A Real American Love Story...

Eight years ago today, at around this time, I was getting ready to go out to meet some coworkers for a happy hour. There wasn't anything exciting about this happy hour (most of us were single or newlyweds without kids so happy hour was a common occurrence) but I had no idea that that night would literally change my life forever. That night, I met the tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, Catholic Irishman who would turn out to be the person with whom I would spend the rest of my life.

But let me back up to the time when I wanted to run Mike Milligan over with my car:

Mike and I were working for the same company but in different offices. We were both team managers but, because this city is so big, we hadn't run into each other in person. We had, however, had a few *run ins* over the phone. Also, I should mention that his brother, Matt, was a team manager for this same company in the same office where Mike worked.

Matt and I were both weekend managers and one of the many areas of contention with our former employer was “Territory.” Each office handled a set territory and we were all always warring with each other over who got what work in what territory. One weekend, Matt and I got into on the phone over a territory dispute. That was all it took for me to decide that That Milligan Boy was an ass.

The funny thing is, I didn't even know there were TWO of them. Every time I saw the initials MM, my lip would involuntarily curl up in a snarl. I was convinced this “MM” was a total terd.

I know this all sounds childish but, trust me; this territory nonsense was a big deal back then.

Several weeks later, I had the perfect opportunity to pay back my nemesis and I seized it! That Milligan Boy (Mike this time, not Matt) called me to discuss a territory dispute and I proudly told him that there was nothing to discuss  and disconnected our call. I silently high fived my B%*&$y self and went on about my day. Crazily enough, my behavior didn't make “MM” my biggest fan either.

You can imagine the egg on my face when I found out there was more than one of That Milligan Boy and that my revenge had been visited on the wrong one. But still, they were brothers and if one deserved it, the other probably did too!

So there I was, 8 years ago tonight, getting ready for a happy hour with my office. I wore my standard blue jeans, black shirt, and black boots. As I locked my apartment door and got in my car, I said a prayer that my debit card had enough money to cover the bar tab.

I arrived and started chatting with my coworkers and about half way into my first beer, one of my team members, Adam, walks in with this good looking guy. He was tall, had a friendly face and warm eyes, and was wearing a brown leather jacket. He and Adam headed my way and as he sauntered slowly and deliciously across the room, the sweetest smile locked on his handsome face, I *KNEW* that this was That Damn Milligan Boy.

He walked up to me all cool and collected. Adam introduced me and he stuck out his hand and said “I’m Mike Milligan.” “I know who you are,” I replied and walked away. ‘Ha!’ I thought to myself. ‘I’m so freaking cool. I’ll show *him* who’s still in charge here.’ Lame, yes. I know. I was young and dumb and trying to impress a boy. I probably read that trick in Cosmo or something.

As the night went on, our group moved to another bar and after a few more beers, I found myself chatting it with The Milligan Boy. And as it turned out, he was pretty nice. And even cuter up close without my b*&%h face on.

On a side note, Matt also came out that night and I got the chance to distinguish between the two Milligan boys. I found that Matt was pretty nice too. I also got to meet his sweet and funny girlfriend too (who would later become my sister in law!).  I realized this Milligan crew was kind of a lot of fun and not so terdy as I originally thought.

At some point in the evening, we got to talking about investments. Please don’t ask me how that conversation came up because I’m still not sure. Anyway, so Mike says something about investing and I, attempting to impress this good looking and apparently investment savvy man, say “Oh, I love investing!” His eyes lit up with excitement. “Really?” he asked with genuine delight. “What are you investing in right now? What investments do you have?” Aw, crap.

I blinked several times like I was having a seizure, bit my lip to appear seductive and cute and stammered, “Oh, er, um, I don’t actually have any investments…but I think they’re kind of cool. I’d like to have some…someday (when I don’t have student loans coming out of my ears and finally have money for more than just ketchup and baking soda in my fridge).”

And I should have known then that this man was special because my sweet and gracious future husband just smiled and said “Oh, that’s great!” And he totally let me off the hook.

My new found crush also tricked me that night. A couple of years after we met, Mike was giving a guy friend some dating advice and he said something like “You know when you are ‘in’ with a girl when she buys you a beer.” I scoffed and said “Looks like that didn't work so great for YOU.” “Really, you sure?” he asked all innocently. I had to think back to our happy hour meeting and then I remembered: I HAD BOUGHT HIM A BEER! How did that happen?? How did I end up buying him a beer? He’s good ladies, he’s good. And he was right: I was REALLY into him.

And, okay, I’ll tell this part of the story though it casts Mike and me in an…interesting…light:  After who-knows-how-many beers, we kissed. A lot. And he was the best kisser I had EVER kissed. True story. Still is, folks, still is.

At the end of the night, he asked for my number and said he would call me the next day. I wasn't sure I believed that but I really hoped he would.

That night, as I drove home, I felt happy and excited. I didn't have any feelings of *knowing* that he was THE ONE or anything like that. I just felt happy and peaceful and like I had just had a great night talking to (and, er, kissing) a really great guy. I really did hope he would call but I didn't want to get my hopes up.

But hope is what Mike Milligan brought into my life that day and he’s delivered on his promises every day since. 

The next day, as promised, my phone rang. I said hello and had my very first phone conversation with the man who became my very last boyfriend. 

How to Fail

Today I had the pleasure of talking to a soon-to-be-new dad. I say it was a pleasure because it truly was wonderful to hear him talking about some of the things he is worried about or prepping for in anticipation of his child. I was reminded of my own concerns before The Boss Lady was born, of Mike’s concerns, and of our concerns now. Concerns about whether or not we would be able to cut it as parents or whether or not we are raising this crazy monkey child to someday be a productive member of our human society. The thing is ALL parents: expecting or currently on this roller coaster ride, have concerns about whether what we are doing is right or wrong.

But here’s what I told this Dad To Be and what I tell myself so frequently it’s becoming a little bit of my mantra: There are crackheads all over the world having babies and most of them turn out just fine. If a crackhead can do it, so can I.

Okay, yeah, I know. I shouldn’t set my standards so high as a crack head. But here’s my point--often times in this parenthood gig, you don’t even have to do it “right.” You just have to do it.

And, oh yeah, here’s the big one: You have to care. You don’t have to get it “right” every single day but you do HAVE to give a crap.

