Let me preface this by saying, I am so paranoid about my girls developing body issues that if you ask them ,”What are you?” Their standard answer, with absolutely no conceit, is, “Perfection!” Or as Bella likes to say ,”Perfectional!” I am trying to raise them to know that they are perfect as is; to know that people come in all shapes, sizes,and colors and we are all of the same worth. We are all the perfect us that we are suppose to be.I stress this point to them. Though, of course, being that I am human, I am uber critical of myself but I am conscientious not to exhibit that behavior in front of them, or so I thought. It’s a 24 hour a day job, just trying not to be a bad example :)I thought that I was succeeding at this job.I guess I thought wrong.
The other day, out of the blue, my 4 year old, Bella looks at me and whispers, “Mom, I want you to be tall and straight like Daddy.” With that, she smiled a little sheepish smile. So between the whisper and the (please don’t hurt me, on the brink of a flinch smile) I concluded, she was trying to say something very diplomatically that was in fact an insult. But I wasn’t sure what. My husband is 6’5″, so I understand that he is taller than me but what did she mean by “straight”? I’m married to a man and she has to idea of the implications of the words “straight or gay” ,so this left me wondering, what in the hell exactly she meant. So, I said,”Bella, Mommy is a girl and sometimes they are shorter than boys.I can’t do anything about that.” She said,(in her whispering/defensive stance/hands actually up to her mouth to signify a secret) “But you can get straight!” I look at her, and again, that same impish smile. I’m curious and I’m confused. “Honey, what do you mean that you want me to be “straight like Daddy”? Bella, looks me up and down and says, “You know, straight,with none of this!” By this, I inferred by her hand gestures and the fact that she was rubbing my love handles, she meant my lovely chunkiness. OMG, this is the moment I hoped would never come. I’m not obese, but I’m no size 5 anymore.I am certainly a well established resident in double digit land. I took a mental note and decided that it was in fact time to get back into shape. I want to be a good role model, and all that:)She wasn’t trying to mean, but she obviously knew, at her young age of 4, that Mommy’s weight was a sensitive subject. We’ve had the occasional,”Mom you’ve got a big butt!”, which of course, compared to hers, I do. Let’s face it, I got a big butt. I have always responded, “Well Bella, Mommy would look crazy with a little butt like yours.I’m too big for a bootie that size, but its perfect for your little girl body:)” Which, indeed, I would and it is. Her response is always, “It’s OK Mom, I love your big butt!” So, overall, its all good. My ego gets a little bruised, but I bounce back. That was then.
Today,at dinner, Bella is engaged in a full on monologue with herself, as four year olds are known to do from time to time. Then she leaps into her,I’m pretending I’m somebody else mode.OK, I’m used to this. I hear her having a conversation with herself about her Mom being “straight”. I turn slowly, and my ears perk up, like a nosey dog.I can’t resist,”Bella, you still love me even if I’m not “straight”,right? Families love each other no matter what.” To which she responds, “Yeah, Mom! But some people are like ‘Hey look at that fat girl!’ ( Imagine my aghast face and sheer horror) and she continues ,”But I’m like ,’Hey don’t say that, she’s my Mom and she’s perfect!” And then she looks me dead in the eye, serious as I’ve ever seen her, and says,”I still love you anyways,Mommy!” At this point, I am in shock and mortified that this is the conversation that her and her ‘imaginary friends are having’:) Continuing, as an equal opportunity child that she apparently is, she looks at me and (again with that smile and whisper, since Daddy’s out of earshot) says ,”It’s OK Mom, they say it about Daddy and Saffaron (the dog) too. They’re like ‘Hey, look at that stupid guy walking that dog!’ OMG, all I want to know is who are these horribly evil little imaginary people that live in my daughter’s head and what do I have to do to shut them up? LOL I laughed so hard that I did in fact cry, part, laughing my butt off at her imagination and her keen sense of decorum to know that she needed to be delicate with her Mommy’s feelings, and part at the sad fact that my daughter has, in fact, noticed my imperfections and thinks I’m perfect anyways…or at least that is what she has chosen to let me believe , in spite of the facts.I love my daughter, she is ‘perfectional’ to me, and I am starting a diet tomorrow! I’ve also realized that I have to fight the urge and be more conscious of the “does my butt look big? Does this make me look fat?” comments that slip out of my mouth undetected. But like they say, ” I can lose weight, but poor Daddy..well, what do you do for being stupid?
