For church going folk…it can be a day of receiving their spiritual food for the week and fellowshipping with their like-minded peers.

For families with children, this is often a morning of mayhem and chaos.

I would know. As a mom of four kids who attends church without a spouse, getting ready for church with kids is not always a spiritual endeavor.  Well, I guess it is if you count slamming doors and yelling for items such as a misplaced shoe or my sanity.

After years of practice, I have found these tips to help ease the Sunday morning chaos and develop a morning of somewhat peaceful enjoyment. Follow these simple rules to ensure a chaotic- free Sunday morning which will leave you and your family in a great frame of mind to attend your place of worship.

1. Give your kids a bath the night before church.
2. Pick out your clothes and their clothes the night before and lay them out so they know what they are wearing (and can even dress themselves, if they are old enough). This includes socks, shoes and hair bows. I’m not kidding about the socks. Make sure they match. Boys under the age of fourteen tend to be colorblind.

3. If you allow your kids to color, draw or read at church, have an activity bag ready with all the supplies. Hang it on the doorknob of the door you will be leaving from in the morning.

4. If you have a baby restock the diaper bag the night before church. It’s no fun to have a Baby Blowout Diaper situation and realize you have zero diapers and zero wipes in the bag.
5. Wake up early enough to get everyone ready. It’s tempting to sleep in on Sundays, but make sure you are up early enough to have some “Mommy Time” before waking everyone up.

6. Make an easy breakfast that is fast and clean-up is easy such as cereal, toast, fruit, oatmeal, etc.
7. Make sure everyone has their teeth and hair brushed and that they are all dressed.

8. Make sure everything from the activity bag, diaper bag, purse, Church materials are by the front door and ready to go when you are.

~Jaime Kay Chase

Gosselin with DWTS dance partner

Kate Gosselin, is hearing the scorn from her critics after she signed on for the new season of ‘Dancing With the Stars.” She is being accused of neglecting her eight children to embark on moving up from her D-list celebrity status to…let me think about this…hmm…a C minus-list celebrity list? (Yes, it is a question.)

Kate is speaking up against her critics (OF COURSE SHE IS!) and says she is doing THIS for her kids. (There are women who dance for a living to make money for their children. And no they aren’t all strippers…although that is what comes to my mind…but I digress.)

She tells People magazine that she can’t provide for her eight children on her former nurse’s pay and since her ex isn’t reliable for financial support, she is the sole provider.

Which of course means she has to do Dancing With the Stars! (hence the sarcasm.)

“If I last two weeks on the show, I’ve shown my kids that hard work and perseverance pays off,” Gosselin tells People, adding, “and if I don’t win, I’ve shown them you don’t always have to come in first. You just have to keep on trying.”

Gosselin’s “Dancing” partner Tony Dovolani tells People, “She’s just a complete role model as a mom.”

However, Gosselin admits that she’s often up to ‘20-24 hours a day, everyday.’

Which leads one to wonder how that could be good for her kids?

What do you think about Kate being on Dancing With the Stars?

Do you think its time for both Gosselins to slink back into regular life and leave their celebrity aspirations aside and concentrate on their children?

Yes, I’m in my thirties. And yes, I read the entire Twilight series in a week. Is it just me or does Robert Pattinson have the sex appeal of James Dean and a young Marlon Brando? I  want to slather him in peanut butter and eat him up in a sandwich.

(Oh. Stop. Don’t roll your eyes at me. You know you’ve thought the same thing.)

When I came across The Immortal Series, I was eager to read the books, mainly because I’m intrigued with the paranormal. (And suffering from Twilight withdrawals…but nevermind all that.)

The first book titled Evermore centers around a young girl moving halfway across the country to live with her aunt who never had children, nor is married and a successful lawyer. Ever (the main character and yes, that is her name) attends a new school and finds herself sitting beside a mysterious, physically perfect boy who is the object of a lot of female attention.

This young man likes to drive fast, shows up unexpectedly, can read minds and we find out he’s lived for a very long time. Ever doesn’t think she’s worthy of his perfection, even though he doesn’t seem to be bothered by her being ‘normal’ (but is she?)

Evermore is basically Twilight,  and as one reviewer stated: “[it is] poorly written, with a dash of “quantum physics”, a pinch of a glossed-over theory of reincarnation, and a dollop of The Secret for good measure.”

