. I think she paid at least $65. I think I used $10 worth of the product for the same effect.

And a lot less water.


I wouldn't call myself a tree hugger. I do recycle and I do like trees. Don't get me wrong. I'm just no fanatic. (I might actually hug a fig tree.) Still, the idea of something doing a great job cleaning my car that is cheaper than what I already do and that also uses tons less water seems kind of appealing.

Stuart of GreenTouch Auto Care is the one that you can contact if you'd like to try it out. You can get in touch with him on his GreenTouch Auto Care Facebook page. He accepts PayPal and, if you are local and would rather pay in person, that can be worked out, as well. The "Auto Wash" is $17 and the "Freedom One Green" is $21. (Shipping is included in that price.) Most people can probably get 2-3 washes out of one bottle. I think I was a little overzealous with the sprays. If I repeated what I did the first time, I think I'd only get two washes out of the bottle. Next time, though, I'll be much more reserved and a little less haywire. Stu gave me a couple to give away. So, I'm giving away one "Auto Wash" and one "Freedom One Green" (wash + wax). That means two people get something. Bam!

This'd be Stu.


This'd be the stuff he is giving away.

Besides those products, there are also products to clean your car windows, your tires, the carpet and leather. They've got the clean, green car hook-up.

All you need to do, if you are interested in winning the wash or the wash + wax, is to go to this Facebook link below and follow the instructions, which are basically:

A) like the Kelley's Break Room Facebook page
B) like GreenTouch AutoCare's Facebook page
C) leave a comment telling me you did those things (that's how I will know you entered)

I will pick the winner on Friday afternoon!

Thanks, Stu!

Now, back to figuring out how to get that half of a sticker mom off of my window...


"Betty Bedtime": What All Parents Need (Hire Yours Today!)

Do you work?

Do you have a part-time job?

Are you in need of extra money?

I might have just the job for you.


Not a night owl? Well, don't run away just yet. Although that position is still being created, I do have the title for it: MORGAN MORNING. MM isn't ready to get off the ground yet. The mornings are insanity and I just don't know if I have the money to pay someone for that yet.

So, just what is expected of you if you say "yes" to being Betty Bedtime? We'll talk about pay later. Isn't that how it always works? Hear about what you need to do and then the pay conversation?

Let's go over "Betty Bedtime"'s job first. If you become a "Betty Bedtime", I'm going to need you to dress in the Betty Bedtime garb, which I haven't picked out yet. Whatever it is, it'll be sort of cute, but not too cute. Betty Bedtime can show no cleavage. We're not in the Breaking Up Happy Homes business. I'll probably make the uniform scrubs or something. Ugly scrubs.

You will arrive at about 7:00 p.m., which should be after dinner has been eaten. If there are still dishes to do, you can offer to do them, but that's not your main job. We may offer bonuses for dishes done, but your name is "Betty Bedtime", not "Darla Dishes". Your main job is to assist the mom or dad in getting the children to bed before it's 1 a.m. I kid. It can't be 1 a.m. If you can't get the child to bed until 1 a.m., you will be let go. No, the bedtime must occur before 9 p.m. and it must be done safely and without any medication. We're not looking to go to jail.

But, getting the child to go to sleep isn't where it stops.

You know that's crazy.

There is so much to do besides getting the child to go to sleep. You also must answer these questions:

-Are the sheets on the bed clean?
-If they're not clean, are there clean ones you can put on the bed?
-If no clean ones, can you put your face in the sheets to determine if Febreze can you help?
-It's that bad?
-Are there room for the sheets in the washing machine?
-Can you walk downstairs and put them in the washing machine now?
-Oh, no, there are clothes already in the washing machine?
-Can you take the clothes out of the washing machine and put it in the dryer?
-Can you take the clothes out of the dryer and put it on the couch?
-Can you look to see if my son's favorite football jersey is in that mound of dry clothes?
-Can you make sure to carry that back up with you?
-If the fan is still on in the living room, can you turn it off?
-Can you get a sippy cup of water and bring it back up when you're done?
-After you put those dirty sheets in the washing machine, can you put the clean sheets on the bed?
-Actually, can you catch that child running down the stairs away from the bath tub first?
-Can you put a diaper on him?
-Can you put the diaper on him again since he just ripped that one off?
-Okay, now the sheets?
-We ran out of clean towels, can you put sheets on the bed faster?
-Since I'm in the middle of trying to rinse shampoo out of my other child's hair, can you get the clean towels?
-Can you make sure you get the towel with the frog hood on it?
-Did you happen to see any towels in the dryer?
-Can you go ahead and fold those really quickly?
-Can you go back downstairs and get my son's favorite stuffed animal that he left on the couch?
-While you're down there, can you start making the kids' lunches?
-Actually, can you get the towel first?
-And the kid?

You see, it's not an easy job. Parents will be so happy to have you around. You arrive at 7 and leave at 9:30 every night. Your job is 2.5 hours per night, but we'll pay you the equivalent to working 24 straight hours. (Still working out the pay, remember? Don't press me. This is bad interview etiquette.)

