Venti sized kindess of a stranger

Ella’s at school, I only have 2 out of 3 kids for a couple of hours, so I figure, “hey let’s be wild and go to Target! What’s the worst that can happen?”

 

I totally underestimated my children.

 

Liam & Ava took turns singing the song of their people from the shoe department to the freezer section—for those unfamiliar with the layout, it’s the whole god damn store. What song is that? I don’t know the name of it but I do know it consists of high pitched squealing, tears of their forefathers, and some snot filled gibberish. For the most part I ignored it, something I am becoming very good at by the way. But there were a couple of moments where Jesus didn’t take the wheel and being that I was in Target, I felt comfortable enough to let my crazy out—you know…surrounded by my fellow overwhelmed, overtired, and just plain over it moms. After my repetitive “sittttt dowwwwnnnnnn” (s) in my best exorcist voice down the shampoo aisle, and a man (with an obvious sense of humor) actually crouching to the floor, I finally waved the white flag of submission and knew it was time to haul ass to the exit.

 

But not before the next level battle of the self checkout which is an entirely other post. I honestly would like to ask management if I can review the tape of the shit-tastrophe that just graced their store. Anyway, after spending too much money and clearly too much time here, I do what any basic bitch in Target does— Starbucks. Duh.

 

And since I know you’re already thinking it, yes, I do like to torture myself. Moving on.

 

Behind me was a nice older lady whom had the pleasure of a front row seat to my traveling shit show. We kept making eye contact as I’m talking through my teeth trying to wrestle one of Liam’s legs back into the cart & picking up Ava’s thrown bottle for the 13th time. I thought for sure she was judging me so I began planning out come backs in my head, you know, just to be ready for any lip Critical Cathy wanted to dish out. I order my drink while simultaneously sifting through the empty sucker sticks & puffs in my purse and there it was. This angel of a lady steps up to pay for my drink & even makes it a venti for me! In disbelief, I thank her and insist she doesn’t need to do that. “You’re a good mom” is all she said to me. That’s it. That’s all she said. I took my now upgraded drink and headed out, smiling because 1) Liam farted on the way to the car and Ava belly laughed so hard, and 2) because there are still good people out there. People that get it. People that realize in between all the chaotic moments, an act of kindness can brighten this braless, mismatched, unwashed  hair, broken mamas day. And even 58 seconds later, when Liam became a whiny 33 pound bag of wet cement while I tried putting him in his car seat, that first sip of my ice cold gift was enough to keep me smiling.

 

Cheers!

Words from a stranger.

I lost it. I completely lost it.

I had been putting off grocery shopping for some time now and was getting hangry (hungry + angry). Time to round up the troops and head to the store! Fun fact: every time I have to leave the house and take the circus on the road [or the grocery store], my anxiety is instantly kicked into overdrive. ‘Oh this’ll be fun. Liam will scream the whole way there while Ella, not to be outshone by anyone, will sing the entire Frozen soundtrack at full lung capacity. [Cue massive headache.] Driving down the road, trying my best to drown out the peanut gallery in the backseat, I couldn’t help but feel defeated. I did my best to wipe away the tears behind my sunglasses, and tuck the fly away frizzies from my unwashed hair into an acceptable ‘going out in public ‘do’. I sat for a minute in the lot because I didn’t even want to get out of the car. Who knew grocery shopping would be so draining, and I wasn’t even inside yet! Just as I’m about to head back home and eat ramen, my growling stomach kicks my ass out of the car. Liam gets buckled, strapped, velcroed, and tied onto my chest with the Ergo, while Ella stared at the cart choices. ‘There’s only two, just pick one! We only have 15 minutes before a major meltdown and then your brother will start his!’ I say through my teeth. Aimlessly roaming the aisles, annoyed, and frazzled, I can’t even remember what the hell I came here for and glancing in the cart, Oreo’s and brownie mix weren’t even on the list!

‘What’s wrong with me? I suck at this parenting thing. I can’t even go grocery shopping right.’ Blankly tossing items in the basket, mix and match ingredients, looking like I know exactly what I need but really have no clue. What goes good with garbanzo beans and canned asparagus?

As someone who can’t control her face, I imagine it wasn’t very hard for the mom walking towards me with her own child in tow to notice the angst and defeat that my face emitted. Honestly, my emotions were transparent enough, it’s safe to say they smacked her in the face and poked her in the eye. Fully expecting her to keep on walking past the crazy lady with a demanding baby and an impatient toddler like most people do, she instead made eye contact, smiled, and said, “you’re awesome”–and kept on walking. Completely caught off guard, I quickly returned the smile and scoffed a little in disbelief. Was she talking to me? Did she see something that I didn’t see? The only reflection I saw as I walked past the frozen food fridge door was sweet corn and a homeless looking lady who appears to have it all together, but in reality, is just trying to stay above water and blend into normal society. I didn’t have the chance to ask her why she said that, but then again, how would one even ask that without coming off like a needy freakazoid who doesn’t get out much? ‘Excuse me, Ma’am but you just gave me a compliment in front of the chicken thighs, remember? Can you please tell me over and over again how and why I’m awesome, and maybe put it in writing for when I’m hiding in the bathroom at 3am tonight, thanks! Oh, and is there anything else you want to tell me? I’m always accepting nice words of encouragement.’ Yeah, I’m glad she walked away before I could utter those words….that would have been embarrassing! But not as embarrassing as getting home and noticing I apparently sat in yogurt that morning, and walked the whole store with dried, white stuff on my ass. And here I thought people were staring at me because of my screaming kids and makeup free face. I don’t know what’s worse.