The second book is titled Blue Moon (sound familiar?) and I was bored halfway through. It is easy reading and  predictable.

I haven’t read the third book, Shadowland /Summerland / Boringland, (can’t remember the name) and I’m not sure I will… unless of course I’m in the mood to ease my brain from the hard parts of life… like you know, breathing.

Final verdict: The basic concept of the storyline had promise but the execution was a boring nightmare.

Jaime Kay Chase is a writer, public speaker and the Creative Director for Domesticating in High Heels. For more of her work visit Books by Jaime Kay Chase.

Being normal isn’t something I know how to be. I try…but ha ha! Joke is on me. I’m not normal. Far from it. Of course, some people say that being mentally ill is a huge attribute to being a creative genius…which I won’t lie, that does make it a lot smoother to digest. But then again, I’m not a genius either.

And to be honest…my creativity started with lying.

I was a gifted liar back in the day. Oh the stories I could tell, all woven together nicely and always with a pinch of casual indifference to make it sound plausible. I remember distinctly my very first whopper of a lie:

I was in preschool…a terrible place located in my hometown of Phenix City, AL. (Yes, I am spelling it correctly, look it up if you don’t believe me. I’m not lying.) The daycare center was awful, truly awful. I hated that place. My teacher, Miss Becky was a witch of a woman and I still hate her to this day. I hope she’s reading this, because if she is… I want her to know she had terrible breath.

But I digress.

So this whopper of a lie I told was about a family friend. This family friend whom we’ll simply call “Amy” (This is her real name, but I’m not giving you her last name so it is still anonymous, right?) was somewhat of a local celebrity. She was Miss Phenix City sometime in the 1970’s or maybe 1960’s, I forget which, left PC and went on to become a model in New York City. She landed a cool gig as a hair color model. Her face was on the auburn red hair color box the entire decade of the 1980’s.  I felt  great about my status as someone who knew someone that was on a hair color box. (Wouldn’t you? Don’t lie.) On this particular day, I was sitting in a chair talking to my preschool teacher and teacher aides. I told them that Amy was getting married that weekend and I was going to be the flower girl. Yes, that’s right…the flower girl. And my dress was going to be long and pink and beautiful and I was going to have my hair done by one of her stylists. Except of course, I did not call them stylists, but “Hair Cutter People.” I was after all, a three year old.

I enjoyed the status of these adults fawning over me. This is also not a lie: these women with nothing better to do with their lives…were actually feeling like they were somebody because they were talking to this three year old who actually knew a SOMEBODY.  This was something they could each tell their Hair Cutter Person! And hey… maybe…they would get a discount on their Dorothy Hamill haircut. (For knowing a three year old who knew a face on the hair color box! This is big stuff!)

But leave it to my mother, always the killjoy, to blow my cover. When one of the teacher’s aides asked about the wedding and my role as the prestigious flower girl, my mother told them there was not going to be any such wedding. Amy was not getting married, and since she was not getting married or having this big lavish wedding, I was not a flower girl.

I simply walked away from the situation. They really didn’t need me there. My job was done.

I had a lot of rages growing up. Terrible rages…more severe than your average temper tantrum.

Along with my creative storytelling (okay, lies, but whatever) I had  out of control rages which included, but not limited to, hitting, screaming, and pulling out my own hair along with spit foaming at the mouth. Acting like this does not help one’s social life. Just saying.

I was a mess. I still am…sometimes.

I was first diagnosed with bipolar* in 2002, but I took the diagnosis with a grain of salt. “Oh labels…I’m way too awesome for labels.” I took Lithium and Lexapro for about three months…whenever I thought about it. I had recently suffered a miscarriage and decided I didn’t have bipolar, but postpartum depression…which I probably did have ALONG with being bipolar. I went off my medication and a few months later, was pregnant again.

Things were okay for a few years. But not without the occasional throes of mood swings and rages often inflicted on my husband. In my defense, it was always well deserved.  I mean, really, doesn’t he know how to breathe correctly? And what about that one time he sat down on the couch and the couch cushion was squished. I mean, REALLY!

After a three year phase of being completely manic* I crashed. And when I say ‘crashed’ I mean… Crashed with a terrible thud. Of course, there were signs: the emotional aggravations, lashing out at friends, impatient, shopping sprees, endless energy and mood swings. Adding a little more adventure to my already out of whack hormones: my doctor who had no idea I had bipolar gives me…wait for it…

PROZAC.

