11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #8

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really Really Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 8: I think all of the Baby/Parenting How-To books are crap. And if you gave me one, I sold it to Half Price Books for pennies. I wanted to get rid of those things so badly that I didn't even care that for like 10 of them I only got $1.50. True story.

Look, I get that your intent was to be helpful. You wanted to share a method that worked for you. And you hoped it would work for me too. But it didn't. And here’s why: no one knows what in the hell they are talking about.

I’m a pretty analytical and scientific person. If you want to present a theory to me it has to have some logic. More importantly, it has to WORK. There’s a lot that I've forgotten from my lab days but here’s what I remember about the validity of an experiment: You have to be able to duplicate the results. And you can’t do that in parenthood.

How many times have I heard parents with more than one child tell me that each of their kids was different? EVERY time I talk to someone this is the wisdom they share with me. And yet they still are willing to recommend the BEST PARENTING BOOK EVER. How can a book with one theory work for your kids who are so different from one another? That just sounds insane.

Here’s what I don’t get: there are about a gajillion parenting books out there and some of them are as different from one another as night and day. How do you know who’s right? How do you know which method will assist you in not raising a pole dancer or serial killer? If you let your child co-sleep with you, you are raising someone who is co-dependent. If you put them in their own beds, you are teaching them what abandonment feels like. If you meet your child’s every need, you are their beyotch. If you let them cry it out, you are their tormentor. If you don’t breastfeed, you are giving your child poison. If you do, you are not only creating someone who is co-dependent, you are creating someone who will later have weird sexual issues.

I mean, which way is it, all you Experts in Parenting?

I was so confused by all of those books that I didn't have a clue what was right. Mike and I found ourselves swaddling and shushing, putting The Boss Lady down to cry, picking her up because we couldn't stand it, putting her to sleep in her crib and then passing out from exhaustion with her asleep with us in the bed. I know, I know what you are going to say. Consistency, right? The key to every parenting decision is consistency. Yeah, I've heard that. But here’s the thing: every time we tried some expert method with our kid, the only thing consistent about it was the fact that we were going insane.

Around the time that Olivia was supposed to start eating solid food, we got excited and started stocking up. That first day, I carefully mashed avocado and mixed up rice cereal. She took one bite, gagged, and threw up on us. We tried again. Same reaction. The kid HATED baby food. She was, however, very curious about what we had on our plates. I Googled baby eating habits. I visited website after website, blog after blog, reading about what babies should be eating, how much, and whether or not they even needed baby food at all. I read theories on going straight to solids (in other words, no mush, just soft finger foods). I saw pictures of 9 month olds eating whole plates of spaghetti. Could this be right though? Which expert was right: baby food or straight to solids? I eventually made an appointment with Olivia’s pediatrician to discuss why my kid wouldn't eat baby food and to find out what was “wrong” with her.

I was so distraught over this food business that when I went into our doc’s office, it was obvious. But it wasn’t another baby book or website or expert that he recommended to me that day. I was expecting him to ask all sorts of questions about Olivia’s eating habits so we could get to the bottom of whatever was going on with her. All he asked was, “Stephanie, what do you think parents used to do before Gerber baby food was around?” I looked at him, bewildered. I hadn't seen anything about that on the blogs…

That’s when it hit me. I had been so stressed about what the experts were saying that I never stopped to think what parents have been doing with their kids for THOUSANDS OF YEARS---before bay books! They didn't read blogs or listen to 800 theories about how to make a baby stop crying. They just raised their kids. They loved them and quite frankly, I think they realized that their main job was just to keep them alive. They had too much other shit to do to sit around and read baby books or blogs about parenting styles. They just lived their lives with their kids.

Look at history and all of the geniuses and world-changers and sociopaths. I mean, if we really wanted to narrow down our reading list, maybe we should find out what parenting books their mothers were reading. Like, what book was Jeffrey Dhamer’s mom reading? That’s the one I want to stay away from. Or Einstein’s mom? I need to get a copy of whatever she read. And wouldn't it be funny if they read the same books? Or none at all?

Shortly after that revelation, I packed up the books and I took them to Half Price Books. With one exception. I kept Jenny McCarthy’s Belly Laughs and Baby Laughs because that crap was just funny.  You want to get a new mom something helpful? Get her something that will keep her laughing through the crazy. And wine. Get her wine.

I just don’t understand when we got so obsessed with all of this information and how it got us away from following our instinct. Every kid really is different and what works for one may not work for another.

I’m not telling you not to read books about how to raise your kid. You can do what makes you feel better. But honestly I think that’s about all the good it’s going to do. Most of those theories I read had little to do with the child. Sure, sure, they proclaimed to know exactly what babies are thinking or what their intentions are. But last I checked, babies don’t talk. They just cry and poop and eat and sleep and the fact that 4 bazillion experts out there claim they have translated all of the crying and pooping and eating and sleeping tells me that there are either 4 bazillions psychics out there or that they don’t really know. Because of someone really knew, wouldn’t there just be ONE book? The books out there though seem to have more to do with giving the parents the illusion of having some kind of control. And I get it. Some people need that.

I figured it out pretty early. I’m not in control. I never was. The only way to breathe easy in this gig is to embrace the chaos and do what’s right for YOUR kid. My job as a parent got so much easier when I stopped treating my kid like a guinea pig for expert parenting techniques. When I learned to listen to her needs and follow my instincts, I was able to breathe. I quit beating myself up or thinking that something was wrong with her just because a certain theory didn't work.

When I got rid of those books, I stopped worrying about the expert and I started listening to my instinct. Nobody knows my kid better than me. I am the expert. No, I don’t have the letters PhD or MD after my name. Though they weren't imparted to me by any university, my credentials will trump those letters any day. The letters after my name are MOM.

11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #7

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really Really Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 7: Sometimes I am so overwhelmed with thankfulness for the many blessings in my life that I am without words. That's part of the reason that I didn't write anything Wednesday or yesterday. My sister is home for Thanksgiving and I was soaking up every second with her and my bro-in-law and with my sweet girl and hubby. Yesterday, as I was surrounded by family and friends, family who are friends, and friends who are family, I just felt dumbstruck with the blessings that have been poured out on me. I'm not even sure how to really express that kind of thanks and gratitude for my life. God has been incredibly, incredibly good to me. 

Tonight was just another extension of that. Tonight I was bowled over by the love in my home. And it was all because of my battle with OCD... 

Many years ago, as I decorated our Christmas tree, making sure to put just the right amount of ornaments in each quadrant of the tree, Mike said to me, “You know, when we have kids, you can’t do this.” “Do what?” I asked. “You can’t make the tree perfect. You have to let them decorate it themselves and you aren’t allowed to say anything about it OR fix it after they are done.” I cringed at the thought.

This year, The Boss Lady is old enough to be REALLY into Christmas and when I suggested we decorate the tree together she was so excited. I knew that to control myself I’d have to stay out of the hanging portion of putting the ornaments on the tree. I sat on the floor, in front of the fire place, and put ornaments on hooks and handed them off to Oli & Mike as they found their own perfect place for each piece.

As I unwrapped each one or took it from its box, Olivia oohed and aahed at each ornament as I told her the story behind it. She excitedly rushed back for another and Mike and I laughed many times as she hung 4-5 ornaments on the same branch.

