Just for the L-O-L of it!!!

....cause, let's be REAL....How often do you feel like you might just pee your pants from laughing??  Okay, maybe that's a little more frequent these days, since pushing human beings out of our bodies has caused lack of bladder control, but still......

Kevin Hart is one of my FAVORITE comedians (beside Dane Cook, who lets face it, is not only funny, but incredibly sexy), and I think he hits the nail on the head with his 'bits' about his kids.  I laugh every single time!


I would like to preface this by saying:  I LOVE my children.  Worship them.  However, most days I feel like a conductor on the crazy train.  Destination: nowhere.  It's nice to feel like I'm not alone.

ENJOY!.................

** DISCLAIMER: video contains ADULT language.  If you're anti-profanity, this isn't for you**

My little Casanova

(names have been condensed to initials to protect the innocent.....or at least, the minors, in this story)

Today, I placed myself in a small cage with a large number of  wild, rabid monkeys..........and by this I mean, I went to my 5 year old son's elementary school, and had lunch with him in the cafeteria.  You get the idea.

So, when a parent comes to eat lunch with their child in the jungle (ie. cafeteria), there is a special table dedicated just for them and their child, right smack dab in the middle of the room.  The child is allowed to pick one friend from his/her class to join them at the table.

My 24 month old daughter and I wait outside the cafeteria for my son's classroom to arrive - she is coincidentally wearing her  Monkey 'leash'.   This induces mass hysterics by everyone who passes us.

We see my son arrive, and all exchange greetings as we enter the doors to the cafeteria.  I recognize most of his classmates, and they all love to dote on my daughter. 
One of the little girls in C's class (we'll call her 'O') says in THE sweetest, most heart-melting voice... 
 "C, can I sit with you?"

My testosterone-filled-soon-to-be-typical-male son says back:  
"No.  I want S to sit with me".   

HEART BREAKER!  

I wanted to grab this little girl in my arms and give her a hug.  And then I actually wanted to fight my own child.  I immediately re-live every time my heart was broken by a boy, every time I felt rejection.  In my, clearly demented mind, I turn into Sally Field in "Norma Rae", jump on one of the tables, and give all those hooligan boys a lecture on how to treat girls!!

However, difficult as it was, I refrained.  My son chose his friend, S, to sit with us.......and then completely ignored me for the next 30 minutes.  But, I digress.........


Five minutes into the meal, a group of 4 girls (I'm guessing 3rd graders) walk over to our table and say to my son:
          "hhiiiii, C".......... and walk away.  Giggling.

Me:  "who are they??"


C:  "oh, just some girls that like me"


Me: "kid, you're 5!!  how old are they??"


C: "I don't know"


All of a sudden, he's Justin Bieber??

My sweet little first-born baby boy, who just lost his first tooth, is going to turn into a pre-pubescent boy with raging hormones before I know it!!!!  I'm not stable enough for this.  I guess I just never imagined him becoming an actual human being.  Capable of feelings.  Capable of hurting others feelings.

Once again, my mind is back on sweet O, and the sting of rejection.........and, YES, I'm seeing all of this through a 5 year old's eyes.  I know.  I'm crazy.

After our meal concluded, I said to my son:

"I'm coming back tomorrow,  and we're asking O to sit with us".


I might even bring her a cookie.  Or a present.

If I had my child to raise over again

I'd build self-esteem first and the house later

I'd finger paint more and point the finger less

I would do less correcting and more connecting

I'd take my eyes off my watch and watch with my eyes

I would care to know less and know to care more

I'd take more hikes and fly more kites

I'd stop playing serious and seriously play

I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars

I'd do more hugging and less tugging

I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often

I would be firm less often and affirm much more

I'd model less about the love of power

And more about the power of love.

Diane Loomans



From '100 Ways to Build Self-Esteem & Teach Values' by Diana Loomans (c) 2004 New World Library

It's OFFICIAL....

I am......a Tooth Fairy. It's a monumental step, but also an emotional one. My baby is growing up ......and I am getting old.

