YOU AREN'T SPECIAL

It’s constant, isn’t it? Showering our kids with positivity and love. Letting them know what sets them apart, what makes them “special”. We tell them they can be and do whatever they want in life. That’s our job as parents: to build their confidence and help them succeed. But, where is the line between special and entitled? How do we teach our children to believe they have something that makes them unique while staying humble? Well, I tell mine they aren’t special.

Right now you’re probably thinking what I terrible mother I am that I would tell my kids they aren’t special! Maybe, or maybe I’m preparing them for life. I would be mortified if one day my child becomes an adult who says, “Do you know who I am?” or thought they were better than someone because of their appearance, finances, career choice, etc.

As a child, entitlement looks different than an adult. Sometimes they throw tantrums when they don’t get their way. Sometimes they compare themselves to other kids and feel they deserve better or more. Maybe they feel they don’t need to do chores or have any responsibilities. There are so many ways entitlement shows up in kids. My hope is to squash that before it gets out of hand and to do that, I make sure my kids know they aren’t special.

Let me clarify. My children are my world and there is nothing more special to me than each of them. I also believe each of them is uniquely special and I do remind them how much they have to offer as individuals. BUT, when I tell them how special they are to me, I remind them that they aren’t special outside of our home. They are just like everyone else and definitely no better and I say just that. I try to teach them not to expect, not to compare and not to be deterred by failure.

Failure. Growing up, it was my biggest fear. Did that make me entitled? Probably. I did expect things to always work out. When I was applying to colleges, I applied to one university because I believed I would get in. I was entitled but I was accepted which probably wasn’t helpful later when I moved to Boston to apply for Graduate School. In hindsight, I went to my interview expectant and overly confident. Guess what? I didn’t get in. My world crumbled because my only plan never had failure as an option. Every time I did experience a loss or didn’t get the result I expected, I felt defeated, unworthy and incapable. I want failure to drive my kids. I want them to learn from it so they are continuously pushing forward and wanting to work for more, even if it isn’t perfection. I want them to be better than me.

So what do I tell my kids? I remind them they are special to me, not the world. I tell them that they are no better than anyone else. I say to them that my hope is they will be imperfectly perfect. I encourage them to try even if they fail. When I mistake, I let them know I made a mistake and I own it. It’s good for them to see no one is perfect, not even me. While I give them periods of my undivided attention, I also let them know when I have other responsibilities and can’t focus solely on them. Eventually, they play together or individually. We talk about the hardships of others while focusing on kindness and empathy. I also remind them that while they don’t have everything they want, they have everything they need and for that, they are quite fortunate. I only hope this teaches them gratitude. I hope it’s all working, but I suppose I’ll find out sooner or later, hopefully before they’re grown.

What should you tell your kids? Well, I’m not qualified to tell you that and who knows if I’m doing it right. I just feel like we, as parents, don’t always discuss the hard things about raising kids. I’m hoping my transparency encourages more open discussions so we can empathize and learn from each other without judgement. I want to be a part of a village. A village with lots of cocktails, of course!

18 SUMMERS

Have you seen the reels telling parents to cherish these moments with your children because soon they’ll be grown? You only have 18 summers with them, you only have so many years to hold them, to watch them experience the new; so, explore together, embrace this magical period …

Well, I don’t know about you but there are some days I have no qualms about never having to relive some days. All the moments of childhood (and parenthood) are not fucking magical. I can tell you, it wasn’t magical when they were projectile vomiting all over me. It wasn’t magical the first time my son chose my husband over me or when my daughter talks to me like I’m a fucking idiot and it definitely wasn’t magical when my she deemed me the “meanest mom ever”. Funny, yes. Magical, no.

I was lucky enough to be able to carry both my babies. For 38 and 40 weeks, I carried each of my children. We were together every minute of every day. I ate for my baby, was up with my baby, quit drinking for my baby and basically, all the other things we sacrifice as parents, I started before I was even pregnant. Getting both of my babies out of my body was a glorious day. Not only because I was able to meet and hold them, but because they were finally out of my fucking body which, for 10 months, was not my own.

So, after 10 months of trying be sure I was doing everything right, now I have the pressure of embracing and cherishing each moment because “they grow up so fast”. That’s true. They do seem to grow up fast, but does that mean that I have to try to spend every available minute with them and on top of that, I’m supposed to embrace those moments? I’m not sure how to embrace the moments when they bicker with each other or talk back to me or are just behaving like the annoying little fuckers they can be. But I only have 18 summers! Does whoever started this whole thing realize how challenging summers can be with kids. Everyone is out of their routine, days are longer, and kids go to be later resulting in them being real joys the following day; yet, we have limited time to cherish our kids, according to them. Do we really think we aren’t going to see our kids after they turn 18? Are there not moments we can cherish once they move out? And truly, do you not think they’ll come stay with you during or after 18? They’ll always be your kids and there will always be moments to cherish and embrace after your 18 summers. I know I never turned down a family vacation after my 18th summer. I think when I was older, I appreciated the time with my family more and found more value in the moments.

I do really try to spend quality time with my kids, but I will tell you, those moments are not always cherished. For each moment to be “cherished”, there are times I would have to force it and then I don’t find it rewarding at all. And here’s the clencher- neither do they. I can assure you, neither of my kids is celebrating the moment when they are assholes, I lose my shit and end up crying alone in the closet with a box of cookies. I can also assure you, they won’t be loving the moment when they see we are out of cookies. Of course, we celebrate milestones and birthdays, but I don’t know that I joyfully experience those dates more than others. I love watching my kids grow up and experience new things. I don’t try to hold them back or keep them at a specific stage because “one day they’ll leave me”. They won’t be leaving me. They’ll be evolving into the adults we have worked so hard to raise and that part isn’t easy. Yes, we need to spend time with our kids but sometimes, we need to cherish time without them.

I feel like the pressure of embracing each moment with your child can be debilitating. The anxiety of missing something or focusing all our attention on our kids is dangerous and can quickly result in us neglecting ourselves and our needs. Sometimes, I need a few hours to find my zen. Other times, I need days without anyone to reset. I don’t know that this is the case for everyone but I find value in doing things without my children and feel this time makes me a better mom who exhibits more patience and ease. Not to mention, running errands, without kids, is quantifiably easier.

So, instead of agonizing over the summers that have passed or this summer, just enjoy the moments you do have. Spending quality moments with your kids rather than focusing on the quantity of moments. They won’t remember that you needed a break for yourself or didn’t play with them one afternoon. What they remember is when you show up for them. When you’re there before they knew they needed you. When you focus on being there for the times that are important to them. This summer try making a day or even moment memorable rather than absorbing the pressure of cherishing every single moment. Your kids will be your kids long after the 18th summer. This summer, I’ve cherished my kids, experienced joy when they get along and when I don’t, I drink my umbrella cocktail. Enjoy your last week(s) of summer!

I'M BACK BITCHES!

So, I know my departure probably seemed abrupt and I’m sorry about that. I do appreciate everyone who expressed disappointment and encouraged me to start writing again. Unfortunately, the blog break was due to some legal stuff I had to deal with but we are good to go again. I know the vagueness is annoying but I promise, it’s nothing fun or interesting; just something preventing me from posting for a period of time which sucked.

Anyway, now I’m back and I’d say better than ever but that would be a reach. My family and I survived the pandemic while my husband and I tried to maintain some semblance of sanity. I hit a bout of depression which doesn’t take into consideration that you still have to show up for your family, so that was a struggle, but I think I’m on the other side now. Since my last post, my kids have hit a different stage of asshol-ism and I truly realize that while I love them more and more every day, sometimes their likeability is lacking.

We have 2 kids. We had a 2nd child for our 1st, so they would always have each other. Sounds great in theory, right? Well, the reality is that lately they are grade A fuckers to each other and it’s me that has to serve as mediator and referee. My favorite is when they get super snitchy and have to tell me every minor infraction the other commits. It’s like they thrive on experiencing the other getting reprimanded or punished. Sadly for them, they are often met with a more dismissive response of “work it out”. Does this mean I’m being a lazy mom? Some may say “yes”, but I find it beneficial so I don’t have to listen to the argument or solve it. Also, it helps them communicate with each other; or so I tell myself. Most parents of multiple kids have said the same: that their kids either love or hate one another. While I appreciate the empathy shared by other parents, how do we get them to like each other? Or, do we?

My sister and I are extremely close and I want nothing more than that for my 2 fuckers. I want them to be besties and do this life-thing together, but when does that begin? Someone once said to me: “Ages 7-12 are the sweet spot”. I don’t remember who said this, but you are a fucking liar or have better kids than me, I guess. I’m pretty sure my daughter is already experiencing the fluctuations in hormones, which really has me excited for the pre-teen/teenage years, and my son, well, he seems to be happiest if he’s playing, watching or doing anything baseball. He’s 6 so we haven’t hit that “sweet spot” but I’m hoping boys are different. Don’t get me wrong, he still has his little smart-ass moments and periodic breakdowns when he is given an answer he doesn’t like. I suppose, looking back, my sister and I weren’t always each other’s favorite person, but I don’t remember when this changed. I’m just hoping, for my kids, this changes soon.

Oh, and by the way, to all of you stay at home parents, kudos to you! I mean really, especially in the summer, how do you do it day in and day out? I find crafts and create plans that I think will last all day but then, by lunch, we’ve done everything, the kids are “SOOOO BORED”, with constant bickering and I’m spent. I really can’t wait for camp just to give them some separation. Oh and sidenote, why is it whenever they are with someone else or sitters they always get along so well? Please, tell me all your secrets to your sanity! Is it hypnotism, therapy, drugs, a combination of all of it? Maybe just heavy drinking?

In any event, I’m excited to be back to writing and hope you’ll continue to enjoy the posts. And, let me know if there is a topic you’d like me write about. I love hearing all of your feedback and content ideas. I’ll keep enjoying my cocktails and embrace the days that my fuckers are kind to each other, and to me, for that matter. I hope you’ll do the same!

THE MOM WHO LOST HER NAME

When I was born, I was given the name: Ondrea Elana Steinbook. It was misspelled, misread and mispronounced, even butchered at times but, it was mine. I introduced myself as Ondrea and others referred to me the same.

Twenty nine years later my name changed. When I got married, I dropped my middle name, kept my maiden name and gained a new last name: Davis. Either way, my name was still Ondrea. Isn’t it still you ask? Well, not really. I decided to have kids and now I’m called Mom. Or Mommy or Mama.

It’s so sweet when we hear “Mommy” or “Daddy” for the first time, isn’t it? When they start making sounds, there is the anticipation of “will his/her first word be Mama or Dada?” and will I be there to hear it? We oooh and aaah over their tender, innocent sounds. Smile at every soft sweet noise and sneeze.

My how things have changed! Now I hear “MAAAAAA!!!! MAAAAAMMMMM from the other side of the house. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. And it can’t be once or even twice, it has to be at least a half dozen times, even after I answer. Sometimes, they’ll even walk towards me, looking at me, while screaming some variation of “Mom” until they’re so close they can touch me. I suppose I should be grateful that their legs aren’t broken as I so often wonder when they can’t seem to move from wherever they are to come to me but, it’s infuriating nonetheless.

So, now I have two little assholes screaming through the house, yelling what once was a sweet version of "Mommy” until I’m asked to do something for them. Now that isn’t the only reason they scream my “name”. Sometimes, it’s to get permission to do something or to snitch on each other or to fill the silence with constant chatter because God forbid we have any peaceful moments. Ahhh, the beauty of parenthood.

