Questionable Choices in Parenting

Laughing at life as a parent so they don't commit me

Sharing My Bed Used to be Easy…

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This past week Hubby was on a “business” trip, and I use the term “business” lightly because a week of sleeping in a hotel with no kid duty sounds like pretty sweet “business” to me, but I digress. While he was away, I thought it was the perfect time to get another man into my bed. It was this handsome devil…

Handsome DevilYou were nervous there for minute, weren’t you?

I know a lot of people who co-sleep: some by choice, others well….not so much by choice but necessity and exhaustion.  I’m not big on co-sleeping because I really hate sharing my sleeping space with anyone. If Hubby tries to wrap an arm around me, he usually gets an elbow to the gut as a warning shot. Your space and my space, buddy. Don’t cross the line.

Mimi takes after me and has no interest in an all-night snuggle fest. She has a precise system of sleep that she doesn’t want interrupted.  If we play our cards right and get her system down, we don’t hear from her for 12-13 blissful, sleeping hours.

So when I had an itchin’ for some baby love, I knew Monkey was my man. I envisioned snuggling with him all night and breathing the sweet smell of his head (don’t act like you don’t love the smell of your kid’s head) and being lulled to sleep by the sounds of his soft snores. Ahhhh bliss….

Silly me, I forgot this kid is the WORST person to share a bed with.

Sharing my bedFirst, I couldn’t get the kid to settle down. He was like a crack-head all jazzed up and ready to party. He spent a good half hour practicing his forward rolls over and over in my bed.  Then he started singing a rousing rendition of the ABCs while jumping up and down, and it wasn’t until I bear hugged the kid into submission did he simmer down.

When the sleeper-hold I had him in finally put him down for the night, I realized it was only 7:30 and I really needed to pee. But Monkey rolled over and wrapped his arms in a death grip around my neck. I tried to sneak away, but he pulled me back. I tried to unwrap his limbs from me, but he squeezed harder. Finally I just resigned to snuggle down even though I was wide awake and praying I didn’t pee the bed.

I’m not sure, but I think the kid might be part furnace because heat just seeps off of him at night and sends me into hot flashes that make me wonder if early menopause has struck. The only way I got out of his death grip hold on my neck was my perfuse sweating that gave me enough slide to wiggle out of his clutches.

He also talks in his sleep; actually it is more like ramblings of a man who has lost his mind. At one point he said “I just want to dance to the doorbell. We have to get to our rocket ship.”  Then he would just burst into giggles, fart and roll over. What the hell is going on with this kid?

When I would catch a few winks of sleep, I would wake with his hard head pushing into my shoulder-blade or a quick jab of his toes into my kidneys.

I tied pushing him to the other side of the bed, but he would wiggle back over to me, wrap his sweaty hands around my neck and say “I got you, Mommy.”

Since I clocked about two hours of solid sleep that night, I prayed the Sleep Gods would take pity on my, but oh no, they laughed in my face and Mr. Hot-Crazy-Talker was up bright and early ready to talk about buffalos being brown and having four legs. Oh listen to that, Rip Van Winkle is up in her crib and demanding milk and Doc Mc Stuffins.

Someone pass the coffee, cause this is going to be a loooonnnngggg day.

Going Once, Going Twice, SOLD!

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After months of agonizing and stressing over our decision and weeks of cleaning, fixing and preparing this house, it only took two weeks, but we officially have a contract on our home! If you have been reading my blog for a while you know that I have been going bat-shit-crazy over selling our house. New around here? Well check this post out and this one.

