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.
Friday, April 9, 2010
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!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Too Much Credit
Yesterday, I posted about my friend who was struggling with the comparison between her "perfect" mom and how she views herself. Luckily, I didn't write anything that offended her, but she did make an interesting comment about the post - she told me I gave her too much credit.
And to that I say:
That's crap.
Come on Moms!
And Dads, too. I know I say "moms" all the time, but that's simply because I am one. Please, Dads, know that I speak to you too. Our experiences as parents are different, but based in the same daily happenings.
But I digress.
Come on Moms! We need to support each other here. We need to stand up for each other and cheer each other on! We need to congratulate each other when we do something great with/for our kids. We need to provide a shoulder to cry on when our kids get sick. We need to provide listening, non-judgmental ears for our fellow moms.
But, most importantly:
We need to give credit to ourselves.
We are the only moms our kids will have. And 99.9% of us are doing the best we can. (I don't know if that's an accurate stat or not, but I need to believe it.) Sure, we have our moments. We slip up. We yell. We get frustrated. We cry. We curse. We do all sorts of things, in our momentary lapses, that make us feel like we're bad moms.
But it's the moment to moment things that determine who we are and who are children see. It's the cuddles on the couch; it's the owies we kiss; it's the dirt we scrub out from under fingernails; it's the hair we comb out of eyes; it's the foreheads we kiss to check for fevers; it's the vomit we wipe off ourselves after the kids, once again, fail to get even a drop on themselves; it's the macaroni and cheese we prepare for the ten billionth time; it's the classes we take them to; it's the recitals we watch; it's the specific item we madly search for so our kids can sleep at night.
On a daily, hourly, minute-ly basis, we do all these things.
And if we cannot give ourselves credit for a job well done, then we can't expect anyone else to do it either.
So, Parents, give yourselves some damn credit. Easier said than done, I know. But give it a try and see how it goes. Really, it can only make you feel better.
And to that I say:
That's crap.
Come on Moms!
And Dads, too. I know I say "moms" all the time, but that's simply because I am one. Please, Dads, know that I speak to you too. Our experiences as parents are different, but based in the same daily happenings.
But I digress.
Come on Moms! We need to support each other here. We need to stand up for each other and cheer each other on! We need to congratulate each other when we do something great with/for our kids. We need to provide a shoulder to cry on when our kids get sick. We need to provide listening, non-judgmental ears for our fellow moms.
But, most importantly:
We need to give credit to ourselves.
We are the only moms our kids will have. And 99.9% of us are doing the best we can. (I don't know if that's an accurate stat or not, but I need to believe it.) Sure, we have our moments. We slip up. We yell. We get frustrated. We cry. We curse. We do all sorts of things, in our momentary lapses, that make us feel like we're bad moms.
But it's the moment to moment things that determine who we are and who are children see. It's the cuddles on the couch; it's the owies we kiss; it's the dirt we scrub out from under fingernails; it's the hair we comb out of eyes; it's the foreheads we kiss to check for fevers; it's the vomit we wipe off ourselves after the kids, once again, fail to get even a drop on themselves; it's the macaroni and cheese we prepare for the ten billionth time; it's the classes we take them to; it's the recitals we watch; it's the specific item we madly search for so our kids can sleep at night.
On a daily, hourly, minute-ly basis, we do all these things.
And if we cannot give ourselves credit for a job well done, then we can't expect anyone else to do it either.
So, Parents, give yourselves some damn credit. Easier said than done, I know. But give it a try and see how it goes. Really, it can only make you feel better.
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