It doesn’t really stop there though does it? My husband refers to me as “Mom” now, too. Not typically when it’s just him and me (although that has happened), but when the kids are around. You know, “Go ask mom”, “Mom, can you <all the things> for <kid’s name>” or even “Hi mom”. “We” are attempting to correct this, but it’s definitely a work in progress. So, now I have three assholes who refer to me as Mom. I should mention, if you are offended that I refer to my kids (and husband) as assholes, you should stop reading all my shit now because some days I call some or all of them “fuckers” or “little fuckers”- whichever is appropriate at the time. I’m allowed to say this because I birthed the littles and I am attempting to raise all of them. Also, it’s all out of love.

Anyway, so now I don’t have my name at home. Then I go to their school or activities or wherever else and I have become “Tyler’s mom” or “Nolan’s mom”. I can’t begin to tell you how many kids’ names I know, yet, even though i have spoken to their parents or seen them a number of times, I still have no fucking clue what their names are and I’m sure they don’t know mine. After weeks and months, enough time passes to where it’s almost awkward to introduce yourself. After all, I probably already know what their kid likes to eat or where they struggle or what activities he/she participates in. I hope to overhear someone else say their name but why would they? They know that same parent as "Jimmy’s mom”, too.

I realized all of this recently. Realized that I am now “Mom” and I’ve started to settle into that identity. Please understand that this is not because I don’t want to be a mom. I love being a mom. I don’t necessarily love everything that goes along with it, but I wouldn’t change my decision to have kids. Within the last month, something came up in conversation with a couple friends at different times. One is a new mom and the other has toddler aged kids. Anyway, the conversations were about struggling as a mom and feeling overwhelmed. We’ve all be there, will be or just learn to live in that constant state of feeling inadequate and overwhelmed. We hope eventually we’ll overcome even when we can’t see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. While we are in the thick of it though, I think it’s important to know that some moments are not easy to treasure or appreciate and there are some days you’ll want to run away or drop those little fuckers off at the fire station. There are days we all mourn our pre-kid life. Right? Well, I have those days. Sometimes I miss my time and doing what I want, on my terms and according to my schedule. I mourn making spontaneous decisions with my expendable income while eating ethnic, spicy foods and drinking out of stemmed glassware. I miss and I mourn and it’s more intense when I feel I’ve lost all the “luxuries” while struggling to hold on to my identity. You know, the one I developed over the years before I became “Mom”.

One afternoon, when my husband was away for work, I sat in traffic on the way to pick my kids up from school, to get them home, to feed them, to bathe them, to put them to bed and I thought “Is this it? Is this my life? I wondered when I started to lose myself. Was it when I started hearing “Ondrea” less and less or when I started hearing “MAAAAAMMMM” more and more? More importantly, how do I get ME back. Where did I go and where do I want to be?

I want to be a mom, but I’d rather be Ondrea, who is also a mom. So, how do I do this? Well, I guess I’m trying to figure it out. I’m trying to remember what I loved doing before I had kids. Unfortunately, obscene day drinking with friends to then go shopping at full priced retailers is now something I really can’t do. Well, correction: It’s something I can’t do often. Either way, I need to find Ondrea again. I need to remember what I liked to do when I had downtime. What I enjoyed doing when I was alone. Where I liked to go or eat or see or listen to. I love my kids but if I don’t figure this out now, it’s going to be a shitty reality when my kids have their own lives and all I know how to do is take care of and do for them.

I may be the one talking about this, but I’d imagine we all feel it or have felt or will in the future. So, to start this process, I may introduce myself so I know your name and you know mine. This doesn’t mean that we have to exchange numbers or plan play dates. It means that while I’m trying to find my identity again, as Ondrea, I am also inviting you to experience your own identity, beyond your role as mom or dad. Maybe it helps us both remember that we are more than parents. On the other hand, if it becomes a day of obscene day drinking and retail therapy… well, I’m good with that too. I’ll call a Lyft and my oldest asshole can pick the little assholes up from school.

14 MONTHS OF SHIT

Well. First, I would like to say “thank you” to all of you who have asked when and encouraged me to start writing again. The last 14 months have been pretty difficult and hearing that you miss the blog and reading what I have to say, really means so much.

Now. Where the fuck have I been? To be honest, I don’t really know. I’ve been surviving and have truly felt like my world and mental state have been so negative that I would save everyone from my pity party. It started last Spring with some health concerns within my family. By health concerns, I mean a trip to the ER, endless doctor’s appointments and specialists and MRIs and CT Scans only for everyone to say “maybe it was just a virus”. Just a virus? We have reached our deductible in a matter of weeks for “maybe a virus?” And while the money spent is definitely impactful and a huge stressor, what about the time, energy and angst that comes with health concerns?!? On the upside, everyone seems to be in good health some many months later so, hopefully it’s over, but then again, the “diagnosis” included the word “maybe” which means it is always in the back of my mind.

We do that right? As moms? Even if it’s not concerning our children, we now have some kind of switch that makes us hyper-aware, concerned and maybe overly cautious of anything that could POSSIBLY have an impact on our family. I don’t think I’m the first to say this and doubt I’ll be the last, but it’s annoying. Really fucking annoying. And, it seems to me, that it’s really the moms that develop this ability to go crazy over something that hasn’t even happened yet and may never happen.

Anyway, the summer was pretty good other than my husband’s rigorous travel schedule had him out of town and often across the country ever other week. Oddly enough, the weeks he is gone, are still sometimes easier than the weeks he is home. This is not to say he isn’t helpful, because he really is, but it does tend to be easier with no one else to consider when it comes to dinner requests, opinions, mood, etc; however, please don’t misunderstand, it is still only you. You will be the one caretaker, meal maker, bath giver and everything else regardless of the day you’ve had or how you feel or how big of assholes your kids are being. So, when I say it’s “easier”, keep in mind, I’m comparing it to when he gets home and, since he’s been gone for a week, he’s now “fun dad” while I’m only the person who managed to keep them alive the last week. That said, I’m going to need everyone to give recognition to any single parent they may know because it’s not even close to easy. Also, a word of advice to the traveling spouse: we know it sucks sleeping on a hard hotel bed and living out of a suitcase, but you did get a week of only feeding and caring for yourself while watching all of the violent, criminal, R-rated or trash TV you wanted. Please keep that in mind before walking into your home to find your unshowered and disheveled spouse eating PB&J crust off your kids plate while going back for a box o’ wine refill, to complain about being remotely tired or missing eating a home cooked meal. This took a minute to learn in my house, but I think someone is catching on after a couple “discussions” when I was probably borderline psychotic.

Now, here is where it gets fun. In September, our dog ate a corn cob. I know this because after projectile vomiting all over our house for a couple days, the X-ray actually showed a corn cob that was lodged between her large and small intestines. Our sweet, Penny, had that removed on a Monday. On Tuesday, I felt like life was too boring planning kid’s birthday parties and preparing for my busy season at work that I thought we could really use a little more chaos in our life. So, the next day, I slipped on a bathroom floor and landed on my left knee cap breaking my patella in half. Wait. There’s more. If that wasn’t bad enough, that Thursday, I was reminded how uncoordinated I am when I lost lost my balance on crutches and landed on my right wrist, shattering it in multiple places. I think it’s safe to say that I had a bad week. Actually, a really shit week and I was in the worst pain of my life, all while trying to figure out how to take care of the responsibilities I had previously attempted to manage as an intact, able-bodied individual. I had surgery on both areas that Friday and then it was physical therapy and doctor’s appointments and so much more. Fortunately, I have amazing people surrounding me who were always offering to help, however they could and whenever I’d ask. Ask- HA! As moms, when do we ask? When do we reach out to someone and say we need help or an extra set of hands or anything that may remotely inconvenience someone else? We don’t, which is what makes us so superhuman but, also, so very stubborn. Nine months later, I’m still practicing asking for and accepting help.

Then, you all know the drill… Halloween and birthdays and anniversary and Thanksgiving and Christmas and and and and and AND… it never. fucking. stops. So, if you are like me, you finally hit a wall. Not literally, because I can’t take breaking another bone, but you do tap out. I was done. I wanted to run away and not for the day, but for days, maybe weeks, but how could that happen? I have all of these roles to fill. I have so much to do and that list, regardless of my mental state, has not lessened. Really, with all of the additional appointments and limited mobility, the list was longer. The longer the list, the less patience and sanity I possessed. I had now reached a point where I almost felt numb. Was I depressed? Well. Obviously. I was depressed, stressed, exhausted, frustrated and still in terrible pain which only added to my already shit mood. Oddly enough, this did not add to my work performance or my marital bliss.

All I wanted was to be left alone. I wanted to have pity parties and not need to smile or pretend. I wanted to be the bitch that I was (or innately am) without having to portray anything else. I fantasized about the days when I only had to worry about myself and if I didn’t want to see or speak to anyone, I didn’t have to. I also fantasized about saying exactly what I thought, out loud. All. The. Time. Some of you may think I already do this, but let me tell you: what you see, on a daily basis, is usually a controlled version of myself. Scary, I know. Let me also add that the miserable, wet winter we had, did not help anything or anyone around me. So I ask, why is it when my husband has a cold he can lock himself in a room for days but when I am about to lose my fucking mind in my broken body, I have to put my big girl panties on and deal with it? Let’s not get shit twisted. I didn’t necessarily deal with any of it well, but, I’m happy to report, that all those in my household are still alive, well and only a little worse off. Fuck. Maybe they are a lot worse off but only time and thousands of dollars in therapy will really be able to tell us that. Yep. There it is- one more thing to feel guilty about.

Anyway, now I’m here and trying to get back into some routine with a less cynical view of life. I’ve debated whether or not I wanted to write about all this. I don’t mean the circumstances, because everyone has shit, right? Mine is no worse than yours and yours is no worse than the next, but it’s the way we handle it and I’ll tell you, it was not my finest display. It’s not just the depression (which I have experienced in the past with postpartum), it’s the feeling that you’re stuck and it will never get better. It’s all of this while trying to juggle the expectations you (and society) put on yourself. Eventually, all of the Facebook and Instagram posts of what appear to be happy and perfect families make you want to poke your eyes out with toothpicks (or maybe that was just me).

Finally, I was able to catch my breath. I reminded myself that after you took that picture you posted, your kid probably talked back to you or smacked their sibling or had a tantrum. Hell, maybe you had a tantrum and your kids were smiling because they feared what would happen if they didn’t. Please note: I really do admire this quality. The fear. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. You know, when you look sideways at your kid and they can somehow, suddenly read your mind. It’s an art. Perhaps we’ll explore this in the future.

So, in conclusion, this was to say, I’m coming back. It’s a work in progress, but then again, so is life. “One day at a time” isn’t just for addicts. It’s for all of us and it’s a good reminder to take time to appreciate the amazing moments and also, to know that the sun goes down and the liquor store is still open on the really shit days too.

MOM ON VACATION = NEED FOR LIBATION

As we enter Spring, we all start to think about warm weather, sunny days, playing outside and the hopes that we will get away for a summer vacation. Ahhh... basking on the beach, oiled up in that cute little bikini, umbrella cocktail in hand while flipping through magazine pages to catch up on all the Hollywood gossip. Whelp, now I have a 4 1/2 year old and 1 1/2 year old so those days are a thing of the past, but a mom can dream, can't she? My current beach vacations aren't quite what they were. Now, I'm wearing a one piece that my kids can't pull down to expose a boob, typically covered in sand after spraying myself with baby Coppertone in SPF 50. There are no more umbrellas in my cocktails so my kids don't poke an eye out and they usually have to be in some sort of bottle, with a top, to prevent spillage. That said, they typically end up in the sand so my once cold, refreshing beverage now contains a little (or a lot of)...um... I guess we could say: texture.

