Last night, my two oldest were complete stinkers at bedtime. It was the end of a long day - they hadn't taken naps, they were tired, I needed some quiet, their dad was at a reunion party so I had no interference being run, the baby was hungry...you get the picture. So, when I went upstairs at 8pm, an hour after they should've been asleep, I threatened to take precious items if I had to come upstairs again. Usually, just the threat is enough.
Last night was not that night.
I let things go on for a while, because, honestly, I don't like to take their things away. It's not a warm, fuzzy feeling in my world. But by 9:15, a full two hours past bedtime, they were still going strong and I WAS NOT. So, I went upstairs, pulled them off the floor (they were hiding under one's comforter and screaming at each other at dog-level decibels) and took Blankie (those of you whose children have a Blankie understand the importance of the capitalization) from the youngest. She knew I was serious, got into bed and went to sleep.
Next up, the oldest. She doesn't have a particular precious. She has rotating preciouses and, truth be told, I didn't know which item it was yesterday. She has a kitty pillow she sleeps on every night, so I thought that was a safe bet. I took kitty pillow.
She said, "I can sleep without kitty pillow."
Flashback.
I have no idea how old I was. I don't even know what my sister and I were doing to get in trouble, but my mother had completely had it. We each got a spanking. A good, old-fashioned, over-the-knee spanking. (And I share this story not for the capital punishment angle, but mostly because my mother has the upper arm strength of a gnat, so don't think she was some 6'4 linebacker or something like that.) So, I got spanked first. I was properly apologetic for my misdoings.
Next up: baby sister.
She gets her spanking, stands up and says the stupidest thing you could EVER say to a mother so at her wits end she's resorted to spanking.
She said, while looking my mother dead in the eye, "That didn't hurt."
Well, let's just say, the next one, immediately following said statement, did hurt. And, apparently, baby sister learned a valuable lesson - when getting spanked, keep your mouth shut and nobody gets hurt.
It was the one and only time I remember getting spanked. I'm certain the only reason I remember it is because of my sister's ill-timed remark. Because, as she said, it didn't hurt.
Flash foward.
My 3-year old tells me she can sleep just fine without kitty pillow. I see red. I hear ocean waves in my ears. I take a deep breath, force myself not to scream. I start removing precious items from said 3-year old's bed at lightning speed. By the time I'm done, she's lucky she's still wearing pajamas. I look at her. She looks at me, mouth agape and eyes wide. I ask her if I should continue. She shakes her head and lies her head on her pillow. I say good night, shut off the light, close the door, walk downstairs, still slightly shaking, and drain my glass of wine. I watch tv for a little longer, put the baby to bed, get ready for bed myself. I go in to check on the older 2, shortly after 10pm. They are both blissfully asleep. I breathe a sigh of relief, praying tomorrow's bedtime will go more smoothly.
Then, I wimp out and return Blankie and kitty pillow to their rightful owners.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Dance Dance Revolution
This year, I decided the girls needed an activity to do, so I signed them up for dance class. I wasn't sure if they'd like it or not, but they absolutely LOVE it. They get so excited every week when I tell them it's a dance class day. The older one takes a tap/ballet combo and the younger one just has ballet. They have the same teacher, whom they ADORE. All in all, it's been a really good experience for all of us.
At the end of the year, the kids have a recital. Each class puts on a little group performance. They have special costumes. They have to wear their hair a certain way. They may wear makeup. They also have Picture Day.
Cue "Jaws" music.
This was my first experience with Picture Day. And what I've deemed the Pageant Mom. Pageant Mom is a scary beast, let me tell you. I was afraid...very afraid. And I don't live anywhere close to Texas. That's where I think the scariest PMs live. But I could be wrong.
So, here's the deal: When they sent home information about pictures, they essentially told us the kids needed to wear their costumes. That was really the only instruction. For the recital, they need to wear their hair a certain way and we may want to consider putting a little blush on the kids so they don't get washed out under the stage lights. But for pictures, they didn't need to do anything special aside from wear their costumes and show up at the appointed time.
The 2-year olds' class went off without a hitch. The kids were adorable. They did their individual shots, then a group shot, got their suckers for being troopers and off we went.
I assumed the 3-year old class would go the same way.
Well, you know what they say about assuming things. Only this time, I wasn't the you-know-what.
Apparently, once a little girl hits the ripe old age of 3, the PM comes out in full force. And a force it is.
So, I'm sitting in the hallway, with my 3-year old. She's cute as can be in her little costume and her naked little face.
Then the other 3-year olds start rolling in. It was like a freaking Jon Benet Ramsey parade. And if you've seen the pictures of that kid, then you know what freaky looks like! These 3-year olds had on mascara, eye shadow, blush and sparkly lip gloss. Hair was curled and sprayed within an inch of its life. Moms were fussing over exactly where the hair should fall over the shoulder. They're working on poses. It was all I could do to not stare.
The advice I gave my kid? Smile with teeth. And please god, don't look at these other girls, and their crazy ass mothers, and think "Hey, they're prettier than me."
Something tells me I might not be cut out for the world of dance. Or, perhaps, my kid will be the one who says, "Mommy? Do I have to wear this crap* on my face? It feels funny. I'd rather make mud pies."
*Ok, so she better not say "crap" but we'll all know that's what she means.
At the end of the year, the kids have a recital. Each class puts on a little group performance. They have special costumes. They have to wear their hair a certain way. They may wear makeup. They also have Picture Day.
Cue "Jaws" music.
This was my first experience with Picture Day. And what I've deemed the Pageant Mom. Pageant Mom is a scary beast, let me tell you. I was afraid...very afraid. And I don't live anywhere close to Texas. That's where I think the scariest PMs live. But I could be wrong.
So, here's the deal: When they sent home information about pictures, they essentially told us the kids needed to wear their costumes. That was really the only instruction. For the recital, they need to wear their hair a certain way and we may want to consider putting a little blush on the kids so they don't get washed out under the stage lights. But for pictures, they didn't need to do anything special aside from wear their costumes and show up at the appointed time.
The 2-year olds' class went off without a hitch. The kids were adorable. They did their individual shots, then a group shot, got their suckers for being troopers and off we went.
I assumed the 3-year old class would go the same way.
Well, you know what they say about assuming things. Only this time, I wasn't the you-know-what.
Apparently, once a little girl hits the ripe old age of 3, the PM comes out in full force. And a force it is.
So, I'm sitting in the hallway, with my 3-year old. She's cute as can be in her little costume and her naked little face.
Then the other 3-year olds start rolling in. It was like a freaking Jon Benet Ramsey parade. And if you've seen the pictures of that kid, then you know what freaky looks like! These 3-year olds had on mascara, eye shadow, blush and sparkly lip gloss. Hair was curled and sprayed within an inch of its life. Moms were fussing over exactly where the hair should fall over the shoulder. They're working on poses. It was all I could do to not stare.
The advice I gave my kid? Smile with teeth. And please god, don't look at these other girls, and their crazy ass mothers, and think "Hey, they're prettier than me."
Something tells me I might not be cut out for the world of dance. Or, perhaps, my kid will be the one who says, "Mommy? Do I have to wear this crap* on my face? It feels funny. I'd rather make mud pies."
*Ok, so she better not say "crap" but we'll all know that's what she means.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Work for It
A friend's post today was about the lack of an immediate "bond" with his kids after he and his wife adopted.
