Well, we'll see what happens...

This is a short post because I have about a bajillion things to do and sleep is on my agenda at some point this evening. BUT, I did want to share that I started a Really Really Real Adventures Facebook page! I'm not sure what will come of it but I thought it would be a great way to share posts here AND allow any of you to share your own struggles/stories/moments with me and with each other.

Please join me for daily quips and doses of insanity and laughter. You can find me by searching for The Really Really Real Adventures of Mommyhood and "like" the page!

Do feel free to share with others or jump on and share your own moments in this Crazy Land of Parenthood! I look forward to being able to interact with you all even more!

Help, Olivia forgot how to walk!!!!

On Sunday night, I posted about how great Sunday had been. In other words, I looked at the See-Saw that is Parenthood, stuck out my tongue, shouted, "YOU CAAAAAAN'T GET ME! YOU CAAAAN'T GET ME!" thereby tempting the scales to tip the other way because of my cockiness, and basically asking for a butt whoopin' the next day. And a butt whoopin' I got.

Even Monday morning started off a little rough. Here's the conversation I had with Mike about that morning:

Me: We have good news and we have bad news.

Mike: Okay...

Me: The bad news is that we have to make a donation to the local police department.

Mike: WHY???!!!!???

Me: Well, that's the good news. I got a Driving Award for being the fastest person on the road today!!! We have to make a donation in order for me to claim my Award.

Mike: Grrreeeeaaaaat.

****

The workday was okay though despite a rough start to the morning and as I was leaving I was telling a coworker about how much I LOVE the age that Olivia is now, how'd I'd like to freeze this age and just enjoy all of the funny things she says and does and the way she is figuring out her world. I rushed home to see the sweet monkey who makes me smile so much.

Dinner was great and Mike and I fawned over our Angel Child, remarking how cute she is and funny and just THE BEST KID EVER. She wanted to sit on my lap and I let her because she's so stinkin' perfect. Then she started climbing me as though I had sprouted a set of monkey bars and a rock wall. So I put her down. Because I'm old and tired and don't enjoy being climbed.

THEN DEMONS INVADED MY HOME, POSSESSED MY CHILD, AND RUINED MY NIGHT.

I'm serious. The second I put her down, all HELL broke loose and didn't stop until she finally passed out from exhaustion.

Luckily though, she's old enough to learn lessons about PSYCHOTIC BEHAVIOR. We calmly walked her to her room and explained that her actions were unacceptable and she could have a time out until she was ready to quiet down. She screamed until she coughed, kicked her legs so hard that we could hear the house shake, and repeatedly said "I WANT TO STOP WHINING!!!" As she was whining.

We asked if she was done, ready to pick up her dinner mess, and take a bath to get ready for bed. She shouted "NO!" and fell on the ground screaming some more. At one point, I asked her to get up and she proceeded to tell me the she didn't know how to walk. True story. I mean, really when she said that, I just looked at Mike and said, "I got nothin' for that one."

We tried multiple times to give her an opportunity to come out and act like a normal person but she declined each time with even crazier behavior. Eventually, we just put her in her room and explained that if she didn't want to act like a sane person, she could just go to bed for the night. We put her pj's on, put her in bed, and left the room. She sat in her bed, peed right in the middle of it, and then screamed bloody murder until we came back in. We changed sheets, changed pj's, and, oh yes, even the comforter. Because if you are going to prove a point to your parents about how they are the weaker contender, you don't make it easy by just peeing on the sheets. You destroy the comforter too.

We held strong. I started a load of laundry, grabbed a quilt from the closet, and put her back in bed. As I tucked her in, Captain Crazy Pants said ever-so-sweetly, "I want you to lay down with me." I replied, "Only if we perform an exorcism first." I kid, I kid.

I did tuck her in and explained that she needed to spend some time by herself for her behavior and that we would try again tomorrow. She sniffled and asked "I can have good behavior tomorrow?" Awwwww, heart melting.

Mike and I emerged from her room victorious. We had slain the demon and recovered our normally sweet and rational child back! And it had only taken...2 & 1/2 hours????? WTH??? Our entire friggin' evening had been spent in battle. *Sigh*

No matter though. Go ahead and put last night in the Win column for remaining calm...well, okay maybe one time I yelled for her to please be quiet...But really, we stayed the course and remained firm and it sucked majorly. And I have no idea if it was even effective except that tonight was infinitely better so maybe that's a sign. We have no idea. Hopefully being calm and loving but firm with her will help her learn boundaries and self control. Maybe I'll be washing more comforters. There's no telling, I guess.

All I know is I'm starting to rethink the movie The Exorcist. I used to think it was about a demon possession. Now, I'm pretty sure it was just a movie about a toddler.

It's picture time!

This is a *little* bit of a cop-out post but I realized that I haven't posted very many pics of The Boss Lady lately and she is growing and changing so much EVERY SINGLE DAY that I wanted to post of a few of my recent faves. Oh, and her new favorite thing to do when I'm taking a picture of her is to say "Cheeeeeese!" but run toward the camera REALLY quickly so that she can see herself. It's hilarious but hard to capture a clear shot.

Also, today was pretty much awesome. I should post all about it on FB...;)

She FINALLY has enough hair to do pigtails..well tiny pigtails.

She loves bubble baths and making a "Santa Claus face." She'll say "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

She is so cool!

Good news, bad news

The good news is that we may have found the key to Olivia's sleep "issues." And it didn't really involve sleep at all. It involved her furniture. Silly us, we had a bed, a full size bed at that, in her room. Turns out, she prefers living room furniture,

The bad news is that we're gonna need some new ottomans for the living room. I don't care what they cost. They'll be worth every penny.

My posse

Today was a little...rough. It had nothing to do with Olivia or parenthood at all really. It had to do with work. No, the sky is not falling but I had a bad day like people do at work on occasion and I came home feeling pretty bad about myself.

I counted down the minutes until Mike and Oli got home from the gym and from the minute they walked in, I felt my world righting itself again. Oli came running up to me, shouting "MOMMY!" and ran into my arms wanting to be held and Mike gave me a kiss and asked how my day was. I poured out my struggles and within about 30 seconds, I was feeling better. And not because my husband said "Oh, you poor baby." Mike and I are in the same industry so we're very candid with each other with work stuff. Actually, we're really candid with each other about everything.

At any rate, just talking to him helped me work out the "blah" that I was feeling and helped me to put things in perspective. He gave me assurance that nothing awful was going to happen because of one bad day.

Of course, the whole time Mike and I were talking, Olivia was running circles around us, interrupting every 30 seconds. And that was okay too. I asked her multiple times to please not be so rude but her insistence on  being a part of every single moment is just another reminder to me of the people I have in my corner. At one point I said, "Oli, please, please, please let me talk to daddy. Mommy had a rough day." And she looked at me and said "Are you sick?" with so much sincerity that I just laughed.

I take my work very personally, admittedly sometimes TOO personally. I really do like what I do and I take a lot of pride in my work. It's important to me.

But as I was reminded tonight by the incessant chatter of my sweet girl and the listening ear of my sweet husband, it's not the MOST important thing. It's easy to get carried away with the events of the day and those things ARE important. But only to a certain extent. At some point, you have to brush it off and sit on the couch with your daughter and watch Barney for the 9th time today. At some point you have to turn it off and be with your family. You can't let the bad of the day creep in on all of the good.

There's a lot of good in my life and especially in my home. It's especially good that today is Friday and I have a couple of days to get over it and enjoy all of that good. For tonight, I'm not going to think about the struggles of the day. I'll be spending time with my sweet family. So I better go because I think Barney is about to sing Old McDonald and that's my jam.

Sometimes I sleep in my car

One of the things about motherhood that has surprised me a little is how much I miss being ALONE. I love Oli with my whole heart and Mike too but I never realized how good my alone time was for me until I didn't have ANY of it. From the minute I wake up until the minute I go to sleep I am doing something with or for someone and it is just pedal to the metal the whole day.

I love a fast paced life. I really didn't need *much* alone time before The Boss Lady. What I didn't realize is that the tiny bit of alone time I did need was, in fact, a need and not a want. I NEED to be alone sometimes.

Periodically, in the afternoons, something will require that I go home to get something or drop something off and sometimes I just walk through my house in total awe of the quiet. I want to sit on the couch and just breathe for a second.

My work pace has picked up quite a bit but for a while I was going out to my car on my lunch break and taking a nap or just leaning the seat back and listening to some talk radio. It was SO NICE.

On Monday, I drove to the gym and got there about 20 minutes before spin class so I leaned the seat back, turned on a little NPR, made sure the heater was set to keep me nice and cozy, and dozed off for about ten minutes. It. Was. Glorious.

This evening, I had to go to the grocery store after work and when I got there, I just sat in the parking lot in my car for like 10 minutes just reading Facebook updates. Then I strolled through the store at a turtle's pace. That little bit of time tonight was VERY nice.

I am a very social person and I love being around friends and family and I am usually the one in our family arranging the social calendar. Lately though I feel like there is not one second of my day that is not a complete whirlwind. And most of the time that whirlwind is great and I love it but sometimes I just need a minute to gather my thoughts.