All that is just what the actual beach day looks like, or a portion of it anyway. Let's start with the preparation. After you've decided where you are going, which is now centered around kid friendly activities and restaurants, comes the hunt for affordable, but nice, two or three bedroom condos, within driving distance. Please note, "driving distance" must be under 6 hours, otherwise we fly because I can't tolerate anything longer than that and to fly with a family of 4, no longer becomes affordable or convenient. So we've decided on the Gulf Coast, obviously. I search through endless condos and houses, depending on who we've duped into coming with us, until I find something that suits my high expectations and our bank account.

Step one is done. In the past, you would begin packing which may take an hour because you have already pre-planned every outfit in your head for weeks. All those cute, little sundresses, bikinis for days with coordinating cover-ups, a variety of wedges and sandals with all the appropriate accessories and of course, the adorable floppy beach hat that you purchased with your disposable income. Post kids, you still begin pre-planning, but it's not about you, your wardrobe or your accessories (what are those anyway?). Weeks before, I am thinking of every tent, beach chair, umbrella, stroller, beach buggy, puddle jumper, mat, towel, beach toy, sunscreen in varying SPF levels, medication and first aid need that will never be used since you have them. So why pack them? Well, silly, because if you don't, you'll inevitably be cruising around at midnight to find an open drugstore. After you get all these things together, you'll pack your kids with multiple outfits, shoes, swimsuits, hats, diapers, wipes, extra wipes, toys and books for the condo, condo snacks that you have purchased in bulk from Costco, a separate bag with car activities and snacks for each child because God forbid they share. Why I pack this shit, I don't know because we will unavoidably be playing "I Spy" ten minutes into the car ride, followed by "Are we there yet?" for the next 5 hours. Anyway, you pack yourself last and are so exhausted you end up just throwing random flip flops and maxi dresses out of your closet and kind of close to a suitcase. Hmmm... surely I could be more effective than this. And, noted: bring suitcase into closet. Now keep in mind, that while you're packing a third person, your husband is just now beginning to pack himself so he is neatly laying out all of his undershirts, shirts, bathing suits, socks, etc. on the bed to ensure he has everything. This will become irritating when you are 3 hours into the drive and question whether or not you remembered underwear. Am I overselling this? I feel like I am.

Finally, you survive your husband questioning why you made him play tetris to get everything in the car while insisting you won't need a fraction of it and then begin the car ride there. Between us, he isn't entirely wrong about all the shit we have, but I'm not trying to risk being stuck on the beach or in a condo alone, with 2 kids, while he is trying to hunt down a large umbrella that will take him hours to find and cost 5 times as much as it would have back home. Yay, we're here! Now, I unload the kids, go to our condo to inspect it and decide if the pictures actually look the real thing. Regardless, there's little I can do anyway so this is home for the next week. My husband makes multiple trips to and from the car while profusely sweating and cussing me as he unloads every last minute and random "just in case" item I threw in the car when he wasn't looking. We kind of unpack and head to the grocery store where I am reminded why I never shop with my husband and avoid shopping with my kids at all costs. We get back and hopefully have time to change to go to the pool which is now shaded to ensure my pale, winter skin stays that way for another day. That said, the beautiful even tan that you once experienced, will now be blotchy and uneven with random red spots where sand prevented the sunscreen from protecting. Don't worry though, your kids porcelain skin will remain because you insist on reapplying their sunscreen every 20 minutes. 

The days are filled with play, laughter and excitement but also, tears, arguments and toddler pity parties. You or your husband will go up and down the beach and to and from the condo a dozen times a day to get snacks, lunch, a forgotten toy and whatever else anyone needs. You'll do the same things you would do over the course of a weekend, but outside of your comfort zone. At least you have the beach and pool as entertainment. Evenings that you used to get dressed up for to dine at a table for two, has now become a quick shower, towel dried hair and an outfit with flip flops that scream comfort. You'll be to a restaurant at 5:30pm thinking that you'll miss the crowds only to be reminded that every other family has done the same. You'll wait as your kids loose their shit because crayons and coloring pages are no longer entertaining them or satisfying their increasing hunger, and consequently, asshole behavior. Maybe you'll exchange looks with other parents experiencing the same while you sip your cocktail trying to drown out the sounds of chaos that surround you. Once seated, you'll order immediately, eat quickly and leave, vowing that you'll be eating in the rest of the vacation. After a couple nights of that, you'll be back out because you can't take the dinner meal prep or confines of the condo another night, only to repeat the dinner process again. This time though, you'll get there at 5pm only to realize, every other family has thought the same thing after their first night out. 

The week comes to an end and your sad to leave the sand and sun, but also ready to go home. Your husband will "accidentally" leave various items at the condo so he doesn't have to pack them back into the car and you drive home praying your kids will sleep the majority of the time. As a mom, I always seem to come home from vacation more exhausted than I started. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy leaving town, but I need a solo getaway following any family trip. Sadly, I don't have that kind of time off or disposable income so, I drink heavily and go back to reality. Happy Vacationing!

MOM OF EVERYTHING?

It's probably been a couple weeks now since Tyler, my 4 year old, and I were discussing what she would like to be when she grows up. She said, "I'm just going to stay a kid. I don't want to be an adult and work." <sigh> I hear ya baby girl! "Well, how are you going to make money to buy things?", I asked. After having to explain that the bank doesn't just hand out money and that debit cards are still a form of payment, she sat quietly, clearly deep in thought. "I'll be a mom, then" was her reply. "If you want to be a mom, that's great, but you don't get paid to be a mom."  Her eyebrows furrowed. "WHAT?! But moms do EVERYTHING!" Preach honey, fucking preach!!

I can't speak for every family but, in my family, I am the CEO. My husband will tell you the same. Every month, I post a color coded calendar on a dry erase board listing appointments, my husband's travel schedule, birthdays, events and everything else that I have scheduled or coordinated for the month. I do the majority (and that's being generous) of the laundry, grocery shopping, meal planning, scheduling, doctor's appointments, cooking, schlepping, clothes shopping, finances, gift ideas and purchases. I am typically the one driving to and from daycare and still work outside the home. So yeah, more often that not, it feels like I do everything. Now, admittedly, some of this is because of my husband's travel schedule, but some of it isn't. I mean, moms don't really get sick days, do we? My husband... well... you know where I'm going with this.

As moms, we get it done when we have a million things to do, when we are exhausted, have deadlines, are sick... and the list goes on and on. How we do it sometimes, I truly don't know. And that's just our day to day. Then there are the bigger things like how to discipline and teach our kids what rules to follow, how to be safe, who should never touch them, what to do if a stranger approaches them and countless other real life circumstances that you hope they never encounter.

I can do many things, but I can't do absolutely everything. I can't always protect them from mean words or loss or bad days. I'm unsure of what will come when they are old enough to experience social media, where everyone has a forum and they're braver behind a screen. Even that though, I'll figure it out and I'll teach my children not to be assholes, but how to stand up for themselves and others. I can't always protect their feelings, but I can help them be confident and bold. I can teach them about bullies and how not to be one.

So... well, while I can do many things, I can't do everything and sadly, we are reminded of this all too often. I can't ensure that when they are old enough to drive, a drunk driver won't hit them. I can't protect them from natural disasters. I can't guarantee they'll never receive a life threatening diagnosis. Obviously, there are so many things that are out of our control as parents, but we still carry around the anxiety of "what if?".

The "what if" is always terrifying, even debilitating for some. So, in a couple years when the school bus takes my first to school, am I going to have to fear that she may not come home? I'm not going to get into gun control laws and all of the politics. I believe in the second amendment and I believe there are many things that need to change. Do I think all the answers lie in gun control? No, but fuck, it's something. Maybe the answer is in how we address mental illness. Perhaps ammo control would prove more productive, but I don't know. What I do know is we need to have conversations. While gun control may be a step forward, it doesn't seem to ensure my child's safety in a place they should be safe. That's what I want. When I entrust you with my child, I want every precaution to be taken to keep them safe. That's what I do when they are in my care and that's what I expect to happen after I kiss them goodbye and watch them drive off to a place that is meant to expand their minds and pave the way for their future.

According to several news publications, the U.S. has had 25 fatal school shootings since 1999. This is more than Australia, Canada, China, England, Finland, France, Germany, Mexico, Norway and Switzerland, combined. That's disturbing. I don't know the answer to this, but what I do know is, as a country, for the safety of our children and those committed to developing them, we need to work together. This isn't the problem of one socioeconomic class, race, gender, religion or sexual orientation. This is an issue that affects us all. We need to come together, not create a larger divide. We need to humble ourselves and see what works elsewhere. We need to learn and implement the knowledge we gain, so that sooner than later, I won't fear my child's first day of school and everyday after when my they get on that bus. As parents, we have enough anxiety, enough worry... this shouldn't to be one of them.

So, my sweet babies, from this day forward, I forever hope that you, I or anyone else will never know the pain that so many families have suffered. I wish for the day I can send you outside and tell you to come home when the street lights come on. While I will always try, I can't do everything. Moms can't. Dads can't. You can't. No one can, but perhaps we can all be a part of the solution. My heart goes out to all of those who have experienced the pain and/or loss from a school shooting. It should have never happened and it should never happen again.

MY FAVORITE 4 LETTER WORDS

Fuck, shit, damn, hell... these are only a few of my favorites. Anyone that has spent time with me, knows that I have a potty mouth. I don't know what it is, but I feel like "shoot" and "darn" don't properly convey my feelings. I also combine words if the situation warrants it and use them in different tenses. It's not that I say these words with intent to disrespect anyone, but I can't say that I really hold back too much. 

One would think I'd have reigned it in since having children, especially now that they speak, but I don't know that I really have. I do try my best to watch what I say around other people's children; however, I can't say I always do that well either. Did you know they are all in the dictionary? Look it up. I feel like that almost makes it somewhat acceptable for me to use them in daily conversations.

Here's the thing, I have cussed liked a sailor for almost more years than not. My kids? Well, they are just now building their vocabulary. I feel like it's easier to teach them not to say certain things than retrain myself. When I say any of my favorite words, I do remind my kids that they are adult words and I don't have a problem with them knowing there are things they aren't allowed to say. Adults can do things that kids can't, right? I can use a sharp knife, they can't. I can drink alcohol, they can't. So why is language different? I don't condone calling people names, whether profane or not. Believe it or not, I do have some boundaries. On the other hand, I do fully support expressing yourself.

Perhaps my colorful language is a teaching opportunity? Well, that's what it became recently. Let me tell you about one of my finer parenting moments: 

It was the day of the National Championship game. Schools were cancelled because of a potential "ice storm", but every parent knew it was because of the traffic that we would all encounter due to the game and the President's visit. So, on Sunday night, when news of the cancellation came out, I was already ill. I woke up that fine Monday, still having the same responsibilities that I would normally have, except now I had 2 kids to tote along. Fortunately, I didn't have to work at the office so that was a plus. I did have to take both kids to the doctor because Tyler broke out in an eczema rash, which I didn't even know was a "thing", but I digress. With the temps being frigid and the kids' coats being so puffy, I don't really like strapping them in with coats on, not to mention, I don't want them to overheat when I am trying to defrost. That means that every time we get in and out of the car it's putting coats on and taking them off which, as you can imagine just increases the amount of time it takes to do anything. Ok. Doctor done and now I need to go by work to pick up my paycheck because the bills don't give a shit that I don't have direct deposit. Fine. Go by the office, coats on, out of the car, get check, load kids back in, take off coats, buckle up and head back north to the bank. At this point it was probably about 11:30am, but it felt like it could've been 6pm with all the effort the day had already required of me. Get to the bank and it's closed. Fucking closed. Whelp, that did it. I sat in the parking lot and saw black. Then it happened and it did so out loud as I banged on my steering wheel.