When I was a kid, the going rate for a tooth was 50 cents. These days, according to my 5 year old, the Tooth Fairy leaves Star Wars toys. Who knew the tooth fairy got a raise?? I tried to explain to him that Santa is the one who leaves toys, the Easter Bunny leaves chocolate, and the Tooth Fairy leaves money. His response: "what am I supposed to do with money?" Trust me kid, that is the LAST question you will be asking when you get older.

(Apparently, we are failing, as parents, to teach him the value of a dollar. This will be our next project)

It's moments like these that make me cherish the time I have with my children while they are young. While they still get excited about these silly, precious moments. The fact that they still need me to guide them & nurture them (and help them wash their bloody tooth off so the tooth fairy "doesn't get grossed out"). I am excited for their future, but also mourn the loss of what will never be again. The "firsts" that can never be redone. It's moments like these that make me wonder if I want to have another baby, just because all these milestones absolutely melt my heart.

Then, I think about the hysterics of my 2 year old this morning while I was trying to get her dressed. The tears I shed because all I wanted to do was get out of the house on time. The sucker punch to the throat I received while trying to change her diaper. The note sent home from school yesterday because my 5 year old just can't seem to pay attention in music class. The 8 times I had to scream at my children to get out of the kitchen while I was trying to cook dinner. The vacuum cleaner that died yesterday because it gets used too often (and the 2yo carpet still needs to be replaced). The piles of laundry that never seem to get done......or folded.....or put away. My house which is never clean.....or organized. The Valentine's Day dinner I made for my husband that was eaten standing at the counter, while our toddler tried, frantically, to rock climb both of us. The date nights we never seem to get, the "alone" time that we spend in a semi-comatose state on the couch.

Oh yes, these days are precious, and fleeting. And I want to remember them. Always. However, right now I am focusing my sights on that light at the end of the tunnel. It is flickering. Like some kind of dim nightlight. I'm waiting for it to become more of a homing beacon.

The Hunger Games

I don't know how many of you have read this Trilogy of books, but rumor tells me, they are quite popular. I actually jumped on the bandwagon after seeing several of my friends' reviews on Facebook. However, today's post isn't my own personal review of this book series (although I loved them!). It's more of an analysis of how the book compares to my own life......kill, or be killed.

So, in the book, there are "contestants" (ie. mothers), who are placed in a man-made arena (ie. life) and forced to either "survive", or be killed (ie. raise children). Case in point....

I'm trying to get myself and both kids ready and out the door by 8:45AM. I'm feeling pretty good about how things are progressing. We're down to the wire at 8:30AM. I decide it's a good time for a potty break. My mistake is, thinking I can do this uninterupted. Ha!

Small toddler comes into the bathroom, pushes the stool up to the pedastal sink, and begins jumping up and down, inevitably hitting her chin on the procelain. Fabulous.

Screaming commences. Five year old decides to enter room, where I then begin to yell about privacy protocal, and he exits the room in tears. Now I'm the worst mom ever. I just wanted... to... go... to... the... bathroom

Once everyone has calmed down, injuries are assessed, and nothing seems emergency room worthy. I attempt to put shoes and jacket on 5 year old (he generally resists this procedure), then turn to find toddler has stripped completely naked. It is now 8:45AM. Crap.

I now proceed to get toddler RE-dressed, which turns out be very similar to a UFC cagefight, causing 5 year old to fall over in hysterics. I'm not amused.

Ten minutes later, everyone is once again dressed, shoes and jackets on, diaper bag & purse are in one arm, keys in hand......we are out the door. It is close to 9:00AM. I get everyone buckled into their seat, start the car, get the heat going, and pull out of the driveway. We're a little behind schedule, but I still feel confident we can make up the time.

Two minutes into the drive......

"Mom. Did you bring my backpack??"

"WHY would I have your backpack?? That is your ONE responsibility in the morning, to make sure you have your backpack!"

Back to the house we go.

Long story short, I once again pull into the school parking lot, barely shy of 9:15AM, when school actually starts. One of these days, we will make it there before 9:00AM! With barely 4 months left of school, I am convinced we will make this will happen.

I could go into the events at the end of the school day, 3:45pm, when I pick up my son (by foot), and both children chase each other home, roll around in the mud, push each other into bushes, eat strange looking berries, and then scream through the neighborhood because it's fun to hear their own echoes......but, you get the idea.

