Monday Momisms: The Many Mysteries of Having Kids

1. Where does the bread go? I mean seriously, I buy it, I buy two loaves at once, and before I even get it put away it's already down to the heels which nobody likes. My pantry is a graveyard of discarded bread heels until they get moldy or I am so desperate to taste something along the lines of bread for the first time in weeks, that I break down and eat them. I haven't had decent bread in months. I've bought it, I just never get to it first.

2. Also, milk. What the fuck, milk? I love seeing people in the grocery store digging through the milk jugs looking for the furthest away expiration date, as if milk sits in their fridge forgotten, and could possibly be there long enough to go bad. I wonder what that's like.

3. There is a roll of toilet paper, half used, in ever room of the house. You didn't put them there, and your kids are like always sniffing because they refuse to wipe or blow their nose. What the hell are they doing with the toilet paper?

4. Why do kids like Dora and Diego? Those kids are seriously neglected, left to roam around the South American wilderness in the company of wild animals, with a condescending map and back pack on acid, looking for some baby bird's mother. Notice they're like always looking for some poor baby animal's mom? Why is child abandonment such a strong theme in this show? And after these kids go through basically hell to find the baby animal's mother, the mom is just like "Thanks guys! I was wondering where I left this offspring" and NOBODY ASKS THE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS! Like, oh I don't know, why the fuck did you just leave your kids 20 miles away with no food or water, and didn't even bother to look for it?!

5. Kids have the most ridiculous bullshit detectors. One day you can be in a smart ass mood and tell them that the sun and the moon are brother and sister and they can't be up at the same time because they fight too much, and your kids COMPLETELY BUY IT, but the next day when you're completely fucking exhausted but still take the time and effort to give an honest answer to their question, like "Yes horses drink water too, just like people", and suddenly they're all up in your shit with the wrath of a southern lawyer about how wrong you are, and there is no way horses drink water and how dare you fucking lie to them because Julia at school told them that horses drink Kool Aid and you need to back up her statement or sohelpmegodiwillendyou.

So many things I don't think I'll ever understand, but for the next 13 years, will desperately try to, while also spending my days languishing in fantasies of pantries that overflow with entire bread loaves. 

You know you're a parent when you long for the day that bread and milk have the opportunity to go bad in your house.

How I Do It, Pt. 3: What Its Worth

I think parenting, especially single parenting, can best be described as a very precarious juggling act.

You are constantly monitoring several spinning plates, and making sure-or trying to make sure that nothing falls and breaks.

You're also spending more time than you ever imagined wondering if you just stepped in water or pee.

People ask me a lot how I do it, and I honestly don't know how to answer that question in a neat, concise way, other than to say I just do it.

So far in this series we've talked about my village, and how important support is, and we've gone over the hectic and messy day in the life of me and my kids.

But maybe you're wondering how I do all of that.

Logistically, literally, and emotionally.

The truth is, I don't know.

I guess its sort of like a constantly running check list in my head.

I know I have two little people who cannot dress themselves 100% on their own, so I need to get up earlier than I would if the only person I needed to get ready in the morning were me. Ok, set the alarm for 6. Check.

I know I need to get three people dressed, so I start with the hardest one first, which is Jackson. Lainie is 9 now and can {mostly} dress herself. I know Lainie moves the slowest in the morning though, so she needs to be woken up first. Check.

I know that we have to be out of the house by 7:10 and no later, so I should get as much ready the night before as I can. Lay out their socks, clean underwear and Jackson's outfit because he'll usually let me pick for him. Check.

I know they need to fed, and they can't eat pizza every night, so I plan our meals two weeks in advance and plan accordingly for what will keep for two weeks, what needs to be frozen and what I should just buy later. Check, check.

I know I have two kids who both need to feel special and important and wanted and loved and attended to. I know that Jackson will seek me out when he wants a hug or a kiss or someone to play with, but Lainie will wait for you to come to her so she feels like the love is genuine.

So I seek Lainie out, kiss her face and ask her to read to me.

I know I can't always give them both what they want at the exact same time. Sometimes one of them needs to try to wait a minute and be patient. Because Jackson is younger, Lainie is usually the one who has to be patient. It breaks my heart, but I only have two hands. I try to make it up to her, but I'm sure I fail a lot.

I know that their needs have to come before my own. I know I can't yell and scream even when I am so close to yelling or screaming that its almost unbearable. I know I have to step back and breath for a second, even if that means locking myself in the closet for five minutes while they tear the house apart.

I know that they need to take baths and eat all their veggies and follow through with the things they ask to do outside of school, and always be polite and share as much as possible, but I also know that sometimes being the perfect parent just isn't worth the blood on the floor. Exceptions need to be made, grace needs to be given, and battles have to be carefully chosen.

I know they're going to fight, and I struggle with when and how much to intervene. I struggle with the line between encouraging them to play together and forcing them to just get along and stop fighting.

Sometimes that feels like forcing a square peg into a round hole.

I know the house needs to be clean and the laundry needs to be done, and as badly as I want to go to bed right now, I can't. Sometimes though, I do anyway.

I know they need a roof over their heads and clothes to wear and food to eat, and those things cost money, so I work my ass off whether I like the job I have or not, and I've taken a lot of shit from a lot of petty bosses, and I've had to leave them with family members when they were sick because I could not miss one more day of work or I'd get fired, and I know they don't understand, but I hope someday they will.

And I know that at the end of the day I'm exhausted.

I'm tired and I'm over it, and most of the time the day ends with me sitting on the couch alone, watching TV and its lonely.

I wish I had a partner, I wish I had someone here to just be exhausted with me at night, but I don't, and part of the reason is I'm so hesitant to let my kids get to know someone else, after so long of it being just me and them and occasionally Bill.

I know all of this, and sometimes its too much.

I want to cry or scream or go to bed for a week.

Sometimes I want to walk out the front door and just be by myself for an entire weekend.

But I know that when I drag my tired ass to bed, Jackson will instinctively scoot closer to me in his sleep, and Lainie will be softly breathing beside him, and the bed will be so warm, and I will know that this is my home.

This is where I belong, and these kids are just perfect for me.

They are the very best parts of me, combined with aspects of such wonder and beauty, that I know they couldn't have gotten it from me, and in those moments where it all shines through, I know I didn't make them alone.

Whoever God is, however we got here, I see it in my babies when I slow down and really pay attention.

I know its all worthwhile.

No matter how many times I step in pee.

How I Do It, Pt. 2: A Day In The Life

6:00 am - Alarm goes off. Struggle for the snooze button. Five more minutes, please.

6:05 am - Ok, now we really need to get up. Get up Jack, get up Lainie. Come on guys, its time to get up and get dressed. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE MAKE COFFEE.

6:30 - Lainie, you wore that yesterday, go change. Jack are you wearing clean socks? Do you want the dinosaur shirt or the trucks shirt? No, the Star Wars shirt is dirty, dinosaur or trucks? I'M SORRY I WILL WASH THE STAR WARS SHIRT TONIGHT, NOW PLEASE PICK BETWEEN DINOSAUR OR TRUCKS!

