Questionable Choices

With a Little Help From My Friends

February 5, 2013 by amushro

Last week I shared with you my excitement over my impending girls weekend. While the week leading up to our mommy getaway seemed to drag on, the actual weekend flew by, sigh. Isn’t that how it always works? I’m not sure if it was the extra sleep, extra wine, extra calories, or extra laughs, but I am feeling all insightful today. Here are the ten things I learned from a girls weekend away from kiddos.

1. Always pack the essentials: booze, forbidden snacks, and small purses when you are away from your kids

2. The ban on talking about your kids will be broken about fifteen minutes into the trip

3. Even if you are all looking smokin’ hot in your skinny jeans and high black boots, you will never feel as uncool as when you roll up to a club in a mini-van full of Mommies.

4.If a brave young man tries to approach you and your gal pals while at a bar, he will be horrified and shocked by the number of children that have been produced by the ladies at the table. Point and laugh as he makes his escape. You might actually see a cloud of smoke forming at his feet because he is running so fast.

5. Don’t bother calling your husband for updates on the kids. You have left them in his care and you cannot control their eating, lack of eating, naps, lack of naps, bad hair, and unbrushed teeth. They will survive and so will you.

6. If we really wanted to solve all of the world’s problems, we would put a bunch of mommies in a car for several hours and let them hash it out. Boom—world peace

7. Never complain about spa time. Maybe you have a chatty masseuse or one that lacks all social graces. Maybe your manicure came out lousy. Maybe there was an error in booking and you end up in a couples massage with your very pregnant friend Coco where you scream “Don’t look at my belly,” and she replies “Don’t look at my belly.” Just quickly get under the covers, assume they don’t think she is carrying your child, kill the laughter, and just enjoy the fact you are getting your back rubbed for an hour.

8. Always drink lots of wine while helping your friends name their unborn children. You will come up with gems like this:

Channing Tatum= sexy

Paul Tatum= just dropped quite a few on the sexy list

9. Because you were so excited, your bags were packed and sitting at the door the morning you left. Just like your bags are packed sitting at the door ready to leave on Sunday. Get me home to my babies!

10. Time with your gals is essential. Everyone needs a break and time away will make you a better mother. However, there is no place like home and nothing better than kissing your babies when you come back refreshed and ready to tackle this mommy thing all over again or at least until the next trip!

Last chance to enter my Stella and Dot “Courage” Bracelet giveaway! Just click here to enter

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When Finding Mommy Friends Feels Like Dating

February 4, 2013 by amushro

Yesterday Hubby and I were discussing reasons he can never kill over on me. Of course the obvi: we would all be heartbroken, the kids would miss out on knowing their amazing dad, and who would laugh at my inappropriate jokes? More importantly, I am horrible at dating! Granted, I haven’t had to hit up the actual dating scene in a million years; however, after having Monkey, I was searching for some Mom friends and felt like I was on one bad date after another.

Right around the time that I found out I was pregnant with Monkey there was a mini-baby-boom with my pals. We all delivered within a few months of each other and Boom!– instant Mommy friends. I like to equate this to college dating where life is easy and all you need to do is show up (usually at a bar late night), but in the Mommy friend scene, you meet at Starbucks. We were instantly in that joyous “honeymoon” stage

During those early “honeymoon” days we met our friends every chance we got for leisurely lunches, powerwalks with our strollers through the mall, and quick stops at Gap Kids to peruse the sale racks. Life was good.

Then there was the breakup; everyone’s maternity leave ended. They went back to work and left Monkey and I dateless and lonely.

I sort of went through a mourning period after the breakup where we didn’t go out much, and if we did, it was to the same spots we used to frequent on our dates–denial. I would send a few desperate texts asking my friends to come back because we were so good together and they would never find anyone as great as us. After a few weeks of this nonsense, it was clear we needed to get back out there and start dating make new friends.

If you are hitting the dating scene, you frequent the trendiest clubs and restaurants. If you are searching for playdates, the dating scene is Mommy and Me classes: Mommy and Me gym class, yoga class, swim class, art class, these classes are breaking the bank class. So there we were, putting ourselves out there hoping to catch someone’s eye.

