We Cry Over Spilled Milk Here

An open letter to the sadist who came up with this brilliant phrase:

“There is no use in crying over spilled milk.”

I have so many words for you.

First off, I would bet every last penny in my kid’s piggy bank that you are one of those parenting experts who has all this vast child rearing knowledge only because the closest thing to a child you have is a pet iguana named Steve. When Steve spills his water you don’t cry. You create a lake of love.

And for those of you whispering behind my back about using my kid’s money for gambling endeavors you heard me right. My children have stolen my sanity, my snacks, and my skin's elasticity. They can spare me 45 pennies to do a little online gambling. Mommy needs her hobbies too.

Second off, have you ever cleaned up a large amount of water or food spilled on the floor? I think not. Because if you had you would be recanting your statement real quick. You know what happens when large amounts of liquid is spilled in my house? My kids suddenly think the splash pad has relocated in our kitchen. And not just any splash pad, a naked one. Have you ever had three naked children attempt to slip and slide in a gallon of juice? It isn’t pretty. Citrusy, yes. Pretty, no.

It is OK to cry guys. In the iconic words of one of our nation’s wisest leaders (Justin Timberlake) cry me a river! Take that Steve the Iguana. You may have a lake of love, but my children have a river of their mother's own tears. I win.

All of this ranting is leading to today’s special story my friends, fear not.

First a little back story. Audrey cannot eat colored cereal. You know those memes of unicorns pooping rainbows? I have always known Audrey was some special kind of unicorn, but the fact that she poops rainbows when eating artificially dyed cereal only confirms this. This morning I busted out a brand new family sized box of cheerios. Audrey was pleased, and ate 36.876 helpings.

Today for lunch I made Chicken Tetrazzini. I knew it was more than likely my children would attempt to eat their napkin over any meal that I cook, but if I am anything it is ever the optimist.

Or stupid. Call it like you see it.

I have this casserole premade to give you a time frame of the crime scene.

I run upstairs real fast to put said torture device(aka tetrazzini casserole) in the oven. Then I pat myself on the back for completing my daily work out, as I do my cool down by slowly walking down the stairs gasping for breath.

Cue my eyes bleeding from horror. Rough estimate here, but I would say there are about 35,000 pieces of cheerios strewn about my basement floor. Audrey is attempting to do the breast stroke through this catastrophe while also shoving fistfuls of carpet cereal in her mouth.

Would you like to know how many cheerios remain in the box? 3.

What do I do you ask? I wipe a glistening tear from my eye, turn around without a word and get the vacuum. Audrey ever the helpful child that she is then attempts to shove the cereal up the vacuum as I work, one piece at a time, obviously. About halfway through my vacuum decides it hates me as much as my children do and decides it is done with this ridiculousness. Cue my crawling on my hands and knees picking up the 20,000 pieces of cereal I did not vacuum up, while Audrey gives me love pats on the ass.

When I finally finish, I turn around to find Audrey calming observing me while eating a bag of Doritos. Do I have any idea where these Doritos came from? Absolutely not.  At this point I just ask her to share and we split the snack that is only slightly wet from my salty tears.

The lesson here: Cry over the milk. Cry over the cereal. Then combine the two and call it dinner, because you know those kids didn’t eat that tetrazzini.

To my brethren in the struggle I say to you, we must find the humor in these situations or else we will find ourselves in a jail cell.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

Life Lessons from Audrey

I have a beautiful little free spirit in my middle child. She plays hard, fights fierce, and loves with abandon. This strong willed little thing has taught me some big lessons.

 Here are a handful:

1. You don't have to match. At all. Stripes, plaids, mismatched shoes; If it makes you happy put it on. Its an outfit, not a peace treaty.

2. Food. Is. Awesome. Like seriously awesome. Eat all the food, but only when you're hungry.
Because moderation.

3. Forget dancing to your own beat. Step that shit up and create your own marching band. Life is short. Be fierce. Never apologize for letting your light shine. Shine that stuff everywhere, it makes the world a better place.

4. Enjoy the little stuff. The smallest things can bring the biggest joy. Take the time to stop and breathe it in. You'll be better for it.

5. Get dirty as much as possible. Lessons are learned when a little dirt and a lot of imagination meet. All good foundations have a solid layer of earth beneathe them.

6. Fall down. It's the only way you'll ever learn to get up again. Bruises aren't permanent. Walk it off. Scars give you character. Character gives you courage. In falling and failing, we often learn to fly.

7. Anger is healthy. It's necessary to be angry sometimes. What matters most is how you deal with that anger. Anger may be healthy, but hate is not.