I watched from my spot on the floor as my husband and my daughter put every ornament we own in the “wrong” spots on the tree. And in all my years as a sufferer of OCD, I have never seen anything so RIGHT. I am a little overwhelmed right now at the utter joy I felt watching the two of them decorate in a manner exactly opposite of my style. It was the most fun I think I've ever had decorating a tree.And I wasn't even drinking. It is the most beautiful tree we have ever had. It is not perfectly organized and it is very unbalanced. And it is utter PERFECTION. 

In fact, it’s been like 30 minutes, and I've felt no compulsion to go over and fix Oli’s placement of the ornaments. Is it possible that Parenthood is the cure for my obsessive compulsiveness? I’ll ponder that a little more as I wipe down every counter top with anti-bacterial wipes later…oh, or maybe after I straighten the tree skirt…again…well, okay maybe not a *cure* per say but this is progress people!

After we put the last ornament on the tree, I added the ribbon and the tree topper when Oli said “Mom, I think you are a pretty crazy person.” True story. She followed that gem up with “Dad, you are pretty cool. Mom, you are so pretty. Isn't she pretty, dad?” Well, crazy as I may be, at least my kid thinks I’m pretty. Looks like she has me pretty well pegged! And just when I thought my crazy was pretty well buttoned up tonight.

  

So maybe I’m a day late on a Thanksgiving post but I can’t get over how very thankful I feel to have these two incredible people in my life who know that I’m crazy but love me anyway (and they think I’m pretty). I’m thankful for two people who cure my OCD compulsions and bring more joy to my life than I even knew existed in this world.

Our days are not perfect and sometimes they are like manic depressive episodes—one second we are laughing and playing games together and the next I am ordering time outs and promising everyone in the house early bed times and no dessert. Most days I have no idea if I’m doing this right.

But then there are these moments like tonight when my breath is nearly knocked out of me. When I hear this innocence and excitement in my child’s voice as we talk about our family stories and what she wants from Santa. I don’t mean to make it sound like we looked like a perfect Christmas painting either. Prior to this moment, I was cleaning pee off the couch and trying to convince my kid put clothes on. And when I say we didn't look like a Christmas painting, I mean it.  Since Olivia refused to put clothes on, she decorated wearing a pair of Halloween panties and a smile. But this night was just so US. It was imperfect, crazy, and incredible. And like my tree with so many branches weighted down with 5 ornaments it was absolutely BEAUTIFUL.

I hope you and yours had a Thanksgiving so incredible that you were awe struck with thankfulness just as I was all day yesterday and this night.

11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #6

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really Really Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 6: I wish I could really say all of the insane crap in my head. I am routinely amazed by the strange and sometimes just inappropriate things people feel free to say. And not just when it comes to Parenthood either. People just open their mouths and goofy stuff comes out and I wish that I could give the response that I ACTUALLY want to give and not just the polite response. I’m a pretty straight shooter but I’m also a Southern girl. Polite is how we roll. Even if in our heads we are thinking “You are one dumb S.O.B.” 

So here it is: the things I wish I could say in response to the stupid things people say to me.

To the many people (mostly women) who asked/ask: Are you going to try for a little boy? Or any variation of that question.

Well, yeah, I guess we better. I mean if we have another girl, we couldn’t possible afford two dowries when it’s time for them to be married off. And Heaven forbid we die without a male heir to our estate and have to forfeit all we own to His Majesty.

In other news, have you heard about that chap, Columbus, and how he discovered that the world isn’t flat? It’s crazy how times change and the stupid crap people once believed to be very valuable doesn’t really have any relevance anymore.

But to answer your question: Yes, we have nightly coaching sessions with Mike’s boy sperm to let them know they are just as strong and as good a swimmer as the girl sperm. We’re sure these nightly pep talks are going to work wonders. And if we try really hard and we still have a girl? Well, I guess we’ll just die in shame as failures.  

To the man in the Target parking lot who told me to be nicer to my kid because I swatted her behind for climbing up the conveyor belts at checkout and told her she couldn’t have cupcakes when she got home (more on this some other time):

***R Rating ahead***

FUCK. YOU.  (followed by running him over with my car)

***Oh, you thought I was going to take the high road here? Nope. Sorry. Push the right button and my inner Southern girl faints as my German/Irish/Cajun steps in the ring to fight dirty***

To the people (mostly men) who say things like: Why don’t women leave the table at a restaurant when they are nursing?

Oh, wow. That’s interesting to hear from YOU. What is it that you’re afraid of exactly? Is it accidentally seeing a boob? Oops, did I make you blush? Strange. Cause I’m like 99.99% certain you’ve been to a strip club. And you know, they show boobs there. Oh, okay I see now. Let me see if I get this straight:

If we are in a restaurant and I want to nurse my baby, that’s just completely intolerable. But if I jump up on the table, rip my top off and starting rubbing my boobs in your face, THAT’S okay? It’s cool. I get it. Just be warned: next time we’re in a restaurant together and you make a comment about someone having to leave the table to nurse her baby, have your dollar bills ready. This momma’s gonna bring home the Benjamins!

Ooh, or is it that you are afraid you won’t be able to control yourself if you just accidentally see a tiny piece of boob flesh? Wow, that’s gotta be embarrassing every single time you are at a public pool or the beach. I mean, there’s boob flesh EVERYWHERE there! You know, they have support groups for that kind of thing.

Whichever camp you fall into: get an effing life and don’t say stupid crap like that.

To the other mommies (or daddies) who want to compare every single milestone or say things like: Well, so-and-so can spell their name in Korean already and he’s only 2.

Wow! Korean? Really? That’s great! Well, we haven’t told many people this but we are actually conducting a social experiment with The Boss Lady where we are purposefully NOT encouraging her to develop. We’d really like you to keep your ABC’s and counting games to yourself while you are around our kid. Also, if you could talk as little as possible so that she doesn’t pick up too many language skills, that’d be great. We’re really excited to see if she gains most human skills naturally and on her own. We appreciate your cooperation and support. It’s all in the name of science, after all.

To all the people who say things like: Oh, so you think THAT’S bad? Just wait, it gets a whole lot worse!

Really? Gosh. Now that I know that, I’m going to go drive my car off a bridge. Don’t worry, I’ll leave my kid at one of those fire station safe-baby-drop-off zones before I do it. Thanks for the warning!

To everyone who encouraged us to: Enjoy the moment (even when the moment was truly MISERABLE).

You know, I read that sentiment in a book called “How to be the LEAST helpful to new parents when they are sleep deprived, frustrated, and crazy in the head.” Sooooooo weird that you read that book too! Guess what? The book was right! It really is the LEAST EFFECTIVE THING TO SAY TO SOMEONE.

Maybe later you and I could go to the homeless shelter and tell the folks there that we didn’t come to do anything for them. We just came to remind them that there are homeless people in third world countries who don’t even have a shelter to go to and that they should feel lucky.

******

Okay, that’s all folks! For those of you who have said those things: I’ve got nothin’ but love for you! And please know that, should you ever slip up and say these things to me again, I will nod politely in my Southern way and still love you anyway.  

11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #5

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really Really Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 5: Sometimes I’m jealous of my friends who don’t have kids. Not that I wish Olivia wasn't around. More that I just envy their ability to do whatever they want, whenever they want—and they don’t even know that they have this ability! For instance, on Friday, as the work day drew to a close, I fantasized about going home, putting on my sweats, drinking a glass of wine, and crawling into bed by 8:30. But I’m a mom and we don’t get to do stuff like that. Meanwhile, my Friends Without Kids (FWK’s for the remainder of this post) probably WEREN'T going home and getting some extra Zzzzzz’s. They were probably squandering the valuable resource of sleep on things like dinner out, or a movie, or a bar, or even dancing the night away. Don’t you FWK’s realize what a precious commodity sleep is????!!!!???? No, no you do not.

