Superheroes arent stupid

Mom... When you were little what did you want to be when you grew up?

A teacher.

Why aren't you one then?

Hmmmm... I don't know. Good question. I went to college and got my degree so that I could teach. But then I got pregnant with you and decided I wanted to be a mom more than a teacher. Besides I get to teach you guys new things all the time so I guess in some ways I am. What do you want to be when you grow up?

A super hero.

Like Spiderman? Or Batman?

No. I don't want to be somebody else. I want to be me. But a super hero. What do you think? You think I could really be a super hero?

Yes. Of course I do.

Like a real super hero?

I think you can be anything you want to be.

A few days later Aidan comes home from school and says my friend told his dad that we are going to be super heroes when we grow up and his dad told him "that's stupid". Aidan looked genuinely crushed.

Stupid? You know what is stupid? Discouraging anyone from becoming a super hero! Aidan looked confused. Why is that stupid mom?

Why?! What do you mean why?! What kind of world would this be if there were no super heroes?! Hold on lets look up what a super hero is...
noun.                   

1. a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.

2. a person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal:

 

So... your friends dad thinks that it is STUPID to be a man of courage?!  STUPID to be admired for brave deeds and noble qualities?! STUPID to want to be a man who has heroic qualities and performs heroic acts??? I don't see anything stupid about any of that.

 

So maybe you won't sling webs or crawl the walls. You won't wear a cape and tights... which is a good thing anyway because you don't like to wear underwear and a grown man in spandex with no underwear is never a good thing. But you don't have to do any of those things to be a super hero. Super heroes are firefighters who run into burning buildings to save strangers. Super heroes are cops that fight crime. Our service men and women... they are superheroes.  Superheroes are guys like your dad that sacrifice everyday to make sure their family is taken care of. You walk past everyday superheroes all the time and you don't even know it because they don't have a giant S on their chest. Sometimes its the guy that holds the door open for you in the rain, or the...

 

Or the mom that comes to your rescue when you have a bad dream....

 

Yes. Or the mom that will come to your rescue... whether its a bad dream or a bad day... I will always come to your rescue....

 

So don't let anyone tell you that being a superhero is stupid... It's stupid that not everyone wants to be one. I would hate it if it wasn't what you wanted to be. The world will never have enough superheroes... I hope as you get older you remember that. I hope when you are thirty you still just want to be a superhero. A superhero that holds down a paying job with benefits... but a superhero no less.

I am a liar...

Tonight I took Aidan to Barnes and Noble to buy a Halloween book for his book report that is due in 2 days. Yes 2 days and we just bought the book tonight. Then came home and didn't even read it. But before I get to that... while we were at the book store I came across these adorable Anne Geddes baby's first year books. I never filled one out for Seark let alone Rylan. The books were in the bargain bin. They were so cute and at $7.00 who could pass them up. Clearly not me.

Of course after we get home the first thing I need to do is start filling out these books. Seark is 3 1/2 it really could wait another day. But no. Now I have these books and there they are sitting there staring at me. Making me feel like a bad mom for not having filled one out yet. So I put the kids to bed and begin to fill out the book for Seark first.

The first few pages are easy. Moms name. Dads name. Who did you tell first that you were expecting me? Where was I born? On what day? Time? Weight? Easy Peasy. The first time you saw me smile? hmmmm I remember it. Clear as day. It was early in the morning. Seark was laying in bed with me. I was talking to him and tickled just under his chubby little chin and there it was like a ray sunshine his first purposeful beautiful gummy little smile. But how old was he? a few weeks? A month? Gosh I can not remember. So I break out the photos that I just recently got printed and there it is... Seark's first smile. Well his second one.... but the picture was taken only seconds after his first smile so.... close enough. But of course there is no date on the picture and I no longer have the phone or memory card that I took it with but he looks I'd say a month old. So I go back to the book. Fairly confident that Seark was a month old and go to write that... 1 month. But no... the book is asking for a date. I know for sure it was a Saturday morning because Jason was home. Or maybe a Sunday. Definitely a weekend day. Around the one month mark. Break out the calendar... yup must have been June.... Oh my god... am I really making shit up for the sake of filling out this book? Yes. Yes I am. Because who writes guesstimates in there baby's first year book. The only year that you are required to keep a record of dates.... and I didn't do it.

But who cares. I mean in the end the book is really for me. I doubt Seark is ever going to ask for it and be disappointed that it is not entirely accurate. Right? Right. Or wrong. And if wrong will he feel slighted by the lack of information. Oh screw it... June 5, 2011. Moving on.... first laugh? first time I rolled over? First tooth? First time I had food? Shit. Well they must be asking them in somewhat chronological order that these things typically happen... so lets go from there. I turn the page... first bath? What?! He definitely had a bath before his first laugh. And for sure long before he could roll over! What kind of book is this?! Not even a ball park time line?! I skip to the last page. Now that I am one (or 3 1/2) what were the most memorable things about this year... well not the dates. And damn it I feel bad about that. Not tonight but inevitably I will fill out this book even if I have to make it up. And that's what it comes down to... I am a liar.

But why... does the fact that I can not remember the dates make me a bad mom? No. Or at least I hope not. No. No. It doesn't. I sit staring at the blank pages for a few more minutes and decide to put Seark's book on hold for now... maybe some of it will come to me at a later date... unlikely but hey... here's to hoping.

I open Ry's book and get through the first few pages as easily I did Seark's. Then there it is... first smile? First smile. When did Rylan first smile? Oh my god I have to remember this one... it was not even that long ago! I go to my phone. Scroll through 2,793 pictures and aaaaaah there it is. Rylan's first smile. Time stamped October 27, 2013. Well at least I don't have to lie about that one but it's not looking promising for the rest of this book. And so again I might have to be liar...

But a liar is not who am I ... is it? It would be easier and less stressful to just write down the details that I remember about those events instead of the dates. And what is with all the dates anyway?! Who cares the date as long as I do remember that it happened. Whoever made this damn adorable Anne Geddes book... that's who. Well thank god these books were only $7.00 because the anxiety they are causing me may land them in the trash. I will just have to make my own book of baby's first... one that only asks... to the best of your memory!

Why fight it?

You know that feeling.... you are so tired... so so tired... all you can muster up is the ability to stumbling around crying. Falling into the furniture. Wiping snot and tears on the couch cushions with out a care. Grasping for anything with in your reach so you can just scream and throw it on the floor! To then just sit there. Staring in despair at the crap all around you wondering how u find the energy and coordination to step over it. Defeated knowing you just can't, you drag your exhausted body over blocks and cheerios...

You don't know what that feels like? Come to my house around 10 am. That is the time that the daily drama parade begins. When I turn into a complete mess and... oh wait not me... Rylan! Clearly the child is exhausted. Close to passing out. So tired he is delirious. Laughing through tears. I scoop him up as he arches his back and kicks his legs. Arms flailing. He looks at me as if he has been possessed. Mouth wide open ready to chomp down on any exposed flesh. So frustrated with no real way to communicate biting the hand that rocks the cradle seems like a reasonable manner to express yourself. I cautiously rock him while waiting for his head to spin and fire to spontaneously shoot from his bloodshot eyes.

Once he is calm-er and no longer trying to claw my face we settle into his favorite rocking chair. I silently pray that he doesn't tear my nipple off and nurse him as he drifts off to sleep. Aaaaah and there he goes. His rigid limbs go limp. His beautiful blue eyes roll as he tries to keep them open. I rub his soft baby hair and wonder if it is normal that I can still feel his soft spot pulse. How old was Seark when I could no longer feel it?  I will have to google it when I put him down. Or maybe just text his pediatrician. Lost in soft spot uncertainty I don't even notice my precious babe has already nodded off.

The room is 69 degrees. Dark. There is soft classical music playing. I lay him down so gently  on soft sweet smelling muslin Aden & Anais sheets. Cover him in an even softer equally sweet smelling organic bamboo dream blanket that has been freshly sprayed with mommy's bliss lavender mist. The definition of my sleep deprived Heaven.

