Mother’s Day: Nailed it.

Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. I have to say, this might have been my favorite one yet, because it was so completely…us.

To kick things off, I took this idea from Rants From Mommyland and ran with it. I contacted a local shelter for women and children who are victims of domestic violence. I chatted with a lovely woman about what these heroes might need, and then I got some friends in on my plan. We bought all kinds of girly items that you don’t even think about when you’re busy fighting for your/your child’s lives. We filled 15 gift bags with mani/pedi kits, make-up, lotion, flip-flops, pajama pants (because that’s all we really ever want to wear), loofahs, fancy moisturizing razors, and lip gloss. Punkin labeled each bag with a little note that said, “To: A hero,” and I bought a mega box of crayons, ginormous paper, and lots of snacks for the kiddos at the shelter. My aunt has donation connections and also added 12 towel sets for the shelter itself, which they were super happy to get. Which made me super happy. 

The girls and I formed an assembly line and stuffed our bags, and the whole family drove to the office for the shelter together on Saturday afternoon. Dropping off those bags was hands-down my favorite Mother’s Day activity ever, and the Nerd and I already decided that this will be an annual tradition. Plus, my girls got to see nail polish and lipstick and not beg for it/paint my furniture, so that’s a bonus.

Sunday kicked off with the Nerd getting out of bed with the girls so I could “sleep.” This never actually works, but I have a particular loathing for mornings, and laying in bed is always impossible nice. He made me coffee, which was all I really wanted. Hot, not-made-by-me-in-a-delirious-stupor, coffee. The girls had spent the evening before frantically working on a ginormous picture that I wasn’t supposed to know about. Even thought they pulled out the markers and craft paper in front of me and loudly yelled, “DON’T LOOK AT THIS!” Subtle.

I slowly drank my heavily – heavenly? both. – caffeinated beverage, and hopped in the shower. The Nerd had to go do Nerdy things at church, like set up video/audio/Spanish translation stuff for service, and left the girls strict instructions to let Mommy have an interruption-free morning.

Naturally, Smush kicked and screamed at the door to the bathroom half the time I was in the shower.

When I got out, dripping wet in my bathrobe, I found what every mother looks for on Mother’s Day: her three-year-old, sitting on the floor, with an industrial sized container of Elmer’s glue and a paint brush. If you look closely at the upper left corner of my picture, you can see the  remnants of the dried glue puddle and the smeared marker. But not one to stick with just one medium, Smush was sure to use both her hands and the brush to paint not just the paper, but the hardwood floor as well. Happy Mother’s Day!

The Nerd came home to get the girls ready for our brunch at church (thank God in heaven) and I got to straighten my hair and do fancy make-up with no interruptions. Except when Goo needed to wash her hands. And when she needed a tissue. And when Smush’s bow fell out of her hair. Anyway.

Beginning before we left the house, and for 15 minutes after arriving at the brunch, Goo whined about being hungry. Her eating is critically important, so I was super happy she was hungry, but I can’t make them start serving the food any faster, so after calmly explaining several times, my patience was wearing thin. I finally lost my mind and turned around, pointed my Mommy finger, and snapped, “Knock it off. I can’t make them serve the food, I got you juice, now stop. whining. at. me.” IMMEDIATELY after I finished, the pastor had apparently been making an announcement about how amazing all the moms are, and the congregation erupted in applause. Umm, thanks? Should I take a bow? It’s really taken me years to perfect that tone. You’re welcome.

We finished up at church, headed out to pick up our wedding rings at the jeweler which were getting resized, and to kill some time before having a fabulous dinner with family.

And one of my favorite parts, we rounded out the day with the Mother’s Day cards Punkin is becoming famous for.

Do you see a theme? I’m basically awesome and … tired. She pretty much nailed it.

From this (tired) Mediocre Mom to you, Happy Mother’s Day!

Parenting FAIL Friday: A healthy dose of normal.

When tragedy strikes, and you’re going to be in the trenches for the long haul, the first thing that teachers/psychologists/child life specialists tell you is how critical it is to keep things as normal as possible. Every fiber of your being wants to lavish them with gifts and lollipops and magical unicorns, but if you do that not only will you have a gremlin on your hands, but you will remove the sense of security they gain from routine, discipline, and seeing that life goes on. Even with cancer.

The Nerd and I are trying very hard to do this. Goo still gets punished. The girls still have chores. They still have to eat their vegetables (although Goo’s are now slathered in butter to fatten her up). I still lose my ever-loving mind on at least a weekly basis. It’s all very healthy.

Smush is doing her part to keep things normal, too. In an attempt to obviously make Goo feel as secure as possible, she has whole heartedly embraced her role as the toddler force of destruction that one would expect from an almost three-year-old. Insider tip: Three is much, much worse than two. She’s almost there. God help me, she’s almost there.