I’m not hatin’ on you though. I've been there. I've spent Friday & Saturday nights (and some week days too!) doing what I wanted and never thinking that there might be a day where “down time” is as extinct as the dinosaurs. And I loved every minute of it. Mike and I thought for sure that by the time we became parents we’d have gotten all of that out of our systems. What we didn't realize is what a rude awakening it would be to suddenly realize that your life of old was no more.

When Olivia was about 6 weeks old, Mike and I drove to Louisiana. You can read about that adventure HERE. I didn't mention this then (maybe I was trying to block it out? In fact, I think I pretty much LIED by saying it was a good trip there and back. Self preservation, perhaps?) but the car ride there was a living HELL. Oli screamed most of the way and by the time we arrived in New Orleans, Mike and I were emotionally and physically spent. We called my sister and bro-in-law when we got in so we could pick them up from the French Quarter to go see family. When they answered the phone, they were slightly, ahem, inebriated. We could hear the sounds of the bar in the background and neither of them could tell us where they were. They were giggly and confused and it was clear they had had a great afternoon. We finally were able to discern their babble to figure out where to pick them up and I hung up the phone. “I hate them,” Mike growled. “What? Why? They didn't do anything wrong. They’re just out having fun and drinking.” I responded. “EXACTLY!” he shouted. “I hate them because I want to be them! I want to be out having fun and drinking and enjoying being alive but instead I’m here in this car with a screaming infant. This is HELL!!!”  We both laugh about this story now but at the time it was so true. We were so sleep deprived that we couldn't remember why we had wanted a kid in the first place. Those first few months were rough and we missed our days of eating dinner out on a week night, of sleeping in on a Saturday, of eating food while it was still hot, of watching a movie all the way through. You get the picture.

Fast forward 3 years. Some days, I still miss being able to do what I want, when I want. When someone at work says they went to see such-and-such movie, I feel a tiny pang of jealousy that I probably won’t get to see that movie until it comes out on cable. My Friday and Saturday nights look vastly different than those of my FWK’s. So, as I drove home Friday evening, utterly exhausted and thinking about my FWK’s who could go home and go straight to bed (even though they wouldn't), I felt a little flustered and tried to get my head on straight.

But here’s the weird thing about having a kid: even though I walked in the door completely exhausted, the second I saw my kiddo’s face light up and heard her voice squeal “MOMMY!” like she hadn't seen me in 3 weeks, my fog and funk lifted. It took no effort from me. One second I was wishing for my sweatpants and soft bed, the next I was chatting with my daughter about her day at school and loving every second.

It kind of reminds me of going to the gym. I really don’t like going to the gym. It’s not something I look forward to per say. It’s necessary for my health and weight and blah blah blah but I can think of 3 things off the top of my head that I’d rather do than go work out:

1.       Enter a pie eating contest

2.       Sleep

3.       Get up, go to the kitchen, eat some pie, and go back to sleep

For real. But every time I go to the gym, I am SO glad I did. I love the way I feel after and I love the energy I get from it. And even though I am tired, I really do feel great. That’s how I feel some days when I’m really tired at the end of the work day and just want to be alone. Even though I’m wishing on the ride home that I could just do what I want that evening, the second I see The Boss Lady, this little buzz of energy gives me an incredible second wind and I find myself living in the moment. I’m not thinking about how tired I am or how I’d like to go see a movie or go have a drink at the bar. Okay, maybe I think about those things a *little* bit. But that desire is completely drowned out by the sound of Oli’s voice chattering about her day and telling me about the picture she colored. The kid’s energy is contagious and being around her is good for me. Like going to the gym is better than entering a pie eating contest, spending time with The Boss Lady is better for me than watching a movie or hanging out a bar. That kid gives me perspective and balance and pure joy.

So maybe I didn’t spend Friday night in a bar or curled up in bed. I spent it with my daughter. To all of my FWK’s: live it up! Really, do. I did and I don’t regret it for an instant. Because now I can spend my Friday nights with a little person who both exhausts me and energizes me all at the same time knowing that I had that time to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. This chapter of my life is about spending time with my girl. Besides, she’ll move out eventually and you’ll probably be able to find me at happy hour once again. Until then, I’ll be living it up at home and soaking up every single minute.

A few pics from our very eventful Friday night: 

First, I had dinner with the one and only Snow White! 

We played with Barbies in the dollhouse.

We colored--this was Olivia's picture

This was mine. Don't judge. I had been drinking. Don't judge that either. I said I wasn't out at the bar Friday, not that I was sober. 

We expanded our culinary palettes by trying the cat food. And by "we" I mean "Olivia." Even when I'm drinking and there's no pie in the house, I don't get that desperate.

11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #4

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really Really Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 4: I feel like a Mommy Rock Star about some of the goofiest crap. I’m a pretty analytical and logical person. Or, you know, some of the time anyway. And before I had a kid, I never could understand when people got excited about really mundane crap that their kid did. For instance, I’d hear a mom say (or see a post on Facebook) something like “Oh my goodness! My daughter, Blue Ivey Apple Kingston, just put her shoes on for the first time BY HERSELF!!!” And I would think to myself “Well whoo-dee-hoo, lady. Pretty much every human I know can put their shoes on by themselves.”

Lately though, I realize I feel this urge to tell the world (via Facebook of course, cause how else do we share mundane crap these days?) the truly simple things that my kid does. Logically, I know they are simple things but to me they seem just MONUMENTAL and I feel like everyone who is my “friend” on the internet should know about it.

Case in point: tonight we had fish for dinner. Normally, Olivia eats what we eat and we refuse to make a different meal for her. There are some exceptions though and, until tonight, fish was one of them. But tonight I decided that if she’s never forced to eat it or at least try it, she probably never will eat it.  So I put a few pieces on her plate and told her she could not have Cheetos, she could have fish. I also made a deal with her that if she absolutely hated it, she could spit it out. She took her first bite and told me through a mouth of fish that she hated it. I told her to finish chewing before she made her final decision. She did and then pronounced that she did not like it and she wanted chicken nuggets. I said “no” and braced for the storm. But no storm came. She ate her broccoli and some rice and then took another bite of fish—unprompted! The next words out of her mouth were “Mmmmmmm…tasty!” And she finished her plate.

And that very simple, boring dinner interaction, ladies and gentlemen, made me feel like a mother freaking ROCK STAR. I mean, I was mentally high fiving myself and thinking “Man, I have GOT to tell everyone about this! I can’t believe my daughter just ate fish and liked it! That was amazing! I mean, I know there’s breaking news all over the world right now but this, THIS moment is just too good to NOT share!” I started to get my phone to type up a little Facebook post about this truly groundbreaking news so all of my 276 dearest friends would know that my child had fish for dinner.

And then I realized how probably no one else in the whole world probably gives a rat’s behind that my daughter ate some friggin’ fish for dinner. But see, this is what mommyhood does to you. It makes all of these used-to-be insignificant moments, really freaking significant all of a sudden.

And even though I know that, I still kind of think that the fact that my kid ate fish and liked it tonight is so freaking cool. I won’t lie--part of the reason I wanted to write this particular blog post tonight is because I needed some venue to share this momentous occasion with everyone without being overly obvious about it. So now you know about this truly groundbreaking occasion and I already know that you are as impressed by The Boss Lady’s new like (it’s not quite love yet) of fish. You can die happy now, I’m sure.