You can read his post here:
http://temorgan.blogspot.com/2010/04/babys-smile.html
This got me to thinking...
While he had a little warning, not to expect a Hallmark moment the second he met his kids, birth parents don't really get this warning. And, to be honest, they need one. Especially if birth parents have more than one child. The first kid sort of lucks out...there's a newness never experienced by the parent. Every smile has a nuance, every cry is immediately answered, every diaper is barely wet before it's changed, every bottle is warmed to the perfect temperature. For every child after that, I have a piece of advice for you:
You gotta work for it.
It's not that second and subsequent children aren't loved. It's simply that the connection takes longer to build. The newness of the first child isn't there anymore. Parents have heard all the cries, have been through the sleepless nights and they're over it. And here's the kicker...nobody tells you it's ok to not be over the moon over your latter children, or even your first, for that matter. Nobody says, "Hey, you know what? You might not like your kid too much the first few months. You might resent the hell out of that baby for ruining your sleep and your ability to function like a human in the daylight hours. You might feel like you need liquor on a more consistent basis. You might have a shorter temper with your first born. AND IT'S OK."
Well, you know what? It is ok. And 99% of the time, that feeling will subside. I don't know if it's different for dads, but I know it was very different the 2nd and 3rd time around for my husband. It took him a full month to connect with our 2nd. Up until then, he was tired, I was a wreck, neither one of us knew which end was up and the baby gave him nothing. Then, on her one month birthday, he was holding her, talking to her and she cooed at him. I saw the whole thing happen. His shoulders relaxed, the two of them had an in-depth conversation, he looked over at me and said, "Ok, she got me now. We can keep her." I nodded my assent and they've been inseparable ever since. The same thing happened with number 3. We get to keep him too.
So, if you've got more than one kid, know it's ok to not be over the moon immediately. It will, most likely, come. In the meantime, give yourself a break and remember that LOTS of other parents have experienced the same thing.
And most of those parents did, in fact, keep their kids.
You can read his post here:
http://temorgan.blogspot.com/2010/04/babys-smile.html
This got me to thinking...
While he had a little warning, not to expect a Hallmark moment the second he met his kids, birth parents don't really get this warning. And, to be honest, they need one. Especially if birth parents have more than one child. The first kid sort of lucks out...there's a newness never experienced by the parent. Every smile has a nuance, every cry is immediately answered, every diaper is barely wet before it's changed, every bottle is warmed to the perfect temperature. For every child after that, I have a piece of advice for you:
You gotta work for it.
It's not that second and subsequent children aren't loved. It's simply that the connection takes longer to build. The newness of the first child isn't there anymore. Parents have heard all the cries, have been through the sleepless nights and they're over it. And here's the kicker...nobody tells you it's ok to not be over the moon over your latter children, or even your first, for that matter. Nobody says, "Hey, you know what? You might not like your kid too much the first few months. You might resent the hell out of that baby for ruining your sleep and your ability to function like a human in the daylight hours. You might feel like you need liquor on a more consistent basis. You might have a shorter temper with your first born. AND IT'S OK."
Well, you know what? It is ok. And 99% of the time, that feeling will subside. I don't know if it's different for dads, but I know it was very different the 2nd and 3rd time around for my husband. It took him a full month to connect with our 2nd. Up until then, he was tired, I was a wreck, neither one of us knew which end was up and the baby gave him nothing. Then, on her one month birthday, he was holding her, talking to her and she cooed at him. I saw the whole thing happen. His shoulders relaxed, the two of them had an in-depth conversation, he looked over at me and said, "Ok, she got me now. We can keep her." I nodded my assent and they've been inseparable ever since. The same thing happened with number 3. We get to keep him too.
So, if you've got more than one kid, know it's ok to not be over the moon immediately. It will, most likely, come. In the meantime, give yourself a break and remember that LOTS of other parents have experienced the same thing.
And most of those parents did, in fact, keep their kids.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Mission Completion
Anyone of you familiar with Little Einsteins? Every episode they have a mission to complete and at the end of their mission, once they've completed what they've set out to do, they yell, "Mission completion!" and do a little song and dance.
Well, I'm in my office/playroom, listening to the girls watch a Strawberry Shortcake video before they head off to bed, and I'm doing an internal song and dance.
I set out to blog for 30 days straight. Today is 31. MISSION COMPLETION!
Granted, some days' posts were on the lame side. But creativity cannot flow at gush level everyday. Some days you need a little help. Regardless, I set out to blog for 30 days in a row and that goal I accomplished. I'm quite pleased with myself. They say it takes 30 days for something to become a habit. I'm not sure whether or not that's true, but I do know that for the past 30 days the idea of posting was always in the back of my head, until I got the post for the day done. I think that's half the battle. The other half was coming up with an idea and actually getting it written.
Now, it's time for a new goal. I'm pretty sure post-pregnancy abs take longer than 30 days to fix (as it were), but I've got a wedding coming up in November and I think I better get on the stick now. In the meantime, I think I'll keep going with the blogging. I'll make a sincere attempt to do it daily, but on the days when I'm too tired, I might just give myself a break. And that will be just fine with me.
Now, onward and upward dear readers! And feel free to drop and give me 20 for the next 30 days. No pain, no gain, right? Lord knows that's the only way the 3 children exited the premises...lots of pain, preceded by a good chunk of gain.
Cheers!
Well, I'm in my office/playroom, listening to the girls watch a Strawberry Shortcake video before they head off to bed, and I'm doing an internal song and dance.
I set out to blog for 30 days straight. Today is 31. MISSION COMPLETION!
Granted, some days' posts were on the lame side. But creativity cannot flow at gush level everyday. Some days you need a little help. Regardless, I set out to blog for 30 days in a row and that goal I accomplished. I'm quite pleased with myself. They say it takes 30 days for something to become a habit. I'm not sure whether or not that's true, but I do know that for the past 30 days the idea of posting was always in the back of my head, until I got the post for the day done. I think that's half the battle. The other half was coming up with an idea and actually getting it written.
Now, it's time for a new goal. I'm pretty sure post-pregnancy abs take longer than 30 days to fix (as it were), but I've got a wedding coming up in November and I think I better get on the stick now. In the meantime, I think I'll keep going with the blogging. I'll make a sincere attempt to do it daily, but on the days when I'm too tired, I might just give myself a break. And that will be just fine with me.
Now, onward and upward dear readers! And feel free to drop and give me 20 for the next 30 days. No pain, no gain, right? Lord knows that's the only way the 3 children exited the premises...lots of pain, preceded by a good chunk of gain.
Cheers!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Best and Worst
When it comes to parenting, there's the good, the bad and the ugly.
Here's an article looking at the best and worst parts of motherhood:
http://www.babycenter.com/0_the-best-and-worst-things-about-being-a-mom-today_3652539.bc?scid=preschooler_20100420:2&pe=do9PHO
Here's an article looking at the best and worst parts of motherhood:
http://www.babycenter.com/0_the-best-and-worst-things-about-being-a-mom-today_3652539.bc?scid=preschooler_20100420:2&pe=do9PHO
Monday, April 19, 2010
Laugh of the Day
This morning, the kids and I walked to the bank. On our way there, we pass a bunch of little stores and the girls get a kick out of looking in all the store windows. One store is a little religious goods store and they have various Nativity scene figurines in the storefront. My oldest was particularly interested in finding a specific figure:
Child: Hey Mom!