The other day I heard her happily singing a song in the living room. I decided to peek in and listen for the lyrics, at which point I found her throwing my brand new pillows and blanket all over the room, merrily announcing:

I loooooove making messes, I love making messes!

Ahem. I’m aware. That’s why it’s taken Mommy and Daddy almost TEN YEARS to finally get something just a little bit decorative in the living room. Something that isn’t a stained or broken sofa. Or a brand new ottoman that is busted beyond repair two weeks after I purchase it. Ten years, girlfriend. Put. Those. Pillows. Back. Now. I dream of a brand spanking new, leather sectional. But that’s a HUGE ticket item, so I will continue waiting. But in the meantime, keep your grubby little hands off my pillows. Kapeesh?

Goo and Punkin got a kick out of her little display, so she decided to up the ante a few days later. She bounded out of the bathroom on a Wednesday morning exclaiming, “Mommy, I brush-ded my hair!”

Indeed she did. With a toothbrush. And toothpaste. All up in there. What is it with this kid and toothbrushes?

I basically have my very own little Stitch. This clip is, in essence, what Smush is like on a daily basis. Just to be clear, Stitch is not the adorable little girl in this movie. It’s the creature of mass destruction.

Welcome to my life.

Parenting FAIL Friday: I get paid for this.

I have mentioned that I scored a sweet work-from-home gig that lets me make a little extra cash while still wrangling my rabid howler monkeys.

A friend is paying me to watch her two-year-old.

Stifle that laughter, please. I’m actually kind of awesome at it. And by awesome I mean no one has suffered serious bodily harm.

But we do fun things like  coloring projects. And yesterday I totally took one for the team and bundled us all up for outside time. In the blistering windy cold of winter. This had nothing to do with the fact that I needed the children to not be fighting in the walls of my home. Or that I may or may not have caught the two toddlers (mine and hers) physically fighting over a high chair, and swinging it around the living room trying to grab it from one another.

Toddler squabbles aside, it’s been kind of perfect. Curls (the second toddler – who has a full head of halfway-down-her-back black ringlets) is a very enthusiastic cleaner, and God knows Smush needs some work in that department. Plus it’s like a crash course in sharing for everyone involved, and I imagine that will be helpful once school days roll around for this brood. Either that or they will have learned how to go Jackie Chan on anyone that takes their pencil sharpener.

And even though they make messes, we use teamwork to clean them up.

Confession: I totally blew it in this department early on. Too often I gave in and cleaned up myself because I got sick of the tantrums. When it’s four against one, you can’t win. So you have to learn to stick to your guns and get all hands on deck. And I’ve been nailing it.

Except for this.   

That’s sugar. From my sugar bowl. That Smush and Curls emptied into their play sink to “cook.”

Oh look, they were stirring with Goo’s brand new paint brush from Christmas.

And because no toddler fiasco is complete without grinding tiny granules of insect-attracting food pellets into the carpet, I give you this.

As an added bonus, they painted Curls’ pants. In sugar. Which, upon putting them in time-out for taking food and dumping it out, they licked off with their fingers while they happily giggled in their chairs.

I get paid for this.

Parenting FAIL Friday: You’re going to want to replace that.

As you may know, we’re attempting to potty train Smush. It’s going swimmingly. And by swimmingly, I mean it’s been a couple of weeks, she hasn’t peed in the potty once, and she’s now trying not to drink because I was an idiot and told her drinks help us go pee pee. Smush – 1, Mediocre Mom – 0.

The other night we marched her into the bathroom, armed with her Dora potty seat, two potty books, and the patience of a saint. She promptly proceeded to pee before her jammies were off. Super.

We sat her on the potty anyway, because that’s what you do. You sit them on the potty to associate peeing with the toilet. As you can tell, it’s been working fabulously.

She sat there for a while, talking, singing, generally keeping herself amused. The Nerd stepped out for a second to chat with me, but stopped halfway through a sentence to begin the following conversation:

Nerd: …I need a new toothbrush.

Me: Huh?

Nerd: *glancing toward Smush* I need a new toothbrush.

(We see Smush, vigorously scrubbing…her feet. Her dirty little feet. With the Nerd’s toothbrush.) 

Me: It’s not that bad. I can sterilize it. It’s just her…

(We again see Smush, no longer scrubbing her feet, but her, umm, nether regions.)

Me: Yes, yes you are definitely going to need a new toothbrush.

I guess it’s good that she’s listening when I tell her about cleaning head to toe at bath time. Right? And about how important it is to brush our teeth, although she’s slightly off on her anatomy.

Has anyone noticed that these stories are not in most parenting books? Hoards of novels on proper nutrition, behavioral development, and socialization, but nobody says, “When your kid cleans their derriere with your toothbrush, we recommend the following course of action.”