It was pretty easy to figure out who was “our type” and who we needed to stay far, far away from: the Starbucks drinking mom who was ignoring their aggressive kid shoving the other kids off the slide or the super needy mom that over-shares about her leaky boobs, hemorrhoids, and failing marriage within five minutes of meeting her–no thanks, not interested

If you were having a great conversation with someone, you would get nervous for the end of the class (much like last call at the bar). Here was your chance! Should you ask for their number? Wait for them to ask for yours? Hope they show up again next week? Ahhh the pressure! If you do get their number, you walk away and over analyze everything. Did she really like me? When should I call? I wonder if she noticed the baby barf down my back?

Here is the thing about finding new Mommy friends, you and your kiddo have to be compatible with the mom AND her kid—double dating. You may meet a nice enough mom, but if her kid is a creep, it’s never going to work. Walk away, just walk away now.

Sometimes we would go on playdates that started out promising and ended up disastrous. If we were on a real date, we would have said we were going to the bathroom and jet out the door when no one was looking. Like the time we had a playdate with the lady who was wasted on the playground. Maybe she was nervous. I mean, I like my cocktails, but you know, it’s a little awkward when she is the one climbing on monkey bars at 10 AM. I faked a diaper blowout and high tailed it from the Boozy mom.

Sometimes you end up in a bad relationship just because you want to “date” someone. I befriended one mom that I had nothing in common with other than we had kids. She was whiny, bragged about all of the money her husband made, and her daughter cried a lot, but I smiled and tried to make it work because I was so freaking lonely. Finally I knew it was over and I ended it in the most mature way— I stopped returning her calls and texts. We had to change the days of some of our classes to avoid her and we gave up custody of a few playgrounds, but in the end the clean break was best.

Dating is hard when you are looking for a love match. Dating to find Mommy friends is even harder. But just like being lucky in love, being lucky with friends makes this life as a Mommy easier, better, and a whole lot more fun.

The super hilarious blogger Cloudy With a Chance of Wine wrote about how to make mom friends. Be careful because I know how some of my readers pee themselves when they laugh too hard. You will find her step by step guide very helpful:How to Make Mom Friends

How To Make Mom Friends 300x300 How to make mom friends

Remember, you still have a chance to win the georgous Stella and Dot “Courage” bracelet. It will give you somthing shiny to wear on your dates!a Rafflecopter giveaway

Mammas Just Wanna Have Fun

January 28, 2013 by amushro

It seems like the entire country is gearing up for Super Bowl Sunday by making cocktail weenies and football shaped cheese balls. Well good for you because this lady could care less about the game for two reasons:

I am originally from Pittsburgh, so for me, football season has been over for quite some time. Bitter much you say? You betcha!
This weekend is my annual Girls Weekend Away! Cue the music and confetti!!

That’s right folks, this weekend this lady and five of my favorite Mommy gal pals are ditching our kids with our Baby Daddies and hitting the road. Between the six of us, we have 13 kids and we are letting our husbands fend for themselves. Well actually, my in-laws will come swooping over when I am out of town to make sure the kids don’t go all Lord of the Flies on my husband.

Now I know what you are thinking, this trip is going to be a bar hopping, booze filled, Girls Gone Wild weekend, right? Ummm, no. Get your mind out of the gutter. Did you miss the part about 13 kids? Also we have two preggers on the trip, or as I like to call them, the friends that will drive me home after too many cocktails.

This weekend will be filled with wine, hours at the spa, yummy dinners, girl talk, and sleeping in. So I asked my ladies what excites them the most about a girls only weekend and of course their answers didn’t disappoint!

I really don’t know which part I am most excited about, but today it might be the sleeping in. Monkey has been waking up super early and he must realize that he needs to do something so amazingly adorable or I will send his cute tush back to bed. So his new trick is to quietly (not so quietly because I hear him come in my room) dig through my jewelry box and select something shiny. Then he brings it over to his sleeping Mamma and says, “Mommy, I got this present for you. Do you love it?” Because I am a silly sucker for my boy, I act surprised and tell him how much I love the ring, bracelet, random broken earring he has picked out. I guess there are worse ways to be woken up.

While I can’t wait to sleep without someone in footie pajamas waking me from my much needed beauty sleep, my buddy D-Love is looking forward to a weekend of peanut butter.

