My first attempt at a serious piece (says the gal with a journalism degree) is featured on Families in the Loop and it really has people talking. Check out my post on redshirting kindergarteners and let me know what you think!
Parenting: Five Ways I Know I am Doing It Right!
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,
In Honor of Mother’s Day: Ten of My Mom’s Best Pieces of Advice!
When it comes to the mom lottery, I am the Mega Millions, Powerball, Scratch-off winner. Not only is she my personal cheerleader, my kids’ favorite person in the world, and a fierce cook, she is smokin’ hot. 
It gives me hope that when I am her age, I won’t morph into the hunchback of Notre Dame. So in honor of Mother’s Day, I thought I would share my mom’s best pieces of advice. Now be advised, I usually rolled my eyes or ignored her pearls of wisdom, but inevitability something would happen and I realized, “Dang, she knows what she is talking about.” I just hate when that happens. So here you go, 10 of her best zingers:
- “If you stay with that boy, you will end up barefoot and pregnant in a trailer park.” Until my husband, I had HORRIBLE taste in men. Good thing Kim had zero problems telling it like it is. And she was right. That guy was a one way ticket to co-starting on Honey Boo Boo.
- Get a cleaning lady and never let her go. Apparently poor housekeeping skills are genetic, but more importantly, she was realistic. There is no way to do everything. So let the house go and throw money at the problem. Even if we had no budge in our budget, I wouldn’t give up my cleaning lady.
- Make a HUGE deal out of your kids’ birthdays and every single holiday. If your Mamma doesn’t cover your room in balloons, let you eat cupcakes for breakfast, and throw amazeballs parties for your birthday, who will?
- Anyone can do anything for a year. My first teaching job was reminiscent of Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds. Remember that Coolio video? I was fresh out of school and the kids were climbing the walls after an endless line of substitute teachers. I cried every day. I cried all the way to work, sucked it up to make it through the day, and I cried all the way home. My mantra to survive was “Anyone can do anything for a year.” It got better and I learned to love my job, that school, and my students. When she’s right, she’s right!
- Always have your own “thing.” Being a mom consumes every part of you and we can forget who we are. Check your profile pic on Facebook. Is it you or your kids? How often do you do something for yourself? Throughout the years my mom had a lot of hobbies, some successful some not. But she always had a “thing,” something that was all her own. And I don’t mean the secret stash of candy she thought was well hidden above the fridge. Sucker.
- Classy women don’t drink out of beer bottles. Like I said, I don’t always listen to her advice and I never claimed to be classy. This tidbit is coming from a lady that gets sloshed after one margarita.
- Never wait for your husband to do stuff for you. Want a picture hung on the wall? Grab the hammer and do it yourself! Want to paint the room? Grab a brush and get started! It drove my mom insane that her mother would wait and wait to have things done by my grandfather. It wasn’t happening in her house and it sure as hell isn’t happening here. Powertools, ladies. Embrace them.
- Take care of your girls. Kids can do a real number on your ta-tas: underwire, padding, push-up, Victoria Secret. Live it, love it, use it.
- Keep her under wraps most days, but never be afraid to unleash Mamma Bear. Hey, kid too old to be on the playground, I’m looking at you. If you push my kid again, you and your mom (the one texting and ignoring you) are going to get an earful.
- No one and I mean NO ONE will ever love you like your Mom!
Happy Mother’s Day! Now go do something nice for your mom. You are the reason she has stretch marks and pees herself when she runs up the steps.
What I Really Want For Mother’s Day
Hiya! Today I am over at the DC Ladies talking about what I really want for Mother’s Day. Feel free to share this with anyone buying Mother’s Day gifts. Stop over, share, like, comment, tweet, tell them I have great hair, or whatever. Click right here to be magically transported over to the DC Ladies!
Mom Tested: Commercials That Will Make You Ugly Cry
Having kids really wrecks you for life, and I’m not talking about the whole big head coming through the vagina incident. No, I am talking about something much more traumatic. Post children, I am unable to watch regular television without fear of bursting into hysterics over a lame TV commercial. Maybe it is a culmination of too many sleepless nights, or there are too many hormones still floating around after giving birth. Whatever the reason, there is no known cure. So grab the tissues and brace yourself for the tears. It’s about to get ugly cry up in here.
