DIY Foaming Hand Soap

washinghands.net

Foaming hand soap is such a good idea for little ones. Kids tend to either use way too much liquid hand soap and/or they don't agitate it long enough to actually make it lather and get all over their hands. When I was a teacher, I witnessed so many kids squirt on the hand soap, then almost immediately rinse it all off under the water before even lathering! So when they came out with foaming hand soap, I recall thinking what a good idea it was.

However, I have long thought that foaming hand cleanser must be a boon for the soap companies. They just had to pay -- once -- for the "foaming" design of the bottle and then they use a fraction of the actual cleanser, add a ton of water to the bottle, and sell it for the same price (or often more!) than the traditional hand soap counterparts. Screams DIY to me!

This is not exactly a new idea, I have seen it all over the internet. But the other day, I stumbled across this recipe again for make-your-own foaming hand soap from Money Saving Mom. "Recipe" is a bit of a stretch -- it's really just two ingredients, one of which you get from your sink. The most important thing is to make sure you have an empty foaming dispenser, otherwise you'll end up with just really watered down soap!

DIY Foaming Hand Soap

• 2 tbsp liquid hand soap, any kind


• warm water to fill container

Put a little warm water in bottom of dispenser. Add your hand soap. Fill the rest of container with warm water, swirl around gently, and that's it!

I have read a few tips:

1. Don't shake, it will foam over.


2. Don't use concentrated dish soap, it will produce way too much foam.


3. You can make this using castile soap as well, which will be much gentler than traditional soap.

So step 1 for me will be splurging on a foaming hand soap (which I will wait for until I get a good deal!), then using it up, then trying out this recipe. How sad is it that I can't wait to try it? My kids can't even reach the sink yet! I really need a hobby.

One Word Wednesdays

Chalk.

One Word Wednesdays

exhaustion.

The Fruitless Pursuit of Perfection

Before I became a mom, I was always under the impression that motherhood would bring out the supreme perfectionist in me. I always had those tendencies anyway, and I figured having children would prove to myself what a showstopper I could be. Ha!

Let me paint the real picture. Each day, I start out with my mental list of things I will perfectly and effortlessly accomplish. Playing with my kids, of course. Educational play (puzzles, ABCs, numbers, etc.). Arts and Crafts. Outdoor play. Baths. Vacuuming. Reorganizing closets. Dusting. Gym. Bathe the dog. Cut her nails. Put banana bread in oven. Bathe myself. Shave legs. Mend broken and ripped books. Play with dog. Make bed. Laundry. Organize coupons. Pay Bills. Post on blog. File old bills. Read to girls. Paint toenails. Start dinner.

Instead, a day often goes as blissful as this: Wake up. Feed the girls breakfast (it was supposed to be oatmeal, but Eggo waffles are faster). Check Facebook. Spend 20 minutes convincing Josie that pears are delicious. Eat Josie's pears while she scrambles down from table. Play with girls. Check email. Realize it is way too late for a bath for the girls and give them the old washcloth spritz. Drag everyone to the gym. Realize I am sweating and tired and I haven't even worked out yet. Back home, late lunch for the girls. Jam them into a nap and get a shower. Hmm, maybe now might be a good time to brush my teeth, seeing as it's 2 p.m. Check Facebook. Turn on Bravo. Damn, it's Millionaire Matchmaker, Plan B. Go to put a load of laundry in, realize there is still wet laundry in the washer from 3 days ago, rewash. Feel guilty that I haven't formally walked the dog in like 2 weeks. Did I eat lunch yet? Eh I'll just wait for dinner and eat this, uh what is this? Oh ok a Twizzler, sounds good. Crap, I didn't take the chicken out of the freezer. Looks like it's frozen pizza night. One of the girls is up early from her nap, great. Sit her down to paint but she just gets paint all over her white shorts, which irritates me, so we color instead. Now the other one is up. Early. I need to make myself some coffee. But I didn't eat so I'll get too shaky. Maybe I should check Facebook again. Ok, tackle those coupons. The short baby gets in my coupons and messes up my piles. Then the bigger one grabs my scissors and runs (yes, runs. With scissors.) away. Hubby will be home any minute and the house looks like Fisher Price had an exploding baby with Melissa & Doug. Dog whines to go out. I should probably go to the bathroom myself before I wet my pants. Instead I look up recipes for healthy crock pot dinners that I will never make. You know, on that off chance I can find a last-minute, inspired recipe that involves peanut butter and deli ham, because that's all we have that is not frozen solid. Too late. Hubby comes home and the guilt of having done nothing I planned on sets in.