He looks so content and angelic. I stare for a minute envious of his sleeping situation. Before I even turn to walk away his eye lids fly open. As if he just stuck his finger in a socket he springs up. Shocked. Screaming. Grabbing the bars of the crib and violently shaking them like an angry inmate. I turn and dash towards to the nearest exit. Never making eye contact... knowing if I do I will lose the nap time negotiation.

Rylan always falls back asleep within minutes. Well almost always. For the life of me I will never understand the protest to rest. If at any point someone offers to rock me while stroking my hair in an effort to fall asleep... I will happily take them up on it. I would even pay them to then wrap me in a bamboo blanket. Kill the lights and shut the door. And just leave me alone. I actually spend a good portion of my day fantasizing about that scenario. Often nodding off at the mere possibility.

Ulta-mate fix

If there is one thing that I love aside from my children it would have to be make up... oh yeah and my husband. But I am not writing about him. I love make up. Like crack heads love crack... I love make up. If I were to appear on the show my strange addiction for anything it would be my obsession with eye shadow. So where do make up junkies go to get their fix? The crack house of color other wise known as Ulta.

For weeks I have been meaning to make a trip out to Ulta and have just not had the chance. Finally the day has arrived that I must go. I am out of eye liner... I know... Out?! How could that be?! Thank God my husband is home and I can go alone... although in an emergency such as this I would have dragged all three boys to this high end crack house with me. My boys love Ulta. There are cool little testers to smell just about everywhere you look. They love to spray those tiny pieces of paper until they are dripping with fragrance. And I do actually mean saturated. So they might as well just skip the paper cut out and spray it directly into their eyes. Because that is where it winds up. Aidan has allergies and is always rubbing his eyes. Even after he has doused his hands with perfume. The base of which is alcohol.

If they aren't into the fragrance testers they are painting each other's faces and knocking over carefully placed displays. The girls at Ulta really love children or I am guessing that if any of their pretty painted faces ever has one that they will love it... my kids... not so much. But today I get to go alone. No monster make up faces or freakin fragrance spray fights. Alone. Just me. A quick stop at Starbucks. And Ulta.

I came here for eyeliner. Just eyeliner. One brown eyeliner by Smashbox. And there it is conveniently next to the prettiest shades of lip liner. But I am only here for eyeliner. Just eyeliner. But I am running low on lip liner... so. Okay eyeliner and just one lip liner. I draw little red, pink, and pale lines all over my hand. Debating which color I love. Ruby it is. Which is so odd cause I never wear red but this is the perfect shade. I am not passing it up. There is a little voice in my head saying go pay for this stuff. Just get on line and go pay. Get out of here with these two things. I can't. Because on the way to the register I have to pass the glorious isle of eye shadow. I have all three Urban Decay Naked palettes. I have Benefits Two Faced. More than half a dozen from Clinique. Some Lancome. A little Bobby Brown. I do not actually need eye shadow but Stila has new fall colors in the display case illuminated by florescent light and like a mosquito about to get zapped I am strangely drawn to this  magnetic yet deadly light. I gravitate towards the case prepared to kill the max on my credit card. The colors are quite exquisite and nothing like any of the Naked's. I have to have them. Even at $50 I can not talk myself out of it.

My phone rings.
Hello?
Mommy?
Yes buddy. What's up?
Mommy can you get me modeling clay?
Oh I don't know. It's late. You need to get to bed and I am not at the toy store.
Please.
You just got a toy yesterday. We don't have the money to buy you new things every other day!

Standing there with $40 worth of eye and lip liner in hand and a $50 eye shadow palette I felt like quite the hypocrite. For a brief moment I contemplated putting something back. But what could I part with. I came here for the eye liner so I can not leave with out that. This shade of red is just to die for. Ugh that only leaves Stila. I lean over to place it back on the shelf when my phone rings again. And suddenly I snap out of my mommy guilt.  Why am I putting anything back?! I am at Ulta... alone... for the first time in I can't remember how long! My kids are well fed. Well dressed. Spoiled with toys. Why shouldn't I be a little spoiled too? God I am selfish.

Funny how that works right. Moms do everything and I mean everything for everyone else. I spend my days from the minute I open my eyes not just doing for everyone else but putting them first in everything I do. And never once do I question that. They deserve the best and that is what I want to give them. 100% of my time. 100% of my attention. After giving 100% to everyone else I don't have much left for me. Not even time to sleep. So why do I question whether or not I deserve this or anything for that matter?

And so I left Ulta that night with $200 worth of new make up. Quite the fix. I came home and the kids were already in bed. I washed my face and like a kid with new crayons spent the rest of the night coloring my lips, eyes, cheeks. Almost an hour later I felt like a junkie coming down from my high. Buyers remorse was about to set in. But not tonight... I took one more look in the mirror and decided that it was worth every penny. Good thing I don't get out often alone or we would be living in a card board box with my perfectly painted face.

schizophrenic lesbian

At this point in my life I feel quite schizophrenic at best. I look in the mirror and see this 30 ish year old girl who could still pass for 20 something. Granted later 20 something but still... It's funny when I was young (very young) and wanted to be older I was annoyed by all the "god you look so much younger" comments. At 18 getting carded for cigarettes was seen as a major inconvenience. Now it's disappointing if I walk into a liquor store for wine and they don't want to see my I.D. Well by now me and the guy at the Wine Factory are practically on a first name basis so I guess it would be weird if he kept asking. Anyway although I could pass for younger the fact is I am not. And my 30's seem to be this weird contemplative age for me. I mean not too long ago I was in my 20's. Somehow in your 20's you don't think about becoming 30 or much of anything. In my 20's I still felt very much like I had my whole life ahead of me and 30 which was 10 years in the distance seemed like light years away. Until it was here.

So far my 30's have been good to me. I am fortunate and beyond blessed in too many ways to count. I live in a home I love. With a man that still has my heart. And 3 little people that we have made. The things I dreamed of and planned for are all here. Although I could not be happier that scares me a little. Or a lot. Because what's next? I remember the holidays as a kid. Spending them at my grandparents house with all my cousins. My cousins have all grown up... and apart. Most of them I don't know and for the most part choose not too. My grandparents except for my grandmother on my mother's side have all passed away. Each year there is another face absent for Christmas dinner. The older generation is now my parents who no longer seem old. At all. The circle of life gets clearer and ever more present as the years slip by. And here in my 30's I feel myself longing for the ignorance of my 20's and dreading the arrival of my 40's. Age is indeed just a number. It is the awareness of the ticking clock that changes. As we sit around the table at my house for holiday dinners I realize that we are next in line for being the oldest generation and holy shit is that a scary thought?!

So looking in the mirror at this 30 something year old face with my blondish bob that screams "mom in her 30's" I suddenly had the urge to cut it all off. Cutting my hair was not going to turn back the hands of time or make me younger but that boring blah blonde hair that suddenly made me feel like Kate Gosselin was making me anxious. I mean is this is it?! Am I resigned to dressing. Looking. Acting my age. What the shit does that mean anyway?! As we age are we just to maintain the status quo because we have surpassed the time to live out side the box. Is this blonde bob the last haircut stop on the way to having a standing appointment at the beauty parlor once a week so I can get my thinning hair set in rollers by someone who dreads my appointment because I am an old bitter particular pain in the ass that talks about the weather and my grandkids?! Fuck I need this hair off my head... yesterday! So I call my sister in law in the midst of my quarter life crisis because she is the answer to all hair prayers. I assume she can sense the urgency in my cracking voice as she tells me to come over in 15 minutes. I left her house 3 hours later with an espresso colored faux hawk. And never felt better.

I looked in the mirror when I got home and there it was... the change I needed. A new person looking back at me. Feeling refreshed and slightly less panicked about the future I decided to go out enjoy the rest of this beautiful day. I could not have anticipated the amount of attention this new look would get. To everyone else I looked not just like a new person but.... a gay one. If you did not know cutting your hair short... boy short... is synonymous with being a lesbian. Which quite honestly I don't mind. I like lesbians but it makes for awkward conversation when person after person is calling you one in front of your kids who have no idea what a lesbian is. And over all just an odd thing to tell someone.