8. Do not flush stuff down the toilet. In the case of plumbing what goes down tends to come right back up.

Eat the cake.
Wear the pants.
Stop to smell the flowers.
Make your own adventures.
Fail.
Apologize when your wrong.
Avoid poor plumbing choices.

Deep breathes friends, because every little thing is gonna be alright.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle. <3

Boobs.

I don’t often cover controversial topics, mainly because my kids like to clog the toilets for fun, so I get my share of pain and discomfort the good old fashioned way.

But today I’m feeling bold and bloated so here goes nothing.

I did not feed my child yesterday when he was hungry.

Cue the collective internet throwing tomatoes and judgement at me. I’ll take the tomatoes, those are a favorite snack of mine, and the judgement is routine as well but today I’m on your side internet, because no baby should go hungry. After hours of errands, and appointments, I had a very fussy nearly one year old who wanted to nurse while waiting to be seen for a doctor’s appointment. And I made him wait 15 minutes until we got home.

·         Because I was selfish and didn’t want to deal with the stares.

·         Because I had all three of my kids with me and feeding him in the car just wasn’t logistically feasible while also waiting for our name to be called.

·         Because he thinks eating under a blanket is ridiculous. When was the last time you pitched  tent to eat some cheez its?

·         Because the bathroom wasn’t big enough for all of us and Audrey when left unsupervised leaves a trail of tator tots and tears in her wake.

·         Because he does not take a bottle.

Here is the thing, I don’t give two hoots how you feed your kid. I think formula is awesome. I think Mcdonald’s double cheeseburgers are even more awesome.

I think if you have happy kid who isn’t hungry you are basically nailing this entire parenting thing. I don’t judge how anyone does anything. There are a million different ways to accomplish the same thing. We all have the same goal: happy, healthy, kids.

I DON’T think by practicing extended breastfeeding I am better than anyone. Lord knows, I think the opposite of that. I don’t think my children are going to be the next Einstein’s because of it either. My middle child likes to store rocks in her pants for fun. Its a real hobby of hers. I think she's basically the best thing since sliced bread, but clearly all the breast milk didn't squash her natural love of dirt down her pants or her passion for wearing miss-matched shoes with a headband as a belt.

What I do think is this:

I worry for my daughters who are being raised in a world where feeding a hungry baby is taboo. I think that it is totally ridiculous that breast have been so sexualized that their natural God given purpose has been lost. I think its incredibly sad that we live in a world where anxiety and publicly feeding a child go hand in hand. I think after over 4 years of nursing I still have much to learn.

I think next time I will just feed my baby. Or gasp, my TODDLER.

Because haters gonna hate.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

What a World

Today I dressed my kids in red, white, and blue. Not because it was an appropriate holiday, not because I am proud of the state this country is currently in, but because I have hope amid this despair.

I have hope that despite this terrifying world filled with senseless violence, and unfounded bigotry that our children will see past what is, to what can be.

Every morning I wake up and pad through my quiet, dark house. There is a baby on my hip and other children in tow. I make a cup of coffee, sit in the rocking chair (usually with at least 2 little lap mates) and I prepare myself.

I prepare myself for the state of this world, to learn of the most recent act of terror, the next lives brutally lost, the next senseless loss of a nation torn.

And amid children’s laughter, with sweet baby breath on my shoulder I mourn.

Today I dressed my children in the colors of our flag. The red signifying to me the blood of the innocent, the blue the bruised and battered heart of our country, but the white: hope.

Pure and unadulterated hope.

Because you see, we can change this. We can change this through Meara, and Audrey, and Sullivan. I can raise my children to see the good in the world. I can raise my children to be empathetic and understanding. To have a heart full of love and a mind so open it knows no limiting boundaries so small such as prejudice. To raise the next generation to know that hate is a vicious poison that kills both the victim as well as the wielder.  Children who know love is a universal medicine.

The world is a terrifying place.

But we can change this.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle<3

Oh CRAP. Literally.

Join me friends for a little story. I hesitated sharing this for fear of judgment, cps involvement, and future unemployment. In fact I've sat on this little diddy for a few weeks but I decided that although painful to relive, the first step in this process of emotional recovery is acknowledgment. 

So here it goes: The Night my Two Year Old Took a Dump on the Table: A Story of Loss and Trauma.