I am ecstatic that we were able to sell the house so quickly, and my fingers and toes are crossed that everything works out smoothly during this entire process. However, the weirdest crap happened during the two week, non-stop showings of our house. Here is a quick run-down of the cray cray

Going once going twice

  1. In less than two weeks we had dozens of showings! Believe me, my house is nothing fancy, it’s just the crazy real estate market in the Washington D.C. Metro, but that isn’t the crazy part. More often than not, someone used one of our bathrooms. We found toilet seats up, the toilet paper roll ripped off the wall, and some “unusual suspects” in the potty.Gross. Until you buy the place, your own bathroom.
  2. Hubby has an OCD with turning off the Keurig coffee machine; however, we would come back after a showing and the machine would be on! Was it the same folks that were using the potty at our house? Is this their method for choosing a new home, try the coffee and make a trip to the John?
  3. Every time I returned to the house after a showing I was sure the last people were really terrorist that setup surveillance on our house…………..or I have been watching too much Homeland.
  4. Here’s a tip, if you are looking at someone’s house, take your freaking shoes off! The fact that I was picking up huge black chunks of mud from my closet is unacceptable.  Honestly, I am a stay-at-home-mom and  there is nothing designer in my closet. My yoga pants are not from Lululemon; they are from Target. Nothing to see here, folks.
  5. Most showings are at the most inconvenient times: lunch, naptime, dinner, and bedtime. However, I would panic and accept the showings because what if I turned someone down and they were the “one”. The “one” that would throw lots of money at us and buy our house.
  6. The other inconvenient element of showings is the quick panic of clean up the house and throw the kids in the car. Usually I would be sweeping and vacuuming minutes before we needed to leave. This meant the kids were put in the car without shoes or coats. I popped a movie in the car DVD player, threw them some snacks, and we were driving around the neighborhood until the random strangers left our house.

So we have some time before we have to close the door to this house for the last time. This means we are now full on Find-A-New-House mode. Because if we don’t, we have to move in with my in-laws, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is a whole new blog in itself.

Cool Your Registry Trigger Finger

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If youth is wasted on the young, then the baby registry is wasted on those without kids. Even if you take the advice of all of your Mommy friends and anyone that adds their two cents, you will get trigger happy when you hit that baby store and end up with some nonsense like this:

Pee-Pee TeePee Bi-Plane

When my lovely pregnant buddy Chief asked for baby registry suggestions, I thought I had this easy task in the bag. But it has been a few years since I had the registry gun in hand and took a whirl around the baby store. I started to feel like Will Ferrell in Old School when he gets nervous that he missing out on something new and cool. Of course he was talking about panties and I am talking about baby gear, but I feel his anxiety:

So I thought the easiest thing I could do for my lovely Chief was to tell her what NOT to register for. You need a ton of crap when you have a baby but here are things you don’t need:

The Duckymeter– Yes you will need a rubber ducky for your sweet baby to play with while splashing in the tub; however, you most certainly do not need a duck that tells you the water temperature. You know why? Put your dam hand in the water. Is it too hot? Don’t put your kid in. Is it too cold? Don’t put your kid in. Amazing right! Think of this as “upcycling.”

 

The wipewarmer– Now who among us wouldn’t want a warm cloth to wipe our tush? Being a baby is hard and all of that pooping and peeing is exhausting. Sit back, relax, and let the wipewarmer produce a warm cloth to ease your worries. OR let the warm, dark, and moist wipewarmer create tons of bacteria that you are about to wipe against your sweet baby’s behind.  Gross right? *shudders*  Not to mention that the stupid wipewarmer takes more time and care then your newborn with all of the adding water, flipping and changing the pad—forget it!  Sorry kid, regular wipes will have to do around here.

 

Too many strollers– I wish someone had told me to cool it on the stroller purchases because I currently own four strollers. First I had the “Snap and Go” that I could put the kid’s infant carrier in, then I had the regular umbrella stroller for trips to the mall and shopping, don’t forget to throw in a jogging stroller for workouts, and finally a HUGE double stroller once the other kid made an appearance. Our attic looks like the place strollers go to die. If my pregnant readers take nothing else away from this article, take this little nugget—find ONE stroller for all stages of your kid’s life and skip the multiple strollers purchase!

Well with these three things off her list, now she just has to register for the 483,290,202 other items her sweet baby boy will need in a few months. So help me help Chief! What things does she need to leave off the registry list?