You don’t fail when you feed your toddler ravioli for the third night in a row. You don’t fail when you forget to change your kid’s diaper for 6 hours. You don’t fail when you open a door, not realizing they are standing RIGHT THERE, and slam their head into it. You don’t fail when yell or lose your s&*t because they haven’t let you get a good night’s sleep in 2 months.

You fail when you stop caring. Those parents who people look at with a raised eyebrow, you know THOSE parents, those parents stopped caring. They stopped being present in their kids’ lives. They stopped waking up every day with the attitude that it was time to get back on the horse and try it again.

I feel like I have this “get back on the horse” conversation with myself every other day. I have it so often that I wonder if my “horse” might actually be one pissed off bull because it bucks me off so often. And that’s totally okay. If I was a neurosurgeon and every day I went into surgery and my patients came out brain damaged, well, then I MIGHT want to consider permanently dismounting the horse. But parenthood isn’t like that. You can screw up A LOT and still go back after it the next day. And your kid will be so happy you did. There’s no HR department here keeping tabs on how many times you screw up. Thank goodness for that too because I would have been fired months ago for excessive foul language and drinking on the job.

Kids don’t have that same tally sheet us grownups do. They aren’t keeping track of every time you blow it. They aren’t holding a grudge against you for all of your wrongs. Kids care about being cared for, being loved, and knowing that their parents keep trying to do their best. They’re so much more resilient than we give them credit for. In their tiny little bodies God has given us a glimpse of His own grace and His ability to forgive us our wrongs and love us despite of and because of our flaws.

I should know. I screw up a lot.

See, I come from a family of Yellers. My dad was a Yeller. My mom was a Yeller. Whenever any of us got upset at something or each other—we yelled. Sometimes I yell without even being totally aware of it. Sometimes I’m not even that upset but because I’m a Yeller, someone who doesn’t know me might think I’m royally ticked. Lucky for me, I was blessed with a kiddo who’s either deaf or isn’t fazed by my antics. Often, after I’m done with a rant, she’ll just sort of look at me like “Blah, blah, blah, Mom. Have another drink.”

And though this is a little embarrassing, I’ll admit that there have been times when I really snapped at or yelled at Olivia and I felt AWFUL afterward. I felt/feel so terrible and sick about talking to my child in such an ugly manner.

Here’s where I believe the defining moment is though.

Have you ever had your feelings hurt by someone who just would NOT or never did say “I’m sorry?” It sucks. It is the worst feeling to know that someone has hurt you, whether they meant to or not, and didn’t even have the give-a-crap to apologize.

So, when I screw up, I kneel down in front of The Boss Lady and I say, “I’m sorry I acted like that.” And that’s it. I don’t say “I’m sorry but your behavior caused it,” or “I’m sorry but I was having a bad day,” or “I’m sorry but ANYTHING.” I don’t have a “but” in my apology. The thing is, the apology isn’t to explain what SHE did wrong. It’s to atone for what I did wrong.

And for all of the other little things us parents can get all twisted about: the type of school they go to, the amount or type of food they eat, friends they’ve made or not made, clothing and where it came from or how much it costs, potty training to late or too early, talking/not talking, sleeping (or not), rewarding good behavior or punishing bad, fit throwing, daycare or no daycare, whether or not they are enrolled in enough “programs,” etc., etc., etc.

I just take that queue from Lady Loco. I watch her to see if SHE is happy and healthy and developing at a rate that is healthy and good for HER. A very good friend of mine once said something that I thought was brilliant and it was shared with her by a “veteran” mom.

My friend and I were talking about daycare/school for young kids and she was saying that she really would like to be at home with her kiddos and sometimes had mixed emotions about how long she was away from them during the day. And this other veteran mom asked her this, “Are your kids HAPPY?” To which she had to answer “Yes.” And the veteran mom explained that that was the important thing. All of the guilt and the worry about whether or not we are doing the right thing is going to be something we just have to work through.

One of the biggest compliments I have ever gotten about Oli came from her teacher at school. When we went for her Parent/Teacher Conference in September she said that from the moment she met Oli she knew that she was “very well parented.” I sort of looked around the room for the people who were responsible for that and then I realized, “Oh, wow, that’s US!”  

I try to make it a point not to worry too much about whether or not I’m good at this gig. Some days I’m just not. That’s what wine is for. I kid! I kid! Kind of. I do have those days when I’m sobbing and telling Mike I should just go to some secluded island because Olivia is better off without me screwing things up all of the time. Really though I think that stems more from my need of an island vacation and a fantasy about laying on a lawn chair with unlimited pina coladas.   

Some other days I feel like I have knocked it out of the park…okay, so maybe like 3 days in 2 & ½ years I’ve felt that way, but STILL! I do have good days—even if I can only count them on one hand so far. And for the most part, I have quite a bit of confidence about the job we’re doing with Olivia. She’s a great kid. And if we’re not doing it right, she can always cash in her college fund for therapy. Or get her own reality show (Honey Boo-boo, anyone??).  

I think The Boss Lady’s going to turn out just fine though. I can tell by the smile on her face each day and the way that others love to be around her. Mostly, I can tell in the way she lights up when she sees me each morning when she wakes up and each night when I get home. That light in her eyes lets me know that she doesn’t hold a grudge for my earlier transgressions, that she loves me as I am, and that it’s worth it to get back up on the bucking bronco each day—even if I just get thrown off again. 

Mama Bear

I have officially become one of those moms who corrects other mothers’ children at playgrounds/jungle gyms/the grocery store/etc. And I’m not one bit ashamed of it. Because what I’m starting to realize is that there are a lot of moms out there who just don’t give a crap about their own child’s behavior. As long as their kid isn’t terrorizing them, they really don’t care that Junior or Pretty Princes is busy peeing in a corner or pushing other kids or taking toys away from smaller children. And to those moms, I’m just gonna say it: You suck.

Now, if you are reading this blog, you probably aren’t one of the moms I’m talking about because most of the readers of this hopefully-someday-world-renowned site are my friends. And I don’t have sucky friends.

