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.