Happy Mother's Day

Mother’s Day is fast approaching and every store in the world is trying to tell husbands what their wives would like to receive for a gift.

They’re pushing things like jewelry, perfume and spa gift certificates.  But those things are not what moms really want.  At least not this mom. 

Don’t get me wrong. Those are lovely gifts and I’d be thrilled to get any of them.  But I’d rather have my husband give me any of the following three things:

Mom Wish 1: The Aility to Use the Bathroom Alone

Wouldn’t it be kind of cool to be able to go into the bathroom without having someone knocking on the door the entire time?  I mean, it would be a brand new experience and may open up a whole new world of possibilities!  Who knows what moms could accomplish if the act of peeing could be done without having someone standing outside the door yelling “What are you doing in there?”

The best, though, is when you tell them not to come in but they do anyway. 

"Don't come in here."

“Do you need help wiping?”

“No. Get out.”

“My teacher says you’re supposed give people privacy in the bathroom.”

Oh really?  Well thank you for coming in here to tell me that.  I don’t think she meant only at school so feel free to apply your new knowledge in any bathroom related interaction.  Like right now, for example. 

Peeing in peace would be the ultimate Mother’s Day fantasy gift.  I’m fully aware that this will never happen.  But a girl can dream right?

Mom Wish 2: The Luxury of Eating a Meal Myself

As in, all by myself.  Without having to share ANY bites.

I don’t know what it is about my children but they seem to have a sixth sense that lets them know when I’m eating.  It’s like their baby super power. 

I’ll have been so carful opening the fridge, I didn’t make a noise when I got my fork out of the drawer, I’ll be juuuuust about to take a bite and…

“Can I try some of that?”

DAMMIT! Where did you people come from?  Sometimes I’ll even eat cold food to avoid having to make noise using the microwave.  I’m a desperate woman.

Fortunately, for the most part I can salvage my food with two words: “It’s spicy”. 

If you’re a mom and you don’t use that trick then you need to.  “It’s spicy” ends all the whining about wanting me to share.  I’m not really even sure they know what that means, but they know it’s not good.  Oh, and when it comes to liquids feel to use “It’s a drink for adults…like beer.” 

Because my kids don’t know what soda is, but they DEFINITELY know what beer is. 

Mom Wish 3: The Gift of Alone Time

This is the big one.  The “Mother” of all Mother’s Day gifts, if you will.

If you’ve read SHUT IT! you know how I feel about being talked at all day.  Silence is golden…unless you have a kid in the house…then silence is strictly terrifying!

It’s not that I don’t love my family.  I do.  I just want to love them from afar for one day.  What’s that they say about absence?  It cures Mommy of wanting to kill you?

All I want for Mother’s Day is to be alone with my thoughts, my books, my TV and my margaritas.  One day. That’s all I’m asking for.  It would benefit the entire family, honestly.

Maybe this year I’ll say to my husband “Money is tight this year, honey, so for Mother’s Day why don’t you and kids just TAKE A HIKE!”

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

First Impressions

Today is the day we’ve been waiting for! After three long years of suffering the snubs of our sucky neighbors we are finally getting new ones!  HOORAY!

Now, I don’t mean to be the crazy neighbor already but I’ve been stalking the window all day long.  So far no sign of them.  But I’m gonna be ready when they get here…

First impressions are very important you know. 

I started the preparation for our first impression last night as I was getting ready for bed.  I picked out my prettiest pajamas knowing full well there was a pretty good chance I would still be in them when the newbies arrived. 

“Do you think new neighbors like floral patterns with stains on the thigh or plaid flannels with a hole in the crotch?”

By some miracle of miracles I was actually up and dressed early this morning…like, in clothes!  The picking out of that outfit was excruciating.

“Do you think the new neighbors like trendy or preppy?”

I wanted them to pull up and see that I was cute and accessible.  And then they would say to each other “Wow, that mother next door is super cute, yet totally accessible.”

I ended up in skinny jeans (to look trendy), with a cuff (to look preppy) and then a cardigan (to look motherly).  Best of all worlds.

I then proceeded to clean my entire house.  I frantically told my husband that I didn’t know if I would have enough time to wash the floors before they came.

“You do realize they aren’t moving into OUR house right?”