6:45 - Does everyone have their shoes on? Lainie, where are your shoes? Jackson those are on the wrong feet. Ok I will help you, let me finish throwing my hair up into a messy ass bun and I'll help you. Yes, Mommy has to get dressed too, I cannot go to work in my bathrobe.

7:00 - OK guys, time to go! Wait, why do you still not have shoes on? Where is your jacket? I told you to put it in the closet! Where's your backpack? Do you have your homework? What about lunchmoney? Shit, has anyone seen MY shoes?!

7:10 - And we're off. Shit I need gas. I always need gas. Rushhour traffic, fight the freeway, change the radio station, kids fight over which song to listen to, Lainie looks half asleep still.

7:30 - At the daycare, hustle the kids to class, force them to hug me goodbye, run back to the car.

8:00 - Work time.

5:00 pm - Time to go, so many things didn't get done, not enough time in the day. Hop in the car, race to the daycare, fight rushhour, avoid the freeway.

5:40 pm - Hi kids, how was your day? Jack put your coat on. Lainie where's your backpack? What'd you eat for lunch? Do you have homework? No we're not ordering pizza for dinner. Why are you crying? Oh my God, just get in the car.

6:00 pm - Finally home. Lainie start your homework, Jackson, no movies until after dinner. Who wants to help me cook?

7:00 - Sit down to eat, Jackson eat your food. Lainie I know you don't like spinach but its good for you. Jackson, eat your food! No, no more milk until you eat. Sorry we're out of juice. If you don't finish dinner you don't get popcorn with your movie. No you cannot just have a Lunchable. Lainie, come on, eat your spinach. I'll give you a dollar if you eat your damn spinach.

7:30 - 8:30 - Playtime.

8:30 - Bathtime, storytime, brush your teeth and get in your jammies.

9:00 - Finally, the kids are in bed.

9 - 10:30 - Me time. Grey's Anatomy, write a blog post, do some laundry, clean the kitchen, episode of Parenthood, cry like a baby because Parenthood is ruining my emotions, check my email, be incredibly witty on social media, then time for bed.

10:30 pm - If I'm lucky, pass the fuck out.

There you have it.

A day in the life.

This is not including things like sick kids, fighting kids, trips to the grocery store, nights when there are errands or mornings where we wake up late.

This is a day where everything, for the most part, goes as well as we could've hoped.

How I do it: Pt 1. - My Village

When I reached out to my readers and asked what you all wanted to see more of on the blog, one of my readers emailed me to say he wanted to know how I do it. How I raise two kids and work full time and juggle everything, and not kill anyone.
I tried to put it all into one post, but it ended up just being a jumbled mess of confusion and cuss words. Much like My life.
For a little while, Monday Momisms will be taken over by a series on how I do it.
This is part one.

If I've learned anything since I had kids, it's that the old saying "It takes a village to raise a baby" is not only annoying, it is true.

As much as I am a single mother, and I do the majority of the day to day survival and life stuff by myself, I don't do this all by myself. I have a village. Over the years, my group of supporters has changed. It's grown and shrank, morphed and adapted. It once included primarily blood related family members, and it has since become mostly friends, or more appropriately, my chosen family.

A special group of amazing people who have held my hand, calmed my fears, opened my wine and told me when I most needed to hear it, that I was doing a good job. That I was a good mom.

Those words can be a life raft on dark days, in the middle of struggle filled months, and on nights when you're tear stained and exhausted and honestly don't think you can make it one more minute, like you're failing every time you turn around.

My village has been there. Through illnesses and hospital trips and first days of daycare, which later became first days of school. On evenings when selfish bosses demanded I work longer hours, on mornings when coffee was so dearly needed. 

Sometimes just by sending a text that has nothing at all to do with parenting and reminding me I'm not just a mom, I'm also a person, they've lifted me up.

You need a village, you need a crew.

You need a devoted selection of ride or die homies that would do for you and your children like they were their own, and you have to remember to return the favor.

The fact of the matter is, there is no doing this shit alone.

We can all be strong and we can all be tough, and you can be the most tireless, hardcore bitch out there, but at some point you are going to feel like you're out of your league. Like the question is so impossibly hard, and everyone has the answer but you.

At some point, you're going to feel incapable.

And that's when your village is there.

To answer the phone, to come to your door, to wipe your tears and do for you the little things that you just cannot do yourself right now, so that you can focus on the bigger job at hand.

Sometimes that bigger job is simply surviving.

Remember that when your best friend has their first baby.

Or when one of your friends becomes a single parent.

Something as simple as bringing them a gallon of milk when they're out and just too tired to go to the store, can change their whole day.

And just in case no one has said it to you today, you're doing a good job.

You're a good parent.

Monday Momisms: Christmas Shopping for Kids

Now that it's after Thanksgiving, I feel like I can finally talk about Christmas without all the Scrooge's out there sighing and groaning 'SERIOUSLY? It's not even THANKSGIVING yet!' 

Screw those people. 

Christmas is amazing and should be talked about early and often.

One of the bestest parts of Christmas is obviously giving presents. Thinking long and hard about what would make the people in your life smile, what would make them happy, browsing store shelves, thinking solely about their joy and pleasure, and then giving them something awesome that really lets them know you know and understand them.

Unless of course you are giving gifts to kids.

Then the whole experience is more of a constant war between wanting to give your kids stuff, and being slightly embarrassed and a little offended by their unashamed asking, begging, pleading and sometimes downright demanding all this material shit that you know they really don't need.

And when they're that young, it doesn't mean that much to them. 

Kids are given gifts all the time. They almost come to expect it. Rarely does a child under the age of 14 {and that could be a stretch because I think really it's more like 21} given a gift that makes them say 'Wow, you really put a lot of thought and effort into this. You really know and understand the true Me. Thank you.'

Nope.

More often than not they get gifts that you spent hours of time and energy picking out, looking for, and working to earn the money to buy, and all they say is 'Ooh, more shit! Thanks!'

Sadly with some kids you're lucky if you even get the 'thanks'

And you're left standing there thinking 'That's it?!'

Not that you gave them gifts for praise and recognition {not entirely anyway} but it always sucks when you work hard to make someone feel special and cared about, and they just see it as more attention being lavished upon them. Nothing special or different. They're kids. It's what everyone does for kids.

Suddenly you have flashbacks of that boy you were just SO in love with in middle school. The popular one who had hair like Jonathan Taylor Thomas and eyes like a mystical being of gorgeousness and popularity. The time you stayed up all night handcrafting a gorgeous and well made Valentine for him, along with a mixed tape of ALL his favorite songs, and a few he probably hasn't heard but you know he will like, and when you offer it all to him with sweaty hands and a nervous giggle, he smiles and says 'Thanks' and saunters away, leaving you feeling empty, unappreciated and in need of more deodorant.

Not cool.

So in order to avoid that, this year I am sticking to a new four gift rule for the kids.

Well, I revised it a bit so really it's a five gift rule, but still.

It goes like this:

1 thing they want

1 thing they need

1 thing they wear - this can be a whole outfit, or even more clothes as long as they're clothes your child actually needs.

1 thing they read

And my revision is 1 thing that they want more than anything else in the entire world.