Wow! Look at those paragraphs! The last paragraph is way longer and looks like I got a lot more done than the paragraph before it. Alas, there be-ith the rub. I manage to do less in more time than my perfect mom-counterparts do in far less time. I wonder: is it me, am I not cut out to stay at home with my children? Am I too ADD to manage it? Is my problem that I take on too much, or I don't write my list down, or that I let my kids distract me, or that I hate pressure so I don't even try? Is it really true that the path to hell is lined with good intentions? Am I going to hell??

Here is what I have determined so far. Yes, I think it is true that there are those moms out there who are super organized, efficient multi-taskers, proactive think-aheaders, can tune into multiple streams of stimuli at once, and can look good and have makeup on and jewelry besides.

Then there's me. Though I think I have a TON of room for improvement, I do think I am a pretty decent mom. I try to let my kids be who they are without too much interference. I try to be laid back. I try to instill in them respect, manners, courtesy, empathy, kindness. I play with them, read to them, wrestle with them, let them pretend to put makeup on me, sing to them endlessly. I make sure they are clean (at some point) every day, fed, clothed in matching (or at least not clashing) outfits, nails cut, teeth brushed, happy. I remember their short little pasts fondly -- and a little tearfully sometimes -- and I plan for their futures. I try to keep their present fun, exciting, stimulating and full of love. And I do it all looking rough, feeling scattered, and inside a house that needs a good once-over with the old Hoover.

And those perfect moms? Sure, they exist. They in their matchy matchy outfits, Starbucks latte in hand at the playground, Janie and Jack-clad kids playing gleefully. The ones with the best tasting, low-calorie-though-you-wouldn't-know-it dinner in the crock pot at home and a fresh baked dessert on tap for after. The ones that effortlessly wallpapered their giant laundry rooms while their 2 year old twins napped peacefully. The ones who actually have energy left for their husbands at night and keep up on all their correspondence with college friends and make their bed each morning and blog weekly about their latest (completely inventive) craft and get four workouts a week in and volunteer at their kids' preschools. Those moms. I used to hate them, but I am learning to not care and compare so much, and soon, I hope to admire them.

Admire them in a distant, passive way, that is... as I change my kid's disposable diaper on the grass and scratch what's left of my toenail polish off as my daughter eats a stick that no doubt some drooly dog left behind. My smiley, sweet, filthy daughter. I'll take it.

Raise Girls, Not Princesses

photo credit: GoodMorningAmerica.com

This world is effed up sometimes. As great as it is, there is so much to worry about (all brought to light once you have children, it seems)... chemicals and hormones in our food, germs, supergerms, childhood obesity, the recession, education, the cost of childhood sports, the lack of art and music exposure, is my kid getting enough vitamin D, you name it. But lately, I guess because I am the mother of two girls, there is one that has been nagging at me really bad.

It all started with a conversation my sister and I had about the whole Disney Princess superbrand. She was surprised at my reluctance to allow my girls to have anything Disney Princess and asked me what my deal was. It was hard to put into words, really, because at that time my oldest was maybe 18 months and I hadn't really had the opportunity to sit back and think about why I had such a visceral feeling of ickiness whenever I thought of Disney Princess and my kids in the same breath. I think I mumbled something about overcommercialism and a corporate empire and I'm sure she invisibly rolled her eyes and we moved on.

Those words I semi-commitedly uttered that day were true; there is something just dead wrong about turning to the Disney megamachine for all things creative and fun. On its face, there is really nothing inherently wrong with Disney and its endeavors... it's when you look at everything together that it becomes a little insane. I will save this topic for another day, because there is just so much to cover to make my argument. But now that I have had more time to really process why I had such an issue with Disney Princess, I have an even bigger reason to consider.

I want to first say that I am not trying to villainize those sweet Disney Princesses. This isn't an anti-princess rant. It is an identification of a problem that I see recurring in the culture of girlhood, of which Disney Princess is a big part of for many. I keep seeing these awesome little girls give up being tough, rad, smart, bold and curious in favor of being pretty, diva, perfect, grownup and sexy. Yes I said sexy.

I have spent the better part of my life hanging out with small children. I started as a babysitter as many girls have, then on to daycare, I was a nanny for three awesome girls (and one charming boy) and finally was a Kindergarten and preschool teacher for several years. I have met some truly cool kids in all that time, and no joke, they have taught me so much and prepared me for motherhood in ways I could not have imagined. But in that time I have also witnessed girls with SO MUCH to offer become caught up in the pretty princess trap.