When I was doing my New Year's Resolution, I even thought about adding in time in the morning for prayer or just relaxation. But that would mean I'd have to get up at 4:30 instead of 5 and I'm already exhausted most days so that won't work. And Oli INSISTS that I be the one to put her to bed so evenings are out. I'm truly not sure there is time in my day for alone time. Maybe I could *make* some but I'm just not sure where.

Like most moms I know, I don't even get to use the bathroom or shower by myself. Olivia asked me 7 times at dinner if she could sit in my lap. I said "no" every time just so I could have eight minutes to wolf down my dinner before bathtime.

And I don't think needing some down time or some quiet time is a bad thing. In fact, I'm sure there are bookoo studies out there that talk about the benefits of peace and quiet. I think moms need it so badly and most of the ones I know don't get to have any time to themselves. Dads need it too. Mike and I have talked multiple times about the importance of having some brain-activity-free time in your day. He has his in the mornings while I'm at the gym and Oli is sleeping. He surfs the internet on his i-pad, drinks his coffee, and just chills for a few minutes before getting his day started. Then I come home from the gym, see him sitting there getting the alone time I'd love to have, and like a kid knocking over another kid's sandcastle, I say something like "Were you not going to do those dishes?" Bitchy, I know. This is my public apology to my very sweet husband for that (Will someone remember to nominate him for Sainthood after I'm dead? Thanks.). I just feel so *JEALOUS* that he gets that. I don't feel guilty for needing alone time or admitting it. I just wish there was a way to actually GET it.

I have this fantasy of going to get a hotel room for just ONE night by myself. I would watch Lifetime all night or Law & Order reruns. I'd take up the whole bed to myself. I would order a pizza or Chinese food and eat it in bed while wearing the hotel robe and slippers. I would take a shower for an hour or more. And I wouldn't even have to choose if I wanted to shave my underarms or my legs. I could do both! Or neither! Then I would fall into bed and get real comfy and fall asleep. By myself. In the quiet. For a solid ten hours (Hey, I need a lot of sleep!).

Instead though, I have my car. My little haven. My little moment of alone time. So the next time you see a lady sitting her car, eyes closed, don't call the police and report a homeless person loitering in the parking lot or a dead person in their car. Don't knock on the window to make sure everything is okay. It's probably just the mom of a toddler. Hell, maybe it's me.

Today's Performance Review

Today, my child has been complaining NON FREAKING STOP. I mean, I just cannot keep straight all of the things that go "wrong" in a toddler's day. It's exhausting and I've felt like every second that I've been with her, The Boss Lady has something she's upset about. And she seems to think I've got some kind of control over it.

The coincidence that my child would probably give me an "F" for the day if she was asked to grade me and that this is the time of year that performance evaluations recently occurred for most of us in Corporate America has not escaped me. Just a few short weeks ago, I had my yearly performance review at work and it was great. We put a ton of focus on customer service at my company and we are all about customer ratings. I'm great at that. No, really. I'm not being arrogant. I'm just great at meeting the needs of people and helping them understand the process. Each day, I leave work and I really feel good about the work I did and the things I accomplished. 

BUT if I imagined Olivia's review of me just for today, it would be VASTLY different from the job I have where I get a paycheck. I'm pretty sure Olivia thinks my ability to meet the needs of anyone is non-existent. If I got as many complaints at my paying job as I do in this one, I'd be fired. 

Really, I think the objectives according to her are too high but she'd probably, of course, disagree. It's clear she and I have different agendas for the day and I'm the only one trying to find a compromise. Should I be surprised? She's not called The Boss Lady for nothin'. 

Here's how I think my review TODAY would go if written by The Boss Lady herself: 

Mom, 

This has been a tough day today. You were not a good listener and your attitude was poor. I've been documenting your performance today and I just wanted to share a few observations with you. The trouble started first thing this morning. 

When I woke up, I did not want you to get dressed for work. I told you to lay down with me. You did not. You continued to get ready for this so-called "job" you go to every day. 

I specifically requested Cheerios and a grilled cheese for breakfast but you did not give me a grilled cheese. Instead you dared to make me scrambled eggs and sausage. Get it right next time. 

When I asked you to put the Barney Farm Animals movie on, you put the Barney Animal ABC's on. How was that difficult? Clearly they are different. 

I told you I did not want to wear clothes to school, I wanted to wear my pj's. And yet, I showed up to school in, yep--clothes! 

When you put my jacket on me, my sleeves were up. I was uncomfortable. Unacceptable. Don't let it happen again. 

On the way to school, I told you MULTIPLE times that the sun was too bright and I was upset it had come up this morning. And yet you did NOTHING to remedy the situation except give me a pair of sunglasses which I could not get on my head correctly and also informed you of multiple times. From now on, please ask the sun to dim it down a bit on my ride to school. Kthanks. 

I asked you to carry me into school as I did not want to walk. Next time, please do not burden me with your explanation of a herniated disk, whatever the crap that is. 

This evening did not go much better for you, mom. When I got home, I asked for spaghetti for dinner and you made jambalaya. Then, when I took my bowl while you were yammering on about letting it cool down, your negligence caused me to burn my tongue severely. WHY would you serve our food so hot? I could have been maimed and I think my 45 minutes of crying about it does not even come close to explaining how upset I was. 

I asked for hot chocolate, and still I have none. 

I asked to play in the bath with my bath colors and you and dad told me no and something about "Blah, blah, blah, bad behavior." How do you expect me to hear what you are saying when I can't focus because my tongue was nearly burned off and I'm dying of thirst because I STILL do not have my hot chocolate?

After my bath, you decided you wanted to read books to me. Did you not hear me request 47 times to watch another Barney movie? Do we need to work on your listening skills? 

Also, I very obviously requested that YOU be the one to lay down with me and not Dad. You had the nerve to tell me you were "working on some stuff." Quite frankly, what you do in your personal time is your problem, not mine. 

Mom, I really hope we have a better day tomorrow. This behavior from you has got to stop if you are going to keep me happy every waking moment of every day. For now, I'm going to bed. I should be up around 8. Please have my grilled cheese and Cheerios ready. 

-The Boss Lady

Meltdown Mode

I had all of these great ideas in my head about things I wanted to write about today but my child is in full crazy psycho mutliple personality disorder melt down mode. She's been like this all weekend and Mike and I are drained. It hasn't been like this every second but the uncertainty of which mood is going to be next is driving me crazy. One minute she's happy & smiling, the next she's laying on the ground kicking and screaming and we literally cannot figure out why. I feel like I am navigating a mine field.

Know that this weekend had LOTS of really spectacular moments but the every other minute meltdown is just exhausting. At this point, Mike and I are just counting down the moments until the beast falls asleep. I love this kid but damn this is crazy town.

What's really crazy is that if you asked Mike and me how the weekend went, we'd probably tell you it was great! Who's crazy now????

No worries though! We'll rally and pull out an awesome weekend. And tomorrow, hopefully, I'll have more perpective on the insanity that is the mind of a 2 & 1/2 year old.

I just LOVE cleaning toilets!

Okay, I don't actually love to clean toilets. I mean, I don't really mind it. After all, I'm responsible for wiping 2/3 of the asses in the house anyway so I'm not disturbed by cleaning the seats where said asses have been. I did have to wonder though why on earth I was cleaning toilets yesterday evening at 9:30 at night.

Yep, I know. It was a Friday night. And we cleaned house. Lame, yes. Productive, also yes. Satisfying, absolutely. What is it that is so satisfying about sitting on the couch after the house has been cleaned and looking around at your finished work? Is it just me? Maybe, but that's okay. I love it. I love that feeling of knowing that I have a finished result to show for my hard work. In my world of uncertainties in child rearing and, well, all of the other uncertainties of the world these days, I really have something to *show* for my effort when I've cleaned the house.

There are times I wonder WHY I still clean my own house. Many people we know have housekeepers and last night, after cleaning the floorboards of my 10,000 square foot home (okay, it's not really 10,000 square feet but it freakin' feels that way when you are dusting floorboards), I wondered why we don't just have someone come clean our house too so we can do other things on a Friday night. Like watch more episodes of Barney.

We had a housekeeper for a little while after Olivia was born. Prior to The Boss Lady's arrival I used to clean my house pretty religiously about once a week. I mean, taking everything off of the counter tops and mopping kind of cleaning. After Oli arrived, I was too busy trying to remember to eat much less worry about the state of my toilet bowls.

It was nice having someone come by every 2 weeks and make everything so nice and shiny. I'd come home that evening having forgotten that day was house cleaning day and I'd walk in the door to find those beautiful lines in my carpet indicative of a vacuum's recent presence. Nevermind that it only took about 24 hours for that clean look to disintegrate. I LOVED that one day.

Last year when we moved into our new digs, we talked about having someone come out and decided against it. Part of it was that Oli was getting to an age where she was a *little* more manageable and part of it was that I realized we were spending over $2,000 a year for something I was perfectly capable of doing myself. I started to wonder if that money wouldn't do our family more good in the form of a family vacation. And I wondered if us cleaning the house wouldn't do our family more good too.