So, why the sudden rant? Here’s why:

 Yesterday Mike and I took Olivia to one of these indoor play places that seem to be in every strip mall around here. This one is an “indoor safari park” and it had jungle gyms and a train and these mechanical jungle animals that the kids can ride. Luckily (or so I thought), there were separate play areas for the little kids (ages 2-4) and the big kids (ages 5-10).

Now, Mike and I are probably a little tough on Olivia in the sense that we watch her every behavior when we are out (and at home for that matter) to make sure she’s behaving—being polite, not taking toys away from others, waiting her turn, etc. For all of The Boss Lady’s rambunctiousness, she’s actually got a very sensitive and sweet spirit. She’s the kid who’s always helping others in her class if they are uncomfortable or sad. She waits her turn and if another child takes a toy from her, she just lets them have it. She is not the aggressor and this is the one area of her personality I can definitely say she got from Mike and Mike alone. This is something I adore about my husband—that he has a big heart and can shrug off most things. He’s firm without being pushy and he’s earned a lot of respect from every single person who meets him because he is so easy to get along with. I am proud that my daughter has inherited this from him. I am…well, I’m a little more of a firecracker. Let’s just say that. Loveable, but fiery.

So anyway, we’re standing beside the little kid jungle gym watching Olivia navigate through the slides and ball pits and she slides down the slide and is coming out of the ball pit and she comes face to face with this really cute little boy probably just a couple of months younger than her. I think, “Oh good, she’ll make a friend,” as they stood there just staring at each other like toddlers do. I had seen this kid and his mom around the place earlier and his mom was sitting just a few feet away chatting with a friend of hers. And I watch this super cute little boy bring his right arm back behind him, swinging it forward, and landing a kidney shot on Olivia’s left rib cage. So I ran over, gave the kid a roundhouse kick to the head, put him in a triangle hold, and choked him out. The end.

Okay, not really.

What I did do was walk to my sweet girl who was now in tears, kneel down beside both of them, and say to this very cute future serial killer/sociopath, “Sweetie (Butthole), we do NOT hit other people. That is not a good way to express yourself.” He looked at me contritely and I followed up with, “Now you need to say you’re sorry.” “I’m saw-wee,” he said and moved to hug Oli. Olivia grudgingly hugged him back and we went to find another activity.

This is what the scene looked like in my head though (I thought out posting a pic from the internet but I’m not sure if that’s a copyright issue so you’ll have to endure my incredibly artistry):

And The Future Unibomber’s mother NEVER EVEN STOPPED CHATTING WITH HER FRIEND. And I KNOW she saw what happened and she saw me kneeling beside her kid and my kid bawling and she didn’t even  say a word to her own kid, to mine, or to me. Now, if I saw another mother having a chat with my child, I would go over and find out what was going on. And if I found out that Olivia had purposefully hit another person, I would pull her pants and panties down and I’d bust her ass right there in front of God and everybody. I’m serious. That’s intolerable.

I know that there is a certain age where kids hit. Olivia went through a phase around her first birthday where she would hit me. It was almost like she was just trying to figure out how she could use all of her new-found mobility. And a couple of months ago, when she pushed that line again and hit me, her pants were pulled down and she got a swat on her behind. Because at this age, she knows better. Or at least we should be well on the road to that understanding. That is the ONLY behavior in our house that gets a spanking. We do NOT hit or cause harm to anyone or anything purposefully. Period. And this little boy was old enough to know better. And if he wasn’t, his mother should have stopped her gabbing for 2 flipping seconds to come over and teach him better.

But it doesn’t stop there. About 30 minutes later, Olivia is jumping on this trampoline thing and the little boy comes over and Oli immediately moves away from him and points and says “That boy hit me!” We assured her all was well and that everyone could play together nicely. No sooner was that assurance out of our mouths than Little Mussolini walks up to Olivia and moves to hit her again. But this time, she moves out of the way before he can make contact. So he pokes her in the face! The face!!!  Well, Mike didn’t see that first incident but he sure did see this one and he yells “HEY, KID! BACK OFF!” I mean, really it was a little jarring.

If my scene with the kid looked bad in my head, here’s what Mike’s scene looked like:

 As I mentioned before, my husband is an incredibly kind soul. So for him to get upset enough to call down another child that sternly it had to be pretty bad. I mean, some little terrorist just hurt his little girl for crying out loud. I’m not gonna lie—I felt a little proud. And then I realized that if we stuck around this insane kid we’d end up on an episode of Cops or something because sooner or later I was going to confront the woman who didn’t care that her spawn was creating chaos for other children. We walked away from that area and found another place to play. I kept my eye on the little devil though and watched as he threw balls at and hit other kids. And still his mother sat gabbing on about the latest sale at My-Son-Is-A-Future-Puppy-Kicker Kids’ Consignment or something like that.

Sadly, this is not the only incident we’ve had where Olivia has been injured by another child.

When she was about 18 months, there were several biting incidences at her school. About every other week, she would come home with a note saying she had been bitten. Then we got a note saying she had been bitten on her face. For real. I nearly came unglued.

 See, I’m not as kind hearted as my other half. I may live in the ‘burbs now and I may throw a party with Martha Stewart-esque vibes, but I’ll get Trailer Park on your ass before you know what hit you. And that instinct was fired up when my kid came home looking like she had been hanging out with Hannibal Lecter. After that incident, I sat down with the director, we had a chat, and a few things got changed at Oli’s school.

This August, just 2 days before her 2^nd birthday, I got a call from her new school saying that she had been pushed by another kid off of a play fort. When I went to pick her up that afternoon, she couldn’t walk. I mean that literally. She could not put any weight on her right leg. We went to the ER, x-rays came back negative and we were told it was probably a muscle strain/sprain and would just have to heal on its own. We had a gym party scheduled for her just 4 days after this incident and I knew something wasn’t right when my normally boisterous kiddo didn’t want to take part in the festivities. After several more doctor’s visits, calls and a full month of watching The Boss Lady favor her right leg, we found out her leg was broken. And had been the entire time. A month in a full leg cast later, she was healed and back in action.

If you have never seen a kid (especially a two year old) in a cast, let me just tell you: it’s heartbreaking. And when it’s your kid and it’s because SOMEONE ELSE caused it, it’s just infuriating. I’m glad I don’t know which kid it was that pushed Oli but I sure hope his or her parents saw my child limping into the school every day with her bright pink cast and a huge smile on her face. Okay, okay, I know that the kid didn’t intend to break Oli’s leg but it was still so sad and upsetting and I cannot tell you what kind of heartbreak it caused for Mike and me. It was really sad and hard to take care of such a young child in a full leg cast.  

