What Was I Thinking?

My 7yo daughter is at that stage where she needs to be constantly busy and entertained, surely a side effect from when she was a baby and we didn’t put her down for the first six months of her life. Hashtag first kid problems. So the weekends bring a fresh level of what-am-I-going-to-do-with-these-kids-hell. And that’s where our story begins.

We loaded up into the car to drive to the craft store so they could pick out a craft that would hopefully keep them quiet and occupied while I was free to do mom stuff. They oohed and aahed up and down every aisle. When my daughter saw the pom pom kitties, she was done. She squealed, grabbed the box, and that was that. I didn’t even look at what it was, other than it had things to glue to make a cat, or so I thought! She was ecstatic so I blindly agreed. Such a rookie mom move.

 

kitty

Make Your Own Cute Cats At Your Own Risk

 

With one child being super happy, of course the other child had to be super unhappy because that’s how kids roll. My 5yo daughter was moping because she couldn’t find the mermaid craft she had seen on a previous trip. Against my better judgment and to cheer her up, I convinced her to get a clay set to make her own charms. Something told me I was going to regret these decisions, but at the same time, they were happy so I felt like things were going to be okay.

Checking out, the cashier said there was a free slime project in the craft room if the girls wanted to participate. Of course they wanted to, so I agreed, feeling like the world’s best mom because I not only let them get a craft, but now they were allowed to make the most dreaded thing in the world: slime!

 

girls

Slime Heaven!

 

As we drove home, they held onto their projects, anxious to get started while I happy danced on the inside like, “You’re such an awesome mom. Look at you getting crafty, being all nice and shit.” But then we got home and I opened the pom pom kitty box and it was like, “Uh oh. WTF did I get myself into?”

There were bundles of yarn with some plastic thingymajigs, pipe cleaners, plastic eyes, a comb, and a tiny bottle of glue. Where the hell were the cat heads and bodies? I have to what? Make them? Out of yarn? But first I have to do math to figure out how much yarn I need? With a child next to me whining/pleading/asking when her cat will be ready? Oh hell no!

Let’s just say my mood went from birds chirping in the sunshine to storm clouds gathering. I cursed myself over the next 2 1/2 hours. I think an hour of that was just figuring out the math. I wanted to give up, throw the yarn across the table, and stomp out of the house, but we kept going. I worked through an injury sustained while “grooming” the cat, and even paused production to watch a youtube video for additional help.

 

crafting

When you (also) realize someone is documenting your descent into madness

 

Slowly, the pom pom kitty came together, through my frustration, irritation, and grumbling. After only 2 hours and 22 minutes, we finally made it to the part where my daughter could help (8 years old and up, my ass! More like 28 years old and up!). She glued on the details, gave her cat a collar, and voila, Fluff Ball was born. The look on my daughter’s face at our creation and her newest companion was priceless.

While I felt like a failure in the process, realizing I’m no Martha Stewart, I learned that the cat didn’t have to be perfect because my daughter would love it no matter if its head was bigger than its body, or its eyes were wonky, or the feet were jacked up, but that she would love it because we made it together.

 

ev cat

One Happy Customer

In conclusion, my review of the pom pom kitty project is 0 out of 5, do not recommend, at least for those who are not great at math and measuring and patience-having, but if you ask my daughter, she gives it a 5 out of 5 and wants to make 1,000 more.

 

 

 

 

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My Christmas Story

 

When I was little, Christmas was marshmallowy moments of pure happiness sprinkled with glittery anticipation. It was thrilling like nothing else. I’d count down the days as soon as Thanksgiving hit, growing more and more excited with each X on the calendar. I’m sure it drove my mom crazy since now my daughters constantly ask if Christmas is here yet, thus making me totally insane.

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My daughter has picked up where I left off

 

We all remember at least one Christmas that blew our minds and made us scream with pure joy. For me, it was when Santa left $3 in my stocking. I couldn’t believe how rich Santa was to leave me three. whole. dollars. Who knows what I even did with all that cash…probably blew it on candy. And to think those three dollars were probably a last minute idea on my father’s part when he felt like the piles and piles of presents he already got us weren’t enough. I totally get that now.