I think it's brilliant. They get two things that they want that are just purely materalistic, and that's ok. But they also get something they need that they will also like, something to read because I think kids should be surrounded by books, flooded with music, and all that should be punctuated lightly with movies and TV. Mainly when Mommy needs a hangover nap and you don't want your four year old burning the house down.

What?

Anyway, so far this rule has made Christmas shopping SO much easier, and I think it's something I'll be sticking to in the future. 

How do you shop for people?

Monday Momisms: The Difference Between Boys and Girls

This is the most accurate picture of life with little boys that I could find.

When I was pregnant with Lainie, I wanted a girl depserately. I know that might sound terrible, because everyone always says "As long as it's healthy, I don't care!" but I did care.

Not that I wouldn't have loved the baby if she had been a he, but I truly wanted a little girl so bad I could taste it. And when she came along, I was so happy. And then, once I had decided for sure that I wanted at least one more baby, I knew I wanted my last one to be a boy.

Boys are easier, everyone said.

Boys are more attached to their mama, everyone said.

Boys are fun, everyone said.

Have a boy, they said.

It will be fun, they said.

They lied.

I mean, not that having a boy isn't awesome.

It is.

I love little Jack Attack with all my heart.

But they are in no way easier.

Maybe some people think they're easier because they're less emotional. I haven't found this to be all that true. I think they become less emotional with age, but as toddlers? Little boys are just as sensitive and needy as little girls.

But they also break shit.

And by 'shit' I mean fucking everything they can touch, whether they're left alone with it or not. Jackson will break something right in front of me. He gives zero fucks about it.

And they also have this strange need to see how much they can do before they kill themselves.

Climb that tree to the top in .3 seconds while no ones looking? Absolutely.

Stand on top of my pedal car and do jumping jacks? Sounds fun.

Get out of the tub soaking wet and go running at break neck speed through the house, in bare feet on the tile? Don't mind if I do!

Wonder off, hide from Mommy, pee on electrical things, pee on the tile and don't say anything until someone slips in it, pee in public, run with scissors, steal frozen fish sticks from the freezer and eat some but don't tell Mommy how many so she has to call the doctor and find out if that could give me Salmonila or not, climb bookshelves that would crush my tiny bones if they were to fall on me, lock myself in the bathroom so the door handle has to be taken off before I throw the hair dryer in the toilet whilst it's on.

It's endless.

They ways in which they seem determined to kill themselves is mind boggling.

How any boy every lived to be 18 is beyond me.

Sure, girls are sensitive, girls get emotional, girls have attitudes and they seem to hit puberty long before boys do, but girls just never even think to do half the shit little boys do.

Girls will wear you out mentally and emotionally.

Boys will wear you out physically from trying to save their life and stop them from burning your house down, and then once they've sensed that you're physically weakened and can't go on, they will ask you questions you didn't think were even possible to come up with, until your head explodes.

Why are dogs brown sometimes?

Can cats do magic?

What happens when the light turns off in the fridge?

Why do I have to eat dinner?

Do you want to see this trick I can do?

Why are you crying?

Is it ok to hit my sister if she called me a baby first and I told her not to?

Am I person shaped?

What does a dragon do for fun?

Can I have a motorcycle?

MOMMY WAKE UP I'M TALKING TO YOU.

I still haven't figured out if boys are harder than girls, or if they're equally exhausting.

I have definitely decided that boys are much more destructive than girls, and they don't seem to feel bad about it the way a girl would if she made the same messes or caused the same chaos.

Also I don't remember Lainie peeing on nearly as many things in the whole 8 years of her life, as I remember Jackson peeing on just this week.

So there's that.

My advice to you future parents?

Have a boy, it's fun.

But have a girl too.

They'll put out the fires your son sets, and there will be at least one room in the house that doesn't smell like dirt and urine.

Monday Momisms: The Best Part of the Day

When you raise kids, the days can be long.

So long.

Like "I've been waiting for it to be bedtime since we woke up" long.

Sometimes it seems like it just won't end. 

Like if you hear Mommy one more time, you're going to snap. 

Like if you have to put another episode of Dora on Netflix for the kids, you're going to strangle her with her smug, self entitled asshole of a back pack.

"I'm the Map!" 

GOOD FOR YOU.  I'm the Mom, I do everything, but you don't hear me singing a whole fucking song about it, DO YOU?!

After a while you start to keep little hidden pieces of the day tucked away. They're special. They're favorite hours in the midst of all the monotony and exhaustion and questions and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHO PEED IN HERE?!

Like mornings.

I hate mornings, in general. The getting up early, the showering when you're still half asleep and accidentally got in before the water was hot, and all the little things that have to be done before you leave the house. But morning with kids are sweet. Jackson is always in a sweet and talkative mood, but still a little bit sleepy and slow moving. So as he's stumbling around the room trying to dress himself, he's also filling me in on his dreams, what he wants to do at daycare today, who his best friends are, how rocket ships work, what he wants for dinner, and what a good boy he's going to be at school. 

Lainie is quiet, and somber in the morning, like me. Quietly shuffling about the house, mumbling good morning and getting dressed. If she had big black sunglasses, she'd wear them and carry around a cup of steaming coffee if she was allowed to have caffeine. But, once we get in the car and start driving to school, I turn the radio on, and sing to her in the rear view mirror. She always smiles, and eventually starts singing along. The next thing you know all three of us are having a 7 a.m. dance party on the way to daycare, and nobody is in a grumpy early morning mood.

And bedtime.

This is a favorite for the obvious reason that the kids go to sleep and I get a break, but also because of everything that comes before that. The showers that produce sparkling clean little angels, the clean jammies that smell like laundry soap, bedtime stories with all three of us in my bed, cuddles and late night whispered conversations. And then that sweet moment where even if I am not in their room, even if I can't see them at all, I know they've fallen asleep because the house feels different. It's quiet in a way that it never is when they're awake, even if they aren't making noise. It's peaceful and calm, and I can tell their little bodies have settled down and their breathing slow and their heart beats steadied, and they're safe and sound in their beds.

Those are the best times of even the worst days.

Monday Momisms: Living Life on Repeat

I hate repeating myself.

Really.

It bothers me so much, that if I am in a bad mood and someone needs me to repeat something more than twice, I'm done. They had their damn chance.

I somehow never imagined this being an issue when having kids.

I know that when you have kids you say the same shit to them, a lot. You say things like "Please turn the bathroom light off" when you hear the toilet flush-every. time. you hear. the toilet flush. because you know they never turn the light off. You say "Stop fighting" and "No tattling" and "Quit licking that" or "We only touch our pee pee when we're alone, not in the grocery store Jackson" almost every day, if not multiple times in a day.

That's fine.

Irritating after a long day, but fine.

What's less fine?

Saying the same thing 392938239823298 times, without having the chance to say anything different in between because it's the ONLY thing you want the child to hear until it gets done AND THEY JUST WONT DO IT.

Examples: Eat your dinner, and Go to sleep.

Jackson's new thing these days is taking as long as humanly possible to do those two things.