I’ll never know what was going through this fellow soldier of mines head. I’ll never see myself through her eyes in that quick exchange in front of the milk. I’ll never hear the reasons why she was able to look past frumpy and see someone “awesome”. That simple, two word sentence stuck with me that whole day. Keeping it in back of my head, even as I yelled, laughed, wrestled a 20lb bag of potatoes for a diaper change, played princesses, and as I rocked a teething baby to sleep for the third time. I wondered how a perfect stranger can see something in me that I have a hard time seeing.

I am my worst critic. Constantly wrestling with guilt and glutton in the land of raising children. Every decision second guessed with, ‘is this what’s best?’ I have days, many more so lately, where I feel like a less than awesome mom. Like I’m screwing everything and everyone up. I don’t know if I am, but I do know that at the end of a not so good day, my daughter still wants to snuggle with me on the couch while twirling my hair. My son finally drifts off to sleep on my shoulder, breathing so peaceful, and I feel all the love in the world. Kids are finally asleep, I walk past the bathroom to my room, I catch a glimpse in the mirror. Physically I see my hair is still a mess, yesterday’s outfit, and one sock on. But this time, for a split second, I think about the two words from that stranger in the milk aisle.

You’re awesome.

Yeah. I guess maybe I am.

 

 

 

I May Break, But I’ll Never Be Broken

I just cried because there’s no mayo to make the tuna fish I’ve been vowing to make for the last three days. And before you start getting any crazy ideas–No, I’m not pregnant again (thank you, baby Jesus!). No, it’s not “that time of the month”(add that to the list of why I still nurse, and again, my thanks to the man upstairs). I cried because the lack of mayonnaise in the house was the straw that broke my tired, aching back. I mean, seriously, if someone could take a picture of me right this moment, this is what it would capture: an exhausted mother of two standing in front of the computer, feverishly typing through a tear stained face, swiping the unwashed strands of hair that managed to escape my two day old ponytail from my face, sipping my cold coffee while holding Liam in the baby carrier because he refuses to sleep. EVER. Or be put down. EVER. Ella running laps on the couch, leaving a trail of Cocoa Krispies in her wake. If I had to caption this picture, it would surely be with the words—I’m breaking.

I consider myself a fairly new player in the ‘motherhood game’, but aren’t games supposed to be fun? Don’t get me wrong here, I absolutely love being a mom, I know…so cliché of me, but it’s true. I, hands down, have more fun and great times than not. But if I’m keeping it real-as I like to do- there are those times when I’m just not having ANY fun and I have the urge to flip this game over and quit. Times where I feel so defeated and overwhelmed that the front door looks quite appealing compared to the circus in my living room. There are times smack dab in the midst of the chaos that I stand there, blankly staring, silently telling myself, ‘I didn’t sign up for this shit’, as the tears start to flow.

The cracks from being a mom are starting to show-not the ‘plumber’s’ one, although that makes an appearance now and again when I squeeze into too small jeans- I’m talking about the physical, emotional, and mental cracks that begin to take shape the moment you squeeze that little one out. The puffy, bloodshot eyes from interrupted sleep, night after night, for months on end. The thinning, changing hair, increasing ass width, the southern migrating boobs, and the smallest of wrinkles beginning to form on your once more youthful looking face. The forgetfulness of even the most routine things because your to-do list keeps getting longer and longer. The turning of your stomach when you hear or read about a child getting hurt or killed; forever wondering ‘what if that was my child?‘ and in the same breath thanking God that it wasn’t.

I’ve always been an emotional person-a gift from my mom- thanks, Mom-but after having kids, my tear ducts are now on steroids. I cry because I’m tired. I cry because I’m hungry. I cry because I just want to take a hot bath alone, without a random, plastic bath toy poking me on the ass cheek. I cry because is Glenn dead or what the f^@*?! I cry because I just. Want. To. Sleep. I cry because there is no mayonnaise in this God forsaken house so I can make a damn tuna fish sandwich! I cry because I love these two kids so much. I cry when Noel eats the last piece of bacon. I cry because both kids are crying about completely different things, and all I can think is, ‘if you can’t beat ’em… join ’em.’ So I drop to the floor on my knees, stick my thumb in my mouth, and I do just that–I’m breaking.

The clearest lesson I’ve come to learn about being a mom so far is that every minute, every hour, every day is different. A bad moment of inconsolable tears and tantrums can always be erased by giggles and hugs in the very next one. Days like this- when my efforts to meet all their needs feels futile, when my patience meter is already filled up before 8am, when I yell like a banshee for what, in hindsight, is not even a big deal-it’s these hardest of days that I find myself at the end of my rope, ready to throw in the parenting towel. But right when I’m this close to breaking into a million, tiny, exhausted pieces, I take a step back from the edge, get a slight grip back on reality, and remember- there are days I will break, but I’m not broken.

