parenting — Page 2

Guest Posting as the Mom of the Year During Natural Disasters

August 26, 2013 by amushro

This morning was just like every other morning: my children were awoken from their slumber by their loving mother singing perfectly tuned songs from The Sound of Music. Those lovely babes joined in for the chorus as we baked a wholesome breakfast together and rounded out the morning with a quick hot yoga session. Just kidding, one is still wearing dirty jammies, I forgot to brush the other’s teeth, and I may swing through McDonald’s for breakfast. Mornings like this are exactly why the funny, sweet, and hottie Meredith over at Mom of the Year has bestowed the honor of joining the ranks of her Mom of the Year on little ol’ hot mess me!

I started writing my acceptance speech and perfecting my pageant wave, but then she said I just needed to write a blog. So click right here to be magically transported to her page and imagine me waving and smiling while riding the Mom of the Year float, sigh…

Class reunions, what’s on my Kindle, what’s in my fridge, and what’s on my fridge: Mommy TMI vlog

August 23, 2013 by amushro

Friends, you may need to help me out because I’m a bit woozy from lack of food. You see, my class reunion is right around the corner and I am hoping that what “baby weight” (use this term loosely when the “baby” is two) that isn’t squeezed in by the almighty Spanx, will magically disappear if I eat a lot of Lean Cuisines this week. I was doing well until I baked cookies with the kids. DAM YOU CHOCOLATE CHIPS!!!

This week’s vlog is a magic bag of randomness, but I like it. Be sure to catch the giveaway, book selections, and my super secret recipe below!

Want to enter the giveaway? Then click right here!

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Here are my book selections:

About My Birthday Boy

August 8, 2013 by amushro

Four years ago the world became a better place and not just because the most miserable pregnant woman in the world no longer had a bun in the oven, but because my sweet boy came into this world and made it a little kinder and sweeter.

In celebration of my first born’s birthday, I’ve been thinking about the four short years he’s been hanging around this joint and how it seems like a lifetime of knowing him. After all, he is pretty awesome.

After the obvious announcement of “It’s a boy!” the doctor added “Wow! That is the cleanest baby I’ve ever seen!” Weird thing to say to a brand new Mamma, right? Somehow I thought these words would be some sort of prophesy and I would have the cleanest kid around. Nope, didn’t happen. We should have named that kid Pig-Pen because rarely is there a day when he doesn’t have a chocolate milk mustache or dirt covering some area of his body. Dirtball.

When the doctor laid a tiny, dark hair, dark eyed, olive skinned baby on my chest, I was instantly and madly in love with this little boy. He was perfection. Interesting, I thought, while gazing at his beautiful face, I produce middle eastern children. Hubby’s Lebanese heritage had clearly trumped my own genes.

Turns out the kid was just a little jaundice, and after a few feedings and a couple of good poops, this is who we ended up with. Handsome little devil, huh?

My boy is a hoot! He has a sharp sense of humor and the best comedic timing. His ability to make his Mamma laugh has saved his cute butt from many trips to time out. While it’s clear he is going to be a hit in college, I’m a little nervous about the reasons why. He’s smart, adorable, and funny, plus chicks dig him. But he’s really going to catch the eye of the ladies with his Frank the Tank tendencies.

The kid really loves being naked and rarely walks out of the potty with anything other than socks on his feet. To be honest, his balls have probably touched every surface of this house. Since I’ve already told you that I am a crap housekeeper, and if balls skeeve you out, well, just don’t sit on our couch, OK?

Naked antics aside, he really is the kindest little boy and has such a huge heart. He will cover your face with kisses, tell you he will love your forever 934 times a day (and mean it every. single. time), and gives the best hugs.Not that lame side hug or hugs with hands at his side, but real honest to goodness hugs. Hugs that melt my little black heart because he is a little gem and he is all mine! OK, I shall share him with Hubby (but he’s mostly mine).

He can’t bare to see people hurting or sad. Most Disney movies are banned from our viewing list because the sad parts wreck him for days. He is the first one to offer hugs to a friend in need.

He is a gentle boy with a good, good heart and I when I think about that good heart I just know that some horrible girl is going to break it into a million little pieces. My blood boils because I will be powerless to do anything. Well, I may scratch her eyes out, in my head anyway.

Sometimes I think I ended up with this gentle boy and his kind heart because I was a real creep to the guys I dated a million years ago. Is this karma’s idea of payback?

Maybe karma didn’t count on me being this crazy in love and obsessed with my boy. Is it possible to love your kids too much? Nope…no way. Not when they are this fabulous. So here’s to the most amazing four years with my lovebug and a lifetime more!

