Sipping wine between folding towels and onesies at 9:00 at night.
Squatting on a public bathroom floor with a baby on your hip as you hoist a toddler onto the toilet.
Letting your child wear her shoes on the wrong feet to have one less battle to fight today.
Going to Target on a Friday night as your "Mom's Night Out."
Changing your sheets at midnight because your 4-year old had crept into your bed and then peed all over it in his sleep.
Then sleeping in his bed because he is taking up all of your side in your bed. (Daddy still manages to command his entire half.)
Desperately needing a break from your kids only to text babysitter in 30-minute intervals to find out every specific detail about feeding, bedtime, pooping, etc.
For dinner, eating 3 bites of macaroni and cheese, one half of a cold meatball and 6 carrot sticks (a.k.a. whatever was left on their plates).
Wearing a green macaroni necklace all day doing errands.
Pinning projects on Pinterest that will never get done. Spending hours creating different boards for said pins but never taking the time to actually do the projects.
Justifying going out without showering because you will "probably work out later." You won't.
Finding a Cheerio on the floor and eating it because that is easier than getting up and bringing it to the garbage.
Shutting your irrational and exhausting toddler in her room for bed after 8 tantrums since dinner. Then creeping back up there 20 minutes later hoping she is still awake so you can give her a kiss and tell her you love her. Then feeling horribly guilty because she is already asleep. Waiting for the morning to start fresh with positive love-filled parenting. In morning, fighting with her 12 times before 9 am. Wishing for bedtime. Repeating cycle.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
Mommy's echo
We all know that kids copy what we say. My son has been caught saying "crap", "shoot" & "dang-it" on a few occasions, all heard from Mommy or Daddy. These are easy situations to address. Mommy and Daddy are sorry. We should not say those words and neither should you. Done.
Well I am still waiting for my chapter of Parenting 101 to arrive in the mail regarding this next one. The following statements have been turned around on me and repeated VERBATIM by my 4-year old son:
"Mom, I shouldn't have to ask you several times to get me a snack." (Mommy often says, "I shouldn't have to ask you several times to get your shoes on, get dressed, brush your teeth", etc.)
"Mom, just once can you say 'ok' when I ask you to do something and just do it?" (He often hears Mommy say this when he is resisting doing a chore, etc. He used this statement to express his frustration that I was unavailable to play Legos with him because I was cooking dinner.)
And from my 2-year old daughter, whom I asked to keep an eye on her baby brother while I ran to the bathroom. Her response? "We'll see, Mom."
Well I am still waiting for my chapter of Parenting 101 to arrive in the mail regarding this next one. The following statements have been turned around on me and repeated VERBATIM by my 4-year old son:
"Mom, I shouldn't have to ask you several times to get me a snack." (Mommy often says, "I shouldn't have to ask you several times to get your shoes on, get dressed, brush your teeth", etc.)
"Mom, just once can you say 'ok' when I ask you to do something and just do it?" (He often hears Mommy say this when he is resisting doing a chore, etc. He used this statement to express his frustration that I was unavailable to play Legos with him because I was cooking dinner.)
And from my 2-year old daughter, whom I asked to keep an eye on her baby brother while I ran to the bathroom. Her response? "We'll see, Mom."
Worried about Mommy's wine
Earlier in the day, I had mentioned that I needed to buy a bottle of wine. It was MNO (Moms' Night Out) at a friend's house and I had offered to bring a beverage. Fast forward a few hours.
Sitting at the pediatrician's office pharmacy waiting for a prescription, my son notices a vending machine.
"Mom, do you want to get something out of that machine?"
"No, honey. I am ok. Thanks though."
"But it has bottles in it. See the picture on the front?"
"Um, ok....?? What do you think Mommy needs?"
"You need to get a bottle of wine for yourself. I bet they have them in that machine. You don't want to forget!"
Multiple heads turn (many belonging to doctors and nurses -- the rest belonging to other parents).
Thank you, son, for making everyone in this room think I am the kind of mother who would buy wine out of a vending machine. (How amazing would it be to be though to able to buy wine out of a vending machine?!)
I had already purchased said wine earlier in the day without him knowing (apparently) so I thanked him for his concern but informed him that Mommy was all set.
Sitting at the pediatrician's office pharmacy waiting for a prescription, my son notices a vending machine.