Being a mom is hard, selfless, relentless, unconditional, rewarding, and exhausting. It will boost your confidence as a parent when your child smiles and thrives: It will utterly crush you if they don’t. This season of motherhood is ever-changing. It will leave you feeling stripped down and exposed; left questioning whether you’re doing this all wrong or getting it all right. Days like this, all I can do is pick up my pieces, put them together as best I can, and allow my kids’ love and laughter to be the glue that holds me together- at least for today. The desire to do better everyday as a mom allows my body and mind to shatter and mend day after day. Each time I fall apart, pieces of me are arranged slightly different with each repair-changing me (hopefully for the good) and forming the cracks that come with motherhood.

And while it’s only a matter of time when I’ll break again,  I will never be broken.

 

 

 

My Hopes for My Kids; the Sibling Bond

I just want to first start off with a big ‘thank you’ to my parents for putting their sanity aside and bringing four children into the world—you’re the real MVP’s. I knew I was lucky, even back then, to experience everything growing up from birthdays to holidays to family arguments all with my [annoying] siblings by my side. I mean, I honestly believe my brothers’ arm punches and the sometimes bothersome shadow–better known as my little sister–following on my heels, all have helped make me who I am today: an annoyed (at times), younger and older sister who can take a punch. Because of this, I knew I wanted a circus…I mean, family…of my own. The idea of four children would surely kill me, I know this for a fact. Being elbow deep in shit, spit up, and Legos at only two, leads me to that conclusion. So on that note, I’ll just save the whole ‘continuing to populate the Earth’ to the rest of yous. You’re welcome.

Me, Kerry, Mark, Erik–my first friends in life.

Having siblings, in my opinion, is one of life’s fantastic blessings. They are your first friend(s), even if you wanted to strangle them while yelling at your parents, “why did you have to have another one!!?? Can’t you just leave well enough alone!?” It’s ok, that’s normal, we’ve all been there. I mean, come on, what did our parents expect? They forced us to live with someone else (three others to be exact) for so many years without giving us a say so in the matter, and then had the nerve to make us share our toys and the last can of ravioli; there is bound to be tension and drop kicking involved at some point.

There is a bond there that no one or nothing can break, except for the TV remote—this thing had the power to start WW3 in our house; oldest brother vs. the rest of us; a fight to the death, or at least until one of us cried and said ‘uncle’, thus turning over the plastic prized possession through a painstakingly, twisted cramped hand. Ahh, the memories. Speaking of memories, I cant help feeling like I was the one always left crying, and the one always submitting to the cross-face-chicken-wings delivered daily, courtesy of brothers one and two. Ah well, all the fun times and beat downs made for a childhood worth remembering.

Two parents, two children, one hour of sleep at a time, and zero urge to start again: I [think] our little Repiscak pack is complete. I know I said I was done like a paragraph ago, but it honestly all depends on what kind of day I’m having; good or bad, the answer will change accordingly. I’m a woman, it’s my prerogative to change my mind, deal with it. But, judging by today’s events–Liam taking 20 minute “naps,” Ella rifling through the medicine cabinet for the umpteenth time (don’t worry, the only thing that’s left in there these days is someone’s toothbrush, a half used tube of toothpaste, and a seashell(?)– oh, and the whole her getting chocolate on the couch thing, it’s not new or anything (eye roll)…so if you asked me today if I’m at my kid limit, the answer is without a doubt, ‘you bet your ass I am.’

On that note, here’s some of my hopes for my two kids, as they go through life together in childhood and as adults:

Time will fly by, and one day, you’ll both be “too cool” to have tea parties or play G.I. Joe; I hope you’re never afraid or embarrassed to be silly every chance you get.

It’s inevitable that you will both argue and spew every name in the book at each other, but as soon as someone else tries to do the same, I hope you stand as one; stick up for each other, always.

Remember that your sister will cry at times, she’s sensitive just like mommy; be her shoulder and comfort, never be too proud to wipe her tears, or let her use your shirt as a tissue.

Remember that your brother will probably have his rough and tough friends over one day, and he may very well kick you out of his room, shouting ‘no girls allowed!’. Don’t worry, it’s all an act, you’re still his favorite sister, I promise.

It’s important to remember that as siblings, you are both each others first real relationship outside of the one you have with me and your dad. You will teach each other how to share, how to play, how to laugh, and how to forgive; all very important lessons in the game of life.

As you grow up and on with your own lives, I hope you will make it a priority to call, text, facebook, or whatever the social media fad may be at the time. Whether it be for something serious, or if you just to want to say “hi” or call one another a “butthead.”

And last, but most importantly, you may not always like each other, but please, I hope you will always remember to love each other.

I have many more hopes and dreams for you both, perhaps the biggest one is my hope that you will know how much you mean to me and how much I love you every day.

Go the Eff to Sleep—Nighttime Shenanigans.

Sleep is magical, refreshing, blissful, and–well, I don’t quite remember because it’s been so long since I’ve gotten first hand experience. Stick a fork in me I’m done. I can’t…I just…sigh. Here’s a complimentary backstage pass for a look into the goings on at the Repiscak abode, specifically at bedtime. Liam is sleeping like a normal 5 month old baby would, or at least, what I consider to be normal. What’s that like you ask? Bed around 8pm, awake a few hours later, ravenously searching for the milk tap, ‘simma down child, you JUST ate like twenty minutes ago.’ Or at least it feels that way. He starts the night out in the pack n’ play next to my bed, but night after night, manages to sweet talk me into letting him come in my bed. Can’t resist the cuteness, and it’s easier for all parties involved—all you can eat buffet for baby, a little more sleep for mama—see? Easier for all. Off to sleep we go. What’s that? Oh, you’re awake again? Feeling like death and strangely like a cow, we do the old switch a roo. Liam cozies up to his bosom buddy for the next sleep stint, and off we go to dream land. ‘Sure would be a nice surprise if you slept all through the night for mommy.’ No? You’re not feeling that? Okay, great. See you soon.— Lather, rinse, repeat. All. Night. Long.

