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Tracey: Our local farmer’s market is a hub of activity every week. Lettuce, jelly, strawberries, nuns who bake bread. The old Greek guy selling olives is definitely my favorite. He takes plump, oval, gorgeous olives and crams them with soft bleu cheese. I don’t even like bleu cheese but his olives have made me a devotee.

The family that hauls heirloom apples up from the southern part of my state is another treasure. By late summer they truck in over two dozen varieties of apples. Brown Snout, Adina, Prairie Spy, Akane, Pink Pearl, Chisel Jersey. Did you know apples had these names?

My apple exposure comes from the pile at my local grocer. Granny Smith and Golden Delicious. Maybe on a daring day I dabble in a Jonathan Gold.

Grocery store apples are perfectly smooth, no bruises and quite hard. I arrive home and they don’t taste as stellar as they looked. Mealy and lackluster. These apples come from fabulously far away places like Washington State or New Zealand. I find this odd given the multiple apple orchards near my home. None of the apples in our stores actually come from these orchards (a common occurrence in food life).

Commercial apples are often plucked from the trees long before they are ripe, stealing their sweetness and color. A green apple at your grocer might actually, if left on the tree, become a yellow apple! And sweeter than the one in your cart.

On a recent trip to the farmer’s market my two youngest children were running from bin to bin picking their apples by yanking whatever looked tasty from the heirloom varieties.

Then they scurried over the the stroller where a canvas bag received their selections. At first they gently set the apples into the bag. It was perfectly idyllic. I was the uber eco-mom with the gentle kids and the awesome apples. But the moment quickly changed as competition and adrenaline suddenly took over.

They began racing back and forth, grabbing armloads of apples and throwing them into my bag. Beautiful apples bouncing around and bruising one another. I managed to stop the chaos for a moment so my 2.5 year old said “okay mommy, then let’s go buy our apples.”

Before I could harness his ambition he darted over to the stroller, grabbed the handle on our bag and yanked it with such force that the bag tipped and apples flew then bounced across the market lot. “Oops. Mommy?”

As we tucked them back into the bag I noticed, beyond our bruises, that each apple had such character. Traits you don’t see in stores. Odd colors, lumps, freckles and spots. Each had a story to tell. An heirloom apple’s worth of history, seeds from France, family secrets from Germany, local color from Illinois. These apples were ripe with more than flavor.

We relaxed enough to pay the farmer (who smiled and kindly said “happens all the time”) and I felt embarrassed of course. But, I also felt joy and history swelling through my little suburban veins. A small moment of triumph over the commercial food industry, victory for my kitchen.

I had a bag of odd shaped character and it felt a little bit like my life. Freckled, bruised and filled with stories. Like the lives of my children as well.

So I beg you to get in touch with your local growers this summer. Not as an act of hatred against grocery chains but a way learning and of growing. To put your hands on freckled apples is to realize that you are connected to the same bizarre, bruised world as our farmers and our food.

A way of living into the reality that we are all connected to our land, God’s land. Our food and ultimately to one another. May you find an odd shaped apple this summer that fills your heart and your stomach with a glimpse of God’s love and grace for this world and for your very soul.

Tracey Bianchi is the author of Green Mama: The Guilt Free Guide to Helping You and Your Kids Save the Planet. She is the mother of three and an author, speaker, and women’s ministry director. You can find more of her musings on life, faith and sustainability at http://traceybianchi.com.

Our dog hates other dogs—or most other dogs. And our dog escaped the back yard by slipping past my son who was closing the gate and she ran down the driveway. My son caught her, but she ended up seeing another dog across the street and slipped out of her collar and went after the other dog. A dog that was being walked by a nice couple and their two preschoolers tucked into a jogging stroller.

We discovered this all happening when the entire neighborhood erupted into screams. So, my husband and I busted out of the house (yes, we were inside while the kids played outside) and dashed across the street. Rafi tried to grab our bitch by her scruff and I somehow remembered learning once that to break up a dog fight, you grab a dog by its two back legs and pull. I did that and it worked.