Me: Yes?
Child: Where's baby Jeez?
Me: Who?
Child: You know, baby Jeez? Where is he?
My thoughts here are twofold:
Either:
1. My oldest is on a real familiar footing with baby Jesus.
Or:
2. I'm getting a lot better at not swearing.
Child: Hey Mom!
Me: Yes?
Child: Where's baby Jeez?
Me: Who?
Child: You know, baby Jeez? Where is he?
My thoughts here are twofold:
Either:
1. My oldest is on a real familiar footing with baby Jesus.
Or:
2. I'm getting a lot better at not swearing.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Motherhood Quiz
Everyone has a different opinion on motherhood.
What's yours?
Take a quiz here:
http://www.wishafriend.com/quiz/family/what-is-your-opinion-about-motherhood/
What's yours?
Take a quiz here:
http://www.wishafriend.com/quiz/family/what-is-your-opinion-about-motherhood/
Saturday, April 17, 2010
To Coexist or Not Coexist
I was trolling through the Web, looking for some writing ideas and I came across an interesting article. I'm not specifically endorsing any products here, but the article itself is rather interesting.
Check it out here:
http://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/can-motherhood-and-womanhood-co-exist-57889362.html
Check it out here:
http://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/can-motherhood-and-womanhood-co-exist-57889362.html
Friday, April 16, 2010
Perspectives on Motherhood
Tonight is an amazing night in my house. Tonight, there is absolute quiet in my house. Tonight, there are no children in my house.
How we lucked into this night, I have no idea. Nor do I have any complaints. My girls do the occasional sleepover at the grandparents' or aunts' houses and tonight is one of those nights. My mother actually offered to take my oldest overnight, but we had already planned for the girls to go to my sister-in-laws, so I jokingly offered my 2-month old son in the oldest's place and my mom actually took me up on the offer, so I have a child-free house.
When I told my husband of the plans for the evening, I was very excited, telling him this would be the first time in over a year we would have a kid-free house for a night. He looked at me questioningly, because the girls have been on lots of sleepovers. The baby, however, has not.
In my world, the baby has been around for more than 2 months. In my husband's world, the baby's been around for exactly as many days as he's been alive. I attempted to explain to my husband that although the baby's been on the outside for 2 months, he was with me for 40 weeks prior to that, so even on the nights the girls happened to be gone, I still had a child with me. He just looked at me blankly. Rather than try to expound upon my reasoning, I just told him that any mother would agree with me. He gave me a "whatever" sigh and went back to watching TV.
Well, I had 3 other mothers in my house this evening and as I relayed the story to them, they all asserted that I was 100% correct.
Vindication, thy name is mother.
How we lucked into this night, I have no idea. Nor do I have any complaints. My girls do the occasional sleepover at the grandparents' or aunts' houses and tonight is one of those nights. My mother actually offered to take my oldest overnight, but we had already planned for the girls to go to my sister-in-laws, so I jokingly offered my 2-month old son in the oldest's place and my mom actually took me up on the offer, so I have a child-free house.
When I told my husband of the plans for the evening, I was very excited, telling him this would be the first time in over a year we would have a kid-free house for a night. He looked at me questioningly, because the girls have been on lots of sleepovers. The baby, however, has not.
In my world, the baby has been around for more than 2 months. In my husband's world, the baby's been around for exactly as many days as he's been alive. I attempted to explain to my husband that although the baby's been on the outside for 2 months, he was with me for 40 weeks prior to that, so even on the nights the girls happened to be gone, I still had a child with me. He just looked at me blankly. Rather than try to expound upon my reasoning, I just told him that any mother would agree with me. He gave me a "whatever" sigh and went back to watching TV.
Well, I had 3 other mothers in my house this evening and as I relayed the story to them, they all asserted that I was 100% correct.
Vindication, thy name is mother.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Locked in the Vault
Today was one of those days - you know, when you wake up in the morning and you swear it's a Monday. The baby woke me up at 5:15, ate a quarter of a bottle and then went back to sleep. The girls were on the cranky side and just steadily increased the crank factor throughout the morning. I'm trying to get my house clean for a party I'm hosting on Friday and none of the stars were in my favor.
The girls finally crashed in the early afternoon and the baby finally decided to stop eating for a few hours. It started to rain while the girls slept and we had a pretty good soak going by the time my eldest awoke. She asked me if she could wear her puddle boots to dance class and I decided to one up her. I told her to put her boots on, I took my husband's old raincoat out of the closet and we went outside to stomp in some puddles. About half an hour later my middle one woke up and joined in the fun.
When I was in middle school, I vividly recall a summer rainstorm. The rain was warm but came down in a sudden downpour. The sewers backed up, so there was a really fast running stream down the curbs on my block. My dad pulled me outside, no raincoat or puddle boots needed, and we floated sticks down the gutter streams. It was really warm outside and the rain was perfect. I'd always liked rainstorms, but there was something about that day, being with my dad, that made the rain that much better.
My girls might be a little young to remember this day, but I've got it locked in the vault.
The girls finally crashed in the early afternoon and the baby finally decided to stop eating for a few hours. It started to rain while the girls slept and we had a pretty good soak going by the time my eldest awoke. She asked me if she could wear her puddle boots to dance class and I decided to one up her. I told her to put her boots on, I took my husband's old raincoat out of the closet and we went outside to stomp in some puddles. About half an hour later my middle one woke up and joined in the fun.
When I was in middle school, I vividly recall a summer rainstorm. The rain was warm but came down in a sudden downpour. The sewers backed up, so there was a really fast running stream down the curbs on my block. My dad pulled me outside, no raincoat or puddle boots needed, and we floated sticks down the gutter streams. It was really warm outside and the rain was perfect. I'd always liked rainstorms, but there was something about that day, being with my dad, that made the rain that much better.
My girls might be a little young to remember this day, but I've got it locked in the vault.
Wishes
This morning, my 3-year old told me she wishes her eyebrows were green. And since wishes tend to be on the crazy side, I thought, hmmm, for what do I wish?
Here are just a few things on my wish list:
1. I wish Caribou delivered. And honestly, if that company had any brains, it would start a delivery service pronto.
2. I wish the cleaning fairy existed. She'd be the big girl version of the tooth fairy, in my book.
3. I wish my husband could read my mind. It would be so much easier for all of us.
4. I wish my children could answer the question "WHY?!?!" when I ask.
5. I wish money grew on trees...or at least one tree...that happened to be in my backyard...and invisible to everyone but me.
6. I wish motherhood came with some sort of manual. I've never been a fan of gambling. And if this ain't a crap shoot, I don't know what is.
7. I wish time had a rewind and fast forward button...so I could fast forward to retirement on the days I really need too...or rewind to a day when all I had to do was snuggle a baby all day long. I think it would help keep things in perspective.
8. I wish I knew all the answers.
9. I wish I could always shield my kids from harm...always.
10. I wish I knew what the future will bring.
Wishes are great. They give hope to your dreams and a break to the day-to-day. And if nothing else, they give you a little added hope for the future.
Here are just a few things on my wish list:
1. I wish Caribou delivered. And honestly, if that company had any brains, it would start a delivery service pronto.
2. I wish the cleaning fairy existed. She'd be the big girl version of the tooth fairy, in my book.
3. I wish my husband could read my mind. It would be so much easier for all of us.
4. I wish my children could answer the question "WHY?!?!" when I ask.
5. I wish money grew on trees...or at least one tree...that happened to be in my backyard...and invisible to everyone but me.