Love and Marriage Six Years Later

July 22, 2013 by amushro

This weekend Hubby and I celebrated six years of married bliss, or in reality, six years of love, passive aggressive fights, good times, awesome times, not so awesome times, and just simple life.

Every year I force him to watch our wedding video so I can ohhhh and awwww over every wedding detail I agonized over, my pretty dress, my tiny waist, can you believe he brought that horrible girl as his date, our first dance, my husband looking oh so dreamy in his tux, and those sweet vows. One part of the video that really caught my attention this year was not us cutting the cake to the silly song Adam Sandler sings at the end of The Wedding Singer, but the priest’s sermon about how a marriage changes through the years. So I got to thinking about the things that have already changed is six short years…

Lots of things change the longer you are married, but if the days you want to high five your husband or even kiss his face outweigh the days you want to punch him in the face, well now, that is some wedded bliss!

I Survived My Son’s First Field Trip

June 28, 2013 by amushro

When my son’s chi chi preschool informed me that in order for him to keep his spot in school for the fall he needed to attend the summer session, I was livid, furious, irate! How dare they take away precious summertime with my boy of long days at the pool, running wild at the splash park, and frequent trips to the beach. How dare………oh wait, they’re going to have pony rides and trips to a petting zoo. Dang, can I go?

The summer calendar the school’s activities looked way better than me filling up the water table 375 times in one morning. Plus the kid would probably be sick of my face by mid-June. So I conceited and sent him on his preschool way.

I knew the kids were going on field trips this summer, but Mommy Brain struck again because I never thought about the logistics of how the group of three and four year olds would actually get to the field trip destinations. Obviously they would load all of the munchkins on a HUGE yellow bus. You know the kind of bus that doesn’t have seat belts. The same buses that are involved in 26,000 accidents a year, but who’s counting?

My sweet little boy! How could I let my three year old on a bus? He won’t go! He will be terrified!

I need to prepare him because if I know anything, it’s my boy.

Days before the trip and all the way to school that day, I reminded him he would be riding the big yellow bus with his friends. They would go see a puppet show and have lunch at the theater. And when he gets off the bus, Mommy would be waiting for him. And I bet Mommy will have a treat. Yes, a treat.. ice cream. Lots of ice cream…

Walking to his classroom on the day of the field trip, I was still chanting over and over “you’re going to go on a big bus today! Won’t that be amazing?” Before we made it very far, a teacher told us to just head out to the buses because they were ready to leave.

I can’t do that! This boy is a man of routine and he doesn’t like when things change.

He will be terrified and burst into tears if I walk him over to the bus and then leave!

This isn’t how it was supposed to work. No, no, no!

I was supposed to drop him off in his class, like usual, and run out the front door.

This will be a disaster!

We walked up to the big yellow bus, he let go of my hand, and stood in line with his class. What the…? Wait, what just happened? That little traitor didn’t even look back. No tears. No hesitation. Just a big goofy grin and off he went to wait in line with his classmates all decked out in their blue school shirts.

If there is one thing I know. it’s my boy. And if there is one thing that will continue to surprise me, it’s my boy

Happy Birthday, Baby!

June 26, 2013 by amushro

I didn’t need a sonogram to tell me that I was having a girl. The pregnancy symptoms were clear indicators that the bun in my oven had lady bits. The minute the little test came back positive, my butt and hips got so big I could easily be mistaken for a Kardashian. The glowing skin of pregnancy, yeah, that was nowhere to be found on this lady. Oh, and for good measure, 14 weeks of being green from morning sickness made this particular pregnancy….memorable. But the worst was making it through 40 weeks of pregnancy with my son and my skin was unscathed, but at 36 weeks, I guess my girl thought it was time for me to earn my stripes–stretch marks. Traitor!

Big booty, vomiting, and tiger stripes aside, two years ago when the doctor placed my gal in my arms, I swear to you, friends, it was like Stevie Wonder was in the delivery room singing “Isn’t She Lovely,” because she really was. She was the most beautiful, mucus covered, gooey, messy baby girl I had ever laid eyes on, and I was immediately smitten with her. Good thing she was cute, because she was on my shit list in utero.

Today is her second birthday and she isn’t that gooey, stretch mark dealer, but a fireball of a little lady that skipped walking so she could run, Disney Princess loving, in a constant state of singing and dancing, scaling the back of the couch so she can ninja leap onto her brother, bossy pants and she is all mine!

Maybe it’s the English teacher in me, but I can’t think of a better way to describe my gal:

Fierce and fearless: At her Mommy and Me gym class she is the first to dive into the ball pit, will race up and down the slides, and when they need a volunteer for some crazy stunt, guess who they always look to first. I’m not sure I have the heart for my baby to be such a thrill seeker. If she ever sends me a video of her bungee jumping, I will die a million deaths.