Just as a friendly reminder, you may want to hold off on the whole drinking water before bed deal; Especially if you’re going to be partaking in a dance with the diaper devil all night. Seriously people, do you have any idea how difficult it is to try and escape your own bed at 4am with a screaming bladder? I often find myself in the dead of night, contorting my body in ways that lead me to truly believe I was a cast member of Cirque de Soleil in my former life. I attempt to pull my arm, which is most likely numb and dead from being laid on half the night, from underneath the pillow. Next is the ‘creepy crawl’. The best way to explain this move is to envision yourself trying to walk on water—except you’re not on water, you’re on a mattress–and if said mattress is squeaky, then well…I can’t help ya, but I sure can high five ya! *wink, wink*

Now, if you’ve managed to make it this far without waking the baby, you’re pretty much golden. Just one more step to go, and it’s home free to pee-pee city! Just as I begin to slowly steam roll myself off the bed…BAM! Too caught up in the midnight calisthenics, I failed to realize I was already at the edge of the bed. Silly me for underestimating how big a queen size bed actually is and how much space a 5 month old baby actually occupies. Good thing the floor broke my fall. So what do I do now? Well, since I’ve managed to become a bull in a china shop at 4am, my only option is to take Liam on a little road trip to pee-pee city with me (as to not wake up the rest of the house with him crying), and we drift back off to sleep. At least for a couple more hours.

Just as I’m finally getting comfortable, I hear it. I hear the screams and the crying from the next room.  Panic sets in: Here we go again. Normally I wouldn’t mind if my daughter, my toddler, my sweet little Ella woke up, and needed mama’s comfort every once in a while. We’re not talking about every once in a while here. Oh no, no, no. I’m talking Every.Single.Night, multiple times, since June! JUNE!! Who? What? When? Where? And why, God? Please God, WHY!!!?? So again I ask, why must we do the late night meet and greets? The best part here, said in pure sarcasm, is that she acts like I’m some asshole standing outside her door, just waiting, and begging for the opportunity to wake her. What? No. I go in to quiet her down and not even 3 minutes later, she is crying and demanding me to put her back to bed. So really, what are we doing here, child? I gently lay her back down, give her a kiss goodnight. I pull the covers up, lean in real close, and whisper in the softest, most loving tone I could muster up—‘go the eff to sleep. Okayloveyougoodnight!’

All the nighttime crises are averted. I am finally able to sprawl out in my queen sized bed, and enjoy seven hours of uninterrupted sleep—HA, just kidding. The baby was up 30 minutes after his sister went back down. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Oh, and if anyone needs a Christmas gift idea for my family, I promise this book would be read, and loved on a nightly basis. Thanks in advance 😉

       Award-Winning Best Seller

Adventures of Halloween.

Ahhh, Halloween, a time when scary and skimpy outfit choices worn year round, are deemed (somewhat) acceptable. In my quest to find my daughters costume, searching aisle after aisle, I began to see just how much most have seemed to change over time–and not necessarily for the good. I know, I know “change is good” blah, bah, blah; I’m not talking small variations of a color, wearing a crown instead of a tiara, or something innocent and simple. We’re talking actual missing pieces of fabric altogether here.  For example, I came face to face with a “batgirl” costume which consisted of a bejeweled corset top, complete with matching underwear (mistakenly referred to as shorts according to the package), and the kind enough suggestion to accessorize with knee high boots and fish nets. Ugh, what? I had to look around and ask my husband, ‘when did we wander into Lover’s Lane?’ This was in the young teen girls aisle, people. Am I just old-fashioned? Yeah, that has to be it. What happened to the wholesome costumes at a young age being the popular choice? My childhood go-to was the standard witch: complete with pointy hat, black robe, green face, rubber hooked nose, and warts. Soo cute, right? I know! I totally get that super heroes are the in thing, but last I knew, super heroes donned masks, and capes, and actual clothing. To each their own, however, just remember you’re going door to door asking for candy, not tips. Yikes.

Alright…who spiked the ‘Brew-ha-ha’ punch because you’re awesome!

There is so much more to Halloween than the costumes, the “costumes”, haunted houses, and candy. Some of my personal favorite things was helping my family with decorating the house, and pumpkin carving.

In my youth, my family would go all out when it came to decorating the front porch. My childhood home was the perfect insta-scary house, complete with a crooked porch, creaky stairs, and real spiders staking their claim by wrapping the exterior with their webs. Boom–decorations done. My mom was in charge of the candy, handing out some of the best around; none of that candy corn crap or those bit-o-honey thingeys. Oh…you like those? Sorry to hear that. Good ol’ dad was the man behind the black, garbage bag, make-shift, curtain thingamajig; he took this job very seriously. In fact, he jumped from behind the curtain one time with such enthusiasm, he nearly ruined Halloween. Okay, not really ruined. But it was pretty ridiculous. In short, some pavement was almost eaten, innocent decorations fell prey to the flailing arms, and mom was somewhere attempting to restore order back to the chaos, while managing to let a few choice words out. Nothing short of a classic Fischer family holiday, and I loved every minute!