I don’t know about the rest of you, but some days I feel like I don’t know who I am. Not the familiar, my worlds turned upside down and inside out because I am so busy shuttling kiddies to and fro, and planning and prepping their lives but honest to goodness,”Who the hell is this person in the mirror? Who have I become?” Somewhere between not knowing what I wanted to be but anxious to take on the world with no fear of failure and now, I have evolved into some lesser form of myself. Definitely not who I hoped I would be or who I even thought I might be. I feel like I’ve gotten wrapped up in the day to day minutia of being a Mommy and wife and have sincerely forgotten how to be or even who “Debi’ is? Oh yeah, that’s me! I don’t look like I used to, who has time? My children always look impeccable, but sometimes ,I’m embarrassed to say, I look like I just don’t care. I do in fact care, but there is always so much to do and so little time, I end up at the end of my own list. And so I have decided that I am tired of being at the end of my own list, and I give you permission to do the same! Don’t get me wrong. I am not complaining. I am blessed with a wonderfully loving, caring husband and two beautiful, if sometimes a big whopping handful of craziness, daughters. Everyone is healthy and happy except for me. I am happy with what I have, but I started taking inventory and I am not happy with who I am and I can certainly stand to be in better shape. More importantly, I am not happy with the role model I am for my girls. They say a daughter’s father is her role model of what a man should be and how men should treat women, and we have discussed this and my husband is fully aware of his behavior and how it affects what our daughters will look for and expect from the men in their lives. He is a great model of what they should demand from their partners. Now, they ( by they I mean studies have shown:) also say that a daughter’s mother is her role model of how she should treat herself. That is huge and it has hit me like a ton of bricks. Do I want my daughters to grow up thinking that they should be at the bottom of their own list? Certainly not. I want them to have it all. I want them to have the wonderfully loving and caring husband, the awesomely loved and healthy children, and I want them to know its OK to take time for themselves because they are as important as everybody else in their lives. I want them to know that they can be and do anything that they have the desire to do. I have been so caught up in being the perfect Mommy that I have forgotten to be the perfectly strong woman, to be happy with who I truly am, to be my best me. This has been the catalyst to my new quest. I am going to take time for me. I am going to take the time to workout and put on make up. I’m going to make time to fix my hair and read a book. I find myself going through the motions when it comes to myself. I mean, come on, in what world is it acceptable for grown women to use a ponytail as an excuse for a hair style? None, I am pretty sure that if it were up to my husband, he’d cut it off while I slept except for the fear that my hair would look even worse with a chunk missing. I suppose its the same world where we occasionally think there is an acceptable reason that we can allow ourselves to wear our pajamas when we drop our kids off to school. I personally have never done this one but have seen it done many times and ,God knows, I am guilty of trying to rock the ponytail at the age of 36. And aren’t those “yoga pants” just a clever marketing ploy to allow us to wear our pajamas in public without wearing our pajamas in public? The scary thing is that this is all acceptable to us Mommies until we spend a little time with our single or non Mommy friends. Then it hits us, “Wow, look at her hair, with the great style, and the highlights that don’t start 2 inches from the crown!” This is usually accompanied by a wonderful manicure and pedicure, remember those? I used to love those. And of course she is wearing something that fits appropriately, is actually in style “this” year, and doesn’t have food, smudge, spit up or any other sticky baby residue on it. And of course, her face is flawless and rested ,with no signs of circles under her eyes, because she actually slept the night before. Those are the times when I am left feeling a little short. Which is crazy because I used to have and do all those things and I have a masters and can speak 4 languages but ,yet, I feel embarrassed. I feel like I snuck into the party and am waiting to be found out. Any minute, all the people in the real world are going to be like “Hey, aren’t you suppose to be at that ‘other’ party over there? The one with all the ponytails and pajamas!” Really, I am lucky because the party with the ponytails is where all the fun is.That’s where my kids are at, but sometimes I want to be able to go to the grown up party and I want the transition to be seamless. The whole appearance thing is just a part of it. It is symbolic of the rest of the package that is me. I’d occasional like to be able to have a conversation with an adult about something other than what our children are doing. Maybe do something that utilizes some of that education that I have acquired. I need to create a solution and only I can do it, because it’s my problem. I’m the one who has let myself become a second class citizen in my own world. Remember the good old days when you had the time and energy to actually figure things out or put the effort in to fix those things in your life you were wanting to be better? That’s why I have decided that I have to make time to take care of me, or I am not as good as I could be for everyone else. I am going to pursue my dreams with all the passion that I have pursued acquiring perfection as a Mommy. I know that being a Mommy is the most important thing that I will ever do, because to me, there is nothing more important than raising great human beings that are an asset to the world but part of that is raising strong women who have a strong sense of self. So, in order not to fail them and myself, I have given myself permission to make myself a priority in my own life…at least one of the top 3:) Here’s to being who we really are, and being a priority in our own lives! Now, go forward and take the time to find yourself again; permission granted!