I didn't grow up with a housekeeper or a pool guy or a yard guy or any kind of anybody who cleaned up your mess for you. We did it all ourselves. We had chores and were responsible for keeping things looking nice. Every afternoon, after school, my sisters and I were responsible for different tasks around the house. We didn't have a lot of money but my family taught my sisters and me that taking care of your things wasn't about money. It was about pride in your life. I don't mean a materialistic sort of pride. I just mean a sense of responsibility and ownership to take care of the things you've been blessed with.

Mike didn't grow up with a housekeeper either and when we first shared a home together, I initiated House Cleaning Night reminiscent of his childhood. In his family, each Wednesday evening was their house cleaning night and each kid would have certain chores and then Mike's dad would take the boys out to Burger King or something for a treat. I'm pretty sure my MIL stayed home fixing all of the streaks they left on the mirrors. I'm kidding. Kind of. Mike does tell me that, often, his dad, his brother, and he used to sit in the dark in one room "dusting" until my MIL just told them to go on for their night out. I can't imagine how great of a job 2 small boys and a man did but the point is that they did it.

Weekends weren't just for going to birthday parties and the zoo either. Weekends were for getting even more chores done, like car washing and yard work and home repairs. Until pretty recently, I've felt a lot of pressure to keep our weekends free for only FUN stuff. I was determined that my weekends wouldn't be spent doing chores or running errands. Then I realized something: that's just life. And as a kid I don't remember ever feeling deprived or abused for having to take care of our home.

A couple of weeks ago, I was talking with a friend who recently had a parent-teacher conference because she was concerned about her 5 year old's "trying" moments. Let me preface this by saying that I know this 5 year old very well and she's a GREAT kid but she was just having some moments like all little girls do. Anyway, so my friend met with her daughter's teacher and the teacher gave her some tough love. She pointed out that we get the kind of kids that we parent. If we are constantly catering to them and constantly trying to spend all of our time with them doing FUN stuff, then we get a kid who expects everything in life to be FUN. And that is just not reality.

Reality is taking care of your home, your car, your responsibilities in life. Reality is having to run errands and pay bills and mow the yard. Yes, we want to have a lot of fun with Oli but I also want her to learn how to take care of things. I want her to know that you can't just see mold growing in the shower and expect that someone will come every 2 weeks to clean it up.

This afternoon, we spent time cleaning up the yard a little and I was a little anxious about it because there are so many other things I'd rather be doing on a Saturday. BUT, we had spent the morning at a local St. Patrick's Day Parade and we had things that needed to be done around the house--a little fun, a little work. While Mike and I were digging up weeds and raking leaves, Oli just joined right in. She grabbed a pair of gardening gloves and her princess gardening tools and off she went. She was scattering the leaves more than she was helping to gather them, but I don't care. Because the point is she was HELPING. And she wasn't complaining and she wasn't miserable and I'm pretty sure she'll grow up knowing we love her and want to spend time with her even if some of that time was spent doing yard work.

Let me just give major props to my sweet husband too. I know a lot of men who don't participate in housework. Now that just doesn't fly with me because I had a lot of great examples of men who pulled their weight in household duties. And Mike had an incredible example in his dad too. When I suggested a Friday Night House Cleaning Party to Mike, he didn't even flinch. He just said, "Cool, what do you want me to do?"

You know, one the hardest things for me when we do things like cleaning as a family is to keep my big mouth shut about how Mike or Oli isn't doing something right. And by "right" I mean "my way." For instance, as I watched them Windex the windows last night, I saw Mike wiping down the glass, missing every corner, and Oli bracing herself on the glass with one had while wiping with the other. That's the thing about working together as a family though, sometimes you (me) have you keep your trap shut and just be thankful you have a family that can work together. And I am. I am so thankful to have a husband who helps me carry the load and a daughter who actually likes to clean windows. I'm so thankful for the example my MIL and FIL set for Mike. I'm thankful for the example of my parents and grandparents who taught me the joy in taking care of the things that we've worked for and that God has given us.

There will be a day, I'm sure, when I am not physically able to do all of these things. For now though, I'm perfectly capable and I'm going to keep doing it for as long as I can.

I'm not encouraging all of your to fire your housekeepers or to even feel bad for having one. There are a lot of good people who clean house for a living and they need to keep their jobs too, after all. We all have things that are important to us and cleaning my house and doing our own yard work are some of those things for us. Maybe that's silly but today when I saw my sweet girl digging in the dirt and pointing out roley poleys, I felt really happy that we were all working together. And really, is there anything sexier than a man with a roll of paper towels and a Windex bottle in his hand? A man who works hard and helps with chores around the house? Yeah, even if he missed the corners of the mirrors, Mike gets major points in my book.

If all of this time spent cleaning house and doing yard work means our family gets to work together to accomplish taking care of our things, I'll keep cleaning the toilets. Maybe even with a smile on my face.

Baby pictures

Since I became a real life adult with my own "household," every time I go to my grandparents' or parents' houses, I inevitably find myself cringing at the photos of me they have hanging around their homes. I really appreciate that they pay homage to my existence with photos of me in each room but *why* does it have to be the photo of me in that super awkward middle school phase at a school dance with some boy that I didn't even like at the time because the boy I did like and wanted to go to the dance with didn't even know I exist? I'm just sayin'.

I look at the photos of me from ages past and they conjure up memories of acne and bad hair and thick glasses. I remember not feeling totally comfortable in my own skin as most middle schoolers and high schoolers do. I remember the sting of rejection from the boy I was desperately in like with. I remember the way my hair never looked right and my clothes never fit right and I never really seemed to find the right thing to say.

And what about all of those baby or elementary school photos? Doesn't my family know I have my very own baby now? Why all of these outdated photos of me from nearly 30 years ago? Why not put out the newest and greatest photos of me feeling confident and looking the way I *want* to?

Tonight as I was dusting our bookshelves--Yes, dusting. Yes, we know how to have a rockin' good time on a Friday night.--I found out why. I was dusting this rather large framed photo of Oli when she was about 4 months old and I was just smiling and staring at it fondly and thinking how even when she's my age, I'm still going to keep that photo there. I love that picture. She's looking right at the camera with her "Yeah, what's it to ya?" look and I just LOVE that crazy face.

Then I remembered all of those photos scattered in the homes of the people who love me and I realized why they don't take down the 6th grade photo of me. They don't take it down because they don't see all of the awkwardness I see when I look at that photo. All they remember when looking at that picture is the young girl I once was.

When I look at that baby picture of Oli, it's not just an indicator of who she once was, it's a memento of who I once was and who I've grown to be now. It's a reminder of a time of my life of huge growth and change. It's a reminder of the tiny baby who used to sleep on my chest, who taught me that a tiny smile could go a long way. Her expression reminds me of The Boss Lady's personality from day one and our struggles and triumphs as parents.

I have NO desire to go back in time but this one photo is a window into a past that will always be a part of my core and who I am today. And when Oli is 30 with kids of her own and wonders why I keep a baby picture of her that is 30 years old, I'll share with her the meaning of that photo. And if she already has a kid of her own, she'll get that. And if not, well, that's okay. That photo is for me really.

From now on, I won't wonder or hope that my family takes down the Worst Haircut Ever photo of me gracing the halls of their homes. Though that moment in my life may have been awkward or ugly or whatever, for them, that moment has a totally different meanting. I do have one *tiny* request though: Can we at least put up ONE current day photo? You know, so there's proof that I did *eventually* get rid of the glasses and the acne and the 4 inch high bangs? Just sayin'.

If my kid looks like she's starving...

I have a pet peeve I'd like to share: Picky Eaters. I mean, I cannot stand going out to dinner with someone or having someone over who is a picky eater and lets you know all about it. It drives me crazy. I know, I know, sometimes there are just things you *don't* like no matter how many times you've tried them. But I just don't get how someone even becomes a picky eater in the first place.

When I was growing up we had a rule: You had to try it and if you HATED it, you could spit it out. I actually can't remember having spat something out. Whenever I actually stopped protesting and tried whatever it was, I found that I liked almost everything. Today, when I go to dinner at someone's house, it doesn't matter what they are serving, I will eat it with a smile on my face. I think it's rude to go to someone's house and let them know how much you don't like something they spent time preparing.

And you know what toddlers are? They are Rude Picky Eaters.

Before dinner, Olivia will ask for about 25 snacks but she'll only eat them a certain way. For instance, if you peel the cheese stick wrapper too far back, she'll freak out and refuse to eat it. Same thing with a banana. If I cut her breakfast sausage on the day she wants to eat it whole, I may as well just throw it out. And if milk or juice doesn't go in the right cup, well, LOOK OUT WORLD! This morning I was the dumbest mother in the world and I put the milk in the Incredible Hulk cup and the juice in the Monsters Inc cup and she refused to drink either of them until they were in the "right" cups. So, there I stood at the sink, transferring liquids to the right cups and thinking to myself "What the hell am I doing? I am a college educated business woman. I negotiate with people all day and convince people to do what I need them to and I can't freaking convince my toddler to drink her milk out of the cup I poured it in."