When you are a mom, you have to make sacrifices and sometimes those sacrifices just suck. For D-Love, her daughter’s peanut allergy has forced her to ban all peanut products from her house to ensure her little lady’s health—good mommy. But not this weekend! Bring on the peanut butter, D-Love because you deserve it! So when we are packing snacks for the weekend, D-Love’s only request was that it contains the forbidden fruit.

I really don’t know how she does it. Since I eat my stress, I can usually be found diving into a jar of peanut butter when I have a crappy day or the kids are working my last nerve. Rather than shouting “You kids are driving me to drink.” I yell “You kids are driving me to eat this entire jar of peanut butter.”

My DD for the weekend and traveling partner Coco is most excited about listening and singing along to really loud and profane rap music. Without little ears in the car, it is going to be a Biggie and Tupac kind of road trip. Even if this weekend is a bust, watching a pregnant Coco sing “All Eyes on Me”–worth it’s weight in gold.

Packing should be easy for Ms. Raven because she is only bringing a very, very tiny purse. You know, the kind you CAN’T fit a diaper, sippy cup, lollipops, wipes, toys, and snacks in. Ahhhh, how liberating

Really we are easy women to please, take the adorably pregnant Lemon. She is thrilled she won’t have to cut up anyone’s food and can speak without a kid interrupting 574,039 times. While Clear-Eyes is going to enjoy a weekend with a cellphone and iPad not covered in crumbs, slobber, or snot, and of course, the elusive moments of privacy in the bathroom. Glorious!

I am a firm believer in Girls Weekends. They are an investment in yourself, in your friendships, and your sanity. It gives you just enough time to relax and recharge. It also gives your husband just enough time to realize that you are superwoman and he and the kids would be lost without you. So pack your bags, grab the wine, and let’s hit the road, ladies!

So how about a giveaway? In honor of girlfriends that make your life better, easier, and happier I am giving away a beautiful Stella and Dot “Courage” bracelet. The wonderful Kelly Smith, Stella and Dot Stylist (also my personal bestie and Mimi’s Godmother!) has graciously given Questionable Choices in Parenting this gorgeous bracelet to be given to one of my readers!

So click this link of for your chance to win! The lucky winner will be announced on 2/11/2013
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Flirting: Another Way to Embarrass Mom

January 25, 2013 by amushro

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.

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.

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. While 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!”

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.

Never Say Never

January 22, 2013 by amushro

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

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:

My kids will NEVER eat anything but organic or all natural food
My kids will NEVER eat fast food
My kids will NEVER throw temper tantrums
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. 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:

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!

All They Need to Know, They’ll Learn From 90210

January 19, 2013 by amushro

Don’t be fooled by these blonde locks, I have been highlighting my hair since I was in seventh grade. I really couldn’t even tell you what my real hair color should be. Here is my best guess: If you head out to your local drug store and walk down the aisle with boxes of hair color, take a look at “Blahhh” or “Meh” that would be the best description of my natural color.

Since I have been cursed with such lackluster hair, I have been forced to shell out big money every few months to make sure I remain a bouncy blonde and not some crazy lady pretending that her six inches of dark roots is her attempt at ombre.

In fact, when I am super stressed and life gets a little sad, I am a firm believer that blonder is better. So if you see me and I am totally bleached out, give me a little sympathy, maybe a gentle pat on the back because I am one meltdown from dropping my bucket.

A young gal was highlighting my hair this week and she was over sharing stories of her “bad boy” and “womanizing” boyfriend. I patiently listened to her story, nodded periodically, and even gave the shocked “No!” every so often. When she finished the sordid details of her love life, I decided to pass down some sage wisdom from a slightly older, wiser, been-there-done-that-lady. Here is what I told her:

“Honey, you date the Dylan, but you marry the Brandon.”

I knew I was in trouble when she got this dumfounded look that screamed “What the hell are you talking about?” Then I got the “Who?”

“Dylan McKay and Brandon Walsh? 90210? The real 90210. Only one of the greatest shows ever! Really? No idea who I am talking about?