This weekend we celebrated her birthday with her little friends. As long as I live, I will forever remember her sweet face as we sang to her, and after she blew out her candles, she looked at her dad and said “I did it!” Excuse me while I have a moment. My heart just exploded in my chest.

Sometimes I envision throwing her a lavish wedding, but in reality, in twenty-five years this wild child will probably call me on a Tuesday to tell her father and I she met someone and will be marrying him on a cliff in Santa Monica…on Wednesday.

Watch your step because this sugar and spice is FIRE when she is mean. I used to follow my son around making sure no one took toys from him or that older kids were too aggressive. I don’t worry too much about this one. Seriously, try to take a toy from her or steal her swing, I dare you.

Moms and daughters have interesting relationships. Fortunately for me, I’ve already started laying the groundwork for motherly guilt that will ensure she stays with me forever. She may be just a little girl now, but I have big plans for us. While I am young and vibrant she and I will go to New York, eat fabulous food, and sing along with Broadway shows. However, when I am old and grey, she will humor me and take her old mother to Atlantic City, push my wheelchair up to the slots, order me a few Captain and Diets, and kick back while I press my luck.

But in all seriousness, since she is officially two, at what point do I have to stop referring to the extra junk in my trunk as baby weight?

The Gauntlet: Conquering the Inflatable

May 29, 2013 by amushro

The blaring music hurts your ears and you have to scream to talk to the person next to you. The bright lights are flashing strobes that make you dizzy when you walk, and some girl is crying in the corner. No, this isn’t a scene from a trendy club on a Friday night; this is a four-year-old’s birthday party at a bouncy house, and if the ambiance isn’t enough to make you feel a little trippy, the effects from the party will.

Our first visit to this assault-on-your-senses-birthday-party-venue happened when I was über pregnant with Mimi. I was ecstatic to sit for a few hours while Monkey bounced his little self into a birthday party induced coma. I watched my little guy scamper off into one inflatable contraption after another, but it was an ominous one called “The Gauntlet” that should have come with a warning

The Gauntlet was different from the rock walls or round bouncers he happily bounded across during the party because once a kid climbed into a little tube, you couldn’t see them until they reemerged sliding down a huge incline. Honestly, you would have better luck sending your kid into a crack house hoping they coming out with less baggage and trauma.

Once Monkey disappeared into the tubes of The Gauntlet, I started talking to another party-goers dad. After a few minutes I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard faint cries above LAMFO’s Party Rock Anthem.

Do you hear something?

Am I imagining things?

But after a few more cries, I realized it was Monkey panicked and screaming for me! Because I was the size of a whale, climbing in and rescuing him wasn’t an option so I sent the dad I was chatting with in to fish him out.

When Monkey emerged, he was terrified, tear-stained and wanted out of the bouncy house hell. After a while, he bounced a little in a safer inflatable, but he and I never forgot that dam Gauntlet

After that episode, every time we received a birthday invitation to that bouncy house, I sent up a silent prayer he wouldn’t remember getting stuck or be big enough to conquer the Mount Everest of inflatables.

At the next few parties I kept a close eye on him and put up a mom sized roadblock in front of The Gauntlet. This plan worked until I had to wrangle both kids solo at a party and they both took off in different directions. I chased after the little one because she was likely to start a pint-sized revolt and overtake the cake table.

It was like Déjà vu: the music and lights were so bright and loud, someone was probably sent into a seizure, and behind all the ruckus were faint, panicked cries. He was stuck in the dam Gauntlet again. Crap…

This time he knew to get out the way he entered, but he was still upset. I told him he was brave and so smart for getting out when he was stuck. I even offered to join him in The Gauntlet so he knew he could make it through unscathed, but he wanted no parts of that solution.

Two weeks later, his best buddy had his party at the same place, and I was fully prepared to bring a pair of scissors. You know, in case The Gauntlet looked at me the wrong way. The party was in full swing when Monkey booked it over to The Gauntlet. I panicked, but this time something pretty awesome happened.

He conquered The Gauntlet all on his own, and his face when he came sliding down to the bottom was priceless. I imagine this is what a Heisman Trophy Winner’s mom feels like. OK, that’s a bit much, but it was pretty awesome. My pal Coco caught this photo of Monkey and I celebrating his success.

He ran through The Gauntlet so many times, he was exhausted and needed a break.

Maybe getting stuck in an inflatable isn’t the worst thing that can happen to your kid, but when they overcome a fear, now that is pretty rad.

