The change in weather has brought about more outdoor adventures over the past few weeks. Recently, I walked out the door with both boys in tow. BigBrother took a breath, looked up at the gorgeous blue of the sky and exclaimed…

“BUZZ LIGHTYEAR!”

I was about to correct him. I don’t know why. I usually encourage imagination play and adore the cast of Toy Story. Maybe I was still grumpy after being locked indoors for weeks. Maybe I was overtired. Maybe I was tired of every last thing being about Buzz, Woody and the gang. Maybe I was even going to explain something scientific though that’s highly unlikely. Before I opened my mouth and squashed his imagination, I looked up at the sky.

Ah, yes, Buzz Lightyear. I understood in an instant.

The exhaust trail behind an airplane (a contrail for my wordy friends) will never be viewed the same. A few days after that experience, I was driving home from a shopping trip with my mother. I was driving into the sunset; reds and oranges and yellows meeting up with the still blue sky. I eventually counted nine contrails. However, I didn’t call them contrails in my head.

I smiled, glancing in the mirror at the two boys sleeping in their car seats behind me. They’re going to grow, too quickly. Someday they will explain that the contrails are formed by the hot exhaust hitting the cooler atmospheric temperature and making visible condensation. They’ll use big words. It will be all scientific and old. I’ll nod. I’ll add in something interesting. We’ll make a joke. But I’ll always remember that moment where a plane in the sky was a beloved character. I’ll always remember the way my heart soared when I realized what he was talking about; how thankful I was for his point of view.

I’ll always call them Buzz Lightyear trails now. Forever. To infinity and beyond.

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[Disclosure: That's an Amazon Affiliates link up there. It wasn't necessary but, omg!guys!, Toy Story 1 and 2 are coming out as a special edition, two-disc, Blu-Ray combo pack! On Tuesday! SQUEE!]

The fallout from the NY Times article by Jennifer Mendehlson is something I’d normally ignore. I try to let things pass because the drama fades after a day or so. I feel I need to say my peace, however, as I feel that personally attacking a large group of mothers shouldn’t be ignored. Troll antics or not, the author needs to know who she’s attacking.

I’m mostly confused as to why Mendehlson and others like her are continuing to beat the generational dead horse. Maybe this horse is slightly different but it’s still just a spawn of the dead horses we’ve beaten over the years. Go to work. Stay home. Stay home but work. And all the little issues and nuances in between those arguments. Over and over until we’re blue in the face, confused and fighting with one another. And the question has to be asked why women and mothers are actively seeking a community in which they feel as though they belong? Being attacked in such a manner usually makes people band together.

The other problem I’m having beyond the tired variation of the Mommy Wars being delivered by another mother is the point that we should actually be rejoicing in our mothers having interests, hobbies and even careers in something that they love. We are not mindless. We do not retire our interests, desires, hopes and dreams simply because we are parenting children. As long as these mothers can find moderation, they’re doing what we should all want for ourselves. We want our children to see us interested in something, to show them that they can have interests and be successful. Other examples include reading, scrapbooking, yoga and cooking to name a few. All of those things in moderation can be absolutely wonderful. They even have retreats and conferences for these hobbies. If Mama Jane Doe went to a weekend cooking class to better herself, have a good time with friends and generally enjoy herself, is Jennifer Mendelsohn going to write an article about how she’s ignoring their children? What about all weekend scrapbooking retreats? Are these now off limits? Should mothers forego their yoga class on Thursday nights? Should we quit reading all together?

These are silly questions, of course, because the nasty finger-pointing initiated by Mendelsohn was silly. Unless a Mom is saying, “I can’t feed you because I’m busy reading a book while in this inverted yoga pose that is helping me think about my blog more than you,” the issues as to time spent and validity of the hobby are neither Mendelsohn’s business nor mine.

Finding balance is hard for any mom. I think that’s one thing we struggle with no matter our career choices or hobbies. My recent and very part-time return to work brought about some negative reactions from both people online and in my real life. While they were few and far between, they still stung. The truth is this: if it came down to it, I’d choose my family over any job. More over, what Mendehlson is missing, if it came down to  it, I’d choose my family over my blog(s). I don’t know many moms who would choose their blog, their career or their various hobbies over their children. They probably exist but they’re also probably not the people we’re talking about right now.