Ok, but what if they need to borrow something? Do we want them to think we don’t wash our floors? Then they’ll say “We used to think that cute, trendy, preppy Mom next door was accessible…but now we just think she’s dirty.”

We can’t have that.

So it’s now 2pm and I’ve been waiting since 8am to make my first impression (actually 10pm last night if you count the pajama planning) and they haven’t even shown up yet. 

In reality, however, I’m pretty sure I already made my first impression while they were having their home inspection. 

We were playing outside and I found a tick in Carter’s hair.  So in the middle of their inspection they saw me and my other neighbor holding him down on the ground while he screamed bloody murder and I cursed “SHIT! Shit I can’t get it!” 

That’s a first impression they probably won’t soon forget.

UPDATE:

I wrote this post on Monday.  We saw no sign of them all day.  Today is Wednesday.  I pulled into my driveway after gymnastics class with the boys and there they were.

So this is how I ended up meeting them: Wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt, no make-up, hair in a pony tail and carrying Carter who had kicked off his shoe in the middle of an epic tantrum and was screaming "MY SHOE! MY SHOE!" at the top of his lungs.

Welcome to the neighborhood!

The Unethical Playdate

When you go on playdates with people you meet though school, the park or a new class you bring muffins and coffee.

When you go on playdates with your old sorority sisters you bring…vodka.

My husband happened to be home while I was packing up.  He watched me grab the sippy cups, the diapers, the wipes and…the goods...

"Oh! I forgot to grab something..."

“Yeah. Cause no playdate is complete without the handle of vodka.  Have fun, hun.”

Oh, we will. 

There happens to be this one brand of apple flavored vodka that we had a few weeks ago and have been unable to locate since.  I own the last remnants of that bottle.  It’s a very important job bringing this deliciousness to and from our gatherings. This is how we stay sane through all of the “He took my Thomas train!” and “I wanted to use the potty first!”

So there I was, ready to depart.  I had my kids, my diaper bag and my alcohol. 

On the way to the car I ran into my sucky neighbors.  They waved to me and I waved back…with the vodka holding hand. They gave me a weird look.  She’s putting two toddlers into a car and brandishing a large bottle of alcohol.  What kind of mom is this? 

Um…the awesome kind!

They got into their hybrid and drove away.  Good thing they’re moving out in a few days…less time to judge me. 

We got to the playdate and poured the drinks…I mean…let the kids play.  But, mostly, poured the drinks. 

The whole allure of this get together was that the Easter Bunny had recently given our friends a bouncy house.  (Which, actually, kicks the ass of our Easter Bunny who gave my kids jelly beans and bubbles.)

The kids LOOOOOOVED the bouncy house! It was the best thing ever.

We sat there drinking our drinks and cracking up at our children.  My friend asked if I wanted another one and I said “No. One is enough.  We have to be going now.”

HA!

No, that didn’t happen.   I said yes.  So she went inside to concoct another round and I was in charge of the children.  I just kept counting them: 1, 2, 3, 4. I knew I had the right amount of kids: 1, 2, 3, 4.

Crap! The fan that was blowing air into the bouncy house had come unattached. The kids screamed as if one of their limbs had come unattached so I went to fix it.  It took me 30 seconds…

I stood up.  Counted the kids: 1,2,3…ummm…1,2,3….

I know I had more than that when I started.  At which point my friend came out of the house with our refreshed drinks and I had to tell her ”I think I lost your kid.”

Turns out her 1 year old was just casually playing in the street.  So…no harm done.  Also…that mother fucker is FAST!  Watch out for him.

In the end, it was a very fun, if not safe, playdate.  We’ll be sure to do it again next week. 

Soundtrack of My Day

My life needs to be a reality show.  I just think someone should be getting a kick out of it…and it’s certainly not me. 

Obviously it’s going to need a soundtrack so I’ve decided to document my days through song.  This was harder than I thought.  Apparently no one has ever written a song called “I clean the kitchen as I drink my coffee” or “Why the hell are you naked…again!”

Well here goes:

I wake in the morning.  The sun is shining in my bedroom, a new fresh day about to start.  John Lennon’s “Imagine” is playing softly in the background.  Maybe I’ve just woken from a nice dream. It’s a relaxing peaceful scene.  Until the kids enter the picture.  Then…you know you make me wanna...

”SHOUT”!

