Nurture vs. Nature

It's an age-old debate. Are we a product of the DNA inherently passed to us or the environment in which we live? The topic has always been of interest to me because I don't fit in either category. I was raised by very traditional, suburban parents who love to hunt, fish, camp and cook. They live on 67 acres in Oklahoma within a one hour drive of where they grew up. I feel most at home in what my dad calls the "concrete jungle." (aka: the "big city"), and have moved more times than I can count. I would rather wear heels than tennis shoes. I shop for fun, and I don't cook. (I mean, I do. I can. I'm not bad at it. It's just not something I do to relax.) I am pretty much the opposite of both the nature I received genetically and the environment I was nurtured in.

Nurture

My friends adopted a little boy a couple of years ago, and he might be the poster child for the Nurture argument. He does not share his father's genes, but they are two peas in a pod. From facial expressions and mannerisms to likes and dislikes, he often acts so similarly to his daddy that people don't know they aren't biologically related. He is a product of the out-pouring of love that defines his life.

Nature
And if Wyatt represents the Nurture camp, Brynna Grace leads the charge of the Nature crew. It began as a joke to call her MiniMe. It was an acknowledgement of the ways that she and I are so similar. She came out barking orders and loving people. She would rather be in "fancy" clothes regardless of how anyone else is dressed. There is nothing "joking" about our likeness. Her strong will, stubbornness and spunk can all be traced with a very clear line right back to my front door. She's so much like me that she teaches me about myself (sometimes more than I cared to know).

So. Nature or Nurture. The question is: does it matter? Judging from two kids who love their mamas and daddies and know they are loved in return, I'd say...not a bit.

If I had my way...

...I would have married the boy who broke my heart

          and I would have missed the man who has made me a better person.

...I would have taken that job

          and missed my calling.

...I would have bought the Coach bag

          and missed out on the Louis Vuitton he saved for.

...I would have taken the easy way

          and not have the wisdom of someone whose road has been bumpy.

...I would have picked the lighter burden

          and not be strong.

...I would have taken away her pain

          and people would have missed seeing her praise You through it.

...I would never have shared my secret

          and You never would have taken away the shame.

...I wouldn't have let a baby be sick

          and we would have missed seeing You heal her.

...I would have never been a stay at home mom

          and I would have missed her first step.

          and I wouldn't have been there to pick her up when she fell off her bike.

          and I wouldn't know the source of every scratch, bruise and smile.

          and I would have missed the first day.

          and I wouldn't have been able to hold her for as long as it took.

          and I would have missed the look on her face when she finally figured out how to tie her shoe.

          and I wouldn't have read to her class.

          and I wouldn't know the words to every made up song.

          and I wouldn't have danced in bubbles.

          and she wouldn't see that I love You enough to obey no matter what.

...I would have done it differently

I'm so glad You are God and I am not. 

A Mom's Monday

Wake up

Find Center (If I don't have a date alone with Jesus, the rest is not pretty.)

Make breakfast

Dress child

Make lunch

Do child's hair

***Child is now fed and looks presentable. Mom is still in pajamas***

Put on clothes (very well aware of the obviously missing shower)

Take child to school

Receive instructions on nap times for Beaver and Chinny (stuffed animals reluctantly left in my care)

Wash the car Pay the kind gentleman who washed the car 

Go to the bank

Write blog

Read for research

Complete tasks for writing challenge

Request Negotiate with Bat my lashes and convince city employees to repave my front walk while they are fixing the sidewalk (What?! I paid them!)

Eat chips and salsa (because it's what's sitting on the counter)

Drive back to school

Read to the class

Hear about 17 different Halloween costumes

Talk with moms while kids play on the playground (I enjoy these women. It's not the company. Sitting at the park with nothing else to do is literally a form of torture for me.)

Run errands

Walk in from errands only then to realize I have no plan for dinner

Make snack

Fold and put away laundry (that I can't honestly remember when I washed but they were in the dryer, so...)

Build a pool complex, complete with bath house and ice cream stand out of tiny Legos

Superglue wings back on a fairy

Superglue ladybug wings for Halloween costume

Superglue feathers back on Bluejay (it's a fake bird. don't ask)

***God bless superglue***

Call to order pizza

Make one dinner (because child doesn't eat pizza)

Collapse

***Daddy's home***

The Hardest Thing

You heard it a million times when you were young. Or maybe you were better behaved and didn't hear it quite as many times as I did. "This hurts me more than it hurts you." My response as a 10 year old kid was "YEAH RIGHT." (In my head, of course. I may have gotten in trouble, but I valued my life.) My response as I got older was, "Maybe I get it. I know parents love their kids a lot, so maybe it does make them sad when their little ones cry." Then I became a mom. And it hurts. Bad.