Back Pain ~This morning was a morning to end all mornings. I woke up, in our apartment in Virginia, where we are residing temporarily until we relocate from our home in the Midwest. The morning was progressing normally until the coffee machine, percolating my much needed fuel for the day, decided to explode. As I was texting my friend, back at home, having a great chit chat I heard a gurgle, followed by a distinct sputter, followed by a pop and a long hiss. I turned around, just in time to see my, much needed, life line turn into an eruption of Mt Saint Dunkin Donuts coffee…all over the pristine white cabinets in the corporate housing that my husband’s new company is paying for.
Back Pain is incapacitating
In true “Mommy can do everything” mode without breaking a sweat, I turned quickly, discarded my phone ,mid text,ran for the laundry room and grabbed a towel to soak up the mess and avert any real damage. I was on it, little did I know that in my haste, I had pulled my back. All that animated mad dashing was not tolerated so well by my not yet fully awake body. To add insult to the back injury, the aforementioned towel that I used to throw on the floor to soak up the eruption, it was fully loaded with sand from our weekend beach trip.
Amidst all the chaos that is unfolding, my 4 and 2 year old are eating breakfast and watching cartoons, looking over at me only briefly, as if to say ” That nutty Mommy, there she goes again.That crazy kid is always into something!” Not until midway through cleaning up the mess did I realize that I had pulled my back. While I was soaking up the mess, I was putting the shrapnel of the morning away. As I half heartily set my large, toffee flavored coffee creamer into the fridge ,atop something or other, it came tumbling back at me and crashing onto the floor, where it oozed its contents all over my newly cleaned floor. To be honest, it was more like it was hurled at me by some unforeseen, Mommy hating entity living within the confines of my refrigerator.
Back Pain is violating
When I tried to clean that mess up, that is when my back began to spasm uncontrollably and I could not regain the upright position. As I inched across the kitchen floor, walking in a position that very closely resembled the evolution of man, whimpering and wincing in pain, I called to my eldest to come to my aid. “Bella, help Mommy! Please get another towel and soak up the creamer.” Her response,”Shua Momma,” I don’t know where or how she does it but sometimes she speaks with a distinct Brooklyn accent.What a little angel, I thought to myself.
I make for the bed and lie down, and try to gently stretch the charlie horse that is in my lower back out, but it is refusing to cooperate. In tears, I roll myself out of bed, after all I am home alone with my 4 and 2 year old. I slowly make my way back to the scene of the crime, the girls are back to eating breakfast. I choke down 3 ibuprofen and realize , I am in a strange place and do not have access to my heating pad and my husband won’t be home for about 8 hours so I’m definitely going to need to get some physiotherapy done.
Oh, the humanity! At this point, I realize I am so far beyond being up a creek without a paddle that I am more closely to being in the ocean without a life preserver. I know for sure that I needed to opt for osteopata savona to end this agony.
Back Pain is Humiliating
Up until this point, my girls were behaving pretty well. Then they finished breakfast and realized that I was incapacitated and could not effectively enforce any of my rules;like no running in the house, no writing on each other with marker, no eating snacks like Cheetos and cookies before lunch, no wearing your bathing suits around the house as clothing, no laying every DVD in the house out on the floor as you play hopscotch on them, no yelling every single sentence at the top of your lungs, or no washing your entire body down with the foaming hand soap if you can’t reach the faucet to rinse off. Yes, they realized I could do nothing and they did everything they wanted, and all I could do was watch and cry a little.
I never thought coffee could leave me completely incapacitated and totally dominated and at the mercy of my children. Now that I do, I may have to give it up.That’s a pretty heafty price to pay for a little get up and go! I got no coffee but my morning sure got up and went… straight to hell real fast, taken there by my two ,otherwise, little angels. Lesson learned; apparently when Mommy’s incapacitated (back pain running rampant), there is hell to pay.
PMS~ There is Premenstrual Syndrome, more aptly called the one week a month that I hate all living creatures for even having the gall to breathe, little lone have the audacity to speak to me or ask me for anything at all.But then there is the ever so lovely, PMS and having the responsibility of mothering. Are you effing kidding me? Who ever thought this was a good idea? Come on, it is not an understatement to say it is potentially as deadly a mix as pills and booze.
My dearly beloved husband has departed (no he’s not dead…yet) to the great state of Virginia, for business leaving me, with my last shreds of sanity, alone with my two beautiful girls.
ALONE with PMS!