I literally have to have dinner in front of him by 6:30 because he will take every minute of the next hour to eat it, and he still needs a bath, a story, his teeth brushed and some run around time before his 8 pm bedtime.

What is he doing that make dinner take so unbelievable long?

He's playing with his shoe lace and he's asking if giraffe's make a noise and he's telling his sister that dinner's not a race and he's asking for more milk and he's cracking jokes and he's going on bathroom breaks and he's spinning around in circles and he's singing songs and he's driving me batshit crazy.

Mainly, he's talking.

About anything. It doesn't matter.

Just. Fucking. Rambling.

Until at some point, after having said 409 times "Jackson, eat your dinner!" I end up snapping, losing my schmidt and saying "Shut your mouth and eat your food!" which makes no sense, but I yell it so it doesn't have to make sense because it's loud and it makes him eat...for about 5 seconds.

And then it's bedtime.

Jackson is clean, his teeth are brushed, he's sat quiet and still through his story, and he's all snuggled next to me in bed.

And now he wants to ask every single question in the world again.

Can I have more milk?

I'm still thirsty.

What's for breakfast tomorrow?

If I sleep for a little bit then can I get up and watch a movie?

Can you watch a grown up movie while I fall asleep?

I dont like bedtime.

Sleeping makes my tummy hurt.

Nighttime is too long.

Do I have to go to daycare tomorrow?

Can I see Papa this weekend?

Can I go say goodnight to Lainie again?

When will I go to school like she does?

Can I get out of bed now?

And in my head I'm all SHUTUPRIGHTNOWANDGOTOSLEEPBEFOREIPUNCHALLTHEWALLS.

But outwardly I'm like "Jackson, seriously, go to sleep. Now. This isn't funny. No more milk. Because I said. You just went pee. Fine, go one more time. No, you can't have cereal. Seriously, go to sleep. Do you want to go sleep in your own room? Do you want a time out? Do you want to lose your pillow and your blanket? No I wouldn't actually take your blanket, but you do have to go to sleep before Mommy starts crying. Because I'm tired. I don't know what sadness is made of. OH MY GOD GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP. Yes, mommy said a bad word. She's sorry. Go. To. Sleep."

It's maddening. 

I feel like this phase of Jackson's development is by far one of the most irritating.

Maybe second only to that really fun phase he went through of waking up every night at 3 a.m. to stand in his bed and scream, inconsolably, and then ask for peanut butter and go back to sleep.

Like that phase, I'm sure this one will pass. Until then, if you need me I will be rocking back and forth in the corner mumbling "eat your dinner and go to sleep" over and over with drool coming out of the side of my mouth.

Because I'm going fucking insane.

Monday Momisms: The Bully

I always thought I would know what to do if one my kids was being bullied.

I always thought I'd know exactly what to say to make my baby feel better. Exactly what to say to help them fight back the right way, exactly what I'd say when I marched into the teacher's office to discuss the issue, and how I'd handle it if I didn't feel like the teacher took the matter seriously enough. In my mind I was always like Oprah or Tina Fey, championing for my under dog child with wit, intelligence and great shoes.

Also perfect hair.

I never imagined how awful it would be when my child started repeating the absolute vile things that come spewing forth from the mouths of some of the kids in her age group, or how angry I'd be-to the point of wanting to spank the shit out of someone else's kid for hurting mine-when tears came streaming down my daughter's face over something a boy had said or done to her. And I never imagined how confused I'd be when my daughter started bullying other kids, because she was being bullied.

You always think you know what you'd do. What you'd say. How you'd handle it.

Until it happens.

And in the moment that your heart breaks and your blood boils for your child and your need to protect them, your head also spins because you don't know what to say that would do any good. What words to give them to share with these little punks who are making their lives miserable.

And I also have no idea what to say when she's taking her frustrating with these boys out on other girls.

If you asked me what the hardest thing about being a parent is, and what the most important thing about being a parent is, I'd answer both questions the same way: talking to your kids.

You have to listen to every question, every complaint, every secret, every frustration, every discovery, every little thought and want and desire and whatever else might pass through their little heads, and simultaneously weed out the things that are really important.

The things that might indicate that they don't know how to resolve conflict.

The things that indicate they take everything to heart, and are 200 times more sensitive than you thought.

The things that mean they're impatient or rude or shy or pushy or controlling or stuck up or mean.

And you have to be objective enough about your own kid to admit it to yourself that they could be mean, or rude, or pushy, or hurtful.

It doesn't mean they're broken or bad, it just means they're not completely perfect.

As parents we all know that, but sometimes I don't think we really own that.

Sometimes I just wish I had more words.

Or maybe just better words.

Words that could make everything ok.

Words that could really help her understand that this will so not matter in even 6 months, let alone 1 year or 10 years.

Words that would help her really realize that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks-AT ALL, because at the end of the day, the only person she really answers to is herself.

Words that could ease all of her pain and give her the same "fuck you, I don't care" attitude that I have with bullies-or as we call them when we grow up: co-workers with slight seniority, bosses with God complex's, other moms with too much time on their hands, and girls who think that what they were in high school still counts for something.

But then I remember that I wasn't always that way with those people.

I used to care.

I used to cry over their shitty words and opinions and demands. I remember 6th grade, hiding in the bathroom until recess was over, begging my dad to keep me home from school, eating in the classroom at lunch time because I just didn't want to be seen. I couldn't bear to be noticed.

I did used to care what those kinds of people thought-well no, not really. I cared what they did. Their actions, and the cruel, unwavering persistence of their hateful words and humiliating behavior...I cared about that.

Watching your child live through even a portion of the pain you had to survive is absolute torture.

Not being able to give them any kind of answer that makes it all go away is even worse.

Sometimes it's just a shitty situation, and you have to play every card you have until you find the right one.

In the meantime, hope for the best, and hug your daughters.

Monday Momisms: Having More and Having None

I'm not sure why this particular topic sprang to mind today.

The idea of some women not wanting more kids.

The question that seems to linger for so many people about whether or not some women can truly not want any kids, and not because they're just scared of commitment or of being shitty parents, but just because kids aren't there thing and they don't want any.

I know a lot of people who seem to be convinced that all women want a bun in their oven. That we all, deep down have this unspoken desire-nay, need, to be mothers, and the only reason a woman might choose not to become one is because, like I mentioned before, she's either selfish, or afraid of something.

I disagree with this.

I've always disagreed with it, but only recently have I become personally offended on behalf of all those no-baby-wantin ladies out there. 

Not because I don't want kids {clearly I wanted children} but because I don't want any more children. See, even after producing two beautiful, 100 percent healthy, mostly well behaved children, every time I get asked if I'm going to have more, I cringe. 

Because I know what's coming.

If the women over the age of 25 is asking that question at all, it seems to most likely be because she's hoping the answer will be yes, and then we can swoon over nursery plans and fond memories of vaginal tearing. When I say "Nope, I think I'm done" I'm always met with one of two responses:

1. "Oh are you suuurrrreee? Your babies are so beautiful!!!!" While I appreciate the compliment, the sad hopefulness in their eyes makes me feel like I owe them something. Like my ability to produce attractive off spring makes me somehow indebted to the general population, and I am now single handedly {single uterusedly?} responsible for providing planet Earth with the next Ryan Goseling. 