Now that Ella is getting older, holidays are becoming exciting again. I, for one, was most excited about carving a pumpkin this year. So, pumpkin is purchased, and since my creative capacity is level: stick figure, of course I had to buy the stencil kit. Is that considered cheating? So be it. I can’t have my daughter thinking her mom can’t even cut out triangle shaped eyes, and a half-moon, crooked tooth smile, correctly–and I’ll be damned if Mr. Melon Head takes me down a couple notches on the awesome mom meter. Just like any project attempted around here, it always appears so much easier in my head than in actual life. So here’s how pumpkin carving went in the Repiscak home:

The only time Ella was near the pumpkin.

Garbage bag and newspapers were laid out on the kitchen floor. “Why the floor?” says my darling husband. Well simply because the kitchen table is still fairly new, and judging just by the way you people eat around here–there’s no way gutting a pumpkin with sharp objects is happening anywhere near it. I prepare for the poor pumpkins lobotomy, expecting Ella to actually be interested in what I’m doing, she decides that cycling through, and wrestling me for the carving tools is way more fun. Well of course, I was distracted, and carved a too small hole at the top. Great. Now every scoop in an attempt to de-goop this damn thing means our hand gets stuck (cue the mumbled curse words.) I shake it off, ‘It could be worse’– and it was. Apparently in the chaos of Noel and I arguing about where the stencil should be placed, who is better at tracing, and who should be the carving master, Ella decided to try some pumpkin guts. Big mistake. One thing led to another and she ending up gagging to the point of puking up her dinner–which consisted of hotdogs–which ultimately ended up in my mouth. How? Why? Seriously? Okay, so this is SO not going as planned.

Noel’s “you cut the hole too small” face.

The whole puking thing changed the mood completely. Let’s just say everyone evacuated the kitchen at this point–smart choice family…smart choice. The night ended with me finishing this oh so family fun project; alone, sharing the floor with regurgitated hotdog, carving the final bit of the crooked stenciled picture. Phew! The pumpkin is done, and so what if it’s lopsided; it’s ours, and that’s what makes it unique—now pass me a candle for the final touch! ‘What do you mean we don’t have a candle for the pumpkin!? You NEED a freaking candle for the pumpkin!’ Ugh, amateurs. Just when I start to feel completely defeated, I spot the large sized, Yankee candle on the counter just begging to go inside this pumpkin masterpiece. It’s then I remember I cut the hole too small, and am left trying my hardest to essentially squeeze a watermelon into a kiwi sized hole–hmm, kinda like childbirth, except in the reverse.

The end result of a fun-filled carving fest.

So as you can see, this Halloween event was met with slight hiccups and literal gags, but at the end of it all, I actually did have fun, and I love our imperfect pumpkin. I have a feeling this is just the beginning of many fun-filled, Repiscak pack, holiday family traditions–minus the puke, of course.

Happy Halloween to you all!! And remember, don’t be this person….nobody likes a stingy, stick in the mud during holidays. Let them take a nice handful on that spooky night–why? Because you’ll make their candy stealing parents very happy, myself included 🙂

Mom Life–Meme Life

Have you ever come across a meme–which by the way, did you know it’s pronounced, ‘meem‘? Why isn’t it spelled like it sounds, is my question? Here I was calling it a “me me” for the longest time, looking stup–..oh nevermind–anyways, so have you read a meme on the internet and were totally convinced it was written for you and only you? Yeah, me too! I have LOL’ed at my share of them. So here’s a small glimpse into my life at the moment with the help of those clever memes.

Yes, this actually happened.

It’s 5am, one kid is screaming, the other is crying. I stumble into the living room carrying both unhappy children and see my husband all dressed, ready for work. Faced with the choice of shooting a dirty look in his direction heavily armed with irritation and envy–mostly envy because he gets to leave– or start crying, because–well, he gets to leave. Me being the morning person that I am (not), I choose the dirty look. Is it his fault? Nope. Did he do anything wrong? Not this time. But the sun’s not up yet, the kids have already filled up my annoyance meter for the day, and the coffee isn’t ready: I really had no choice here. I push my pride aside and give him an endearing glance as he sits in the car ready to back out of the driveway. Just when I think he is about to return the favor,– ‘What? What is he doi…oh NO he isn’t!—Yep. This funny mother-you-know-what is dancing in the drivers seat complete with a shit eating grin. Sigh. I ain’t even mad at you bro…you made it out.

“Don’t you want to play with this one!? LOOK! It talks, lights up, and more importantly, it was expensive.”

If you don’t have kids yet and/or are planning on it at some point, here’s a piece of advice free of charge: kids don’t actually like toys. Well mine don’t seem to anyway. Mind.Blown, right?! I, for one, was quite astonished when we would buy our daughter toy after toy, so excited and giddy about seeing her play with this top of the line, new and improved, high quality, eco-friendly, light up, high-powered action, too expensive toy—yeah, no. All you need is a cabinet full of Tupperware, a little junk mail here, and maybe a pipe cleaner there, and VOILA! You’re welcome.

