kids — Page 4

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

Party of Five?

January 5, 2013 by amushro

Is anyone else starting to feel like everyone is pregnant? Look around, everyone is pregnant. Everyone! Well, not me. I’m not pregnant, but I feel like everyone from my friends, to people on Facebook, to every celebrity now has a bun in the oven.

Seeing so many pregnant women can be dangerous for a girl like me. The reason why: I have a biological clock that is shouting “tick, tick tick, BOOM dynamite.” Yes I have two healthy and beautiful children, and according to my mom, “You have a boy and a girl. That is all they come in!” But I can’t help but look at our dinner table and wonder if someone is missing?

When I was young and newly married, I wanted four kids. You may say I’m a dreamer; then reality (age, $$$, sanity) hit and I realized four is not in the cards for us.

I even visited a psychic a few months ago and asked if she saw more children in my future. The woman actually had the nerve to tell me yes and it would be twins! I have heard the urban legend about these mothers that wanted to add just one more kid to the mix and BOOM twins! Here is my PC mom statement: yes it would be a blessing, and here is reality: HOLY HELL! What would I do with twins in addition to Monkey and Mimi? Sign me up for the nuthouse right now. Anyone have a good psychic that can give me another reading? I feel like I need a second opinion. If the second psychic says she sees twins, then my uterus is headed into early retirement.

In spite of the psychic spewing her twin nonsense, I have turned to my friends for advice. Have you ever met a friend as an adult and knew instantly that if you were eight you would totally buy them a friendship bracelet? That is how I feel about my friend, Coco. She is funny, brutally honest,talks me off of my crazy ledge when things get rough, and has changed my kids poopy diapers— that is a real friend. She has also been my sounding board for the “should we have another baby” discussion. A few months ago I felt like everywhere I looked someone was having another baby with a horrible disease or disfigurement. Then I read about Tori Spelling being on bed rest for months with her fourth pregnancy and all of the awful complications she had after the baby was born. I swore it was a sign from God that our clan was meant to be four and no more. So I begin my texting rant to Coco about why both of us should NEVER have a third and just stop at two. It was descriptive and detailed. I pulled out every argument I could think of. She is a lawyer so I felt like I needed to use big words to prove my case “amniocentesis” “Apgar Scoring System” “college tuition.” The next day, she told me she was pregnant. Insert foot into my big, stupid, overreacting mouth. Luckily, my beloved Coco said she wouldn’t judge me because she still questions if she is sane for having a third baby.

Ever the problem solver, I even created a pros/cons list. I will not bore you with the contents of this list, and to be quite honest, some of the reasons to or not to have a third child are embarrassing, selfish, and you may think I am even crazier then you already suspected. However, ever the optimist, Coco told me “the fact that you’re even making a list means you’ve got one foot in the delivery stirrups.”

To be honest, I change my mind based on the day.

If the kids are being good and one of them does something particularly sweet or adorable—it’s a three kid kind of day.
If someone doesn’t nap, throws a temper tantrum or my husband works late—two kid day

The good thing is that at the ripe old age of 32 and ¾, I still have a lot of time to pop out another kid. Maybe we will have a third. I could see myself with a straggler. Someone to hang out with me once Monkey and Mimi leave me for elementary school sniff…sniff. As my Coco would say “Love is multiplied and not divided,” and with that I will drink some more wine because I can and she can’t. Cheers!

Back That Thing Up

January 1, 2013 by amushro

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

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic

December 30, 2012 by amushro

This may seem like an ordinary Disney Princess Castle, but I am telling you, this one has magic powers.

This castle was one of the 102,383 presents that Mimi received this Christmas. Considering this girl has glitter in her veins and has recently discovered the money maker amazing wonder that is all things Disney Princess, this little house and it princess inhabitants is one of her favorites. Although, she has taken a shining to Snow White and refuses to understand that Ariel is far superior, but whatever, we can work on that.

This morning I caught my hubby playing with Miss Mimi and her magic castle. If you put a princess on the dance floor she will introduce herself and sing a little song. Apparently my rendition of “Someday My Prince Will Come” was subpar because Monkey told me to stop singing because I was hurting his ears (creep). Anywho, as each princess sings her little song, Mimi breaks into a full on song and dance. It is freaking adorable and the gal can move. As her momager (watch out Kris Jenner), I can see big things in her future, or she will be that kid on American Idol that is shocked that the judges think she can’t sing because her mother always tells her she is amazing. Oh dear God, please don’t let her grow up to be that kid.

After witnessing this song and dance a few times, I literally watched my husband melt into a big ball of daddy induced goo. His eyes got all glassy and he had this silly smile plastered on his face. Oh yeah, this guy has got it bad and Mimi pulled out her best moves to impress her Daddy-O. A few minutes later, hubby calls me into the room to discuss something that he was thinking about. This is how the convo went down:

Hubby: Sooooo, what do you think about taking the kids to Disney?

Me: Ummm, yes! I have been saying that for months. I’ve done a ton of research and could plan the trip in minutes.

Hubby: Yeah, yeah, yeah it’s just that she really likes these princesses and maybe she would want to see them. I really think we should take the kids. Monkey would LOVE Disney, especially the rides. It would be great.

Me: Sure, honey great idea???

This is what I said, although I was thinking—what the hell just happened in here? What sort of magic spell has this castle put on you? Is it laced with Disney fairy dust that comes straight from the Magic Kingdom? I literally have been trying to get him to agree to a Disney trip for months and all of the sudden he has the idea to take the kids. Whatever, sign me up!

Maybe it wasn’t the castle at all. Maybe it was the magic of Mimi. If it was Mimi, I need to learn her secret. I mean, my dad thinks I’m great and all, but he is pretty smitten with my kids, so I am old news in his book. What else could Mimi talk her father into? A few bats of her eyelashes, a jig, and a little tune and he is loading the whole family on a plane for a trip to see Mickey and Friends.

How could I use this to my advantage?

Well, I really HATE to do the dishes. Could I bust a move and sing a song to my hubby and hope I never have to touch a dish again? Highly unlikely.

I need to watch this gal and study her technique closely. I could learn a thing or two from her. Until her magic powers are used for evil, “Please Daddy, mean Mommy said I couldn’t use the car tonight. Can I please (bat eyelashes), please (insert sweet smile), please (give ol’ dad a hug) use the car?” I need to get her on my team and sit back and enjoy the spoils of her magic.