6. I wish motherhood came with some sort of manual. I've never been a fan of gambling. And if this ain't a crap shoot, I don't know what is.
7. I wish time had a rewind and fast forward button...so I could fast forward to retirement on the days I really need too...or rewind to a day when all I had to do was snuggle a baby all day long. I think it would help keep things in perspective.
8. I wish I knew all the answers.
9. I wish I could always shield my kids from harm...always.
10. I wish I knew what the future will bring.
Wishes are great. They give hope to your dreams and a break to the day-to-day. And if nothing else, they give you a little added hope for the future.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Guest Blog
A dear friend of mine follows this blog and she wrote me a little blurb today. She's a self-professed Daddy's Girl and in the past few years has grown to appreciate her mother on a whole new level. Although the children I deal with on a daily basis are under the age of 5, it's interesting to think that one day my children may very well be in my position - a parent to a young child. I never really thought about that when I was little. My mom was simply my mom. I assumed she'd always been a mom. She was a professional.
Most days, I feel far from professional at this whole mom thing. I have a moment from time to time, but mostly I feel like a knock off. My friend's blurb struck a cord with me though, so I thought I'd share it with you as well. Perhaps give you a moment to relive your inner child moments, with the wisdom of the years to help you along.
He will always be my favorite. He will give the best hugs. I am 33 and I will still scream in delight when he walks in. He's killed every monster and showed me how to do it. She will be the one who knew. Who sat with me when my heart broke the first time. Who I called to tell everything to, because I always told her everything. She didn't have to be my favorite, she's my MOM. She doesn't hug- she holds. I am 33 and hope to love like her someday. He taught me courage. She taught me strength.
Most days, I feel far from professional at this whole mom thing. I have a moment from time to time, but mostly I feel like a knock off. My friend's blurb struck a cord with me though, so I thought I'd share it with you as well. Perhaps give you a moment to relive your inner child moments, with the wisdom of the years to help you along.
He will always be my favorite. He will give the best hugs. I am 33 and I will still scream in delight when he walks in. He's killed every monster and showed me how to do it. She will be the one who knew. Who sat with me when my heart broke the first time. Who I called to tell everything to, because I always told her everything. She didn't have to be my favorite, she's my MOM. She doesn't hug- she holds. I am 33 and hope to love like her someday. He taught me courage. She taught me strength.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Pet Peeves
Since becoming a parent, I've encountered a whole new world of pet peeves. And no, I don't mean the constant repetition of phrases a toddler goes through, baby talk, exploding diapers or fire hose spit up sessions. I'm talking about pet peeves of the "adult" persuasion and there are 3 main offenders.
1. Idiot drivers. Particularly idiot drivers in parking lots. Most especially, the idiot parent drivers in school parking lots who just dropped their own children off at school and are now careening through the parking lot as fast as humanly possible while I try to maneuver my 3-year old, 2-year old and 2 month infant, in his car seat, through a minefield of minivans.
2. The non-door holders. These are the lovely individuals who will look right at me, my diaper bag, infant in a car seat slung over one arm and two children holding onto the same hand of the other arm, walk in the door in front of me and then not bother to hold open the door for any of us. This also applies when you have one or several children in a stroller and are attempting to enter or exit an establishment. These lovely people, I'm 99% certain, have a special spot in hell reserved. They'll be the extra hot seats.
3. The close parkers. These are the people who park too frigging close to your car. They either park so very close that you can't open the car door far enough to disengage a child from his/her car seat, or just far enough away that you can get the door open enough to disengage the child but not far enough that you can get the child all the way out without scratching the close parker's car.
If you, or someone you know, are one of these offenders, take heed. Someday you will have to walk a small child through a parking lot or maneuver a small child into a building of some sort. Someday you will have to get a small child out of the back of your car. You will know the frustration of which I speak and you'll have only yourself to blame. If you repent now and start acting accordingly, chances are good, if I ever meet you, I won't be forced to kick you in the head.
1. Idiot drivers. Particularly idiot drivers in parking lots. Most especially, the idiot parent drivers in school parking lots who just dropped their own children off at school and are now careening through the parking lot as fast as humanly possible while I try to maneuver my 3-year old, 2-year old and 2 month infant, in his car seat, through a minefield of minivans.
2. The non-door holders. These are the lovely individuals who will look right at me, my diaper bag, infant in a car seat slung over one arm and two children holding onto the same hand of the other arm, walk in the door in front of me and then not bother to hold open the door for any of us. This also applies when you have one or several children in a stroller and are attempting to enter or exit an establishment. These lovely people, I'm 99% certain, have a special spot in hell reserved. They'll be the extra hot seats.
3. The close parkers. These are the people who park too frigging close to your car. They either park so very close that you can't open the car door far enough to disengage a child from his/her car seat, or just far enough away that you can get the door open enough to disengage the child but not far enough that you can get the child all the way out without scratching the close parker's car.
If you, or someone you know, are one of these offenders, take heed. Someday you will have to walk a small child through a parking lot or maneuver a small child into a building of some sort. Someday you will have to get a small child out of the back of your car. You will know the frustration of which I speak and you'll have only yourself to blame. If you repent now and start acting accordingly, chances are good, if I ever meet you, I won't be forced to kick you in the head.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Points of View
There are lots of parents in the world. And all of us do it differently. A friend of mine recently started his own blog, and his first topic had to do with parenting. It gave me pause for thought, so I thought I'd share his thoughts.
Check it out here:
http://temorgan.blogspot.com/2010/04/think-about-it.html
Check it out here:
http://temorgan.blogspot.com/2010/04/think-about-it.html
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Parenting 101
I do not claim to be a parenting expert. My oldest child is 3 1/2, so I've been doing the mom thing for about that long. I wouldn't qualify myself as overly, or perhaps "stereotypically" would be a better term, maternal. I hate to bake, so freshly baked cookies are not on my radar. If my kids' hair looks goofy, sticking up in all directions, I'm ok with it. In fact, I sort of prefer it. I don't sew my kids' clothes, nor do I come up with elaborate hairstyles for them on a daily basis.
While I might not do certain things as far as the kids are concerned, there are lots of other things I do, on a daily basis. And you know what? Not all of those things are fun. And I don't like to do a lot of those things. But I do do them and do you know why? It's the parenting style I like to call:
Suck it up.
I had 2 instances this week where I wanted to tell another parent to suck it up. And both instances really irked me, so I figured, let's look at the topic.
Instance #1:
A mom noticed a wood tick in her son's hair. She freaked out. And rather than remove the tick, she made a teacher do it. Because she doesn't like ticks.
Well, I also hate wood ticks. They creep me out. They're disgusting. But if I see one crawling around my kid's head, guess what I'm gonna do? Suck it up and get rid of it. Because that's my job.
Instance #2:
A mom had to take her kid in for his well check, which included shots. Only she doesn't like shots, so she made her friend take the kid in for the shots.
Well, let me tell you. Nobody likes shots. And if they do, that's a whole other topic, most likely inappropriate for a "mom blog". Shots hurt. They make kids cry. Nobody likes to see their kids cry. But, if you do the vaccination thing, and I do, then you know what happens? I suck it up. You know why? Because I'm a mom and that's my job.