See, it’s weird!!! Before I became a mom, I don’t think I ever thought of sharing something so simple. But I am constantly overwhelmed and compelled to share some of the simplest moments of my daughter’s life. I even tried to come up with some other examples for the purposes of this post to show you just how simple a thing can be and still impress me but I couldn't. And you want to know why? Because those things are THAT SIMPLE. So simple I cannot even remember them now. It’s that simplicity though that makes motherhood (and parenthood in general) so incredible though.

I mean, I remember reading some blog post/article before The Boss Lady made her debut and the author was talking about how ridiculous it is that as a society we cheer for and champion every little thing our kids do. He used the example of a child going down a slide by himself and the mom cheering and said that it’s ridiculous to cheer for a kid who came down the slide by himself because a monkey could do it. When I read that post, I was thinking “Yeah, totally! That’s ridiculous! I will never be one of those moms who thinks that all of that simple crap is worth getting excited about!”

Then Olivia slid down a slide for the first time—BY HERSELF. Justin Timberlake could not elicit the excitement from a crowd of teenage girls (or 30 something year old women, truth be told) that The Boss Lady elicited from me as she came down that slide. I jumped up and clapped and in my proudest mommy voice I said “Oli, you did it BY YOURSELF!!!” and I nearly called Harvard to let them know she’d be joining them in 2028.

Seriously, motherhood gives you this gift of finding the excitement and the joy in the very simplest of things. Everyone knows about the big milestones and why they’re exciting (crawling, first tooth, first steps, etc.) but no one ever told me how exciting all of the stupidly simple things would be. Never in my life would I have thought I’d be cheering for someone sliding down a slide or stacking blocks or being able to put on their own shoes. All tasks that a monkey could do quite frankly. But when my kid does those things, it’s like art. It’s THE MOST INCREDIBLE thing I've ever seen.

Now I’ve got to go put The Boss Lady to bed. And who knows—after tonight’s amazing dinner episode, maybe she’ll do something even more incredible. Like turning off the lights—BY HERSELF! I mean, really, the possibilities to be amazed by my child are endless, people. ENDLESS. 

11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #3

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really Really Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 3:  Losing The Boss Lady is my worst fear. Okay, yeah this confession isn't funny or sarcastic. But it is something that is very true in my heart and I rarely talk about this or dwell on this for obvious reasons. And I know you are thinking “Well, no crap. Isn't that every parent’s worst fear?” You’re probably right. Or at least I hope you are. I hope that the second every parent knows of the existence of their child, they are struck with this fear that is so deep and so real and so…well…SCARY that if they stopped and dwelt on it too often, it would be crippling. That kind of fear.

Prior to becoming a mom, I had nightmares about Mike finally realizing that I’m crazy and leaving me. Yeah, I know that’s depressing and maybe weird but that was my biggest fear until Oli came along. These days, my nightmare is about something happening to my sweet girl. I often wake in a mild panic until I realize it was a dream.

Before Mike and I ever even thought of procreating, I probably could have told you that a parent’s worst fear would be losing their child. But I did not really, TRULY understand that fear until the moment I saw the word “pregnant” flash into the window of the pregnancy test I had just taken. From the VERY FIRST MOMENT I knew of The Boss Lady’s existence, I KNEW that I would do every single thing within my power to keep her safe. I knew instantly that my own life would become secondary. And not in a martyr way either. Not in a “I never do anything for myself because my kids are my world” way. But in a “I will throw myself in front of a freight train to save my child. I will tear out the throat of any person who ever hurts my child. And I don’t ever want to live a day in this world without my child” kind of way.

At about my 20^th week of pregnancy, just when we’d found out we were having a girl, my doc called to say that my blood work was kind of funky. My white blood cell count was double what it should have been. This is pretty normal at the beginning of pregnancy, but not so encouraging half way in. I was referred to an oncologist/hematologist for further testing. I was a very shaken with this news as even my doc couldn't say why this was happening. I’m sure you've already guessed that my first thought was: leukemia. Immediately, I begin thinking about my plan of attack if that was the case. I knew instantly that I would do NOTHING to affect my daughter. I knew that even if I had the very worst kind of leukemia, I would have my baby and THEN start treatment. I know this sounds like a lot of overreaction but I was rife with pregnancy hormones and the memories of a father who battled cancer at a young age.

After LOTS of blood work, I was told I did not have leukemia (obviously). Just a freaky immune system. Apparently this isn't super common so I was monitored throughout my pregnancy and retested after just to make sure. Turns out it wasn't anything. Just my body being dramatic.

I share that story to show just how fierce my protective instinct towards Olivia has been since the day I knew she existed. I had no idea what those test results were going to be but I knew without a single doubt that I would do whatever it took to give her a chance at life. Now that she’s here and keeping us on our toes every single day, I will do everything within my power to keep her safe.

And though for most parents, losing a child is their worst fear, I think I can speak for most of us to say that we don’t dwell on it. The fact is that you just can’t. You can’t sit around every day of your child’s life and worry about the horrors of this world. You just can’t control everything and the very sad fact is that there are some parents who do experience this loss. My heart breaks for the parents who have lost their children. I cannot even fathom their pain and I truly admire their strength and will to continue living. I pray daily that I never have to walk in their shoes.

 But we don’t dwell on the possibilities of the bad. Kids do this really crazy thing to us. They make us hopeful and optimistic and when we allow ourselves to love them with our whole hearts despite our deepest fears, we find that our lives don’t get more dark and depressing. They get brighter and messier and sometimes harder but the kind of love that connects you to your kid helps you to get over your fear and just LIVE with them every day. We take advantage of every single day and we snap pictures of every single smile because we know we aren't guaranteed any of it. This may sound morbid, but maybe that fear drives us to be better. Maybe it drives us be kinder or gentler or to think twice before we leave our babies each day.

I choose not to let my deepest fear rule my every day life. I choose to use it to motivate me to be in the moment, to soak up the good, the bad, the ugly, to try harder, to love harder. It’s that love that goes deeper and is bigger than the fear. It’s that love that allows us to live in each moment, to cherish each moment.

No morbidity tomorrow, I promise…

11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #2

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really Really Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 2:  I think that people who only post happy pictures of their kids and statements about how being a Mommy is the best thing EVER all of the freaking time are on drugs. Yeah, I said it. This one goes out to those of you who never have ANYTHING negative to say about Parenthood EVER.

I used to be really confounded by you. I used to be frustrated that you had NOTHING negative to say EVER. I just didn't get it. My feelings toward you were partly made up of jealousy. Why did everything appear to be so easy for you? Was there something I was doing wrong? Was there something wrong with ME? Nah. That couldn't be it.

Then I wondered if maybe you were completely delusional. How else could a woman who I knew to be so REAL pre-motherhood suddenly sound like a baby product ad where everything is rainbows and roses and babies are sleeping and moms have great hair? I get that it’s your Facebook feed and you can post anything you want. Hell, mine reads like a liquor store ad most weeks. But COME ON. Every single day for you is just wonderful and great and such a blessing? Every single day? Really?

It’s not that I don’t think you should be positive about your role as a mom. Motherhood is hard enough without the constant negativity and we do try to squeeze out every ounce of happy from every smile or successful day. I’m with you on that one. I don't want to sound like I'm encouraging you to be negative but at least a little bit of reality would be refreshing. For all its awesomeness, there’s a lot of crap to sort through in Motherhood (literally and figuratively). I think it’s realistic to expect that moms are going to have good days and really, really ugly days. I was just confused how some of you seem to NEVER have the ugly days.