I have been trying my best to keep them occupied, so they don’t feel the void of their father’s presence as much as they might, say sitting around the house doing nothing. We have been running to and fro, engaging in every last activity I can come up with. This is being done for a dual purpose; 1) to keep my daughters’ completely preoccupied with other activities so they are not missing daddy too much ( and constantly whining about it, as they have so boldly demonstrated they are quite capable of doing) and 2)to keep my house in spic and span condition on the rare chance that there is someone in this world who is actually looking to buy an awesome house in a great subdivision in this awful economy. This has been my life since my husband has made his departure. And if I may say so, myself, I have been doing a damn good job at both, though tiring and nerve racking as it has been.
PMS you Sneaky Bitch! I’m busy! Go away!
Then, from out of nowhere, since I myself have been so preoccupied with all of these activities and have forgotten the beast from within that never misses her visit, she arrives and she is taking no prisoners. I have been ripping heads off of cable companies, phone companies, and even the occasional bystander for 2 days now.I had the good sense of self awareness to realize what was happening, while I was visiting my parents and my 4 year old, who has decided she can’t hear anymore, had a sleep deprived melt down and wanted to leave my mothers house…at bedtime. Yes, at bedtime! This happened after, the previous night, her 2 year old sister had decided that she wasn’t caring for sleeping (all three of us) in Grandma’s full sized bed and proceeded to punish me by screaming ,sporadically, without cause, at the top of her lungs… all night long. Yes, ladies, all night long. Remember those nights with a newborn, when you were so sleep deprived that you prayed for death, just so that you could sleep? This was way worse. Anyways, back to the meltdown, so rather than calm her down, soothing her, and coaxing her to lay down at Grandma’s like I normally would have done. I said, “OK, go potty!” and I proceeded to chuck every bit of crap we brought into the back of my SUV..with the speed of lightening and the fury of the a goat on crack. My parents watched silently and my children, being that they are apparently aware that Mommy gets a little crazy once a month, were unaffected. They simply said their good byes to the grandparents and ignored my mood completely.
Driving home, completely besot with myself, and completely over my kids meltdown, it hit me…” You crazy bitch, calm down. It’s PMS week” We, Ella, Abbi and myself (Sybil for the week) made it home without any real incident. That night, as I put them in bed and looked at their sweet little faces, I thought to myself, do these kids know how truly dangerous their Mama’s PMS really is? Luckily not. Normally, my husband is here to offset the true glory that is my PMS but with him gone, I was left to deal with it all on my own and it was not pretty. I spoke with my husband and let him know that I am having my beast visit this week. He is coming home, after two weeks of being gone, his response to me was ,”Oh God. Can it be over by the time I get there?” Luckily for him, I was not in the throes of the syndrome or that could of warranted him a tongue lashing to not soon be forgotten, at the very least. I have come to the conclusion through this ordeal that it should be a law of nature that once you have children you no longer can experience the “syndrome.” It truly is quite counter productive and very much as reckless and deadly as “Pills and booze”.Of course, if pills and booze were involved I believe I would be much more likable this week anyways. But alas, as does mothering and PMS not mix neither does mothering and pills or booze. As all good mothers do, I will suck it up and put on a happy face. My girls are awesome blessings and as long as I can keep that in perspective maybe I can keep the beast at bay, at least until my husband gets home:)
PMS, You may have Won the Battle but Not the War!
Road Tripping with Toddlers is not for the week. We are on a mini vacation/ look see around town for my husbands potential new job, in Virginia. First, let me start by saying, this is one of the most gorgeous parts of the country that I have been to thus far in my life. The weather is awesome, the foliage abounds, large cities are concealed by an enveloping plethora of greenery. Essentially, you have big city life with the look of the country and all the amenities of a Beaches all inclusive resort. So, that is where we are Today!
On Saturday, however, we were road tripping with toddlers for 12 glorious hours. Yes, that is correct, 12 hours with a 4 and newly turned 2 year old.Can you say a little touch of hell on earth. My ,otherwise, sweet loving girls do not like to be confined in those 5 point harnesses on a good day on a trip across town. So, imagine their state at taking their very first long drive trip imprisoned in those wonderful harnesses.
My oldest, rambunctious as ever, insisted on asking, every 20 minutes or so,”Are we there yet?” I always thought that was a funny spoof on parenting but now I realize that it is, in fact, the truth of traveling with children. I never realized how frazzling that could be to me as a person. I thought “those” moms have no patience. Just say ,”Not yet, in a little while.” Why all the overreaction? Then I realized that it can actually bring you to the brink of insanity and make a grown woman, such as myself, cry, almost inconsolably, if asked in the right voice and enough times over a 12 hour period.