Now, like I said. I'm not a parenting professional. But if you're going to have kids, then there are parts of the job you aren't going to like. It's not all cuddles and giggles. And it's not supposed to be. No job is all rainbows, monster paychecks and lunches out. If you're going to take a job, you take all of the job, not just the fun parts.
You don't like poopy diapers? Well, neither does your kid. Suck it up.
You don't like giving your kid medicine? Well, s/he doesn't like taking it. Suck it up.
You don't like giving your kid a bath? Well, s/he doesn't want to be the smelly kid. Suck it up.
You don't like making dinner every night? Well, your kid probably doesn't like eating it every night. Both of you...suck it up.
You have to do the not-so-fun stuff people. You don't like it. Your kid doesn't like it. But if your kid knows you'll be there and take care of it, you're providing a sense of security and balance that your kid both needs and deserves. And isn't that what parenting is really all about?
Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised my kids we'd bake cookies today.
While I might not do certain things as far as the kids are concerned, there are lots of other things I do, on a daily basis. And you know what? Not all of those things are fun. And I don't like to do a lot of those things. But I do do them and do you know why? It's the parenting style I like to call:
Suck it up.
I had 2 instances this week where I wanted to tell another parent to suck it up. And both instances really irked me, so I figured, let's look at the topic.
Instance #1:
A mom noticed a wood tick in her son's hair. She freaked out. And rather than remove the tick, she made a teacher do it. Because she doesn't like ticks.
Well, I also hate wood ticks. They creep me out. They're disgusting. But if I see one crawling around my kid's head, guess what I'm gonna do? Suck it up and get rid of it. Because that's my job.
Instance #2:
A mom had to take her kid in for his well check, which included shots. Only she doesn't like shots, so she made her friend take the kid in for the shots.
Well, let me tell you. Nobody likes shots. And if they do, that's a whole other topic, most likely inappropriate for a "mom blog". Shots hurt. They make kids cry. Nobody likes to see their kids cry. But, if you do the vaccination thing, and I do, then you know what happens? I suck it up. You know why? Because I'm a mom and that's my job.
Now, like I said. I'm not a parenting professional. But if you're going to have kids, then there are parts of the job you aren't going to like. It's not all cuddles and giggles. And it's not supposed to be. No job is all rainbows, monster paychecks and lunches out. If you're going to take a job, you take all of the job, not just the fun parts.
You don't like poopy diapers? Well, neither does your kid. Suck it up.
You don't like giving your kid medicine? Well, s/he doesn't like taking it. Suck it up.
You don't like giving your kid a bath? Well, s/he doesn't want to be the smelly kid. Suck it up.
You don't like making dinner every night? Well, your kid probably doesn't like eating it every night. Both of you...suck it up.
You have to do the not-so-fun stuff people. You don't like it. Your kid doesn't like it. But if your kid knows you'll be there and take care of it, you're providing a sense of security and balance that your kid both needs and deserves. And isn't that what parenting is really all about?
Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised my kids we'd bake cookies today.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Jokers
My girls are working on their joking skills.
The current favorite joke:
Q: Why did the chicken sit on the eggs?
A: Because he didn't have a chair!
They're also big fans of the knock, knock joke.
Here was today's prize:
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Cow.
Cow who?
Aren't you glad it's not an orange, or a banana, or chocolate, or a fruit?
Oh boy, it's been a long week.
The current favorite joke:
Q: Why did the chicken sit on the eggs?
A: Because he didn't have a chair!
They're also big fans of the knock, knock joke.
Here was today's prize:
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Cow.
Cow who?
Aren't you glad it's not an orange, or a banana, or chocolate, or a fruit?
Oh boy, it's been a long week.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Jealousy Addendum
Yesterday, I posted about being jealous of my husband because my daughters love him more than me. After I posted, I went in to check on the girls before I went to bed. My oldest had klepto'd my favorite pillow, which gave me pause for thought. Maybe there are times when I am the favorite. There are definitely times when they ask for me, first and foremost.
Such as:
1. When they need a really comfy pillow.
2. When they need their favorite clothes/blankie washed.
3. When they wake up in the middle of the night.
4. When they're sick.
5. When they're hungry.
6. When they're thirsty.
7. When Dad said no.
So, maybe Dad isn't actually the favorite, but he's definitely the preferred the majority of the time. And I'm ok with that, since there's a good chance they'll be puking sometime in the future and mine will be the first name they call.
Such as:
1. When they need a really comfy pillow.
2. When they need their favorite clothes/blankie washed.
3. When they wake up in the middle of the night.
4. When they're sick.
5. When they're hungry.
6. When they're thirsty.
7. When Dad said no.
So, maybe Dad isn't actually the favorite, but he's definitely the preferred the majority of the time. And I'm ok with that, since there's a good chance they'll be puking sometime in the future and mine will be the first name they call.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Jealousy Factor
I hate to admit this, but I'm a tiny bit jealous of my husband.
No, it's not what you think. He doesn't work with some hot little piece who fawns over him all day long. And he doesn't have some sort of uber-glamorous job where he hobnobs with all the beautiful people all day long. And he doesn't come home from work every day whistling Dixie.
But our daughters do love him more than me.
At this moment in time, my husband goes to work and I stay home with the 3 kids. That wasn't the way we planned on it happening, but it so happens that's the way it worked out, so that's where we are. He usually leaves for work before 8 a.m. and on a good day, he's home before the girls go to bed, around 7 p.m. He works really hard and his job is physically and mentally exhausting. I really appreciate the fact that he goes to work everyday and makes the money that pays the bills and keeps us in our house. In exchange, I keep track of the munchkins, clean the house (insert chuckle here), make sure the bills get paid, do the cooking, make the doctor's appointments, endure the vaccinations, get up with whomever wakes up at night and all the other stuff entailed in daily life with 3 small children.
And yet, in spite of all the stuff I do, in plain sight of our children, he is the favorite.
My girls literally scream (yes, scream) with joy when their dad walks in the door. They barrel towards him as if they were on fire and he was the only remaining fire extinguisher.
Do they do this when I come home? Of course not. I'm lucky if they get off the couch to give me a kiss. And if they do, it's most likely because either I or their father have instructed them to do so. Both my daughters have puked on me more times than I can count and they can't be bothered to turn their heads when I walk in the room.
My husband says they act like this because he's gone all day and barely gets to see them.
Me? I hope at least my son decides I get to be the favorite, once he's old enough to choose.
No, it's not what you think. He doesn't work with some hot little piece who fawns over him all day long. And he doesn't have some sort of uber-glamorous job where he hobnobs with all the beautiful people all day long. And he doesn't come home from work every day whistling Dixie.
But our daughters do love him more than me.
At this moment in time, my husband goes to work and I stay home with the 3 kids. That wasn't the way we planned on it happening, but it so happens that's the way it worked out, so that's where we are. He usually leaves for work before 8 a.m. and on a good day, he's home before the girls go to bed, around 7 p.m. He works really hard and his job is physically and mentally exhausting. I really appreciate the fact that he goes to work everyday and makes the money that pays the bills and keeps us in our house. In exchange, I keep track of the munchkins, clean the house (insert chuckle here), make sure the bills get paid, do the cooking, make the doctor's appointments, endure the vaccinations, get up with whomever wakes up at night and all the other stuff entailed in daily life with 3 small children.