First I felt old. Then I felt sad for the wayward young girl that didn’t have 90210 during her formative years to guide her along her journey to maturity. So then I got to thinking about Monkey and Mimi and all of the conversations I will have with them in the future and I shudder at the thought. What if I just lock the kids in a room and force them to watch all ten seasons of my favorite show? When they are done, they can come out and we can discuss what they have learned. I am confident all of those difficult conversations will be addressed in each hour of 90210, and I will simply just need to reiterate some of the most important:

Don’t get drunk at prom and pass out in front of the principal. While I am sure you are charming, no one is going to stage a walkout and chant “Mimi graduates, Mimi graduates.”
Don’t wear the same dress to the spring formal as your best friend, don’t date the edgy new girl that takes drugs, don’t dress slutty at Halloween parties, don’t date the broken hottie that has mommy issues, and don’t lose your virginity at the spring formal you wore the same dress as your friend—for reasons other than you are wearing the same dress as your BFF—Didn’t you learn anything from Brenda’s pregnancy scare?
Just because your friends have bigger houses, amazing clothes, a bitchin car, tons of money, and the super, cool, fun mom that is sometimes in and out of rehab, the grass is not always greener and your friends probably wish they had a snarky, sarcastic Mom like yours that can make a mean pepperoni roll. Boom!
Drugs are bad. So are diet pills, cults, gambling, plagiarizing your college papers, cheating on your girlfriend with her BFF, cheating on your boyfriend with his BFF, cheating on your girlfriend with a lame music executive—OK, let’s just generalize that with cheating—it’s bad –all bad.
Violence against a woman is never OK, and if some guy pushes you down the stairs, he does not love you. While I do not condone violence, I would kick a guy’s ass if he ever laid a finger on my Mimi.
When faced with two options and neither feels right, always choose yourself. While she made lots of bad choices during the course of the show, Kelly got this one right—“I choose me!”

So there you go. Six very important lessons that cover all things I need my children to know as they grow up to be functioning members of society. Man, this child rearing is easy! While the girl that colored my hair missed out, Monkey and Mimi will be ready to face the world and know a little more about terrible 90’s fashion.

Believe me, I know. I dated the Dylans but I married the Brandon, and I am one smart and lucky girl!

Bringing Date Night Back!

January 14, 2013 by amushro

By 3:45 on Fridays, I have nothing left to give. Nothing! I am half the woman I was on Wednesday and a shell of the woman I was Monday morning. Before I took on the title of Stay at Home Mamma, I worked outside of the house and I really thought I understood the whole TGIF thing. But now it is TGIFAMHWBHTH- Thank God it’s Friday and my husband will be home to help-try putting that on a bumper sticker. However, this Friday was different. This Friday was special. This Friday was pretty epic. My mantra at 3:45 was TGIFAWHAB- Thank God it’s Friday and we have a babysitter!

As of late, our date nights have been few and far between. When we do make it out as a couple, we usually end up at a late dinner with me trying not to fall asleep in my sushi or at a movie that I am snoring at because, let’s be honest, no movie should start after 9:30 PM. You know the drill, you get a few precious moments out as a couple but spend the entire time talking about something hilarious, funny, or ridiculous one or both of the kids did that week– suckers.

No more of this nonsense! I refuse to have another sleepy date night this week. Not only was I getting a night of dinner and drinks with my Hubby, we were going out with my favorite gal pal and her husband! Super fancy! Watch out!

Remember when going out with another couple was easy breezy? Now it is a covert mission that takes strategic planning. Days before the big night out you need to coordinate all interested party members’ schedules.

Your babysitter will be there at what time? How long is the drive to this joint? How much traffic will you hit if you leave work early? Does this place serve wine?

I contacted my favorite babysitter and tried to bribe her to hang with my kids on Friday so Hubby and I could have a carefree evening. “Bring your boyfriend”, I told her, “just don’t make out on my couch”. On second thought, you can totally make out on my couch if it means I get free night with wine, adult conversation, and I get out of bed and bath duty. Just make sure the kids are asleep first.