Mike and I love to eat and I guess I just never imagined that teaching someone to eat well would be this complicated. We eat a pretty good variety of foods and Oli does pretty good but she gets weird about certain things. Like yesterday, we had jambalaya and I think she ate like 20 pieces of sausage but if a tomato was touching the sausage she would hold it up to us and make this distressed sound like she was about to be attacked by the flesh eating tomato touching her fork. She'll will pick out mushrooms and will not eat beef. She eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich EVERY. SINGLE. DAY for lunch and STILL asks for one for dinner.

What's really weird is that, based on what I've heard from my friends and family, she's actually a really good eater. I can't imagine what this would be like if she were a *bad* eater.

Maybe we got lucky on that. Maybe not. We don't make Olivia her own food at dinner. She has what we are having. And if she doesn't like it, she doesn't eat it, and I think some nights she probably goes to bed with a slightly empty belly. She doesn't ever complain about it but sometimes, the next morning, she'll eat like twice as much breakfast. There are a few exceptions when we make her something different but it's not that common.

And why does it take so LONG for a toddler to eat? I mean, she gets distracted like every 15 seconds and it takes her FOR. EV. ER. to eat one small meal. Last night, she was goofing around instead of eating her dinner and I asked her if she wanted any more and she said no. So, I ate the rest of her dinner. Like 30 seconds later she said, "I want to finish my dinner!!!" What the crap? I swear I don't just take my kid's food. I felt really bad about it though.

It never really matters what she has on her plate anyway because she's always more interested in what's on ours. Tonight we were having stir fry and she and I had the exact same vegetables and chicken and every other bite, she would reach her hand across the table, into my bowl, and grab a veggie. I know I should be happy that she's eating veggies but keep your friggin' hands out of my plate! I'm a former fat kid: You do NOT want to get your hand between my food and my mouth. It's a danger zone. After about the 78th time, I finally snapped at her and said "Please stop!" Of course that hurt her feelings because, Heaven forbid, I try to eat a meal without toddler hands in my food. She cried, I apologized for being so selfish for not wanting her fingers in my food (WTH?), and then she announced she was done and wanted to sit in Mike's lap.

Predictably, after her bath, she started asking for Cheerios and jelly beans and all other manner of nonsense. I anticipated this though and we are standing firm. After dinner, I put her still-full-plate up on the kitchen counter. Every time she asks for something else, we just go in the kitchen with her and give her the bowl of stir fry. I think she's given up because she's sitting next to me right now eating her boogers.

I'm not sure if we are handling this the right way or the wrong way but I just can't stand the thought of having to make her chicken nuggets every night for dinner. I barely have enough time to cook ONE dinner.

I remember my mom saying things like "This isn't a cafeteria!" and I never got that until now. I also remember things like "Quit opening the fridge!" and "Stop opening up food and not eating it!!!" And I get that now too. I wish every single food would come in a resealable package because, of the 5 things Olivia will ask for, 4 of them will be opened and never eaten or have only one bite taken out. I cannot stand to waste things so this drives me bonkers.

Yeah, I know, this is normal and toddler taste buds take time to grow in. But I do think the only way she's going to develop a taste for a variety of foods is if we keep offering them to her without an alternative. Otherwise, I'm convinced I'm going to have the kid who eats only macaroni and cheese and ketchup.

In the meantime, I'm really banking on the hope that her boogers, which she eats like they are a damn delicacy, have enough nutritional content to tide her over until morning.

Good dental hygiene

Ever met a 2 & 1/2 year old obsessed with flossing? Well, now you have. Seriously, this kid is OBSESSED with it. Every night, when I floss, Olivia has to floss too. It's kind of hilarious to watch her try to floss her teeth. But at least she's developing good dental hygiene at such an early age. Even if all she's doing is dragging some string across her tongue, I guess.

And, just for the record, I promise she says "flossing." 

We like to ride bikes without our pants on

So, I'm *pretty* sure we just caught, on camera, Olivia learning to ride her tricycle! As far as we know, this is the first time she actually put her feet on the pedals and really pedaled the bike. She's pushed it around before and gone backwards but this is the first we know of that she really started riding!

I'm looking forward to good weather even more now when we can take the tricycle out and ride around the block! We'll probably put pants on for that one though...

How many times do I have to watch this?

Right now, I am watching the Barney sing along video. Again. For about the 100th time. In 2 days. Now, first off, I actually am grateful that my mom got Oli this video. It keeps her enthralled long enough for me to shower or do laundry or cook dinner. It's a nice way to keep her entertained and get a few things done around the house. And I do love watching her do all of the hand motions and sing along to the songs. It's pretty cute. The problem is that she wants to watch it over and over and over again. I miss the days that my television had real quality programming being shown on it. Like The Real Housewives series or Duck Dynasty.

And why can't Barney ever do anything useful? Like he's always doing fun stuff with these kids, like going to the beach or the farm or having a sing along party. That is NOT reality. If he's supposed to be teaching kids lessons about life and how to be good citizens, why can't there be themes on the shows that actually teach the kids things that will help parents too. Like "Barney Cleans His Room That He Messed Up In The First Place" or "Barney Learns To Wipe His Own Butt (Challenging, I know with his tiny t-rex arms but, hey, that's life--challenges)" or "Barney Stops Whining And Learns The Quiet Game?"

At any rate, as I am watching this, I was reminded of a pretty funny conversation we had with Olivia the other day. It went something like this:

Olivia: I'm scared!

Me: What are you scared of?

Olivia: I'm scared for the dine-toe-fours (dinosaurs)

Mike: You're scared of dinosaurs?

Me: Oli, you don't need to be afraid of dinosaurs. No dinosaurs are going to get you.

**And I guess at about this time Mike and I decided to go in two different directions with this because at about the time I said,

"Oli, Barney is a dinosaur and you aren't scared of Barney, right?"

Mike said, "You don't need to be afraid of dinosaurs because all of the dinosaurs are dead."

And Olivia puts my observation and Mike's statement together and asks,

"Barney is dead????"

And as much as we sometimes wish he was, we spent the next five minutes explaining that Barney was fine and she could still watch him all she wanted.

We're really hoping she can use her college fund to pay for therapy.

Act your age...or don't!

Have I mentioned lately how much I love my birthday??? No? Well, let me just tell you that I freaking LOVE my birthday!!! And not just because it's a day where everyone stops to pay attention to me. I do love that but I love my birthday even more because it's a reminder of the life I was given, the life I've led, and the life I have before me. I truly believe that I have gotten better with every passing year and I intend to continue that trend.

Each year, I grow from my life experiences, I become more mature, more confident, and I add more coping tools for life's roller coasters. Getting older does not scare me for these reasons and because I have had the good fortune of being surrounded by people for whom age was just a number and not some morbid count down to the end of life.

My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and a multitude of friends have shown me that acting your age is for the birds. They've shown me what it means to live life and to take each year for the blessings it brings. It's easy to get hung up on the things that are going wrong as we age: saggy butts & boobs, achy joints, forgetfulness, etc. The youngsters I know have shown me how to turn the wrong into right: saggy butts & boobs are just challenges and reminders to take care of myself; achy joints are evidence that I'm still able to do the things I love, forgetfulness is just fun because I get to tell the stories I love over and over again.

This year's birthday began at midnight. I was dead asleep and my phone started ringing. I thought it was the alarm and stumbled over to my dresser to see that it was my grandparents (my mom's parents) calling. My heart stopped. Had something terrible happened???? I answered the phone with, "Hi, is everything okay?" The response from the other end of the line was my grandpa's booming voice singing,

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR STEPHIE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!"

I breathed a sigh of relief and started laughing and asked what he was still doing up. He said he just wanted to wish me a happy day and to make sure my clocks were set forward. THAT is why I love my birthday so much. No, I don't love being woken up in the middle of the night but I love that I am surrounded by friends and family who are excited about another year of life--another year of MY life.

My family has always been like this. Each year, we scramble around celebrating each other's big days and it's not uncommon for one of us to have like 5 birthday dinners. Birthdays last nearly an entire week and I love every stinkin' minute of it.

When we were kids, my mom used to make a big deal out of our birthdays and we'd get to pick our special birthday dinner which she would make along with a cake. We'd all wear paper party hats and a "Happy Birthday" banner would be hung and we'd sing at the top of our lungs to the birthday girl. And birthdays have never been about the gifts with my family either. I mean, we like presents, but we LOVE celebrating the birth of one another. My favorite part is getting the cards. I line up my cards on my mantle until about a week or two after my birthday. I just love to see those special messages from my loved ones. Most members of my family do that still too.

This year, we celebrated my grandmother's (my mom's mom) 70th birthday. I was shocked when my sister reminded me it was her 70th. She just doesn't seem like what I *think of* when I think of 70. My grandmother still works and she's witty and extremely active and she Facebook's more than I do! At her birthday dinner she was cracking jokes about sex (not dirty jokes; just funny but they involved the word "sex" and that's always hilarious coming from your grandma) and she said something like "I don't have any beef with so-and-so," and I just had to laugh that my grandmother is using phrases like "beef" to describe an argument. Sometimes I still think of her as a 50 year old. And clearly they are doing something to keep them young because my grandpa (her husband) was the one calling me at midnight--they were wide awake and I was asleep in bed and had been for several hours!!!