See??? Really, really, REALLY sad. And cute. But sad.

Shortly after the cast was removed, we were at a Chick-fil-a play place and an older kid decided Olivia wasn’t moving fast enough down the slide and pushed her off. I was up and out of my seat, flying over to the two of them before I really had my wits about me. “HEY!” I screamed, putting myself in check as I knelt down beside the two. I looked the older boy in the face and explained that he didn’t need to push younger kids or any kids for that matter. The little terd just shrugged his shoulders and started to walk away. I grabbed his arm, turned him back toward me, and said, “No sir. You are going to listen to me,” as I further explained how he needed to be careful when playing around others.

Again, a situation where his mother was sitting RIGHT THERE and never said a word.

Folks, I am just baffled by this. I know that parenting is hard and exhausting and sometimes you just want to let your kid run free. And as long as they aren’t bothering YOU, well then, sorry to the suckers who are getting terrorized by them. But that’s not the right way. I am not an expert in this gig and I certainly do not deign to give out parenting advice but this is right up there with letting your kids drink beer and smoke cigarettes. It’s just not right.

Mike and I have had the conversation a few times now about how to teach Olivia proper self-defense. In a way, we’d like to just teach her to go all guerilla warfare and just take out anyone who lays a finger on her.  But I don’t WANT that kid. If I have to choose between the kid who is causing harm and the one who is being harmed, I’d rather have the kid who is being harmed. Weird to think about, I know. But I would be mortified and horrified if I knew Olivia was causing harm to someone. She’ll survive being bullied a little. I certainly did and so do millions of kids every year. The kid who is BEING the bully though…well, I don’t know who that kid ends up being.

And look, I understand that some kiddos just have behavior issues and I know there are lots of parents out there who are dealing with those kids and trying to work through those issues. I applaud those parents for continuing to try to teach those kids how to have better behavior.

 However, those parents  who just sit by and let their kid do whatever they want…well, I don’t have any problem trying to teach your kid if you won’t. Cause when someone hurts my kid, I’m worse than a mama grizzly bear. I’m a mama bear who’s just a little bit trailer park. 

Sometimes I forget

Lately, I’m a little worn out. A lot worn out. We’ve got some sleep stuff going on that I was going to share with all of you because, well, you know what they say: Misery loves company. And we are just coming off of the holiday madness and well blah, blah, blah. Bottom line: Parenting a toddler takes a lot of energy.

But then tonight I got a note that made me think about some other stuff. It made me think about what my life used to be like BEFORE Lady Loco moved into the asylum. Sometimes I completely forget what my life was like before Olivia. I feel like I have known her my whole life. I’ve grown and changed so much, Mike and I have grown and changed so much, that it’s hard to imagine our life WITHOUT her.

Sometimes I forget what it was like to have NOTHING to do after work. I forget what it’s like to come home with no plans for dinner and Mike and I just look at each other and say “Want to make some nachos while we figure out what we are going to do for dinner?” And then we’d have a beer and nachos. And that was really dinner.

I forget what it was like to be able to get up an hour before I needed to be somewhere (instead of 2 ½ hours minimum). I forget what it was like to be able to shower and blow dry my hair without stopping to get juice or help turn on/off some toy. I can’t remember the last time I took a crap without someone on my lap or singing “The Wheels on the Bus.”

I forget what it was like to be able to go a movie when I wanted or to eat dinner at a place that doesn’t have a kids’ meal that comes with a toy. And it’s a good thing I’m a master multi-tasker or I wouldn’t ever be able to converse with my husband over dinner with the constant interruption from The Boss Lady.

And the list of things I’ve forgotten goes on. My life has changed in ways I NEVER could have imagined. And I would be a big fat liar if I said that I don’t occasionally fantasize about my life BTBL (Before The Boss Lady). The “me” in that life is well rested with perfectly blow dried hair, a house with windows absent of tiny hand prints, caught up on every new release movie, and enjoys a cocktail on a patio somewhere that serves only fabulously exciting food.

The note I got tonight reminded me of that “Me.” Only, that note reminded me that my Fantastical “Me” is a bunch of crap. I mean, sure, I may have been more rested but taking a crap has never been more entertaining since I started singing “The Wheels on the Bus.”

Sometimes I forget that all of those times that I was doing all of those things that my glasses depict in a rose colored hue, I was looking forward to a day when I was serving up peanut butter and jelly while talking to Mike about the upcoming weekend’s birthday parties and folding tiny pairs of Dora The Explorer underwear.

My life BTBL was complete in the sense that I totally took advantage of the life phase I was in but I always *knew* in my heart that someday that completeness would look empty without the addition of a Mini Milligan. I *knew* that I was called to motherhood. No, I didn’t spend every waking moment waiting for it and I thoroughly enjoyed my life without a kid but Mike and I would always talk about our future with one. We would talk about what our family vacations would look like or what kind of grandparents we’d be like.

And never once did it occur to either of us that our future might never happen. That note tonight reminded me that for some, that future doesn’t happen. For some, the love of a future baby never comes to fruition.

I’m not talking about choosing not to be a parent. That’s different and I actually totally support couples who choose it. In fact, I have a great respect for people who just know their calling is not that of Parenthood.

I’m talking about those folks who have the same life Mike and I did BTBL. The same life where they laughed and loved and did what they wanted to always *knowing* that someday they’d be looking at a little person who was an extension of them. And then it just never happens. Unfortunately, Mike and I have known a few couples for whom that is a reality. I am completely and utterly heart broken for them. And I never know what to say or what comfort I can possibly bring. I don’t even know where to begin to offer comfort to those couples.

Without getting into lots of dirty details, I’ll just share this: creating a baby was very easy for Mike and me. I remember being SO excited that first month of actually trying to make a baby. I remember taking that first pregnancy test, hands trembling, heart racing, trying not to get pee all over my hands. I remember seeing that it was negative and just feeling…DEVASTATED. Yeah, dramatic, I know. One whole month and I was crushed that it didn’t happen. And then the next month, on a stick covered in my own urine, I saw the words that would change my entire heart and soul.