Gone are the days of simply jumping in the shower, getting ready, and heading out the day. No, no no. In order to pull off this night, I needed to take some careful steps that actually took all day to fulfill:

Extra coffee and Diet Coke to ensure I would not fall asleep at the table during appetizers
Shower early in the day to allow enough time for primping. This means you will have two kids talking to you while you shave your legs.
Apply makeup and fix your hair while the kids are eating dinner. This part was sort of a fail because Mimi followed me into the bathroom and inhaled some toxic fumes from my hairspray. Ehh, a little aerosol never hurt Mommy, toughen up kid!
Don’t let your three year old see you getting dressed. He may ask you “where are the rest of your underwear? Those look silly, Mommy.” However, he did tell me that I looked beautiful when I was done getting ready so I forgave him for the thong comment.

When Mimi is really excited she does this crazy dance where she runs in place to show her joy. I busted out the same joyful running man dance when I heard the babysitter’s car pull up. We all jumped up and down and cheered “Ashley is here! Ashley is here! ”

When I walked out the front door, it was as if someone was blasting George Michael’s “Freedom” down the street. Come on, you know you want to sing. Go ahead.

Freedom

As I was skipping (yes skipping) to my car, I sort of giggled about the days of being a new mom when leaving my kids killed me. Now I was all “peace out, tiny humans!” I waved to them in my rearview mirror.

Being out alone when you have small children at home is sort of like a science experiment. Even though you know your kids aren’t there, it still takes a while for the reality to settle in. You are still sort of tense because you expect to hear the scream of a pissed off kid in a high chair and when the food comes you start cutting it up in little pieces and blowing on it until you realize you are off duty tonight.

Fortunately, my gal pal and I are a hoot and we totally entertained our husbands with out witty remarks and loud stories–or that is how it seemed after a few glasses of wine. The food was good, the company was great, and the kids were asleep like little angels when we got home. What more could I ask for on a Friday night (my kids to sleep in on Saturday)?

Old Yeller

January 10, 2013 by amushro

My name is Amanda and I am a yeller. I can say this with a little less shame because I come by this trait honestly. My dad is yeller, his dad before him; in fact, I would venture to say I come from a long line of yellers. Does this make the yelling OK? No, but I am not nearly as terrifying as my dad was when he would get all fired up and start cursing in Croatian. Watch out! That big man always looked like he was two minutes away from bursting an artery in his neck when he got going. Fast forward twenty years and he is a teary eyed, sentimental, hours on the floor playing trains, tea party drinking grandfather and dam proud of it. I, however, do not have that luxury. I have two nut job kids that ignore 95% of what I say the first 100 times I say it; hence the yelling.

A few months ago I convinced Hubby that he needed to work from home at least one day a week. I promised we would leave him alone during the day, but he could sneak upstairs during lunch and help me during the most God awful time of the day, post nap/pre-dinner, and he would have more quality time with the kids (or give me a few free minutes, but whatever). After hours of me whining, he agreed.

Today he was super stressed and had about a million things going on when the kids decided they NEEDED to see their daddy. After two minutes of Mimi banging on his computer and Monkey turning the lights on and off, Hubby lost his shizzz. What happened? You have stuff to do,the kids are not listening, and you are going bananas? Tell me more about this…..

Then it happened, he yelled at them. It was actually a pretty weak yell (by my standards), but he yelled none the less. Both kids burst into tears and were devastated! Devastated! At first I was annoyed because I am the only one that gets to yell at the kids, but what really got me going was the fact that they were sobbing, snotty, sniffling messes on the ground because their beloved dad raised his voice to them. Are you kidding me? I scream like a maniac with smoke coming out of my ears and no one flinches around here. Mimi is immune to any volume change in my voice because she has heard my crazy yelling since day one. She can’t tell if I am talking normally or threatening to send her off to grandma’s house. Should I have their hearing checked?

I just don’t get it? How can dear old dad slightly raise his voice and both kids are shaking in their boots. I go bat shit crazy and reach new decibels with my voice and not one flinches? How do I fix this? If I started to whisper all day what would happen? Would that throw the kids off their game? Would Monkey put his shoes on the first time I asked? Would Mimi stop climbing up and down the stairs after one request?

Yelling is not the answer, and I should really learn to tone it down, but nothing and I mean nothing feels better than to yell “What are you, three?” to Monkey when he has ignored my request for the umpteenth time. It is ridiculous, but I imagine using it in the future.

You got your nose pierced? What are you, 16?

You failed psychology because you didn’t go to class? What are you, 20?