"Mom, do you want to get something out of that machine?"
"No, honey. I am ok. Thanks though."
"But it has bottles in it. See the picture on the front?"
"Um, ok....?? What do you think Mommy needs?"
"You need to get a bottle of wine for yourself. I bet they have them in that machine. You don't want to forget!"
Multiple heads turn (many belonging to doctors and nurses -- the rest belonging to other parents).
Thank you, son, for making everyone in this room think I am the kind of mother who would buy wine out of a vending machine. (How amazing would it be to be though to able to buy wine out of a vending machine?!)
I had already purchased said wine earlier in the day without him knowing (apparently) so I thanked him for his concern but informed him that Mommy was all set.
"Mommies don't work."
Working moms vs. Stay at home moms... Aaah, this old debate again? Working moms get to shop at Ann Taylor and experience something called a "lunch hour"! SAHMs get their own acronym and don't have to iron! Ever!
As a SAHM, I also enjoy the generally happy faces of approval that society grants me. I notice this particularly at the pediatrician's office, when the nurse asks if my child attends daycare. I reply "no" and usually I am met with a sigh of relief. One nurse even snuck in an "oh, good." What, I wonder, do you say to working moms who reply "yes" to that question?!
Well mommies, here's a doozy for you. Tonight at the dinner table, the following conversation happened:
My 4-year old son told my 2-year old daughter: "When you grow up, you will be a mommy."
Her reply: "I want to be a lawyer like daddy."
My son then said, "Only boys can be lawyers."
Punch. In. The. Gut.
To add salt to the wound, my daughter followed up with, "Yeah. Mommies don't work."
Double punch. I wanted to crawl under the table into a ball. But I didn't. I saw an opportunity here to educate both of my children about mommies and daddies and work and careers and equality and... and... And I think they eventually tuned me out.
My kids do not know that I earned both my undergraduate and graduate degrees, worked for 7 years, and supported my husband and paid the rent through his law school. Their Mommy wears a ponytail every day, buys animal crackers for this week's play date, and picks up Daddy's dry cleaning.
I do try very hard to set a good example for all of my children, but particularly for my daughter as I am her female role model. I tell her that Mommy exercises to get stronger, in order foster positive body image. She cheers me on during my work outs, saying "You are getting stronger, Mommy!" I tell her that she and I have girl power that helps us be brave and strong and fight our fears. I read with her, and each of us gets our own books at the library -- including "big grown up books" for Mommy. I know these are all good examples for her to see. But at 2 years old, all she knows is a daddy who wears nice clothes and goes to work, sometimes on "airplane trips" to be a lawyer. And Mommy stays home with her, brings her to the grocery store, cooks dinner, cleans the house, does the laundry... you know the list.
And I have told her many times that she can be anything she wants to be. Of course I would love for her to be a mommy, a SAHM if she chooses. But I DEFINITELY want her to have a career, a passion, something for herself that sucks us dry financially for 4-10 years of schooling.
Hearing these words hurt. A lot. However, I have to remind myself that I may not show her a mommy who goes off to work every day in an office like Daddy does, but I do show her a mommy who does her best. Who works hard. Who sacrifices. Who misses working but treasures her time at home. Who made a choice. And who should probably wear comfy pants less often.
As a SAHM, I also enjoy the generally happy faces of approval that society grants me. I notice this particularly at the pediatrician's office, when the nurse asks if my child attends daycare. I reply "no" and usually I am met with a sigh of relief. One nurse even snuck in an "oh, good." What, I wonder, do you say to working moms who reply "yes" to that question?!
Well mommies, here's a doozy for you. Tonight at the dinner table, the following conversation happened:
My 4-year old son told my 2-year old daughter: "When you grow up, you will be a mommy."
Her reply: "I want to be a lawyer like daddy."
My son then said, "Only boys can be lawyers."
Punch. In. The. Gut.
To add salt to the wound, my daughter followed up with, "Yeah. Mommies don't work."
Double punch. I wanted to crawl under the table into a ball. But I didn't. I saw an opportunity here to educate both of my children about mommies and daddies and work and careers and equality and... and... And I think they eventually tuned me out.
My kids do not know that I earned both my undergraduate and graduate degrees, worked for 7 years, and supported my husband and paid the rent through his law school. Their Mommy wears a ponytail every day, buys animal crackers for this week's play date, and picks up Daddy's dry cleaning.
