Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Seriously, world??

Angry tirade in response to an issue popping up in the news a lot lately:

Do you know what is easy about being a mother? Not much. Is it amazing and truly the most important role I will ever serve in my life? Absolutely. Will I be a mother until the day I die? Yes, in every way.


Was it easy to grow a human inside my uterus and have him kick and punch the you-know-what out of my ribs until 41 weeks? No.

Was it easy to endure 24 hours of labor and then push for 90 minutes until my 9 lb son emerged? No.

Was it easy to run around after my toddler son while enormous child #2 grew and grew until she, also at 9 lbs, entered the world at 41 weeks? No.

Was it easy to recover from both of these births? (I don't need to add the gory details -- most of you reading this are mothers and know what a trauma this is.)

Was it easy to have a child bite, claw, punch, and kick his way to my nipple every 13 seconds for the first 8 weeks of his life? Um, no.

Was it easy to deal with a jealous 2-year old while trying to protect, feed, bathe, and clothe his younger sister? No! Did it drive me to drink? Yes.

Was it easy to time errands around feedings and the fear of the dreaded leaky boob? No.

Yet, somehow, there were days when I was able to drag my sorry un-showered, puked on, milk-filled self out into the world when my kids were babies. And you can be damn sure that when one of them wanted to eat, I parked myself wherever I could to provide their breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snack. And 100% of the time, Mommy was the food source. If I have to expose my 3-year old son to 12 foot tall Victoria Secret models thrusting their breasts forward in his face while walking through the mall, then the world can deal with us mommies feeding our babies WHEREVER we want WHENEVER they need it.

Seriously, world?? We breastfeed our kids!! Always have, always will. It is actually natural and normal -- not words used to describe Heidi Klum's body leering over us as we Christmas shop.

Friday, August 17, 2012


My husband and I had a discussion this morning about the use of the word "fancy."

Me: "You can bring a roast beef sandwich or soup for lunch" (as he is getting ready for work).
Him: "I don't need a lunch. I am going out to lunch with (co-worker)."
Me, in a jovially sarcastic tone: "Right. Have fun at your fancy lunch."
Him: "It is so funny to me that you think the places I go for lunch are fancy."
Me: "Well, are there children on your lap putting noodles in their hair?"
Him: "No."
Me: "Do you need to request crayons and a sippy cup with a lid from the waiter?"
Him: "No."
Me: "Can you order whatever you want, not just eat the rest of the kids' meals that they won't eat?"
Him: "Yep."

And finally, me: "Are you out of the house, sitting at a table with food and another grown-up, talking about real grown-up topics?"

Him: "Yeah..."

Me: "FANCY."

6 a.m. questions for Mommy

This morning I watched some anti-hunting propaganda with my 3-year old that led to many questions this Mommy struggled to answer. You may have heard of this heavy program. It is called Bambi.

We have chosen to shield our son from guns to the best of our ability -- he has one toy water gun (which we call a water-shooter). I myself am terrified of the nature of guns, but we are a meat-eating family, and my husband is quite an outdoorsman and will probably hunt for sport at some point, potentially with our son (when he is 36 years old and Mommy finally acquiesces.)

These contradictions within our family led me to think that watching Bambi might actually be an ok idea. Our 3-year old needs to learn about some realities of life covered in this Disney classic -- like making babies and going to heaven.

Due to the barrage of gun-shots in the background, some deer fighting, a wild fire, and all the animals making googly-eyes at each other and producing babies in the next scene, there were some questions.

"Where did Bambi's mommy go?"
"Why did she go to heaven?"
"Why are the boy deer fighting?"
"Where did the mean boy deer go?"
"Where did all these babies come from?"
"How did Bambi and Feline make their babies?'

And, the most pointed question asked at the end due to a new-found obsession of his:

"Mommy, do any of the characters in this movie have a silent letter in their names?"

Monday, August 6, 2012

An ode to the 1950s housewife

I do not know how wives of generations past did it. There used to be an expectation, and most wives (including my mother and grandmother) delivered. A hot meal was ready for their husbands as they walked in the door. Most nights my husband, who works very hard and very long hours, walks in around dinnertime to mad chaos. The children are running amuck with BBQ sauce all over their faces and hands. Dinner is not ready, and this is often not for lack of effort. (Sometimes it is -- sometimes I really don't try because why bother?) But many days, I do. Like tonight. I attempted a freshly grilled meal of pork and asparagus, which necessitated me going outside to the back patio periodically to turn the meat and vegetables. While preparing this meal, one or both of my children did the following:

Rip up a library book
Empty my pantry
Hit each other
Pull each other's hair
Chase each other with forks

Needless to say, dinner was not ready when my husband arrived home. I am thankful that I live in 2012 and am married to a man who plays with the kids while I finish dinner and always compliments my cooking once it is finally done. And quite often, on the weekends, he cooks. It is like a mini-vacation.