The next day I go to pick Aidan up from school and while I got a lot of compliments on the new do I knew there would be at least one of the you look like a lesbian commentators lurking around. And I was right. One of the grandmother's that regularly drops off and pick ups her grandkids. The type that is nosey and gossipy and knows everything about everyone in town... comes up to me and says "Why would you do that to your hair?! You look like a lesbian!!". Funny coming from a 70 year old woman with hair as short as mine which I guess is acceptable for only her. Apparently once you pass ab certain age short hair loses its lesbian-ness and is just understood as the hair cut that says... I'm fuckin old. I can't deal with that shit anymore".  Knowing this I should have just smiled and walked away. Taken the high road. But no. No high road. Not even the road less traveled. I took the low road and told her she looked like a lesbian too. Her 70 something year old grandma friend broke out into riotous laughter like a hyena. The one I called a lesbian... not so much. She was strangely offended by hearing back the same exact thing that she just said to me.

Oh jeez this new hair cut was making me look like a lesbian and act like a teenager. Which is some strange way felt good. I decided to tone down the attitude and update my wardrobe before I became public enemy number one amongst the senior clique in the school yard.

30+ is definitely a strange age... for me anyway. One second I find myself contemplating another baby and the next wondering if I could ever go through with a tummy tuck and some major boob work since we are done having kids. I get dressed and think am I too old for this kinda shirt? Take it off and realize those are the only kind of things I own. I go shopping for a more sophisticated wardrobe and after putting on 10 floral print 3 quarter sleeve flowing tops  think I am not quite that old yet and go back to the stuff I already have. On a rare occasion I long for my 20's. On those nights I will call a friend to go out for a drink. Once at the bar I realize how incredibly annoying 20 year olds are and want to go home. One day I am sporting the typical mom blonde bob and the next posing as a lesbian with an espresso faux hawk. 30... the age of schizophrenia.

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled life...

September. It used to be my favorite time of year. The end of summer. Cooler weather. Jeans. Boots. Maybe mother nature hasn't gotten the memo this year but the last official day of summer has come and gone... cut the shit with the hot weather already! I want to wear my uggs and sip pumpkin spice lattes in a cooler climate. This 85 degree nonsense is totally killing my fall buzz. But that is not the only thing that now sucks about September. Can you guess what the other fall buzz kill is? Yup... the beginning of yet another torturous school year!

The equally dreaded and highly anticipated welcome back to school letter arrives. Literally the weekend before the first day of school. Why? Why does the school withhold this coveted letter until the 11th hour? My best guess is so that parents don't have time to call and ask to have their child moved to another class room once they finally find out who is going to have the privilege of educating their little pumpkin this year. That letter feels to me more like a PSA "We now interrupt your regularly scheduled life to bring you 185 days packed with notes from the teacher, homework, more homework, requests for money for the nine thousand fundraisers that start on day one, and last but not least, all the bullshit and aggravation you can possibly stomach. Not to mention early mornings. Erratic nap schedules. The nightly bedtime, brush your teeth, wash your face struggle! Oh dear God how is it September already?!

Well when I started writing this it was September... now October. And after three full weeks of school I can say it... School. Still. Sucks! And the later it gets into the fall despite this humid disgusting could be summer weather... it is most definitely fall. How do I know? There is no sun when I have to get out of bed. Which just feels wrong. Rylan who was getting up at 5:30 am has now started sleeping later because even he is out to make my morning just a little harder. There is nothing worse than waking up to a dark quiet house only to turn on the godforsaken lights and even worse... wake a sleeping baby! Normally I would kill someone if they heaven forbid WOKE. THE. BABY! And now I must. I know you are probably thinking so wait 15 minutes . Have a cup of coffee. Enjoy the dark quiet for a brief peaceful much appreciated rare moment. No. Not possible. For a few reasons. I have already hit the snooze button 39 times and we are now late-r than we would be anyway. At the moment there is a coffee ban in my house since I read an article about the disgustingness that may be lurking inside my Kuerig. So now we have no sun. No coffee. And a baby that I have woken up. The definition of hell.

And then it gets worse. I have to wake Aidan up. Pillow throwing. Whining. Moaning. GET MY CLOTHES! GET AWAY FROM ME! I HATE SCHOOL AND I HATE YOU FOR WAKING ME AND TAKING ME... Aidan. He's pure joy at 7 am. After singing  "Get up get out of bed. Don't be a sleepy ahead. Open up your eyes" Obnoxiously 900 times to him (which he just loves) we head downstairs. The dogs race to the door usually knocking Rylan over. Aidan and Seark fight over who wins the race to the couch as I yell "NO ONE WON! WE DON'T RACE DOWN THE STAIRS UNLESS THERE IS A FIRE OR BURGLER!" Which they ignore and argue about who's ass hit the cushion first until I just about shove toast down there little throats to make them stop.

We usually wind up rushing out of the house like we are fleeing the scene of a crime. Not everyone is fully dressed. I am yelling HURRY... HURRY.... LET'S GO... HURRY! We make the mad dash around the block only to sit in dead stopped traffic. A long line of disastrous last minute moms shoving their kids out of the car as they pass the school. Blowing kisses to their bed head hot mess disheveled little loves as they yell "Have a good day honey". Let's face it... no one is having a good day if that is the start they are off to.

Yet I shove Aidan out of the car. Flatten his uncombed hair with spit on my hand and yell "have a good day honey"   as he mopes away. Every morning he waves when he gets to his door and I half expect him to give me the finger. And I wouldn't even blame him if he did.

I head back home with Seark and Rylan to clean the morning shit storm of crumbs and spilled juice. It isn't even 9 am and I am already defeated and exhausted. After a small quiet lull in the morning and a cup of dunkin donuts the day starts to look up. We go to a park or the zoo and enjoy the afternoon until school gets out.

Two things that I hate about this. One is that if Aidan were with us we could spend the entire day out. Not rush anywhere. Go down the shore or anywhere we want and just enjoy. Now we can only do very local things. I hate the limitations and time constraints that having to be back by 3 pm causes. And two I have to lie to Aidan and make sure that Seark does too. If Aidan thought that we were having even an ounce of fun with out him there would be literal hell to pay. So everyday when Aidan asks what we did I tell him. Nothing. We just waited for you. And I don't feel so bad about that because he lies to me to. Every. Single. Day. Since kindergarten I ask him how his day was and he says fine. Then I ask him what he did that day in school. Everyday I get the same answer.... nothing. Surely he did something. He just spent the last 7 hours at school. Maybe nothing that he loved but he did do something. But you will never get more out of him than "nothing"... well maybe the occasional eye roll.

From 3-6 is the absolute worst part of the day. Worse than the morning?! What in God's name could be worse than the morning?! Homework. Homework is far worse than any other thing associated with school. I think homework is really a test of the parents. I think it is teachers way of saying... I did this shit all day now its your turn to see what its like. Don't get me wrong I don't mind helping. Sitting with Aidan while he weeps and sobs over writing words three times each. I hear his plight. His hand hurts. His brain hurts. Just barely though as you can just about hear yourself think at this point because "Here comes the mail! It never fails! It make me want to wag my tail and wail... MAILS HERE!" I swear I hear that song in my head everyday as the mail truck parks smack in front of my house sending my senior dog into a frenzy. The little dog just follows suit. He has no idea the reason for the riot act but if Chachi who never moves unless he thinks cheese is involved is so worked up there must be a reason. Barking reaches ear piercing heights which in turn causes the already ornery Crylan to go into full blown melt down mode. Seark at some point will join in just to show solidarity in this insanely miserable situation. At this point I should just cry too. But I don't. I focus on the Blues Clues song circling my brain because... well because I have been up since before the crack of dawn with little to no sleep. All three kids are crying. The dogs are barking. The little one probably peeing on my floor because his bladder fails him when excitement hits. I have no happy thoughts of my own because my mind is in sensory overload. So I look at the clock and know if I can just keep my shit together for 3 more hours... just 3 more... hours. Oh. my. God. "Herecomesthemailitneverfailsitmakesmewannawagmytailandwail....MAILS HERE!" You just can't be upset while silently singing that song. And by the point the mail is here. Which I don't even bother to go and check because it's most likely just more bills. But the dogs have settled down. Or passed out. Either way they are quiet. In turn Seark and Rylan quiet down too. Aidan not so much because he still has more homework to do.