I have found some great communities through blogging. Not only do I have a large number of people with whom I network and, you know, begin writing books with but I have support in other women and mothers. I have found healing through the adoption community and blogging at Chronicles has allowed me to find my peace. The fire, EMS and safety communities online are another great niche that have allowed me to learn about various things and help others learn, too. Mendehlson may think my communities are silly and time-wasting. I think using a large publication to essentially troll not just one but all mom bloggers is equally silly. The good news is, however, that the attack has banded us closer together and we’re feeling stronger than ever.

I am proud to be a Mother, a wife, a photographer, a freelance writer and, yes, even a Mother Who Blogs.

Today has been Dr. Seuss’ birthday! We’re big fans. I always have been, always will be and I hope to raise two little boys who have an appreciation for him as well. We’re on track with that as I can’t count the number of times I have read The Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs and Ham, The Lorax (our most recent addition) or the other numerous books on our Shelf O’Seuss. I thought we’d do something a little special today since it was his birthday.

BigBrother was my inspiration for today’s plans since he brought home a very cute craft from preschool yesterday.

That’s right. I made Green Eggs and Ham. Not the kind featured in the book but scrambled eggs with bits of ham, which the Seussville website told me how to do in case I couldn’t figure out how to add green food coloring to liquid egg and cook it up. I also took it a step further and added some green food coloring when I was cooking up the ham.

When I first added the egg, it looked…. interesting.

But soon it started to scramble up and look kind of like eggs with ham. Somewhat.

When I put it on the table, the boys looked at it a bit skeptically. I mean, I can’t blame them all that much. It just looks… weird.

But LittleBrother eventually said, “I’ll pretend it’s broccoli!” He likes broccoli so that’s a good thing.

And despite his texture issues, scrambled eggs are an acceptable food with BigBrother, no matter their color, and he ate it just as slowly as he eats any meal that I make.

FireDad chose to wait until after I started the process to tell me a horror story from his youth. Apparently his sister and a friend made green pancakes one morning. FireDad ate said pancakes and, later that day due to an unrelated illness, he got sick and threw up. He forever blamed the green pancakes. I would like to report, however, that he has not yet hurled.

I take that as a sign of success.

Tasted fine to me!

Happy Birthday, Dr. Seuss!

It’s tough competing with FireDad.

I mean, if you were a four year old and you were asked, “Do you want to be a firefighter like your daddy or a writer/photographer like your mommy,” what would you choose? If you were a two year old and asked the same question, what would you answer? I lose every time. Every single time.

I don’t run into burning buildings. I stand outside with my camera and try to capture the action; I don’t live it. I write about what I felt afterward; I don’t tell the firefighter stories that start with, “So there I was, flames shooting seventy feet in the air.” Feelings are always less interesting than flames shooting in the air. I don’t save people’s lives. I don’t drive a big, red, shiny fire truck.

I’m so boring.

I was getting ready to head out to work last night and LittleBrother was bebopping around the kitchen. I told him that I was getting ready to go to work and asked, “At the new-paper?” I confirmed that and asked if he wanted to go with me and said, “No.” Then I launched into a series of (leading) questions and asked him if he wanted to be a firefighter or a photographer when he grew up.

“Fireman.”

Okay, so I apparently need to work on gender-inclusive titles on top of my children thinking I’m boring. Thrilling.

At that point I pulled a typical Mommy Guilt moment and boo-hoo-ed that no one wanted to be like me. FireDad gave me a look that said, without saying anything at all, that I was being lame on top of being boring. Even more thrilling. I put on my coat, whined about the weather and started to give out goodbye kisses. During my whining and dressing for the Never Ending Snow, LittleBrother had made his way to the toy box, found his (play) camera and came to take my picture.

“Say boogers and cookies, Mommy.”

Aww, maybe he is more like me than I think. Thrilling.