Last week I did something strange.
A friend of mine sent me a text Friday night and asked if I wanted to get together Saturday morning. She said she would even bring me coffee. Ordinarily, free coffee would make me do just about anything, but getting to hang out with my BFF and drink free coffee? Sounded like a slam dunk to me.
I looked at my phone and paused. Something didn’t feel right.
My kids had just returned from two days with my in-laws. They were in bed shortly after they arrived home that day so I hadn’t been given much time to be with them. I missed them.
Rather than text my friend back with an emphatic YES as well as my coffee order, I replied with, “Ya know, this is kind of weird… but we just got Lily and Levi back after two days and I think I really wanna just spend some time with them.”
That’s right, folks. I declined adult interaction and free coffee to hang out with Lily and Levi.
Well that’s weird. Continue reading
Confession: I’m a recovering mom-judger.
I used to roll my eyes when one more exasperated first time mom would ask, “How do I get my two-month old to sleep through the night?” I would be hard pressed to hide my surprise if another mom admitted the cornerstones of her kid’s diet for the last week was string cheese and chicken nuggets. I’d go home and tell my husband, “So and so lets her kids do x, y, and z. Can you believe it?” followed by the quintessential line, “I would NEVER let that happen.”
Yep. That was me. Judgey McJudgerson at your service.
A few nights ago when I was spinning around in my chair singing, “I’m not funny, la la la…” instead of writing, I started to wonder why I judged so much. I’m not a mean-spirited person. I genuinely like most of the people I found myself judging. I didn’t like judging them nor the guilt that came with it. So what was my issue?
And in a flash of insight not unlike Big Bird realizing he didn’t want a new habitat if it meant leaving his friends on Sesame Street, it hit me.
I judge because I’m insecure.
That’s it. Continue reading
The whole premise of this blog and my future book (assuming a publisher buys it) is the idea that I was completely unprepared for having kids. One of the things I had never thought about was “mommy guilt.”
Mommy guilt is an all consuming force that you can’t shake off or remove from yourself nor can you stuff it down with ice cream or Doritos. Once the baby exits the womb, mommy guilt rears its ugly head and perches upon your shoulder for eternity. My first moment of mommy guilt was when I had to ask Luke to change Lillian’s diaper in the hospital because I was a bit too sore to get out of bed. “I’m her mom. I should be doing this,” I thought as Luke changed her.
And so it begins. Continue reading
We can all agree that kids make some poor choices. They eat crayons, consider the bookshelf their personal Everest, and would rather sit in the toy box instead of, you know, play with their toys.
I think there are a number of ways that kids get it right though. Here’s just a few.
All they want to eat is junk food. Well duh! Who doesn’t want a diet comprised solely of goldfish crackers, fruit snacks, cookies, and juice all day, every day? Screw broccoli; bring on the bacon cheeseburgers!
They don’t want to wear pants. Or any clothes for that matter. One thing I can count on happening every day is my kids whining and moaning when I insist on getting them dressed. They fight. They squirm. Their limbs turn to jello. It’s just a shirt, guys! It’s not the apocalypse. But on those hot days (okay, 80 degrees) when they can run around in just a diaper, I can’t say I’m not a little envious. Continue reading
I guess the title is misleading. It makes it sound like my toddler wasn’t wearing pants. And he wasn’t. But I really want to explain to you why I didn’t have pants on while crawling after my toddler.
It all started with poop. The best stories do.
Both kids were in my lap as we watched “Let It Go” on YouTube for conservatively the 812th time that day. I still like the song, they kind of sit still, and Lillian is adorable when she sings along. She does the hand motions too. It’s great.
So we’re all sitting, watching the computer, when I smell something. Oh geez, one of the kids pooped. There went that cute moment. Well, I’ll just wait until this is over.
“Let it go, let it go…”
Why is my leg wet?
I look down, and Levi had managed to not only poop, but somehow completely miss the diaper. I don’t even know what happened. Sometimes the stars are aligned just right, the diaper’s on just wrong, and everything comes pouring out.
Now I’ve dealt with a lot of poop in my two years of motherhood, but getting pooped on always sends me into a fight or flight mode. What do I do?! Continue reading