Come Hell or High Waters

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This is how I sent my boy to school today:

Floods

First, pay no attention to the mismatched socks; today was “crazy sock day.”

Look again. Did Monkey’s school have a flood? Are those shorts or pants? Did his pants shrink? Nope, none of those are the issue. So why, oh why would I send my boy off to his fancy smancy preschool in those ridiculous pants? Well here is my sad, sorry, Questionable Choices in Parenting answer: The kid just won’t stop growing. Apparently all you need is lots of macaroni and cheese and chocolate milk to have HUGE growth spurts because that is all this kid consumes.  Monkey has always been super tall, but recently he has shot up and become quite the beef cake. Actually he is more long and lean, and now here we are, just a few weeks from spring and warm weather, and this kid has zero clothes that fit him.

Come Hell or High Waters

So you are thinking I should just head out and buy him more clothes, right? Wrong! I refuse, REFUSE to buy this kid a whole new wardrobe now! In a few short weeks we will ditch his too short pants and shirt sleeves that don’t come even close to touching his wrists for spring playground gear: t-shirts, shorts, bug spray, sunblock, mud and mulch.  I won’t waste money on pants this kid will wear for less than two months. So he will just walk around looking like a fool because his mom is too cheap to buy him new pants.

I know this probably sounds bad, but if he was say 13 and he had this growing problem, I would totally rush out to all of the cool and hip stores to shop for him. I will take my flashlight to walk through the darkness of Hollister, I will use ear plugs to protect my hearing from the blasting tunes while I peruse American Eagle, and I will completely embarrass him while wearing a gas mask to prevent convulsions from inhaling too many cologne fumes that waft from Abercrombie and Fitch.

Those teenager years are rough enough and no one needs their cheap mother messing up their style. However, if he does look like a fool with too  short pants, no girls will want to date him. Hmmmmmm…. I may be on to something here. I am getting off track. My point here is he is only three and I am sure no one (except  the other parents, and the teachers, and the school administrators—oh man I am really weakening my argument here, huh) will see him in these ridiculous pants.

You are judging me, right? You think I should go out and buy him some new clothes, right? Fine! You win. I will break down and get the kid a few things to survive these last few weeks of winter weather. If nothing else, the trip to the mall will provide hours of blog fodder!

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Time Out During Timeouts

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This is Mimi:

Sweet Mimi

And this is Mimi in timeout:

Time Out

At the ripe old age of twenty months, we have decided that if this rule breaker is old enough to swim in the dog’s water fourteen times after being told to knock it off and if she continues to go all Picasso on the walls with crayons, she is old enough for timeout.

As you can see from the picture, timeouts are a bit trying….for all of us. However, I will continue to put her cute butt in timeout when she misbehaves and throws epic temper tantrums. In order to pass the time while she is being defiant and living up to her name of Screaming Mimi, I will not contemplate selling her on Craigslist. No friends, I will think about the future.

Time out!

If this was a movie, the screen would get all blurry and wavy so that you know we are jumping to the future.

I imagine Mimi and I strolling through The American Girl store while laughing and holding hands as we select overpriced doll accessories that she MUST have.

Now she is headed off to her first day of kindergarten and I am weeping into a hankie (must remember to purchase a hankie for that day). She turns before she steps on the bus, her pigtails swinging in the sun, and says “Don’t worry Mommy, I love you and will be home soon.”

Jump ahead a few more years and we are dress shopping for her prom. Notice how she picks out a totally age appropriate dress.  Isn’t she lovely?

Oh look, we are planning her wedding to the man of her dreams. That sweet girl let’s her mother go crazy and choose the flowers and the meal because, after all, mother knows best and her mother-in-law pales in comparison.

Oh yes, Mimi has a family of her own. She looks tired and weary. It looks like she is ready to cry, but she stops herself and calls me to say, “Wow Mom! I just don’t know how you did it. You were the most amazing mother ever.”