"Mother fucker! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! Everyone is going to fucking close because of a fucking ice storm but now there is not one drop of fucking precipitation. Every fucking asshole still wants their fucking money, but I can't deposit my fucking check because now the mother fucking bank is fucking closed! Shit, shit, shit! Now I'm really fucking pissed! Pissed! What the fuck?!? This is fucking shit. Dammit, fuck, fuck!!"

Then the fog lifted and I realized that my kids are still sitting in the back seat. I took a breath and slowly turned to see my daughter, quietly looking at me. Well, fuck. Now what am I going to say? God knows I just finished saying plenty. My response went something like this:

Me: "Tyler. Mommy just said a whole lot of really bad words. Please don't say any of the words             that I just said. I was very angry and I shouldn't have said all of that but please know, I'm not         angry at you. Ok?"                                                                                                                          Tyler: "Ok." *pause* "Mom, what does pissed mean?"                                                                           Me: "It means really, really angry."

She seemed satisfied with the conversation and we went on to talk about lunch, which as I'm sure you can appreciate, I let her pick whatever she wanted. She decided on a Happy Meal. On our way there I hear: "I hope chicken and fries is open because if not, then I'm pissed, Nolan is pissed and we're all just PISSED! But mom, I'm not pissed at you". Well fuck. I suppose she used it appropriately and I like that she clarified her frustration wasn't towards me; however, now I've gotta shut this shit down. "Tyler, pissed is really not a nice word. I shouldn't have said it. Let's just say angry, ok?" She agreed and for the rest of the day she used "angry". Phew. 

I heard about a kid saying "fuck" in Tyler's class at school one day. I completely thought it was her, but she assured me she didn't say it and I believed her. It wasn't her and the parent of the kids who did say it, had the same reaction I would've had which was "did he use it correctly?". I appreciated that and I instantly liked that parent a little more. 

I'm not justifying my colorful language. In fact, it is something that my husband and I are trying to work on, if for no other reason than to not hear Tyler reminding us that we are using bad words. What I am saying, is we teach our kids that there are things that adults can do that kids can't. Why is language different? If someone asks me about my day and it was shitty, that's what I'm going to say because that's what it was. And let me be clear, it's not only cuss words that I tell my kids they can't say. I don't like the word "hate", they can't say "shut up" or talk about "butts" or call each other any random silly name they make up. One day they'll be allowed to say "shit" and "fuck" or whatever else helps them convey their feelings but that's a long way away. Truthfully, I'll be more appreciative of them using that profanity than "hate" which I actually feel more bothered by. 

I know that not everyone shares my sentiment and I get it. You don't want your kids hearing my favorite words and I respect your feelings. That said, concealing those words from them doesn't mean they don't hear them at all. Just let them know not to use them. By the way, I also plan to talk to my kids about drinking, smoking, drugs, sex and other shit that they should know about but not do. I kind of think this whole language thing sets the precedent of having open dialogue without endorsing kids to participate in illegal, unhealthy or more mature activities. 

As a society, instead of responding with wide eyes to parents having honest, blunt conversations with their children, maybe we should embrace it. You know, let our kids know what is out there and what we expect of them rather than pretend it doesn't happen. Maybe I say "fuck" in front of my kids more than I should, but I can assure you, they won't say it. They'll also know how babies are made when the time comes, which sadly, is far younger than it was when we were kids. I support talking to our kids more openly and setting expectations, but I also don't think that me raising my kids means that I need to change who I am. And who I am is a potty mouthed, very frank, direct woman who has taught her kids that if it's clear and in a glass with ice, it ain't water, so don't drink it. So, fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Say it. I mean maybe not all the time or in front of your kids, but try it. On those rough ones, it may make your day just a little bit better. 

HO HO HOLY FUCK

The other day I was trying to think back when the holidays were just "fun". When there wasn't the stress or the irritation or the rush for it to all be over. When I wasn't completely exhausted before they even happened! Definitely pre-kids or maybe as far back as when I was a kid because as an adult, and especially a mom, it's work. Just one more job to add to the list. One more meal or side dish to think of and schedules to coordinate and... well, damn. What was once easy and jolly now makes me question why we don't just leave town for the month of December or possibly become Jehovah's Witnesses.

It all starts in October. Christmas decor is on sale before Halloween is over and offers little recognition of Thanksgiving, which is in close competition with Independence Day, as my favorite holiday. For a while, Thanksgiving was a lot of schlepping. Go to my husband's family and then to my mom's and then home. Even for this nice Jewish girl, eating two Thanksgiving meals was getting to be too much. Pre-kids, that was my biggest issue. Since kids, it's way more schlepping, planning, preparation with more car rides and by the time it's over, you are a little less thankful for the holiday and a little more thankful to be home. Now, we have it at my house so we cook, drink and eat and the kids can play. Anyone is welcome, but even with the meal prep, it's more relaxed and way easier on me, not to mention, I can stay in my pajamas all day if I want. I count that as a win. So, we'll keep Thankgiving on the calendar for next year. 

Next is Black Friday, which yes, I deem a holiday, or did anyway. We used to wake up super early, throw mini liquor bottles in my purse and shop, shop, shop. It started with my sister-in-law's and became an annual event which I quickly grew to love. The sales and deals and a kid-free shopping day with cocktail breaks and laughs, OH MY! Then stores started opening on Thanksgiving which I am adamantly opposed to and this year, most stores didn't open until 6am on Friday and I have to say, the sales- not stellar. Fortunately, I had the company of my mom, sister and several "vodka infused" flavored waters which always makes for a cheerier time. 

Here's the thing, once you have kids, shopping is a mission. You have to plan. What gifts am I buying and where can I get it at the best price so I can stay within a budget. I think the gift planning is really the bitch of it. As if planning dinners and activities and family outings isn't enough, now add gift lists and buying and wrapping to the mix. I love giving gifts, but it seems that it isn't so much about the thought anymore as it is finding the season's hottest toy or the value of the gift. My kids are young so that does make it easier for the time being but I know it's not going to last long enough. Last year, I did framed pictures of my kids and made infused vodka and chocolate bark. This year, that shit ain't happening. I don't have the energy or time. To all of you who make gifts and send holiday cards, I salute you. I love having them on my fridge and seeing how your kids have grown, but if you are interested in what mine look like, I'll post a picture of my daughter's solemn face and my son screaming while sitting on Santa's lap. It pretty much sums up 2017 for us. 

Now we're into Hanukkah and before we delve into the Festival of Lights, let's talk decor. I realize I live in the South; however, we have a pretty high Jewish population in my area. So, Target, I ask you, why does much of your store look like Christmas took over, yet all Hanukkah gets is some shitty endcap which is mostly consumed by Mench on the Bench boxes. Mench on the Bench, Elf on the Shelf- whatever you call it, I'm not having it! Mark my words. Anyway, that fucking endcap annoys me every year. Not to mention, I know I'm not the only home that celebrates both Christmas and Hanukkah. Someone is missing out on some major money making opportunities on creating some "Hanu-mas" decor.

Back to Hanukkah. Admittedly, I was concerned that my kids wouldn't be into it like they would be Christmas, but Tyler has been loving it! She is stoked to light the candles and has been great about opening one present at a time and appreciative even when it is a "need" rather than a "want". I'll take that as a parenting win! I didn't grow up with Christmas as a kid and always wished we could have the magic surrounding Santa, the tree decorating, the holiday lights and the thrill of Christmas morning. As an adult, I like that my kid gets one gift a night and I can watch her enjoy it before she can open anything else because last Christmas, as she tore into gifts and tossed them aside to open the next, I was a little disappointed. Did she like it? Was she excited about the gift she opened or just opening the next? Who knew. 

Next, we have Christmas on the agenda. Fortunately, I've bought and wrapped everything and if I haven't gotten something, I'm not going to. It is what it is. I don't know how it is in your house, but in mine, I come up with the gift lists, do all of the shopping and all of the wrapping for both of our families, so unless my husband suddenly decides to venture out with lottery winnings I'm not aware of, I hope I've gotten everything. As I type this, I realize what I want for Christmas: to be my fucking husband! Damn, he has it made for the holidays! Anyway, come Christmas day, I'll witness my kids unwrapping and tossing gifts to the side to open the next one and inevitably hear "how many days until Christmas" the next morning when they are full of disappointment that it's all over. Then, I'll preach how I'm not going to do it again knowing damn well that I will plan, buy, wrap and run around like a crazy person the next year and the year after that. Hopefully, one day, my kids will appreciate me as much as I appreciate what I had as a kid. In the meantime, I'll do it to experience the moment of excitement when my babies open that one gift that they begged for and it'll be worth all of the madness... or at least most of it. 

Oh, and I'll also find comfort in knowing on December 26th, I'll quickly get those sweet babies of mine dressed and drop them off at day care so I can come home, add Bailey's to my coffee and begin my day of leisure as I lay my happy ass on the couch while I watch movies full of profanity and violence. I won't do a fucking thing for anyone until after my husband, who I've sent out to get my munchkins from school, has returned home because, I, my friends, have the week off of work and I plan on doing nothing. And by nothing, obviously I mean nothing for the first day and then I'll clean out my closet, purge the kids' toys and catch up on everything else that I've neglected for the last 3-12 months. BUT, for the one day after Christmas, the most challenging task I plan to take on is deciding what cocktail to have next and where I'll be ordering delivery from. Please feel free to come over and join in on my new version of "holiday fun"! Until then, I wish each of you and your families a very Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas or just a Happy Holiday and only great things to come in 2018! 

HELL MONTH

We all have bad moments, bad days, bad weeks... sometimes by the time December comes, we are grateful that a bad year is over and we get a fresh start. I don't know why January 1st suddenly gives us a new beginning, but I suppose it's no different than starting a new diet on Monday. Anyway, once you have kids, those bad moments or days or weeks seem to have the ability to take bad to a whole new level that I can only refer to as hell. I suppose I should be grateful in a way that my children are preparing me for my future destination; however, lately, it's been a little more fiery in my world than I would like.

In addition to being a mom, I do work outside the home as a Catering Event Director. Essentially, it's being a mom, just in a different way. I plan menus, coordinate details, schedules, appointments, pull shit together when things seem completely fucked, all with a smile on my face so no one knows the madness behind the scenes. Well, September starts our busiest season only to prepare us for October, when we all go a little crazy. Fortunately for me, October is also a busy month at home too, which makes shit really fun. This October however, wasn't just a rough or bad month, it was fucking hell, hence my scarcity.

Aside from my husband's hectic travel schedule for the first half of the month, it started with my daughter needing a mole on her head looked at which turned into a biopsy which came back as atypical. For a child of her age, this means we have to go to a Pediatric Plastic Surgeon to have it removed under anesthesia. So we go for a consult, which I have to say was actually a highlight being that I have a thing for the super smart and an accent. Well, her doctor... he was beyond intelligent, handsome and had an Irish accent. At one point, I could suddenly relate to the blank stare my children give me as I listened to him speak in detail about the procedure, which I am quite familiar with, being that I have had the same done to me, but was more than happy to listen. I digress... Anyway, appointment on the books for later in the month knowing very well the timing sucked.

After a couple weeks, my husband returns and my work schedule is in full force. Multiple events every day and long weekends. Oh, and did I mention that my daughter was born on October 23rd and my husband and my anniversary is on the 24th? Considering we had full control of when we attempted each pregnancy, in hindsight, I view our oversight in the timing of it all, as a fail.