Last year, we celebrated my mom's 50th and my grandpa's (my dad's dad) 80th and if you met either of them, you'd be shocked. My step dad, C.G., and step mom, Lisa, are constantly jet setting and I'm pretty sure they go out more than we do! Seriously, my family manages to stay young. And it's not because of plastic surgery or weird tricks like mayonnaise on their skin at night. They just live their lives and they are goofy while they are doing it. They laugh and play and don't take themselves or life too seriously. They celebrate the good and lean on each other through the bad.

I was fortunate enough for my birthday weekend to spend time with some of the people I love. I got to talk and laugh and enjoy good food and drinks. I even got to enjoy the early morning hours this morning since we got up early to go Mike's triathlon. Though I didn't love being up before the sun, I loved being at an event that encourages people to keep pushing themselves. My husband will be 38 this year and he looks like he's 28. And he began his triathlon "career" only about 4 years ago and he routinely places in his division. Today he took home a 3rd place finish and I am so very proud of him. I couldn't imagine having missed him crossing that finish line today. He told me today, he can't wait to accept his medals when he's 80. I believe he'll do it.

Today, as on most days, I am so thankful for all of you celebrating this day with me. I am thankful for the gifts, the cards, the phone calls, the Facebook messages, and texts. I cannot say thank you enough for thinking of me and making me feel so special. So, on this day of my 32nd birthday, I raise a glass (okay, okay, I've already raised a *couple*) to getting older with grace, with a smile on my face, laughter, celebrating with friends and family, and with no intention of EVER acting my age.

A mighty big anchor

This week at work, I attended a training class intended to get us thinking about ways to improve ourselves at work. Everyone in the company had to take the class and I was dreading being away from my work for half a day but I actually ended up enjoying the class. There were some good reminders and two of those were about adaptability and resiliency.

The trainer talked about anchors at our desk during the work day: pictures of loved ones, poems, mementos, things that remind us that the immediate upset or stress we are feeling because of a work situation is not at the core of our being. These anchors are reminders of what is TRULY important in our lives.

I went back to my desk that afternoon and looked around at my anchors. Here are things I have at my desk that remind me what's important:

Toys: Yes, toys. I keep wind up toys, a Rubik's cube, toy cars, a pink rubber duck wearing a feather boa, and a crazy squishy ball. These toys remind me not to be so serious. I often need that reminder to take a break and just veg for a second to get away (mentally) from a situation. When others come to my desk, they'll sometimes pick up a toy and toss it around while we talk. It's just a way to take a mental break and let your brain have a little fun.

A viking helmet (that I got when I completed the Warrior Dash) and a princess crown: To remind myself and others that I am both a regal woman and a total bad ass.

Chuck E Cheese coins: Actually these are not mine. They were at the desk when I became its occupant. I'm not even sure why I keep them except that it cracks me up every time I pick one up. What grown up sat at that desk and had Chuck E Cheese coins on hand? Then I remember that I used to think that place was magical. And I'm reminded of the fun and excitement I used to feel going into Chuck E Cheese and that just makes me smile.

Pictures: I have pictures of Oli and me, Mike and me, and pictures of all three of us together. And these photos are my biggest visible anchor of all. They remind me why I work and why I work hard. They remind me that there are people counting on me, people who I want to make proud, people who will love me no matter how bad my day was, people who, when I get home, are so excited to see me. Whenever I leave work I tell people, "Now, I get to go to my real job!" I am reminded each time I look at Mike's and Oli's faces that my family is my rock. They provide a foundation for me and I truly believe this is part of the reason I have success in my work. My husband and child have helped me to build a confidence that was just barely sprouting before they came into my life.

The anchor you won't see at my desk is THE thing that keeps me grounded and that is my faith. I don't keep any religious "stuff" on my desk but I carry my faith with me at all times. Every morning before we leave, Mike and I and Olivia if she's awake, say a prayer together. We thank God for the day before and the day ahead. We pray for our family, for our marriage, for our roles as parents. We lift up our family and friends and any in need. We ask for His presence in all things throughout our day and that He would guide us to be good examples to all we come in contact with that day.

Some mornings, I'm in a bad mood or Mike is dreading the day because work is going to be busy. Or some mornings we just wake up exhausted from a trying evening the night before. Some mornings we've even been put out with one another. But there is something about that prayer time that brings us together. It gives us an opportunity to stop and remember that we are part of something bigger. It is a reminder that our roles as husband and wife, as parents, as workers, and members of our society are vocations and gifts. We are given an opportunity to express gratitude for the day that we dread--for even having a day TO dread. Our prayers for others remind us that we are not the only ones with trials in our life.

This prayer time strengthens me throughout the day even when I am not conscious of it. Lifting up our day to God in the morning is a little like putting on sunscreen before a day at the beach. Once the sunscreen absorbs into your skin, you can't see it and you'll probably forget you even put it on. But the whole day, it is keeping you safe and protected from harm. That's how our prayer is.

I'm not saying every day is just glorious. There are days that around 3 o'clock, I just want to beat my head on a wall. Truthfully there are days that I feel that way around 9 o'clock. In the morning! I believe though that our prayer each day just gives me that extra drive and confidence to continue to take on the day. It's not just Mike and Oli that I want to be proud of me. I'd like to let God know that I am grateful for His gifts by making the most of them too.

I get frustrated and sad and flustered but my life feels solid because of my anchors, especially my faith. There are things I don't understand and times that I wonder what in the heck is going on but my core is strong. I am reminded daily that life can change in a millisecond but God's love never does. He provides for me laughter, confidence, reminders of childhood, and unconditional love. Most of all, He reminds me all day that, no matter what happens--good and/or bad--I am never, ever in this crazy world alone.

The Beat Down

We are in a place with Oli that I hoped we never would be: to spank or not to spank. Yes, we (shockingly) have a child for whom time out is not the most effective strategy. Time out is a game to Oli where she sits still for about 3 seconds and then tries different methods to sneak back into the room. For instance, tonight, I put her in time out in the hallway and told her she needed to think about her behavior to which she yelled back, "I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT IT!" Then she proceeded to creep back into the kitchen via the foyer. She scooted fairly silently until I turned around and saw her and barked, "Get back to time out!" Her response was predictable: tears and a plea of "I have a booger!!" Now, every other time she has a booger, she finds eating it a perfectly acceptable method of disposal. Suddenly, in time out, a booger is as terrifying as a scorpion. Convenient.

What is it with this time out nonsense anyway? Did you know there are time out chairs that look like thrones? THRONES!!! FOR A TIME OUT!!! What kind of message is that? I do value the time out method but I just don't think it's sufficient for some kids. Like my kid. When I asked her in church not too long ago what would happen if she kept acting up she shouted in a sing-song voice "Time out! Time out! Time out!"

When I say that we are "in a place" really you should know that we have already started popping her on the behind for grievous offenses like hitting or throwing things. We started that about a month ago and it's actually been effective. Olivia has hit me in the face more times than I can count and I finally got sick of sending her to time out only to have it happen again 7 minutes later. So one day she did it, I pulled down her pants and panties and popped her on the butt. She was pretty upset by that. Of course she cried big alligator tears and whimpered, "You hit me!!!" And I thought that would make me sad but it didn't. In fact, I had to choke back laughter. And excitement. Because I had finally FINALLY found something that registered with her.

And before you go getting all up in arms about spanking, know that we've already had all of the same arguments you might. Know that when I say "spanking" I don't mean a "Bend over and you are getting 5 lashings" kind of thing. I mean a quick pop on the butt. At first, I was a little embarrassed to admit that we spanked Oli. It seems that's not really acceptable these days and I wasn't sure how we would be perceived. I felt embarrassed too that we couldn't control our kid with this time out business that every other parent found to be so magical. I found though that as I mentioned this to other moms, they said they also spanked their kids.

Here's the thing: I was spanked as a kid and damn near every other person in my generation or older was spanked as a kid and everyone (okay almost everyone) I know has turned out really well. My parents did some good things and some strange things when we were growing up but I remember spanking as something that I actually respected. I didn't like it by any means but I knew the purpose and I knew which action got that consequence. I understood the meaning of a spanking.

The other day at work, I was telling some coworkers how I remembered kids getting paddled in school and some of my coworkers who are young enough that that practice had ended by the time they got into school were horrified! It was actually pretty funny to see their reactions. Though I don't really believe in kids getting paddled at school anymore, I do think there's some merit in some good 'ole fashioned discipline.

Again I'm not talking about lashings or just a crazy whaling on your kid. I do not endorse just turning around and smacking your kid because they misbehaved. That doesn't make sense to kids. If every time they screw up, you turn around and smack them, that's just called hitting. I'm talking about a legitimate spanking. Whenever Olivia starts to initiate a behavior that will earn a spanking  we tell her, "Your behavior is about to earn you a spanking." And if she continues the behavior, she gets a spanking and another explanation as to why.

