dirt don't hurt

By Karrie McAllister Pick up a magazine, turn on the television, click on your computer and sure enough, they’ll be the latest and greatest news about skin care, complete with a long list of dos and don’ts. For me, the list has always seemed ridiculous. If you followed all of the rules and latest finidngs, it would take an hour’s worth of preparation just to go outside and check the mail, let alone get your children ready to head to the park. “Bah,” I would say, the Ebenezer Scrooge of sunblock. And normally, the stress of trying to be a good mommy would force me to squirt down my kids a little, leaving me too tired to apply even the slightest bit on myself. I would simply take the leftovers that had accumulated between my fingers and rub it on the top of my ears. “I don’t burn, I TAN.” Somehow, that made it all better. And somehow, things were better. And they remained better until a couple of weeks ago when I finally cashed in a Christmas gift for a facial. I’m not typically the

By Karrie McAllister Sometimes you just need to get away. Sometimes it’s good to step out of your real life and into the life of someone else, somewhere else, where besides the things you crammed into your suitcase, you have no real connection to your regular home life. No phone, no email, and for me this past weekend, no children. I have always practiced “attachment parenting,” not so much by choice, but by instinct. Since my children were little, I couldn’t help but hold them and carry them and sleep with them and love them and basically never leave their sides. And now, six years later, and I have finally unattached myself for more than 24 hours. This statement, I’m sure, sounds ludicrous to some people. I know plenty of mothers – good, loving mothers – who have gone out of town and left their children for a number of days without packing a bag full of the big “G.” Guilt. But I was terrified that I would pack more guilt than clothes. Of course I cried when we dropped them off at

By Karrie McAllister Germophobe: N. A person absolutely terrified of germs; someone suffering from the disorder Germophobia. There is no known cure for Germophobia, but symptoms can be treated with travel sized bottles of hand sanitizer, wet wipes, and the general avoidance of public restrooms. My name is Karrie, and I am a Germophobe. I wasn’t always a Germophobe. I used to have no fear when a piece of food fell onto a picnic table at the park, or when I pushing the shopping cart at a big, busy store. It wasn’t until I had children that I began to realize the amazing amount of germs that linger in our world—good germs, bad germs, and just plain curl-your-lip disgusting germs. I try to keep it under control, and to not scare my children, but when I see my children putting their lips right against the water fountain, my stomach turns inside out and I run screaming for the soap. After much consideration, I am fully convinced that the heart of my germophobic problems stem from my general

By Karrie McAllister It’s been quite a few years since I said, “man, am I thirsty. Pass the hose, would ya?” But that doesn’t stop me from getting a little nostalgic about my childhood days, and all of the risky and dangerous stuff we used to do. How we ever survived without getting some horrible digestive disease from the garden hose, I’ll never know. And why we even liked the taste of the rubbery water is beyond me—it must have just been extra cold and didn’t require us to take off our shoes before going in the house. The point is that we actually drank the water and didn’t end up green and in bed for days. What daredevils we were back then! And if it was super hot outside, mom would come out and set up some summer time water fun. First she’d slather herself in coconut oil to attract the sun’s rays, and then she’d hook up the sprinkler. And everyone in my generation (or at least in my neighborhood) had one of two sprinklers—either the one that looked like the worms wiggling around in

By Karrie McAllister I tell you, if it weren’t for my bizarre new love of banana peppers, the box of fat clothes I had to dig out, and people constantly asking me how I am feeling, I would flat out forget that I am pregnant. In fact, the other day I was driving down the road ignoring the hum of preschool babble in the backseat and thinking intently about my to-do list when I suddenly realized that, oh yeah, I really am going to have another baby. And I had completely forgotten about it. This, I figure, must be an unnamed syndrome. It must be something like the Thirdegnancy Condition, a situation where a mother, totally consumed by her existing children and life, doesn’t really have the time or energy to feel all of those emotions and physical changes that happen during her first trimester. Now, for me, as I enter my own second trimester, I suddenly realized that I have missed out on all of the stuff I did with my other pregnancies. And I’m really not sure if it’s because of the lack

By Karrie McAllister Here we go again, folks. Just when you thought you were clear of my bizarre animal stories for the year, another giant one crawled right into my backyard. And instead of looking at this oversized creature as a nuisance or pest, I decided to treat it like the wonder of nature that it was and use it as a perfect educational tool for myself, my children, everyone in the neighborhood, and even some friends I called who just had to see for themselves. You will note that I said I live in a neighborhood, and although we back up to some woods, we have sidewalks and city water which gives me a false sense of security when it comes to the wilderness. I am all for seeing wild animals when I am in the wilderness, and I fully expect them and appreciate that I am on their turf. But when my neighbor rang my doorbell and said “there’s a little friend in your backyard, I thought your kids might want to see,” I realized my territory had clearly been invaded. Naturally my husband was

Is it bad that I force my kids to love what I love? I've always been a rock head. I love rocks, always have, always will. That's why I used to have a piece of gravel named Rocky (I know, creativity was not a childhood strongpoint) that I kept in a decked-out shoebox. And it's also why I spent my college years earning a degree in geology. Now that I'm a professional Mama and my rock hammer is officially packed away, I need to live vicariously through my children and take advantage of their minimal interest in the science. So it is with great excitment that I drag them around the state, to everywhere within a 75-mile radius that offers nature/rock programs for children. Today was no exception, and I swear, by the time my children start kindergarten, they'll know more than their teachers do when it comes to rocks. Here's a simple activity that I've done at home with my kids. It's perfect for the next time they bring home or dig up yet another rock... Make a

Is it bad that I force my kids to love what I love? I've always been a rock head. I love rocks, always have, always will. That's why I used to have a piece of gravel named Rocky (I know, creativity was not a childhood strongpoint) that I kept in a decked-out shoebox. And it's also why I spent my college years earning a degree in geology. Now that I'm a professional Mama and my rock hammer is officially packed away, I need to live vicariously through my children and take advantage of their minimal interest in the science. So it is with great excitment that I drag them around the state, to everywhere within a 75-mile radius that offers nature/rock programs for children. Today was no exception, and I swear, by the time my children start kindergarten, they'll know more than their teachers do when it comes to rocks. Here's a simple activity that I've done at home with my kids. It's perfect for the next time they bring home or dig up yet another rock... Make a