Let's go to the birthday thing. Planning a birthday in October for a kid is shit. Why I ask my husband's opinion, I'm not sure, because I was all for a Little Gym or Monkey Joe's thing, even though I hate those places, but he thought having something at home would be ideal. My mom has a big yard so we were going to go bounce house. HA! Forget a fucking bounce house in October because every fall festival has rented any inflatable worth a shit months earlier. So, now I'm 3 weeks out and with no plan. Hell, I haven't even sent out an invitation because I've been so busy planning all my clients' very involved events, I figured a 4 year old's "at home" birthday would be a breeze. Ok, no bounce house. Well fuck. I hyped this idea up to my very particular daughter and now I'm not going to hear the end of it. So, I search and I find an entertainer who will come and do face painting, balloon animals, games and then a little costume change to return as Skye from Paw Patrol, which was the chosen theme.  I thought my plan was perfect! We'd still have it at my mom's since she has a huge yard, the kids would be entertained, the adults could hang out over a couple adult beverages and everyone is happy.

You know how at one point, I had said that I wish someone had told me what mom life was really like? That it's not all rainbows and butterflies but more like an glitter bomb exploded inside your house and while you love some sparkle, you're still picking pieces off your face years later? Well, here it is: CHILDREN'S BIRTHDAY PARTIES ARE THE FUCKING WORST! The planning, the actual party, the aftermath... it's shit. My vision of this festive outdoor party ended up in the garage because of rain. Now everyone is crammed into a small space, which only makes everything louder. The poor entertainer smiled through gritted teeth trying to get the kids attention over the noise and chaos while my little OCD mini-me had multiple breakdowns because she couldn't dictate everything everyone did. After all, it was her party, as she stated multiple times, so she "gets to do what she wants". I had one cocktail that with the anxiety of the day, the change in plans and the lack of food, hit me like a mack truck and at one point I felt like a deer in headlights watching the whole thing spin out of control. I plan events for a living and it was going to be a 4 year old's birthday party that would defeat me!? In the end, I did hear the kids had a fun and seeing Tyler's face light up when she saw Skye walk in was priceless. Then she looked up at me and asked "how did she know?". That made everything else futile, but as it occurred, I didn't know how I could ever do it again. It's going to happen though, for the next too many years... I guess I'll be better prepared? Eh, probably not, but at least I know I'll survive.

Next is our anniversary and sadly, since the birth of my daughter, our annual celebration has kind of gone by the wayside. We still acknowledge it with cards and small tokens while I remind my husband how lucky he is, but really, by the end of October we are both so exhausted all we really want to do is send the kids off, order in and watch Dateline. I know, don't be too jealous of our exciting life.

Oh, and in case you weren't aware, the 4 year old checkup is terrible. Fortunately, I planned ahead and made sure my husband would be in attendance so Tyler didn't hold me solely responsible for her 4 vaccines and flu shot. It started off great. She was happy to get measured and thought her vision check was a good time. Then it happened. She laid on the table with me over her face and her dad over her body and, as she puts it: she got shot. The terror in her eyes was heart wrenching and for the first time, I cried with her during her shots. After it was over she called the nurse back in because "she had something to say to her" and angrily told her to "never give me a shot again!". She proceeded to inform every doctor and employee at the office the same thing as we left. Her dad asked her how many times Tupac got shot and survived in an effort to minimize her experience, but as she answered "9 times" (which is actually 5) she quickly followed it up with "but I'm never getting shot ever again". I wish that was the case sweet child but flu season comes once a year...

As if the annual checkup wasn't enough, a couple days later she had her surgery. She did great, but seeing your baby get put to sleep with the gas mask is unnerving. Sadly, I experienced this with my youngest last month and it's not any easier the older they get. I was hoping to experience the same sweet, post-anesthesia cuddles I got from my son, but it seems the meds hit Tyler differently. She wavered between being loopy, tired and frankly, just bitchy all day. Hard to complain though- she's most certainly my child and she had had a rough several days.

Fortunately, we were able to easily distract her with Halloween being the next day. It should be noted, that I'm not being sarcastic in saying that. It was nice to fall back on that when she noted the discomfort from her head. Back to Halloween- I have to take a moment to give my mom some much deserved credit. Every Halloween, not only did she get us home from school, dressed with make up and fed, she also dressed up herself. Then she had the foresight to buy my sister and me a small gift from the "Sugar Ghost". As the story goes, you eat whatever candy you want on Halloween, pick out 10 pieces to keep and leave the rest for the Sugar Ghost who takes it to kids who don't get to go trick-or-treating. In return, the ghost leaves a little gift behind. I did this last year and it was a hit. This year, by Halloween, I was spent so I guess it's fortunate one kid still has her "starter teeth" and the other one has no interest in candy. I am completely grateful for every teacher who went to work on November 1st. I commend you because I'm guessing that post sugar day was brutal. 

In the end, October was fucked. I ran around like a crazy person, constantly tried to remove the mascara from under my eyes which was actually not make up at all, but rather, evidence of my exhaustion, cried alone in the bathroom before emerging to face my children more than once and actually ate a meal that consisted of a protein shake and two packages of fruit snacks because that was what I had in the car. Oh, I also used more dry shampoo than one person should use in a lifetime; however, I'm completely convinced that the inventor of dry shampoo should have their own holiday. That said, November is a new month and I'm sure we'll have new "fun". Hopefully it'll go smoother, but at some point, I'm sure I'll find the candy stash I hid from the kids, eat it in lieu of a meal while I watch TV, with the wine bottle right next to my glass because God forbid I get up after the kids are in bed for a refill.

ME, MYSELF & I

Once upon a time, I was without kids. I did things I enjoyed doing, I made time for myself and I had a disposable income. I thought about me and what I wanted and I had time to do just that. Time: a commodity I often took for granted and haven't had much of lately. Now, my time is spent running errands, making sure I have groceries in the house and meals made and dance class paid for and oh shit, I forgot she tore her tights so I have to run to Target for the 3rd time today since she needs them tomorrow... and well, you get my point.  

Day in and day out, I'm busy. I'm busy from the moment I wake up until the time I lay my head down. I'm busy and I'm tired, just like every other mom I know, but what is worse than that, is I've started to realize that I'm loosing myself. My husband travels. A. Lot. I'm not saying that his travel schedule, of every other week for 5 days, is easy for him, but I damn sure know it's hard on me and I don't really have time to think, let alone, time for myself. I'm pretty sure this became obvious to my husband when he came home from one trip and the next day called me to tell me to take the night off to do whatever I wanted. Great! I was stoked. I'm going to do whatever I want!! And then, everything stopped. What do I want? I called my husband. "Um, what should I do?". He kind of laughed and said, "I don't know. Do something fun. Something you enjoy". Hmmmm.......

In that moment, I realized that I don't know what I like to do anymore or what it is that I enjoy. What happened to me? When did I start neglecting myself? I thought I was doing pretty fucking awesome considering I shower most every day and usually have myself together but, that's all on the outside. I've made everyone else a priority and in doing that, I've forgotten what makes me happy, only me. Once I became I mom, two things happened: I gained patience (yes, what I exhibit is an improvement over what it was, believe it or not) and selflessness. As moms, we do for our kids and our household and I guess I've been doing it for so long that I've forgotten how to "do" for me. It's kinda like the oxygen mask on the plane. They say to put yours on first and then your child's. If I'm not taking care of myself in my daily life then am I really doing right by my kids or those around me? The answer is "no". So, here I go. I will figure this shit out. 

Well, what am I going to do? I'm hungry. I'll eat. Where? And all of a sudden it hit me. I can choose whatever I want. Sushi. I want sushi. I arrived to the restaurant and walked by the hibachi grills, full of families and young children, and went straight to the Sushi Bar. I ordered a glass of wine and far too much food, but it was delicious. As I ate, I noticed that I don't really taste my food all that often. I am in such a hurry to do something productive or just get through dinner that I now wonder if I even enjoy half the shit I eat. Anyway, as I looked over to the hibachi grills, I saw myself. I saw a mom with her husband and 2 young kids. She was feeding one kid while speaking with the other. When she had one hand accessible, she drank her glass of wine in a few gulps and flagged the waiter down for another before he left the table. It was then I realized how I was still on my first glass and how odd that typically was for me. Usually I was that mom I saw. I wanted to hug her and invite her to sit next to me. It became clear how badly I needed this night for myself. I was grateful for my babies and my job and my husband, but I was also grateful to be alone and eating what I wanted, where I wanted and when I wanted. Ok, so I ate, now what?

A movie. I'm going to go see a movie. A non-animated movie that husband won't want to see- that's the movie I want. I bought a ticket and saw a cute movie with Reese Witherspoon. I paid for overpriced movie theatre candy and I didn't have to share! Pretty sure I could have purchased several Halloween size bags of candy for what I paid but fuck, I didn't want to make another stop and the convenience of it was worth every dollar. I walked into the empty movie theatre and changed rows several times. My husband likes to be towards the back, on the end, so that's where we sit.  I guess I hadn't been to a movie by myself in a while because I couldn't even remember where I like to sit. The middle. That is where I like to sit and it only took me a couple seat changes to figure it out. I watched the movie without getting up to take anyone to the bathroom or hear anyone's voices in my ear or requests for food or drink. It was amazing. At the end, i went to the restroom and looked in several stalls before committing to the one I'd use. My daughter does this. I'm often annoyed by the time it takes for her to survey every single stall before committing to the cleanest one. I'm annoyed, yet I'm now guilty of it too. I have to wonder if she got this from me or I got it from her. Either way, maybe I'll be more patient next time. 

I drove home with my windows down and music on. I was relaxed. I was happy. I felt ready to go back to being a mom and wife and house manager. Having that night to myself was just what I needed. Could I have called a friend to hang out? I'm sure I could have, but it was actually pretty great having an evening that allowed me to be a little selfish. Listen, I know not everyone enjoys eating by themselves or going to movies alone, but mom to mom, I'd recommend doing something by yourself. This is for the moms that still have it together and know what they enjoy and the moms that have forgotten. It's hard though. The guilt. I don't know why I feel guilty taking a night to myself, but it's there. Really, I should feel guilty if I don't do it, depriving my family of experiencing the refreshed, happier mom and wife. 

This is a work in progress - remembering and experiencing what I enjoy, but I'm committed. Not in the crazy, padded room way, but it's evident that if I don't start taking time for myself, then I will absolutely be "padded room committed" before long. So, my fellow moms, please try it. Take yourself out and if you don't want to go by yourself, invite someone with you, but try to do exactly what you want to do. You may realize you compromise on what you want, more than you thought. I'm a mom, but I don't want to be defined by that. I never wanted to be someone's daughter or someone's wife and now, I don't want to be someone's mom. I want to be Ondrea, who is also all those other things. In order to do that, I'm just going to have to dedicate the little time I can find to falling in love with myself, all over again. Damn, I sure do hope I like her. 

SORRY, NOT SORRY

How many times a day would you guess we apologize for our kids? I don't actually know the statistics on this, but I'd imagine most parents apologize fairly often. I have... many times. Even worse, I have heard stories of parents providing a plane full of people with a preemptive apology note and snack for their child's potential behavior. When did we start having to apologize for kids before something happens? Hell, if this is the case, then here it is: "I'm sorry for leaving home with my young children". Recently, I'm starting to reevaluate the need to say "sorry" AFTER they have had sub-par behavior, let alone, before.

I feel like I apologize all the time. I've apologized to those walking down the grocery store aisle when they witness my kid's outburst over me not buying a particular snack. I've said sorry when she's had a tantrum for who knows what reason and she turns into a pile of mush on the floor of whatever establishment we may be in. I've apologized for my kid interrupting and for her saying something that is rude or inappropriate even though she doesn't know better. I've apologized for my daughter's "relaxed pace" when someone is holding the door or for my son pulling my shirt down when holding him so the adult in front of me gets a full frontal view of my chest.

