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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?

Dad Knows Best

June 21, 2013 by amushro

*OK, so this post is an ode to my Pops for Father’s Day. I know I am a few days late, but I’ve been super busy and this post is super funny, so keep reading!*

My Dad is a real pain the ass. He assumes his opinions are always right, his potty mouth would make a trucker blush, he is crabbier than my kids if he doesn’t stick to his schedule and misses his nap, and he is in better shape than most twenty year olds. So freaking annoying.

However, he is a gem of a man who has come to my rescue more times than I can count. He loves my kids in such a beautiful way that it melts my little black heart. Around every turn of my life when I have been afraid, he reminds me to be brave. And he has taught me some of the most simple but profound lessons in life.

Now in all honesty, a lot of this magical advice was plagiarized from my grandfather, and if I had to guess, taken from his father, but it doesn’t matter because I fully intend on stealing these morsels of knowledge and sharing them with my own bambinos.

People are stupid—this little tidbit is the gift that keeps on giving. Sure it seems a bit harsh, but I can’t tell you how many times a day I recite this line over and over. Watch the nightly news: people are stupid. Read asinine status updates on Facebook: people are stupid. Keyboard politicians: People are stupid. Naming your baby North: people are stupid.
Are they paying your bills? Then why are you worrying about them? I shutter at the thought of being a dad to an emotional basket case teenage girl. I was a freaking hormonal nightmare and cried All. The. Time. During any falling out with a friend, non-friend, or lame-o boyfriend, my dad would lay it on the line and ask:

Dad: Are they paying your bills?

Me: What? No? (insert whiny voice and a few extra tears, OK a lot of tears)

Dad: Then why are you worrying about them?

Me: Because I …(insert lame teenage response) You don’t know what you are talking about.*Storms off to pout in bedroom*

Ok, So it wasn’t the most well received piece of advice as a teen, but with most life lessons, it was lost on youth but invaluable to me today. It takes a lot to get my panties in a bunch, and if they do, I ask myself those questions. Usually if that doesn’t work, I refer to #1

3. Do the right thing- So simple and so true. It’s sorta like my Daddy-O is as enlightened as Dori and her “just keep swimming” line. The next time you find yourself at a crossroad in life, just do the right thing. Makes your decision a lot easier.

There is all sorts of research on the lasting effects a dad has on his daughter’s relationships throughout life and her sense of self-worth. That’s a lot of pressure for Dear Old Dad.! Clearly the big guy did a few things right (even if he failed at teaching me to parallel park). But here is the best part of having an awesome dad, watching him be an amazing grandfather to your kids. Do the right thing? I think so.

Tugaboos

June 14, 2013 by amushro

*Sure, this is a sponsored post, but I am pretty excited to share my newfound love for Rite Aid Tugaboos diapers with you!*

Much like her Mamma, my little lady has a whole lotta junk in her trunk; however, while I try to keep mine covered up, her excess baggage is adorable. Especially in diapers.

So when we were given a chance to try Rite Aid’s Tugaboo diapers, Mimi and I agreed to give it a whirl. Actually, she just liked the cute Tiger on the diaper and made up a little song about T is for Tiger. I assume that meant she agreed to try them out.

Anyone diapering bums knows that using the wrong diaper is bad news. I’ve been stuck with some that cost way too much money, don’t fit right, are uncomfortable against my baby’s skin, or the ultimate no-no, leave you with a big mess. A big poopy mess. It’s always nice when those big messes happen in their carseat, out in public, or my personal fav, the crib. And you know as well as I do, ain’t no one got time for that! So when we tried Rite Aid’s Tugaboos and realized there were little diaper gems, we were thrilled (and not covered in poopy). The diapers have recently been improved for added leakage protection and faster absorption, but that wasn’t the only reason we liked them.

The diapers have a cottony soft feel and soft stretchable waist and side panels. An added bonus was how nicely they fit her under her summer dresses and skirts. The diapers even have a hypoallergenic inner liner to help protect her sensitive skin. I asked Mimi what she thought, but she just sang “T is for Tiger” over and over. Again, I’m taking this as she likes them.

This may be our first round of Rite Aid Tugaboo diapers, but I can guarantee it won’t be our last!

So what are you waiting for? Try Rite Aid Tugaboo diapers and do it this month because you could win a beautiful Vera Bradley bag. Fancy, huh?

For the month of June, all Tugaboos purchases will earn an entry into the Tugaboos and Vera Bradley Sweepstakes!

With every in-store purchase of qualifying Tugaboos products using your wellness+ card at any Rite Aid store between June 1-30, 2013, you will receive an entry for a chance to win one of (25) Vera Bradley Designer Diaper Bags filled with select Tugaboos products.

To enter without making a purchase, complete this entry form now:https://riteaidtugaboos.dja.com/.