I bring Rylan in the kitchen with me. Put him with great protest in his exersaucer. And by great protest I mean I try to unbend his crunched frog legs while he claws at my face. I start dinner while tossing him cheerios one at a time and putting Neosporin on my fresh scratches. I yell into Aidan who is a pile of sarcasm and snot by now ... "just leave it I'll finish it for you." Don't judge. So what I finish the homework to save my sanity. It is what it is. The only things that bothers me is Aidan has the audacity to complain that I am not writing neat enough. Then I remind him I am writing as if I am him and he says "oh yeah. good job."

Finally 6 pm! Homework is done. Dinner is done. I only have to wrestle these filthy little I don't wanna wash my hair today monkeys into the tub. Get them to brush their teeth and then hand them off to my husband who puts them to bed. And just in the nick of time because I am ready to drop. But I don't. I clear the table and clean the dishes. Get snacks and lunch packed for tomorrow because I refuse to add even one more thing to the morning to do list. I pick up all the toys and scour the floor for Lego's so I don't have to scream "FUCK MY FOOT" in front of my little darlings in the morning. If I am lucky I have just enough time to sneak a shower before the littlest babe gets up to eat... again. And by then I get my second wind and no matter what I do I just can't settle down. So I stay up way too late just because it is quiet and dark and I am alone. Whoever said "silence is golden" definitely had children. Besides when else would I get to watch poignant adult TV like Real Housewives of New Jersey and Dance Moms.  But before I know it the morning will be here and it will feel like groundhog's day all over again! Damn it.... BEEEEEEEEEEP (my alarm goes off) WE NOW INTERRUPT YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULE LIFE TO BRING YOU 185 DAYS OF THIS SHIT...

Why Hayden's Heart...

Two years ago or I guess more already I came across a Facebook page called Prayer Page for Baby Hayden. It showed up in my news feed often because friends of mine had already liked the page. I skimmed past it probably a dozen times or more before ever actually clicking on it to see what exactly it was about. I rarely ever "liked" pages but this one was different. The profile picture was the sweetest orange haired baby I had ever seen. Knowing it was a prayer page I was hesitant to find out more because I knew the story behind that beautiful babe was probably a heart breaking one. But he was oh so beautiful and even in a picture his eyes were magnetic. His smile... pure joy. And so I had to know why was this precious little one in need of prayers.

This was June 2012. I clicked the link. Read the most current post and then read backwards to the very beginning.  The journey of Hayden Jeter Dorsett and his family. Born with Hypoblastic Left Heart Syndrome. A rare congenital heart defect where the left ventricle of the heart is  severely underdeveloped. This sweet baby living with only half a heart.

"Prayer Page for Baby Hayden" was started before Hayden was here. Diagnosed with this rare condition while still safe in his mama's belly... Ady, Hayden's mother made this page for the only thing she knew would help other than modern medicine and a miracle... the power of prayer. Never asking for more than anything than prayer. And there were plenty of people praying for this babe. Hayden's page has over 20,000 followers.

I read all the posts. Hundreds of them. Happy ones. Sad ones. Hopeful posts. Disheartened posts. Always ever asking for one thing "Please pray for Hayden". And so I did. I found myself thinking about and praying for Hayden and his family often. We included Hayden's name in the nightly prayers that my oldest son said. Hayden quickly became a household name. I was so invested in his story. Felt in someway connected to his mother even though we had never met. Our lives were so similar. Me and her are about the same age. Living only minutes away from one another. Both had two little boys close in age. The only thing that separated us was that her baby had half a heart. That one thing made a world of difference. A difference that I could not begin to imagine. And so I did the only thing I could I kept Hayden in our thoughts and prayers and through that he made his way into our hearts.

I kept up with his page. Always looking for updates. Always hopeful. For days there was nothing. I prayed that meant there was nothing to report. Still nothing... and then "Hayden Jeter Dorsett 3/12/12 - 8/16/12". I read that and literally gasped. I stared at the screen with tears rolling down my cheeks. Weeping for a baby I never met. I felt a pain deep in my chest and couldn't even bear to think of what state his mother must be in. I know from tragedy with in my own family that there are somethings that change you forever. Change the dynamic of your family. The course of your life. Some things are so sad there are no words for them.

For days, weeks, I could not stop thinking about Hayden and his mom. Could not stop thinking about how similar our lives were and how different they would now forever be. I was plagued by the thought that there was nothing that made our circumstances so different but random misguided chance. I could have easily been her.

I racked my brain for some reasonable gesture, some sort of kindness or comfort that I could offer her grieving heart. But what? I knew there was nothing that I could ever do. But doing nothing wasn't an option. One day in the mall I came across a necklace in the shape of a heart with a tiny pearl just sitting in the middle. I bought it and decided that even though I could not make things better I could let this heartbroken mom know she wasn't alone. Let her know that her baby wouldn't be forgotten. Let her know that Hayden would always been in our heart. His life had touched ours and I know thousands of others.

It is said that no one is truly gone until the last person has spoken their name. If that is true Ady has no need to worry about her sweet Hayden being forgotten. Since Hayden's passing his family has set up a foundation in his name called "Hayden's Heart". It is a non profit 501c3 charity dedicated to keeping Hayden's memory alive. Raising CHD awareness. And helping other heart families with their medical and travel expenses.

I told my husband about the necklace and that I was going to stop by Ady's house to give it to her. He looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. "Go to her house?! Are you nuts? You don't know them! You can't just ring her bell and be like here's a necklace for you!" But that is kinda what I did. I felt like I needed to meet her. In person. Hear about her beautiful babe first hand. After all he had a significant impact on my life. In so many ways... she needed to know that.  Of course I had been reading their story for months and as much as I felt like I knew them she had no idea who I was. Nonetheless she opened her door. And invited me in. I don't know if it was the mom bond or what but I felt like we were instantly friends... and have been since.

I can not say enough good things about the Dorsett family. They have done so much good for so many others. Touched so many lives. Simply because Hayden lived. I know that more than anything Ady wishes Hayden was just like every other baby with a whole heart known only by his family and friends... and while if I could grant anyone just one wish it would for sure be just that... but Hayden, he wasn't like every other baby. Hayden was a angel among us with big big plans. Bigger than anyone could imagine and his mom. Well she isn't just any mom. She is simply amazing. I know she doesn't see herself as a strong person... rather just doing the only thing she can to get through this new life... but she is a hero to so many. Hayden being her number one fan. She and her husband have done so much good in his name I wouldn't even know where to begin... so check them out for yourself at haydensheart.org or on facebook at Hayden's Heart. Read Hayden's story and fall in love with the baby that continues to change the world at Prayer Page for Baby Hayden also on facebook.

If you would like to make a difference you can make a one time donation Hayden's Heart or keep up with them and participate in any of their fabulous events. In an effort to spread more CHD awareness they are on a mission to get featured on #theellenshow so if you feel so inclined send her an email and help them get there.

Maternity ward horror stories

For every "I had the most wonderful birthing experience" you will hear a "I had the delivery from hell" story. I found that when I was pregnant everyone wanted share with me their maternity ward horror story. Tales of endless labor. Fractured hips. Broken tail bones. Torn assholes. Hemorrhoids the size of grape fruits. Failed epidurals. Bitchy nurses. Careless doctors. Insensitive husbands. Blinding contractions. Shitting on the table. Cone head babies. Broken Vaginas.

With a baby rapidly growing inside my belly I was starting to panic. I like my asshole in tact. My unstretched lady parts. Which honestly I hadn't seen in months but still I wanted them to remain in the state in which I had known them my whole life. Shit on the table... I'd die. Convinced that these mama's must be exaggerating I had talked myself into the fact that I would be one of the lucky ones with amazing orgasmic birth story. Not so much... I was added to the list of wounded warriors. I now had my own maternity ward horror stories.

However I have enough common sense to not scare the crap out of every mama to be that I come across. I become the crypt keeper when asked about my experience. I don't spew out the gory details. One because it is not necessary. Two because I know that no matter what happens her story will not be my story and there is no reason for anyone to worry about the possibilities.