The Isley Brothers classic interrupts the scene.  It’s BLARING.  And not cause I’m drunk at a fun wedding.  Cause I’m sober at my chaotic house and my kids are making me scream.  As usual. 

As I make my way downstairs I’m wondering “Who Let the Dogs Out?” They’re barking and whining at the back door but there’s an epic struggle for the green bowl taking place in the kitchen so no one is noticing. 

The Baha Men should have written a sequel to that song called “Who Let the Dogs IN”…cause someone’s gonna have to do that too. 

I throw on the TV so I can go about my business cleaning, changing diapers, breaking up fights, figuring out why on earth anyone would want to dip their foot in their milk cup…

All of a sudden “The Hot Dog Song” starts playing.  I hate that song.  It means I’ve run out of time…Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is over and my children are coming for me.

Somewhere around 2 or 3 o’clock the tender voice of Marvin Gaye can be heard singing “What’s Going On.”:

“Mother, mother, there’s too many of you crying.”

Yeah.  Cause we all just looked at the clock and realized how far away bedtime is.

More than once a day you’ll hear “Regulators” start to play.

Nate Dog and Warren G have to regulate? Well so does Mommy.  I don’t care who spit water at who first.  Stop it.  Mommy does not want to have to pop a cap in yo ass…but I will.

As night falls, the kids go to bed and the scene in the house shifts.  There I sit with my husband mindlessly watching some show we have on our DVR. 

Cue “I Wanna Be Sedated” by The Ramones.  Because…well…I do. 

And that’s just the pilot episode. 

Don't Throw Me Out!

Toy Story 3 ruined my life.

Not in the “Oh I’ll never get those hours back” kind of way.  It was a decent movie.  I didn’t hate it at all…until the next time I went to clear out some of the kid’s toys.

If you haven’t seen it basically it’s about toys not being used as much and what happens to them at that point.  Do they get thrown out, put in the attic, donated?

Obviously the toys are the main characters, so they have personalities, feelings and various other bullshit characteristics that make them likable. 

That’s great for a movie I guess.  But in real life that idea sucks.  Especially for people like me…cause I like to throw shit out.  There is absolutely no better feeling for me than throwing shit out. 

My husband is a shit keeper and that drives me crazy.  He has an entire bag full of little, tiny, miniscule pieces that have fallen off various toys that we own.  He vows that one day he will glue them back on…he just needs the right kind of glue.  The glue costs like $10 bucks.  The car he’s trying to fix cost 79 cents.  Throw that shit out.

Ok, I’m off track.  The point of this post is that I now feel so completely and totally guilty every time I go to throw out a toy.  I feel like they’re looking at me.  And begging for their lives.  Especially the stuffed animals.  Those bastards are the worst…

 "Don't throw us out, Mean Lady!"

To lessen my guilt I eventually started throwing them out in pairs so they’ll at least have a friend in the trash.  And who knows, they might escape.  I’ll poke a little hole in the bag to give them a fighting chance. 

Clearly I have to get all of this purging done while the kids are otherwise occupied.  Because if they catch me in the act that dump truck with the three wheels collecting dust under their bed will suddenly become their most favoritest possession in the WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD! They can’t live without it!

So anyway, thank you Disney Pixar for creating a movie that tugs at the heartstrings of mothers everywhere and has me having a full on conversation with a broken fire truck trying to explain the situation to him:

“I do feel bad.  I really do.  But it’s not you, it’s me.  Actually…no…it’s you.  You’re the one with the broken ladder.  I would keep you but it’s created a jagged edge that’s just not safe for the kids anymore.  I supposed I could file it down…but that’s really extra work for no reason.  We have 19 other fire trucks.  Sorry, buddy.  Sorry.”

Lunch Time!

Lunch time is always eventful in our house.  You’d think it would run more smoothly considering it happens every single day.  But, no, we just don’t have the hang of this yet.

There’s always a fight over what they are actually going to eat.  They want mac and cheese.  I feed them peanut butter and jelly. I don’t have the patience to wait for the water to boil.  And yes, I’m aware of the fact that speaks volumes about my parenting abilities…

So after we (I) agree on sandwiches I go to work assembling them. 

Since I make the same thing every day I have to go ahead and brag about my ‘putting peanut butter on bread’ skills.  I think I’m pretty good at it.  But without fail Carter still examines his sandwich when I’m done.