For the longest time I just could not understand those posts that went something like this “Today I am a little dizzy and disoriented because I haven’t slept in 7 days, and I don’t remember the last time I had a hot meal or a shower (hot or otherwise), and I am covered in feces and urine BUT being a Mommy is the best job EVER!” For real? Do you realize that post sounds like you spent the week in a POW camp in Afghanistan? I am all about finding the silver lining but some days just SUCK and I just don’t see the harm in just outright admitting it. Being a Mommy really is an incredible blessing but some days, it’s a major A$$ Whoopin’.

But then one day I got it. I figured it out! You aren't crazy. You’re on drugs. Whew. I was worried for a while. I mean, drugs I can deal with. It was your delusions that made me want to block you and stay far, far away. Look, I’m not judging here. I get it. Really. You post all of that Happy All Of The Time stuff because you are on mind altering chemicals.  Hell, the whole time I thought you were delusional, you probably thought I was a cynical and sarcastic alcoholic.

It’s cool though, you have your drugs, I have my wine…hey, we should get the kids together soon! That sounds like my kind of playdate. 

11 Confessions of a Really, Really, Real Mom: #1

There’s a new craze in the Facebook world where people are posting a certain number of random facts about themselves. And if you ‘like’ or comment on their post, they’ll give you a number, and you have to come up with that many random facts about yourself. I’m not much for the Facebook crazes but I actually think this one is kind of fun. I’m going to do it a little differently though. I received the number 11 from my good friend, Brandie, and I’m happy to share 11 things about myself. But I’m going to do it here on this trusty blog and share one a day for 11 days. And they’ll be random things about myself specifically relating to motherhood. Let’s call it 11 Confessions from a Really, Really, Real Mom. Here we go:

Number 1:  My biggest pet peeve is when my child spills something. I mean I really can’t stand it. I have to grit my teeth and clench my jaw as I grumble “Go get a towel please.” But in my head, Super Duper Crazy Me is shouting “WHY IN THE HELL CAN’T WE HAVE ONE FREAKING MEAL WITHOUT ME FEELING LIKE I’M IN THE KITCHEN SCENE OF GREMLINS!!!????!!!!”

It’s not that I’m mad at Olivia per say. I think my frustration is twofold. The first is that I grew up pretty broke. I hate wasting food. HATE IT. I hate it so much that I have no qualms about scraping mold off of something and eating it anyway. Luckily, I don’t have to do that much these days but I’ll do it and not feel bad about it. I can’t stand seeing a perfectly good glass of milk tumble over and watch as white rivers run across my kitchen floor. It just feels so wasteful.

But the biggest issue here, I think, is that I feel deceived. Yes, deceived. Deceived by every Cup-With-a-Lid manufacturer out there who created their product to give the impression that as long as you have secured their trusty little lid on their trusty little cup, you will live a life of spill free-ness. Lies!!! All lies!!!

Use a “sippy cup” you say? Well, aside from having such an asinine name, those things are useless. We have tried at least 87 designs of these things and my child has managed to get all of them to leak. Who tests those things anyway? Probably adults. And adults should never test anything that a kid is going to use. I don’t care what your IQ is or what your degree is, no adult on the planet can figure out how to destroy something as well as a child. They think of things that no adult in history would have thought of doing. Like the time we got out of the car and Olivia leaned down, stuck her hand through the spokes on the wheel, and burned her hand on the brake rotor. True story. Never in my life have I seen someone even THINK about sticking their bare hand on a hot brake rotor. So trust me when I say that my child doesn’t see the phrase “Child-Proof” as a promise. She’s sees it as a challenge. No sippy cup on this planet will survive my house. You say “sippy-cup.” I say “Stupid Word for a Stupid Cup.”

And how in the crap can one tiny cup of 8 ounces of milk make the Gulf Oil Spill look like…well…like spilled milk?? Suddenly, 8 ounces has the power to cover my entire kitchen in a matter of milliseconds. And 8 weeks later when I’m walking past a wall with strange streaks down it, I’ll remember that spilled milk that hit the floor and managed to create a 12 foot spill radius.

Also, I’d like to review the phrase “It’s no use crying over spilled milk.” Whoever came up with that didn’t have kids. Because there may be no use but when given an opportunity to act right and clean up after themselves or stand in the middle of the mess and cry, well, I think we all know which option a child goes with. Seriously, why is SHE crying anyway? I’m the one on the floor wiping up milk on my hands and knees and being reminded yet again that I forgot to sweep under the kitchen cabinets.

Normal people would offer to help with the cleanup. If I knocked a glass of water on you at your favorite Mexican food restaurant, I would jump up in embarrassment and start throwing napkins your way while I helped move your brand new smart phone out of the way of my re-enactment of the Great Flood. But not a kid. Oh no. A kid will just shrug, say “I’m sorry” in a super sweet voice, reach across you for another chip, and crunch away while you scramble around on the French fry encrusted restaurant floor (why the crap are there French fries at a Mexican food place anyway???).

This morning, I was reminded how very much I hate spills when my child knocked a full glass of hot chocolate onto the living room carpet. Hence the new rule in our house “No More Eating Or Drinking In The Living Room.” Too bad I didn’t think of that little gem BEFORE I had a nice hot chocolate colored stain right in front of my couch.

Too add insult to injury, a few moments later, as I was still fuming about the hot chocolate, I reached into the pantry and knocked a box of rice onto the floor causing a—yep you guessed it!—rice spill. Too bad they don’t make a sippy cup for rice. Ah well, at least the kid comes by it honestly. 

I won't say I'm sorry

I’m not even sure how to write this post without hurting someone’s feelings but I think it has to be done so just bear with me. Last Saturday (as in The Worst Day Ever Saturday), when I was crying to Mike about how busy and chaotic our life seems to be, he made a very insightful observation. He rightly pointed out that one of the reasons I feel so scattered is because I say ‘yes’ to nearly everything. And while it’s great that we are a part of every birthday party/play date/school function/work function/friend function/etc., it’s wearing me out and turning me into a crazy person. He’s right.

It is a RARE occasion that I say ‘no’ when asked to do something. Consequently, our calendar is full from sun up to sun down on BOTH weekend days. It seems that every time we are asked to get together with someone, I look at the calendar and am thrilled to find that we have a completely free weekend to spend with so-and-so in…FEBRUARY. Seriously, our weekends are packed at all times.  The week is already crazy with gym time, and work time, and trying to find time to do things like dishes and laundry and well, you know all of the stuff that has to get done during the week. On the two days I have off, I’m actually working harder than the days that I go into my office job. All because I don’t know how to say ‘no.’ Or I don’t want to anyway.

My knee jerk answer to the motive behind all of this going and doing and being at every single thing we are invited to is to say that I feel guilty for saying ‘no.’ But that’s not entirely true. The truth is that I really do WANT to be at ALL of these things. I love the play dates and the birthday parties and everything in between. I love it. I love living our life and living it with the people in it. I don’t commit to things out of guilt (well, okay, sometimes I do but that’s really pretty rare). I say yes because I want to be a part of the lives of our family and friends. I want them to know that their celebrations and time spent with them is important to me.

But all of this going and living and making time for everyone and everything is going to put me in the nuthouse. Then, instead of seeing me at the next birthday party, you’ll have to come visit me in my padded room while we play checkers. Which wouldn't be terrible except that they don’t serve wine there and, well, I don’t think I can endure checkers without wine.

I have a plan to stay out of the nuthouse though. It’s super easy and it’s just one word: NO.