Shortly before my due date with my second baby I was given the option of having an elective c section because of a medical condition. Contrary to popular opinion I jumped on the chance to not push another human out of my vagina. 40 hours of Pitocin induced labor. Stiches up my ass. And nearly bleeding to death made my decision an easier one.

After choosing to have a c section I learned how frowned upon that is amongst members of the mommyhood. Emergency c sections... well those are okay because you have no choice. But ELECTING to bring a child into the world this way is just unacceptable. Friends, close ones at that aired their opinion on my decision in hopes of getting me to change my mind. And although having a c section is not ideal... lets face it... there is no good way to get a 9.5 pound human out of your body!

Most women that have had a c section will tell you how horrible it was. Worst experience of their life. And then there are the women like me that have had both vaginal deliver and a c section and I know with  fair amount of certainty the c section was far from the worst experience of my life. In fact it was not bad at all. Considering that it is major surgery that you are wide awake for it is not nearly as bad you would think. Or as it looks on you tube which strongly recommend you do not watch the night before.

Yes it is uncomfortable.   But so is labor. And labor has no clear end in sight. You could be in labor 2 hours or 2 days. Both of my c sections were over with in an hour. And my beautiful oversized babies were here. There heads not misshapen.

Everyone always talks about the shocking pain at the incision sight. And yes the day after the pain is shocking. Not as shocking as natural delivery. And after the first day every day after gets better and better. Plus I totally prefer stitches across my stomach than up my ass because you know what the ones that I had after Aidan were not so pleasant either.

Another common complaint is that during the c section you feel lots of pressure. Some say tugging/ pushing. For sure an odd feeling that you could live with out ever enduring. Quite honestly compared to a human tearing its way out of your body I'll take the intestinal massage any day of the week.

I hear women that have only had a c section say often that they feel they have been robbed of the birthing experience... to that I can only say the whole "natural birth" experience is OVER RATED! And it the end it does not matter what means brought your baby here safely.

I personally take offense when I hear moms putting down moms that have chosen to go with a c section. It is such a personal decision made with only health and safety at the forefront. I did not have a c section for convenience. But I was able to keep an open mind and make the best decision for me and my babies.

Whether you are a well-vetted member of the mommyhood with tons of experience under your belt  (which I think I qualify for with three kids) or a new comer try to remember the tie that binds is our shared loved for our little ones not our ideas about how they should be brought into the world. The next time you run into an expectant mom... even if she asks spare her the agonizing details of your maternity horror story there will be plenty of time to commiserate and relate after she has her own to tell.

Sweet September

This time last year I was pacing the floors of this house. Breathing through contractions that had started 2 days prior. Wondering when I should leave for the hospital. Cursing Dr. Douchebag for sending me home in the first place. Rubbing my belly that was stretched to the max. Saying silent prayers and talking to the baby I affectionately called September. Asking him to hold off. Stay put. Just for one more day. Anxious as I was to meet him I was twice as anxious about how he would make his way into this world. I knew that my doctor was not available until Monday. And according to him despite the fact that I was bleeding and contracting at 6:30 am on Friday morning if I just went home and stayed in bed and didn't lift a finger I would be fine until he had time to deliver my baby on Monday.

Just go home and stay in bed. Don't lift a finger. Yeah. No problem. Said a mother of two small boys... NEVER. I begged him not to send me home. Terrified that I would go into full blown labor on my own and not have enough time to get to the hospital or worse have a repeat or some similar situation as I had 7 years before with Aidan. A birth experience that brought me closer to death than I care to remember. The delivery that almost sent me home with out a baby. Surely the doctor that had been obnoxiously thorough the last 9 months... sending me for every test under the sun. Monitoring me so closely that I was sure baby September was going to come out glowing after all the sonograms I had.... was not going to let that happen. My high risk, sought after, top notch doctor, that I adored must have a plan that was more involved than telling me to keep my legs crossed and pray until his weekend off was over.

Nope. As it turns out that was the plan. So when I showed up at the hospital Sunday morning literally about to have September it should have been no surprise that no one knew about my blood disorder. No one knew how it should be treated. And my wonderful doctor... oh he was too busy at his sons soccer game to answer the phone. At 8 1/2 centimeters....  a point where the baby could practically stick his arm out and wave I was left on a gurney. Told to "hang tight" while they figured out what needed to be done. The hematologist on call... the one familiar with all blood disorders readily admitted she had no idea how to treat mine. Asked me if I remembered the name and dosage of the medicine I was given when I had my last c section because they would just go with that. Me! She asked me! The girl having contractions so strong that I could not see straight. I didn't even know my fucking name never mind the dosage of the medicine that was given three years ago. And why would I be a reliable source any way. I am not a doctor. Or a nurse. I am a mom of two... about to be three. Currently trying to keep a baby from sliding out my vagina. Are you really asking me?!

At more than 9 centimeters it was all figured out and I was heading in for my c section. Which I was really pissed about. To go through that many hours of labor with no medication or epidural and get a c section literally minutes before the baby could have been born naturally is just senseless torture if you ask me. Nonetheless that is how it happened. More importantly September arrived safely. And good God was he perfect?! And big! Just like at I had felt with his brothers... it was instalove.

Completely consumed in this new love I almost forgot that September needed an official name. Everyone thought we were just with holding what we had picked. Some even thought that we had actually named the baby September. Seark is a hard one to follow. I mean after a name like Seark you can't just go with Joe for the next one. Besides we can't leave Seark out there all alone in the strange name club. But honestly you can't out do Seark with out getting a little crazy. And I had already given Seark, Rylan for a middle name which was my next favorite boy name. So we were stumped. Until they informed us that we could not leave the hospital with out filling out the birth certificate. At that point we decided we could totally use Rylan again. So we did.

The sight, smell, feel of a newborn baby is intoxicating. To hold this tiny being so fresh from heaven there is no denying a higher being and the occurrence of modern day miracles. I spent the next few days just gazing at flawless little September. Breathing him in. Touching his warm, soft skin. Running my fingers through is baby fine hair. Wishing to freeze this time knowing how fast goes. I studied the sweet perfection of his face. Aware that it will change in the blink of an eye. And it did. Everyday. He changed and although subtle... noticeable. To me. Every night I would rock him to sleep and before I put him down for the night I'd trace the lines of his face so gently trying to etch them in memory. Afraid the he was changing so fast I would forget what he looked like on any particular night. Because that is what happens. I miss the days of being a blissfully ignorant first time mom that didn't know just how fast this time passes you by. Or that no matter how much you try not to you will forget.

And so a week turned into a month. And a month into two, then three and so on. My little newbie was growing at warp speed. Smiling and cooing at his brothers. A little personality was just beginning to form. The dark hair that he had a birth was long gone and little blonde fuzz was beginning to grow in its place. His dark grey eyes were beginning to turn blue. With each passing day my love grew. And not just for Rylan but for all my boys and the love that they have for each other.

Months four, five, and six were spent snuggling on the couch as snow fell out side. We celebrated Aidan's birthday, Christmas, small and big milestones. Smiles and coos were turning into belly laughs and babbling. And before I knew it my tiny babe was off to explore all on his own. He mastered crawling and then there was no stopping him. His baby soft knees started to feel like sandpaper as he made his way around on all fours. Until the day he discovered that he could pull himself up and cruise the furniture. Curious hands found their way into everything. And though his ambition out weighs his ability to balance his unsteady legs he never stop trying.

With seven months came a first tooth and a cranky teething baby. By the beginning of month eight three more teeth had made their way through those lumpy red gums for  a total of four. Then six and now eight. A baby with 8 teeth makes nursing feel like a danger.   All these new teeth also opened the door to a whole new tasty world of food we had previously not explored. With every new flavor Ry found a funny new face to express the message his taste buds were sending.

As pages of the calendar turned I started to feel the clock tick. September was fast approaching. Our days in the sun were numbered and so was the time until my Ry James turned one. My heart was starting to ache. This bitter sweet joy of yet another year that had filled me with so much more love than I knew I could hold had my heart so full the only thing it could do was grow. But growing pains are still pain. And a heart ache even if caused by joy still hurts. September is here and in more ways than one. So I baked a cake and stuck a candle in the middle. Sung happy birthday with sweet September on my lap and held back the tears of a mom not ready for next chapter just yet. But ready or not your growing as babies tend to do.