Now jump years and years into the future and my sweet girl is taking her dear old Mom to Atlantic City. See how she carefully pushes my wheelchair up to the slot machines. What a good girl!

What is this? Oh that sweet girl is taking care of her mom in a nursing home by following her mother’s step-by-step instructions of making sure I always have a fresh manicure, my upper lip is always waxed, and she plucks those few errand hairs on my chin. That darling Mimi knows her brother would never do these things and we shook hands years ago that she would keep me looking good. 

Aaaaand the temper tantrum is over! Breathe in and out. We have survived yet another timeout episode and we are all better for it.  That nice flash into the future should help us get through the day or last until the next time out.

Be sure to enter the custom tutu and Easter headband from the amazing Lindsay from Pretty in Pink Designs!  Click the link below!
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Flirting: Another Way to Embarrass Mom

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When you are young and single, having the super flirty friend whose milkshake brings all the boys to the yard is awesome! You can get free drinks, a few dance partners, and witty banter while your wingman does all of the heavy lifting. However, when you are a happily married mother of two, and the milkshake-bringer just happens to be your 18-month-old daughter, well, the effects are just awkward.

Truth

From a very early age (I know she is at the ripe old age of 18 months), Mimi began to work her charms on strangers. She sort of has a little system down and it starts out really cute, but after a while, I envision her being a  dancing frog that needs pulled off the stage with a huge cane.frog

It always amazes me that I can’t get the kid to say “milk,” but she can play her coy games of “Look at me. Don’t look at me. Now look at me again. I’m so cute.” This kid is exhausting. Is this foreshadowing of her teenage years? Is this karma? Let’s take a look Mimi in action, shall we?

First there is her favorite barista at Starbucks. He is a cute, young guy that kinda reminds me of Joe from Blue’s Clues. Since that show is one of her favs, I assumed that is why she took a shining to him. JoeWhile we place our order she would bat those eyelashes at him and play coy while hiding against my shoulder. Ok, cute enough. Then the barista would wave back to her and she would giggle. But it didn’t stop there. Between bites of blueberry muffin and sips of chocolate milk, she would lean back in her high chair and holler to him “hiya” over and over until he notices her.  Since I am a bit of a caffeine addict, we stop at the Starbucks a lot and it is the same scenario every time we get there. She seeks him out, they play a little peek-a-boo, and she yells across the coffee shop until he talks to her.  Once was cute, but it happens a lot. I may just have to stop going there. OK that is not happening. I will just suck this one up

Her second regular flirt has me a little more concerned. There is a small diner nearby that we frequent so often is has become our own personal “Cheers.”  No one yells “Norm!” when we walk in, but they put a diet coke and two chocolate milks on the table when we arrive. To say we go there a lot is an understatement.  A young waiter caught Mimi’s eye a few months back. Again a good-looking young guy, but this one has two arms full of tattoos. So, my dear Mimi, you have a thing for the “bad boy” huh?  Are you trying to give your dad premature gray hairs? Her routine is the same: a few bats of those gorgeous eyelashes, a couple of peek-a-boos, pretending she’s not interested, then the incessant yelling of “hiya!”  Of course this guy eats it up and he plays right back. Maybe he thinks he will get a bigger tip? Sorry buddy, you are teetering on creeping me out. Knock it off and get me another diet coke, and please excuse all of the fries my kids threw on the floor.

Finally today at her Mommy and Me Gym class, she spotted a dad and made a B-line right for him. Now these classes are full of other Mommies and Nannies; the Dads are few and far between. If a Dad rolls into class, his wife is probably pregnant and about to pop or she already popped.  So when Mimi made sure this dad played with her in the obstacle course, saw her on the trampoline, and even waved to her while she took a swim in the ball pit, I was getting judgy and mean looks from the other mothers and nannies. I wanted to yell at those terrible women, “‘It’s not me. It’s my kid, and you know what, my kid is way cuter than yours anyway!”