“Mom, I’m just gonna open this up and see if you got it right, OK?”

The quality control department is my house is brutal. 

I don’t usually get it wrong, though.  I know that Carter likes JUST peanut butter while Grant enjoys a touch of jelly. Carter also knows that Grant likes jelly…and he use that knowledge to torture his brother:

“Why is your brother screaming?”

“Cause he wants jelly on his sandwich but I’m singing a song called ‘Grant’s only getting peanut butter’.”

And he, in fact, WAS singing that song.  It had verses and a chorus and everything.  I couldn’t even be that mad.  I had to admire his creativity.  Nice work, Cart…now stop being a prick.

I try to fly through lunch as quickly as possible.  Cause know what follows lunchtime?  NAPTIME!

Sometimes my lunchtime laziness gets a little ridiculous.  Like today for example, I didn’t feel like taking the jelly out of the fridge so I told the kids the jelly was broken.  Carter called my bluff:

“Can you tell me exactly HOW the jelly got broken?”

No, I cannot.  It just got broken, alright? 

He was absolutely NOT buying my bullshit story about the broken jelly.  And he doesn’t even LIKE jelly!  He was just representing his brother’s interests…which is odd, cause yesterday he composed a little ditty about denying Grant jelly. 

Once that’s all squared away I get the boys a drink. 

Now, see, I personally think water tastes the same no matter what color cup it’s in.  My kids disagree.

“I WANT THE RED CUP!”

“NO! I WANT THE RED CUP!”

So there were my children, prepared to fight to the death over the magical red cup.  Honest to God, these are the problems that rock their world. 

The next day I thought I’d be smarter and give them both the same exact cup.  Let me repeat that: the SAME EXACT cup.  It took them a minute but they eventually figured out a way to turn that into an argument:

“I want the one on the right!”

“NO! I do. You take the one on the left!”

It took all my God-given strength not to pour the water over their heads, sneak off with the red cup on the right and fill it with tequila…

Mom-Fessions Part 2

So turns out I have a lot more Mom-fessions than I originally thought.  The first installment had me admitting to things like letting the TV babysit and refusing to play Candy Land for the 94^th time in a row. 

Here is the latest list of things I do as a mom that you won’t find in any “how-to” parenting manual:

Mom-Fession #7:  I don’t do crafts.

That’s what school is for. 

When Carter was little I used to take him to mom-and-me classes where they would do little crafty projects.  That was the extent of his exposure to art.  When the teacher handed him a glue stick he didn’t know what to do with it.  She may as well have handed him an algebra equation.   

When he figured out what you could do with that stick, his face lit up. You would think this thing held the secret to curing cancer, eliminating the national deficit and bringing about world peace...that's how happy he was to be holding it.

He now possessed the power to stick things to other things, and he intended to use it. His fire truck had no less than 13 wheels on it when he was finished. He just kept gluing them on.

Know how sometimes when a kid has overly controlling parents they grow up and rebel? Yeah, well, my kid isn't going to be out partying till all hours of the night...he's going to go off to college and sneak finger paints into his dorm room.

Mom-Fession #8: I let my kids listen to music with questionable lyrics.

I’m relatively sure that my 2 and 3 year old don’t know what shots of Patron are.  But I guess you never know.  If Carter goes to school and calls his teacher 'shorty' and asks her to 'drop it low' then I’ll start to be concerned.

For now, however, I think I’m safe. 

There’s one Jason Aldean song that he really likes that contains the line “Make all the drunk girls scream and shout”.  Carter sings that song at the top of his lungs but says “truck girls” instead.  Trucks.  It’s aaaaalll about trucks.

Mom-Fession #9: I’m the mom that signs up to bring chips and salsa to the class party.

I’m not baking cupcakes and I’m not decorating cookies to look like a pumpkin.  Period.

Chips and salsa take no effort and no forethought.  If it comes to the morning of the party and you JUST REMEMBERED that it’s even happening…chips and salsa, my friends, can be purchased the day of.  I know that pre-made cookies can also be the lazy mom’s way out.  But I feel like if you sign up for baked good everyone expects homemade.  No one expects chips and salsa from scratch. 