Looking back, I've said "sorry" an awful lot and I have to tell you, I'm done. I'm so tired of apologizing for my kid and, in a way, for me being a mom. Now, let me explain. If my toddler decides to have an outburst or melts on the floor, he or she is just that, a toddler. If you don't have kids or have perfect children (please tell me your secret) or have forgotten the early years, I'll enlighten you: Toddlers have meltdowns. For no reason. Wherever and whenever they want. It's frustrating and overwhelming for me as a parent and your glares don't help me fix anything. If I'm ignoring it, it's so it ends faster, but I can assure you, it's not because I can't hear or see. If they are in your path, I will move my child out of your way and need you to know I'm probably more annoyed than you. Now, if my kid's "display" holds you up, then I will apologize.

How about when we are having an adult conversation and my kid interrupts. Yes, I try to teach my children that interrupting is rude and they need to wait their turn but again, infants and toddlers really don't give a shit what you are doing when they want or need something. If there is a little person pulling at my shirt or saying "mommy" over and over again, chances are I am no longer focusing on what you're saying so please, don't make me ask you to "hold that thought" so I can quickly address my kid and remind her/him of manners. I know you hear it and I'm guessing you think they'll stop, but unlike tantrums, my kids are relentless when they need something, so ignoring the situation doesn't work. I promise, I will come back to our conversation, but I'm not going to apologize for being a mom and having young children anymore. I'm not going to apologize because when I decided to have kids, I made the decision to put their needs first and yes, that means before you, and more often, before me.

This one is fun. What about when my kid is an asshole, but doesn't mean to be? For example, we were at the store and my daughter, rather loudly, pointed out a woman and exclaimed, "MOM! LOOK HOW BIG SHE IS!" Please note, she was actually referring to one particular woman's height; however, the other women around didn't know that. If it helps, she told me I have a "big booty". She said this in comparison to her "little booty" and when she grows she'll have a "big booty" too. See what I mean? Innocent. Please don't expect me to apologize for your insecurities. I can assure you that my kid means nothing by it, but if she did, I would know and I'd absolutely address it and acknowledge it, immediately.

Children move at their own pace so if you decide to hold the door for us, please understand I can't make them move faster. They operate on their own, sweet, precious time. My baby will often offer you a nice view of my chest- all I can say is, "lucky you". If you ask to hold my infant and he pukes on you, you took on that risk. I'm not going to apologize anymore, but I will definitely move quickly to grab a towel to clean you up.

Now, here's something to know. If my kid is just being annoying, I'll put an end to it and I do expect fellow parents to do the same. I was in a bathroom with impressive acoustics and a mom was letting her kid bang on the metal paper towel holder while screaming nonsense. There was no attempt to quiet the child or distract the child and no, I don't want an apology. I wanted the mom to make some effort in controlling her kid so I could have 2 minutes of relative peace to pee. It is important to note that even in this situation, I didn't need her to say she was sorry for her kid, I needed her to shut it, the fuck, down!

Here's the deal, I won't take my crazy littles to a fine dining establishment and allow them to disrupt your dinner. So please, understand that when you choose to have date night in a kid friendly atmosphere, that, my friend, is on you when kids are being kids. As a former server, I will no longer apologize for the mess my kid makes. When you saw them at the table you knew what was in store for you. I will however, tip you extra to show my appreciation for your patience and the additional clean up that awaits you.

I'm not trying to make excuses for my the way my children behave, but I'm also not trying to apologize anymore for them being young kids and me being a mom. I do my absolute best to teach my children how to be good people with good manners who respect others and I will always enforce that. That said, please keep in mind that they are learning and, a lot of times, I am too. It's not easy being a mom and facing the embarrassment when your kid loses his or her mind in public. So, if you witness a situation like this, try to show the mom (or dad) some love or, at least, some empathy. Judgement won't help anything.

For the record, if I am expected to apologize for my kids and their asshole behavior all the time, I expect the many asshole adults I encounter to apologize for theirs, too. At least my children don't know better.

THE DIRTIEST JOB

Have you ever see the show Dirty Jobs? Host Mike Rowe accompanies various workers on their "dirty job", whether it be a meat processing factory or sanitation facility or a number of other workplaces. I seemed to have missed the episode where he works with a mom. I mean, isn't being a mom the dirtiest fucking job?

At first I thought, maybe it's the first kid or maybe it's that my kid is just gross, but after the second, I've decided it's not that child, it's all of them. Kids are disgusting and as a result, I have now lowered my standards on what I deem to be an acceptable level of cleanliness.

Looking back, it all kinda started with pregnancy. No one really talks about it and everyone has different experiences, but me? I sweat like a 500lb man. So bad in fact, that my husband woke me one night to ask if I wet the bed. Hell, one day I was walking and heard something only to turn around and realized that the sound came from me. I didn't even feel the gas! Thankfully, no one was behind me to witness the episode, but what the fuck?! Then, I was preeclampsic and was so swollen I looked as puffy as the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and even worse after all the fluids from the C-Section. Then, there is the disgusting-ness that happens after birth and the leaky boobs and hot flashes and... well, everything.

Ok, pregnancy is done and soon I'll be done with the "post birth" grossness... or so I thought. The "dirty job" had only just begun. I realized this with my kid's first black tar shit. Fortunately, i couldn't get out of bed so my husband had first diaper change duty (or doody). It resulted in his hands and arms covered in shit, screaming at me to buzz the nurse. Well, with enough of the pain meds my reaction time was a little slow. Eh, who am I kidding, I think I was just taking time to enjoy the moment. Anyway, that was only a little preview. Both my kids spit up and they both projectile vomited. Not just puke, but exorcist style, arching, hit the wall behind me, puke. It was fucking gross. The little fuckers would wait until I showered and blew dry my hair to puke in it and down my shirt. After a few weeks, with the combination of exhaustion and few clothing options, I began just wiping myself off with a wet cloth and went on my way. I adapted to the smell of vomit and quit caring. Fuck, at that point I was (and truthfully, still am) adamantly opposed to creating more laundry for myself anyway. I have been peed on, in the face, my kids have puked in my mouth (shockingly, there are multiple ways that has happened) and I have had to scrub shit from under my fingernails. So, there I was, or here I am, a dirty mom with disgusting children.

Where was Mike Rowe for all that? Where was he when my daughter shit the tub or when my son did, for that matter? Where was he when my kids' diapers weren't on well or weren't equipped to hold the shit my child produced and it covered my clothes, hands, arms and every nearby surface? Where was he when my kid's ass exploded and shit was all over him from his feet to his head and I was trying to get it down the bathtub drain?!? Or during the potty training process when I am trying to get underwear off my kid without getting poop everywhere? And those are just the bodily functions!

My kids use/used pacifiers. I don't have the time, energy or sometimes the option, to boil them or sanitize them every time they drop so, I stick them in my mouth and put them right back in theirs. Please note, I do not do this in bathrooms or other similar situations (or at least not yet). I justify it by saying it builds up their immune system. I suppose this has prepared me or helped me deal with watching my kids lick windows, their shoes or eat off public floors. You see? Gross. They're gross and now I'm gross.

Wait, there's more. What about when they're sick and you have to clean up toddler vomit or pull green, slimy boogers from their little noses so they can breathe? Um... a little confession... I am now so gross, that I do find the booger thing oddly satisfying (well, on my own kids anyway). What is not satisfying is watching my child with her finger up her nose and me not being able to immediately wash her hands before she touches everything! Then there are the times she wipes her snotty nose on her sleeve or my sleeve, or even my bare arm or leg when there are plenty of tissues accessible.  What worse, is I am well aware that I don't see a fraction of the disgusting acts that take place but hey, what I don't know won't hurt me, right?

It does hurt a little when I don't realize that I have some unknown substance on my clothing, in my hair or on my body and someone else points it out. There are times when a friend or co-worker will politely try to wipe it off my sleeve or even the back of my shoulder and I secretly fear what will come off. They likely assume they are about to wipe off something innocent like dirt or lint and in reality, I panic that they may be pulling a dried booger off my shirt or brush off crusty snot from shoulder. So, for future reference, I really appreciate you helping me look a little more put together but, maybe just point it out or grab a towel. I don't know that even I would feel safe trying to clean me off with my own bare hand.

So, I think it's safe to say that being a mom is the absolute dirtiest job; but, even with all of their grossness and the disgusting world I now live in, I'm still going to kiss on those snotty faces, hold their sticky hands and wipe their dirty butts. I can't help it, I love my babies and all the yuck the comes with them. Well, maybe I don't love the yuck but, it kinda comes with the territory at this stage so, I'll take it, knowing that I'll bathe them later and cuddle their fresh little faces. And it's those moments that make the dirty job worth it.

JUST WHEN YOU THINK YOU'RE DONE DATING...

After I got married, I would hear from friends and co-workers about their dating experiences and felt so grateful to be done with it. When I was dating, I did have some really fun times but I also had several really awful encounters. The whole experience of meeting someone and the number exchange and the "are they going to call or do I call" and the games that no one plays but really everyone does to an extent... ahh!! Yep, I was done. I had found my person and didn't have to worry about any of that, anymore. Yeah, I was wrong. I would be dating again soon enough, but this time, it would look a little different.

We all have our best childhood friend or friends. The ones we've known forever who you could call at the last minute and go to each other's mess of a house without having to make plans. You would hang out with them everyday if you could because it's easy. It doesn't require preparation or an effort to look your best. You don't have to make a platter of perfectly cut veggies with dip when all you really wanted was a stiff drink. Well, where are mine? They either live 1,000 miles away, or there are scheduling difficulties, or life has just gotten in the way. Maybe it's that our ideal distances to travel from home has become a diameter of 5 miles because after a full work day and picking up kids, no one wants to stray far. It's not a bad thing. It's just life. Then, when you do make plans so far in advance, by the time that day comes, you are so exhausted that you'd rather drink your bottle of wine in something stretchy and try to get your kids to bed early. Before kids, it was different. It wasn't a big deal if you stayed out a little late or had that additional drink because you could sleep in or crash after work. Now, knowing what you face on a day to day basis, it almost seems better to stay in than to even tempt yourself because "momming" hungover is the fucking worst!

Fast forward a few years and I had a baby. Now, my non-mom friends really didn't want to hang out with a newborn for a low key night in and if they did want to do something, they wanted to go out, like to a bar, with too many cocktails, far past my 10pm bedtime. And my local mom friends, well, it goes back to the scheduling and having to make plans or their kids being older than mine, which made it difficult.

So, there I was after baby #1, and I thought, "Now what"? Do I continue the agony of scheduling time with some old friends so that one of us cancels because something inevitably comes up? Do I hang out with my husband all the time because my kid-less friends don't really want to adapt to my new "mom schedule"? I mean, I love him, but I can't. I need girlfriends and I don't know about you, but as I've aged (gracefully, I like to think), meeting new people and building real friendships has been difficult. So, when I became a mother, I tried to think of it as a perfect opportunity to develop the relationships I was in search of. How hard could it be? Well, it was definitely harder than I expected.

All of a sudden, I was dating again and it was a process. First, I'd see a mom at school and make an attempt at a brief conversation. If that went well, then what? Ask her for her number? Out for a drink? A play date? How the fuck does this work? Well, exactly like that. "Hey, want to get the kids together for a play date?" seemed to be the easiest route. Then the number exchange happened with ease and there you have it. Or, I didn't have it. I can't begin to tell you how many "dates" I had. My child always seemed to enjoy her play date, but I had several that well, we just weren't a good fit. Then, how did I handle the next time I saw them at school and they asked for another date? Do I try to adjust my drop off or pick up times? Will I always be busy? Fuck, it was exhausting! I'd come home and my husband would mockingly ask how my date was and how many more I had in me. Good question.

