Questionable Choices in Parenting

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

Home Sweet Home!

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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!

Home sweet home

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.

  1. 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
  2. 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
  3. 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.
  4. 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. MuralsCouldn’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.
  5. 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

The Gauntlet: Conquering the Inflatable

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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

Warning sign

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.

TheGauntlet

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.

Celebrate!

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

Sotired

 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

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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.

Hand Holding

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

hugs

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. 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)
  5. 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!

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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. KimIt 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:

  1. “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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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?
  4. 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!
  5. 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.
  6. 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.
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. 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.
  10. No one and I mean NO ONE will ever love you like your Mom!

 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.

 

Mom Tested: Commercials That Will Make You Ugly Cry

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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.

fuzzy-tv

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

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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:

Nicole

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.

Confessions

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…

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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!

glossy-pink-circle-button-md

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!

Lean on me

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.