So my Ry I won't hold you back or slow you down. I will watch you grow and let you go while I cheer you on. I will hold my breath while you take your first unsteady steps and hold your hand whenever you need it. Your first words have yet to be said but I can not wait to hear them. I will fight for you and be in your corner no matter what while I fight back these tears because I know my heart isn't breaking... just growing. You are only one, you have only just begun... the best is yet to come! Happy Birthday my sweet boy!

I like having sex with you...

I am a big card person. I love cards and give them for all occasions. Except Christmas. The holiday that I love to design and order personalized cards for but never execute the actual addressing, stamping, and more importantly mailing of. So anyway the other day when someone did something nice for me I decided to go buy a little gift and a nice thank you card.

What sort of gift do you give to say thank you? Personally I like to be thanked with alcohol. Vodka or wine preferably. But choice of liquor is so individual what do you pick for someone that you don't know that well?

(via text messaging)
Hey what do you like to drink?
Water.
No I mean alcohol.
Unless you would like the gift of Poland Spring.
Oh LOL!
(followed by no response to the actual question)
Okay last chance... or don't complain when I stop by with a fancy gift bag containing only a bottle purified water.

A day later I was headed out to buy a bottle of water and a thank you card. I decided to go with Fiji water since it looks the most prestigious among the bottled waters. My kids gravitated towards the toys which happened to be right next to the cards. Which was a nice distraction for them and gave me a few minutes to actually read the cards before I picked one. Birthday. Graduation. Communion. Baptism. Wedding. Congratulations. Humor. Sympathy. Thinking of you. Ah ha.... Thank you. Thank you cards in general suck. They are so generic and boring. There among a sea of lame "your the best" cards was one fluorescent orange card sticking out like a sore thumb. I lifted it half was out of the holder to read "I like having sex with you". Which made me giggle. Really?! I like having sex with you? Intrigued no less I had to open it and read the rest.

My quiet giggle broke out into a full hysterical laugh by the end of this "greeting card". Which of course drew the attention of my children. They came scurrying over to see what was so funny. They go from sweet smiling minions to angry mob when they aren't getting their way... and they weren't because I wouldn't let them read the card. I did however buy it. I just couldn't pass up this literary gem. I contemplated giving it to my husband with a completely straight face just see his reaction.
Which then got me to thinking have I been married so long that a card like this seems nothing more than hilarious and ridiculous?! Are people actually exchanging cards like these?! And my last thought... I need to submit a resume to American Greeting. Maybe I have missed my calling as greeting card writer.

I had to pass this humor on. At night when my mom stopped over to go for a walk I came out with the I like having sex with you card in hand and told her she had to read it before went. After she had a good laugh I threw it in my mailbox thinking I would bring it back in after our walk. Only I forgot about it when I got home. The next day on my way back from picking Aidan up from school I ran into our mail man. With a very peculiar smile he said "there is something in your mail box not addressed to anyone". I just responded ok thanks and kept walking. The card never even crossing my mind. Until I opened the mail box and there it was... right on top. Which leads me to believe that our mail man now thinks one of the following... I am really good in bed... Like greeting card worthy sex. My husband is really good in bed. Or one of us is having an affair and just got outed by a poorly written greeting card. Whatever the case I will leave it a mystery for him as the truth could not be more dull!

So if you ever feel like you want to say what's on your mind with a card there is truly one for every occasion. I can already see some type of poorly acted hallmark commercial with a tiny accessory perhaps a condom to perfectly pair with your "I like having sex you card" when the trend finally catches on. Unless it already has a I am out of the loop.

p.s. I included a $50 gift card with the bottle of Fiji water and the sex card... I mean thank you card.

Humpy Humpy Dumpy and other great falls...

When I was about the age of my oldest son I fell off my bike. The details are fuzzy at best as it was 20+ years ago that it happened. I don't remember the moment of impact. Which is probably a good thing. I don't remember much after it either. I know the accident itself resulted in a fractured jaw and dental trauma. I do clearly remember the few seconds immediately before my face met the pavement. Those few seconds where time seems to slow down long enough for you to come to the realization... oh shit... this is gonna be bad. And it was. But as bad as it was for me I am now convinced of two things. One: smashing your face in some capacity is a childhood right of passage. Two: My accident was worse for my mother.

As the first full week of the new school year came to an end and the fall weather began to arrive I could not think of a better way to spend our home work free Friday than at my boys' favorite park... playing with their friends. So I got the kids in the car and headed out to the "barn park". A brand new park in town. The hazmat worthy cat urine filled sandbox that the children once loved to play in was finally removed and replaced with a new gazebo. The rusted fence that didn't quite close has been torn down and in it's place is a new wrought iron gate with a handle that locks into place so no parents have to chase small escapee's. The mulch loaded with cigarette butts that Seark used to love to snack on has been cleared away. The town even went the extra mile. Instead of just paving the park they installed that rubbery floor that feels sort of bouncy under your feet... you know the kind that will for sure lessen the impact of any fall. Well not quite any fall. Smack in the middle of this completely safe... I am sure "up to code" park is a giant statue of a stupid fucking pig! Oh my... she said stupid fucking pig?! Why such animosity towards such a cute statue of a pig with its piglet?! Because that pig was the only thing standing in the way of my clumsy child when he went running through the new gate... on to the impact absorbing bouncy floor.... when he tripped and fell face first with no time to brace himself.

From across the park I watched it happen. Aidan face plant right into the foot of that stupid fucking pig. I heard it. And as the words "oh god I hope that noise wasn't his face" came out of my mouth Aidan shot up off the floor as if there were springs in his feet. Letting out an awful cry. The cry any mom that has heard it before knows means it is serious. I held my breath and ran to him. Aidan spun around and... ALL. I. SAW. WAS. BLOOD. And lots of it. So much I had no idea where it was coming from and the only word in my head was.... FUCK! fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!!!!! Oh it was bad. Bad. Aidan was screaming "oh God I'm dying... I'm gonna die!" And all I could think was fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!! Luckily that's not what I said. I somehow got my shit together enough to get my game face on.... the face only a mom can pull off. The one completely disconnected from every thought in your head. Disconnected from anything else going on around you. The face that you look at your bleeding child with... the calm... cool.... collected face that tells them "your gonna be okay". And that is what I said over and over until Aidan really heard it.

Your gonna be okay.
Your gonna be okay.
Your gonna be okay.
Your
gonna
be
okay.
You hear me?
Your gonna be okay.

As much as I was saying those words with serious conviction I had no idea whether or not they were true but as long as Aidan believed me and they calmed him down... that was all that mattered. And they did.

By the time we arrived at the hospital Aidan was no longer freaking out. The blood had stopped gushing. He was still bleeding and clearly bruised and swollen but I was certain now that he would indeed be okay that I felt better about reassuring him of such. After being evaluated we found out that although he was okay underneath all that swelling was a broken nose and behind his absurdly fat lip was a chipped tooth and two loose ones.  When asked what happened Seark chimed in with "my brudda falled like humpy humpy dumpy... right Aidan? into da pig at da barn park".

Thank God unlike humpy humpy dumpy Aidan could be put back together again.

Don't be a bitch I am doing my best

Today was another day of just me and the kids. I am used to it just being us. There is only one place I really avoid taking the kids to. And that is any sort of formal dining establishment. By formal dining establishment I mean anything where they expect you to stay in your seat for the duration of the meal. I don't even really like to go out to eat when my husband can come with us. It is a project. Not one that I love. Rylan is in the "throw it on the floor" phase of his life. "It" being anything within reach of his tiny little wanting to smash it hands. Dining out with a 10 month old is somewhat like yoga... for beginners. I spend a lot of time sqautting, bending, and contorting into positions I am not sure that I can get out of just so we aren't the table that everyone stares at and whispers "look at her letting her baby trash the place". Not to mention the murderous glances from every bus boy. So for everyone's safety I keep dining out to a minimum... even when I have an extra pair of adult hands to help out.