After telling my husband about some fellow moms' not-so-favorable reactions to some of my comments, he had reminded me that I could sometimes be crass and offensive so, I thought, if I want to really make friends, I need to reign it in. I quickly became annoyed by having to restrain or rephrase what I really wanted to say in an attempt to be somewhat sensitive and diplomatic. After enough "bad dates" I couldn't help it, I had had enough and I was just me. 100% unapologetically me. Who was I kidding? Did I really want these new mom-friends if I they didn't really know or appreciate who I am? I quit caring what others thought about me years ago so why was I trying to revert back now. Being completely authentic allowed others to feel comfortable or enabled me to see who they really were. It was refreshing and amazing. Finally, I found them. The moms that I connected with. The ones that admitted to needing a break from their kids and were excited about grabbing cocktails. The ones who would openly discuss marriage, work and motherhood, knowing even with all the shit we may joke or bitch about, we love our husbands and kids more than anything. We will see each other at pick up, note the need for a cocktail in each other's eyes and schedule an impromptu play date at one of our unclean houses and create dinner for our kids from random freezer options, all so we are able to enjoy some time while our kids wear themselves out. It's easy, it's made me a happier person, a better mom and gives my kids something fun to do. 

I'm still completely open and would love to meet new moms I connect with, and I will have plenty of school events and birthday parties to do just that. I will also have more opportunities to be around you long enough to know if we "aren't a good fit". This makes it tough when my kid wants a play date which would involve a mom I can't bear the thought of spending 5 minutes with, let alone an hour or more. Do I take one for the team? I don't know about you, but I can't right now. With my little threenager and an infant, my patience is constantly at max capacity. Does that make me selfish? Maybe. Is my child deprived of anything? I don't think so. My time is valuable and my sanity is vital, so why would I spend it with a mom who I'm going to drink iced tea with while we discuss some bullshit on "what's normal at this age". Really, I can assure you, that mom wouldn't want to spend their time with me either. So, unless you got some vodka in that tea and want to talk about the funny shit your kid says or something adult like, let's just agree to let our kids enjoy playing with one another at school.

A little side note to one of my most favorite mom friends, who I know will read this and is moving in a couple weeks. Thank you for encouraging me to write this blog. Thank you for your friendship, your realness and your contagious laugh. Thank you for speaking freely and openly and being a part of my crazy life while sharing yours. I will miss you dearly, but please know, you will never be rid of me. I am so excited for all that awaits you and your family- your new city is lucky to have you.

MENTAL BREAKDOWN COMING SOON

Remember that scene in the Sex in the City movie where Charlotte is crying in her pantry while her kids are on the opposite side of the closed door? She's in that place where you think, "One more thing, just one more and I'm going to lose my mother fucking mind!" We've all been there, right? Or maybe currently are there? And, let's all remember that Charlotte had a nanny!  A full time nanny, as a stay at home mom!

My husband's travel schedule has had him out of town the better part of the last 3 weeks and I'm about at my limit. Now, my pantry isn't big enough for my emotional breakdowns, but I have had to shut myself in my closet or in the bathroom while I cried with my kids in the other room. My guess is, that as a mom, you have or will too. The days when it may not be so atypical than your standard day, but on that particular day, in that moment, it's just more than you can bear.

In my pre-kid years, I would have relished my husband's travel schedule. I'd cook a nice dinner that he wouldn't want to eat, drink wine out of those beautiful glasses we got for our wedding, read a magazine, binge watch some trash show and use all the hot water sitting in a bath until I prune. Now, him being away looks very different. Leave work, stop by the store on my way to pick the kids up, hear yelling from the back seat as what her snack options are for the 10 minute ride home that feels like an eternity. Finally, we get home, I make dinner while my now 9 month old crawls only to hang on my leg and scream until I finally pick him up while my daughter attempts to "help" me. I say "help" because as many of you know, a toddler serving as your sous chef is nothing short of painful. So painful, I'm convinced poking my eyeballs with sewing needles would be more enjoyable. Anyway, so we make dinner, I consume said dinner at a record pace while feeding Nolan in between bites, so Tyler can continue her slow motion eating while I try to get everything ready for the next day. Upstairs, bath, play a little, pick out clothes, book, bed. Then it's let the dogs out, play with them, laundry, pay bills and whatever else needs to be done. It's exhausting when everything goes as planned (and yes, that scenario is "as planned").

The "as planned" doesn't often happen though. Usually someone is crying, boycotting the meal they requested, making a mess, fighting me on taking a bath, throwing out excuses as to why she can't eat, or bathe, or clean something up or go to bed or... well, it's endless. And then, the mornings. What the fuck with the mornings lately!? Nolan must have the cleanest fucking colon at this point. No shit. Well, actually a lot of shit. Shit up his back, down his leg, in his hair, on the sheets. So I bathe him only for him to puke up his bottle because he's so congested resulting in bath number 2, all before 8am. In less than 36 hours this week, he had 3 baths. I'm then washing sheets (again) and have now thrown away 2 pairs of pajamas. All this while Tyler dry heaves anytime she comes close to the location of these incidents repeating over and over again that she's "gonna puke" and she "can't handle the poop".

When we finally get out of the house and make it to school, I feel relief as I drive to work only to sit in traffic, which really isn't so bad considering what I just dealt with. Anyway, it's a lot. Single moms- I salute you! I don't know how you do it. It's amazing I don't cry in closets or lock myself in bathrooms more often.

I don't say all this to imply I don't love my kids with every inch of my being, because I do. They are amazing little humans and while they challenge me, they also make me laugh and incredibly proud. The reason I say all this to acknowledge that it's hard. The routine of life with kids has been difficult for me. Then, to do it on my own lately, well, it feels pretty brutal sometimes.

Let me recognize, it's not just this stage. I'm convinced every stage has its struggles. When it was just Tyler, I had never been so exhausted and then just trying to figure out how to be a new mom, with the postpartum! Good. God. I had never felt more blindsided. Why didn't my mom friends say how overwhelming it was? Why didn't they tell me I may cry 30 times a day for no reason and want to smother my husband with his pillow when he slept through 2am feedings? Why didn't anyone mention that, at times, I would question my decision to become a mom and wonder if I could actually handle it? And more so, why didn't anyone say all this would happen and it was ok to feel this way? That it didn't mean I was an awful mom or that it didn't mean I didn't love my babies? Anyway, then it was another kid and everything that went along with two of them. Like I said, every stage, but you know what I need to hear when I'm having a difficult time? It's most certainly not the "relish each moment" bullshit. When it's hard, I need to hear that you've been there too. That I'll survive and I'm not going to ruin my kids forever. 

So, listen to me you mommy-to-be or new mom: There are days when you'll feel you just can't do it. Days when you wonder if you really did want to be a mom. Days when you'll mourn your pre-kid life or the ability to leave the house without packing everything your baby could possibly need. There will be times when you lock yourself in a closet and cry. These thoughts, these feelings, they don't make you an awful mom. It's normal. It makes you human, but what I will say, is you got this. You will eventually get to shower, one day you'll eat a hot meal and soon, you will get some sleep. As for me, in the stage I'm in, I keep trying to tell myself that I'll survive the tough times. I remind myself of the fun and quality time that I get to have alone with my kids. I keep in mind that even though I'm the only one hearing the tears and the sass, I'm also the only one home to get all the kisses and cuddles.

I don't know what the next stage brings, but I know it'll have its challenges. I also know that it'll have it's rewards. I'm sure I'll still be having crying sessions locked away from time to time, but after my pity party, I'll wipe my face and head back out to face the craziness. That's what we do, right? As moms? We face it and eventually learn to embrace the mayhem because if we don't, well, then I am certain we'd all be committed. Come to think of it, it would be quiet... nice, clean, padded walls to drown out any sound, all the sleep I could want with what I'm guessing would be a pretty awesome cocktail of drugs. Hmm.. definitely tempting some days, but I think I'll keep at this. It all goes back to not wanting to my husband to get all the credit during the "my kids are successful, contributing members of society" stage. My motivation may look very different from yours, but it's there, and it's enough for me to eventually emerge from the locked closet or bathroom and get all those cuddles and kisses that make it worth it.

KEEPING THEM ALIVE

Not long ago, I was chatting with friends and one shamefully admitted that she mistook a bout of hand, food and mouth for teething pain. She felt horrible that her baby was sick and she didn't even realize it. We each responded with stories of our "mom fails" and, I'm pretty sure, hers didn't even make the top 5. We are so hard on ourselves as parents. What's worse is so many of us are critical of each other.

Do you know of Baby Jessica? In the latter part of the 80's, this 18 month old little girl, fell into a well in Texas. A fucking well! The entire community and everyone with any access to the news, came together in support of her family. The nation prayed and waited for her to emerge safely, which she did. Had to have a toe amputated, but she was alive and is now a mom herself.

Now fast forward to 2016. A 3 year old boy fell into a gorilla exhibit at the Cincinnati Zoo. Did the nation come together to support this mother? No. She was crucified. Now, I'm an animal lover and should say that yes, the gorilla was shot in order to save the boy and that's terrible; but, does that justify death threats? All the hate and mean words directed at this boy's mother? I don't think so. She had several other kids with her. Sure, it would be nice to have a nanny for each kid or a 1:1 adult to kid ratio but, that's not real life.

What the fuck happened to us as parents, or even just people? When did we all become so critical, so self-righteous and so fucking judgemental? Why did the family of Baby Jessica get the support of the nation but gorilla mom was brutally harassed? All it takes is 2 seconds for something to happen to your child. Has this never happened to you as a parent? If not, then you don't know the terror or guilt a mom (or dad, I'm sure) experiences when she thinks she could be responsible for her precious child being injured, or worse. She doesn't need your hateful words or your judgement. I can assure you, she feels bad enough.

It's hard keeping these kids alive or even just safe. When Tyler was 10 days old we were in the ER because she was lethargic and not quite right. Apparently, I wasn't producing nearly enough breast milk and consequently, she wasn't getting the proper nutrition. I felt horrible. I had been assured that she was eating and my milk "just came in". It didn't and I felt like an inadequate mother because I was unable to feed my baby. Don't think I didn't hear from many moms about "breast milk is better" or "this is what you need to do" and all it did was contribute to the guilt I already felt.  FYI, after weeks of nursing, supplemental feedings and pumping, only to sleep for 15 minutes and do it all over again, I still didn't produce even an ounce. Tyler was then formula fed, gaining weight, she and I were both sleeping and guess what, she's alive, healthy and doesn't know the difference.

A little over a year later, on New Year's Day, we went to the neighborhood playground. Tyler's last time down the slide was on my lap. Her rubber shoes caught on the side of the slide and she cried. After about 45 minutes she seemed fine and fell asleep. The next day we woke up and as I was putting her shoe on, she started screaming. I knew something was wrong so, off to Urgent Care we went. Her leg was fractured and my sweet 1 year old was in a cast for a month. A friendly note: when your kids are going down the slide, especially in those shoes with the rubber edges, remind them to keep their legs together (a lesson we like to teach our daughter anyway).  Cast came off, her leg is perfect and now she talks about it as though it was a right of passage even though she has no memory of it. But me? Oh, I remember. I felt fucking awful for months, even after the cast was off.

Then, about a year later, we went to visit my grandmother at her Assisted Living Community. Tyler fell backwards on a broken planter and was covered in blood. Finally, we found the gash on her hand and again we were back in the ER. She had to get stitches at 2 1/2 and we had to go to a Hand Specialist to be sure she didn't have nerve damage. Was it my "fault"? Technically no, but as a mom, you always feel like whatever happens to your kids is your fault and I still felt the mom guilt.