1. The GE Sonogram Commercial
The song, her face, the baby’s face, and the awkward photo bomb from the dad at the end means I am not only sobbing right along with that new mom, but I am also begging my husband to impregnate me so I can relive this moment.
2. Verizon Mother’s Day Commercial
Dear Verizon, are you trying to kill me? Seriously, my heart exploded in my chest when I saw this one. A Mamma watching her boy grow up, push away her touch, and move away. Why don’t you just have the family dog get hit by a car, huh? It’s all too much. I can’t take it, but I am going to watch it again. Call me in a few hours to make sure I am OK.
3. P&G Thanks, Mom Olympic Commercial
Screw you, P&G. Screw you.
4. Target Acceptance Commercial
I don’t know why this one makes me so verklempt, but seeing these kids reactions to getting into college is amazing and consistently renders me a blubbering mess. I would try to take a stand and say I am boycotting Target for putting me in this predicament, but we all know, that is a load of crap.
5. Baby Driver by Subaru
Wait for it….wait for it…BOOM! She’s a teenager. Waahhhh! Someone find my kids, I need to weep into their little heads. And while you are at it, get me a freaking Subaru.
Tell me, what commercials make you cry?
Confessions of a Mommy & Her Tramp Stamp
Confession time: I LOVE celebrity gossip magazines and websites. It’s a dirty habit that I’ve come by honestly from snuggling on the couch with my grandmother and reading Star Magazine cover to cover. Some grandmothers bake cookies and knit, my awesome Gram made sure I was in touch with all the celeb happenings
One of my favorite parts of gossip magazines is the “Stars are Just Like Us” section because I really do feel better about myself seeing Reese Witherspoon carry her own groceries or Bradley Copper pump his own gas. So imagine my excitement when I realized that Nicole Richie and I are more alike than I could ever imagine. All from this little tweet:
You probably guessed my second confession. I am the shameful owner of tramp stamp. What seemed edgy, cool, and “deep” when I was 19, now just seems misguided, uninspired, and lame at 33.
Tattoos can be really beautiful and an outlet for self-expression and identity; however, my lame-o tattoo is neither of those things. Everyone else had one in college and I wanted one too. Oh, I thought it was so “deep” and meaningful, but years later, I would give anything to have the space above my coin slot not covered in ink.
What is this uninspired ink you may ask? Well, what happens when your birthday falls on the cusps? One of two things: You can read both horoscopes for the day and pick the better of the two, or you can permanently mar your skin with a mixture of an Aquarius and a Pieces sign. So deep…
I hid the tattoo from my parents for months, but when bathing suit season came along, there was no hiding my new artwork. If looks could kill, I would have been dead from my Dad’s death stare (shudders). It only worsened when he and I were watching Wedding Crashers and Vince Vaughn totally threw me under the bus with this line:
“Tattoo on the lower back… might as well be a bullseye.”
Awesome. Just what every dad wants to hear.
My mom took it even worse. She was horrified by the tattoo and screamed “Someday you will have kids and they will want a tattoo. And what are you going to say? Huh? You won’t be able to say anything because you have a trashy tattoo.”
Dam her! She was right.
The idea of my babies permanently marking their perfect skin with anything makes me die a little. I made those kids and their skin. Surely there should be a law that you need your mother’s permission before you are allowed to ruin the skin she crafted, no matter how old you are! I can only hope there is something less permanent in the future that kids think is cool like a sticker or non-permanent hair dye. Wishful thinking, I know.
Our new house is across the street from the neighborhood pool and since my kids are part fish, I expect to be splashing around in that pool all summer and many summers to come. I can only hope that there are a few other moms and dads in my new hood that carry shameful tats. Maybe a few tribal bands, an ancient Chinese symbol for patience that really means fried rice, or even a few Greek letters from their glory days. We can nod our heads in solidarity of our bad choices. We were wild and crazy once and we have the ink to prove it! Now we are dragging our kids kicking and screaming to the kiddie pool during adult swim.