My husband took our dog back to the house while the other mom screamed at me: “Why would you have your dog out without a leash?” “Why would you let it be out there with the kids?” All these sorts of things flying my way.

I stood there and kept saying “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” And tried explaining that the dog escaped, etc. But she didn’t care. It was terrifying. Her kids were scared. Her dog was potentially hurt (she wasn’t thank God. My dog apparently just likes really rough play). And I got why she was screaming at me. I would’ve been screaming at her had the tables been turned.

After she finished screaming, I did something weird: I hugged her. It was either that or ask her if we could pray and I thought hugging was the least weird. She hugged back and I could feel her heart racing against my chest. I’m sure she could feel mine too.

It turned into an actual sweet moment shared between two moms. It was like—at least from my perspective–our hearts beat together, almost understood each other.

Maybe that’s too dramatic, but after the hug and after my husband went out to help find their dog (who had run away, of course), and after we paid for them to take their dog to the vet to make sure he was okay (totally fine, just shaken) and after I wrote a big apology note and sent flowers, we’ve now had a couple of nice email exchanges.

We’re not friends now or anything, but I like what’s transpired—we both related to each other as mothers—understanding each others’ mom hearts and we’ve come to a place of peace out of chaos.

Anyway, it sort of gave me hope for the future of the world—if we put moms in charge and all try to solve problems from our mom hearts. Maybe some day we’ll find it, the Mom-Heart Connection? The lovers, the dreamers, and me…. So to speak. Whatcha think? Ever had this weird connection?

Anyway, we are sorry for our long absence from the Interwebs. After a long season of work-less-ness, projects have been coming my way. I’m grateful to be sure, but it clearly didn’t take long for me to lose the ability to manage my work/life balance. Since I wasn’t all that successful at it in the first place, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

But in the midst of this, Caryn and I have been talking about where we want to take the Mommy Revolution from here. While we have lots of ideas, our favorite is still the e-zine idea we had last fall. But we can’t pull it off alone. So we are asking you to start thinking–and writing–about your own revolutionary ideas. We want to include your voices, to make this a true conversation between friends with different ideas and experiences. So if you’re interested in writing about motherhood, womanhood, childlessness, your job, sex, laundry, healthcare, marriage, or anything else you think would interest our readers head to our “Contact Us” section and shoot us a message. We’ll tell you how to post something and you can have at it!

And please keep in mind that we can’t pay you in anything but love, affection, and admiration.

This really is the spirit of Caryn’s Mother’s Day essay–to honor who we are as people with all kinds of maternal and non-maternal ideas and passions and gifts.

We can’t wait to hear from you!

Caryn: Seriously. I’ve missed it here. And am antsy to get this e-zine-ish thing happening. We need it. I also have a new post half-written about me as a bad, bad mom. Look for that soon.

Let us know who wants to write what. And maybe just go ahead and email ideas to mommyrev@gmail.com.

Then I took her to school. Went with my three-year-old to my mom’s house to walk her dog for her. Then, I headed out to Wheaton to drop off some freelance work, scooted over to Christianity Today International (of “Caryn and Carla used to work there” fame) to pick up something for my conference this weekend. Then I went to Culvers for a snack pack. (Walleye is back! Just FYI.)

Then I came home, edited a blog post and got the kids from the bus. Then I talked to a woman from a church where I’m speaking in a week. Then I “cooked” dinner and headed off to a marketing committee meeting for my kids school, where basically, we make all sorts of plans to rule the world. Came home, got last the kid to bed and sat down to check Facebook and reflect on my day.

Which brings me to here: I realized that today I think I did at least a small amount of work on every random thing I’m involved in. Every part of my life somehow meshed together (except, I realized, the Mommy Revolution, which is why I’m now writing this). This never happens. But I’m so glad it did.