Then I got older, Christmas turned into something else, and the only thing that has brought back any kind of happiness to it, is my children. Now it’s simply about making Christmas as special for them as possible. I struggle with wanting to give them everything their little hearts desire, and not giving them too much, fearing it’ll make them greedy little jerks…

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More than all the toys, I hope we’re giving them magic, the kind they unwrap and keep in their hearts, the kind that will always bring them happiness. I want them to feel the wonder of a holiday that’s about so much more than the things they asked Santa for. Christmas is going to change for them as the years keep coming, but I always want them to feel that certain spark of excitement because I realize we don’t get enough of those as we get older.

Unadulterated Joy

 

It’s a…Book!

I’ve given birth for the third time!

It doesn’t have ten fingers and ten toes, or a perfect button nose. It’s not a boy or a girl…it’s a BOOK! And to get it out into the world was nothing short of a miracle.

I’m thrilled to announce the birth of my first book,

One Funny Mummy - Ebook Cover

One Funny Mummy Defines Parenthood (in 140 Characters or Less)

I’m not claiming to be a parenting expert, but I’m sort of an expert when it comes to delivering babies and punchlines. I much prefer to deliver the latter even though it’s not easier, and sometimes it’s just as painful, but it’s rewarding in very similar ways.

While I normally feel bad for babies born in the month of December, I’m super happy that my baby is just in time for Christmas. Just in time to be stuffed into every stocking you come across. Because who doesn’t want to wake up on Christmas morning and laugh about parenthood?

The book is a best-of collection of my funny-because-they’re-true tweets that perfectly sum up parenthood. Get yourself a giant cup of coffee, (or a giant mimosa) settle into the couch that’s covered in shredded wrapping paper and plastic packaging, and read the whole thing while the kids play with their new toys.

It’s the perfect gift for anyone who likes to laugh or needs to laugh, but doesn’t have a lot of time to read anything longer than a sentence (ahem, that’s everybody these days)! You’ll feel great knowing you did your part to spread a little holiday cheer this season, not to mention, you’ll be my favorite person ever.

Plus, if you don’t buy my book it’s like saying my baby is ugly…and you don’t want to be that person.

 

 

One or the Other

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There are few things more stressful than getting kids ready for school in the morning. I’ve even compared it to diffusing a bomb because if one little thing goes wrong, it could blow up the entire day.

From the moment we wake up, the timer on the time bomb starts ticking down until the final minute when we have to be ready with lunches packed, backpacks ready, and out the door. Oh! And then there are the minor details of the kids being fully clothed, fed, and cleaned up too!

The stressful part isn’t all the simple tasks that need to be done, it’s repeating the simple tasks over and over to children who don’t listen. If my kids actually listened maybe it’d be a different story. But no, they wait until I turn from this:

June-Cleaver

pillar of patience

into this:

willow monster

death monster spewing rage

You can’t have a good morning and be on time, it just doesn’t work that way. You must decide which is more important. For me, being on time is important and is the reason why I turn into a lunatic in the last couple minutes before we leave the house. I’m always hopeful that they know I don’t mean the things I say in these last two minutes. They’re not listening anyway, so I think I’m okay.

My good morning starts as soon as I drop them off at school and drive away. That’s when life gets easier for a few short hours, at least, easier in the sense that I’m not breaking up fights, serving snacks left and right, or looking for an obscure toy they haven’t played with in months.

Maybe we have a “good” morning every now and then where everything goes pretty smoothly and we still make it to school on time, but it takes a boatload of effort, not to mention a boatload of coffee. It also takes a lot of biting my tongue and grumbling my string of obscenities walking from one side of the car around to the other while the kids are inside deaf to my cursing. In other words, the stars have to be aligned, not to mention all the socks, shoes, and sweaters too, preferably right by the front door for ease of grabbing as the final countdown hits.