Lean on Me, Actually Don’t. Get Off Me…
Having kids has caused me a serious case of momnesia. This kid induced disease often has me searching endlessly for keys, failed attempts of looking for my lost cell phone while I am talking on that lost cell phone, and the dreaded walking into a room and thinking “What the hell did I come in here for?”
While momnesia and its nasty side effects has me walking around like a half wit, I never have to worry that I will lose my kids because one or both are always leaning on me, touching me, or sitting on me…always. Now I love a snugglefest with my babies, probably more than the average Mamma, but dang kids, give the lady some room!
This morning I was doing the normal multi-tasking: attempting to write a blog, drink coffee, pretend to watch Doc McStuffins and snuggle with two bed-headed kids. But I couldn’t even raise an elbow to click around on the computer because I was trapped between both leaners.
I moved to the floor, they followed me.
I scooted to the left, the scooted along with me.
I scooched to the right, the got even closer.
I can’t escape them!
During a break in the leaning, I ran off into the kitchen, but the little one followed me. Since this kid could stand, I haven’t cooked a meal without her standing on my feet or swinging between my legs chanting “Mamma, Mamma, Mamma” on repeat. This is enough to make the most patient of women insane, and I will only cook things that can be heated up in the microwave in 30 seconds so that I can be around long enough to see my kids graduate from high school.
I instituted a new rule in this house, a moratorium on leaning on Mommy for one hour a day. The no leaning policy happens from 1:30-2:30. This time also coincides with Mimi’s nap mostly because she is irrational and cannot be bargained with. Also, I am a little afraid of her wrath if I told her she has to move. However, the new rule has already failed and I have a mutiny on my hands. See!
The leaning doesn’t stop even when the kids go to bed. As if on cue, I get the kids to sleep and the dog, who has ignored us all day, comes racing down the stairs just to lean on me. It’s like she has an internal clock that goes off after bedtime alarming her to the fact no one is demanding anything from me and no one is touching me. The perfect time for her to lean that hot and hairy body on me.
After a full day of kids and a dog leaning on me, Hubby has the audacity to try his own version of leaning. No thanks, Dude. Keep on moving. After 12 straight hours of kid and canine leaning, ain’t no one got time for that.
So if you need me, find one of my kids. I will just be a lean away.
Two Under Two Reminder
Today, Mimi has hit the ripe ol’ age of 22 months. According to some random baby website she should be able to:
Say at least 20 words
Sleep at least 12 hours uninterrupted
Has the ability to wrap her Daddy around her little finger
Can clear the room with her ear-piercing screams and tantrums
While we still have two months before this little lady is two, this particular month has really struck a chord with me because Monkey was 22 months when I had Mimi.
In preparation for her birth and when trying to wrap my brain around having “two under two,” I remember thinking “He is so big now and so independent.”
Ummmm aca-scue me? What the hell was I thinking?
I look at my sweet Mimi and even though she is not a baby-baby anymore, she is a baby and sure as hell not independent. Unless, of course, you count going down the slide by herself or when she screams “Beat it!” to our dog when Suggie has gotten too close to her Goldfish crackers.
Here is Monkey at the hospital meeting his sister for the first time. He is wearing a “Big Brother” shirt. Big Brother? He isn’t a big anything! He was just a tiny toddler that is freaked out about seeing his mom in some random hospital bed and can’t understand why his Nene is handing him some baby. Thanks, but no thanks, lady. Just give me a snack instead, OK.
I love when people ask me how he adjusted to having a sister. He was so little that he has no memory without her around to cry, mess up his toys, or to share my lap. So the transition for him was no biggie. Me on the other hand, well let’s just say it wasn’t as smooth.
When I was pregnant and exhausted from chasing a toddler that was full of energy, I would fret over how difficult it would be to have kids so close in age. How would I handle their sleep when they are on such different schedules? How would I get two kids in and out of car seats without losing one in traffic? Is it even possible to get them both dressed and out the door before nine AM?
Here is the part where you expect me to say that all of that worrying was pointless, right? WRONG!
All of the difficult scenarios that I could imagine happened and they were usually worse than I expected. I spent most of that first year sleep deprived and crying. Many mornings were spent kicking a soccer ball to the boy while I nursed the baby. Now THAT is multi-tasking!