If it were only Rylan that was completely uncooperative it wouldn't even be so bad. But there is also Seark. While he is not tossing breakable plates and smashing cheerios on the floor he still manages to make eating at a restaurant damn near impossible. Seark is a lavatory connoisseur. Meaning he likes to check out every bathroom. In every place we go to. Several times a night. More often if they have a good hand dryer. Aside from the false tinkle alarm he sets off regularly he has the urge  to play musical chairs. He always wants to start off next to me. Then he moves by Aidan which means my husband has to switch seats with him and plates. Once everyone is settled he decides he like the other seat better and wants to move back. He also can't sit on his butt. No he wants to be half way under the table. Or kneeling on the chair just so you have a heart attack every 30 seconds anticipating the fall you envision every time he leans backwards. 

I spend the night lunging for Seark and squatting to clean up Rylan's mess and I don't even get to eat a  hot meal because by the time the food comes Rylan can't sit anymore with out screeching like a wild cat that is under attack. 

Today Aidan begged to go to a restaurant that he loves down the shore. It is the last time we will be down there for this year so I said yes even though I knew it was a bad idea. We were seated immediately which is fantastic. Our waitress took 20 minutes to get to our table to take our order... whats the opposite of fantastic? Hell... 20 minutes when you are the only adult with three restless children is hell. Rylan is tossing things off the table left and right. Seark has to pee... or maybe he doesn't but who would risk a puddle on the floor?! Aidan is STARVING! I am doing my best to not have a panick attack and run out of there when this cute little waitress walks past and rolls her eyes as she asks if I could move Seark's chair in. 

We get our food and everyone is occupied for the moment. Seark drops is iced tea. Thank god for kid cups. It had a lid and didn't make a mess. I get up to pick up Seark's drink. Hand it to him. Aaaaand Rylan is covered in baby food! COVERED! And so is the floor. I forgot to move the jar when I got up. And here comes the cute little snotty waitress. She says "I'll get extra napkins so you can clean up that mess" and walks away. She comes back visibly annoyed and tosses the napkins on the table despite that I have my hand out to take them from her. 6 years ago when Aidan was Rylan's age I probably would have apologized for the mess and cleaned it as fast as I could. Most likely got teary eyed too. Not now. Not as I sit there with three kids doing my best! 

Do you have children? 

Nope.

Do you want them?

Eventually. (clearly annoyed and I don't even blame her I can't stand when people ask me things like that) 

Good. I hope some day you have them. And you take them out to eat. Just you and your kids. And they behave like animals. And it embarrasses you because you can't stop them. I hope you have a waitress with a rotten attitude and she makes you feel like shit with her eye rolling and huffing and puffing over things like baby food on the floor... and I hope you think of me. Don't be a bitch I'm doing my best! 

Let's just say me and the cute snotty little waitress didn't hug it out. 

Children can be terrible restaurant patrons that is no secret but it doesn't mean that you should never get to enjoy a meal that someone else is cooking. I have a come a long way since my first baby. I won't put things off because of the way they might behave. Instead I take them everywhere and do my best with damage control and try to remember that you can't please everyone. I did however please someone. There was a very happy 7 year old that had crab salad and cod for lunch... and that was worth it eye rolls and all. 

I am that asshole...

Saturday morning. My alarm clock known as Crylan gets me out of bed promptly at 5am. I have finally come to terms with this ungodly hour that we must rise and shine and take full advantage of it on the weekend. Since my husband is home instead of making coffee and daydreaming about my bed like I do the rest of the week on Saturday and Sunday mornings I go for a long walk/jog with my pint size companion. 

We complete our 7 miles. Come home in time to make everyone breakfast before they are up. And usually have enough time to eat before Rylan is ready for his 3 hour nap which I find completely selfish of him. Don't get me wrong I like the down time and to be able to shower in peace and all that. But anything beyond an hour is just rubbing in the fact that we do this sleep stuff on his terms. 

Anyway I take my shower. Get dressed. And decide today is the perfect day for the zoo. More specifically the Bronx Zoo. I straighten the house quick. Get the other kids dressed. Pack my diaper bag. Nag my husband to hurry up. And before we leave the house glance at the calendar to make sure I am not forgetting anything we were supposed to do today. Nope nothing on the calendar for Saturday. But there is a pool party for Seark's little friend on Sunday. I think to myself good thing it is tomorrow since today is relatively cool and overcast all day. 

We hop in the car and go. There is little to no traffic and before I know it we are parking at the zoo in a spot that is in Bumblefuck... literally we had to walk like a mile to the zoo entrance apparently I wasn't the only that thought it was a great zoo day. Just then I get a text saying "hey mama you guys coming?" Immediately my mind starts to race... coming? Coming to what? Hey Jay did I mention that I had anything to do today? OH. MY. GOD. I FORGOT BEN'S PARTY!!! Oh wait what is today? It is Saturday right? I have that on the calendar for Sunday... Shit I must have put it on the wrong day!

We are already in the Bronx. By the time we got back the party would be more than half over. I text my friend (Ben's mother) and apologize for the mix up. I genuinely feel terrible! I hate when people respond yes and don't show up! But it was an honest mistake... Just like the time Aidan's class mate/ friend had a party on Sunday and I remembered on Monday when we saw his mother at school. Or like today when I headed out to the beach. Called my mother on the way their to let her know I was going but would be home in time to go shopping with her because we were coming back early because I had something to do at 4:00... I just couldn't remember what?! I did finally remember what that what was at 9:00 tonight... My childhood freind's grandmother's wake!!! Totally forgot... and lost track of time so I didn't go on that shopping trip either! Seriously what an asshole I am?! Write this shit down for god sake! 

Back to birthday party mishap. So we missed the party on Saturday. Sunday morning I look at the calendar on the fridge and think what a shame the party isn't today. It is so beautiful out! Still bummed that I screwed it up. I carry on with the day. Go to my mom's the pool for a bit. Take the kids out to eat. When I get a phone call asking where we were today? Oh no why? What did I miss? 

Turns out I wrote pool party on the calendar for Sunday because we were invited to a pool party on Sunday... but not for Ben... this one was for Luke! Which I forgot about altogether and just assumed I mixed up the days for Ben's party. Long story short... we missed both parties!! 2 events in 2 days that I completely flaked on is a new record for me and one that I am not proud of! I am that asshole that I hate in other people! And I don't want to be! No one wants to be an asshole... clearly... but I just can't seem to get it together! 

Its that moment when you realize that maybe everyone else isn't an asshole. Maybe they genuinely forgot about your party or play date just because they forgot and not because you weren't important enough to remember. Which doesn't really make the forgetting any better... so from now on I vow to use that little reminder thing on my phone. To be diligent about writing things down. Most of all to stop being that asshole I hate in other people. 

Sandpaper in your vagina?!

This morning like every other morning me and the kids came downstairs. Out of habit when I go to bed I put on the Disney channel. This way if one of the kids turns on the TV before me I know it is on a safe channel. Last night I went out for coffee with a friend. Got home late. The kids were already in bed. My husband was sound asleep too. I turned the TV on and watched a few minutes of Seth Meyers before I heard Rylan crying. I figured I would feed him get him settled and come back downstairs. I didn't. I nodded off in the rocking chair with Rylan and by the time I put him in the crib I just got into bed.

So we all head downstairs and into the living room. The TV is already on. I look around for the remote quick but don't see it. I get side tracked with letting the dogs out, changing Rylan's diaper and being bombarded with questions about what we are having for breakfast.

Mom this show is still on I want to watch something else. 

Okay Aidan just give me a minute.

Mom it's an adult show. You better change it! 

What's on?

Hoda something and some annoying lady.
(The Today Show with Kathie Lee and Hoda Kotb)

Well I will just be one more minute. That show isn't bad anyway.
(I mean really it is 9 am on a Tuesday morning on regular TV how bad could it be?)


MOM THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT S E X!!!!!

I grab Rylan and run in the living room to change the channel. Aidan and Seark are very intently watching the Today Show. Gahhhhhh I can not find the remote. I am tossing pillows off the couch. On my hands and knees looking under the coffe table. Yes! There it is! I had not really heard much of what they said up until this point. I ask Aidan what channel he wants to watch. Start to type in 1 - 2 - when I hear the guest on the Today Show say "And the then you go to have sex and it feels like there is SANDPAPER IN YOUR VAGINA!"