This is too much pressure.

2. "Oh you'll have more. You're young, just wait. Your clock hasn't started ticking yet. You'll want more" This reaction is usually handed out by older women, who I suspect are beginning to suffer the wrath of empty nesting, and are now publicly and proudly projecting on me, their repressed wish to be able to have just one more baby. To do it one more time.

They think that because I'm young I must not know what a precious gift my endlessly fruitful uterus is, and once old age begins to set in I will panic and feel the need to procreate as much as possible before "my time" is up.

I always want to say to them "trust me, I know what a gift it was for me to be able to have not just one healthy child, but two. I know how many women can't, and believe me, that sounds terrible to want a baby and not be able to have one. But it sounds just as terrible for me to find out I'm having a baby when I know I don't want one. I promise you, this has nothing to do with my age. I know I don't want more kids because I've done it. Twice. And I have no desire or biological need to do it a third time. I'm satisfied."

But I'm always scared if I start down that road I'll snap completely and ask them if they remember what pooping for the first time after they gave birth was like, and then see if they still think I'll want more some day.

I'm pretty sure I'm nonsensically {and graphically} rambling now, so I'll get to the point: I definitely think it's possible for a woman to just not want kids. And I don't think that's selfish. I think it's bad ass for a person to know so clearly and with so much certainty what they want, and follow through with it. It's much worse to know deep down you don't want a baby, but to have one anyway because it's the socially normal thing to do.

I definitely think it's possible to be done having kids after just one, or to not be done after 9 babies.

I think it all depends on how you see your life mapping out.

Does my uterus ache a little when I smell a newborn baby's head? Absolutely. 

Do I realize that I could potentially, someday in the very distant future be a step mother to somebody else's kids, effectively having more kids for lack of a better term? Yes.

But and that's all ok with me.

I still know at the end of the day, that I am done getting pregnant, growing a tiny human, and screaming it the entire way out of my body in front of a room full of overly curious people.

And there's nothing wrong with that, damn it.

Monday Momisms: Things I Said I'd Never Do

Before I had kids there were a lot of things I swore I would never do.

Things that I totally judged other parents for doing.

Things I would talk about as if I knew what the fuck parenting was like.

I did not.

I would like to openly and honestly apologize to every parent I ever judged for the following things:

1. I will never let my kids sleep in my bed. Ha! That ended after about a week of trying to get up and stumble through the house to get Lainie from her crib and breastfeed her sitting upright in a rocking chair.

2. I will never listen to inappropriate music in the car. Have you ever listened to a "children's music" CD? Ok, maybe you have, but have you ever listened to one 57 times in one day? If you have, you probably did what I did after the 57th repetition: throw that shit out the murther furking window and put Ludacris back on before you rammed your car into a pole.

3. I will never put the T.V. on to distract my kids. I don't even need to explain how wrong I was about this one. Let's just say, Thomas the Train has saved my life on more than one occasion.

4. I will never spank my kids. This one is controversial, and I'm not saying I'm right or wrong either way. I'm saying I said I'd never do it, and I have done it. End of story.

5. I will never send my kids to bed without having a bath. I'm starting to sound negligent here I'm afraid, but I think if we're all honest with ourselves, we can say that there have been nights when you just cannot go on another minute, and showering your kid in the morning, even if it means getting up 10 minutes earlier, is so unbelievably worth it.

6. I will never let my kids wear weird outfits/wear the same thing two days in a row/leave the house without brushing their hair.This went out the window the day Lianie started dressing herself, and when I realized tangled hair was not an epic battle worth having at 6 a.m. with an 8 year old.

7. I will never let my kids cry themselves to sleep as babies. Yep. I've done that. I was desperate and it was a choice between my sanity and their tears. My sanity won.

8. I will always have enough energy to play with my kids after work. Yeah. Sometimes, the most energy I can muster to spend time with them is to lay in bed together and take turns picking funny YouTube videos of cats doing weird things. Sometimes I tell them to go play with each other or go play outside. Sometimes Mommy just needs a fucking break.

9. I will never tell my kids to hit another kid back. Try sticking to that rule when your kid comes home with a huge swollen blue and purple bite mark on their arm, that they got from a bigger and OLDER child at daycare. That's when you hear yourself saying "If someone tries to hurt you, you have every right to defend yourself. Even if that means hitting them back."

10. I will never, ever, under any circumstances, pee with the door open or let my kids be in the bathroom whilst I am peeing. Anyone who's ever said that has never been responsible for the safety of a very curious 2 year old boy.

Monday Momisms: Feeding Your Minions

One of the things I get asked about the most by people who don't have kids, or are new parents, or generally feel like they can't get out of the grocery store without spending 200 bucks on food, is 

"How much do you spend on groceries for you and the kids?"

Before I answer that question I will say that being the only breadwinner in the house, and not getting child support, my budget is super important to me.

From years of having low paying jobs, and at times no job at all, but still having two kids who were just as hungry as they were when I made good money, I've learned to feed us all pretty well, on very very little.

I spend about $100 a week on food for the three of us, and that includes dinner every single night, breakfast, lunches and snacks on weekends, and lunches during the week for me.

Lainie and Jack eat breakfast and lunch at school during the week because of how early they get dropped off.

This budget comes out to about $4.76 to feed each person, each day of the week.

One thing I've learned about not blowing hundreds of dollars on food {which I could easily do if I wasn't paying attention-I love food} is that you have to make a list, and fucking stick to it.

Once you get the hang of shopping on a budget and maintaining a list, you can vary here and there, getting a couple extra little goodies that weren't on the list, or picking stuff up that is insanely discounted, but until you're a seasoned pro, stick to the Goddamn list.

I know you've all heard that before, and I had too, but for a long time it didn't make a difference. 

Then I realized I didn't know how to make a list.

I know, that sounds ridiculous, but it's true.

I genuinely didn't know how to make a shopping list for a weeks worth of meals-not food, MEALS.

That's an important distinction.

You need to know that what you're getting will make as many whole meals as you need it to this week, not just fill your pantry or your fridge.

How do you do that?

Plan a menu.

The morning I get paid {which is the day I usually do my budgeting and grocery shopping} I sit down and plan out dinners, work lunches and weekend meals for me and the kids for each day between then and my next grocery trip. 

I get paid twice a month, so I pull out two weeks of grocery money, and make 1 weeks menu, then a week later make another one and use the last of our grocery money. By the next payday, it's time to plan and shop again. The cycle continues.

Anyhow, I write it down like this:

Say I get paid on a Monday.

Monday: homemade chicken fingers, salad and noodles

Tuesday: Spaghetti with sausage and garlic bread

Wednesday: chicken burritos

Thursday: Black bean salad and grilled chicken

Friday: homemade white pizza

Saturday: Salmon patties, mashed potatoes and broccoli

Sunday: Grilled chicken breast, cold veggies and hummus

Cereal and fruit for breakfast Saturday and Sunday

Saturday lunch: tuna salad sandwiches, carrots and applesauce

Sunday lunch: fish sticks, tater tots and fruit

With the way I cook, I usually have just enough leftovers from each dinner to take to work with me the next day.