While the oldest was hitting us with the barrage of “Are we there yet”s the youngest was freaking out of her ever loving mind about a gnat. Yes, a gnat, that supposedly must have been the scariest, meanest, baby eating gnat you ever did see because , god bless her little bitty heart, she screamed bloody murder for at least 3 hours of the trip.Oh, the humanity! So, to sum it up, my 4 year old is wondering if we are there yet, every single second of every single minute we were on the road, my 2 year old is being terrorized by a gnat and screaming so highly pitched, that all the dogs of the world were seeking her out to eat her and end the misery, I am at the brink of insanity on the verge of losing the battle and my poor beloved husband is trying to plot his course to the nearest gunsmith to rent a gun and buy a bullet.
Then I pull out my bag of tricks because obviously the 1200 DVDs that I brought are not holding their attention. First , we color ( you know those Wonder Crayola colors that magically appear on the special paper but nothing else..that’s what you think, but that’s another story entirely), then we color the glittery ones, then we color My little Pony. We sing, only the songs that they know so we had Bella’s favorites, “Twinkle ,Twinkle” and “Mary had a little Lamb” and Gabi’s favorites “Happy Burtday to you!” and ” Five, Five DOlla..Five Dolla foot long!” Yes, my 2 year old is obsessed with the Subway commercial jingle. Have you any idea how many times they play that thing? I do , because she sings it incessantly. Don’t get me wrong, in the right context, it is absolutely adorable. She is the cutest thing that has ever walked this earth, besides her sister, of course, but everything in moderation. Interrupted only by the “Are we there yet?” inquiry of her sister. OK, so brink of insanity on way to gun shop, we stop at lunch and we try and let them stretch there legs at some wayward Wendy’s in West Virginia. Not my idea, have you seen Wrong Turn?
We get lunch, they have ants in their pants and can’t keep still. We get the food, the chicken flavored whatsamanuggets are not done, still doughy,”EWWWW, gross”, as my daughter like to say. I return them. We wait, I return with nuggets, all is good in the land.
Road Tripping with Toddlers is Hell on Wheels
A ‘fly” dares to descend upon the table. All hell breaks lose. Toddlers jumping everywhere, screaming, crying, running away in terror. I did mention it was a fly and not Godzilla, right? Not a horsefly, just a regular old house fly! In true fix the situation fast fashion, I take off my flip flop and the untimely death of one unsuspecting fly ensues. All is good in the land, and then Gabs, because all of the attention we just received was apparently not enough for her, screams, at the absolute top of her lungs “EWWWW, FAARTED.Stinks”. Absolutely, mortified , I say ” OK, honey, it’s OK.” Then I realize, amongst all of the commotion, she did not have any kind of flatulation incident. Apparently, she just thinks it’s funny and likes to take credit for such occurrence. She is really better than the dog. This is a quirk I am hoping she outgrows.
Bella, my older one starts asking, “Mom, what are we going to do on our vacation?” I say, because I am out of the car and somewhat rational and overly sweet because I am trying to gain redemption from being “Crazy Mommy” from in the car,
“Well, sweetie.we’ll look around the town and eat out, maybe go to Busch Gardens, and we will take you girls to the pool at the hotel.” She look at me with wide eyes,” Even you, Mommy?”
First lets put this into context, I am a Mommy in my mid 30’s, I am a little over weight and a little out of shape, and I hate swimsuits with a passion. I have since I was a teenager. It’s like a taunting suit, it takes every possible flaw you can possibly have and flaunts it to the discriminating eyes of the world. But I do occasionally wear these horrible contraptions to play with my children and because I am determined not to pass my body issues on to them. In response to my daughter, I say “yes, sweetie, even Mommy.” I look at my husband and say ” What the heck, I don’t know any of these people.I’m going swimming!” To which my daughter responds in her most defiant voice “Yeah,I don’t know these people either, so I’m going swimming too!”
How funny, she has no idea about the context but dammit, she’s going swimming!! I’m still in the throes of this mini vacation that teeters between heaven and hell, I’ll post more when we all arrive safely at home, by passing any and all asylums and gun shops…save for that poor Godzilla fly at the Wrong Turn Wendys. The only thing more difficult than Road Tripping with Toddlers is road tripping with TWO toddlers.
How have you survived road tripping with toddlers?