I have got to start saying ‘no’ more often. As in, “No thank you, I’d rather not meet up for lunch today. Maybe we could do that next Saturday?” And if it’s something I really, truly don’t want to do, I’m just going to say “No thank you” and leave it at that.

And I am begging you, yes you, the one who is reading this right now and thinking “Maybe she doesn't want to spend time with me…” I’m begging you to stop thinking that and just KNOW that I want to spend time with ALL OF YOU. But that’s just not possible. I will do the best I can and I will be at every single thing I am able but I will not do it at the expense of my sanity. More importantly, I can’t do it at the expense of some downtime with The Boss Lady and Mike.

And I promise: this isn't about YOU. This is about me. This is about me keeping my head on straight and being able to say no and not feel like a failure because I couldn't do it all. This is about me realizing that I need time to regroup, recharge, relax

I’m an extremely energetic person and I can take on a lot before I reach the end of my energy store. But the fact is that I am not a super hero and there actually is an END to my energy. Mike and Oli are my recharging station. They bring sanity to the crazy and purpose to the blur that life can sometimes seem to be. Like today. Today we had NOTHING planned. It was fantastic and I feel like I can take on the world tomorrow. But to have this day of recharging, I had to say no to some stuff and that made me a little sad and I worried that I hurt someone’s feelings. I worried that someone might think I was being rude or reclusive or whatever. Last Sunday, I put this plan in motion and I said no to a friend and I fretted for a long time about whether or not I had hurt her feelings. I absolutely do not regret it though because I NEEDED that day at home to regroup. Regret or no regret though, it is hard for me to say no.  I think that will get better with time and getting used to saying it. Not to mention that eventually I’ll probably realize that just because we aren't at a birthday or play date won’t mean that the party will come to a screeching halt as everyone mourns our absence.

It’s so narcissistic of me to think that just because we aren't able to make an event, it will ruin the day of the person to whom we've said ‘no.’ I've never felt that way when someone has been unable to meet up with us. I can’t remember a single time when a friend or family member has said “I just can’t make it” and I've felt angry or upset or hurt to a point where it’s been an issue. Sure, I feel bummed but I get it. They have other things that need to be done or other things that take priority. I never once assume that it’s because they don’t want to be around me/us. Why do I struggle with knowing that our family and friends will give us the same benefit of the doubt?

Here’s the other part of this: The one phrase I’m going to banish from any declination is “I’m sorry.” I say it a lot. “I’m so sorry I can’t meet up for lunch/dinner!” And I feel really bad about not being able to do something for someone I care about. But here’s the thing:  I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry that sometimes I need to have some down time. I’m not sorry that sometimes I need to be at home reading a book or laying on the couch or playing Candyland with my family.  I’m not sorry about that. I have to stop apologizing for having limitations. I don’t expect that anyone else I know have limitless time and energy so I’m not sure why I've been expecting it of myself for so long.

Don’t worry—we’ll obviously be at the Big Stuff. You’re never going to hear me say “I missed your wedding because I was busy relaxing on the couch and reading Twilight.” But if we miss seeing you for dinner or lunch or whatever it might be, well, I’m sorry. Dammit! See? Did it again. That’s gonna be one tough habit to break. 

The Worst Day Ever

This is the story of the Worst Day Ever and how it inspired me to start blogging again. Let me just preface this story by saying that, logically, I know this wasn’t actually the worst day EVER. But it was bad enough to stake a permanent place in my memory bank. And it was bad enough to not NOT share. And I'm emotionally spent right now so I'm being dramatic. Shocking. 

I think the most disappointing thing is that this day actually started off great. I got to sleep in, make waffles and bacon with The Boss Lady and Mike and I got to do all of the little “stuff” around the house that builds up over the work week. The Boss Lady and I had a baby shower to go to that started at 2 so I knew we had to be out of the house by 12:30 to get there on time. Yes, it was going to take us an hour & a half to get there. And, yes, I was willing to drive that far for a baby shower because it was for family. AND I remember how special my baby shower was to me and how very much I appreciated everyone who made the effort to come.

We finally got out of the house around 12:45 (not too bad considering I had to get myself and a 3 year old ready) and started on our way. About 15 minutes into the drive, I was sitting in a parking lot of traffic. And before I could divert my car in time to avoid this cluster you-know-what, I saw the flashing sign “Freeway Closed Ahead.” It may as well have said “You Are In A Car With A Three Year Old And You Are Supposed To Be Somewhere In One Hour. Welcome To ‘You Are Screwed-Ville!’”

Fifteen minutes after that I was able to exit, backtrack the way I came, and off we went again. At 1:30, I checked my navigation, feeling confident that I had made up some time and saw that I had just a short hour & a half drive ahead of me still. EFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!

But on I went, determined NOT to miss this shower. I called Mike on the way there and lamented (translation: bitched & moaned) about how I am late to EVERYTHING and I am so tired of feeling so CHAOTIC every flippin’ day. Solutions I came up with during this conversations ranged from hiring a personal assistant, to quitting my job, to me going to live as a monk in a remote rainforest. Seriously, my head was spinning and though I don’t make any beans about being 15 minutes late, an HOUR late was bad even for me.

But we arrived and the shower was nice and an hour later we were back in the car, making the hour & a half journey back home so that Mike could then take Oli to my sister’s house so we could go to a Parents’ Night Out thing for her school.

Naturally on my way home, I start doing the math: Shower ended at  4 p.m. We finally got in the car around 4:20 + 1 & ½ drive home = 5:50 p.m. 15 minute drive to sister’s = 6:05 p.m. 30 minutes to get ready for event = 6:35. 25 minute drive there = 6:55. Holy crap, I might actually be early for once!! Yeah, right.

Twenty minutes into the drive, Olivia starts explaining (translation: whining/yelling) that she wants to get out of the car. She doesn’t like being in the car, the songs are too loud, the wind is too loud, her back hurts, you get the picture. I don’t want to make my kid out to be an a-hole in this scenario. I don’t blame her AT ALL for her reaction to being back in the car. I totally sympathize actually. I simply highlight these things to paint a picture of what my evening was shaping up to be.  And no matter how understanding I am of Olivia’s plight, I am nevertheless aggravated by the screeching noises of a 3 year old.

When my trusty navigation system let me know that we had 40 minutes left in our drive, my gas light came on. Neat. I was in the middle of nowhere. So I drove another 10 minutes looking for a gas station that didn’t look like a scene from a horror movie. My trusty 3 year old then reminded me that we should have never potty trained her by yelling “I need to go to the bathroom!” And that reminded me that I needed to go the bathroom too. Damn Mommy Bladder. I searched the horizon for a decent looking gas station. And right when we landed smack dab in a part of town you don’t want to be in when it gets dark…it got dark. And I pulled over hoping to find the QuikTrip that was advertised on the sign a few miles back. That apparently was just a joke though and I had to pull into a Shell station instead. Olivia in the meantime is screaming about having to go pee and asking (yelling) for me to count with her since I had started a stupid counting game to get our minds off of our full bladders. And I pull over, yelling at her to stop yelling at me and I get the gas pump going and I unbuckle Oli from her 482 checkpoint car seat harness and I run into the bathroom to mercifully find…

PISS EVERYWHERE.