We need you, though.

Parents need Betty Bedtimers.

We need an extra hand, because, as you can see from the questions alone, there is so much to consider before the child goes to sleep: clean sheets, pajamas, clean underwear, diapers, pull-ups, clothes for the next day, snacks, "one more drink", working nightlights, books, "one more book", setting of the alarm, bathing, getting more soap, getting more shampoo, clean towels, toilet paper and, for the ones that care about the bonus, the dirty kitchen that needs to be cleaned.

And that was probably only half of it.

Although we wish you could be Rita Faye Stay All Day, most of us can't afford that. What we are looking for is a little bit of what Rita Faye Stay All Day does, but during the bedtime hours, which is why we need a Betty Bedtime. WE'RE TIRED, TOO.

By the way, there's a whole list of things Betty can't do, such as giving your husband a shoulder massage to lull him to sleep. Betty Bedtime can't do that. We won't have misbehaving Betties.

So, you in?

Want to be a Betty Bedtimer?

I'm working on getting a car for you with a recognizable super cute Betty Bedtime trademark on the side, so don't let that be a reason you walk away.

And we'll talk about the pay later.

(If you are interested in hiring one for yourself, leave me a message in the comments. I'll do my best.)

23 Pieces of Advice To My Sister Who Is About To Have Her First Baby

Really, this could go for anybody, but I mean it especially for my sister, since I know her and everything. If you were a logger, I'd have a different set of advice for you, probably. I'd say something like, "Don't cut logs while the baby is sleeping. You may wake the baby up." or "Don't let your baby play with the saws that you use to cut the logs." Stuff like that.

So, sister, this is for you and for people that are like you, which is to say people that are not involved in criminal activity and have homes that are crime- and mostly-pest free. (You did have that incident with the bat flying around your living room until it hit the fan. I can write a different set of advice if you think that bats will become a regular feature at your house.)

Take it how you will.

That sweet precious will be here any moment, so read fast.

1. Don't pay attention to most advice.

2. Everyone wants to give advice. Someday you will probably give baby advice.

3. All mothers started out as first-time mothers that didn't listen to unsolicited advice and 97% of those ladies never had their babies taken away. So, those are good odds.

4. You won't remember most advice anyway.

5. What advice do I remember from when I was about to have my first baby THAT I USED? No clue. If I have no clue, you probably won't, although, in general, you have more clues than I do.

6. Loving your baby and always having his best interest in mind is probably all the advice I need to give to you. You already do that, so you are already winning.

7. If you were to FORCE me to give advice, I'd just say... Oh, man, I don't know if I want to do it.

8. You know I'll be over all the time giving you advice, anyway, but I won't realize I'm doing it. Then, you'll remember this post where I said to not pay attention to advice, but I won't remember I wrote it. You'll ignore what I'm saying and then I'll get annoyed that you aren't listening to me. Can you print this out and carry it around or something?

8. Oh! I thought of one! Let me hold him all the time?

9. Okay, that made me think of one. Don't be a Nap Nazi like I was... I mean, I was something to be reckoned with when anyone wanted to pick up my baby from the middle of a nap.

10. Seriously, though, naps are really, really important for his mood and for your sanity, so scratch #10. Be a Nap Nazi. Well, be more of a Nap Nurturer. You are all about facilitating the naps but you won't bust a blood vessel if one gets disrupted. You must not be as uptight as I was about the naps and everything first baby-related. I was a meanie deluxe.

11. You might want to tell Benedicto to tone it down. Benedicto is going to come and cut your grass when you don't want him to, which is basically never and all the time. You want him to come over because he is probably one of the nicest people on the planet (SO glad you introduced me to Benedicto) and he is helping you all out by cutting the grass, but, sakes alive, he's going to wake your baby up a lot with the blower.

12. Go easy on Benedicto.

13. Oh!!! I thought of another one! Don't give up on breastfeeding. I know we've talked about this and I know you are super committed to seeing it through. It's just going to be TOUGH STUFF for a while, but it is so worth it. It's different for everyone, but if you can make it happen, you'll be happy you did. Free baby food, free baby drinks, a weight loss aid (in some cases) and no need for a microwave.

14. If you can't breastfeed, though, don't worry. We weren't breastfed and look how awesome we turned out, huh???

15. Okay, how awesome you turned out.

16. I really, really love your changing table (cutest one yet!), but once baby dude starts crawling and walking and running off, you'll pretty much have to pin him down as soon as you can to rid him of the toxic waste sitting in his diaper.

17. Smell his hair a lot.

18. Kiss his cheeks a lot.

19. Make him laugh a lot.

20. Read to him a lot.

21. Know that we all love you with our whole hearts and are super excited you and your sweet husband are having a baby.

22. The boys can hardly wait.

23. We can't either.

I love you, Lisa!! I know most of this wasn't advice. I'm tricky like that. You are already a wonderful mother. Your sweet boy is blessed to have you both.

Tell him we can't wait to meet him.
Come on, now. Chime in. We need to hear from you. You may have just the advice she DOES need to hear. I think she's already dilating, so type fast.

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