Show me a parenting book on what to do when your preschooler starts putting stick-on boobs on her stuffed animals, and I might be interested. Parenting experts my foot.

Parenting FAIL Friday: If my kids made the rules.

I read this post a while back on Rants From Mommyland, and was inspired to ask my kids what they thought our family rules should be. Warning: If you do this, your kids are probably going to say the opposite of whatever you’ve taught them. Because that’s how parenting works: You spend years instilling core values, only to have them fly out the window when they get the freedom to eat cookies for breakfast.

A few things happened while we were writing up our rules. Firstly, I realized that Smush has no idea what a rule is. 

Secondly, Punkin pretty much took the opposite of whatever I tell her, and made it a rule. Super. It’s always encouraging to know that the almost-decade you’ve spent training, teaching, encouraging, and disciplining is probably going to fly out the window. I place emphasis on healthy eating, and don’t just stick with, “Eat your vegetables.” I teach the girls about nutrition, why it’s important, how different foods help our bodies. This is all clearly evidenced in the very first rule the girls thought of.

Lastly, Goo surprised me, and not only did she echo some of my own rules, but she centered hers around quality family time. No idea where she gets that from.

I strongly encourage you to ask your own kids what they think family rules should be. It’s not just good for a laugh, but may actually give you a glimpse that you’re maybe doing something kind of right. Except for the ones that are opposite your actual rules. Those may need some work.

1. Eat ice cream every single day. But not on hot days because it melts.
2. Don’t paint on the walls.
3. Umm, I want pink.
4. Do whatever you want before you do your homework.
5. Go fishing, because we never get to go fishing.
6. Umm, lots of yucky things. But I don’t like worms.
7. We can snuggle whenever we want.
8. I like cookies and marshmallows.
9. You have to read for at least 30 minutes every day.
10. Go to Grandma’s for sleepovers all the time. And go to Meema and Peepa’s all the time, too.

Nobody mentioned violence, Bratz dolls, or boy bands, so I think I can give myself a pat on the back for this one.

Before and after kids: Christmas card photos.

It’s that time of year again. Where houses are filled with crackling fires, hot cocoa, colored lights, and empty threats about Santa not bringing presents. Which also means – it’s time for Christmas cards. And that means getting a photo for said cards. Which, when you’re trying to capture holiday joy on the faces of small children, often requires patience. And bribery. And wine.

I’ve been perusing holiday photos from all our friends who don’t have kids (yet – muahaha), and realizing how relaxing different that must be. Husband, wife, outfit changes because not only do you own more than one Christmas-appropriate ensemble, but you can change without tiny people throwing the door open and revealing your business to the photographer. The Nerd and I never had that chance. Our first Christmas together I was pregnant with Punkin and puking. A lot. No idea why that never shows up on a Christmas card. And obviously every year after that, there was a kid in tow.

Side note: sarcasm aside, I LOVE our Christmas cards. The Nerd, and our amazing photographer friend whom I shall lovingly refer to as Audrey Hepburn because she’s classically beautiful and looks amazing in everything and if she weren’t so nice you’d want to hate her, take amazing photos of my children. The candid shots always capture the sheer joy of Christmas during childhood, and make me forget that Smush pooped on the rug that morning.

Anyway. Christmas photo shoots with kids look very, very different. Kind of like this:

Parenting FAIL Friday: I thought you took care of it?

Last week we had Punkin’s open house at school: see the classroom meet her third grade teacher, etc.

Side note: How is she in third grade already? I’m terrified. Because that means next year she’ll be in fourth grade. And they have health class where they talk about hormones and puberty. Which means two horrific things: I’ll have to have the puberty talk with Punkin. And I’ll have to have that talk, because it’s a matter of time before she’s into it full swing. Excuse me while I cry.

I digress. We ate a quick dinner, I got the girls to look more like little girls and less like feral children, handed Smush off to the Nerd so I could do my make-up, and we headed off to school.

Upon arriving, we unloaded the van and started walking down the road, because we had to park 14 miles away since the parking lot was full. Halfway there, Smush asked me to pick her up. She’s all about independence and not snuggling me right now, so I happily obliged.

It was at this point that I noticed how skinny and smooth her tiny heiny was. Not at all like the padded crumpled wad of tush I normally feel through the diaper. Which could mean only one thing:

Smush wasn’t wearing a diaper. At all. In fact, she was in a dress, going commando.

Me: Nerd, you didn’t put a diaper on her?!?

Nerd: I thought you did! Go check the car.

Me: Okay, but you cleaned out the car and took my emergency diaper stash. Cross your fingers.

I checked. There was nothing. No diapers, no napkins, no tissues, nothing. Crap. Actually, no, don’t crap. Please don’t crap.