I do try very hard to set a good example for all of my children, but particularly for my daughter as I am her female role model. I tell her that Mommy exercises to get stronger, in order foster positive body image. She cheers me on during my work outs, saying "You are getting stronger, Mommy!" I tell her that she and I have girl power that helps us be brave and strong and fight our fears. I read with her, and each of us gets our own books at the library -- including "big grown up books" for Mommy. I know these are all good examples for her to see. But at 2 years old, all she knows is a daddy who wears nice clothes and goes to work, sometimes on "airplane trips" to be a lawyer. And Mommy stays home with her, brings her to the grocery store, cooks dinner, cleans the house, does the laundry... you know the list.
And I have told her many times that she can be anything she wants to be. Of course I would love for her to be a mommy, a SAHM if she chooses. But I DEFINITELY want her to have a career, a passion, something for herself that sucks us dry financially for 4-10 years of schooling.
Hearing these words hurt. A lot. However, I have to remind myself that I may not show her a mommy who goes off to work every day in an office like Daddy does, but I do show her a mommy who does her best. Who works hard. Who sacrifices. Who misses working but treasures her time at home. Who made a choice. And who should probably wear comfy pants less often.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The orange bird
I have 3 kids, and my 2-year old daughter is at the height (or what I pray is the height) of the terrible twos. She is irrational, emotional, defiant, and melts down over the most inane reasons. Over the course of today, there have been more tantrums than I can count, but here are a few highlights that culminate with the story of the orange bird.
Meltdown #1 this morning: Over her request to have a drink on the couch in a cup with no lid. Denied. This has never been allowed so I am not sure why she thought there was a chance. She is 2 years old.
Meltdown #2 later in the morning: One of the candles on her play cake is missing. No one knows where it is. This is the end of the world.
Meltdown #3 this afternoon: We are out of yellow popsicles. Also, the end of the world.
Meltdown #4 this evening: Mommy gave her the wrong Hello Kitty cup with dinner. Not the light pink Hello Kitty cup! The dark pink one!! Catastrophe!
Well you can imagine that bedtime could NOT come soon enough. The hubs had to work late so after this A+ day of parenting, Mommy was on her own at bedtime. Oldest kid: easy. 4 years old, totally gets that Mommy is on the brink of losing it, cooperates and pretty much puts himself to bed. Youngest kid is a 21 lb. 6-month old. Despite his size, he too is an easy kid these days -- especially compared to M.C. ("Middle Child" -- don't judge me). But by bedtime, the baby is tired and hungry.
Mommy desperately wants this day of horribleness to end and in order to do that, Miss Irrational needs me to meet her list of demands. They are as follows:
-Read story. One more. Just one more Mommy. NOOOO! One more!
-Water. More water. Just one more sip of water. MORE WATER!
-White bear. Not THAT white bear. The white bear with the pink ribbon!
Just when I think we are done, she then asks for orange bird. Orange bird is a 2-inch tall plastic bird. He is completely random and I have no idea where he came from. By this point in the night, my 6-month old is VERY tired and hungry and is clawing at my shirt trying desperately to find a nipple. I attempt to say, "No. You already have several friends in your bed. You can see orange bird in the morning." (Not only am I tired of giving in to her ridiculous demands, but also, I have NO IDEA where the frick orange bird is.) Obviously, this is received well.
"NOOOO! I NEED ORANGE BIRD!"
Carrying my ginormous tired and hungry baby downstairs, I begin the search for orange bird. After scouring the disaster that is my playroom, I miraculously find it. (In a pot, in her play kitchen. Obviously.) Okay! This is it! I go all the way back upstairs, carting hulk-baby on my hip, and enter her room.
"Look who I found!" I put orange bird next to her in the bed.
"No, I don't want it in my bed. Orange bird needs to sleep over there. On the shelf."
(In my head): "Are you f-ing kidding me?" And good night.
Meltdown #1 this morning: Over her request to have a drink on the couch in a cup with no lid. Denied. This has never been allowed so I am not sure why she thought there was a chance. She is 2 years old.
Meltdown #2 later in the morning: One of the candles on her play cake is missing. No one knows where it is. This is the end of the world.