Too cute

Listen there is no denying that she is stinking cute. That face is like my kryptonite!  There is also no denying that I will be promptly locking this sweet flirty girl in her room until she is thirty or longer.

No Dating

Never Say Never

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My BFF having her first baby is really going to work in my favor. First, Chief and I have been through some crazy stuff (all incriminating photos have been disposed), but nothing bonds you with your bestie like being in the trenches of motherhood together. Second, in a few months I will have a sweet, snuggly newborn to squeeze, love, and get my baby fix so I can slow down this dang biological clock. Third, I am super excited to be skinnier than her and for her ass to be bigger than mine, even if it is only for a few fleeting months. Since Chief told me she was preggers, it made me think a lot about my first pregnancy and all of my big, silly ideas

1.21 Giggawats

If I could get all Marty McFly and find 1.21 gigawatts, I would tell a newly pregnant me to lay off the freaking ranch dressing. Do you know how many postpartum miles I had to run to get rid of the damage caused by your pregnancy-ranch-induced cravings? But more importantly, I would take the imaginary list of things I was never going to do once I was a parent, tear it up, and throw it in the air like confetti. That list was something like this:

  1. My kids will NEVER eat anything but organic or all natural food
  2. My kids will NEVER eat fast food
  3. My kids will NEVER throw temper tantrums
  4. My kids will NEVER take a pacifier

I really do try to feed the kids as much organic and natural food (I know, I’m freaking Mother Earth) as possible; however, sometimes it isn’t economical for a family of four to eat everything organic. So to fix that, I ban Hubby from eating the kids’ natural and organic foods. He is forced to eat the crap with hormones, antibiotics, and the unpronounceable ingredients antibioticstore.online. Don’t start feeling sorry for him. He’s tough, he will survive.

The ban of the fast food was pretty easy at first with Monkey, but I am ashamed to say that Mimi could be found chewing on a McDonald’s nugget way earlier than her brother.  Our house is littered with half broken Happy Meal toys as further evidence on my failure to follow my self-imposed fast food ban.

Temper tantrums, sigh. I could count the number of throw down, screaming and crying, red-faced, snotty temper tantrums Monkey has had in his life on one hand. I can count the number that Mimi has had before noon on one hand. Much like her mother, she has a flair for the dramatics and chooses to express her anger, frustration, or annoyance with a fit that would shake even the most seasoned of mothers.

Now the pacifier, the pacifier is a whole different story.Mini Mimi Monkey had zero interest in all things pacifiers. Easy! I sort of blame Mimi’s paci addiction on me. Her first year of life, I was her paci pusher. With the littlest whimper or moan, I was handing her a paci.

Come on, honey. This will take the edge off

Try it. You’ll like it. I swear. Would I lie to you?

Everyone is doing it.

And just like that, another paci addict was born. Sometimes she gets so upset she actually double fists pacifiers. Those are really bad days and it is best to stay out of her way.

After her first birthday, we only let her have her paci in bed and on long car rides. But the power of Mimi prevailed with some epic tantrums that had me throwing pacifiers at her by the handful.

Once she was on to our evil plan to banish her paci, she started stashing them around the house. Some places were obvious: in her doll house, shoved in the couch. But some were stealthy hidden: in her shoes, in her shopping cart of play food. Hubby witnessed her pull a paci out of the dog food bin and start sucking away like a nicotine fiend that needed their fix.

Most of the time we get pictures like this:

 Grumpy Swan

I call this one “Grumpy Swan.”

Her antics have even been caught on tape. This video of Sneaky Pete shows her trying to get a little paci time when she thinks my head is turned. Watch this little charmer try to giggle her way out of being caught red-handed.

The day will come when the pacifier has to go, but it sure as heck is not today because silence is golden and silence with Mimi is rare.

So my dearest Chief, enjoy being pregnant, be reasonable with the ranch dressing, and go easy on yourself with the things you will NEVER do as a parent. Oh, and the photos may be destroyed, but there are still videos, so you are stuck with me forever!