While I’m sure I just bored you to tears with the recount of my day, I have to say, it’s been one of my favorite days in a long time—because it contained all the things I love to do. And it involved some of my favorite people. And I just wanted to document this—maybe even celebrate it. Because I’m sure tomorrow will be filled with all sorts of horrors and me pulling out my hair wondering when I am ever going to catch a break and get to do what I love.

Well, today I got a huge break. I did what I love to do today. Feels really good. So I wanted you to know. How was your day, Carla?

Carla: meh.

I, too, love those days when I feel like it was worth waking up, days when I used my brain and my creative juices and my muscles and my heart. I love feeling engaged with my life. But I haven’t had one of those in a long time and I could use a few.

So it’s funny that you mention this because the lack of those days has been weighing on me of late. The hubs and I had a big “discussion” about this last week. Since he is often the only adult I talk to in a given day, he gets all of my rantings and ramblings and stunted efforts at complex thinking. And sometimes he has the energy to engage in all of that and sometimes he doesn’t. Anyway, I have been frustrated that I can’t seem to find the time or the energy or the mojo to get engaged. I feel like I’m drifting through my days and I don’t like it.

So how do I get there? (psst Caryn, I’m asking for real. Tell me what to do.)

On the bright side, I have started a teaching gig that I LOVE but that is also a lot of work and taking up both too little and too much of my life. As with most things, if it was all I had to do, it would be fantastic.

Caryn: Carla, I have no idea. I’m in major drift mode most of the time—hence my delight when a day really cranks. Of course, I wrote that yesterday and indeed today was gross. Not horrible. But not filled with anything I like.

But I wonder if any of the other Revolutionaries have ideas on how to stop drifting through days and crank? Or, do some of you like drifting?

Once you check it out, I probably won’t need to tell you why I am so enamored of this site. Here’s a woman who takes excellent pictures, homeschools her kids, cooks, writes, loves her husband, is decorating her gorgeous mountain lodge, and confesses that most days she is pretty clueless about how to do any of those things. Plus she has a basset hound.

But I think what I like most is that she seems happy. She isn’t cynical. She isn’t ornery or snide or smarmy. She’s doing her thing–which seems to be working out very well for her–and taking the struggles in stride. She doesn’t gloss over the messy parts of her life but I never get the sense that she’s bitter about living on a cattle ranch and all the manure in the laundry that must involve. She has four kids and has found ways to balance their needs with her own–sometimes more successfully than others. She just has a vibe about her that I find so refreshing.

I’m pretty sure she is who I want to be when I grow up.

Of all the things I disagree with Barack Obama on, perhaps this little ditty from a public service announcement is the worst. Here’s what he says:

“To be a good father is the most important job in a man’s life, but it doesn’t have to be hard. Play catch, go to a park or visit a zoo. Help your child with their homework. Sit down together for dinner. Ask them how their day was. Things get busy, and sometimes we all fall short, but the smallest moments can have the biggest impact on a child’s life. Take time to be a dad today.”

Okay. So, of course, being a dad is the most important job in a man’s life (well, except maybe if you’re president…) and yes, those are all fun ideas for being a good dad. But “it doesn’t have to be hard”?!?!? Honestly, that’s one of the worst messages for both moms and dads I’ve ever heard. Now, an open letter to our President:

Dear Pres. Obama: Being a good dad isn’t about playing catch or going to the zoo or sitting down to dinner while leaving all he hard stuff to your baby’s mama. In fact, a dad who doesn’t do the hard stuff is a slack dad. A bad dad. You’re letting men off the hook.

Pres. Obama, you’ve also just sent a horrible message to moms. That WE alone are responsible for the hard, ugly stuff of parenting while dads just need to be there for the fun. This is one of the grueling stereotypes that continues to oppress women and mothers. It’s one of the reasons we have the Mommy Revolution.

You claim to be for (fight for?) equality, but your message just gave lazy dads a nice boost and good dads a slap in the face. Thanks. You owe all mothers—-and HARD-doing dads—a giant apology.