It's the hardest thing...
to take away what I know will make her happy.
to see her tears when I love nothing more than the sight of her smile.
to follow through when it means more work for me.
to stop what I'm doing to address what she's doing wrong.
to administer the consequences when she made the choice.
to be what she needs no matter what I need.
to let her be mad at me today so she will be better tomorrow.
to do the best thing when everything else would be easier.
to do it day after day after day after day...

It's the hardest thing to do the hard things that matter more than all the other things.

So Fresh and So Clean

Suzy Homemaker, I am not. Thinking about what to make for dinner ranks among Chinese water torture and watching Yo Gabba Gabba on repeat. And no, making a menu isn't helpful. That's just torture times 7 days a week. I can tell you which shoes have been at Nordstrom the longest and are, therefore, about to go on sale, but I have no idea what double coupon day is at the grocery store. My mother-in-law has this uncanny ability to remember little useful facts and recipes, so at any given time she's probably got some tidbit of information to help with whatever you're doing - cleaning a stainless steel sink or reupholstering a sofa. That filing drawer in my mind just doesn't work. (Or it's being used for the above-mentioned info about shoes.)

The desire to care for my family and make our house a place where anyone can feel at home is alive and well. The details just don't come naturally to me. So imagine my surprise when I was asked twice in a week how my laundry smells so good. My housekeeper, Magy, and my mother-in-law both asked about what detergent I'm using. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal to you, but I was mentally sewing the "Laundry" badge onto my imaginary Girl Scout sash. (You know it was imaginary. I was sewing.) I faked humility while internally fist-bumping them both as I explained that it's just Gain detergent, but because the washer and dryer in my new house are high efficiency, it's that type of detergent. We all agreed that must be the explanation. Something about the detergent smells especially good and lingers longer than the norm. (Of course, we all also agreed mentally that I'm a laundry genius, although this was not openly discussed.)

My parents visited recently, and my mom was in the utility room with me while I sorted clothes. (Sorting with a 4-year-old girl is pretty straight-forward. There's pink and there's everything else.) Of course, I wasted no time sharing the story of my rise to laundry fame. Something you should know - my mom is Betty-freaking-Crocker. If Betty Crocker sews. If Betty can't sew, then my mom's got her beat, too. So as I tell the story, she reaches over to look at my coveted bottle of detergent, and I could immediately tell something was awry. She looked at the front, then looked at the back. Then she looked at me.

"Uh, sis."
(That's never good.)
"This is fabric softener."

I'll give you a minute to come to the conclusion we all did. Not only is my Laundry badge being ripped from the imaginary Girl Scout sash, but NONE OF OUR CLOTHES ARE CLEAN because they haven't actually been washed with soap.

But they are delightfully soft.

Gag Reel

I may not be on Pinterest, but it's mainly because if I tried to learn one more "thing" I think my head may explode. What I lack in "pins," though, I make up for in tweets. And recently, Instagrams. (Is that how you say that? Or is it 'grams' when used as an object? Like tweets for Twitter? Oh who cares.) The point is that I post stuff.  I like that I can go back and see a record of where I've been. I like that I can have a conversation with people I love far away and people I don't yet know but can't wait to meet. Somedays there's a lot to say. Other days, not so much. But that's how conversation works.

There's rarely a day I don't take a picture. They just aren't all noteworthy. And by that, I mean I couldn't come up with a funny tag line. They are my own, personal gag reel. That isn't so personal, I guess, when you share it on the internet...  ??

We were shopping and she said, "Mom! Take a picture of me on a zebra!" So I did.

When you're in a pinch, photograph yourself. With a slightly creepy smile.

 That's Rob & Ginger's living room. aka: AWESOME

That's Brynna. In a pumpkin. With a window.

Brynna has an imaginary sister named Zuka. I have no idea where that name came from, but imagine my surprise when this was on the wall outside her classroom at the yoga studio.

It's candy corn. So the centerpiece is corn. Get it? Oh, who cares. It's pretty.