We had talked about what it might be like if we hadn’t been able to have kids. We *think* we would have worked together to work through and to try to live our life fully as just the two of us. But the reality is that I have NO idea how we would have handled that. If I was that devastated and that excited after just one month of “trying”, I cannot imagine month after month of that stupid stick not yielding that symbols or words that my heart so wanted to see. I cannot imagine years of that. I cannot imagine the toll it would take on my emotions or my body or my marriage.

This short note I received tonight reminded me of a life I’ve already forgotten and I needed that reminder right now. I was reminded that my life BTBL was fun and full of doing what I wanted but it wasn’t always perfect. Just like now, I had good days and bad days. Days where I was frustrated and anxious. Days where I was bored. Days where the joy in my heart made me feel so fulfilled. And I had days when I dreamed of someday looking at a tiny face that Mike and I made together. A tiny face that looked like us. In my life BTBL, I really, really, really wanted the life I have now.

And I was reminded that sometimes I take this life for granted. I forget that for many it does not come easy if ever at all. When I do that, when I take this incredible gift of Motherhood for granted, I know that I’m slapping that gift in the face.

Look, I’m not saying I feel guilty or bad for having had a child so easily. I don’t feel guilty for the days that I sit in the midst of blocks and goldfish crumbs and think “I wonder what’s going on in Vegas right now…” I cannot help that there are bad days in this gig and I know it’s natural to let my mind wander back to the days of BTBL.

What I am saying is that my reminder note tonight made me think about how I do have a duty to see past the bad. I have a duty to my fellow mothers and especially to those friends, family, and acquaintances who may never have the opportunity to go on this incredible journey. Sometimes I need to take a break from my fantasies of spending Saturdays laying on the couch watching Lifetime movies and be reminded of how ALIVE my Saturdays are now with birthday parties, park visits, play doh creations, and books about caterpillars and bunny rabbits and tenacious pigs aptly named “Olivia.”

I love my life with The Boss Lady and I would do NOTHING to change the course that our life has taken since her. It’s been an incredible journey so far and I can only imagine the wild ride we still have ahead of us. And when I think of a life WITHOUT her, I feel sad and lost and like a piece of my soul might never have existed had I not met her. If something happened to her tomorrow, I would still feel SO INCREDIBLY BLESSED to have known this child. I would not trade a day of my life with Olivia for any amount of time eating nachos and drinking beer and sleeping in.

I had an opportunity tonight to really remember my old life without any rose colored glasses. I had an opportunity to remember why Mike and I wanted so badly to add to our family. I had an opportunity to remember and reflect on the incredible ass kicking that motherhood really is. Beyond tonight there will still be minutes/days/weeks that I am frustrated with this gig (hell, there will probably be one of those moments tonight!). But because of that note tonight, I got a reminder of the blessing this journey is and it’s a reminder I will not so easily forget. 

Friday

I have debated and debated and debated with myself about writing about the horror that was Friday, December 14, 2012. One minute my head is full of thoughts and opinions and ideas and the next minute I am just numb from that tragedy.

I have a lot of other “posts” floating around in my head that I want to share with you all but it doesn’t seem right not to pay homage to those sweet children. I need and want to address my thoughts and emotions about  all of the moms and dads out there who are mourning the very quick, unplanned, horrific end to their journeys in the parenting of the their child.

This post is not about gun control or violence in schools or God in schools or mental health. Those are the main topics I’ve seen and heard come up on the news and on social media sites. And those topics are relevant to the tragedy on Friday and I think they should be talked about and reviewed. When we have something like this incident slap us in the face, we should start talking to each other about what drives our society and about what we can do to keep our children safe.

But I don’t want to talk about those things in this post. I just want to share what Friday meant to me as a mom. I’m glad I wrote this all down and if every time you think about Friday you start to get panicky and horrified and sad like I do/did, I suggest you write it down too. Because that incident hit a spot in the core of the “parent” community in a way that changes the way you look at things. We have to process those things and deal with them. I just don’t think we can just jump to the next big event without taking a moment to reflect and prepare ourselves as parents.

So, here’s my Friday:

Like the morning of most of those parents in Connecticut, my morning started out fairly mundane.

On Friday, I woke up sick for the second day in a row. I woke up though next to The Boss Lady and I snuggled up to her under the blankets and I just laid there listening to her breathe and thinking about how I wished we could spend the whole day like that. We took our time getting ready for school that day. I planned to stay home from work to get over the insane sinus infection I had.

When I was getting her clothes ready for school, my sweet girl INSISTED on wearing this silly cookie monster shirt. It’s this bright blue shirt with a cookie monster face on it and it’s *that* shirt that my kid wants to wear nearly every single day. It cracks me up. We’ve managed to compromise to a once a week wearing of the shirt. In a way, I dread that day because there is NOTHING else in her closet that matches that shirt. Olivia’s hair is still very short so the shirt kind of makes her look like a boy. And in a way, I love that shirt. Because she loves that shirt. Because the way she smiles when she has that shirt on and the way she lights up when she says “COOKIE!” makes me light up too.

I took her to school and went to pick up some wrapping paper so I could spend the day wrapping Christmas presents. I'm still a little amazed at how much I thoroughly enjoyed running an errand BY MYSELF and how excited I was at the prospect of having a day at home BY MYSELF. When I got home, I made my lunch. I sat down on the couch and turned on the news. That’s when I first heard about and saw the devastation in Connecticut. I had tears in my eyes the entire time I was watching the news. It was so upsetting that I eventually turned it off and sat in another room, away from the tv so as not to be tempted to turn it back on, turned on Christmas music and wrapped gifts.

I know. That sounds callous and selfish. But I bet a lot of folks had a similar reaction. My head and my heart could NOT fathom what I had seen on the news. I just could not absorb that in an instant, at the hands of another human, 20 children were just gone from this earth. I just could not make sense of any of it.

When Mike got home, we talked about it a little more. The day before, Olivia’s *big* Christmas gift had been delivered and we had been talking about how excited we are to set it up and have it ready for her Christmas morning. Mike said that it made him so sad to think of those kids’ Christmas gifts sitting under the tree or in their parents’ closets never to be opened on Christmas morning. I nearly vomited at that thought.