It started out like any other day. I made my kids cry in all the usual ways: not letting them eat toilet paper, intervening when the chose to hash out confrontations using moves that make the WWE wrestlers  look like amatuers, trying to empty my bladder every 6 hours. You know, the normal ways we parents ruin our kids for life. After spending the day with my sweet angel babies from heaven, dinner time approached. I once again made a meal they requested and then sat and watched while they threw it at me like I was the worst stand up comedian on America's Got Talent(everyone's a critic.)  After this literal and proverbial blood bath I wiped the macaroni out of my eyebrows, removed chicken from my bra, and decided our next bonding activity where I cried as much as them would be bathtime. I begin by undressing Audrey. She makes eye contact and pats me on the back. At this point  a code red should've been blaring. Audrey was preemptively comforting me for her next planned attack, but I was distracted by the feeling of corn in my hairline, and let's be honest, I'm not that bright.
 Rookie. Mistake. 

So, now that Audrey is naked and glorifying in the breeze between her butt cheeks, I move on to undress my next 2 kids. As I strip Meara down I watch Audrey run to the couch and jump on the end table. Cue me yelling: Hey, Hey, Hey NOOOOOOOO, while waving around Meara's underwear like the white flag it was. SOS. At this point I realize shit is about to go down. Literally.

Audrey turns.
Looks at me. 
Makes direct eye contact. (Evil smiles.)
Takes a large dump on the table.


Cue collective gasps. Audrey takes this time while we are all trying to process the fact that she just deposited her nuggets of love from lunch on the table in our living room, to jump down and immediately flee.

Because my life is ALL about timing this is also when my husband casually strolls in, glances down and then yells: THERE IS A TURD ON THE TABBBBLEEEEEEE.

Yes. Yes there is a turd on the table and the turd depositer is currently rubbing her butt on a pillow like an African cat in heat. After you've collected yourself dear husband, please grab poopy pants Mcgee before she marks anymore of her territory.

When I relayed this story to friends most people's first response was: "why weren't you watching her."

Um I was. Every excruciating second I watched her as she executed her plan of terror. I watched, yelling, waving someone else's underwear, holding onto 2 other naked children, with total horror and a smidgen of respect for her quick maneuvering and blatant screw you attitude.

So for any moms out there who may be struggling. It could be worse. You're 2 year old could let you know just what she thinks of you in the form of bodily waste deposited on antique furniture: her opinion of you a literal display of pulic crap.


Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

And the struggle. It's real.

The New Tribe

An Ode to All my Momma’s

This one is for you.

This is for the tired momma, who wears her kids as accessories, and the closest thing to designer bags she carries are the ones under her eyes.

This is to the mom who holds everyone and everything else together even when she feels like she may fall apart.

 This is to the working mom who tip toe on a tight wire balancing family, career, kids, and still manages to make it work while look beautiful doing it.

 This is to the stay at home moms who pour their heart into their homes and their children and yet still feel the need to defend themselves in a world where you are damned if you do or damned if you don’t.

To my mommas who balance a little of both.

 Here is the thing I’ve learned my sweet mommas:

 In a world that is so set to divide us, a world that is so determined to assign labels, and use those labels to place boundaries among us that lead to fissures in friendships, and undue heartache.

We are more than this

 

 I have heard the tribe is dead, but it just isn’t. Because you see, we are the new tribe, and we live in every small smile across the waiting room and offhand chat at the park.

 This is what motherhood looks like for all of us fierce warrior mommas just trying to get by:

It looks like sleepless nights.

It looks like kisses of sweet skinned knees.

It’s wiping countless tears away.

Chasing monsters from the closet.

Its fairytales, and tonka trucks.

It is the sound of those precious babies laughing

And the heart wrenching sound of their cries

It is brutal.

It is so damn beautiful.

 You see, we aren’t so different all of us.

There are a thousand different ways to do this thing right and hot damn, good for you for figuring out just the right way to nail it for your family.

 

Love and light from another momma in the struggle <3

Thank God I Paid for My Friends in College

So back in the day when I washed on a regular basis and owned clothes that weren't 95 percent lycra I was in a sorority.

Some people might assume my bachelor's degree in education or my minor in early childhood has prepared me to be a mother of small children. They'd be wrong. 

What prepared me were my sorority days. 
Indulge me and I'll elaborate.

Mini cheeseburger lunch days made my heart swell, crazy dance moves happened on the daily,  and getting ready to go out was a community event.  Basically I just described my three year old's dream day. Therefore, I've made this notevenkindofcomprehensive list. ENJOY.

1. Recruitment: long hours spent incessantly singing the same damn song loudly for hours.

Um. I do this daily except now I yell "PLEASE PUT YOUR PANTS BACK ON" while singing Barney to unimpressed toddlers.