 

Caring is Hard

IMG_0485But I care. A lot.

Like most parents, I want the best for my children. But to give them the best means putting my own wants and needs on hold which can be very hard to do. It means putting my phone down, turning my distracted mind off, and interacting with them. It means reading books together when I’d rather not, going for walks when I’d rather not, playing games when I’d rather not. It’s fighting this feeling of not doing anything worthwhile. It’s reminding myself that these are the things that are actually worthwhile. These are the ways to create a fulfilled child. (You know, the whole reason we bring these little people into the world in the first place.)

Just the other day my husband and I received the highest compliment you can get as parents of young kids. A woman sitting near us in a restaurant said that we had lovely children who were so well-behaved. Granted, she might’ve had a little too much vino and we had only been there about 20 minutes before she left, so she saw them in their prime–while the crayons were still keeping them busy and the sugar from their chocolate milks hadn’t kicked in yet. Nonetheless, I stood up to accept my parent of the year award and to make a heartfelt speech about sacrifice and selflessness to our fellow diners. Kidding. We thanked her and then snickered that boy had we fooled her.

Why should I care what this complete stranger thought when I know my kids are well-behaved? I’m well aware of what it’s taken to make them this way–most of my sanity and all of my patience. At least in that moment it felt like my hard work had paid off. I guess that’s what I was thanking her for…for noticing.

I have so much I want to accomplish, yet by the time I’m done trying to mold my mini-mes into self-sufficient decent human beings who feel loved and understood, I’m just too mentally and physically exhausted to do anything but zone out to the world and keep ignoring everything I’ve put on the back burner. So I remind myself that this time in their lives where they actually want me to be a part of everything they do is short-lived and that my time is better spent sharing life with them even if it costs me my own.

Weird is Good

I was reading to my daughter like we do every night before bed. She interrupted me like she does every night, but this time she said something that caught me off guard.

She said a kid called her weird. She sounded so sad, and for a minute, I was too.

My first reaction was to tell her to ignore this kid, but I paused and tried to think of something better, something that would help her for the next time it happens.

Then it came to me.

I told her that being weird is a good thing. It means you’re not like anyone else. So the next time someone calls you weird, you should say thank you. She laughed a delighted little giggle and I felt good, like I’d said the right thing at the right time.

As I was reveling in my parental sense of accomplishment, my daughter turned over, laughed again, and deliberately farted on me.

I couldn’t sum up parenthood more perfectly if I tried.

Motherhood, Interrupted

We went, we selfied, we danced…because that’s what you do when you go to Las Vegas as a married mother of two.

Moms Gone Mild, Sin City 2014

My mom friends and I loaded up our Mom-mobile stocked with every snack and necessity known to man (cause we’re moms)…

before

On the Road

…not to mention practically every shoe from our closets (cause we’re girls)…

Never Enough Shoes

Never Enough Shoes

…and headed to Vegas this past weekend. None of us cared that the drive would take several hours, in fact, we welcomed it. We were happy to finish one conversation and only take care of ourselves. It didn’t matter what we were doing as long as it involved getting away from our children. We love them to death, but when you spend as much time with them as we do, you need a break. So that’s just what we got, and it was the best time ever!

My Girlz

My Girlz

We were able to forget the very thing that brought us all together in the first place (motherhood) and enjoy our freedom. We got our hair done, we shared clothes and jewelry, and never stopped talking or laughing. We danced the night away into the wee hours of the morning, (my feet still have the blisters to prove it.) Surprisingly, no one lost anything, except our voices, and there was not one moment of drama, but plenty of inside jokes and new dance moves.

Getting Down

Hershey Rollin’

For three stress-free days we didn’t have to be moms. We didn’t have to worry about the things we worry about on a daily basis, and it was exactly what the four of us needed. Now it’s back to our regularly scheduled lives of playdates, tantrums, and bedtimes, but for those three days when motherhood was interrupted, man, did we live it up.

Cheeeeese!

Cheeeeese!