Now that I know what we're eating, I know what we need.

I make a list of all the shit we need for our dinners.

Notice that chicken is in 4 of the 7 meals. 

That means I can buy a big pack of chicken breast, separate them and freeze them for each meal, and it's much cheaper than buying small packs of all different meats. 

Now add the miscellaneous shit you need, like milk, juice or tea for drinking, things your kids snack on like bread and peanut butter, jelly, string cheese, yogurt or whatever your family eats between meals.

And now you're ready.

Another thing I've learned is to walk the perimeter of the store as much as possible, staying out of the boxed or frozen "convenience food" sections, and staying away from the isles with cookies and chips, which are way more expensive than they seem, and add a lot to your grocery bill in very little time.

I do buy bags of frozen veggies sometimes though, especially things like broccoli or mixed veggies because they're cheap and always good to have on hand for a night that you need to haphazardly throw a somewhat healthy meal together.

After you've gotten the shit on your list, get the fuck out of the store. 

Seriously.

Run to the check out counter, don't walk. 

You will inevitably see more and more shit that looks good or is on sale, and the next thing you know you blew your whole budget.

Once you're home, put your weeks menu on the fridge for you to see.

This keeps you focused on your planned meals, reminds you of what you were going to make, and keeps you from eating out as much.

Plus it reminds me as I'm leaving for work "Oh we're having chicken tonight, I need to take some out of the freezer to thaw".

Anyway, that's how I do it, and that's a small example of how we eat.

Good luck feeding your minions.

Monday Momisms: The Mother's Day Let Down

Well, Mother's Day is about a week away

{On May 13th, for you slacker ass kids and husbands who don't know when the fuck it is}

and this year, like every other year, I am not looking forward to it.

See, no matter what situation you're in, Mother's Day usually sucks balls for you.

It either never lives up to your expectations, or it never happens at all, or you spend the entire day hosting a holiday for other people just like every other fucking holiday, and it never seems to be about what it's supposed to be about: celebrating and rewarding you for not only giving up crack during your pregnancy, but actually managing to sacrifice day in and day out for a bunch of tiny people who really don't give two shits about the fact that making dinner for the entire family is hard, or that you once upon a time had a life and friends before someone started calling you Mom.

Mother's Day is supposed to be our day,

Our one day of rest and relaxation where we get to do as much nothingness as we want, all in the name of "Hey you're a good mom. Thank you."

I've been a single mom for almost every single Mothers Day of the past 9 years, and almost every single one of them was depressing as hell.

My kids are still too little now to get actual gifts or take me anywhere, but they make me handmade cards, which is fine, and I end up taking them out to breakfast or lunch or something, like every other fucking day of the year that we go out, and I sit there depressed as Hell while they fight, and then I pay our bill and we leave.

There was also a time though when they were too little to even make handmade gifts, or even speak.

So unless my dad said it to me, I was lucky to even hear happy mother's day.

And I'm not feeling sorry for myself.

I know lots of older women who raised their kids alone, who all have the same stories. 

Even if you have a husband or a boyfriend or someone around that tries to make Mother's Day nice for you, I think most of the time it gets ruined because unless you ARE a mom, you don't really understand what Mother's Day is about.

Unless you are a mom you have this weird idea that mothers day is about the kids.

It's about spending sweet quality time with your lovely children and being rewarded and thankful for being a mom.

No.

That's what every other day of the year is for, except the other 364 days of the year, you're emotionally rewarded and not given nice gifts and cards with glitter on them.

Mother's Day is supposed to be just that: YOUR DAY.

A day when you get to eat pancakes until you feel sick and lay in bed while someone entertains your children and possibly cleans your house.

It should be a day when everyone smiles at you, and people are genuinely grateful for what you do for your family.

Because you do a lot.

Now I'm not saying men have it easy.

I'm sure Father's Day for single dads is just as miserable as mother's day for single moms. 

And maybe a lot of wives and girlfriends don't get Fathers Day right for their man any more than a man gets Mother's Day right for his girl, but the moral of the story is these holidays are bullshit.

They seem to be the days when you're kids are the most grumpy and difficult, you are the most depressed and emotional, and absolutely freaking nothing goes right.

Maybe we should all just get really bombed on Saturday and sleep straight through Sunday, so nobody has to be disappointed or cry alone in a booth at IHOP while two small children try to hurt each other with pitchers of syrup.

Happy Mother's Day.

Monday Momisms: My Son Is Pregnant

For the last week my 3 year old son {who I feel like most of my posts about the weird shit my kids do are about} has been walking around the house, rubbing his belly and saying 

"I have a baby in my tummy"

He's been really curious about babies and pregnancy lately, asking how he was born and what it was like when he was in my tummy.

His questions are all really precious and cute, but they still catch me a little off guard because Lainie still  has never really asked about that stuff. 

I've heard her talk in bits and pieces about it, and we've covered some of the smaller more PG details, but she never came out and asked how babies are made, where they come from or any of that.

However, it's not like pregnancy and birth are new topics in this house.

During my stint as a doula and student midwife she heard plenty of birth and pregnancy talk, so maybe she just picked up most of what she wanted-and didn't want to know from there.

After all when some old guy in a grocery store said something about me having a baby in my tummy while I was pregnant with Jack, she got all in his face about how it was in my Uterus, NOT my tummy.

I digress.

So, Jack has been pregnant lately, and while it's cute, it's also something I'm super new to.

I have never heard of a little boy who made up an imaginary pregnancy, but I have seen plenty of little girls do it.

Hell, I was like always pregnant when I was little, and I had 5 imaginary kids before my 5th birthday.

{foreshadowing, anyone?}

I'm a little curious to see how Jack's teachers will react when he starts telling them about Cha Cha, his imaginary girl-fetus living inside his round little belly, which he keeps saying will "be borned next Sunday". 

He hasn't specified which Sunday, but two have passed since he started saying that, so I'm getting a little anxious to meet my first imaginary grandchild.

Let's just hope it sleeps through the night from an early age.

Monday Momisms: When Your Baby Makes Out With You

Jackson, age 1

Does your kid ever try to make out with you?

No?

Must just be mine.

The other night I was playing with Jack, tickling him and giving him kisses, and we were laughing and having a great time, when all of a sudden my super affectionate little angel got a little too affectionate.

He grabbed my face to give me a smooch, like he always does, when suddenly I felt something quite wet, and realized he had tried to tongue kiss me.

Yep.

I panicked a little a shrieked, which he found hilarious, and made him only try to kiss me even more.

"Why are you licking me?!" I said, probably a little too loud.

"I wanna kiss you like a puppy!" he giggled, grabbing my face again and moving in for the kill.

I gave him a quick peck and shooed him off to play.

"I licked Mom on the face!" He yelled to Lainie excitedly, to which she replied "Ewwww gross!"

Ummm, hold your judgment there, Lainie Bear. 

She totally did the same shit when she was little.

She told me one day when she was at the sweet age of 2, that she wanted to kiss me like a Prince kisses a Princess.