Run back to catch up to the Nerd and girls and inform him that our 2-year-old that won’t pee on the potty is going commando. And I hope and pray that please, sweet Jesus, she doesn’t pop a squat and pee in the hallway of the school before I can make it to the bathroom.

Not to brag, but I’m kind of like MacGyver in these situations, so by the time we hit the front doors, I have a plan. I’ll take a huge line of paper towels and wrap them front to back around Smush’s tush. Then I’ll use another huge line to wrap around her waist and hold up her ghetto-rigged pee catcher.

The Nerd and I each grab one of Smush’s hands to keep her from wandering off to pee in the car pool lane explore. Except when we do this, she thinks it’s a signal to swing her legs up really freakin high and show everyone her naked baby bits. Scrap that. Nerd, carry her. I’m wearing my good sweater. There will no be no peeing on my good sweater.

Enter bathroom. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, WHERE ARE THE PAPER TOWELS? Oh, they only have small, individual ones and industrial strength hand dryers. Super. WHAT THE CRAP AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?

I send for Goo. I then ask Goo to strip from the waist down, take her undies, stuff them full of a wad of toilet paper that sort of resembles an eagle’s nest, and put them on Smush. Who now walks like a penguin and keeps talking about how her heiny feels weird.

I don’t see what the problem was. It looks super comfy to me.

The good news is, we made it through open house without christening Punkin’s new classroom.

And just to round out my epic fail, I give you a little balance: Punkin’s teacher said she’s got the highest test scores she’s ever seen. She’s in advanced math and reading, and the teacher said her priority is to keep coming up with material to challenge her because she’s so dang smart.

Mediocre parenting: raising a genius, forgetting to fully clothe your other child. It’s all about balance.

Toddler food pyramid.

I’m not entirely sure what makes toddlers have such unique palates, but they do. In my experience feeding a toddler (times three), I have determined that, for ages 2 – 4, the food pyramid looks like the image below. This should help clarify any confusion you’ve been having regarding mealtimes. You’re welcome.

Before and after kids: Art museums.

Over the summer, the Nerd and I tried to plan more family adventures that are fun and free educational. Well, maybe also free.

One of our favorites was, believe it or not, art museums. While many charge admission, a local university has two that are free and open to the public year-round. We packed up the minions and made our way to two fantastic museums.

It was there that we learned that visiting an art gallery is just a *little* different when you have small children in tow. Without kids, you’re an instant art critic. With them, well, read on.

What every parent hates about Christmas day.

Christmas morning is magical, especially when you have young children. The awe, the wonder, the joy – you just can’t beat it. But that being said, Christmas can be one of the most pain in the you-know-what days of the year. Here’s why:

1. The ungodly hour of waking. This year, Punkin was the first one up. At 4:30 in the morning. I don’t even think that hour should qualify as, “morning.” Somehow kids know that Christmas day, parents all over the world need a ridiculous amount of patience and energy, and what better way to foster that than by giving them 4 hours of sleep?
2. The packaging. Oh. My. Goodness. The freakin packaging. I’m seriously considering boycotting all Mattel toys simply for the fact that it takes an hour and a NASA security code to remove one stupid Barbie. People steal them, I get it. Boo hoo for the billion dollar company. But do we really need to sew Barbie’s head to the package? I feel like a need a medical degree to get a $10 doll out of the box. Oh, but craft supplies? Paint that could stain worse than jet engine fuel and sharpie markers? Just give the plastic cover a little tug, and the destruction is underway. I. hate. the packaging.
   

   I'm sorry, it will require 2 copies of that key and top level security access to remove my packaging. Merry Christmas. Image via Wikipedia

3. The scramble. This doesn’t affect every family, but I’m sure it affects most. Christmas morning: Wake up. Inhale coffee. Open presents in a whirlwind of chaos comparable to an F5 tornado. Pick up wrapping paper. Feed the children leftover Christmas cookies. Get everyone dressed in their Christmas outfits. Get toddler dressed again because she stripped down naked when we weren’t looking. Grab the gifts, head out the door to family house number one. Visit, eat, repeat the pack up process, but spend 30 minutes looking for Baby’s other shoe so you can get in the car and go to family house number two. Unload the car, repeat visiting process. Open gifts. Load gifts into the car, repeat shoe hunt, make third stop. Realize at this point, nobody knows who got what and you may have forgotten everyone’s names because you haven’t stopped since 4:00 AM.
4. The exhaustion. By the time you finish the scramble, it’s 8:00 PM and the kids have been up for 16 hours with no nap. This could explain why they all just had a meltdown over whose coat got zipped first.

In the end, it’s totally worth it. But next year, I’m giving all the moms I know a Christmas survival kit: espresso, ibuprofen, a box cutter, a lock box (for the craft supplies), and some Benadryl for the kids. You know, in case they get itchy.