The box that the costume came in is in shreds just outside the frame of this picture. She barely got it out of the packaging before putting it on. And has asked everyday since when she gets to wear it.

Why they both didn't just stay in bed a few more minutes, I'm not sure... 

But this proves my point about everyone needing to be in my office.

Just watching football and eating ice cream with friends

Another shopping photo shoot

Because you can't go to the zoo and not ride a sea lion

Poor Miles. She doesn't just torture him. She documents it.

Nothing makes a quesadilla taste better than a balloon on your head.

I'm really not sure. I just took the picture as requested.

Beautiful Messiness

I make no attempt to hide the fact that I'm a neat freak. My sister calls it OCD, but call it what you want, I'm a firm believer in the saying "everything HAS a place and everything IN it's place." But I don't want to live in a museum. I want our home to be a place where people feel welcomed and comfortable just the way they are. If you come over on any given Tuesday, my house is probably more "picked up" than most but not because I'm a tyrant. I'm organized because I work better that way.

You would assume that my office - the room where I spend most of my time, the space where I write and study - would be the most meticulous in the house. I'd probably prefer it that way, but there's just one thing. The room where I spend most of my time makes it the room where everyone spends most of their time. I don't know how many mornings I've looked up to realize that we are all - including the dog - in this one little space in this great big house that's supposed to be "mine." But moms don't have much we call our own, do we?

Mom's bed is the place where they run whey they're scared.
Mom's lap is the best spot to watch tv.
Mom's bathroom makes a better play area than the one upstairs with all the toys.
Mom's brush works better.
Mom's shoes are more fun.
Mom's plate has better food.
Mom's ear is the only one that matters when you need to be heard.
Mom's office makes the best art gallery.

This is my office.

The only reason the cabinets higher up aren't covered is because she hasn't yet climbed that high. Behind where I'm standing, the side of the tall cabinet where you enter the room - it's all filled with at least one layer of art. Beautiful, messy art. This was not the vision I had for this space. But this space gives me better vision. Because it reminds me to be thankful for even the most messy parts of life because in the hand of an Artist...it's beautiful.

Leave a comment and tell me what's beautifully messy in your world.

What I Saw On Late Night Television

I don't watch much TV. I don't watch anything with Brynna around that I don't want her to see or hear even in passing, so that limits my Criminal Minds/Bones/NCIS watching to after she goes to bed. Factor in how many evenings I'm so tired once she's in bed that I quickly follow, and well...it's an animal house around here, people. A regular party scene.

This weekend I went to a conference all by my lonesome. I met some amazing people, but at the end of the day, when the hotel room door closed behind me, I was gloriously solo! I read and wrote. I prayed and journaled. And then, when I was all worded out (shocking, I know. you thought that never happened to me), I flipped on the television and OH. MY. GOSH.


American Hoggers? This is a show? People watch this? I'm no stranger to the country so the fact that grown people chase pigs around is not the surprising part. That other people WATCH grown people chase pigs. This is where I'm confused.

What's with all the weird medical shows? Are that many people afflicted with rare, unexplainable diseases or unknown pregnancies (a phenomena I DO NOT understand)? If so, is it so rare? I'm just saying...

Commercials still run? Who knew?!

I feel it's common television knowledge that boxing should not be featured on HBO in a hotel. I grew up watching boxing. I have no problem with it as a sport. I have a problem that it's my option on the one weekend I don't have to fight for the remote. I'm happy to consult if HBO would like. I'll even agree to stay overnight in a hotel alone (because I need to focus, obviously) to rate their programming choices if that's the sword I must fall on. I'm just trying to help people improve business...

Seriously with the commercials. I must have turned the volume up 12 times trying to fast forward. Guess what? It didn't work any of the times.

Let's talk about Law & Order. Is there anyone in television that hasn't at least done a cameo? It's like the song that never ends. It just goes on and on, my friend. On multiple networks!

How am I supposed to BELIEVE in the power of Oxy Clean if you don't SELL IT!? Poor Billy Mays is turning over in his grave somewhere. These young uns today have so spunk. Not one of them yelled at me, and thus, I didn't buy one knife set or juicer, and I have no idea what I'm going to do about all those tough stains.


And at this point, I turned off the TV. Or maybe I fell asleep, woke up and THEN turned it off. Either way...I may be dumber for the time spent watching it.