Today Carter’s school had a spring party.  Everything on the list was fruit.  I didn’t notice the sign-up sheet until it was too late.  My friend beat me to napkins.  BITCH!  I got stuck with watermelon.  I’ve vowed to be more observant in the future. 

Mom-Fession #10: I’ve put less effort into teaching Grant things than I did with Carter.

If you only have one kid you probably can’t relate to this.  In fact you’re probably too busy teaching your 1 year old to write his name to even be online reading this in the first place. 

When Carter was little I would sit on the floor for hours with books, puzzles, shapes etc.  Grant didn’t get that attention.  I didn’t do puzzles with him as much. He was lucky if we noticed he was eating a puzzle before he choked on it.

But the good thing about having an older child is you don’t have to stress about it.  They will do the schooling for you.  Grant knows all kinds of things that we didn’t teach him.  My husband and I would be absolutely shocked when he displayed any new knowledge. 

“Did you know Grant knew his colors?”

 “No.  Did you teach him that?” 

“No.  Must have been Carter.  That kid is really earning his keep these days huh?”

Second child syndrome abounds in our house.  But everyone seems to be doing just fine with that. 

That’s what I got for now.  I know at least some other mothers are guilty of these things as well.  Don’t worry, you’re in good company.  Well, you’re in my company.  And I think that’s good.  Some would probably disagree.  Like parenting experts, child therapists, pediatricians…..

Blog-aholic

Hello.  My name is Danielle and I’m a Blog-aholic.

I started writing my blog as a way to have a voice.  Motherhood can be lonely and frustrating.  My blog gave me an outlet, a way to tell my story and share my experiences.

I started sharing it with a few people.  They liked it.  So I shared it with a few more people.  They liked it too.  They told me I was funny, that they could relate to my experiences and they encouraged me to keep writing. 

That fed my desire to share my stories with even more people.  That’s when I joined Twitter.  Which was scary because up until then all of the people reading my blog were people I knew.  Now strangers would get a chance to view my stuff.  And potentially they wouldn’t find me as amusing.  Maybe I’m not as great of a writer as I’ve been led to believe.  Maybe my mom lied to me…

Turns out there are a few other moms out there who know where I’m coming from.  And they’ve told me so.  Wow!  Complete strangers are leaving comments (like two of three of them, but still). 

Now I find that I’m totally addicted to my blog.  I love the thrill I get when I see someone has left a comment or joined my page.  Who doesn't like hearing nice things about themselves?  I get a huge ego boost when I notice the number of page views I’ve had that day.  I feel validated and liked. And that’s the problem…

I find I can’t stop checking to see if I have any new interactions, likes, comments, followers, messages…

And more and more I feel like I’m missing out on time I could be spending with the two reasons I write this blog in the first place.  Speaking of, where are Connor and Graham...wait...are those their names?  Carter and Grant, I mean. 

My name is Danielle…and I’m a blog-aholic. 

So happy to announce that I've been nominated for another blogger award!  Thank you so much to the amazing ladies at Merely Mothers for recognizing me!  Their blog about real life parenting topics is one of my new favorites.  They aren't afraid to tell it like it is...sound like anyone we know??

Now for The Versatile Blogger Award Rules:

• Thank the person who gave you this award. (Thanks Ladies!)
• Include a link to their blog.  www.merelymothers.com
• Tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself.
• Select 5 or more blogs that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly.
• Nominate (award) those bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award.

7 Things About Me:

- I'm one of the few people on the planet who hates peanut butter.  And my kids LOVE it and eat it almost every day...gross!

-I'm a licensed attorney in the state of MA.  However, I now stay home with my kids and coach gymnastics part time...and I love what I do!

-I am just starting to put my blog out there and I have NO IDEA what I'm doing.  Twitter confuses me, I don't know what an RSS feed or a meme is (if you want to explain it feel free!) I used to only share 'Things Carter Says' with friends and family but it feels really good to get feedback from other bloggers!

-I have an intense fear of tight spaces.  In fact, I've been afraid of getting stuck in clothes since I was little.  I won't put anything over my head if it's remotely tight. And yes, I know that's weird.

-My husband was my first boyfriend =)

-I am extremely superstitious when it comes to sports!  I'll wear the same shirt, sit in the same seat, etc. etc. if I think it'll make my team do well.  Go Boston!