Because you’re clearly confused on this issue, I’m sure Carla and I would be happy to come to Washington for a nice lunch and help you understand this matter.  And then perhaps we should become your Parenting Czars. I’d be happy to suspend my outrage over your Czars and my Libertarian, small-gov beliefs if it came with a sweet six-fig salary and that awesome government health plan for me and Carla (I mean, for EACH of us. We can’t share the six figs).

Thank you for your hard work as President.

(Carla, if this is hard for you to respond to, just pretend W–or maybe Nixon–said it).

Carla: I get your point. I do. But as I’ve barked at you on Facebook this morning, it’s hard for me to separate my impressions of his words from my weariness with the Obama-bashing. I mean, the man’s reading a script. He didn’t say this off-the-cuff at some dinner party. If you want to be irked at someone, be irked at the National Responsible Fatherhood Clearinghouse. This is their message.

And really, I think your parsing words here. The word “hard” is meant to convey that parenthood is not rocket science. You don’t have to be an expert on child development to be a good parent. You need to be there, be invested, take initiative, pay attention. In that sense, it’s not hard. And honestly, for the kind of dad who needs an organization to help him figure out how to be a dad, this is a good start. Be there. Show up. Take an interest. Participate.

Like I said to you on FB, I think there are moms who would love the fathers of their children to take them to the park or read them a story. I know that’s the fun stuff, but so what? It’s still involvement. And it’s a starting point. Anyone who’s ever taken a kid to the park knows it’s usually anything but fun. That dad will have to push the swing till his arms hurt. He’ll have to deal with that mean kid who shoves his baby off the slide. He’ll have to soothe his child when she gets sand in her eye and figure out where the bathroom is and learn the hard way that he should have brought snacks. The fun stuff leads to the hard stuff.

To me, the bigger outrage is that there is a need for a message like this. It’s ridiculous that the president has to tell men how to be fathers. If you want to be mad about something, be mad at the men who abandon their families–whether it’s a physical abandonment or an emotional one. Be mad at the men who spend all of their free time away from their kids because they need to “recharge” after a long week. Be mad at the dads who work 70 hours a week in the name of “providing” when what their kids really need is a dad who shows up at their games and concerts and tucks them in at night. Being mad at the president for telling men to step it up is, to me, a waste of a good rant.

Did you know that earlier this week this same president proposed doubling the childcare tax credit for families that earn less than $85,ooo a year? That has nothing to do with anything, but I thought you’d like to know that he does, occasionally, do nice things for families.

And for the record, Mr. President, I am absolutely free for lunch.

Caryn: I understand your weariness. I did, after all, vote for George W. Bush—twice. One of the reasons I was actually glad to see Obama will was that I was just tired of all the bitching.

And I understand that it was scripted. To me, it makes it worse. But alas, we will agree to disagree on that. You ARE right that it is the bigger point that we live in a country where the president (who by the very nature of his past few jobs means he was almost never with his kids—I say this as the wife of a political candidate, so I’m not judging. Just grumbling) needs to help teach dads how to be dads. And I think his version was a smack in the face to all the actual read good dads. Not to mention moms.

(Oh, and regarding the tax credits…according to him, we should not be paying any taxes. Sweet. We’ll see what happens on April 15. Though, once we get those Czarina posts, Carla, we may be singing a different tax tune. Top brackets, baby!)

My poor son was born on a major holiday, which means we either have his birthday party a few weeks before the actual day or a few weeks after it. If I remember. I have managed to pull off some kind of birthday party for him every year, but only out of guilt. I long for the day he doesn’t care or just plans his own party.

I’m not alone here. Today I called another mom to invite her son to my son’s last-minute, way-overdue birthday party and she noted that she has not had a party for her son yet, even though his birthday was a few months ago. Another mom invited my son to her boy’s party with the caveat, “His actual birthday was last summer but we’re just getting around to the party now.”