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Rite Aid.

Riteaid

Identity Theft, Questionable Choices, and 50 Cent

June 13, 2013 by amushro

FTC DISCLOSURE REQUIREMENT:Questionable Choices in Parenting aims to provide unbiased editorials. However, I wish to disclose that from time to time I may receive free products or other compensation from companies for blogger reviews.

I write about my Questionable Choices in Parenting, but let’s be honest, my questionable choices started long before I birthed these two kids. One particular choice still worries me and it’s all 50 Cent’s fault.

Many moons ago, I was out for a night of dancing with my girlfriends when 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” started blaring through the speakers. I needed to be on that dance floor to bust a move because that was my JAM!

Are you singing it now? Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

Done? Good. When I heard the familiar beats of my favorite tune, I ditched my purse on a nearby table and was off to the dance floor. A couple of songs later, during a dance break, I went to grab my purse and realized it was gone!

Naively, I thought the worst part of a purse stolen would be replacing my driver’s license; however, it was my identity and credit that took the hit.

My wallet was a thief’s dream filled with unused credit cards that I never noted the account number or what bank they were attached to. Those cards were gone and I had no clue who to contact to cancel the cards. I should have just signed a bunch of blank checks and threw them out to people while I danced away like I was “Shorty” and it was my birthday.

If that isn’t enough to make your credit report panic, I also had my social security card in my wallet. Maybe I thought someone would need to verify my citizenship while clubbing? While 50 Cent was rapping about getting “a mill’ out the deal and I’m still on the grind,” I handed over magic numbers for someone to walk away with my identity.

Even though “you should love way more than you hate” it only took a few months for me to feel the impact of identity theft. It started with an angry collection agency demanding I pay for a cell phone in Utah. I tried to explain it was impossible for me to open a cellphone in a state that was across the country, let alone one I’ve never visited. But when they sent me a copy of a statement, there it was in black and white: someone used my information to open that cellphone account.

The cell phone was just the beginning of confusing and stressful process of trying to catch and clear up fraudulent charges and accounts . Even now, ten years later, I still worry about what could show up on my credit report from having my identity stolen.

Identify theft happened to me because of the contents of my stolen purse, but think about how much information we share and don’t even realize.

When I think about my frustration and anxiety over trying to figure out what steps I should take to protect myself, I really wish I had a trusted company like LifeLock to help me.

LifeLock is a suite of services that works together to protect your identity from various risks. With social media and technology being an integral part of our day-to-day life, it makes me feel better that LifeLock is so progressive and vigilant when offering assistance to people just like me. Having a trusted company like LifeLock to offer guidance, show me the right steps to protect my identity, and to offer authentic support would have been invaluable to me.

Interested?Then check out LifeLock right here.

So the next time you want to find me in “Da Club,” I’ll be on the dance floor holding my purse!

Home Sweet Home!

June 10, 2013 by amushro

I am up to my eyeballs in moving boxes, and I am telling you, friends, I couldn’t be happier! Selling your house makes you feel like your are seconds away from dropping your basket (remember this and this silliness), but the excitement over actually selling (yikes we are homeless) is pretty amazeballs. We found ourselves packing, packing, oh so much packing, then living with my in-laws for two weeks (insert every in-law joke imaginable), but we are FINALLY in our new house! Confetti and balloons fall from the sky!

Every few minutes, I look around expecting someone to shout “the jig is up!” and toss us out of our swanky new pad because they realize it’s just too nice for us. I’ve gone a little hoarse from sitting in my kitchen and squealing “EEEKKKK, It’s all mine!”

While it is going to take us ~~days~~ ~~weeks~~ ~~months~~ a lifetime to sort through the boxes, I have already learned a thing or two while in my humble abode.

I stressed over how the kids would deal with this move. I scowered Amazon for every children’s book on moving, read every piece of advice online on how to prepare them, and agonized over their happiness just to learn they couldn’t care less about the move. I told the boy we moving to a house with a pool across the street and he was sold. As long as Mimi had her baby doll and paci, she was cool. Creeps
All of this worrying about the kids, but it’s the dog that has taken it the hardest! My poor old lady constantly has a panicked look on her face like we are going to send her furry butt back to the pound at any minute. She hasn’t quite realized this is her new place, and is so out of sorts, she just paces at night. Maybe I should have read her the Berinstain Bears book on moving
Unpacking your entire kitchen in your new house and finding that 40% of your cupboards are still empty is what I imagine nirvana feels like. My kitchen looks like Old Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard and it is glorious. Look at all of this space. Just look at it! I could fit my kids in these cupboards! Now get out of my way and give me my credit card, I need to do some shopping to fill up this space.
A few packages went to our old address and the new owners were nice enough to show us the changes they made. They painted over everything I had done to make that home ours, and I just thought “Well, isn’t that nice.” But just like that:not mean, not sarcastic (surprised, right?). I really meant it. It was nice to see they made it their own. Before moved, I wept over the kids’ rooms and was shattered to think they would paint over the beautiful murals in each room. Couldn’t they just hurry up and have one boy and one girl to fill those amazing nurseries? Now my babies nurseries have become a white home office and random grey room with a treadmill, and I really don’t care. Right now we are working on their fabulous new rooms in their fabulous new house. Progress, I call that progress, folks.
At the end of it all: stressful decisions, packing, moving, living out of suitcases, and finally turning the key to your new home, if you want to high-five your husband and not high-five him in the face, well now, I call that #WINNING