“This is NOT the time to play light as a board, stiff as a feather, sit down!”

I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve said to my husband when we’re out in public, “somebody is gonna think we’re kidnapping her.” The high pitched, raptor scream is highly unnecessary. I have yet to lose this car seat battle but, with my child being the persistent (more like stubborn) person she is, she continues to play the ‘who can embarrass who more’ game, probably until she’s old enough to actually be the embarrassed one for a change.

If you’re gonna act a fool in public, don’t be surprised when mommy acts one in private.

Am I right?? Oh my Lord I never fake smile more in my life then when I’m in public with my kids. It’s like they know mommy can’t do anything about this heinous fit being thrown in the produce department because the ‘GREEN APPLE IS BETTER THEN THE RED APPLE!! [AAAHHHHhhhhh]’–but only for today. Fear not fellow parents, buy that green apple, but just remember, that once your cart hits the outside open air—‘you’re on my turf now, kid’.

Oh, SpongeBob, you wise little sponge, you.

No further explanation needed here, people.

“Hurry! Five-second rule!”

This is the absolute truth right here. I was such a germaphobe with my first, always wiping off the doors, tables, chairs, silverware, anything within 5 feet of where she was. I had to have that over priced shopping cart cover, and basically held Ella’s hands down as to not touch any part of the cart because, Ew! Well, somewhere between the first and second child, I accepted that germs were unavoidable and actually beneficial for them to be exposed to– you know– immune system development and all that jazz. That hygiene hypothesis was able to relieve some of my disgust when the other day, Ella may or may not have eaten a hot tamale candy from the mall parking lot. Honestly, all I could say after she refused to spit it out was, “well you better not get any on the car seat, it’s new!”

“Occupied, move along!”

“Why would you ask me what I’m doing in here? I’m in the bathroom, doing very important bathroom things, duh!” Between you and me, I’ve been done for like 10 minutes now. I’m actually sitting on the side of the tub with the exhaust fan on, drowning out the sounds of whining children coming from the other side of the door, playing candy crush, and LOVING IT! What? The hubs is home, he’s got this. The beauty of being together for almost nine years and two children, is that I have no shame left. If he thinks I’m in there [for lack of a better term] “blowing it up”– good, let him think that. Maybe then they’ll stop knocking and shoving their hands underneath the door so mommy can take a time out.

I actually do remember the days pre-children. I mean, who could forget the glory days of sleeping in, staying out late, going to fancy restaurants, having money, only having to wipe your own ass, having glass figurines on display–okay you get the point. So while I do remember, and have the great memories of the past, my best days are now and still to come. They wont be perfect days; my son may hate the car seat for another 6 months, my daughter may continue to test my patience with the tantrums–I don’t know. All I know is that I do love this crazy, beautiful, messy, child-filled life of mine.

And just as a last note, does anyone know who I should talk to about this….? He just doesn’t take the hint.

Mommy Wars–Stop the Madness!

Let me tell you a little something about my day at the office. As far as a dress code, well, everyday is casual Friday; flannel robe, nursing bra, spit up stained tank top, and of course, yoga pants all pass as appropriate work day attire. I have 2 short bosses that are so damn cute, but so damn demanding. Feed me! Pick me up! Wipe my ass! Clean my peanut butter and apple sauce stained body before I roll on your new couch! “MICKEY MOUSE!”…”WRECK IT RALPH!”…”SOPHIAAAAAA!!!!” Whine, whine, temper tantrum, whine, rinse, and repeat. AHHHHHH, make it stop!!

[Hold please, while I pour a little Bailey’s in my 8th cup of cold coffee.]

There has been a topic that keeps popping up in my newsfeed this week, basically begging me to acknowledge it, so I’m just gonna go ahead and take that as a sign.

Mommy wars–please, just STOP already.

The who is better than who argument is so played out already, and I consider myself fairly new to the game–2.5 years of hard time under my belt {what, what!!} For those who don’t know, I’m a stay at home mom, and let me just say, it is NOT by choice. I would honestly rather be working outside of the home {keyword: outside because I’m still working inside of these four walls. Shocking, right!?} Choosing to leave my job was the best choice for MY particular situation; MY specific family. I kicked, and screamed, and fought with my husband tooth and nail, but ultimately, the decision was made.

Un-bunch those panties, people. I’m not here to bash anyone; working moms, stay at home moms, part-time working moms, or full-time school moms–what’s the common theme? We’re all MOMS. So why do we find the need to always have a ‘whose apron strings are longer’ debate? As a fellow mom, you should know and understand more than anyone, the work and commitment it takes to raise children in any situation. I don’t know about you, but I feel there are enough judges out there already; family members, friends, perfect strangers in the street. Feeling scrutinized by people who don’t have any kids doesn’t bother me so much, I don’t expect them to understand. What makes me cringe the most is when another mom, someone who knows firsthand how long days can be, how short the nights become. Someone who has been embarrassed by a public tantrum in the shampoo aisle of Target, dealt with a mouthy-know-it-all two year old. Someone you thought would empathize with you, but instead chooses to become judgey McJudgerson while shooting you the classic side-eye ‘my child doesn’t act like that’ look. Instantly, making you feel like the world’s worst mom, forcing you to ask yourself what you’re doing wrong: ‘Was it the GMO’s I kept shoveling on their plates?’ ‘Was it the screen time before 18 months that did them in? ‘Oh my God, it was the formula and vaccines, wasn’t it?