When a person is bipolar and takes an antidepressant without the protection of a mood stabilizer it will induce mania and worsen the illness. Along with Prozac, I was also taking Wellbutrin…which GIRL PLEASE. I had the energy of twenty Infantry Rangers, but you know, with boobs and wearing my newly purchased high heels and other cool ‘stuff’.

In August, I was hospitalized with depression. I was in a dark and dreary place and hospitalization was the only answer. I wasn’t diagnosed with bipolar. I was so depressed that I wasn’t even in the frame of mind to give my doctor the actual facts. I just wanted to feel better. I wanted to stop wanting to die.

A couple of months ago, I went to see a psychiatrist and I gave it to her straight. I told her everything.  The medication I had been taking since my hospital stay was working, but it was working in the way of my staying afloat. I still had depression and spent plenty of days in my bedroom with the covers over my head. Now with the proper diagnosis, I’m taking new medications. I’m still adjusting. I’m dealing with the side effects.  I’ve gained twelve pounds in two weeks…which if you know me and my issues with weight…THIS IS NOT COOL.

I still have bad days. I have anxiety; I am still working through the depression. I still have days when I cry and feel as if all is a loss cause. But I work through it. If  I don’t do this for myself, I do it for my children and husband. In my darkest days, I may think I’m not worth it…but they are.

I make a conscience effort everyday to tell the truth, because truth should be the core of one’s existence. I want to be known as an honest person with integrity, even if it means I don’t have exciting stories to tell. I choose not to lie.

The difference with how I deal with being bipolar and having depression is this: I do not let this illness control me: I control IT. It’s that simple. It isn’t a compromise or open for debate. That’s the way it is. I mind the gap between this illness and my soul. It doesn’t define me. I will control it to the day I die.

And again, if you know me…you know I’m really good at being controlling.

It’s all part of my charm.

* http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/bipolar-disorder/complete-index.shtml

* Life of the party

Jaime Kay Chase

Jaime Kay Chase is the Creative Director for Domesticating in High Heels. She is a writer having written two books, The Beauty of June and her memoir, By The Way, A Memoir of Religion, Abuse and Redemption. She is a public speaker, event planner and child care coordinator. She lives in Anchorage with her husband and their four children. To contact Jaime Kay, email jaimekaychase@gmail.com

I am always trying new homemade facial scrubs. Yes, I’m THAT PERSON. I’ve tried coffee grounds, ( I know. A Mormon Mom who won’t drink coffee, but instead uses it on her face.) baking soda, (IT IS AWESOME!) and sea salt scrubs. I toy with my facial scrubs as if I’m conducting a scientific experiment. I fantasize about gifting said scrubs to friends and family by presenting  the scrub in a pretty glass jar with a lid, decorated with a bow and a smile. It never actually happens. Despite my many creativity skills, I can’t tie a bow.

Yes, again, I say it: I am THAT person.

However, bow or not, there is one facial scrub, I do plan on giving as gifts because it is beyond the realm of fantastic. And because I’m the sharing kind, I’m listing the recipe just for DIHH fans and readers.

Shall I repeat myself? Oh, why not? I am THAT person.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present:

Sassy Brown Sugar Scrub

::insert screams and applause here::

1 cup –  Light Brown Sugar
1 cup – Pure Cane Sugar
¾ cup – light olive oil
2 tsp. – cinnamon, powdered
2 tsp. – ginger, powdered
2 tsp. – nutmeg, powdered
1 16 oz. – glass container with lid
Cinnamon sticks, optional

In  bowl, combine all ingredients until thoroughly blended. Be sure to break up any lumps from the brown sugar and spices. Spoon into the glass container and secure with lid. Scoop a teaspoon or two of the scrub on your hands and gently massage in circular motions onto your skin. Leave on for 2 to 4 minutes before thoroughly rinsing. The scrub will tighten on your face. Rinse and then pat dry. Apply your own moisturizer.

I have very dry skin (Thanks Alaska!) and I couldn’t believe how smooth my face was after the facial scrub.

Not only is it economical, it is pampering…and we all could use a little pampering! (Try it on your feet too! AHHHH!)

~Jaime Kay Chase is a writer, event planner, and runs a home child daycare. She lives in Anchorage with her husband and their four children. Her memoir By The Way is due to be released in April 2010 and is available to read online for a limited time.