And yet, in spite of all the stuff I do, in plain sight of our children, he is the favorite.
My girls literally scream (yes, scream) with joy when their dad walks in the door. They barrel towards him as if they were on fire and he was the only remaining fire extinguisher.
Do they do this when I come home? Of course not. I'm lucky if they get off the couch to give me a kiss. And if they do, it's most likely because either I or their father have instructed them to do so. Both my daughters have puked on me more times than I can count and they can't be bothered to turn their heads when I walk in the room.
My husband says they act like this because he's gone all day and barely gets to see them.
Me? I hope at least my son decides I get to be the favorite, once he's old enough to choose.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Thank You
I take my older kids to classes at our local Early Childhood Family Education. The girls love their classes and I thrive on a little schedule to our day and a little interaction with fellow adults. During the class time, parents and kids separate. During parent time, the instructor tends to have a little lesson plan mapped out, which is a change from past classes. Truth be told, I'm not a big fan of parent time these days, but today's class made me laugh out loud.
We have journals for class and we usually write in them every week. The instructor supplies us with a topic or we can write on something of our choosing.
Today's topic:
Thank your child for making you a better parent through his/her challenging behaviors.
So, here goes:
Thank you, 2-month old, for waking up at 2 a.m. when you and I both know you're fully capable of sleeping through the night.
Thank you, 3-year old, for waking up at 5 a.m. and crawling into bed with me and sticking the icicles you call feet into the small of my back. And thank you, thank you for falling back asleep...and then snoring like a bulldozer for the next 2 hours.
Thank you, 2-year old, for waking up at 7 a.m. You're my favorite.
Thank you, 2-month old, for eating like a champ...and then crapping through your 4th outfit of the day.
Thank you, 3-year old, for talking like a baby ALL DAY LONG. It's so pleasant, so lovely, to hear you talk baby talk when you've been speaking in complete paragraphs since you were 18 months old.
Thank you, 2-year old for taking AN ENTIRE HOUR to get your pants on. Thank you for coming downstairs every 3 minutes in your diaper. Thank you for your stubbornness and persistence. Thank you for finally getting the damn things on.
Thank you, 2-month old, for taking a killer nap this afternoon, so I could eat lunch in peace. You're my favorite.
Thank you, 3-year old, for helping me straighten up the living room and not complaining. You're my favorite.
Thank you, 2-year old, for making me laugh while you "danced" in dance class tonight. You're my favorite.
And finally, last but not least,
Thank you, Cub Foods, for having a sale on Chardonnay this week. You're my favorite.
We have journals for class and we usually write in them every week. The instructor supplies us with a topic or we can write on something of our choosing.
Today's topic:
Thank your child for making you a better parent through his/her challenging behaviors.
So, here goes:
Thank you, 2-month old, for waking up at 2 a.m. when you and I both know you're fully capable of sleeping through the night.
Thank you, 3-year old, for waking up at 5 a.m. and crawling into bed with me and sticking the icicles you call feet into the small of my back. And thank you, thank you for falling back asleep...and then snoring like a bulldozer for the next 2 hours.
Thank you, 2-year old, for waking up at 7 a.m. You're my favorite.
Thank you, 2-month old, for eating like a champ...and then crapping through your 4th outfit of the day.
Thank you, 3-year old, for talking like a baby ALL DAY LONG. It's so pleasant, so lovely, to hear you talk baby talk when you've been speaking in complete paragraphs since you were 18 months old.
Thank you, 2-year old for taking AN ENTIRE HOUR to get your pants on. Thank you for coming downstairs every 3 minutes in your diaper. Thank you for your stubbornness and persistence. Thank you for finally getting the damn things on.
Thank you, 2-month old, for taking a killer nap this afternoon, so I could eat lunch in peace. You're my favorite.
Thank you, 3-year old, for helping me straighten up the living room and not complaining. You're my favorite.
Thank you, 2-year old, for making me laugh while you "danced" in dance class tonight. You're my favorite.
And finally, last but not least,
Thank you, Cub Foods, for having a sale on Chardonnay this week. You're my favorite.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Post-Partum Body Bliss
My youngest child is 8 weeks old (2 months for those of you who don't do "week" speak). I have officially lost all the weight from the third pregnancy, plus an additional one pound. I was literally ecstatic when I stepped on the scale and made that discovery. I did a little dance, immediately informed my husband, who in turn suggested we "celebrate", and had a little extra bounce in my step that day. Now, it seems the time has come to start attacking the pounds I still carry from my first two pregnancies. Something tells me that's going to be a lot more work.
Being pregnant puts your body through its paces. Crazy things happen. Your hair stops falling out. You might get stretch marks. You may put on an obscene amount of weight. You crave strange foods. Your hormones rage out of control.
But what about after pregnancy? Well, after pregnancy, there are dirty little secrets that mothers forget to tell each other.
1. Your hair starts falling out. It doesn't just "fall" out. Clumps of it stick to your hands when you wash your hair. Your brush is so overwhelmed with excess hair you'd think you just brushed your golden retriever after a long, cold winter. Your bathroom sink and floor looks like a Wooki slept there. And drains are no longer your friends.
2. Your skin can look like you're a 12-year old boy with a penchant for all things greasy. If you were lucky enough to have that "glow" of pregnancy and have the best looking skin of your life, you might catch the downside of that on the post-partum flip side. Or you could be like me and have pregnancy hormones rage war against you on the outside and then post-partum hormones do the exact same thing 40 weeks later. Good time, I tell you. Good times.
3. One post-partum upside: Your boobs look fabulous! Especially first thing in the morning. They put a plastic surgeon's best work to shame. But with this fabulosity, comes a price...to anyone who has a desire to touch the beauties. Because if any hand comes near, it's sure to get slapped faster than a mosquito in July. As good as they look, those suckers are rock hard and they can hurt like hell until they've been deflated properly.
4. Stretch marks. The "war wounds of motherhood". And let me tell you, they look good! I didn't get any with my first, got a few with my second and the third really went for the gold. The marks on my stomach look like the flames of hell are reaching out to get me.
5. Your stomach. I've heard the "deflated balloon" reference more than once. I prefer the "guy who likes to make his belly button talk on his 50-year old beer belly" reference. It's a lot closer to reality. A deflated balloon actually gets pretty flat once it deflates. My belly is nowhere close to flat. Now, I don't actually go around "talking" with my belly button, but I could, and if I did, and you were drunk, you'd think it was hysterical.
6. Hemorrhoids - they're not just for pregnancy anymore! And let's just say, I have a close, oh-too-personal relationship with that statement. And it's one I hope to NEVER repeat again. Shudder.
And finally...
Here it is folks. The big one. The one NO ONE speaks of. What could it be? Steel yourselves. I'm going where no mother has gone before.
7. Post-partum poop. That's right - poop. No one will tell you this, but the code of silence MUST be broken. The first poop you take after you have a baby is quite possibly, quite literally, quite unimaginably - AS PAINFUL AS LABOR. That's right. You heard it here first. And do you know why it's so bad? Because no one warns you about it! And do you know why else it's so bad? Because while when you're in labor, you have this lovely little hormone your body releases so you don't actually remember the pain of labor. Yeah, well, your ass doesn't come with that lovely little hormone. Neither does it come with the ability to stretch to 10 centimeters, which is what you will feel like you both need and deserve as you sit on the toilet, crying and begging for it to JUST STOP! I know it's an ugly topic, but it must be said people. And please, if you know a pregnant woman, especially one who's pregnant for the first time - do the poor woman a solid and tell her about the first poop. She'll thank you later.