Now I am not the evil stepmother hating on the princesses over here. I have no issue with dress up, playing in makeup, hair bows, etc. I am just saying there is a difference in using those things creatively for fun and relying on them to feel pretty or to feel good/better about yourself. I want my girls to put just as much stock and value (if not more) in examining butterflies and doing math as they do in what they look like. The typical 5 year old girl should not be overly concerned with how they look. They should still be in that blissful state of relatively low self-consciousness! They should not know what eyeliner or extensions or botox or Sketchers Shape Ups are. They should not walk in high heels better than I do. They shouldn't wear pants with words across the butt. They should not want teeth whiteners. They should want to race their friends, do puzzles, paint, dance, be silly, snuggle with their parents, read, build with legos, make cookies, make funny faces, swim, sing (age appropriate) songs, smell flowers, pet animals and rave about how their teachers know everything.

There is so much fodder for the anti-sexy-little-girl argument, but here is one example from my real life. When I was a teacher, a girl came in to school with a new haircut after the holidays. She looked like a different kid; it was this little pixie haircut and she looked very cute. One little boy said, "you look hot!!" She was confused. I was grossed out. I asked him what he meant by "hot." He immediately got embarrassed and said he didn't know. I asked him if he meant she looked hot, like, not cold? He said no. I asked him if he meant hot like spicy food is hot? He said no. What did you mean then? He said, "I guess I meant her hair looked nice." So I replied, "ok, then maybe you should say that, because that makes much more sense to me and is way more respectful." He sheepishly looked at her and said, "umyournewhairlooksnice" and she smiled and said, "thank you." And inside I cringed for every 5 year old boy who didn't know how inappropriate "hot" was and every 5 year old girl who would ever be flattered by it.

There is this awesome website I came across called Pigtail Pals. The women over there are on a mission to "redefine girly." They are all about promoting the smarts, bravery, creativity and independence of girls of all ages. I have only scratched the surface of their site, but it is exactly the antidote I needed to combat the Hannah Montanas and Toddlers in Tiaras of the world. If you have a daughter, a granddaughter or niece, or a friend or neighbor with a daughter, I can't recommend this site enough.

And please don't think I hate tutus or pink or hairbows... I just don't want those things to overshadow the people that my two little girls are. And I am determined to (when they're little) shield them from, and (when they're older) educate them against the oversexualization of girls. (And if you think I am overreacting, click here.)

One Word Wednesdays

Pseudo-camping

One Word Wednesdays

Peekaboo!

Farm Life

I have this dream of living on a farm. I don't want to be a farmer, per se, but I do want to have a productive garden, fruit trees, animals -- multiple animals, and land. And large pieces of equipment to maintain said land.

From ages 3ish to 8ish I lived on a horse farm. Anyone who is older than 8 knows that these are formative years. This is when you really start to have developed memories of childhood. My memories from this time mainly involve horses (naturally), hay, clover, fields, salt licks, polishing tack, playing in stalls, riding lessons, dirt trails, the creek, and riding my big wheel. And my horses, too. You'll notice these are all outside memories. Sure I have inside memories too, but if I think back to that time in my life, I immediately think of being outside, because I was -- so much.

Me, about 1980

We then moved to a typical suburban neighborhood with, well -- neighbors, lots of them. And asphalt. And mailboxes, and cars, and driveways and parking spaces and a bird's eye view that looked like a maze with lots of dead ends. And it was a nice neighborhood as far as neighborhoods go, but it wasn't the farm.

I have always wanted to get back to the kind of life we had on the farm when I was a kid. I realize I was little, and though I had chores, I sure didn't have the responsibility of the whole of the property. I do remember my mom and dad working pretty hard. But look at the payoff: privacy, peace, quiet, tranquility, happiness. I don't think it is in my or my husband's nature to want to care for a ton of acreage, but 5 or 10 would be welcome, especially if it came with neighbors that were not visible.

Another reason I would love to live in the country is to keep animals. I have this idea that kids need to be around animals. Animals teach compassion, empathy, life cycles, selflessness and responsibility. They are also provide unconditional love, which no child can ever have too much of. Both my girls love animals. When they see anything with fur, Josie says "oohhhh coot (cute)" and Caroline scrunches her nose up more than I knew was physically possible and says "nnnnnnNNN!" They both love all dogs and cats and I know for a fact they would totally get into the animals I want: goats, sheep, alpacas, more dogs, cats, chickens and a miniature horse. One day, I am telling you.

In the meantime, we tested the waters by taking the girls to the Fredericksburg Fair, the oldest running agricultural fair in the country. The first thing we saw when we went in was the petting zoo. You could buy a little bag of carrot chips for a buck and that was well worth the price considering the 20 minutes of steady entertainment and thrills it gave my girls:

Then it was off to have a picnic lunch. Well the girls had a picnic lunch packed from home, Mommy and Daddy had some really decent BBQ from Benjamin's BBQ. We shared.

Then it was back home to our own personal petting zoo, consisting of one exactly one canine.

She'll be the first furry friend on our farm, but with any luck, hopefully not the last.