-I have a pretty amazing memory.  Which really helped me in law school.  I can remember the most random little details of a conversation, event, argument...my husband hates it!  Carter got that memory too...which is really coming back to bite me in the ass.

Ok so here are the blogs I would like to pass the nomination along to:

1.  4 Eyed Blonde - http://www.4eyedblonde.com/

2.  Momtactics - www.momtactics.com

3. Renaissance Mom - http://renaissance-mom.com/about/

4.  Fractured Family Tales -
http://fracturedfamilytales.blogspot.com/

These are my 'go-to' blogs right now...I'll be posting a few others when I get a chance!

Yes, I Work.

I stay home with my kids…AND THAT’S A JOB! 

I go to work every day.  I work weekends.  I work overtime.  I’m on call 24 hours a day.  And I don’t get anything additional for it.  I don’t get sick days or holidays or vacation time.  In fact, if I ever do go on vacation I most likely have to take my work with me. 

Moms don’t only work one job.  No.  We have to master several trades all at once.  So the next time someone asks me what I do for work I’m going to say…

I’m a chef:

And I work in the most demanding kitchen on earth.  My customers are very particular.  The world’s most accomplished culinary minds would fail in my home.  For example, if a chef heard ‘I want toast’ they would probably assume they should put a piece of bread in the toaster.  They would be wrong.  Because ‘toast’ to my kids means uncooked bread with butter on it.  I don’t know why.  It just is what it is.

After screwing up the cooking of the toast, a top chef would probably just cut it into whatever shape he felt like.  Wrong again.  You always have to ask.  And sometimes, even after you ask, you can still be wrong. 

If they say rectangles you’re usually safe because you can go anywhere from rectangles.  Oh you want squares now?  No big deal! If, on the other hand, they pick triangles first…you’re screwed.  Once you cut those triangles there’s no going back.  So you better be DAMN SURE they actually want triangles before you lower your knife and commit.

I’m a referee:

NHL hockey refs have nothing on me.  They have to control, what, like five or six fights a week?  Try five or six fights an hour.  On a good day. 

Professional referees have to make some tough calls.  So do Mommy referees. 

The rule is that you’re not supposed to run over your brother:

Me: “Carter why is your brother crying?”

Carter: “Cause I ran him over…but just a little!”

Oh.  Well, if it was just a little…that’s probably fine then.  I may have to look at the replay in order to make a final decision though. 

I bet football refs never have to say any of the following:

“We don’t hit people with our turkey sandwiches!”

“Stop throwing bulldozers at each other!”

 “Your brother doesn’t like it when you whip him with your pants…and WHY ARE YOUR PANTS OFF!”

Although that last one might make a slower paced sport like baseball more interesting.  Something to think about.

I’m a personal stylist:

I know, for example, that the red stripy fire truck shirt does not go with the blue sleepy dragon pajama pants. You most certainly may NOT wear that to school.  Nice try at dressing yourself though.  I appreciate the effort. 

I’m a nurse:

And I know that a cookie or lollipop can cure almost any brother-inflicted injury that occurs while my children are “playing” together.

We moms could add a million more jobs to our resume… maid, taxi driver, nail cutter, bath giver, book reader, monster chaser…

This is work.  But my bosses don’t care about dress code or conference calls or board meetings.  They don’t care about stocks or profit margins or deadlines.  They care about kisses and hugs and laughter.  And I provide plenty of that. 

And at the end of the day my job is way more rewarding than yours because I love it…and it loves me back.  I have the macaroni art work to prove it!

BOOBS!

Now that I have your attention…this post is about breastfeeding.  Sorry men, had to trick you, but you’re already here so you may as well read on.

Before and during my pregnancy with Carter I was so totally, unbelievably against breastfeeding.  I thought it was gross. 

Boobs, after all, are for sex.  They are.  Even women have to admit that breasts are sexual.  Have you ever seen a big chested lady walking down the street and thought “DAMN! I’m so jealous of her milk producing capabilities!”

No.  Women don’t get boob jobs so they can appear more appealing to infants. 

People would ask me if I planned to breast feed and I would say no.

Sometimes they would act offended.  Some even tried to talk me into it.  I wasn’t budging.  Bring on all the guilt and judgment you can find!  It won’t affect me at all.  I simply do not care what you think or what the crazy cult-like lactation consultant told you.  My child will not shrivel up and die a horrible death if I don’t stick my nipple in his mouth. 