SANDPAPER IN YOUR VAGINA!!!! 
SANDPAPER IN YOU  BAGINA!!!
Cackling like two wild hyenas...

Mom why did she say that? Why would you put sand paper IN your vagina?! Wait what does she mean by IN YOUR VAGINA? Do you have a hole in it... like a butt hole?! 

A bagina butt hole....
(Seark chimes in) 

The boys are so hysterical they can barely catch their breath. Of course I am laughing too... but somewhat nervously as I have no idea how I am going to redirect this one with out answering any questions. I change the channel and walk into the kitchen while they are lost in laughter. Praying they just forget the whole thing and move on.

I finish getting everyone breakfast. We eat. Play some games. They are lining up little men. When Seark bursts into laughter and a in sing songy type of way says "Saaaaaaand Paaaaaaaper in your Vaaaaaagiiiiiiiina" Which brings Aidan back to the original questions.

The best I could do was... well you know that is where babies come out of. So that is the hole that she is talking about. But no one puts sand paper in it. She was just being silly.

"Silly by saying that sex feels like sandpaper in your vagina?! I don't get it. What is sex anyway?" 

Aidan I am going to be very honest with you... YOU ARE TOO YOUNG FOR THIS CONVERSATION AND THERE ARE NO MORE QUESTIONS ABOUT IT TODAY... OKAY?

Okay... Can I ask dad when he gets home? 

I have no idea when these kind of talks are supposed to take place. I have always been a firm believer that if they are old enough to ask a thoughtful question then they are old enough for an honest answer.... until today.... when my sweet little 7 year old asked me "what's sex anyway?"
It is definitely not time for that. But thanks Hoda and Kathie Lee for putting this mom on the spot and the reminder... we only watch Disney Jr. in this house!





I drop

Moms judging Moms

Look. At. Her. Does she own a mirror? She looks like she just rolled out bed. Threw that kid in the car and fled the house. Are those sweat pants or pajama pants? And what's with the hair?Ithink there is a cheerio in there.  I mean she only has one kid?! Surely she has the time to.... shhh shhh shhh here she comes. Hi Love! How are you? So glad you could join us today. You look so cute and comfy. (insert air kisses)

Ummmm we are at the park why is she wearing a dress and heals? Who wears heals to the park to chase around a 3 year old?! I mean REALLY?! She's married. She has three kids. Who the hell is she trying to impress coming to the park like she is headed to a beauty pageant?! She must stick her kids in front of the TV while she does her hair and make up. I don't have time for that and I don't want my kids rotting their brain on Sponge Bob just so I can look cute. Hey gorgeous! You always look fabulous! 

Oh. My. God. I stopped by _________'s house the other day with out calling and it was like 3:00 and she answered the door in her underwear and a t-shirt. The kids still had their pajamas on... the ones that were dressed that is. I think she may have even had on her make up from yesterday. The house was a disaster. I mean  D I S A S T E R!!! Shit everywhere. Toys. Clothes. Clean and dirty. Papers. Crayons. The dogs were eating cereal that was stuck to the baby. I. WAS. IN. SHOCK. I had no idea she was like that. She always looks so put together.

Have you been to _________'s house? We went there for a play date and let me just tell you her house is immaculate. Like museum type shit. Not a spec of dust anywhere. Kids can't sit on the furniture. We had to take our shoes off. I was afraid to breathe. I even passed on COFFEE! I was afraid I would spill it and she would freak out! Seriously my house might be messy but my kids are happy. I would hate to live with her. Those poor kids!

Did you see she is still breastfeeding that baby. He almost 1. Time to stop if you ask me.
Formula? Oh no! I would never give my babies formula. I don't understand why anyone does?!
We only eat organic. It's unfortunate people are so uneducated and feed their kids processed crap.
Crunchy moms... haha... more like hippies. Welcome to the 21st century. They sell baby food already made.
Attachment parenting? Don't make me laugh. Do I look like a kangaroo?! I don't need to wear my baby I already carried him for nine months. Besides I don't want to spoil him.
It makes me sick when I see moms not holding their baby enough. You can't spoil a baby. Stop being selfish your baby needs you.
You cloth diaper? That's just weird. And gross. It's like shitting your pants and wearing them again. No thanks.
You don't cloth diaper... don't you care about the environment?! There are chemicals in disposable diapers. You should really read up on that.
I can't believe people vaccinate their babies! It's crazy to put all those toxins into their little bodies. Besides those diseases aren't even around anymore. And haven't they heard they cause autism?!
I can't stand people that don't vaccinate! Diseases are making a come back because they are irresponsible.
Is little ________ Rolling over? Sitting up? Walking? Talking? Waving? Mine is because he is a fucking genius sorry yours isn't I am sure he will catch up sooner or later.
Cry it out!!! NEVER!!! I NEVER LET MY BABY CRY. EVER! I don't care if we co sleep until he is 25. It is just cruel to leave them crying in their crib where babies normally sleep wondering if their mother has abandoned them just so you can have a good night sleep with out worrying you will smother your child. Sure he rolls off the bed but better fall on his head than cry himself to sleep.
You co-sleep? Sexless marriages are great anyway. Enjoy getting kicked in the face for the next five years.

Why do we do it? Why do we judge each other? Why can't moms just agree that we are all doing our best. Whatever that means. My best is not your best. And vice versa. My way no matter how great it works for me will not work the same for you. We are different people raising different children. Moms should stick together. Be in it... this mom thing together. There should be no unspoken park dress codes. No judgement about the way I feed my baby. What happens in my bedroom is no body's business. Just because my house was a wreck when you stopped in doesn't mean that is how I live. It means it is the day before the cleaning lady comes and I am giving myself a break. And yes sometimes it takes me until 3:00 to get it together. My old T shirt and underwear are comfortable and I wasn't expecting anyone... shoot me. I may have looked like I rolled out of bed last week when I saw you but I didn't. I actually didn't even get to get in bed at all because my teething infant was up all night and wanted to be held. ALL. NIGHT. I thought about getting dressed before I left the house but by the time I got everyone else ready it was getting late and I just didn't have the energy or the time left. And yes when I do feel like it I put on make up and do my hair. Throw on my favorite sundress and matching Gucci heels and head out to the park. Not because I want to impress you or anyone else. Because I am a girl and I like to feel like one from time to time. I vaccinate my kids because I feel the benefit out weighs the risk but I will not chase your kid around with a needle because you chose not to. I also won't blame you when I hear there is a measles out break... though I might make you aware that it is happening. I co slept with my first and learned that wasn't really for us. That cute cuddly baby became and giant kid that hogged the bed and wouldn't settle down unless someone was sleeping next to him. So yes I let my last cry it out. And so far he doesn't show any signs of permanent damage. During the day I hold him too much I even baby wear and he hasn't spoiled like rotten milk but maybe he isn't walking yet because he hasn't had the need to as I carry him everywhere. While we are on it... let's talk about milestone's. STOP COMPARING YOUR LITTLE ONE TO MINE. They shouldn't be competing and you shouldn't be keeping score! In a year from now when they are both doing the same thing it won't make one shit of a difference who said mama first. So stop. Stop comparing. Stop judging. Stop thinking your way is better. Because it isn't. I f I am making mistakes that aren't hurting anyone... let me. Don't assume my kids are neglected because I look nice and my house is clean and I won't assume you are dirty because your house was a mess and your kid eats rocks.

Let's agree on this one thing... life would be easier in the mommyhood if we stop assuming we know it all. Don't smile to my face and talk behind my back. Being a bitch is better than being a phony bitch. If you see me struggling and think you know a better way... I will gladly take any advice you offer as long as you don't shove it down my throat. I know you are doing your best even if you aren't doing it my way. And I don't want you to. What I do want is a friend. Someone that understands and knows just how hard this job is. Someone who will over look the cheerios on the floor. Laugh at the little things only another mom could understand. Tell me tomorrow will be better when I am so tired I could cry. Guess if the foreign object in the poopie diaper was swallowed or just fell in there when  I text you a picture. Smile and nod even if you don't agree because that's what mom friends are for. If I want someone to second guess my every decision I will consult with my husband