Road Tripping with toddlers Only the Strong need Apply
Breaking Up is hard to do~ We’ve all been there. That’s moment in a relationship when you know its not going anywhere, and its certainly not moving forward, that’s the moment that you know its over. Your challenge is to decide whether to let it die a slow painful death or to end it quickly, and just pull it off like a band aid on a hairy arm and pray for not too much collateral damage. After the breakup, you might even need some coping tactics, such as a breakup recovery course, just to revitalize yourself. We expect these situations when we are dating but not when we are play dating. But alas, it happens, and more often than not, I suspect.
It starts off innocent enough, you have a friend whom you know, however well, and one, or both of you, has the brilliant idea to form a sorority of friendship held together by the glue that is our children. Then one, or both of you, decides to enlist other friends or acquaintances into said group because, after all, the bigger the better. A seemingly perfect scenario of coffee amongst the pitter patter of little feet, quickly evolves into headaches amongst screaming children, at the very least. There you are with a group of strangers, that you may or may not have anything in common with, vying for one anther’s attention. People start to clique off but amongst it all there is an eerie façade of equal friendship. That “OMG, we are all so great. I love you all so much” bullshit that you keep spoon feeding one another because you are afraid if you are human and don’t love every single one of them, or at least pretend to do so, you will be known for the truly horrible bitch that you really are. It’s frigging high school with babies. Now, there are a lot of benefits to joining these groups for example; you meet women who are , at the very least, in the exact same situation as you are, as far as having children and raising them ( most times that is where the similarities end. It is sorta like lobbying to your family why you are dating a certain gentleman with the only weapon in your arsenal being that he is a human being. Not much of an argument after all).
Joining play date groups gives you an opportunity to get advice, share war stories, feel safe, get guidance in where to go and what to do with your lovely, beautiful fruit of your loins. It sounds fantastic doesn’t it? It also gives us a place to be judged at every choice we make concerning our children, its like inviting other women into your life and licensing them to insult you, not only with their words but with their thoughts and actions. After all, they are Super Moms and you are a mere human so if you don’t see it their way and have no remorse about your imperfection, well then , you deserved to be damned to hell. How could every single woman in the world not want this peace, loving ,warm ,frigging, fuzzy feeling? Have we been idiots up until now and where would we be? How would we function without the great invention of play dates?
We’d be happy and a lot less insecure and probably less judgmental and a little more caring and fulfilled. I love my “play date moms”, that’s what we refer to one another as because God, knows we seldom evolve past that point. If you can maintain superficial friendships, and hang out with women that you have nothing in common with ( other than both having children), and this doesn’t bother you…then play dates are the place for you. I have made a couple of truly remarkable friends amongst my “Play date Moms”. Real, honest to goodness friends who I would like whether they had children or not. It just helps that they have kids because that way we have one more thing in common( partial sanity) and we are in a similar place in our lives, which is always beneficial to a friendship . The other way around being friends only because you both have kids, is sorta like being friends because you both have brown hair or teeth. It’s ridiculous.
My experience has been not unlike that of my experience with my boyfriend at 15, somebody is crazy for somebody and someone else doesn’t care. You both start out in a relationship all excited about this journey and then about 15 minutes in , you realize that you are truly up a creek without a paddle; only it feels more like you’re in the ocean. One person wants to spend every waking moment together, infiltrating every single facet of your life and the other is running for their life in the opposite direction. It’s like there is no in between, there is no common ground so there is only one thing left to do, break up.
The word is so dreaded; all the connotations are negative. There is nothing positive about breaking up. It is admitting failure and you know how us women are, we hate that. So, we try to force them to break up with us, after all, we know we want out so they are not really ending it; we are, they just don’t know it. Seldom does that work. We try avoiding them, not returning phone calls, emails, we even simply just don’t show up. But it doesn’t work. You know why? Because she won’t give up either, she doesn’t want to admit failure that she couldn’t make this relationship work. It is a vicious cycle. The children are being drug all over town, why Mommies smile their Vaseline smiles with absolutely no sincere feelings , at all, behind them. Rooms are filled with the buzzing of absolutely nothing of importance being said, mixed with the latest gossip of those who had the misfortune of not attending and it is all thinly veiled as concern. Pish Posh , I say. Finally, some one’s got to be the adult and put an end to this madness. In your most grown up, unbiased, level headedness, you excuse yourself from the group. You simply inform them that though they are wonderful, (they are not for you:) something has come up and it is better to remove yourself from the play date roster. In the end, you are still going out revealed as the ” the truly horrible bitch that you are.” That which you tried to avoid from the get go. So, you see breaking up is sometimes almost impossible to do, even with the best intentions. Who knew breaking up with a group of ladies was going to be harder than breaking up with an obsessed 15 year old boy?
How did you go about potty training your little ones?