After I had my C-section the nurses asked if I wanted to try and breast feed. 

Wow.  No.  Not at all.  I’ve just been gutted like a fish and had a human being ripped out of my uterus.  Do not come near me with that baby if you intend to try and stick it on my chest.  I will injure you.  Pass my husband that bottle of formula.

Their faces said “Ok.  Here’s your formula…and your horns.”  Because anyone who chooses formula over breast milk is clearly the devil.

After a few days my milk came in and my hormones were raging.  I just loved my baby SO much and wanted to bond with him.  I decided to go ahead and at least TRY to breast feed.  I based my decision on all the information saying how healthy it was and how I could give my child a head start in life…

HA!  That’s bullshit.  I did it because word on the street was it would help me lose the baby weight faster. 

And guess what?  I didn't exclusively breast feed.  I supplemented from the beginning.  I used formula, I pumped, I fed them from a bottle. I even switched the bottle nipples around at will.  No nipple confusion here, no latching problems.  You think I'm gonna be the only one who can ever feed this kid?  Not a chance. My babies survived all of this.  And I only fed them breast milk for the first three months.  Then it became a huge inconvenience for me so I quit.  Judge me.  Judge away.  My kids didn't suffer.  In fact, their both geniuses.  Take that!

So now, as a mother who did in fact breast feed I can finally say that boobs…are still sexual in my mind.   

I felt really badly for my husband during this time period.  When your milk comes in you get porn star boobs.  They’re the kind of boobs that normal every day guys can only dream about…and your wife will literally rip your head off if you even look at them. 

There you have it.  I didn't want to breast feed.  I did.  And I still think boobs are sexy.  Pretty much sums up my life...sadly.

Mom-Fessions

We all have those mom moments when we think “Should I really be doing this?”  For me the answer is always…yes.  Yes, I should.  Here are a few of my Mom-Fessions, I’m hoping by admitting my wrong doings my Mommy slate will be wiped clean (thus leaving room for future, and probably more outrageous, parenting indiscretions.)

Mom-Fession #1:  I use my TV as a babysitter.

I do this every day. I’m doing it right now actually so I can write this blog.

This is how Grant watches TV.  Tell me that kid doesn't look happy and relaxed!

   

Whoever said children should only have one hour of screen time a day clearly did not have children.  I cannot take this recommendation even REMOTELY seriously!  My TV allows me to do important things like shower, clean the house, see who updated their relationship status on Facebook…

If you don’t also use your TV for this purpose then you are missing out.  Free child care!  Complete with educational content.  I sure as hell didn’t teach my two year old what a hexagon is.  Someone on TV must have.  Chalk one up for the big black box!

Mom-Fession #2:  I steal my kid’s food.

And they catch me.  All the time.  I can’t get away with anything with those kids.  You’d think one miniscule strawberry fruit snack would go unnoticed…

“Why does Grant have eight and I only have seven?  Mom…open your mouth.  LET ME SEE WHAT’S IN YOUR MOUTH!”

Excuse me, I gave you life.  And yes, then I stole your food.  But let me tell you something…that doesn’t make us even.  Not even close. 

(Mom-Fession #2.5 is that although I expect my children to share their food with me I don’t want to share with them in return.  They are vultures.  I eat my cookies in secret and I’m proud of it.)

Mom-Fession #3:  I only feed the kids foods that I find convenient.

For example, even though there is fresh fruit in the fridge I give them a container of apple sauce because I’m feeling lazy and can’t be bothered cutting up fruit into just the right shape and size.  And, yes, in case you were wondering, you CAN cut up a strawberry incorrectly.  But you CANNOT open a container and stick a spoon in it incorrectly…unless it’s the wrong color spoon, of course…

Or it’s a day where they ask for mac and cheese for lunch but I want to put them for an early nap and water takes too damn long to boil.  They have peanut butter and jelly about 6 times a week. 

Fresh veggies are great.  Frozen veggies are ready in 45 seconds.  My choices benefit my schedule more often than they actually benefit my children.  And I’m ok with that.

Mom-Fession #4:  I ignore every spill, scream, fight, dirty diaper, etc. that occur around the time I expect my husband home.