We went to pick up Olivia from school and I felt such joy at seeing her smile and come running out to the car. I loved the feel of her tiny body in my arms when I hugged her and I had to keep myself from squeezing her too tight. I loved the sound of her small voice and the way she chattered about anything and everything on her mind.  

We were going out of town that evening and about 30 minutes into our car ride, I was contemplating dropping my kid off at the next truck stop with a sign that said “Needs a good home and is potty trained.” True story. My joy at seeing my child just 30 minutes before had turned into a splitting headache from the constant chaos. Her small sweet voice telling me about her friends that day had become an ear drum shattering whine. The tiny body I wanted to hold so close to me had morphed into a mass of flailing arms and legs in the midst of a temper tantrum.

To me this is what parenthood is: it’s that CONSTANT roller coaster and struggle of one minute being on Cloud 9 and the next being in the 7^th Circle of Hell. It’s wanting to give your kid away to some trucker but knowing that you cannot live on this earth if they are not on it. It is feeling like your heart is going to explode from love and your head from insanity all in the same moment.

And I thought of all of those parents. I thought of what their Friday morning must have been like and what their Friday afternoon had turned into. I wondered if they let their kids pick out some ridiculous shirt simply because it made them happy. I wondered if they had to negotiate good behavior for stickers or jelly beans. I wondered if any of them were frustrated at their little munchkins when they dropped them off at school that morning. I wondered if it EVER occurred to any of them that they would never have an opportunity to be frustrated again.

I cannot count the number of times that I have dropped Olivia off at school with a sigh of relief and waved to her teachers as I drove off shouting “Better you than me!” Never has the thought occurred to me that I would not have an opportunity to be frustrated or fed up with Lady Loco ever again. It makes me sick to think about that.

As much as that child can drive me bonkers, I do not want to spend a day on this planet if she is not here. I know that if something or someone were to take her from us, Mike and I would work to make some meaning of our lives. But we wouldn’t want to. We talked about that too on Friday. We talked about how if something happens to her, we would just want to die. For both of us, it is impossible to imagine being alive when she is not. And yet 20 sets of parents were faced with that on Friday and will be faced with that for the rest of their lives. My heart breaks for them.

Here is the conclusion and the meaning I came to from the events on Friday:

I don’t believe that we live in an evil world. Yes, that man was sick and possibly evil. But I don’t think that the whole human race is. Broken, yes. Evil, no. I can’t believe this world is evil based on the outrage that every single person I know showed at this event. I know there is good out there. What I don’t know is the answer to keep stuff like that from happening again. To my child. To any child. I don’t have the answer for that. I’m not sure that anyone does.

What do I know is this: if I lost Olivia tomorrow, I would want to know that every minute I spent with her counted. I would want to know that even if I had been frustrated with her, there was a love between us that was unbreakable. I would want to know that I let her wear a silly shirt because it made her happy and because her happiness makes me happy. I would want to know that my child had been loved by me, by Mike, by any who had known her. I would want her to leave this world knowing that she had been loved.

That’s all we can do as parents: LOVE THE CRAP OUT OF OUR KIDS. We cannot protect them from all harm. We cannot keep them from being taken from us. That’s the hard core and crappy truth. As much as we try to keep them healthy and safe, sometimes that is not enough. Sometimes, things happen outside of our plans and despite our best efforts. So, for the time that Olivia is entrusted to me, I am going to just love her. When I start to feel frustrated or like I want to drop her at the nearest Flying J, I will remind myself that every single day I have to love her means something. Every. Single. Day. Even the hard ones. Even the ones when I fall into bed exhausted and spent. Even the ones when I just want to quit. Every day that I am with her, every day I get to be her mom matters. Her life matters.

Those babies that died on Friday had not been here very long. Can you imagine just 5 (or maybe a little more) years of life? The amount of time they had been here wasn't indicative of their impact. Their lives still had meaning. Their lives still mattered. They changed and shaped their parents in such a short time. I know because Oli has changed and shaped me in ways I never could have imagined. And she's done it in just 2 short years. 

When we say “life is short” never do we ever imagine “short” means just 5 years. But life can sometimes be that short. I’m going to make the most of every single instant of this life with my kiddo. I don’t EVER want to be left here without Oli but if I am, I will know that she was loved every single day of her life. I will know that she got to wear her Cookie shirt, that she got to have joy in her life.

If I lost Olivia, I would want to know that other parents could just learn to take advantage of every moment with their kids. That doesn’t mean every moment is going to be wonderful. Some of them are going to suck. But just try to be in the moment. Try to remember in those frustrating moments that it only takes one moment to take that all away.

I would want to know that people were praying for us. I would want to know that they were praying for our peace and for this world we live in where insane and awful things happen to people's babies. I would want to know that our world still had faith even when it doesn't seem possible that God was present in that moment. Prayer doesn't seem all that powerful when you have to bury your child but I think, I hope, that it is. And it is all most of us can do. Even though it is hard to see God in an event like that, I know He is there. Mike and I have and will continue to pray for those families and peace for the Newtown community throughout this tragedy. May God be with all of those families now and always.   

Let's try, "I love you," instead of, "I farted."

I just had yet another great phone convo with one of my very best friends and spiritual mentor (D$, that’s you!). Darci is someone who believed in me and prayed for me when I could do neither for myself. She constantly reminds me that I am God’s child even when I’m a complete mess and/or butthole. I wanted to share a thought/story that I shared with her and that’s been swirling in my crazy brain for a few days (maybe weeks?) now.

I don’t write a ton about my faith but I hope that you can see that in some of my writing and some of the way that I look at life and this crazy journey of Parenthood. My faith is my rock. It’s the thing that holds the Milligan Empire together. It’s the thing that guides me during all of the uncertainties in raising The Boss Lady. EVERY SINGLE DAY I pray over Olivia when she goes to bed and I pray that God would just guide me to raise her to be not want I want her to be but what He wants her to be to serve Him in her life.

Some folks comment on how I’m much more laid back as a parent than they ever thought I’d be. Apparently I was quite the OCD Control Freak in my pre-parenthood days. Apparently. I think my faith in God’s higher purpose for my daughter has a lot to do with that. Every time I hear the circus music playing in my head, I remind myself that I am here to serve Him in raising Lady Loco. Though Mike and I were extremely blessed to have been chosen to be Olivia’s parents on this earth, we know that she does not belong to us. She belongs to God and we are here to raise her to be whatever He needs her to be. There’s something exhilarating and sort of freeing about that. I know that even when I screw up, He will use those moments to shape Olivia and Mike and me.