I couldn’t understand why I thought it was so hard to shower with just one kid. With two it would be goodbye soap and water, hello perpetual ponytails
When the fog started to lift and we made it to her first birthday, her invitations said this:
Happy First Birthday, Mimi!
but it should have said
Thank God We Survived!
Now that time has passed, I have adopted that strange ailment that affects all mothers at some point. You start to forget how bad something sucked and your memories get all bury and wishy-washy, just enough for you to look back on a particularly hard time fondly. Try it on yourself.
Morning sickness? Eh, all that vomiting wasn’t so bad? I actually look very nice in green.
Labor and delivery? Tis’ but a scratch.
The first year with two under two? It was lovely. I cherished every moment.
Could this be a hallucinogenic side effect from pregnancy hormones?
Here’s the thing I know for sure, everything happens for a reason and our life is exactly where is should be. I wouldn’t trade my two under two for anything. Because if I even thought for a minute that life would be better or easier if we had waited a little longer before we had our second, I would be a fool because I wouldn’t have my Mimi and she is perfection and life is perfection with this little hurricane!
Crime and Punishment: Please Don’t Take the iPad Away
If the bags under my eyes weren’t a clear indicator of my need for more sleep, the kitchen full of empty Diet Coke cans and coffee that has been reheated in the microwave one too many times should tell you that this Mamma is TIRED!
Because Hubby works late and usually misses out on the torture joy that is bath and bedtime, I devised an evil plan that allows me to get a few more zzzzzzzs, him some quality time with the kids, and a little payback for “oh, the metro broke down again” —he has to get up in the morning with the kids. (Insert evil laugh here).
The other morning I couldn’t be sure if I was dreaming, no, no, no having a nightmare, or if Hubby was actually trying to ruin my life. Monkey must have been throwing a temper tantrum over who knows what (again, I wasn’t on duty and don’t really care about the specifics), but I distinctly heard Hubby say “That’s enough, you have lost the iPad for the rest of the day.” Why would he say such a thing? My sweet slumber was immediately ruined! I jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs trying to stop him from making a terrible mistake.
I get that parents need to be on the same page with discipline and you can’t undermine the other parent when they are laying down the law, but I had to stop this nonsense because if Monkey was banned from the iPad for the day, it was ME that was being punished.
I am not ashamed to say that I use the iPad and iPhones in this house to entertain, bribe, and calm wild beasts. Without them my Mommy Bag ‘O Tricks would be pretty shallow.
Now that he doesn’t nap and I need to get work done in this house, Monkey happily skips off with the iPad while Mommy gets the first shower of the week without an audience, maybe I tackle the laundry pile that has engulfed half of the house, or maybe I just sit on my arse drink a Diet Coke and watch Dr. Phil. Either way, he is happy, maybe learning something, maybe not, and I am happy. The iPad even forces the kids to share. It’s a magical little unicorn and I REFUSE to give it up!
If we need to run to the grocery store and someone is tempted the throw themselves into the shelves of cereal, don’t fear! Quickly toss them the phone and let them play the Bubble Guppies game.
At the doctor’s office for more than five minutes with a toddler that is ready to make it “rain up in there” with tongue depressors? No worries, we’ve got an app for that. Actually we have dozens of apps for that, and right now the Disney Junior app is on and she can watch Little Einsteins. Boom! She is happy and the tongue depressors are safe.
Trying to cook dinner but have two kids pushing you, standing on your feet, and requesting the 100th cheesestick of the day? Take the iPad and beat it, kids. Now they are blissfully happy while you chop, saute, and bake a yummy dinner they probably won’t eat, but hey, you tried.
It’s like Steve Jobs saw the frazzled Mom and worked feverishly with the Apple geniuses to create something so wonderful, so mind consuming, and so addictive that he should have been given a Nobel Peace Prize.
When I see an articles written about kids too connected to technology and we are creating mini zombies when they have too much iPad/iPhone time, I just have to say shut up, seriously. While pregnant I never drank, smoke, or did Crystal Meth (well to be honest, I never did Crystal Meth). I nursed both kids long enough to watch the slow demise of my perky breasts, and I engage them with all sorts of educational and meaningful activities every day. I will not apologize for their overuse of the iPad and I if you need an excuse, I am sure we have an app for that.
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