I’m serious. Some drunkard evidently relieved himself ALL OVER this bathroom. And, yes, I’m using the male pronoun here because I think we all know that a male is the only sex capable of this. There is pee on every inch of the toilet seat, pee on the floors, and walls. And the place reeks. I screech at Oli to not to touch anything, do a cursory wipe down of the seat and realize that I could wipe for the next 2 weeks and still not clean off the pee. I have a great idea (translation: stupid) that I can just hold Oli over the seat while she pees.  Reminder for those of you who have nodded off: I also have to pee. I have a Mommy Bladder. And a bad back.

I hold The Boss Lady over the toilet and pee starts going everywhere. On her. On the toilet seat. On me. And then my Mommy Bladder gives out and I start peeing on myself but trying really hard to hold it as my back is also giving out. I’m sorry if that grosses you out. Wait, no I’m not. If that makes you grossed out, then you aren’t a mom. You’re probably a dude. And if you suddenly find me unattractive because of that, well, lucky you—I’m taken.

Finally I just set her down on the edge of the toilet seat, exposing her to goodness-knows-what  and just start choking back tears as I wipe her off. For the first time in all her life, I wished my child was a boy so I could just point her penis in the right direction and just say “Go!” instead of having to have dealt with the fact that her she is neither tall enough nor does she have the quad strength to squat.  

I called Mike on the way home to let him know to have my Wine IV ready and when we get there we just walk in and strip off our clothes. I put them in the car, covered everything in kerosene and just lit everything on fire. Oli and I took bleach baths and some of those Vitamin C pills that are supposed to keep you healthy so that hopefully we don’t contract Hepatitis from the drunkard’s piss. And now I’m drinking.

Okay, okay, none of that last paragraph happened. Except the drinking part. THAT happened.

You probably know by now that I have a full time job in addition to this whole Mommy gig. And my job can be stressful but I’ve told people many times in the past 3 years that I have become a better employee since I had a kid because I have this little gem called PERSPECTIVE now. Some days, I am stressed at work and I am flustered, and frustrated, and tired. But never, ever, ever on my WORST day there, have I EVER been covered in pee. Mommyhood is HARD y’all.

There you have it: The Worst Day Ever. Or at the very least, a very bad day. And you know why THIS was the catalyst for me blogging again? Because I need to share this stuff to know I’m not the only who is going through this insanity. Or at the very least, I want to let YOU know that you aren’t the only one going through this insanity. And that’s okay. That’s life. That’s motherhood. Sometimes. And at the end of a day like today, I find I can always be thankful for at least ONE thing. Wine. Today, I’m thankful for wine. 

A Father's Choice

If you are an avid reader of this blog, you’ve probably (hopefully) noticed 2 things…okay 3 things:

1.  Sometimes I just don’t post anything for a while. It’s not because I’m uninspired. It’s because I’m chasing after an almost-three-year-old. Damn that’s exhausting.

2.  My dad was an INCREDIBLE man and I adore him. I think he should be sainted. Seriously, the man is a friggin’ super hero in my eyes. And I’m sure if I had ever met Mike’s dad, I’d think the same of him. We are beyond blessed to have come from such hero-esque men.

3.  My husband is right up there in caliber with his dad and mine. He’s amazing. When I see him with Olivia, my heart feels like it is going to explode from fullness.

But this blog isn’t about any of those three men (or my lack of blogging regularity). This blog is about a man who I’m not sure I’ve given enough credit to here in the blogosphere and I want to take a moment to do so. To do that, I’m going to have to give a brief synopsis of my family tree…er…forest, rather. I haven’t dived (dove, diven? What’s the past tense of ‘to dive?’) too much into my family make up because it’s super complicated and would require like 8 blog posts but I’m saving it for a future book deal. Ha. Yeah right. Kidding. Kind of.

So, here’s the Steph’s Family for Dummies version:

Once upon a time, my mom got pregnant with a baby (me) and she married the Baby Daddy (my dad) and they tried to live in sweet marital bliss but she was a Texan/German and he was a Cajun/Irish and, well, duh, that didn’t work out so great. But they had me and my sister, Michelle and then decided fighting all of the time and holding grudges for an eternity didn’t work so they went their separate ways. Well, a few marriages later (No more on that. I told you, Book Deal.),  I had another sister, Megan, and then a step-dad named Carol Gene (C.G.) for short (Not Megan’s dad. Uh-uh. Not telling. BOOK DEAL.) and a step-sister named Carly (C.G’s daughter). Also a step-mom (Trina) and a slew of other step-sisters (Tish, Tiffany, & Tanya).

Then my dad got sick and made his journey Home and my mom’s marriage to C.G. started to fall apart. And, without going into a lot of details, my life was pretty crazy and a little bit hell-acious and my sister, Michelle, and I were left standing wondering “What in the hell is going to happen to us?” My mom checked out for a little while (don’t judge, you don’t know the full story yet: BOOK DEAL) and things got a little interesting for quite some time (Yes, that’s all the detail you are getting. For now.)

And while I can’t tell you what was going through C.G’s head as his marriage fell apart and the three little girls he watched grow up were split apart and grieving , I CAN tell you what he did.

C.G. sat down with me and explained to me that though he knew he could never take our dad’s place, and would never want to, he wanted me, Michelle, and Megan to know that he was there for us if we needed him. He wanted us to know that if we chose to have him in our lives, he would be there without a second thought.

I’m a little fuzzy on the timeline but I do remember that after that, C.G. checked on me regularly. He would call to make sure I was okay. He would check in on my sisters and even my mom (though they were no longer together). And after a little while he met a lady named Lisa. And when he realized that he and Lisa were getting pretty serious, he told her something like this,

“Look, I love you and would like to spend my life with you. But I have this crazy situation where I have these daughters that aren’t really my daughters but I’ve taken them on as my own and you can either take this whole crazy package or leave it.”

And she took it.

So, for the past 13 (or so) years, C.G. and Lisa have been “my parents.” And I love the look on peoples’ faces when I say, “This is my step-dad. And his wife, Lisa.” It’s a real crack up. The confused looks and perplexed smiles only make me love my crazy, mixed up family even more! Oh and did I mention that Lisa had a son (Taylor) from her previous marriage? So, I got a "little brother" for the first time in my life!

For the past 13 years, they have celebrated birthdays, graduations, parent days at college, engagements, weddings, and the birth of The Boss Lady as any parent would celebrate those things with their own biological child. During my college years, they moved me from dorm room to dorm room. After graduation, Lisa sat down with me and explained that my new salary, which I thought would get me everything I EVER wanted, would barely cover the costs of the new car I had my heart set on. When I met Mike, he knew that C.G. was the person he would need to talk to before asking me to marry him. I know that if anyone were to harm me, C.G. would have something to say about it as any father would to the person who harmed his daughter. When we found out about The Boss Lady’s existence, Lisa was as excited as any other grandmother-to-be ever has been. They have helped me with car insurance, learning how to balance a check book, a mattress for my bed, furniture for apartments, and everything in between. They have given me peace and comfort and a place to feel safe. For 13 years, they have CHOSEN to be my family.

At my wedding, I chose to do the dad-daughter dance with C.G. and we danced to the song “I’ll stand by you” because those lyrics encompass so much of our relationship. He has stood by me through so many things. He has stood up even when others have wondered why he would stick around. He’s stood beside me when I’m sure it’s been awkward and our relationship has been undefined. He’s stood up when there was no road map or rules for the ex-step dad.

Let me be very clear: At NO point has C.G. EVER tried to take the place of my daddy or overshadow his role in our lives. C.G. has an incredible respect for my dad and I think if he were still alive, they’d probably be friends. C.G’s role in my life has not diminished my dad’s in the least. If anything, C.G. has carried the torch for my dad, so to speak, in the protection of his daughters.