So far, we are having some success with this form of discipline. For instance, the week after she chanted "Time out!" to me in church, we had a conversation before church service where I informed her that if she acted up this time, she would get a spanking. During the service when she would start to act up, I would just say "Olivia, do I need to take you to the bathroom?" and she would just straighten up. I'm not kidding. It was awesome. It was, hands down, the BEST Sunday we've ever had with her.

We don't even have to utilize the spanking that often really. I don't think it's the appropriate consequence for every action. And I never want Olivia to be afraid of us but I do want her to understand that poor behavior is not tolerated and there are consequences for her actions.

Lately, she's been yelling "NO!" at us quite a bit. It's really bothersome because it just seems like she has zero respect for what we are asking her to do. The really bad thing is that she's started doing this at school. For the past week, her notes from school have indicated that she has been yelling "NO!" to her teachers when they ask her to do things and she's been sent to the library to sit by herself twice this week. Tonight Mike and I talked about whether or not giving her a spanking every time she yells "NO!" to us would be the right way to break this habit.

Yes, we know that she is only two and a half and yes, we know that this is part of the territory of having a two and a half year old. We also know that if we don't address these behaviors now, we are going to have bigger problems as she gets older. I don't expect my kiddo to be perfect but I do believe it's our job as parents to help her become a contributing and *good* citizen. Learning boundaries starts early--earlier than we were prepared for.

I'm not sure what we thought this stage would bring. I know it's our job as parents to teach Oli good behavior but damn if it isn't a beat down for us too. I feel like we are constantly correcting her when all I want to do is spend time with her enjoying the time we have together. It's a little bit exhausting. And the crazy thing is that we have a really great kid! I'm sure the fact that I'm writing today about having to spank her might lead you to believe we have a Problem Child on our hands but we really don't. We just have a normal 2 & 1/2 year old who is learning her limits. I guess I just didn't realize that she didn't come pre-programmed with those limits!

I had breakfast with my sister, Michelle, about  two weeks ago and I was telling her how we had to give Oli these little pops on the butt and I told her that I had really hoped to have a kid for whom that would not be necessary. I thought my sister was going to fall over in shock, "YOU thought you wouldn't have a kid who didn't need a spanking!!???!!?" She's a funny girl that sister of mine.

She's right though. I was very hard headed...okay AM. I *am* hard headed. And though Olivia may be Mike's mini-me in looks, she comes by her energetic and demanding personality because of me. For some reason I just assumed when we found out we were having a little girl that she would look like me and act like Mike. God has a wonderful sense of humor, ladies and gentleman.

There is a tiny part of me that wonders if we are handling things the *right* way--whatever that means. Truthfully, I have no idea. I was telling a lady at work today that I feel like we are just trying to find the thing that works best for us and our kid. I'm not sure anyone knows what the right discipline method is. Amongst all of the other parents we know, some of them spank their kids and some of them are horrified by that thought. Before I had kids, I always said I did not have a problem with spanking. Now that I have one, I don't have a problem with but why do I have a hard time admitting it? I have literally been sitting here editing and re-editing this post because I am nervous about posting this. I am worried that I will be judged harshly for disciplining my own kid. Is that crazy?

It just feels weird. In this day and age of the Time Out Throne and Super Nanny who never even needs to raise her voice and this weird idea that we can use reason and logic with our kids who can't even understand that you aren't supposed to eat your booger, spanking just seems so...old fashioned or caveman-esque. Maybe though our ancestors have known what they were doing all along. Maybe Mike and I are reverting back to Neandrathalism. I have no idea.

So, okay, just to recap: We aren't beating our child for not cleaning her room. But we ARE giving her two-year-old-appropriate spankings to correct poor behavior. Though we hate doing it, I do feel like we are doing the right thing when her teachers tell us that, even when she has crummy behavior, she is really a great kid. Or when the grandparents watch her and tell us how great she is. Or when we interact with her and we see what a great kid she is and we *know* that all of this shaping and molding today is helping to form our Oli A into an incredible woman.

I am who I am

Tonight I had the pleasure of spending a happy hour with my team at work. They really are a great group and I am blessed to work with such genuine and wonderful people. I mean that sincerely. I've worked in a lot of different situations and teams in the 11 years I've been in the workforce and this team I'm on now is made of up of some quality folks. 

As we ate dinner and enjoyed our drinks we all got to talking about life and work and everything in between. And the subject of this blog came up and some of my coworkers know about it and others don't and on the drive home I started to get a little anxious about how much I share here since it's accessible to pretty much anyone. But then I stopped and realized that it doesn't really matter what I share on here because if you ever met me, you'd pretty much figure it all out in about 12 seconds anyway. 

Whether I am on this blog or out with family or hanging with friends of working with my team, I am the same person. There's not a Me for this certain occasion or a Me for that occasion. I'm just Me at all times in all circumstances. It's why I could never be in politics. I just don't have the ability to be anything but ME. 

I'm not sure I had that confidence before I became a mom. There's something about motherhood that has given me the confidence to own who I am at all times. Sometimes I'm funny and sometimes I'm just plain weird. Sometimes I'm outgoing and sometimes I want to be left alone. Sometimes I'm confident to the point of arrogance and sometimes I doubt myself. And this is me. All of me. Complex and a little crazy and just right here for everyone to see. 

So if the whole world is reading this and making their own judgments, that's okay. I know who I am and I'm proud to be that person. I feel blessed to be able to share my life, my struggles, my triumphs. Maybe we live in a world that's a little too buttoned up. Maybe we should share more. Who cares if someone sees you a little off your A-game? I don't need to be perfect but I always need to be sincere. 

For me that means putting my life out here, for all of you to see. It means embracing the woman/wife/mom that I am. It means shaking off the fear of judgement or rejection. Yes, sometimes here I doubt myself or wonder if people will think one thing when I mean something else. I write though because it helps me to process this crazy Land of Parenthood. 

Like I'm sure right now that all of you can understand that I have a Gremlin shouting at me about cheesesticks and how I should get off of the "compuger" so we can watch Barney. I'm not sure that has any deep and wonderful meaning but it's my life and I'll embrace that too! 

A NOT so ordinary day...

This afternoon, while Mike and I were at work and Oli was at school, our home was broken into. Like I said, we were not home so we are okay. Mike got a call around 3:30 this afternoon from a detective and their conversation went a little like this: 

Detective: May I speak to Mike please?

Mike: This is Mike.

Detective: Mike, I have an ipad here and a laptop and some jewelry and I'm just wondering if you have reported a recent theft of some personal items. 

Mike: No, no I haven't reported anything. But I better go home now because if you have those things, it means my house has been broken into. 

The detective sent an officer to meet him at the house and they found that our back door to our pool had been shattered. It is entirely glass so there was glass everywhere. The pieces-of-crap-who-are-too-lazy-to-get-a-job-and-buy-their-own-stuff had emptied a gym bag of Mike's and stuffed every piece of jewelry I own (except for my engagement and wedding rings--I wear those every day), some electronics and itunes gift cards into it and fled. They opened and emptied several drawers in their quest for my things. They went into our guest room and emptied drawers. They went into my daughter's room. That is the only action of theirs that puts me into a boiling rage. 

Apparently the two young men responsible for this had been going around our neighborhood this afternoon knocking on doors to see if anyone was home. One of our neighbors answered the door and when the guys didn't have a good reason for having knocked, she trusted her instinct that they did not belong and she called the police. The police showed up in the neighborhood shortly after our house was robbed, found the two guys in their van, and arrested one of them. The other, unfortunately, got away. 

Every single item of ours that they took was in that van and was returned to Mike. I can't even begin to be thankful enough for that blessing or for the neighbor who trusted her gut and made the call to the police. 

I was in a training class until 5 today so Mike was unable to reach me. I had plans to pick up Oli this evening  because Mike had another obligation and when I got ready to leave I saw that I had a text from Mike to call him when I had a chance. When I called he told me what happened. By then he already had people out fixing the glass and he was cleaning up the mess. 

I got home to find that my sweet husband had vacuumed up all of the glass and picked up all of the mess. The only thing he left out was my jewelry so I could take inventory. Funnily enough, as I was looking through my jewelry, I noticed they had taken several of our rosaries as well (at least 6. what? we're Catholic, we have a lot of rosaries). How's that for karma??? 

As I sit here writing this, my house looks like nothing bad happened at all. 

And through it all, Olivia was majorly whiney tonight and got sent to time out at least twice. Herein lies the lesson for tonight: No matter what is going on in life, your kid will keep you grounded enough not to completely lose it. While my head was spinning and I just wanted to sit on the floor and stare into space, my child needed to be cared for. That's what kept us on track tonight. That's what motivated my sweet Mike to clean up the house so quickly and so well. When we got home he said, "I didn't want Olivia to see our house or her room like that. And really I didn't want you to see it either." I nearly burst into tears. He is such a good man. 

In the Land of Parenthood, you don't get to just check out and sometimes, like tonight, that's a good thing. It keeps you grounded and from getting hysterical when you feel like you are going to lose your mind. It reminds you of the important things. 

When I picked Oli up at school I just felt so thankful that we had not been home. I really like my jewelry and this laptop but I don't love those things. What I LOVE in my life, the "things" I adore are Mike and Olivia. Taking care of Oli in the midst of tonight's chaos gave Mike and I enough glue to keep it all together. 