Before I could process what she was saying, she'd grabbed my face in a death grip and gave me a big, sopping, open mouth kiss.

I was more than a little surprised.

I'm starting to wonder if my kids are the only ones that start assaulting people with their violent slobber smooch's at the ripe young ages of 2 and 3, or if I have some how fucked them up so badly that they just go around tongue kissing anyone because they don't know how to keep their mouths closed during social interactions.

Just another one of those wonderfully awkward moments that comes with being a mom.

Fucking kids are so weird.

But adorable.

But seriously really weird. 

Monday Momisms: Kids Make Holidays Awesome and Awful

It's Monday, and y'all, I'm a mess today. 

Easter weekend really kicked my ass, and this morning while I was talking about my weekend with my friend at work, I found myself muttering into my coffee cup "I hate holidays"

And even as the words left my mouth I was shocked by them.

I love holidays!

But I think having kids is ruining holidays for me.

No, wait, that sounded mean. 

Kids make holidays so much more worth it...yes let's start there. Kids make holidays so much more worth it, because really, aren't like 99% of holidays designed entirely for kids?

I think Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and Father's Day are the only holidays that aren't primarily centered on making a child's childhood more magical.

And two of those three wouldn't exist if it weren't FOR children.

So it goes without saying that kids make holidays awesome. They're a great excuse to rekindle the child in you as you get all into making the holiday fun for the kids.

But kids also make holidays incredibly hard.

Saturday night, my dad were up until 2 in the morning filling plastic Easter eggs and trying to find all the best places to hide them, talking about how excited the kids would be to hunt them the next day, and imagining their little faces all lit up and precious, as wonderful family memories were made.

Of course it didn't exactly go that way.

The kids woke up at 6 a.m., and promptly discovered a box of marshmallow peeps in the kitchen. Jack-who was in a piss ass mood, sat down to eat them while Lainie woke me up. She was manic to the max and ready to go all Rambo on the house and yard in search of every possible egg. 

Jack whined and complained and bitched and moaned about having to look for eggs, while Lainie had to be constantly reminded to leave some eggs for her brother to find.

Once the madness of hunting for the eggs was over, the insanity of the day began.

Between consuming too much sugar and being super excited that it was a holiday, the kids basically acted like jerk holes the entire day. The INSISTED on hiding their eggs ALL OVER AGAIN and making the other kid search for the eggs they'd hidden. Which of course go them all mixed up and made them fight over who's was who's. They chased and yelled and tormented each other, alternating between fighting and playing, play fighting and fight playing all. fucking. day. Until finally when it was bathtime I scrubbed them as fast as I could, threw their jammies on and sent them to bed ASAP. 

I was exhausted, my feet and back were killing me and my kitchen looked like this:

That's actually a picture of a kitchen from the show Hoarders, which gives me mad anxiety.

Now today I was in a fog all morning, I'm completely exhausted and this is the first time I've sat down at my computer since Friday. 

I love my kids, and I love holidays with them.

But I think the stress and pressure of hosting holidays with kids involved is just so crazy cakes, it's kind of making me dread holidays a little bit. 

Am I the only terrible mother that feels that way?!

Monday Momisms: Why It's Wet

Meanwhile in my mothafuckin bathroom, someone is playing in piss water.

When you have a three year old of either gender, boy or girl, there are things you just don't want to know.

But when you have a 3 year old boy,  there are a fuckload of things you don't want to know. Ever.

Things like whether he has chocolate or poop on his hands. You don't need to know what it is, just wash it the hell off. 

Or what he's eating, oh my God what is he eating, can you get his mouth open to see what he's EATING?!

Nope because he just swallowed it. 

It was probably something gross that he found under the couch or outside under a rock, or possibly in his own shoe.

And you especially never ever ever want to know why he's wet. 

Anywhere on his body. 

Ever.

Unless you just pulled him out of the pool or the tub, he is never going to be wet for any reason that isnt fucking disgusting, and you are never going to be happy when you find out the answer. 

So save yourself some Vodka, and just stop asking.

I learned this lesson the hard way last night when I gave Jack his dinner, sat him down at his little table, and started putting groceries away and cleaning the kitchen. 

He has some tater tots with his dinner, and a big cup of water.

My mistake.

I got caught up doing shit {read: distracted by something shiny or edible} and a while later Jack came to me with his plastic airplane that he couldn't get the cockpit open on to put Darth Vader in the captains seat. 

Jack insists that Darth Vader isn't really evil, he's just misunderstood.

Anyway, without looking at the toy first, I held my hand out for it and instantly felt slimy, greasy WET plastic meet my palm and all my fingers.

Without thinking I dropped the toy and yelled "Why the hell is it wet?!"

Jack looked at me and said "Nuffing". Let me be clear: he did not look at me silently. No, he looked at me and responded to my question of why his toy was not only wet but greasy  with "Nuffing".

If he hadn't been 3 I would've been like "THAT IS NO KIND OF ANSWER TO ANY QUESTION OF THIS NATURE EVER" but he is 3 so instead I asked again 

"Jack, why is the plane wet?! Where did you get it wet at?!"

My mind started racing trying to figure out where he could've possibly found water to play in, and the only logical solution came to me: the toilet.

The kids have their own bathroom, and in the middle of eating he had asked to use the bathroom. 

I was too distracted with stupid bullshit to remember when he came back...

It made perfect sense. 

He put his fucking plane, and hands UP TO THE ELBOWS in the toilet and played for God knows how long.

And then I remembered: JACK NEVER FLUSHES THE TOILET EVER.

He played in piss water.

I jumped up and told him to show me where the plane got wet, and as he lead me toward the living room he said "In the big big water thing!" 

In my head I was screaming "HE TOTALLY FUCKING MEANS THE TOILET"

When we got to the dining room he stopped and pointed at his water cup.

In relief I noticed his little table was covered in water, and that's where he must've gotten all wet. 

My relief was quickly dashed however when I picked up his cup to find it full of mashed up tater tots, lettuce from dinner, and his pilot Darth Vader floating in about 3 inches of dirty water.

And that my friends is why you never leave your children alone while they're eating want to know why you're child is wet.

Kids can be so gross.

Monday Momisms: On Mom Friendships

 

I read a post recently about whether or not moms and not-moms can be friends. 

Good points were made for why they can't. Things like: as moms we become boring creatures with little to talk about except baby poop and nap time and the cute shit our kids say incorrectly that provides us possibly the only entertainment we get in a day, and grocery shopping.

It's true.

Since becoming a mother I have over the last 8 years become increasingly more boring.

And the prognosis isn't good. 

I see myself only becoming exponentially more boring until I basically cease to exists as anything other than a machine that puts clothes into another machine to be washed, and cooks food on yet another machine that gets hot and beeps and smokes.

It will eventually be an endless cycle of my boring machine self, communicating with other machines in order to complete tasks that keep my children alive.

This is quite literally a nightmare I have often.

The writer of the post about moms and not-moms being friends, also went on to say that efforts could be made on both sides: not moms could be more patient, and kindly listen to our crap ass mom talk, and then when we're done bitching talking, we moms can indulge in a little not-mom vicarious living by listening to our not-mom friends tell stories about the normal lives they're still carrying on, in a world where they get to take a shower ever single day. 