I hate hate hate hate hate planning birthday parties, even the extremely low-key, not-at-our-house, someone-else-makes-the-food-and-cleans-up, no-there-is-no-goodie-bag kind we are prone to throw together. I suppose like most things that stress me out it’s just a matter of making it happen–the event itself is not a big deal. And now that the friends have been called and the thing is on iCal, I feel a bit better. But still.

I guess what I really want to know is, how did this become my job? My husband hasn’t put one ounce of thought into this thing. He has not once woken up in the middle of the night panic-stricken because he can’t believe it’s almost February and we still haven’t had a party. Oh, he’ll be at the party and help hand out cupcakes and get bowling balls for everyone. And he makes the kids’ actual birthdays all kinds of fun. But the party planning has somehow landed on my mental plate and I don’t know why.

Caryn: Funny you should mention this. I’ve got two b-days coming up in the next month-ish and have already been thinking about how this will all go down. I, too, hate planning parties and I too have never done a goodie bag (but we DO always have a pinata, so that counts). And I too am always the one planning the party–with the husband who gets drinks for the adults and hangs and finds the proper bat for the pinata.

But I dunno. I don’t know why this falls on our laps. Clearly, the party should be for US that day. But I’m guessing it’s just because we love our kids so stinkin’ much and we’ve all heard the stories of those kids born on leap day in a leap year and who’s mom only celebrated their birthdays ever four years and know that moms who throw parties give their kids one less thing to grumble about down the road.

(Can you tell I have wet hair and have to run out the door to a meeting in 10 minutes?)

Carla: In the scope of things, this is a very minor complaint. And really, it’s not even a complaint as much as a…um…an…eh…. Okay, it’s a complaint.

I will say this, however, I am blessed to be amongst parents who–with very few exceptions–keep their kids’ parties as low-key as we do. I read about these over-the-top parties and how parents feel like they are stuck in this cycle of one-up-momship and I’m sooo glad that’s not the world I live in. I would be a big dud in that world.

There are two kinds of people in the world: those for whom birthdays are a big deal and those for whom they are not. I like to think that I am raising my children to have low expectations for their birthday celebrations. Their future friends will thank me.

Now here’s what makes this so incredible. Sarah is an award-winning photographer. She is also one of the most honest, transparent people I know. That means the pictures she’s taking are the real deal. They are beautiful, heartbreaking, funny, hopeful, stark, and sometimes literally naked. She doesn’t gloss over the realities of motherhood or family life. Sometimes there are tears–and not just from the kids. Sometimes there are messes. Sometimes there is laughter. Sometimes there is just work.

But this project isn’t just about the photos. It’s about Sarah. This photo-journal is her effort to keep her creative spirit alive in the middle of her life as a mom. It’s a way of keeping the best parts of herself from withering under the weight of responsibility. I love that about her and I think you will too.

Caryn: Of course, I love everything about this. Well, except for today’s photo. I had to click away quickly. It represents all of the kid-neediness I am overwhelmed with at this moment and I just couldn’t deal. But the other ones are wonderful. I’m sure if I go back to today’s photo later—when my kids are reading or playing quietly—I will also love it.

But what I really loved was this sentence on her “About” page about why she’s doing this: “I want to be successful at both without waiting until I’m fifty, have an empty nest and find myself at a community ed class saying ‘I used to really like photography and now I’d like to get back into it.’”

Amen, sister. It’s why we do what we do too. I hope you ALL have something you love to do, are great at, and are succeeding at while you are being a great mom.

Carla: And if you don’t, it’s time to figure out what that something might be. We die inside if we don’t have a dream, something that we’re passionate about, something that keeps us connected to the core of who we are created to be. It might even be being a great mom.

I think a big part of what touches me about what Sarah is doing is that she has paid attention to what gives her life and she’s not letting go of it. That’s what I want for myself, for my friends, for my kids. It’s far too easy to let it slip away.