It's survival of the fittest around here. I'm just missing my bow and arrow.

We're doomed

Do you have friends (or acquaintances) that you feel have "prodigal" children?? You know the ones I'm talking about....."oh, my 4 year old just learned to tie his shoes, drive a car, and cook us a 5-course meal, all in the same week!!" Meanwhile, I feel like SuperMOM if neither kid has swallowed a button or given themselves a new concussion over the course of a week. Their kids are reading Thoreau and e.e. cummings by the time they are 6, and my kids learned their ABC's from watching too much Sesame Street.

I strongly feel that Parents magazine does to a mom's ego, what the Victoria's Secret catalog does to a women's body image. I can't afford to buy my kids the 'top-rated' educational toys, or feed them the 'recommended' name brand snacks (never mind the fact that they won't touch anything with whole wheat or the color green in it), they DO watch more than 30 minutes of television a week, and I certainly have NO intention of taking my toddler's pacifier away by the time she is 2. And I refuse to believe they will need any more psycho-therapy (than their DNA has already pre-destined them for) because of these things.

I also, recently, happened to read an article I saw reference to on another blog I follow (CafeMom). Apparently, there was a study done in New Zealand on toddlers (see link below) that indicates which ones could turn out to be future criminals. So, now I've glued myself to this article to see if we should stop singing the Wiggles, and start singing Jailhouse Rock!

It states, if you have a child under 3 who elicits bad behavior, such as "low frustration tolerance, lacks persistence in reaching goals, difficulty sticking with a task, overactive, acts before thinking, has difficulty waiting turn, restless, not conscientious".....they are destined to be the next Charles Manson!!

So, not only are my children inadequate in comparison to the little Einsteins of the world, they are also poorly fed, not educated enough by their toys, and are at high risk for doing hard time.

Lord have mercy..... I'm gonna need some more wine and a good psychiatrist!

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/8278932/Future-criminals-could-be-identified-as-toddlers.html

My (somewhat selfish) rant

I used to be thin. And lean. And a size 6. I used to love going to the gym. I never had a second thought about walking around in a bathing suit. I used to wear underwear that could never be categorized as "granny panties".

These days, I'm strongly concerned about the kangaroo pouch that has formed at my waistline, and the overwhelming gravitational pull of my behind down to my knees. I have no idea how things got so *jiggly* (as my 5 year old so lovingly puts it). And, although I am a huge connoisseur of cheese, I don't particularly care for it on my thighs. I look in the mirror, and don't recognize the person looking back at me. I find myself sending subliminal death threats to women I see (especially those with infants) who look like they fit back into their pre-prego clothes 5 minutes after giving birth.

If I hear one more comment like "but you have 2 beautiful children, and that's all that matters" or "but you're so pretty", I swear I will start punching people in the face. And my all time favorite from *skinny* moms: "I'm so busy chasing my kids around, I don't have time to eat". As if I'm not running around after my own 2 maniacal offspring ALL day long. Trust me, if that's how easily my metabolism worked, I'd be practically invisible at this point! And I don't know if I can take another Facebook post about how someone fit back into their pre-prego jeans and it took 2 whole months!! Are you people for real? My "baby" is almost TWO, and I'm not even sure I'm back to my pre-prego weight because my scale met an *untimely* and unfortunate death on the driveway.

I don't do the "D" word, because I like to eat too much. I try "moderation" and portion control, but realistically, to even get a meal these days requires me to inhale it as fast as possible, like some sort of rabid animal. And forget cooking. Period. If it requires more than boiling a pot of water, then it's going to suck way too much time and energy out of my life.

Why can't losing weight be as peaceful as it is to climb into a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine & a good book?? Or for that matter, why can't I enjoy it as much as I do eating?? Isn't knowing what the end result would be, good enough to force me into spending hours at a gym?? And why is it, that on the days I'm FULL of motivation & determination to get outside and go for a long walk or hike, one of my children will, inevitably, start projectile vomiting, or there will be an unexpected, colossal downpour??

I feel as if I am doomed to be trapped in this unrecognizable body for the rest of my life. Somebody please tell me there is hope!! Or, at least a *magic skinny pill* that is being developed?!