Two years ago, I first embarked on this lovely little fact of life, we lovingly refer to as Potty training. It was my first time and I followed the advice of all the parenting books. I constantly , from the age of 18 months, stalked my daughter for any indication that she was ready to start the dreaded Potty training regime.
So, as soon as I noticed that she 1) absolutely hated her diaper being wet 2) told me that her diaper was wet 3) did not want to wear diapers anymore; I got right on the potty training. So, at first I tried the whole “take her diaper off and let her run around commando”, all that did was let her pee all over my carpet. I thought it was embarrassing the first time I caught myself sniffing her butt in public to see if she pooped, holy guacamole, that was nothing compared to the fact that her urinating on my floor didn’t even phase me. I simply thought to myself, “Yeah, that’s going to have to be shampooed tomorrow!” When did I devolve into this butt sniffing, urinating not caring, vomit and spit up wearing person?
Anyways, back to the task at hand..”potty training”. Yeah, the peeing on the carpet wasn’t working for either of us. She was wet and irritated, I was annoyed and somewhat grossed out and I felt really bad for her. Next, I tried the “put on some panties and take her to the potty every 15 minutes” approach. All attempts and approaches were coupled with lots and lots of praise, her Dad and I would jump for joy and sing the “Go,Bella! Go, Bella!” song. She loved it and squealed with delight and pride, asking for more, each and every time we did it. This seemed to work and after only a couple of mishaps and near misses, she totally got the hang of it. We were so proud. So, of course, the Diaper fairy had to pay a visit. I stole this gem from Jo Frost of “the Nanny”..but hers was a pacifier Fairy, luckily, we had no need for that Fairy.
In effect , what happened next was my husband and I had our dear, sweet almost 2 year old put all her “daytime” diapers in a Fed Ex box and mailed them off to the “Diaper Fairy”. Well, that was our story and we are sticking to it. It just so happens that the Diaper Fairy is one of my other alter egos. The next day, the Diaper Fairy sent our girl a Fed Ex box full of goodies for her accomplishment. All was good in our household.
Baby # 2 was coming in a couple months and baby #1 was on her way to making life, for Mommy, a little easier. What a little rock star she was to me.
Fast forward 2 months, Baby #2 is here.Life is fantastic.Baby #1 decides that “No, not feeling this potty training stuff. That baby’s not stealing my thunder.” She completely regressed. I knew it was too easy.So, fast forward almost an entire year and finally, it stuck! It was a long haul but totally worth it!It’s always worth it not to have to change diapers or shampoo pee out of the carpet, thank God that we never had the privilege of having to shampoo a “poo” out of the carpet, or she still may have been wearing diapers to this day.
Now here we are, almost two years later and guess what? Baby #2, that awesome, rock star Gabs, is ready to be trained. But the most amazing thing has happened.Having learned from my previous fiasco and the “Year of the potty”, I have decided that I will just wait until she is ready… really ready . Well, she follows her sister everywhere, to the ends of the earth and that includes to the potty. So, one day she just comes to us, rips off her diaper, “Mamma, potty!” and she takes my hand into her little hand and pulls me to the potty. She sits on the potty and promptly pees. A huge smile, ear to ear, and she is beaming with pride.
We are shocked and amazed.I was seriously expecting to fall over and pass out from shock. But in true Truthful Mommy fashion, I scream for my husband, who rushes into the bathroom ( probably thinking that one of the girls has fallen in the tub or maimed herself in some horrible accident) only to find me smiling from ear to ear. I point to my little genius on the potty and we immediately break into that old familiar chorus of “Woohoo!Go Gabi!Go, Gabi!” and we clap and tell her how proud of her we are and her sister tells her what a big girl she is. We are ecstatic. The thought of no longer having to buy or use diapers, thrills us all, beyond fathomable belief but it has to be a fluke.
Then the next day, she does it again, and then so on and so forth. Now, 2 weeks into her doing this on her own and her big sister constantly reminding us, the Diaper Fairy is finally making an appearance at our house again.She’ll be 2 tomorrow and she’s potty trained, all by herself. Oh my God, SHE IS POTTY TRAINED!!! Seriously, there is a silver lining to every cloud. Life is good.Diapers be gone, come again no more!!!
We survived potty training..TWICE!