Confessions

I need to write. I need to plan the lesson I'm teaching Sunday. I need to do dishes. I need to unpack. I'm watching Bones.

I make David tell me when he's on the way home so I know when to start picking up. Otherwise he'd come home to Hiroshima.

I have oatmeal on my shirt. And something else I can't quite identify. But if I change now, that's 2 things that will go in the laundry.

I ate all the iced cookies left over from snack week. All of them. Brynna and David had none.

I hid Brynna's favorite whistle. (It's a WHISTLE. Do I need to explain more?)



Search "confessions" to see more and leave a few of your own!

When the mice are away

Usually the saying is "When the cat's away, the mice will play." Have you ever wondered where the cat went? I have no idea. I'm asking. But I bet wherever she went, it was a moment of respite from chasing mice all day. I bet whatever she did involved no cheese and no running. I'm guessing she slept.

I'm sure my mice at home are having a great time. They went to a movie night at church last night and Brynna got to wear her pajamas - the joyous highlight of her week. (Oh, to be 4!) Neither one of them can sit still for 3 minutes, so I'm sure whatever they do today will include lots of moving and doing. I, on the other hand, just sat on the bed of my hotel room reading/writing for 2 hours. I don't even care that I woke up at 5am. I didn't move because I didn't want to! I even ordered room service (don't tell David) just so someone would bring me breakfast instead of the other way around. At one point I flipped on the TV, the first thing I saw was animated, and immediately turned it off. (And threw the remote for good measure.) I could literally stare at a wall if it promises not to talk back or ask for chocolate milk.

No cheese. No running. Not this weekend. When the mice are away, the cat...naps.

Get it? Sorry. I couldn't resist.
But seriously. I plan to nap at least twice today.

Why It Matters What You Call It

I had a 2.5 hour drive from Houston to Austin today, and I spent more than half of it on the phone with a friend of mine. She stays at home and wanted some advice on how, if it's not my #1 desire, do I do it. She wouldn't mind me telling you that she was upset, frustrated and needed a minute to vent. And there was a lot of steam built up! I let her do that and then we had a talk. A real talk. The kind that doesn't just let the rant out; it fills the space back up.

The truth I had to tell her is that her problem is not the laundry or the cooking or her husband's work schedule or his insensitive comments. (They honestly don't know sometimes, girls. They say stuff and only when they see the reaction on our faces do they know they've gone somewhere they can't get back from.) I've been where she is, and I know it feels easier to yell about those things. But the problem is not what you do. It's what you call it.

If you call it laundry, you feel like the maid of the household and no one appreciates you. If you see it as making sure everyone has clothes to wear and that task is out of the way so family time is maximized, you did something pretty great.

If you see it as raking leaves that will just fall again tomorrow, it feels meaningless. If you call it caring for the home you've been blessed enough to live in, you realize many people don't have a yard to rake.

If you feel like a chauffeur, well...somedays that's what it is. So call it time to talk about stuff they may not sit still for at home.

If cooking is a chore, it feels like just that. If you call it providing health for people you love and managing resources instead of eating out all the time, it's kind of a big deal.

What did you do today? If it feels like you don't stack up against your friend who wears a suit and flies to New York, if you feel like you aren't productive because you don't get a paycheck each week, if you feel blah because you haven't made it out of the yoga pants for two (or three) days, maybe you need a gut check. What are you calling it?

Here's what I call it.
If you're still married...
If the house is still standing...
If the dog wasn't shaved...
If your kids know a letter or word today that they didn't yesterday...
If someone only peed on the floor once...
If you made it (even if you were late)...
If no one died...

...then they know I love them enough to do what isn't easy.

I call that victory! Success of the highest order! Deserving of a cookie...and a margarita...or 3

What do you call it?

I had these friends...

I've heard Ed Young say those words more times than I can count. Friends have the power to either build us up and make us better or tear us down and take us lower. The friends you choose can affect your life forever. When I was 11 years old, I had no idea the importance of that phrase. But as time has passed and maturity has grown, it's come to mean a great deal. I've had the negative experience of choosing friends who pressure you to act in ways you never would have alone. I've also had the joy of friendship that makes you better than you were before they entered your life.

Eleven year old Regina met 10 year old Hope over 2 decades ago. Those girls didn't know that they would hold each others' hands through jr high, high school, college, first (second and third) jobs. They didn't know they would stand to watch the other get married and hold each others' babies. They didn't know but they did. And along the way, they became better.