So, there you have it...some of the blissful moments that accompany you through your post-partum journey. A form of birth control in it's own right.
Being pregnant puts your body through its paces. Crazy things happen. Your hair stops falling out. You might get stretch marks. You may put on an obscene amount of weight. You crave strange foods. Your hormones rage out of control.
But what about after pregnancy? Well, after pregnancy, there are dirty little secrets that mothers forget to tell each other.
1. Your hair starts falling out. It doesn't just "fall" out. Clumps of it stick to your hands when you wash your hair. Your brush is so overwhelmed with excess hair you'd think you just brushed your golden retriever after a long, cold winter. Your bathroom sink and floor looks like a Wooki slept there. And drains are no longer your friends.
2. Your skin can look like you're a 12-year old boy with a penchant for all things greasy. If you were lucky enough to have that "glow" of pregnancy and have the best looking skin of your life, you might catch the downside of that on the post-partum flip side. Or you could be like me and have pregnancy hormones rage war against you on the outside and then post-partum hormones do the exact same thing 40 weeks later. Good time, I tell you. Good times.
3. One post-partum upside: Your boobs look fabulous! Especially first thing in the morning. They put a plastic surgeon's best work to shame. But with this fabulosity, comes a price...to anyone who has a desire to touch the beauties. Because if any hand comes near, it's sure to get slapped faster than a mosquito in July. As good as they look, those suckers are rock hard and they can hurt like hell until they've been deflated properly.
4. Stretch marks. The "war wounds of motherhood". And let me tell you, they look good! I didn't get any with my first, got a few with my second and the third really went for the gold. The marks on my stomach look like the flames of hell are reaching out to get me.
5. Your stomach. I've heard the "deflated balloon" reference more than once. I prefer the "guy who likes to make his belly button talk on his 50-year old beer belly" reference. It's a lot closer to reality. A deflated balloon actually gets pretty flat once it deflates. My belly is nowhere close to flat. Now, I don't actually go around "talking" with my belly button, but I could, and if I did, and you were drunk, you'd think it was hysterical.
6. Hemorrhoids - they're not just for pregnancy anymore! And let's just say, I have a close, oh-too-personal relationship with that statement. And it's one I hope to NEVER repeat again. Shudder.
And finally...
Here it is folks. The big one. The one NO ONE speaks of. What could it be? Steel yourselves. I'm going where no mother has gone before.
7. Post-partum poop. That's right - poop. No one will tell you this, but the code of silence MUST be broken. The first poop you take after you have a baby is quite possibly, quite literally, quite unimaginably - AS PAINFUL AS LABOR. That's right. You heard it here first. And do you know why it's so bad? Because no one warns you about it! And do you know why else it's so bad? Because while when you're in labor, you have this lovely little hormone your body releases so you don't actually remember the pain of labor. Yeah, well, your ass doesn't come with that lovely little hormone. Neither does it come with the ability to stretch to 10 centimeters, which is what you will feel like you both need and deserve as you sit on the toilet, crying and begging for it to JUST STOP! I know it's an ugly topic, but it must be said people. And please, if you know a pregnant woman, especially one who's pregnant for the first time - do the poor woman a solid and tell her about the first poop. She'll thank you later.
So, there you have it...some of the blissful moments that accompany you through your post-partum journey. A form of birth control in it's own right.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
She Who Laughs Last
My husband leaves tomorrow for Oklahoma (Oklahoma, Oklahoma, Oklahoma - have you ever seen Dirty Rotten Scoundrels?). He's leaving for 5 days and leaving me behind with 3 children under the age of 4, 1 dog and 2 cats. Needless to say, I'm a little nervous about being completely overwhelmed.
So, in order to cheer myself up a bit, I made myself a martini and trolled the web for some humorous quotes about motherhood.
Here are a few I came across:
A suburban mother's role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after. ~Peter De Vries
The phrase "working mother" is redundant.
~Jane Sellman
Any mother could perform the jobs of several air traffic controllers with ease.
~Lisa Alther
Now, as always, the most automated appliance in a household is the mother.
~Beverly Jones
There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one."
~Jill Churchill
If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?
~Milton Berle
Experts say you should never hit your children in anger. When is a good time? When you're feeling festive?
-Roseanne
My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.
-Mark Twain
Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.
-Phyllis Diller
I figure that if the children are alive when I get home, I've done my job.
-Roseanne
Children seldom misquote you. They more often repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said.
-Mae Maloo
My mother's great. She has the major looks. She could stop you from doing anything, through a closed door even, with a single look. Without saying a word, she has that power to rip out your tonsils.
-Whoopi Goldberg
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there's a wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.
-Erma Bombeck
Wish me luck people. It could be a long week.
So, in order to cheer myself up a bit, I made myself a martini and trolled the web for some humorous quotes about motherhood.
Here are a few I came across:
A suburban mother's role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after. ~Peter De Vries
The phrase "working mother" is redundant.
~Jane Sellman
Any mother could perform the jobs of several air traffic controllers with ease.
~Lisa Alther
Now, as always, the most automated appliance in a household is the mother.
~Beverly Jones
There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one."
~Jill Churchill
If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?
~Milton Berle
Experts say you should never hit your children in anger. When is a good time? When you're feeling festive?
-Roseanne
My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.
-Mark Twain
Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the walk before it stops snowing.
-Phyllis Diller
I figure that if the children are alive when I get home, I've done my job.
-Roseanne
Children seldom misquote you. They more often repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said.
-Mae Maloo
My mother's great. She has the major looks. She could stop you from doing anything, through a closed door even, with a single look. Without saying a word, she has that power to rip out your tonsils.
-Whoopi Goldberg
No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there's a wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.
-Erma Bombeck
Wish me luck people. It could be a long week.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Superwoman's Got Nothing on Her
I'm tired today. We had a birthday party today, Easter preparations to make, we've got 3 places to visit tomorrow for Easter, a ridiculously busy week next week and my husband will be out of town all week. With that in mind, I've decided to cheat today. Technically, I'm still blogging, and I am writing this (rather weak) paragraph, so in my mind, it still counts toward my 30 days. But the girls are in bed, my husband and baby are waiting for me on the couch, so I'm going to take advantage of that tonight, rather try and rack my brain for a topic.
In lieu of me finding something sassy to say, I offer you an entry from another mom's blog, also on the Superwoman topic. I think you'll find the level of sass and honesty on par with what I usually dish.
Enjoy!
http://www.postpartumpr.com/?p=390
In lieu of me finding something sassy to say, I offer you an entry from another mom's blog, also on the Superwoman topic. I think you'll find the level of sass and honesty on par with what I usually dish.
Enjoy!
http://www.postpartumpr.com/?p=390
Friday, April 2, 2010
Operation Superwoman
While trolling through Facebook updates this morning, I came across a friend's post. The mother of three mentioned something about Operation Superwoman being thwarted today and the fact that she's always the last to realize that no one actually expects her to do everything, even if she expects it of herself.