There are working moms who would rather poke their eyes with needles, than stay home all day with kids. There are SAHM’s who wish they could get away and work, helping to bring in extra income to the house, or just to you know, take a shit in peace even if it is the employee bathroom. There are working moms who wish so very bad they could quit their career jobs, and stay home. There are SAHM’s, who at the very thought of NOT being at home with the kids all day, is enough to send them into a panic. [I for one, am not one of them. Actually, do you know anyone that’s hiring? No, seriously, here’s my resume.]

I have good friends that work full-time and some that stay home full-time, we have an equal level of respect for what the other one does. And why wouldn’t we? We’re all ultimately taking different routes to get to the same end goal–raising well-mannered, productive members of society, who aren’t completely screwed up from our parenting decisions. Motherhood is an exclusive sisterhood. It’s bearing witness to the miracle of life. Being able to watch little beings grow from beautiful, tiny humans into beautiful adults. It’s hard, exhausting, rewarding, and amazing no matter if you’re a WM or a SAHM.

There are many misconceptions, and cut throat insults that women hurl at each other in this war of the mommies. But, since I’m sure you don’t want to read a novel at the moment, I’ll simply highlight the ones that I feel are the most damaging:

Working moms–please stop insulting women who stay home with the phrase, “I am able to show my kids what it means to have work ethic.” Sure, SAHM’s don’t physically leave for a job all week, but teaching work ethic is much more complex than that. SAHM’s are showing their children the meaning of work ethic by simply being there: day in and day out, exhausted, sick, frustrated, longing for adult conversation. Wanting to runaway and quit, but not; and then showing up to do it all again the very next day. Work ethic entails integrity, a sense of responsibility, discipline, and a teamwork mentality: all things not requiring an outside job and that a SAHM is just as capable of teaching.

Stay at home moms–please stop insulting women who work with the phrase, “well at least no one else is raising my kids for me.” I’m pretty sure these moms didn’t have children just so they could spend only a couple of hours with them a day. Staying at home is a luxury in this day and age, don’t be an asshole about it. It truly does take a village to raise kids, and if that village consists of daycares or a babysitter of any kind, so what. I’m not a WM but I can venture that no parent ever wants to just leave their child with other people five days a week, but they are doing what they have to do in order for their family unit to be successful. Working out of the home doesn’t make anyone less of a parent. Ever.

At the end of the day, every well meaning, loving, dedicated mother is working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 12 months a year–forever.

Motherhood is not a battle against other mothers. Motherhood is YOUR journey with YOUR children.

An Open Letter to My Mom.

I am your first born daughter; child number 3 out of 4. You changed my diapers, nursed me, rocked me in the wee hours of the night. Kissed my cuts and scrapes, and let me sleep in the middle whenever I was sick. You are my mom.

You were there putting in just as much work as I was with all my extra-curricular school activities. Tirelessly and effortlessly volunteering: working the concession stands every weekend, escorting me and my 25 screaming classmates on field trips (now that’s love!), and chauffeuring me from here to there without ever a question. I felt how much you loved me, and saw how much you sacrificed for me. You were my safe place to land. You are my mom.

You were there for my first day as a college student. Your car packed with all the necessary gidgets and gadgets to properly launch me into the great, big, unknown world; beginning the next chapter of my life. You helped me unpack and organize my new dorm room, doing your best to hold back the tears–as was I. You were all I knew for those first 17 years of life. Everything seemed less scary knowing you were always only 30 minutes away. I felt comfort. You are my mom.

–And then everything changed.

I was angry, resentful, hurt, and bitter. At first I didn’t understand what this all meant; now it was your car all packed up. The look of guilt and tears on your face -‘what was going on?’– I don’t remember the exact words you said, but my heart sank. In the midst of my parents finalizing their divorce, my mom was moving away. Every word you may have spoken shortly after that is a blur. I remember crying, chasing behind your car as you drove away. My best friend was leaving me. No more mother/daughter all day shopping trips. No more calling you to meet me for lunch. No more physical hugs and kisses. No more having you next to me, even if we were just sitting on the couch, in the car, or in the next room.  Everything changed. I changed.

That was back almost 8 years ago; we have come a very long way and have made momentous strides since then. I’ll never know what your mindset was back in 2007, I didn’t care to know. The inner pain and confusion you must have been feeling was obviously too much for you to deal with here, and you felt this was the best choice. Looking back now, so many years later, I realize there are far worse things that we could have dealt with. But, I didn’t think about that back then. To me, in that moment, you driving away was the worst possible thing that could and would ever happen. I honestly never thought I would be able to forgive you for leaving the way you did; it took a few years. Lord knows I’ve exhausted the question, ‘Why did you ever move away!?’ I’ve accepted that I’ll never truly have an answer, perhaps, because you yourself don’t have the right one to give. But that’s ok… it’s finally ok. 

“Mothers and daughters are closest, when daughters become mothers” –author unknown.

I found this quote during my angry and bitter stages. It didn’t mean much back then, especially because I wasn’t yet a mother at the time, but since having children of my own–it has taken on a deeper meaning. Despite all the bad days, the tears and anger, the ugly words spewed (always from me). All the years of fighting and hurt that plagued our relationship, our love prevailed. You are my mom. 