I don't like at all that two people with evil intentions were in my home today. I especially don't like that they went into my child's room. I feel a little sick just thinking about people doing something so mean to us. BUT this is life. Sometimes crap just happens and we have to stop and be thankful for every day--ordinary or otherwise. And, hey, at least I got a new back door for my birthday! 

I hope the little butthole the police caught enjoys his night sleeping on a cot in county jail. I hope he finds some big burly man to snuggle up with. I, however, will be going to sleep in my nice warm bed. 'Cause, you know, you get to sleep in your own bed when you don't commit class 2 felonies.

Adventures in Potty Training

It's hard to believe that October was the last time we bought a pack of diapers, but it's true. Now we have a panty-wearing potty-using two and a half year old and the money that was once spent on diapers and wipes has been reallocated to our wine & beer budget. 'Cause when you are "potty-training" a toddler, you need wine & beer.

Ever wondered why they call it potty TRAINING? Yeah, I wondered too. Until I did it. Now I get it. You actually have to explain to a tiny human why getting rid of their excrement in a toilet is preferable to just sitting  in it. Apparently Olivia was a breeze to potty train. We don't know since we haven't done this before but, sure, yeah if you say so. I mean, we definitely didn't think it was excruciating but we definitely didn't think it was easy either. I can't count the number of puddles I've wiped up off of our floors because Oli didn't make it to the toilet in time. Though she hasn't had an accident like that in quite a few weeks, we still have mornings where I am washing sheets because she just didn't make it through the night.

All in all it's pretty cool now. I really enjoy having a kid who can go to the bathroom by herself while we are at home...well, mostly. She still hasn't mastered the art of wiping after she poops. We didn't get out of *all* of it with this potty training business but it's a heck of a lot better than diapers. And now that we are a diaper free zone, I just thought I'd share some stories of our journey to get here:

***

Olivia was interested in using the toilet long before she actually mastered using it. On occasion she would actually tell us that she needed to go to the bathroom and we'd hoist her onto the toilet only to find that she really just wanted to unravel the toilet paper. One day, as I was in the shower, Olivia started banging on the door shouting, "I go poo-poo in the potty!!!" "Okay, that's nice," I said. Fast forward 2.7 seconds to me realizing that I couldn't have heard that right because my child didn't know HOW to use the potty on her own and she sure didn't know how to wipe her behind after taking a crap. I flung open the shower door to find The Boss Lady standing there butt naked.

Let me back up for a second: I'm blind as a bat without my contacts and/or glasses on. You know that letter chart at the eye doctor's office? I can't even see the biggest letters. True story.

Anyway, so I see Olivia standing there but I can't really see much. So I ask, "Where is your diaper?" And she points toward the toilet. I quickly finish showering and jump out. In the meantime she's taken off somewhere else. I immediately put in my contacts and turn around to find that my bathroom looks like a massacre occurred. You know, if people bled crap instead of blood when they were cut to pieces. There was the stench of poop in the air mixing with the steam of the shower and creating a nice poop sauna. There was poop smeared all over the toilet and her clothes.

I gasped in disgust, choked back vomit and yelled for Olivia to come back into the bathroom. She came back and I saw there was poop on her too. After about 5-10 minutes of clean up, I realized something was still missing: the diaper! I asked Olivia where it was and she told me she had thrown it in the trash. But she couldn't say *which* trash. So I started looking in and digging through the trash cans in the house and luckily found it. If you have never had the misfortune of getting a whiff of a trash can that has a poop diaper in it, you are very lucky. It's disgusting.

Anyway, I got everything cleaned up and learned a very valuable lesson here that I think most moms learn early on: If you dare to do something by yourself, like shower, the shit will hit the fan.

***

Right after Olivia was officially out of diapers, we went to have breakfast in a nice restaurant. This restaurant is really incredible, I mean the food is just deliciousness.  It's an old home so they've converted part of into a restaurant and the rest into a museum/gift shop. The bad news is that there is always quite a bit of a wait. Like an hour. And anyone who's ever had to wait an hour with a toddler ANYWHERE knows that anything can and will happen. We had been walking around the gift shop/museum there when Olivia told me she had to go to the bathroom. I started to lead her to the bathroom and she was walking a little behind me. I turned around to keep an eye on her as she followed me and found that she had stopped in the middle of the foyer, pulled her pants and panties down to her ankles, and had her shirt nearly pulled over her head. She then yelled, "I NEED TO GO PEE-PEE!!!" Being the good example of a parent that I am, I started laughing uncontrollably as I ushered her into the ladies room.

***

Occasionally, Olivia will say, "I'm so proud of you." When you ask her why, she'll say, "For going poo poo in the potty." And you know, when she says that, I actually do feel *really* proud of myself for going poo poo in the potty. If I have done nothing else right for the day, I have at least done that.

***

We initially tried getting Oli to wear those plastic panties at night so she wouldn't soak the sheets or comforter if she had an accident in the night. They go on over regular panties and they are awesome for parents but they are really awkward. They get hot and sweaty and they make weird crinkling noises so Oli was not a fan. After several nights of her not having had an accident, we decided to let her just sleep without them. We have a waterproof cover on her mattress so we figured we were safe.

One night, Olivia woke up in the middle of the night and ended up in our bed. I was just too tired to fight with her to get her back to her bed and I didn't want to get up and go sleep in her bed with her. So, I just tucked her in next to me and we fell back to sleep.

At some point in the night, I threw my arm over her and my hand splatted in a nice wet spot near the edge of the bed. "GREAT!" I thought in my sleepy stupor. I laid there, completely exhausted, realizing I was going to have to wake up Mike and Olivia in order to get clean sheets on the bed. Not to mention that I would be changing sheets in the middle of the night. Oh, and while we might have a waterproof cover on Oli's mattress, we do NOT have one on ours so I'd be cleaning that up too.

I did the next best thing to all of that chaos: I scooted closer to Mike and his side of the bed, sllid Olivia closer to me, figured my plan to clean all of it up would be just as effective during daylight hours and went back to sleep.

***

Speaking of sleep, Captain Crazy Pants is refusing to settle down without me so I've got to go. Fingers crossed that I don't wake up in a puddle of urine tonight.

An ordinary day

Today I don't really have much to write about. It was a pretty ordinary day. I worked out, went to work, just had dinner with my loves, and now we are about to watch some cartoon to settle The Boss Lady down for the night.

The morning was good, work was good, and aside from quite a bit of whining from a very tired toddler, tonight's been good too. I feel like I don't have anything really profound to share today. That's life though, right? Some days are just ordinary. And it's the ordinary days I love the most.

The vacations and the days that are full of something "special" or even days that are full of drama or upset are just a small part of this journey of life. It's the ordinary days that make up the majority of life. It's in the ordinary that I find peace and joy. It's easy to get a high from pay day or time at the beach or a fun event or whatever else makes you feel excited. Finding the joy in the day to day is often trickier.

We can start to feel restless or complacent with life during the ordinary. I make an effort to relish in the ordinary, to look around at my life and just feel joy at the people in it. Sometimes I walk through my living room in the evening and think "Wow, I really get to live this life."

I will have always have the memory of our family vacations in the form of a photo album or scrapbook. I'm trying though to cement the ordinary memory of my daughter trying to feed me and Mike chicken nuggets "airplane" style or her right now sitting on the couch commenting on her cartoons and singing. I love how every day Olivia and I eat breakfast together and how Mike and I debrief about our day in between Lady Loco's interruptions. Our day-to-day life is incredible.

Huh, look at that--maybe I had something a little profound to say after all.

"Sometimes I don't like my kid," and other $*&t nobody wants to admit

Sometimes I don’t like my kid. There I said it. Okay, for those of you gasping for oxygen and speed dialing some help line for me, allow me to rephrase:  sometimes I intensely dislike Olivia’s behavior. Like right now, she’s been whining for a solid 10 minutes and we literally have no idea why. It’s extremely unpleasant and quite frankly it hurts my freaking ears. So I left the room. If you are reading this and saying “What is she talking about? I ALWAYS like my kid!” you are a damn liar. Yep, I said that too. People, I’m not saying you don’t always love your kid. I ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS love The Boss Lady but sometimes I just wish she would stop her crappy behavior.

Let’s be real here, if you were in a relationship with ANY other person who constantly yelled at you when they wanted something, occasionally threw a shoe/DVD/cup at your head, and often got their excrement on you, every single person you know would tell you to run, not walk, away from that relationship. There are abuse hot lines for that kind of nonsense. Except when it comes to kids. We don’t have an escape. We take the abuse because God geniusly instilled in parents a true unconditional love for their offspring. Haven’t you ever heard that the reason babies look like their dads in the beginning is so the male would bond with their children and not leave them in search of a pina colada, a beach, and some peace and friggin’ quiet. Or something like that. I’m sure I’m misquoting science *a little* here.

At any rate, go ahead and admit it: sometimes, when your kid is being an extra special kind of butthead, you want to just be like “Peace Out Captain Insane-O!” It’s cool, it’s just between us.