So, here’s the thought/story I wanted to share:

If you follow me on Facebook (and I’m quite entertaining so you should!), you know that we’ve had sleep issues with Captain Crazy since August 24, 2010 (that’s the day she was born for any of you who have just joined us). Our new thing to get her to go to sleep is just to lay down with her in the bed. She loves that. If we put her in her bed, it takes her 2 hours to go to sleep. If we just put her in bed with us, it takes like 20 minutes. She loves the closeness. Often we’ll just listen to music or I’ll run my fingers through her hair or tickle her back. It reminds me of when my sister, Michelle, and I were little and she would just beg me (or whoever was laying with her) to tickle her back until she fell asleep.

A couple of weeks ago, Oli and I were laying in bed and I was just looking at her and thinking how lucky I am to have such a beautiful child and I said, “I love you so much Oli A.” And she said, “Mommy I have a booger.” Or something profound like that. And I had to chuckle because I just thought that is so typical that I am looking for some intimate meaningful moment with her and that’s what she has to tell me.

And I LOVE it when Olivia tells me she loves me. I mean, I practically crave it. That may sound crazy but all of you mommies, and probably daddies, out there know what I mean. When that child wraps her arms around me and says, “I love you, Mommy!” I feel like I am going to split open from the complete joy I feel in the moment. It doesn’t matter if the second before she has pooped on the floor or rubbed banana in the couch or purposefully thrown Goldfish on the ground and then stepped all over them. When she says “I love you,” it is the ONLY thing I ever need to hear.

It struck me as I was laying there with her, with her boogers, and thinking how much I love and would have loved to hear her say “I love you” back in that moment, that our God must also crave our love and affection that much. And even though laying there with her was good for her for going to sleep, that intimacy, that quiet time with her is good for me too. I love those times when she will lay quietly with me and just BE. 

Often, I am struck by the correlations between human parenthood and the parenthood of our Heavenly Father. And this is a big one.

I live for those moments when Olivia gives me love and adoration. And she doesn’t give it for any other reason except that she also feels loved and safe and comfortable. It comes with no strings attached. It is simple and pure and I crave that from her always.

Imagine then how much more our God craves our love and affection. Imagine how much more He beams when we purely and honestly say, “I love you,” with no expectations except that we are loved in return. Imagine how elated He is when we just spend time with Him and we are just fully present, we are just THERE.

When your child loves you, is there anything you wouldn’t give her? Is there any transgression you wouldn’t forgive when those three words are said to you? And honestly, even when your child is hateful to you or disrespectful, is there still anything you wouldn’t give her? No.

That’s what we do as parents. We live for and crave those moments that our children show their purest love and affection for us. We always, ALWAYS provide for them even when they are ungrateful, insane Gremlins. And when they say “I love you,” every tear, every heart ache, every dime spent is worth those three words.

When talking to Darci this evening, I told her the following story:

Every morning, Mike and I say a prayer together. It’s something we started before we were married and we’ve done it every day for like 7 years or something. Now that Olivia is up before Mike leaves, she’s been saying our prayer with us in the morning. She holds our hands, scrunches her eyes up tight, and at the end, jubilantly shouts “AMEN!”

One morning, we were praying and Olivia interrupted, “Hey Mommy! Hey Mommy!” Thinking she may have something to add to our prayer, in my very loving Mommy Voice, I said “Yes, love?”

“Mommy I farted!” she shouted joyfully. I just had to laugh and look to Heaven and say “She’s all yours.”

Darci got a kick out of the story and pointed out that we often do to God what Olivia did to us. We interrupt a profound moment or opportunity to spend time with Him to say “Hey, I farted!” or “I have a booger.” And still He loves us and provides for us and just waits for and craves that moment when we say, “I love you.”

Mike and I do so many things to see joy in our child. We take her to the zoo or aquarium for that ONE moment when her eyes light up and she is happy. We tell her we love her about 800 times a day for that ONE time when she says it back. And all of the work and all of the tears and all of the boogers and farts in the world are worth it for that ONE time.

AND GOD DOES THE SAME THING FOR US. FOR ME.

Oh, and by the way, our human parents still crave that too! No matter how old we are! Call your mom and dad, tell them “I love you.” Save your fart or boogers stories for another time. They’ve listened to that crap your whole life.  

I was floored by my little moment. As an adult it is really easy to feel like I am independent enough to not *need* to be waited on or craved. But I do need it. I love knowing that God provides so many things for Mike, Oli, and I and He does it without any expectation. But when we stop in in our day to tell Him, “I love you,” He nearly splits in half with joy over that. It’s kind of a cool feeling.

Okay, so I’m not going to end this with an “altar invitation” or anything like that. BUT, I will say that I think all of us parents (and even those of you who are not!) should take a moment to say, “I love you,” instead of “I farted.” I think we should take a moment to realize that no matter how old you are or whether your human parents are around or not, someone (um, God, in case you missed the point) craves YOU—your love, your affection, your “I love you.”  

Huggies for High Schoolers

Well, I guess we are potty training. Or I guess that’s what this is when your *teeny tiny baby* is wearing panties! Don’t get all excited. I said we are still in training. We aren’t pros yet. For instance, tonight after her bath, Olivia said no to wearing panties and actually chose to wear a diaper. And by the way, does anyone else who’s potty trained a little girl feel like you say the word “panties” a lot? Like today at work, my team mates and I were talking about getting something for the Christmas party and I said “Oh, I’ll get it. I have to go to Target anyway and get some new panties.” It didn’t occur to me until just now that if anyone had overheard that, I might get a call from HR tomorrow.

At any rate, here we are, buying panties covered in pictures of Minnie Mouse, and cheering about pee-pee in the potty, and cleaning poop out of underwear.

Oh yes, you read that right. That was my night last night. Cleaning poop. Out of underwear. Good. Times.