Every morning, I wake up and I see my daughters, usually one or both have ended up in our bed at some point throughout the night, and I am in awe of them. I truly am overwhelmed with a feeling of pride and blessedness that I have the honor of calling these perfect human beings mine. The sheer fact that I had anything to do with assisting them to enter into this world, it makes my life worth living. And every night before I go to bed, I pray to God to watch over my daughters and to let them live long, happy, and healthy lives. Above all else, this is all I ask. It is all that really matters to me. I think this is how all mothers feel. But some time in between the morning awe and the bedtime kisses and prayers, we get sidetracked by life. I’ve caught myself yelling at my girls to ” please be quiet,” or even the occassional full on “Please shut up,” at which I immediatley feel horrible and like I should be awarded the worst mom ever trophy. I know that I want and have every intention and capability of being a great Mommy to my girls but sometimes I feel that it is about as effective as having every intention and capability of working out. Where is that fine line that we cross where we go from thinking our kids’ behaviour is endearing to it is unacceptable? Its not them who is changing the rules, it is us and these sliding scale rules to fit our own moods, that is the real problem. That is the true culprit to our frustration. I am making a concerted effort to look at my children , even in the most trying times, no matter the behaviour and stay in control. Who makes the rules? We do. So my new rules are these 1) Love my children above all else, no matter what they do 2) Never let them see you sweat.Stay in control. 3)Let the small things go. They are only small( the children ,not the “things’lol) for a short time.4)Turn the frowns upside down. Life is too short to be unhappy.5) It’s more important to have a healthy and happy realtionship with your children than to have lots of money, a clean house, a quiet house, or a social life.By trying to have all of the above, you ( or at least I do) will find yourself frustrated and unfulfilled. So, my new mantra is “Enjoy my children and forget the rest”, it is the only way that I can accept the chaos that fills my everyday. It is not a bad chaos, it is merely a deviation from my plan and sometimes thats enough to throw the most organized of us all into a complete parental tailspin. But what a wonderful, exciting tailspin it is and I am blessed to be able to share this journey with my two free-spirited, adorable daughters.
The other morning I woke up; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and , by all accounts, it was going to be a beautiful day. I lay there for a moment enjoying the silence.Quiet, the whole house was still. All that I heard was the faint sound of the wind chimes, like the bells from some distant church. Absolutely everything was perfect. Then, from out of nowhere, I get a miniature sized karate chop to the face.It startled me at first, as it does every morning.Then I roll over to see the cherub like visage of my 1 year old, still sleeping. Her light brown hair lay in a ratted jumble, spread out amongst the pillows and she is completely oblivious to the pain in which she has just inflicted. I smile, how could I not at such a face. So, I lay there, still as a mouse, trying to preserve every last moment of the silence. Oh, how I adore my children when they are asleep. They resemble perfect little angels with their perfect milky skin all aglow, their hair tousled in chaotic perfection, as they lie there in complete peacefulness. I am envious and , at the same time, I feel so much love for them that my heart feels as if I can not contain it. I can not leave the bed of my sweet co sleeper, for fear that the moment that my feet hit the ground, the spell will be broken and she will awake. So, I lie there, for what seems like an eternity, waiting for her to awaken on her own. The silence, really is wonderful. I close my eyes and decide to make the best of it. I resign myself to peacefulness and at the very moment that I settle into sleep, the door bursts open and my 4 year old screams “Good morning , Mama!” Waking her sister, breaking the spell, ending the silence, my sunshine has arrived.
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I will never forget the moment the nurse came into my hospital room and said, ” OK, as soon as we can get you a wheelchair, you guys can go home.”
She shared a warm, heartfelt smile with the three of us, this new little family of ours. My heart sank, my stomach turned, and my eyes immediately welled up with tears. I was frightened and overwhelmed, excited and ecstatic but I felt like I was going to vomit.
I looked at my, obviously, just as freaked out husband and I whispered, ” Are they really going to let us go home with her?” I knew the answer.
I had been planning on this moment since the moment I knew I was pregnant. But amongst all the anticipation, I had forgotten that, in the end, this tiny, perfect newborn baby was going home with us.
I thought to myself, “My God, what will we do with her? She is so tiny”
In my head, I just knew, she was so perfect. I didn’t want to be the one responsible for messing her up. They make you take a test and get a license to drive a car but no test, no license, no qualifications for taking care of a baby. It really is insane.
At that moment, as we were staring at this tiny little piece of perfection strapped into the giant, all engulfing car seat, scared witless, the nurse came in with the wheelchair. I exhaustedly sat down in the wheel chair and embraced my new life. A baby had changed everything.
I realized that this was truly the first day of the rest of my life. Absolutely everything that I had known up to that point was completely irrelevant in my life and I didn’t care. As they placed my beautiful, little miracle into my lap, our eyes locked and her gaze held me. I fell in love, deeper then anything I have ever known to that point. In that millisecond, I became an extra in my own life and she is the star…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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