The moment I became a mother myself, my guard came crashing down, allowing understanding and acceptance to come rushing through. Remembering all that you have done for me throughout my whole life before this, all the sacrifices you made for the 4 of us kids. That was enough to bring me to tears; helping to wash away all the anger and bitterness I carried for so long. Do I wish you lived closer to me? Of course. Will I ever forget that turbulent time? Never. I don’t want to forget. It allowed us to grow; individually and together. It became a great lesson in forgiveness. Anger and bitterness grabs a hold of you, and if you’re not careful, can take over your life–It almost took over mine. Forgiveness will always see you through.

Here we are today. Our relationship filled with understanding, trust, laughter, and advice; it is better now more than ever before. We call each other to gab about nonsense things; things that only we may find interesting. Have a recipe question? I call you. If I need to vent, I can cry on your ‘shoulder’ without judgment. Whenever I’m having a ‘bad parenting day’, I ask you about when we were all little–‘how did you get through it?’–you tell me a story. The conversation always starts with us laughing, and ends with me feeling better. We all only get one mother, and I’m thankful that I got you– more importantly, that I still have you. 935 miles separates us these days, but one beautiful fact remains…you are my mom.

I love you.

Taking care of you.

A trip to the gym in well over a year. A stop at Dunkin’ for my iced coffee (duh!) A hop, skip, and a jump right into the pedicure chair. Eating out to lunch while the food is still hot. And lastly, a relaxing trip wandering the aisles of Target (skip the last part of the sentence hubby)…and spending money. What is all this, you ask? This is a morning filled with ME. Alone. No kids. And it was glorious.

This type of morning comes few and far between ’round here. I don’t have a lot of free time to just sit & breathe; take care of Kelly. As a stay at home mom to my two little angels (or devils, depending on the day), I am basically a servant to my kids from sun up to sun down. Even when they are sleeping, I’m busy finishing tasks around the house; washing up the last bit of dishes, cleaning up the few toys that were missed during clean up, making sure the bottles and diaper containers are filled for the next morning. Recently, I remember walking past the mirror in the bathroom and what I saw was a stranger. Not like a burglar or anything. But that stranger was me. What I saw was a birds-nest type ponytail from the day before, my favorite flannel robe, day old, spit up stained pajamas. Pretty much just a run-down looking version of myself. After I was done cringing and cursing at the mirror, I started to feel a little sad. What happened to me? I guess I haven’t really come face to face with all the physical and mental changes since having kids. I have been so busy taking care of them (as it should be), but as time goes on, I’m realizing that taking care of their mom is so important, and such a great gift to them. Even airlines know we need to take care of ourselves, you know, that whole “place the oxygen mask on yourself first, then your child” spiel. Before having kids, I always scoffed at that, thinking “geez, what a selfish A-hole that person would be!” Yeah. Sorry flight attendants, you were right. SOO right.

My hubby is used to me talking to myself at times, but it was that one time he swears I began answering myself, that we knew it was time to hire a babysitter. I needed to sail the high seas, travel the world, hop on the good foot and do the…ok, ok so that’s all an exaggeration. BUT, I did need some time to recharge my mommy batteries & the best way to do that, is to get out and do my own thing once in a while.  The sitter comes over once a week for about 4-5 hours, while I paint the town red. I kid you not, I squeal in delight when I get in my car and see the two empty car seats, and I may or may not yell out “FREE-DUMMMMMMMMM!!” while smearing warrior paint on my face Mel Gibson, ‘Braveheart‘ style. The simple act of exiting the car and going straight into the store is so magical, enough to bring a single tear to my eye.  I never would have thought I’d have been this excited for a car ride by myself. It’s the little things, right?

Well, as the old saying goes, all good things must come to an end. I took the longer route to get back home, milking every last minute of my jail break adventure, mentally preparing myself to snap back into my mom-role. To my delight, the wonderful sitter had BOTH kids napping (bless her heart), so I had just a few more minutes to savor. I sat on the couch as my daughter lay sprawled out on the living room floor (because the floor is always more comfortable than an actual bed). I closed my eyes and rested for a few. In the exact moment I was saying my silent goodbyes to my ‘Kelly day-o-fun”, my daughter woke up.  Her face lit up when she saw me on the couch; knowing I wasn’t there when she went to sleep. The look on her face was excitement and pure love just from seeing me sitting there. Me. Kelly. Her mama. Her everything.

In that moment, I instantly understood why this morning and future mornings to myself are special & so important. Whenever I start feeling burnt out, too wrapped up in my phone, or the TV, or house work I start taking for granted the little moments and joys with my kids. When my daughter woke up and ran to me, we hugged & kissed. I tickled her, making her laugh her cute little 2 yo laugh. I was happy and refreshed. Ready to give her my full attention. As parents, more importantly, mothers, we often forget that we’re important, too.  Forever putting ourselves and our needs at the bottom of the to-do list, and it’s only when we’re burnt out and crabby at the world that we realize a “me, myself, & I day” is in order. Stat!  This is only the second week of having these special mornings, but it’s something that I look forward to every week. I love taking care of me, so I can take even better care of my babies. My advice to myself & to you–Don’t let your own reflection become a stranger. Take care of you.