Look, this potty training gig was NOT our idea, I assure you. It all started about 2 months ago while Olivia still had her cast on (What, you didn’t know our kid had a cast on her right leg? Long story. Maybe I’ll tell it some other time. When I’m not too busy cleaning up pee and poop.). Her teachers at school told us that she had been showing some interest but they wanted to wait until they didn’t have more of a mess with the cast in the way. They wrote in her school note that she was ready and we would readdress it later. Quite frankly, I didn’t care one way or the other. The way I figured it, she’d potty train when she was ready. She might have been showing some interest but that wasn’t enough to convince me it was time.

But after the cast came off, Olivia set about trying to convince US that SHE was ready. Over the past month, every time her diaper is wet, Oli will come to us announcing that she has a pee-pee and rip off her diaper. She also asks often to wear panties and occasionally we would let her put a pair on. But, inevitably, 15 minutes later she would wet herself and I’d be cleaning pee off of her legs, out of her clothes, out of her shoes, and out of the carpet.

Take 2 weeks ago, Sunday. She asked to wear panties instead of a diaper when she got up. I figured we’d give it a go. Every 30 minutes we put her on the toilet but nothing happened. Then it was time to leave for church. Things were going so good that I wanted to be consistent and leave her in the panties. About 30 minutes through the service, I took Oli to the bathroom. Trying to show solidarity, I decided I’d go first to show her how big girls go pee-pee. Just as I was pulling up my pants, Olivia announced “I go pee-pee.” And then she did. All over the floor. Soaking through her panties and her tights. Pee trickling down into her shoes. 

Did I have the diaper bag with me with spare diapers and clothes? Nope.

I wiped the pee off of the floor, stripped her shoes, tights, and panties and put them in the sink. I then carried a shoe-less, pants-less, diaper-less child back into the church sanctuary and loud-whispered to Mike “Give. Me. The. Diaper. Bag.” I then headed back to the bathroom to continue the clean up. We put a diaper on The Boss Lady the rest of the day. And that entire week. I had decided to give up on panties entirely at that point. After that day, I didn’t give a crap if she went to prom wearing a damn diaper.

I mean, it was clear to me that she just wasn’t ready for it. And I was totally okay with that. I am just not obsessed with “milestones” for Oli. The way I figure it is that she’ll get there when she gets there. And unless her doc is telling me otherwise, I’m just going to assume that she’s right on track and will learn things at her own pace.

Not to mention that cleaning up a diaper is about 8,743 times easier than cleaning up pee off of the floor. Oh, and did I mention my complete disgust for public restrooms? Seriously. I have a recurring nightmare, and I mean NIGHTMARE, about a dirty public restroom that I am forced to use. It’s weird, I know. It’s my thing though. And it didn’t occur to me that when I had a little girl I’d have to brave a public restroom with her. See, I’ve mastered the public restroom. I can squat for a full 2 minutes. Have you ever tried to get a 2 year old to squat? Or to keep their hands out of the toilet or their pee stream? I’m considering in investing in a Hazmat suit just for public restroom visits.

But then we got the note.

Each day, Olivia’s teachers send home a note saying how she did that day and letting us know about any special occurrences. Monday’s note said, “Olivia is ready for potty training! You can send her in panties tomorrow if you want.” Um, WHAT?? You want me to send my teeny tiny baby to school in panties??!!??

I felt overwhelmed and excited by that note. If her teachers think she is ready then I guess that’s a good sign. Mike and I kind of assume that her teachers know more than we do about toddlers since that’s what they do all day so I just thought we’d take their word for it. Also, some of her school friends are potty training and I think she wants to imitate. Sometimes peer pressure is a good thing.

Tuesday when she woke up, we put the panties on and 15 minutes later I was cleaning pee from the carpet. I was determined not to be discouraged though and put a clean pair on her and sent her off with 3 changes of clothes. And she didn’t have an accident ALL DAY! Well, at least not until Mike showed up at the end of the day and she got so excited that she peed.

Oh, and until she got home. And tried to lock herself in the atrium while she squeezed a huge terd out. I tried to stop that one but was about 17 seconds too late. Luckily though she was pretty horrified by the poop in the panties incident and cried “There’s poo-poo on my panties!!!” Yep, kid, that’s what happens when you crap your pants.

This morning, we tried again. No accidents before we went to school. When I dropped her off, her teachers just raved about how good she was doing and how it was so great that she is indicating she is ready and doesn’t want to be wet or dirty in a diaper. So I went to Target today and invested in 18 more pairs of Disney designs to be worn on my child’s rear end. At 3 pairs a day, those, along with the 5 pairs we already have, will last a week without me having to do laundry. When I brought the panties home, Olivia danced around the kitchen shouting “Panties! Panties! Panties!” Calm down, Boss Lady, this ain’t Mardi Gras.

As I mentioned earlier though, after bath tonight, she completely refused panties and requested to wear a diaper.

So, at this point, I just don’t know what is going on. In a way, I just feel like throwing in the towel and telling her teachers that we’ll just put her in Depends when she outgrows Huggies. And in a way, the thought of not having to buy another $40 pack of diapers makes me giddy with excitement. I don’t want to push her but I also want to encourage her since she’s showing so much interest.

She gets REALLY excited whenever she uses the bathroom on the toilet. I mean REALLY, REALLY, REALLY excited. Like this morning, she yelled “Mommy, I did it! I went pee-pee!” The evident thrill coming from her is infectious and I want her to do this if SHE wants to. But I DON’T want it to frustrate all of us. Right now, I don’t feel aggravated when she has an accident. She’s 2. It’s a new skill. I get that. I worry though that it will *start* to frustrate me.

The hardest thing about parenting for me has been not knowing how long the rough phases are going to last. Luckily though I have a few of those rough times under my belt and I know at this point that this will probably not last very long so we are going to stick with it. Either this will be a total success in about a week or we will just go back to diapers and try again later.

At any rate, it’s really cute right now to watch her learn something new. This morning, when I put her on the potty for like the 800^th time, she looked down between her legs and asked me, “Mommy, where’s the pee-pee?” It was so earnest and so concerned and so very cute. And what other time in your life can you wear Minnie Mouse on your business and not be considered a freak? Really, potty training does have its cute moments.

We’ll see what happens from here. If you want to be supportive, please send carpet cleaner this way! Or if this doesn’t work out, help sign my petition for Huggies to start making a diaper that will fit a high schooler.