Ok, moms, let's all do ourselves a solid and ban the word "superwoman" from our vocabulary, shall we? And I suggest this for several reasons:
1. We don't have the ability to leap tall buildings.
2. We do not have magical wristbands.
3. Most of us would prefer not to have to run around all day in a strapless leotard and knee high boots
4. 80s hair and makeup is just so out.
Now, something seems to happen when a child enters a woman's daily existence. My children are biological, but I'm assuming women who adopt experience a similar phenomenon. When a child enters the picture, something springs forth in the woman's brain (it's akin to a rusty, tetanus-causing wire) and causes her to become mentally unstable in the following manner:
She feels the need to do everything. Not only does she feel the need to do everything, but she feels the need to do it the "right" way.
I've fallen prey to this mindset. Time and time again. For me, it happens most egregiously when we're having guests over to our house for an event. Birthday parties are the prime culprit. I spend all this time planning for the perfect party, I plan the menu, I cook, I clean, I shop, I look for the perfect present, buy the perfect new outfit for the birthday child. And when the day arrives, I'm so stressed out I've barely slept for 3 nights, I'm completely off task, my to do list is still a mile long, the kids are cranky, I snap at my husband and he goes off to clean the garage (where NO ONE from the party will be). By the time guests arrive, I'm a shaking glob of goo in desperate need of a drink.
And what do the party goers see?
They see good food, happy kids, a cake the birthday kid picked out and adores, a pile of presents and, in general, a good time.
We've had 5 children's birthday parties in my house and the same thing happens every time. And every time, as I collapse in a heap on the couch, after the last guest has left, my husband puts the kids to bed, comes downstairs, hands me a glass of wine, rubs my legs and tells me it was a great party and everyone had a great time. I agree with this statement wholeheartedly, because once the food was on the table and people started eating, my shoulders began to relax, my jaw unclenched and I realized my birthday kid was having fun. And as I lay on the couch, barely conscious, I promise myself that the next party will be better, that I will relax and go with the flow more, that I will ask for some more help, that I will provide specific instructions to people instead of expecting them to hear the commands in my head, that I won't stress.
It hasn't happened yet, but there's always next year. Until then, I'm going to try and keep "Operation Superwoman" a funny joke in my head.
I suggest you try and do the same.
Ok, moms, let's all do ourselves a solid and ban the word "superwoman" from our vocabulary, shall we? And I suggest this for several reasons:
1. We don't have the ability to leap tall buildings.
2. We do not have magical wristbands.
3. Most of us would prefer not to have to run around all day in a strapless leotard and knee high boots
4. 80s hair and makeup is just so out.
Now, something seems to happen when a child enters a woman's daily existence. My children are biological, but I'm assuming women who adopt experience a similar phenomenon. When a child enters the picture, something springs forth in the woman's brain (it's akin to a rusty, tetanus-causing wire) and causes her to become mentally unstable in the following manner:
She feels the need to do everything. Not only does she feel the need to do everything, but she feels the need to do it the "right" way.
I've fallen prey to this mindset. Time and time again. For me, it happens most egregiously when we're having guests over to our house for an event. Birthday parties are the prime culprit. I spend all this time planning for the perfect party, I plan the menu, I cook, I clean, I shop, I look for the perfect present, buy the perfect new outfit for the birthday child. And when the day arrives, I'm so stressed out I've barely slept for 3 nights, I'm completely off task, my to do list is still a mile long, the kids are cranky, I snap at my husband and he goes off to clean the garage (where NO ONE from the party will be). By the time guests arrive, I'm a shaking glob of goo in desperate need of a drink.
And what do the party goers see?
They see good food, happy kids, a cake the birthday kid picked out and adores, a pile of presents and, in general, a good time.
We've had 5 children's birthday parties in my house and the same thing happens every time. And every time, as I collapse in a heap on the couch, after the last guest has left, my husband puts the kids to bed, comes downstairs, hands me a glass of wine, rubs my legs and tells me it was a great party and everyone had a great time. I agree with this statement wholeheartedly, because once the food was on the table and people started eating, my shoulders began to relax, my jaw unclenched and I realized my birthday kid was having fun. And as I lay on the couch, barely conscious, I promise myself that the next party will be better, that I will relax and go with the flow more, that I will ask for some more help, that I will provide specific instructions to people instead of expecting them to hear the commands in my head, that I won't stress.
It hasn't happened yet, but there's always next year. Until then, I'm going to try and keep "Operation Superwoman" a funny joke in my head.
I suggest you try and do the same.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Filters
In honor of April Fool's Day, I thought I would compile a little list of the silly, crazy, goofy things kids do that adults (hopefully) do not. Children are born without filters; they learn to start disseminating thoughts from actions at some point in their lives, but my kids haven't reached that point quite yet. So, I get to be constantly amazed, shocked and awed by what spews from their mouths. Take for example:
1. Every morning, my 3-year old announces the color of her underwear...and then proceeds to show them to me.
2. They have no issue sticking their fingers in their noses. As my youngest daughter puts it, "I got some schmutz in there."
3. They announce, quite loudly, "I POOPED!" And then they expect you to clap.
4. They leave the bathroom door wide open. As my oldest puts it, "I don't need any privacy." And lord help you if you try and shut that door, because you'll never have the same hearing capabilities again.
5. They giggle hysterically when they toot...and really, shouldn't we all? I mean, really, who doesn't laugh at fart humor?
6. They pick out clothes that don't even come close to matching...and wear them with pride. Because if there's a kitty on an orange striped shirt and a kitty on a pair of purple polka dot pants and purple hearts on the pink socks, then really, they do all match...somehow.
7. They tell jokes like: Why did the chicken sit on the eggs? Because he didn't have a chair!
8. They'll tell the same joke (see above) over and over and over...and still laugh just as hard as the first time.
9. They insist on doing their own hair...and the barrettes end up attached to exactly 3 strands of hair on the very top of their heads...for approximately 12 minutes...on a good day.
10. They say things like, "My bottom's itchy" while really digging in for a good scratch.
Just a few goofy things kids (or maybe it's just my kids) do on a minute to minute basis. Humor people, it's all about the humor. Happy April Fool's Day!
1. Every morning, my 3-year old announces the color of her underwear...and then proceeds to show them to me.
2. They have no issue sticking their fingers in their noses. As my youngest daughter puts it, "I got some schmutz in there."
3. They announce, quite loudly, "I POOPED!" And then they expect you to clap.
4. They leave the bathroom door wide open. As my oldest puts it, "I don't need any privacy." And lord help you if you try and shut that door, because you'll never have the same hearing capabilities again.
5. They giggle hysterically when they toot...and really, shouldn't we all? I mean, really, who doesn't laugh at fart humor?
6. They pick out clothes that don't even come close to matching...and wear them with pride. Because if there's a kitty on an orange striped shirt and a kitty on a pair of purple polka dot pants and purple hearts on the pink socks, then really, they do all match...somehow.
7. They tell jokes like: Why did the chicken sit on the eggs? Because he didn't have a chair!
8. They'll tell the same joke (see above) over and over and over...and still laugh just as hard as the first time.
9. They insist on doing their own hair...and the barrettes end up attached to exactly 3 strands of hair on the very top of their heads...for approximately 12 minutes...on a good day.
10. They say things like, "My bottom's itchy" while really digging in for a good scratch.
Just a few goofy things kids (or maybe it's just my kids) do on a minute to minute basis. Humor people, it's all about the humor. Happy April Fool's Day!
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