Baby Products That Make My Life Easier

June 4, 2013 by amushro

I am so glad I wrote this piece for the DC Ladies last week because I am up to my eyeballs in unpacking all of the boxes at our new house. Who wants to help me unpack? No seriously, who wants to help? Well if you can’t help, at least head over and read my post, and if you would be so kind, send a little love my way with a few likes. Also, I would LOVE to hear the products you love and make your life easier. CLICK HERE to find me on DC Ladies

The DC Ladies; Parenting-Baby Products That Make My Life Easier

Back That Thing Up- Repost for those lost iPhones

June 3, 2013 by amushro

My poor friend Stephanie from When Crazy Meets Exhaustion is feeling super blue because she lost the epic battle of water vs. iPhone. I know her pain because it happened to me too. Here is a repost from a few months back about why technology and water don’t mix and why you need to Back That Thing Up!

Sex and the City is one of my all-time favorite shows. While I love Carrie Bradshaw, she and I only have a few things in common: we both have big, curly hair, we both think Mr. Big is a dreamboat and that Aiden is a hotty, and we don’t back up our stuff. Do you remember this scene?
While she was mourning her computer, I was mourning the loss of my iPhone. This all started with potty training. So in reality, it is potty training’s fault….not mine.

Potty training can be really difficult for some kids; however, Monkey was the easiest kid to potty train, and it had nothing to do with me or my amazing parenting expertise. One day he marched his little tush into the bathroom, grabbed my iPhone, sat down and the diapers were history.

Monkey would take the phone into the bathroom to do “his business”, but would sit there playing games until I forced him to come out. Sometimes I would let him stay in the bathroom while I did the dishes, drank a cup of coffee, or read one of my smutty books. He was happy, I was happy and Mimi was so little at the time she was easily entertained with some random flashing toy. Life was good.

One of the worst sounds I ever heard was a splash followed by “Uh oh!” The phone was swimming in the toilet.

I quickly scooped the phone out of the water and did everything you are not supposed to do: panic, turn the phone on and off, cry, turn it on again, curse, and cry more. Just to throw salt on my iPhone wound, everyone I came in contact with asked me the same stupid question:

“Didn’t you back up your stuff?”

Uhhhh no, I don’t do that.

What the hell is this iCloud? How does everyone know about this mysterious cloud but me? Am I really that deep in the child rearing trenches that I don’t know about this technology? Really, if one more person asked me about backing up my stuff, they were getting a punch in the throat. I’m looking at you, snarky salesman at the cellphone store.

I really didn’t care that the phone was a goner, or that I was going to shell out $$$ to get a new phone. What devastated me was the fact that all of the photos and videos were gone. Never mind the fact that we have an expensive camera and video camera sitting somewhere in this house; I was literally documenting the kids’ life on that phone. Well mostly just little Mimi (you know, second kid and all).

I wept over that stupid phone. Losing videos of my sweet Mimi and her first few months of life just so I could get a few minutes of peace while my kid sat on the john made me feel like the Worst. Mother. Ever.

Actually here is another thing that Carrie Bradshaw and I have in common: we have super, amazing friends that help us out in our time of need.

I passed the phone on to my bestie, a genius in computer forensics. If she could find obscure pieces of information on cell phones of bad guys, surely she could find my videos of Mimi cooing. Apparently things didn’t look good, but she would keep trying.

This phone disaster actually happened about a year ago, so all hope had been lost, but sometimes you get super lucky and pick friends that not only have amazing shoe collections, a totally awesome dance to “Push It”, but also useful skills. This week my BFF handed me a DVD with everything she recovered from my phone! She explained how she did it, but I was too stunned that I blocked out all of her CSI type jargon in order to look at what once was lost.

There were gems like this:

So what did I learn from these Questionable Choices in Parenting?

Back up your stuff, Y’all!
Get a BFF with cellphone superpowers STAT
Take some time for yourself to drink that coffee and read that smut. Just make sure your kid isn’t near water
Watching the edited version of Sex and the City on stations like TBS is just wrong. This has nothing to do with the cellphone mess, but it is an important lesson none the less

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.