Meltdown #3 this afternoon: We are out of yellow popsicles. Also, the end of the world.
Meltdown #4 this evening: Mommy gave her the wrong Hello Kitty cup with dinner. Not the light pink Hello Kitty cup! The dark pink one!! Catastrophe!
Well you can imagine that bedtime could NOT come soon enough. The hubs had to work late so after this A+ day of parenting, Mommy was on her own at bedtime. Oldest kid: easy. 4 years old, totally gets that Mommy is on the brink of losing it, cooperates and pretty much puts himself to bed. Youngest kid is a 21 lb. 6-month old. Despite his size, he too is an easy kid these days -- especially compared to M.C. ("Middle Child" -- don't judge me). But by bedtime, the baby is tired and hungry.
Mommy desperately wants this day of horribleness to end and in order to do that, Miss Irrational needs me to meet her list of demands. They are as follows:
-Read story. One more. Just one more Mommy. NOOOO! One more!
-Water. More water. Just one more sip of water. MORE WATER!
-White bear. Not THAT white bear. The white bear with the pink ribbon!
Just when I think we are done, she then asks for orange bird. Orange bird is a 2-inch tall plastic bird. He is completely random and I have no idea where he came from. By this point in the night, my 6-month old is VERY tired and hungry and is clawing at my shirt trying desperately to find a nipple. I attempt to say, "No. You already have several friends in your bed. You can see orange bird in the morning." (Not only am I tired of giving in to her ridiculous demands, but also, I have NO IDEA where the frick orange bird is.) Obviously, this is received well.
"NOOOO! I NEED ORANGE BIRD!"
Carrying my ginormous tired and hungry baby downstairs, I begin the search for orange bird. After scouring the disaster that is my playroom, I miraculously find it. (In a pot, in her play kitchen. Obviously.) Okay! This is it! I go all the way back upstairs, carting hulk-baby on my hip, and enter her room.
"Look who I found!" I put orange bird next to her in the bed.
"No, I don't want it in my bed. Orange bird needs to sleep over there. On the shelf."
(In my head): "Are you f-ing kidding me?" And good night.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
The scariest spider ever
If you know me personally, you may know of my severe arachnophobia. An encounter with a spider = shaking, nausea, inability to concentrate on anything else, and likely nightmares for days. Especially the ginormous ones in the somewhat southern state in which I live. Upon moving into our house, I had signed up for pest control and pledged hundreds of dollars per year via my credit card before the 3rd box was unpacked.
Today while playing with the kids, I happened to glance into a vent in the floor and saw my worst fear. A huge hairy wolf spider just sitting there waiting to terrorize me. Fortunately, my 4 year old son is not afraid of any bugs and usually takes care of them for me. However, I did not want this thing in my kitchen so I would not let him take out the vent. I thought (prayed) it might be dead but to verify, I had him throw baseballs at the vent to see if it moved. This was exciting for him on multiple levels -- not only was he mommy's hero but he was allowed to throw a baseball! In the house?!
It did not move. Okay, must be dead. Now how to dispose of the carcass...
Pest control was already scheduled to come today to deal with the bees outside. (This would have been a much better story if they came out SOLELY to deal with the spider... You'll see why in a minute.) So after the technicican knocked down our nests and sprayed outside, I asked him to come inside, take out our vent, and dispose of the terrifying arachnid giving me an ulcer. So he put his paper shoe covers on and entered my living room. He lifted the vent while I stood 20 feet away in horror.
To my surprise, he said, "The spider must have gone back down the air duct."
What?! It was ALIVE?! I tiptoed closer to peer over his shoulder and saw it! It was right there in front of him!
"That right there! You don't see it?!"
He then proceeded to pick up the "spider", show it to me, and say, "Ma'am, this is a piece of lint."
Today while playing with the kids, I happened to glance into a vent in the floor and saw my worst fear. A huge hairy wolf spider just sitting there waiting to terrorize me. Fortunately, my 4 year old son is not afraid of any bugs and usually takes care of them for me. However, I did not want this thing in my kitchen so I would not let him take out the vent. I thought (prayed) it might be dead but to verify, I had him throw baseballs at the vent to see if it moved. This was exciting for him on multiple levels -- not only was he mommy's hero but he was allowed to throw a baseball! In the house?!