I agreed with almost everything the writer was saying.

But it brought up another question for me along the same lines - or maybe another question asked in a different way: can moms and not-moms be friends when their lives are just so different?

Imagine that you did have normal shit to talk about, and you didn't ever tell stories about baby shit or grocery shopping {yeah right}, and you were actually able to get away once in a while for a girls lunch without your babies?

Would you still be able to maintain friendships with your friends who didn't have kids?

Would the two of you be anywhere near the same place in your lives? Would you be able to honestly relate to the things the other person was going through in their very different universe?

Once you live a new life for long enough, your old life begins to feel very foreign. It becomes harder and harder to recognize the native language, and communicate with the inhabitants of that now very distant land.

Do you ever feel like you're a little more grown up than your friends that don't have kids?

I mean, with no disrespect intended to the childless women of the world, but doesn't getting married, or being in a serious relationship, or doing it all alone while raising babies age you a little, if not a whole hell of a lot?

I am 24 years old and I don't feel anywhere near the same age as the girls in my office who are even a couple years older than me, unless they also have kids or a husband or lead a somewhat similar life.

Would your not-mom friends never get bored with just having girls lunch and getting your nails done, if they're still hitting the bars on Friday night, trying to find a man or have some fun, or just enjoy being young and still relatively unattached?

I know that the experiences I've had tell me it's incredibly hard for me personally to have close friendships with girls who don't have kids. 

It's frustrating on both sides when it comes to going out together: I can't ever go to happy hour after work, I cannot go to a bar where my tab will be over 20 dollars for two freaking drinks, I don't can't talk on the phone with them every night and sometimes I get so busy/tired/rundown/forgetful that I may not return a call for several days.

And during the times when I am overwhelmed, lonely from being the only parent/adult in the house, and a little bored after months and months of nothing but Rugrats on T.V. and World War II over getting little kids to finish their goddamn mac and cheese, it's hard for me not to feel a little jealous of my friends who are seeing concerts, going to movies and surrounded by their other friends constantly.

The resentment definitely comes out, and that adds strain to an already fragile friendship, and before I know it I'm saying that our lives are just too different and I need to find more grown up friends.

So I guess I'm saying I don't know how it all works, I don't know how to balance those worlds. 

I don't know if it's about maturity, or parental status, or if one determines the other and in the end they're all the same. I don't know if my own immaturity affected my ability to be friends with people with less responsibility than me, without allowing them to be poor influences on me, or if the way that raising babies just naturally wears you out and wears you down sometimes, makes being friends with people who have less responsibility than you a bad idea because there's almost no way to avoid them being a bad influence.
Oy. It's confusing, and I think there are no hard and fast rules or absolute truths.

I just know that friendships only become more vital, yet simultaneously harder, as soon as someone says

"Here comes the head!"

 Quote = Jerry Maguire

Monday Momisms: Having Parented

 

There is this writer named Dorothy Parker who, when asked if she loved writing responded

"No, but I love having written."

Sometimes, that's how I feel about parenting.

I know that sounds wrong, but stay with me here....

Parenting is hard. It's a bitch, and sometimes it just plain knocks you on your ass. You go through things that make you crazy, break your heart, stress you to your limits. You make choices that make you feel like you would rather slam your head against a wall than have to make that decision, and some days, all you want is a freaking break. 

Now, not that it's all bad. In fact a lot of it is truly great. But a lot of it is hard....sometimes just plain awful.

When old people stop me in grocery stores and get all teary eyed and tell me to savor every moment of it, and how much they loved parenting and raising kids, sometimes I want to be like

"Ok, really? You really loved parenting? Or do you love having parented?" 

I feel like there is a distinct difference. 

Loving parenting to me is like saying 

"I love making difficult decisions that my children do not understand, and therefor cry, bitch and moan about until I feel like tearing out my hair. Oh, and when my daughter calls me the worst mom ever because I sent her to her room for the 35th time that day, and when I have to get up at 4 in the morning to change the sheets because someone had an accident? That's my favorite."

Of course I do not love those things. But to me, those are the moments when I am truly parenting.

The hard days, the rough hours, the long nights, the difficult talks, that is when I am doing the work of parenting.

I don't always love the work, but I love having done it.

I love having children, I love looking back at the moments we've shared, how they've grown, daydreaming about who they'll become, and the small victories that I sometimes get when I see all my efforts to make them good, kind, responsible people pay off a little bit.

I love that I have parented, even if in the moment, in the dark and solitary trenches of parenting, I don't love the task at hand {who loves holding a shitty diaper at 2 in the morning?!}, I always look back at the parenting I've done and feel so so glad that I've done it.

So I guess the message here is that if you're having a day when you're counting down each freaking second until bedtime, and honestly considering locking yourself in the minivan and screaming at the top of your lungs while the kids stand outside of it and point at Mommy like she's a crazy zoo animal, it's ok.

There is nothing wrong with you.

You're not loving parenting right now, but you'll love having parented. 

I promise.

Monday Momisms: Recently Overheard

It's no secret that my kids say some pretty whacktacular shit sometimes, and I am no stranger to dishing the crazy talk right back to them. Sometimes it's because I'm tired, sometimes it's because we're low on wine and they won't quit touching me, and sometimes it's because I'm bored and like to test their reactions.

Here's what you may have overheard if you'd been hanging around our house lately:

Jack: "My feet won't quit making noise on the floor when I move them and it's sounding pretty creepy"

Me: "What?"

Jack: "My feet won't quit sounding creepy. Make them stop."

Me: "I don't know what you're saying. At all."

Jack: {In exasperated voice} "I saaaaaaaid...." and then proceeds to say the exact same shit again a third time.

Me, looking to Lainie, who's been standing there watching this with a totally straight face, for help: "What is he saying?" 

Lainie: "He's saying the noise his feet makes on the tile creeps him out" 

Me: *blink blink*

Kids: *stare back at me with completely serious faces as if this makes perfect sense*

Me: "Who wants cookies?!"

...

Lainie talking to Jack: "Let's play hide and seek"

Jack: "Ok"

Lainie: "Ok so the rules are I get to hide first, then you hide. You can't hide anywhere that I hid, and you can't hide in my room or in the garage or in mom's room, and you can't hide anywhere that doesn't have a light cuz I'm scared of the dark, and you can't hide anywhere that would be too hard to find you"

Jack: "Ok, I'll hide in the closet by the front door"

Lainie: "No, I don't like that closet. It smells old. Just hide behind the couch."

Jack: "Ok!"

...

As I'm sitting on the couch reading, I see out of the corner of my eye, Jackson running out of his room wearing a princess dress and Easter bunny ears from Easter last year. I look up and stare a while, trying to decide what....the fuck to say.

Jack makes the first move, coming over to me:

"My bunny ears keep falling off and this dress makes me butt feel itchy"

Me: "Why does your butt itch?"

Jack: "I took off my batman unnerwheres to put the dress on"

Me: ".....Why?"

Jack: "I didn't know how else to get the dress on. But I don't think I want to play with Lainie anymore."

I wouldn't either.