A good mom.

I think every mom has to define "good" for themselves, and their families — based on priorities, circumstances, abilities, interests, time constraints, family size, and a plethora of other considerations.

For many, being a good mom probably involves having dinner on the table every night at 6pm sharp, making sure the kids are bathed daily, and having everyone's clean clothes neatly put away on a weekly basis.

Yeah, not me. I'm more of a "sure you can play outside for an extra 20 minutes before bed, I'll just rub you down with a baby wipe to give the illusion of cleanliness" kind of mom.

And you know what? I'm okay with that. My kid is happy and healthy and so far hasn't shown any signs of severe emotional disturbance from maternal neglect (saving it up for his future therapist, I'm sure). Plus we almost always have clean clothes...even if they rarely get folded. (Downy wrinkle releaser, folks. It will change your life. Take it from the girl who used to iron her jeans.)

While I may not be the most organized parent, I think I do a pretty decent job of caring for my family. However, there is one area where I fall down. Big time. And that area is cooking.

Like so many things (dental exams, going to the post office, showering), I love the results but HAAAAATE the process. The last thing I want to do after working all day is come home and cook dinner. Maybe it's because I'm lazy, maybe it's because I'm a sucky cook, probably it's both. All I know is that for the past two years my child has eaten way too many hot dogs and I would be completely lost without Steamfresh vegetables.

Sadly, pretty much everything I make that isn't a microwaved hot dog involves chicken, instant rice, and cream of something or another soup. Ick. That isn't good for me and it isn't good for Calvin. I don't want my kids raised by a mom who relies on packaged foods and the microwave for dinner. I didn't grow up that way, and neither did Nate.

So, my friends. I have given myself a challenge this month. And that challenge is cooking dinner. Real, honest-to-goodness dinner (and a few fun things for breakfast and dessert).

No hot dogs. No macaroni and cheese from a box. No cereal. (Because cereal comes after dinner. About 9pm. It's my late night pregnancy snack.)

I'm starting small — and realistically — with a meal plan. Last week I began gathering recipes that sounded good, and on Sunday I sat down and planned out our meals for the week. For the next month, I am going to post my meal plan for the week on Sunday. And then, if things turn out well, I'll share the recipes with you. And if they don't, I'll share my failures with you. Not only will this provide me with some much-needed accountability, it will hopefully give you some inspiration in the kitchen — or at least a few new recipes to try at home.

Keep in mind that I work full-time and am a novice cook, so none of these recipes will be overly involved or earth shatteringly fancy. And some may involve cream of something or another soup, but I'm going to try to limit those recipes to nights when Nate's working and I have to make quick, kid-friendly meals.

So, that's the plan. Me. Cooking dinner. For a month. Like a good mom.

Hope you're ready to laugh.

Athletic pursuits.

Golf is the sport of choice at our house. Not my choice, of course — my choice would be no sports — but so long as neither of my kids want to play hockey, I'll be happy. I mean, 5am ice time seven days a week? Yeah, no. I'll gladly resort to bribery (i.e. Here's $50 to never mention hockey to me again) before I let that happen.

Because Nate is an avid golfer — and a very good one, at that — he has always looked forward to taking Calvin golfing. Since Cal's not quite old enough for a day on the course, they do a lot of backyard practicing with a set of plastic toy clubs. From the looks of things, there's hope for Calvin following in Nate's footsteps. He hits that little plastic ball effortlessly.

Last night I made the mistake of coming out to watch them. Calvin brought me his club and told me it was my turn to golf. I laughed and said "Oh, I'm not a golfer. This is a fun game for you and Daddy." But Calvin insisted, so I took the plastic set out into the yard, got into prime golfing position, and swung.

I missed the ball.

Nate laughed.

Calvin, encouraging me from the sidelines: "Almost!"

I squinted my eyes, got back into position, and swung once more.

I missed it again.

Nate laughed harder.

Calvin, shaking his head as he came to take the club away: "You're not a golfer."

No kidding, kid. What did you expect? The closest I ever came to a team sport was yearbook.