It did not move. Okay, must be dead. Now how to dispose of the carcass...
Pest control was already scheduled to come today to deal with the bees outside. (This would have been a much better story if they came out SOLELY to deal with the spider... You'll see why in a minute.) So after the technicican knocked down our nests and sprayed outside, I asked him to come inside, take out our vent, and dispose of the terrifying arachnid giving me an ulcer. So he put his paper shoe covers on and entered my living room. He lifted the vent while I stood 20 feet away in horror.
To my surprise, he said, "The spider must have gone back down the air duct."
What?! It was ALIVE?! I tiptoed closer to peer over his shoulder and saw it! It was right there in front of him!
"That right there! You don't see it?!"
He then proceeded to pick up the "spider", show it to me, and say, "Ma'am, this is a piece of lint."
Sunday, July 7, 2013
A familiar road
I began writing this blog when my eldest son was 2 and my daughter was an infant. I was adjusting to life with 2 kids as well as learning how to potty-train a toddler. Thus, many (most) of my posts were pee / poop related. There were just. so. many. stories to tell.
Well that little infant is a full blown 2-year old now in the throws of potty-training herself. (By the way, we DID finally get our son potty-trained. It only took a measly 15 months start to finish.) And we have a new infant in the house -- a 19 lb. 4-month old who loves to be held. A lot.
I don't have as much time to blog as I used to so there are a lot of new potty-training stories that will unfortunately have to be omitted. But this latest one is a real winner so I made myself find time to sit down and write.
My uterus is officially retiring so we are beginning the baby purge as our little (enormous) guy grows out of things and therefore held a baby stuff garage sale. I was outside manning the tables and money; the big kids were playing nicely inside. Not fighting, miraculously. I was thrilled. It was a nice break being outside in the fresh air without them pantsing me, fighting over the last red popsicle, or bringing me bugs. However, after not having any child visitors for a curious amount of time, I popped inside to check on them. They were both laying on the playroom floor -- one on the computer, the other on the LeapPad. I immediately noticed a large circular stain on my daughter's bottom (as she was laying on her stomach). She looked up and said, "I peed." Um, no. The stain was brown. Oh shit. Yes, pun intended.
I whisked her to the bathroom as quickly as possible. It was as a bad as I had prayed it wouldn't be. Worse.
Underwear: garbage.
Shorts: garbage.
After cleaning her up, as well as the floor and well, pretty much the entire bathroom, I headed back to the playroom to check on the status of the carpet in there. Walking through the kitchen, I slipped and almost fell on my butt. What...is....that??!! Yep, some diarrhea poop had fallen out of her clothes onto my kitchen floor, and yep, I just slipped in it.
Flip-flops: garbage.
Well that little infant is a full blown 2-year old now in the throws of potty-training herself. (By the way, we DID finally get our son potty-trained. It only took a measly 15 months start to finish.) And we have a new infant in the house -- a 19 lb. 4-month old who loves to be held. A lot.
I don't have as much time to blog as I used to so there are a lot of new potty-training stories that will unfortunately have to be omitted. But this latest one is a real winner so I made myself find time to sit down and write.
My uterus is officially retiring so we are beginning the baby purge as our little (enormous) guy grows out of things and therefore held a baby stuff garage sale. I was outside manning the tables and money; the big kids were playing nicely inside. Not fighting, miraculously. I was thrilled. It was a nice break being outside in the fresh air without them pantsing me, fighting over the last red popsicle, or bringing me bugs. However, after not having any child visitors for a curious amount of time, I popped inside to check on them. They were both laying on the playroom floor -- one on the computer, the other on the LeapPad. I immediately noticed a large circular stain on my daughter's bottom (as she was laying on her stomach). She looked up and said, "I peed." Um, no. The stain was brown. Oh shit. Yes, pun intended.
I whisked her to the bathroom as quickly as possible. It was as a bad as I had prayed it wouldn't be. Worse.
Underwear: garbage.
Shorts: garbage.
After cleaning her up, as well as the floor and well, pretty much the entire bathroom, I headed back to the playroom to check on the status of the carpet in there. Walking through the kitchen, I slipped and almost fell on my butt. What...is....that??!! Yep, some diarrhea poop had fallen out of her clothes onto my kitchen floor, and yep, I just slipped in it.
Flip-flops: garbage.
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