You drank too much wine and stayed up too late reading a smutty book? What are you, 32? This was me last night—don’t judge

If an avid yeller like my father can be reformed, there is hope for me, right? Maybe I should save up the yelling for their teenage years (shudder). A toddler and a preschooler can’t be embarrassed by a yelling Mommy, but I could embarrass the hell out of a sassy teenager. So until then, things are going to be quiet around here. Let’s see how long this lasts.

Flo Reminder

January 7, 2013 by amushro

Once upon a time a happy young couple wanted to buy their first home, right in the middle of the real estate boom. These young lovebirds didn’t have kids, weren’t married, and were planning on, as her grandfather so lovingly referred to their union, living in sin.

They looked high and low but eventually found a small house that was “perfect” and “the one.” Fast forward to rings, kids, a dog, and more toys and baby stuff that any one person can count, and the family is feeling claustrophobic and bursting at the seams. It is time to move out!

As Paula Abdul and Scat Cat so eloquently put it, opposites do attract and my husband and I are a perfect example. I am a quick results girl, pull the trigger, leap then look. Hubby is the opposite. He likes to do lots of research, weigh all of the options and let things play out themselves. To be honest, the balance we bring to each other has served us well. But enough is enough! I need OUT of this house. The toys have spilled into every room and I can’t cook, serve a meal, or lay my head on a pillow without being bombarded with a flashing truck or a baby doll. We need a bigger house and it needs to happen ASAP. When we started the discussion (several years ago) about moving out, I was very uneasy about leaving our first home; however, I have hit my limit and I fear for the safety of the walls if we don’t pack it up and get the hell out of this house. In a fit, stepping on another freaking toy, I may go all Hulk on the house and start busting up the walls.

Moving has been a source of contention and stress for us for quite some time. I have even started to get bitter and resent the sweet house that I used to love. Every day I find myself saying “I hate this stupid kitchen! Who are these cupboards designed for, the seven dwarfs?” and “Imagine how nice natural light would be in a bathroom. My eyebrows would be amazing if I could actually see what I am doing when plucking rather than just grabbing at the hairs in the dark.”

This weekend I was at war with sorting through all of the new stuff from Christmas and finding what I could throw out. My Hulk anger towards the house reared its ugly heard again, but before I could turn green, I heard Hubby yell at Monkey. Looking for a way to calm my anger, I thought I would see what had his panties in a bunch. Turns out Monkey was shoving his sister’s magic wand down the air vent, and Hubby was laid out on the floor with his arm down the vent when he yelled, “Sweet Jesus, it’s Flo!”

Let me give you some background on Flo. Monkey has been OBSESSED with all things related to Disney Cars since he first watched the movie in 2011. In a very short time, the kid accumulated everything with Mater or Lightning McQueen’s face on it. For some reason this silly boy took a real shining to a small version of Flo.

For months we would find Flo hanging out in the back of his dump trucks, see her sliding down the slide on the playground, and a few times, she could be found snuggled in his bed at night. One day he asked me “Mommy, where is Flo?” I tore the house apart looking for Flo. Under beds, ripping through the garbage, even the bottom of the toy box. No Flo. Every day for months and months he would just stop what he was doing or sit up in bed and ask me “Mommy, where is Flo?” It broke my heart that I couldn’t tell him where that dam car was. Even worse, she is sort of an obscure character and she came in a set that was discontinued. I couldn’t even replace her.

Fast forward to a year later, my husband pulling Flo out of the air vent and me bursting into tears. Not just because we found Flo, but because we are on the verge of putting a For Sale sign in our front yard, and I just thought of someone else pulling Flo out of captivity and just throwing her away. They would have no idea how loved she was. It got me thinking how much this house has really meant to me. Hubby proposed to me in this house, we brought both kids home from the hospital to this home, we started out as two young kids living in sin and ended up a crazy family.

So to my house, I apologize for being so pissy with you; you have served us well. I promise to be kind to you in the last few months we have together and I hope to give you new owners that are starting on the same path we were seven years ago, or best offer.

And even though he was nervous in the beginning, my grandfather would agree that even if you are getting the milk for free, you will eventually by the cow. Wait, did I just refer to myself as a cow–gross