I have been at the children’s beck and call since they woke up.  I have broken up every argument, wiped every nose and filled every sippy cup.  I’m spent.  When 4:30 rolls around the boys pretty much have a free for all until Daddy swoops in and takes over.  And luckily my husband is ok with that…or else I’d break his face.  Love you babe!

Mom-Fession #5:  I lie.

So do you. 

But I rarely feel bad when I lie.  There are tigers in the basement, there are whales in the sink, the cookies are all gone, your toy with the annoying siren is broken, the police are gonna come take you away if you don’t stop whining.  All innocent little white lies, right?

Mom-Fession #6:  I don’t always want to play with my kids.

There seems to be a misconception that moms simply cannot get enough of their kids.  They want to spend every waking moment playing candy land, cooking imaginary food and coloring in pictures of teddy bears. 

This is not the case. Well, it’s not my case at least. Know how sometimes you want a break from work and so you take a mental health day? Yeah. The kids are my work. And I love my job. But sometimes I need a break…and unfortunately my company does not offer vacation days. My benefits suck in general, actually. I gotta talk to HR about that…

Here's Carter psyched out of his mind to be kicking my ass in Candy Land. 

See, sometimes I play with them.

So there you have it folks.  A short (very short) list of some of the things I do as a mom that you won’t find in any reputable parenting book.  And my kids are going to survive it all.  We hope.

Confessions of an Over-Sharer

Recently I’ve heard a lot about over sharing on social networking sites.  And most of the complaints are about mothers who post too many pictures, videos and statuses having to do with their kids. 

People that I’m “friends” with have actually complained to ME about it.  About being sick of hearing everything someone’s kid has done that day.  Um, hi…do you realize who you’re talking to? I suppose if this is a crime than I’m fully guilty.  I post a lot about my children and I know other parents that do as well.

First of all, know that we can’t help it.  Our kids are adorable and funny and smart.  They are becoming their own little people and learning new things every day.  We’re proud of their accomplishments and get excited to share all the cute/horrifying/hilarious moments.

The problem for most moms, however, is that we’re home alone with our kids all day.  So when little Johnny took his first steps the only other one around to witness it was the dog…and he was too busy licking his non-existent balls to care. 

You go crazy without adult interaction.  That’s just a fact.  Social media sites like Facebook and Twitter allow you to feel connected to the grown-up world even though you’re currently covered in mashed up banana, wearing baggy plaid pajama pants and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. 

Moms are people too.  Stop judging us.  We’ve given up a lot in order to raise your future doctor, lawyer, waitress, garbage man, manicurist or chef.  It’s not a bad thing if we want to feel validated that, yes, our child is actually the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.  Hit the damn like button on that picture of little Mary in her first dance recital outfit, would ya?

Seriously, though, how does this problem really affect your life?  Scroll past the picture, don’t click on the link to the video, don’t read the status updates (but know that you’re missing out because I’m HILARIOUS!)  Nothing negative actually happens to you when I post things. 

But moms aren’t the only ones guilty of sharing…

Thanks for the pictures of every food you’ve ever consumed, bar you’ve ever been to, pretty piece of grass you’ve ever seen…*

Moms don’t care about those things because we can’t afford to eat out, we don’t have the energy to go bar hopping and the only time we notice the grass is when we’re yelling at our husbands to mow it. 

And people with pets are often worse than moms.**

I super enjoyed the 94 pictures you posted of your dog in different locations wearing different sweaters. 

Your goldfish swam counterclockwise for the first time today?  Amazing.  I hope you took a video. 

These things that are posted all the time.  Yet it somehow becomes offensive when it involves a person’s offspring.  And, yes, sometimes it’s taken too far.  A tweet about Bobby using the potty for the first time?  Great.  A picture of the outcome?  No thanks. 

In conclusion, if you’re annoyed by being constantly surrounded by images and stories of other people’s kids my advice is…have one of your own.  That’s the best punishment I can think of for someone who is so self-centered that they can’t take five seconds to look at the picture of my kids at the park without bitching about it.

*As a side note, I actually do like those pictures!  They allow me to live vicariously through my cool, fun, young friends.

**I also enjoy your pets.  I have pets.  They’re great! Except I actually don’t enjoy fish…so I won’t be viewing that video.