Here's one that still makes me sick to my stomach... the summer before last, Tyler had no desire to leave the top pool step. Really, it was difficult getting her on the first step at all so, last year, we really didn't think it necessary to fight her to wear a vest or puddle jumper. After all, we were sitting right next to her anytime she was in the pool. One weekend, we were at the neighborhood pool and our once fearful daughter decided to stand not on the first step but on the second step and jump to the third. I was standing next to her but had turned my head for a couple seconds to acknowledge a neighbor. My husband screamed Tyler's name, I turned my head and saw my baby, under the water, with bubbles at the surface of the pool. I pulled her up and she was absolutely fine. She hardly noticed anything wrong nor did she experience any fear, but me? I was a disaster and still get anxious thinking about it.

And what about Nolan? Nolan had surgery at 6 weeks for pyloric stenosis. Basically, the muscle between his stomach and small intestine grew faster than everything else and created a blockage causing him to projectile vomit during and after every feeding. After a third visit, in three weeks, to the doctor, we were sent to the hospital when I insisted it wasn't acid reflux or a stomach bug. An ultrasound confirmed the Pediatrician's suspicions. My tiny baby was put under anesthesia and had surgery the next morning. This was nothing I could control, but it was still guilt I felt. Should I have brought him in sooner? Could I have done something different? The doctors said "no", but I still felt responsible.

Friends of mine have shared stories of their moments... their kid started a fire with matches, almost drowned, almost choked to death, fell off a changing table, fell down the stairs or even out of their hands! Fuck, one mom spoke of how her son almost lost a testicle! Thankfully, each of their kids are fine (and testicles in tact) but, my point is, terrible things happen to all of us but, it's as if admitting to or sharing these terrible stories means we are terrible parents and we aren't.

Here's the thing: I'm human. I'm going to make mistakes and I'd imagine you have or will, too. When that happens, can we try to do better? Can we make an attempt at being supportive instead of judgemental? Or don't. Judge me, but remember how critical you were when you experience your "2 seconds" because if you're a parent, it will happen.

I've never been perfect (despite what I tell my husband) and becoming a mom definitely didn't make me perfect. In fact, it has made me more exhausted, overwhelmed and distracted than I ever was pre-children. But I'll tell you, as imperfect as I am and with all the mistakes I make, I can confidently say, I'm a fucking awesome mom! Chances are, you are too. 

So, here's to you, you fucking awesome mom (or dad)! Have a cocktail, you deserve it!

LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE

Sadly, I'm not talking about my kids. I'm talking about me. I lie to my kids. Often. I'm starting to get a little concerned that they will still believe the shit I say when they are adults. You know, like the adults that think deer actually cross where the deer crossing sign is located. I lie to make my life a little easier and I think many of us do. After all, we've been lying about Santa, the Easter Bunny and various versions of the Tooth Fairy for centuries.

What do I lie about? A favorite is the "Toy Snatchers". It was a mommy moment of genius! They come at night or when we leave the house and take any toys that aren't put away. Then, they give them to children that don't have toys. It seems to work. So well, in fact, that when we are in a hurry to leave the house and I don't want to spend 20 minutes watching my daughter put away her toys, I have to call the Toy Snatchers. She insists I tell them not take her toys because "mommy said it was ok". Fair warning- a friend of mine used this lie and it backfired when her son didn't want to clean up. He told her it was fine if the toy was taken since he didn't want it anymore. Thankfully, I haven't run into that problem.

My daughter learned how to open the car window by herself at the beginning of pollen season. I live in Georgia, so as you may or may not be aware, the pollen here is no joke. Not to mention, the sound of one window being rolled up and and down is fucking awful. And, with a baby in the back! Um, no. That was not going to work. She now believes that the car will either roll the windows up or won't roll them down if it senses too much wind. It's nice when the weather or my sanity doesn't permit the windows being fucked with.

When we go through the drive-thru at Chick-fil-A, she typically wants to go inside and play in the play area. One time when we were there, they had closed it because a child peed in it and someone had to go in and sanitize. Side note: I would like to know how they clean these play areas. Or maybe I don't. Anyway, so now, when all I want is to pick up chicken nuggets and go home, I tell her it's closed. Every time she comments that someone probably peed in it and I just leave it as "yeah, probably".

By the way, a lot of things open and close at my discretion. The beach doesn't open until she's eaten breakfast. Stores often close early when we need to go home. Playgrounds close when it's too close to bedtime. It seems to appease her, except when we drive by a store she knows and notices a full parking lot. Then, well, I'm pretty well fucked and have to hear how it's open and "why can't we go?" for the rest of the drive home or longer. My child is relentless! I wish I didn't know where she gets it from but, admittedly, I know all too well.

The fight to get Tyler to eat her vegetables isn't as horrible as it once was; but, some days, it is brutal getting her to eat actual meals. On those days, I ask her to show me her muscles. She proudly holds up her little arms and poses for me to inspect. I give a concerned face and tell her those muscles of hers are looking smaller and she should probably eat more (insert food item), so they can grow. She quickly stuffs her face and holds her arms up for me to confirm their growth. Sometimes, she needs to eat more and other times they've grown immediately. I also do this with fish. She's convinced her hair instantly gets shinier. Not sure how long this method will work, but so far so good.

My husband makes attempts at the lying game, but isn't quite as successful. He tried to convince Tyler that if she picks her nose, she'll get arrested. He asked a police officer to confirm that it was against the law, in front of her, trying to prove his lie. The officer said "nope, that's definitely not illegal". Clearly, he didn't have children. So, when that failed, I just went with "if you pick your nose, your finger may get stuck up there and we'll have to cut it off". This proved to be more effective.

And, there is nothing more helpful than using a lie to respond to a lie. Recently, she has started asking if Santa is always watching. Of course, being the good Jewish girl I am, I say he is (by the way, my husband is not Jewish, so we do have Santa). It makes it easier when I'm pretty sure she didn't do something I asked of her or I think she's fibbing about something. All I do is ask her if I should call Santa, you know, since he is always watching, and she'll quickly correct her action. Oh and yes, I have everyone's direct phone number.

I'm sure there are plenty of other things that I lie about. Well, maybe I can call them fibs? Either way, it reduces the number of arguments I have with my "threenager" and most days, that is the goal. I'm always open to hearing what works in your house, with your kids. I can use all the help I can get. That said, if I'm out and you overhear me say something completely far fetched to my child, don't shake your head in an effort to let my kid know it's not true. Rather, know there is an end goal and it usually involves eliminating an argument and getting my kids down for an afternoon nap or to bed at a reasonable hour, so I can watch a non-animated show, with a cocktail, in peace.

FIRST THINGS FIRST

I think it's important you know a little about me to see if we're a good fit. Not to say you have to agree with me, or even like me, but I think it's always nice to know what to expect if you're going to spend your time, which I would imagine is already limited, reading this.

I'm a mom. This isn't going to be the fluff you find on Facebook or Instagram with only perfect pictures or posts about my perfect marriage, my perfect kids or my perfect life. My world is not perfect, it's just not and that's ok. I'll be sharing the real mom shit we deal with that no one wants to say out loud. I have a 3 1/2 year old daughter, an 8 month old son and a husband who, as of recent, travels. I do a lot for my family but this is for me. It's my outlet and if it makes you feel less alone to know someone else has been there, then it's served more than it's purpose.

You should know I'm direct. My husband says I have no filter and don't think before I speak.  To his credit, he's probably right. You may like me or you may not. I'm not going to apologize for who I am, but know upfront, that I never intend to offend or hurt anyone. Ever. I respect the opinion of others and appreciate differences. More importantly, I won't judge you. Please, try to do the same.

I drink alcohol. Often. Actually, more after the second kid than the first. As I've noted, I'm not an alcoholic, but I am a mom. In my opinion, some days, it's necessary to survive. I don't make light of alcoholism as I've seen the disease up close. I'm not talking about alcoholism. I'm talking about a cocktail, or two, or hell, if the day requires, maybe a whole bottle of wine. If you don't drink, more power to you, but I do and I kinda think moms who don't are super human. So, when you see that flavored "water" in my hand when I'm in some kiddie hell, it probably has vodka in it. That travel coffee mug I'm holding after 11am, likely wine. Who knows what my poison may be that day but, chances are, it's helping me smile through the pain of not just the obscene number of kids swarming around me, but the inevitable talk about potty training, new studies on child development, breast feeding struggles or the endless opinions of some fellow moms. All that said, if you need a drink too, just ask. I may have an extra on hand to help a mom in need. 

I cuss. Certainly more than I should, but since being a mom, I actually cuss less... well, at least around my kids. My daughter's teacher reported she said "fuck" at the ripe age of 1 1/2 after dropping a toy. I was incredibly proud she used it in the correct context, but we did discuss adult words were well, just that, for adults. You'll see my potty mouth first hand. It's not intended to be disrespectful. Sometimes, I just feel certain words adequately get my point across. And well, shit, it's my blog so I get to say whatever the fuck I want.

Some of how I "mom"... I speak to my kids as though they are real, functioning people. I use my adult voice, real words and convey actual feelings. I think there are winners and losers. I don't believe every kid gets a trophy, including mine. I was typically one of the last to get picked for teams in P.E. class. In fact, I was lucky to get a lame, white participation ribbon and I turned out just fine. I think not always coming in first makes you strive to be better and helps build character. I don't want my kids rewarded because someone doesn't want to hurt their feelings. Throughout life, they will feel - positive and negative. I think it's helpful to learn how to understand and cope with feelings at a young age so they are prepared in life.

We use time out as punishment and I use a little Jewish guilt (it's genetic, I can't help it). We don't spank but if you do, I'm not going to fault you. I'm not a Pinterest mom and while I'm artistic, I'm not a crafter. I can sew a button on a shirt but, I don't make Halloween costumes. If you do, kudos to you. Meals? I prefer crock pot dinners, meals with a max of 5 ingredients or making reservations. Sadly, I make far less reservations than before kids. I believe in bribing my children for moments of peace. I don't have an issue with prepackaged snacks but, I do make sure my kids eat shit with nutritional value from time to time. My daughter could eat her weight in fruit snacks if I let her and some nights, in lieu of making dinner, I've almost let her. I believe in television and i-Pads, but we also read bedtime stories and color. To me, it's about providing my kids balance while maintaining my sanity. I do that however is necessary, depending on the day.

Most days, I give myself credit for keeping everyone in my household alive. Some days, I dread picking my kids up from daycare for fear of the unknown. Will I get my sweet, precious, happy babies or will I get their devil possessed little bodies? Oh, and by the way, I work and they go to daycare. I'm not equipped to be a stay at home mom. In my opinion, stay at home moms are a special breed. I'm a better mom having my time, my work and at least a car ride a day in silence.

More days than not, I have been puked on, had shit on my hands or some random spot or substance on my clothing. I'll wipe it off, wash my hands and usually notice the spot half way through my work day and attempt to get it out in the bathroom sink, often unsuccessfully. It's just what it is right now. Maybe one day I won't have a random, sticky substance in my hair or debate whether the stain on my shirt is from my daughter's chocolate chip cookie or actual shit from my son's last diaper change. Maybe.

My life is a constant state of limbo. I have a never ending "to-do" list and once I cross something off, three more things get added. I figure shit out as I go and use my intuition to make the best decisions I can for our kids and our family. I don't research incessantly because for every theory, there is a counter theory and truthfully, I don't want to spend my time googling everything because there is always something. Once a week I want to run away from life but then my daughter will put her sweet hands on my cheeks and tell me she loves me or my baby boy will have a random laughing session that makes me know I have no choice but to stay. After all, when they are actually decent, successful, contributing members of society, I can't let my husband take all the credit.

You'll get to know me more as time goes on, but for now, it's nice to have a forum to be me. I hope you'll hang around.