You don’t get used to it. Any of it. Before we had Oli, I had a horrid fear of poop. I have a really sensitive gag reflex (like I can’t even brush my tongue without gagging) and I was really worried that at the first sight of poop, I would just faint. Every parent we knew said “Oh, no you just get used to it. It’s not that big of a deal when it’s your kid.” Okay, EARTH TO THE ALL OF YOU CRAZY PEOPLE WHO SAID THAT TO ME: WE ARE STILL TALKING ABOUT HUMAN EXCREMENT HERE!!! I have not gotten used to poop. In fact, I can’t tell you how many times I have gagged when I was changing Olivia’s diaper. I mean like I had to put my lower face in my shirt and inhale in the protection of my shirt to keep from vomiting.

Also, weirdly enough, you don’t get used to the lack of sleep or energy either. You don’t get used to really any of it. You just develop different coping mechanisms. Like wine. Or blogging. Hey, don’t knock ‘em till you try ‘em.

I use my kid to get out of things. Okay, not all things. But like if I don’t want to do something anyway and I know Olivia is going to be an insane person, I’ll just say “Sorry, can’t go, I have a kid who can’t act right today.” I know most of you reading this are wondering, “Has she done that to ME?” Honestly, I don’t know which of you are asking that so I really can’t say. But I’ve done it. Because sometimes I don’t want to do stuff. And saying, “No, I just really don’t want to do that,” seems rude (I’m a Southern girl, we have a thing about being perceived as rude). So I say that I can’t because I have a kid. I suspect that a lot people with kids do this and that’s why there’s a myth that once you  have kids you don’t do anything anymore.

It’s not that those of us with kids can’t do anything anymore, sometimes it’s just that we don’t want to. We’re too busy being tired and cleaning up poop.

A lot of things I do, I do because it’s stuff I wanted to do as a kid. For instance: the zoo. I freaking loved the zoo as a kid but we were poor and poor folks don’t get to go to the zoo. When Olivia was old enough to walk, I went to the zoo and bought our family a fancy dancy zoo membership. The first few times we went, Olivia let us know she was tired about 30 minutes into it and was more interested in the snacks we brought than any of the animals. Kids this young don’t really care about stuff like the zoo. It’s true. Case in point: yesterday I needed to run some errands and nearby to my errand was a pet store. I took Olivia in and she oohed and aahhed at the fish and mice and birds more than she’s ever done toward any of the zoo animals. We have a good time at the zoo and all but really she doesn’t give a crap if we are in the zoo or in a pet store. She just likes animals. But hey, I’m livin’ out my dreams these days as a Once Poor Kid so I’m gonna keep buying the zoo membership and we’re gonna keep going. Because I want to, dammit.

Kids’ shows will turn you into a raging alcoholic. Except Sesame Street. That show’s still bad ass after all of these years. And they have cool people on there like LL Cool J. But the rest of that nonsense is probably only entertaining if you have a hit of acid to go with it. There are just the weirdest damn characters and the weirdest looking people. It’s like our kids are being taught through their tv shows that being a weirdo is cool. I mean there are shows about everything under the sun and they all have a lesson to go with them. Whatever happened to quality cartoons like Tom & Jerry and they used to just run around beating the hell out of each other? Or the Road Runner and Coyote and the hilarious tricks they used to play on each other? Or that awesome Pepe Le Pew (sp?) who taught us that if you smell bad, you will NEVER get a girl to like you? Now, THAT was a good lesson. Oh, and even though I said that Sesame Street is still awesome, I’m pretty sure I saw Cookie Monster eating broccoli the other day! WTF??? Broccoli? He’s the friggin’ Cookie Monster for crying out loud! I’m not sure why all of these shows have to have so much meaning. Whatever happened to just having fun?

No matter how cute or awesome someone tells you they think your kid is, they still think their kid is more so. And it’s true, I’m quite certain that my child is the most incredible child on the planet. I’m sure yours is great , but my kid? Near perfection. Insanity and all. 

The Funny Farm

Oops, I did it again! FORGOT a blog post! Well, I remembered but it was after midnight last night when I did and my eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each so I fell asleep instead of writing. Soooooooo, lucky you, I'm going to do TWO posts today! One now and one later. But don't worry, they'll be short.

Yesterday I had two funny happenings that reminded me a lot of my dad. My dad, Bill, was a really energetic, fun-loving, and funny person. He died just shy of his 42nd birthday but sometimes you would have thought he was 12 with his crazy antics. Finding the joy and humor in life was his forte and I am proud to say I think I've inherited quite a bit of that. Occasionally, like yesterday, I'll find myself doing something super silly and I'll think "Jeez, I'm so much like daddy." It's a good feeling. Being silly and laughing constantly just makes everything in life so much more joyful.

For lunch yesterday, Olivia had some goldfish crackers and I asked her if I could have one and she wanted to do "airplane" with me to feed it to me. I let her do it and acted like I was so excited to get a goldfish. Okay, who am I kidding? Those things are so dang delicious--I actually *was* excited to get a cracker! Anyway, I grabbed one and said "Watch this!" I stood up and started throwing the goldfish in the air and trying to catch it my mouth. It was just Oli and I and for about 10 minutes I did this and we both laughed so hard we could barely breathe. She thought it was utter hilarity! Every time I would throw the cracker in the air and miss she would start giggling uncontrollably. And when I finally caught it, she would excitedly say "Again! Again!" I remember my dad doing that when we were kids. He'd grab whatever food was nearby and start throwing it up and catching it. Only he was WAY better than I am and caught most of them. My sister and I would laugh and keep giving him more things to eat and he would indulge us for I don't even know how long with his trick. I thought he was so funny and entertaining and I was truly impressed by his skill of catching food in mid-air. I felt so happy yesterday afternoon that I could bring some of the joy my dad gave me into my daughter's life. Or at least into the lunch hour.

The other funny moment was at dinner with some very good friends. Mike and I met up with our friends Chris and Christina for dinner at a really nice and swanky restaurant for mine and Christina's birthdays (FYI: mine is in 7 days!). Our birthdays are about a month apart and for the past couple of years we've been meeting up somewhere in the middle of that month for a really nice dinner, no kids allowed. It's become our tradition instead of buying gifts and I look forward to it so much.

Just to give you a little background for this story: Mike and I are very frugal people. Very. One of the things we are especially frugal about is cars. We both drive older, okay just OLD, cars and they are a little jalopy-esque these days. Mike's is a '98 model and mine is an '02. They both have weird issues. Like to start mine, I sometimes have to bang on the dash and pray. I'm serious. On Mike's car, you have to bang on the right headlamp to get it to come on. It's gotten so bad that on Friday night when we were going out, Olivia was getting into my car and said "Just a second," walked to the front of my car, banged on the right headlamp a couple of times and said "I fix it for you, mommy!"

Why don't we buy new cars? Because our cars are paid off and the engines are good...I think...and we have worked in auto insurance for long enough to know that new cars become old cars and that they are one of the most expensive purchases and "assets" yet they DEPRECIATE in value. It's hard for our analytical brains to spend money on something that will not improve our financial state. Yes, we are weird. But our jalopies provide value in entertainment so we'll probably keep them around for a little while longer.

When we drove up in Mike's gem, I was laughing and saying to Mike how I love when we have to valet our cars because they probably aren't anything like most of the cars these valet guys see and I'm sure they are thinking, "Oh, great." We pull up, cracked windshield (I mean like a 3 foot long crack), janked up headlamp and all, and the valet guys were so sweet. They opened my car door, offered me a hand to get out of the car and acted like we were the king and queen of England.

I was telling Christina over dinner how funny it was to pull up to the restaurant in our Flintstone-mobile and Christina says something like "When they bring you your car, you should totally be like 'Our windshield wasn't like that before tonight!'" I thought this plan was genius and would be utterly hilarious.

After dinner, Mike handed the valet guy our ticket and off they went. We stood outside of the restaurant talking with Chris and  Christina and I see our one-eyed-Willie car coming down the street. The valet guy opens my door for me and the other opens Mike's door and Christina points at the windshield and loudly says, "Was that like that before??????" And I whip my head around to where she's pointing and in a horrified voice I yell "What did you DO!!!????!!!" Christina and I dissolved into giggles like a bunch of junior high kids as another couple who was looking on started laughing too. The poor valet guys just looked at me and Mike like they were about to cry...or punch us...I'm not sure actually. On our way home, Christina called me and we proceeded to laugh some more about our little joke like we were the funniest people on the whole planet.

This is one of my favorite things about my friendship with Christina--she brings out the silly in me. I mean there's a lot there anyway but I love that both of us are now in our 30's and act like kids sometimes. Okay, most of the time. I'm not sure if our husbands think we are as funny as we do but we are just gonna keep acting goofy anyway! I think my dad would be proud that I have a friend who encourages constant laughter.

It's easy to get caught up in all of the crazy in this life. I love days like yesterday because they remind me not to take things so seriously. I am reminded that life is about smiling and laughing just for the heck of it. Thanks to my amazing daddy for instilling a love of the silly in my heart. I miss his crazy antics every day.