Although it wasn't that long ago, in 1990, it wasn't common to see a black girl with a (very) white girl. (I can admit it. I'm pale!) I remember my grandma (admittedly from a very different time and place) questioning "what was going to happen" when I spent the night at Hope's house. You'll be shocked to learn there was a lot of dancing, some pranks that involved toothpaste and a little sleeping. I also remember stares. Lots of stares. As if something must be wrong with one of us to not realize that our skin color somehow meant we shouldn't behave like any other teenage girls at the mall. But for some reason, God was gracious enough to meld together two spirits in a way that even under pressure, they stayed - one wrapped around the other.

Side note: She had twins. I did not.

And along the way, we changed. When I said something that I wasn't even aware enough to realize was offensive, she corrected me. When she fell down, I picked her up. When one of us was without, the other shared - whether it was love, clothes or class notes. (Except the one time in 7th grade when I cheated off her paper and then didn't let her look at mine. Seriously. She's got to let that go.)

My life would not look the same without her. I always tell people that while my hair is blonde, my heart is brown. That's partly because that's where I keep the things I treasure most. It's where Hope is.

Today is the day God made Hope. And I'm forever grateful.

...and I stood by her

She stood by me...

Disclaimers:

Apologies for not having pics from 1990. I'll grab those next time I'm home. Or maybe I won't. I'm going to get in trouble for some of these pictures as it is.

The writer of this blog does not condone cheating. Or pranks involving toothpaste.

Sacrifice of Praise

I'm doing a study of Jonah. Even if you aren't familiar with the Bible, Jonah is one story you've probably heard of. Hint: he's the one that got swallowed by a whale. It actually doesn't say "whale" - just that it was a "big fish." But really? While drowning and subsequently being consumed by any water creature, does it matter what it's called?

Here's the cliff notes: God told Jonah to go preach to a group of people he hated so they could be saved. Instead of obeying, Jonah ran. Like with Usain Bolt speed. Only it was in a boat. During a storm, Jonah was thrown overboard where God sent the big fish (or whatever we've decided to call it) to swallow him whole, and save his life. If you've ever heard the term "come to Jesus meeting," this was the ultimate, except it was with God the Father. Let's just say Jonah got the point and after repenting, God made the fish puke Jonah out so he could get on with what he was supposed to be doing. (I'm not making this stuff up. Puke. It's in the Bible.) 

The part of the story I was reading this morning is the time while Jonah is in the fish. God saved his life from drowning but he wasn't exactly in enjoyable accommodations. Jonah didn't know how the story would end. At the time, he was surrounded by what I can only imagine was nasty, and we'll just leave the mental picture of fish guts at that. But as Jonah prayed that God would save him (again), he thanked God.

I've been looking at the same words for an hour. "But I, with a song of thanksgiving, will sacrifice to you." Praise is easy when you feel it. It's easy to be grateful when you are looking at a happy ending. But what about when you are still in the belly of the fish? What about when your situation still hurts? You aren't dead, but that doesn't make it feel any better. Your marriage is still over. Your heart is still broken. You still don't have a child. You're still single. You're still.... Fill in the blank. 

If you've known me for more than 5 minutes, you know that I don't love being a stay-at-home-mom. That is not to say I don't love being a mom. Motherhood has challenged and stretched and made me better than I ever knew possible. I love Brynna Grace with a love so strong I can't even mention it without bringing tears to my eyes. It's the stay-at-home part I struggle with. I was never the girl who said "all I ever wanted to be was a mom." I never saw myself here and even after 4 years, it's no more comfortable. The joy that many women describe feeling even on the hardest days is not my reality. Days that suck just suck. And as with most struggles, there are many who would rather be in my shoes than theirs. But God knows what any good fashionista does - the best shoes weren't designed to be comfortable.

As I looked at those words in Jonah this morning, I heard God ask "Even if your situation never looks different, will you praise Me? Will you see the blessings all around you or will you, instead, wallow?" Of course, I said "wallow." LOL I'm kidding. (kind of) I SAY I'll be grateful for what I do have and not focus on what I don't have. But in the real world, that's harder than it sounds. That's why it's called a sacrifice. It costs something. It requires that I let go of a little of that bitterness that makes up the shell protecting my heart.