C.G. is not perfect. He does not and never has claimed to be. He is a man. A man who is fallible and imperfect as any man is. But he is a man who CHOSE fatherhood. He chose to take care of some young girls who needed someone to step up and care about them. He chose to be a dad. 

And herein lies the moral of this story. You’ve all heard the expression that nearly anyone can be a sperm donor. And that’s true. It takes someone special to stand up and be a dad. Parenthood is a choice. It’s a choice to love a kid despite your own selfish wants and needs. It’s a choice to put up with nonsense when you really don’t want to. It’s a choice to love someone more than you love yourself.

Raising kids isn’t easy (duh). And when those kids aren’t even yours? Even harder, I’m sure. But it’s needed. Good men are NEEDED in our world. Good dads are a necessity to raise strong men and women. And if you are a dad and you are doubting your necessity in your kids’ lives, please take heart that your role is so very, very important.

Girls need a strong man to teach them to respect themselves and that you can have someone love you and take care of you without being helpless. Boys need a strong role model to show them how to be a good man to their future wives and children. Dads, your role is crucial. Your choice to be a dad means so much more than you might know or might ever know.

Thank you to the man who chose me. Thank you for stepping up and helping to raise kids that weren’t even yours by blood but who you have become a part of through love.

Thank you to my dad, who chose to be an incredible dad. Who, for nearly 17 years of my life, loved Michelle and me with his whole soul.  Who I hope would be proud of us and who is missed every single day.

Thank you to my grandfathers, Jim and Tommy, who have shown me what commitment and hard work look like.

Thank you to my incredible husband, Mike, for proving to me every single day that good men exist. For setting an example for our daughter and creating humongous shoes for her future husband to fill. For choosing to love me and our kiddo even when things are crazy and tough. For choosing to be a great guy and a great dad every day of your life.

To all of you men out there who make the choice to be a dad, Happy Father’s Day to you. You’ve chosen an incredible journey. 

I'm gonna miss this

Since I’m turning into my dad the older I get, I’ve started listening to country music. That or talk radio. Occasionally, I’ll turn on a pop station just to see if there’s anything new happening and inevitably find myself changing the station and thinking “Nope, nothing new. Same old crap.” Anyway, there’s a country song out right now called “You’re gonna miss this” and it’s about how we sometimes take  for granted the different stages in our life. We’re always so rushed to get to the next stage that we forget the beauty of the one we’re in.

I try not to let that happen. For most of my life, I’ve made a real effort to soak up every good, bad, and ugly moment of whatever phase I was in. I’ve always known that once it was gone it would be GONE. I’m realizing this in a very acute way with Olivia lately.

Tonight, I was scrolling through the pictures on my phone of her and watching her grow as I flipped through each one. It was like one of those homemade animation flip books. The faster I scrolled, the quicker she grew until I was staring at her big cheese face in her tae kwon do outfit (Okay, maybe if she’s going to be in tae kwo do, I should stop calling it an “outfit.” Ghee. There.)

I nearly started bawling looking at these photos and I thought “I’m going to miss you so much.” That thought surprised me. Oli isn’t going anywhere. Except that she is. Every day, she changes into a little girl that she wasn’t the day before. And every time she changes, every time I realize that she has stopped doing something that I found so cute, I feel such a sense of loss and mourning. Dramatic, yes. But that’s how it feels. It feels like I have lost the little person I had the day before. And while I am excited to get to know the little girl and future woman (holy hell, that’s scary) she’s growing into, I am also mourning the loss of the little girl she no longer is.

This is the first time I’ve really felt this way about her growing up. For the first year of her life, I was just so ready for her to be older that I would sometimes think “Only 17 years, 3 months, and 4 days until she graduates and moves out.” No, really. I did NOT like that baby phase. That crap is for the birds and there’s not very much of that I miss at all.

But I LOVE this phase. I love this little person who chatters all of the time about everything under the sun. I love this little person who is learning to play pretend and developing relationships with her friends at school. I love this little person with whom I get to have conversations like this,

Olivia: Do you have a wedding ring, Mommy?

Me: Yes, I do have a wedding ring.

O: I don’t have a wedding ring.

Me: That’s right. I have a wedding ring because I am married. You aren’t married yet.

O: Oh.

Me:  And who is mommy married to?

O: Uncle Matt!!!!

Me: Um, no. I’m married to Daddy!

O: Oh

Me: Mommy and daddy got married before you were even born because we love each other very much and want to spend our whole lives together.

O: Oh

Me: And then, because we love each other so much, we decided to have you! Isn’t that cool?
O: I picked my boogers!

Me: Oh

See, I’m going to miss the hell out of these conversations. Because one day she’s not going to say things like this. One day she’ll be a grown up and she’ll use correct grammar when she speaks instead of when I ask her “Who’s going to school today?” and she answers “Me are!”

One day she won’t think it’s the best thing in the world to fall asleep in my bed watching The Land Before Time. She won’t be running in the door to see me when she gets home from school shouting “Mommy!” as she sprints toward me, whisps of her crazy hair flying out behind her. She won’t ask for hot chocolate in that funny way that she says the word ‘chocolate.’

She won’t do a lot of the crap I dislike either. Like peeing in the kitchen chair, or throwing a hissy fit because I didn’t let her open the door by herself, or yelling from the bathroom “Mommy!!!! COME WIPE MY BOTTOM!” And maybe I won’t miss that stuff. Well, I know I won’t miss the pee. I will never, EVER miss the pee.

But I will miss her asking me to help her with things she can’t yet do. I will miss her being so impressed with herself and demanding “Mommy, watch this!” every time she thinks she’s learned a new “trick.” I will miss laying in bed with her, reading poems for the eight millionth time from this Mother Goose rhyme book she loves so much. I will miss singing The Wheels on the Bus and You Are My Sunshine together. I will miss every single car ride conversation I get to have with her on the way to school.

About a week ago, Olivia said the word ‘bicycle’ correctly for the first time and I was shocked to find that I was sad that she suddenly just knew how to say the word correctly.  I already miss so much of her. She is already a different little girl than she was just a couple of months ago. And I love every single ounce of the person she is right this second. But I miss that little girl that used to say “bi-chi-ful” every time she saw her daddy’s in the garage. She is not that little girl anymore. She’s a whole different person and I feel like every time I turn around, I’m getting to know a whole new Olivia. It is exciting and incredible and just awe-some. But it is scary and just a *tiny* bit sad. It freaks me out that every day she’s an entirely different kid than the day before. 

I want to plead with God: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE slow down! And yet, I am thrilled to someday meet the woman He already created her to be.

On Saturday, Oli and I cleaned the house together. She LOVES to clean the windows and she stands there with her paper towel and she wipes the cleaner off like a crazy person. Not 10 minutes later, she walks past each window, dragging her peanut butter encrusted hands across each one. Internally, I cringe and walk methodically behind her re-wiping each surface. But at the end of this past Saturday night, I walked by our patio doors and saw several Oli sized hand prints scattered across the glass and I didn’t rush to wipe them away. I won’t leave them there forever, but I’ll leave them there for now as reminders of the little girl who is changing every day. Reminders of the days she played on our patio and ate peanut butter with her fingers. Reminders of the time her hands were so tiny they could fit inside mine.

I’m gonna miss her like crazy. It’s a good thing that the little girl who takes her place every day is even more incredible than the day before. Unlike those handprints on my patio door that will fade with time or get cleaned away, each Olivia that I get to know leaves her hand print forever embedded in my heart.