It’s Just a Little Crush, but I am NOT Ready for It

May 23, 2013 by amushro

I knew it would happen eventually. I just wasn’t prepared for it to happen so soon. Of course I wouldn’t be the only girl in his life forever. Dammit, I should have kept him inside today. I let my son out of my sight at my in-laws for two minutes, and in that time, he caught a glimpse of the home wrecker neighbor girl.

I get it, she is adorable with her wild blonde hair, the fact that she is slightly older than him is intriguing, and she has a bit of a rebellious side never wearing shoes and refusing to wear a helmet. Apparently the boy has a type.

He has tons of friends that are girls, and I usually have to remind him to not play so rough. Girls don’t like to wrestle. Don’t throw dirt on girls. Girls don’t appreciate headlocks. But the silly grin plastered on his face when she crossed the yard told me this wasn’t the normal playmate.

When I saw this shoeless gal stroll up to my boy, I was not prepared for what would unfold before my eyes. Or at the very least, if I did have to prepare myself, I hoped he would hold off on this behavior until middle school when I could ignore it or hide in the kitchen drinking wine straight out of the bottle.

It started with Monkey laughing a little too loud at her jokes, agreeing to play games he usually doesn’t like to play, and attempting to put on her brother’s roller blades because she wanted to roller blade. Do kids even roller blade anymore you ask? Apparently they do, and I had to pull Monkey out of a pair before he fell and broke his neck.

After I filled the water table for the third time, I banned him from tipping it over again, but she giggled and laughed when he Hulked out on the table tossing it to the side and spilling the contents down the deck. Apparently her siren call was too powerful and the water went soaring across my feet in defiance. Now I see your game, sir. I vaguely remember your father pulling the same stunts, but his may have involved beer and a funnel. Different tools, same effect.

Then as if he was staring in his own version of Jackass, the boy grabbed his little red bike and started peddling it down a grassy hill. He yelled to get her attention just before he “crashed” on the bike. His dramatic “fall” was followed up by rolling down the rest of this hill and laying at the bottom for a while. Just enough time for her to come running to see if he was OK.

When she asked me “Can Monkey come play in my house?” I didn’t tell her “NO!” too forcefully because I want to shelter my boy or I have a strange obsession with my son (maybe a little), but it was because after watching his “moves” and him work his “game” I needed to save that kid from him own devices. Plus it was dinnertime.

He has plenty of years to have crushes, but I CANNOT, Dear LORD, I CANNOT handle it now. I’m not sure I can ever really handle it. So until I am ready, the only wild haired blonde he needs is his life is his Mamma. Wow! If that isn’t a phrase that says this kid will need therapy, I don’t know what is.

Screw it, I’ll pay for his therapy I’m sticking to my guns.

Parenting: Five Ways I Know I am Doing It Right!

May 14, 2013 by amushro

I’ve often said that if I can get my kids through adulthood not marrying someone I hate or doing crystal meth, I will call this parenting gig a success; however, I have to wait a long time for that payoff. So, I am going to take the little winning moments where I can get them.

My kids have just the right amount of unhealthy attachment– Monkey loves school, Mimi will happily stay with her favorite babysitter, and both kids will jump into an inflatable jumpy thing or ball pit as soon as they lay eyes on it, but they always, always look back to make sure I am there. Boo boos—they need me. They want to be put to bed—they need me. A snuggle on the couch—me. Waking up in the middle of the night and need someone to vomit on- always me.
When they get a snack or a treat, they always ask for one for their sibling- It doesn’t matter if it is a handful of Goldfish crackers at home, a lollipop at the hair salon, or a balloon at a birthday party, both kids always ask for one for the other—always. *Drops mic* *Walks off stage* My job is done here, folks.
Monkey has no problem defending his sister’s honor-While I do not condone violence, I don’t take kindly to older kids picking on my babies. Like the day some older punk was pushing Mimi on the playground. Before I could run across the playground and go all Mamma Bear on that creep, Monkey jumped off the slide, ran over to the hoodlum, shoved the kid down and yelled in his face “Don’t touch my sister!” Pretty bad-ass for a three year old.
Strangers always tell me I have “happy kids”- My response is usually, “lucky you, you just missed their epic temper tantrum.” But in all honestly, the kids are really happy and when they show up somewhere, they always have a smile on their faces and are ready to party (as long as your have chocolate milk, that is)
They have a really weird and hilarious sense of humor-Whether it is the boy walking into the room announcing “Mommy, I can’t hear you. I’ve got a banana in my ear.” That one kills me! I make sure to buy bananas every week just so he can tell that joke with a prop; the potassium is just an added bonus. Or if is the girl that demands to wear sunglasses, a hat, furry boots or all three to make the most mundane tasks,like eating breakfast, fabulous, the kids are strange little birds….and they are all mine!

These may be small victories, but I will take it. After all,