In Jonah 2:9, he says "Even though it's not what I want and it's hard, I will give thanks. I will obey because you are God and I am not." (that's the Regina translation)

So I'm choosing to give thanks that...

*  I have a little girl to stay home with

*  She is healthy and smart and strong

*  I, too, am healthy and able to care for her

*  I've gotten to see every "first"

*  I get to hold her when she gets hurt

*  I am the one she wants to tell secrets to

*  We have the resources to allow me to stay home

*  I stay HOME - in a beautiful house with more than we could want or need

*  I'm able to maximize our family time because laundry, cleaning, etc are taken care of during the day

*  Brynna will always know that what's best for her is more important to me than what's comfortable

*  I have the flexibility to be there for school drop-off and pick-up, plays, recitals and gymnastics

*  We have a dependable car to get us to those places

*  I am loved by a Father who doesn't stop loving me when my responses aren't what they should be

*  I am saved by a grace I don't deserve

So what's your answer? Will you give praise even if it's hard? Will you acknowledge that He's God and you aren't? It's not easy and it won't magically make tomorrow look different than today. But when you look to God, you'll always find that He's been looking at you the whole time.

"Let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise - the fruit of lips that confess His Name." Heb. 13:15

When Preschool Snacks Attack: Part 2

Snack Week Day 2: Letter I cookies

And Brynna's version. I'm sure there's an "I" in there somewhere...

Will the children know the letter on Friday? I don't know. Will they be in a sugar-induced coma? Possibly.

When Preschool Snacks Attack: Part 1

Ok. Here's what happened. Every kid is designated certain weeks to bring snacks. It can be as cute or simple as you want to make it, but they request if possible, you try to bring snacks that start with the letter they are learning that week. When I first heard this, I thought "No biggie." Apple starts with "A", Banana starts with "B... When I looked at the calendar last week and realized it's our week AND IT'S THE LETTER "I", I was not so confident. Have you ever tried to think of foods that start with "I"? Go ahead. Try. I'll give you a minute. Now back out anything kids won't eat. Take away things that are too messy to eat or transport to school. And remove from your list things too difficult or time consuming to make because, remember...well, I'm me.

So I did what any self-respecting mom would do. I googled it. And I found...nothing. No one had anything better than I came up with. Rude! I was just about to accept my fate (again) as "that" mom when I came across a picture of cupcakes baked into ice cream cones. Now, I immediately decided against attempting to bake anything inside of something else because, remember...well, I'm me. What I lack in crafty, though, I make up for in clever. I figured I could set a PRE-MADE mini cupcake inside of a STORE BOUGHT ice cream cone and voila! (Important words at 6pm the night before are denoted in all caps)

 

I even used the pink cupcakes because we had some already so I was thrifty, too. BAM! Who's #1 mom, now?! I was so proud of my accomplishment that I posted the greatness on Instagram, which links to Twitter, which links to Facebook. I needed the whole world to know!! And know they did!

And then.................................

Pride comes before a fall...of cupcakes...all over the kitchen...

David came down from putting Brynna to bed to find me laying in the kitchen floor surrounded by ice cream cone cupcakes. By the time I pulled myself together, he had picked up what was on the floor so this picture doesn't do the mayhem justice. It also doesn't capture the look on his face.

Points for helping me clean. Foul for laughing.

So! After cleaning the kitchen, I went back to the grocery store. I was about to admit defeat but I couldn't. I couldn't let preschool snacks beat me because, remember...well, I'm me. Seriously. There's no where to go from there!! What happens in 1st grade show-and-tell? What does that mean for jr. high science fair? For non-Pinteresting moms everywhere (or just me) I needed to win.

So I got my second round of ice cream cones and headed for the self-checkout where I had been only an hour before. And do you know what the 17 year old kid at the grocery store said to me? "Were you just here? That's a lot of ice cream cones." I'll show you a lot of ice cream cones.......

I let the kid live, went home and this time, David walked into the garage to find me digging in the recycling bin. This is what I've become. I found what I was looking for - a cereal box - and went inside to make some kind of contraption that the ice cream cones wouldn't fall out of. And by "I went to make..." of course I mean, David made.

Sometimes you have to call in reinforcements 

He made the holder, I assembled the cones, complete with a "cherry on top", and when I walked into school this morning, no one was the wiser. Until I came clean to all the moms on the playground after school.

And I learned my lesson. Cute as I thought they were, these pictures were not shared on social media. Until now.