2. Weekly meetings: at times tedious but usually provided information I needed to prepare me for the days ahead.  In truth  these meetings prepared me for potty training.  Now I'm the "president" and my recruit is rolling her eyes at my speeches and pooping behind the couch.

3. The sorority girl look. I was first introduced the the glorious concept of looking homeless out in public during my college years. I've taken this notion to heart and honed it to a tee. I'd like to thank my sorority for introducing me to over sized tshirts, leggings as outerwear, and the concept of spacing showers based on when you have to wear pants with buttons.

4. The sorority bathroom was pivotal in developing me for motherhood. It was here that I first peed surrounded by other people, while simultaneously  discussing the weather and our opinions about sonic chili cheesedogs. 

5. Most people don't realize that sororities are very philanthropic. I spent many hours doing services projects to better our community.  I'm super philanthropic now. I cut the crust off of all sandwiches and have been known to give up my last cheese stick to a child in need. The time in my sorority taught me how to be a servant to others. There is nothing more selfless than cleaning someone else's poop out of the bathtub. True life.

6. Socials: We worked hard, and played harder. All nighters were common and usually involved drinking questionable things out of large plastic cups,  followed by eating 5 tacos in bed, and possibly crying while watching Lassie with 5 other girls.

Yesterday I stayed up all night, then drank my coffee out of a princess Sofia cup, ate 2 tacos, and cried when the seek part of hide and seek became a reality. So I'm consistent!

7. My sorority had a great designated driving program. Basically we took turns making sure our buddies got home safely if they decided to go out. These car rides involved crying, laughing, Britney Spears lip syncing, glitter, sadly at times vomit, and often ended with cheeseburgers.

I basically just described every road trip I've ever taken with my children.

8. Anyone who's been in a sorority, fraternity, or basically any club knows they can be pretty competitive with each other. My college held all sorts of events where we competed: highest gpa, dance competitions, community service, float building, athletic games. You name it, we probably competed in it. Surprisingly enough one of my strongest talents is eating. I'm super good at it. I seem to possess a natural ability to enhale food. I once led my sorority to an eating competition victory by enhaling an entire pumpkin pie only using my face in under 2 minutes.

I did the same thing with my bacon and eggs this morning while my 2 year old tried to nail me in the face with a plate. Touche sorority life, touche.

I could continue, but it's time for another team meeting around the toilet. To my sorority- I give the glory.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

Nailing it as Usual

Sometimes I make bad decisons. We all do from time to time. Some people do drugs, other people wear glittery jeggings. 

Mistakes happen.

This morning I made the mistake of going to the restroom. It was a cruel twist of fate when God decided one of the bi-products of giving birth was the necessity to empty ones bladder frequently. I need to invent mommy pads. Similar to puppy pads, but covering a larger surface area. Trust me after three labor and delivery experiences I would have no problem dropping my pants and peeing in a public corner.

But I digress: the bathroom break. I should've known something was seriously wrong because I actually peed alone. Warning signals should have been flaring but clearly I'm not the brightest crayon in the box.  I emerge from the restroom proud  that I've finally succeeded in teaching my children to respect my privacy and personal space.

HA.

Cue me walking into what can only be described as a cereal explosion. Audrey had only had four breakfasts at this point, so she must have gotten extremely hungry in the 30 seconds I dared leave her side. She had helped herself to the supersized, brand new, box of cereal. I've been trying to teach her about portion control but in her rush she decided to go for the portion titled: dump entire box of cereal over my head. 

Meara has been pretty sad that the snow has all melted. She hasn't actually communicated this sadness with me but since she was making cereal snow angels I can only make this assumption.

This isn't my first rodeo with Audrey attempting to impersonate the contestants on top chef and I'll take my lumps where they are due. I left the cereal out. Rookie mistake. 

I accept my bad decison karma and begin to clean up the 5 million pieces of crunched up cereal. Olaf(aka snow loving cereal eating Meara) pitches in and we have just about gotten it cleaned up when Audrey comes strolling over.

My heart drops.

She is carrying the bottle of laundry detergent.

The empty bottle.

Never one to miss an opportunity, when I went to get the vacuum she went to do some cleaning. She couldn't find a rag or soap so she opted for some dirty underwear and a full container of laundry soap. 

Now I could go ahead and curl in the fetal position and cry, but I've decided to see the positive in my morning. So here they are:
1. No need for lunch, they've taken care of this themselves.
2. No necessary to vaccum again today because my last bag is currently full.
3. Audrey smells like a lavendar spring rain. Yum.
4. Don't have to do any laundry. No more detergent
5. The floors are super shiny. If I step on them I may fall and die but they're super shiny.