I feel like the Grinch~ This is a post I wrote last year at about this same time and I realized that the same thing is happening again. I’m just recognizing it earlier in the holiday season. I don’t want to be this person who is wound so tight at the holidays that she pops out of her face like a jack in the box at the drop of a hat. This post is a good reminder to stop, breathe and try something different. I think we’ve all had our holiday Grinch moments. Let’s not the Grinch steal our children’s holiday memories or their holiday Mommy.

The holidays for me are usually all warmth and fuzziness, mostly. Don’t get me wrong they are chocked full of craziness but right underneath the surface of all the chaos, complete happiness is bubbling its way to the surface and about to spill over. But for some reason, this year things feel… off. It all looks great on paper, we are doing all the things that should be done to make wonderful memories for our girls but for some reason, I don’t feel like my heart is in it. I don’t feel the bubbly goodness rising to the top as it should be this far into December.

Grinch, We Don’t Need no Stinkin Grinch

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I am watching the finances closely since this year has been full of new jobs, relocations and maintaining separate households, which is nothing to speak of the fact that our whole life has been suspended and not quite right with the Big Guy not living here. Maybe my lack of enthusiasm has something to do with being overwhelmed by the to do lists and not enough time to accomplish the tasks at hand. I have been buried under snow for most of December and there’s been no time for shopping, baking, enjoying. Its been a series of appointments and dates. Truly, I feel like my girls are being jipped out of their Christmas. I’ve been so  caught up in all the obligations that I’ve been snapping at my girls and firing snark from my mouth like an AK-47.I know on more than one occasion, lately, I’ve given them the “are you retarded?” look and may have even said something to that effect, but not quite as awful. But the sentiment was there and that is as guilty as saying the words themselves. Thoughts become words and words become actions.Well, even thinking that makes me a really horrible Grinch of a mother, in my book. I don’t want to be THAT person.I don’t want my girls to think it even fathomable that I could mean such awful words.The thought of them believing that I think they are anything less than amazing or that my love is conditional upon whether or not they are pleasing to me, makes me sick to my stomach.I want to be happy, excited and gay. I need to get my warm fuzziness boiling back over. I want to spread it all over my children like warm molasses.

Please Grinch Mommy,don’t take away their smiles

Christmas is not about things to do, places to be or presents to open; Christmas is about love, peace and people.I want my girls to look back on their childhood Christmases and remember the cuddles in front of the fire, spontaneous Christmas cookie baking, making fudge with Daddy, snowball fights, and watching Christmas Movies; staying up late to put cookies out for Santa and going to mass with the whole family.It’s firsts snows and snow angels.It’s togetherness.It’s a series of moments that form a lifetime. I want it to be a feeling in their heart.I want it to be the spirit of something larger than us; of hope, love and joy. I’m clearing out the clutter of my life and my mind and going forth, my only true obligation is going to be to see to it that my girls are happy.Everything else is secondary.

Christmas Memories Better when Mommies Not a Grinch

Herbie the Elf

The Elf is back in town ~ It’s happened again, Santa has sent his henchmen to keep the girls in check. Mommy is glad because after all that sugary dessert on Thanksgiving, those girls were a little off their rocker. Lots of screaming, screeching, thunderous laughter and gratuitous “No”s. I am hoping that with the arrival of Herbie Hancock the elf ( because what else would you call Santa’s coolest elf?) the girls settle into a nice quiet, yes ma’am existence ( at least for the next month or so). I’m quite sure after the girls go to bed, Herbie Hancock the elf is break dancing his little tiny elf self all over the house..helicopter head spinning on the tiles in the kitchen, running up the walls in the hall way and doing back flips, probably moon walking all over the mantel, and I am positive that he is doing the centipede all over the joint. Silly elf, I think he may even have his own elf break dancing crew back in the North Pole.

Herbie the Elf is Mommy’s Little Holiday Helper

Don’t be fooled by the dopey smile and rosy cheeks. This guy means business. Don’t you see the placard that he is holding? Old boy is not all a rosy glow from just sitting by the fireplace, he has been busting ass and breaking kneecaps. Think less Buddy the Elf and more Tony Soprano the Elf. Yeah, that’s how we roll over in these parts. Now, as you can see, the whole Elf on the Shelf craze has really taken off this year; as is evidenced by the elf on the shelf kit being displayed prominently in every cartoon channel’s commercials and in the toy/children’s section at your major retailers. First let me say, the whole elf on the shelf kit elf..scares the holy hell outta me ( which may be the purpose..sinister little bastard) but now that he is on the front page of Target’s ad and gone all mainstream…don’t you think the kids might catch on? I mean, my girls are 4 and 6 and they are not blind and they’re kinda smart so they’d figure that one out in a hot second. No, here at casa de Truthful Mommy, we go rogue. We find some out of the way shop that specializes in magical, Santa henchmen who serve up justice with a smile and a side of curls.

I know there are parents out there who think it is an awful sin to lie to your children ( these are the same parents who probably want to send me to hell for leashing my girls when they were toddlers..after a near fatal escape by my 2 year old when I was very, very pregnant with her sister) or perpetuate the myth of Santa, the Tooth fairy and Easter Bunny and even worse to threaten my children with mafioso elves but really who am I hurting. I don’t generally lie to my girls, well, unless you count my all time favorite…doing more good than harm white lies that I’ve told over the years but at Christmas time, with all that sugar and hyperactivity running rampant, late bedtimes, visitors and such the routine gets a bit haywire and Mommy needs a little help with the baby wrangling and that’s where Herbie Hancock the Elf comes in. He’s my little ninja Mommy assistant during the holidays.

This year we needed to kick it up a notch and after a reminder by Mommyfriend Lori and referencing last year’s post about the elves running a muck , I’ve decided to let the girls invent their own kind of Santa Big Brother. Last year, Bella told me that she thought that Santa had spy cams planted around the world so that he could keep his eyes and ears on all kids at all times. I chuckled last year when Bella told me this but then Mommyfriend Lori wrote about the fire alarms in her house being Santa cams and eureka….Santa Big Brother is watching! The girls have been running up to the fire alarm all day so that Santa could see their smiling , doe eyed selves being oh so docile and respectful children. The awesome thing about this? Well, when good old Herbie Hancock the break-dancing, beep-bopping, kneecap breaking, enforcer elf heads back for colder climates…the fire alarms Big Brother Santa spy cams will remain…forever! Genius. Elf on the shelf ain’t got nothing on Herbie and the Santa Spy Cams.

Herbie the Elf & Santa Spy Cams to the Rescue

The First Day of Preschool has snuck up on me. After 4 years, my baby girl is starting preschool. Let the letting go commence. My heart is a little broken at the very thought at not having my little girl next to me every day all day, her big bright smile beaming up at me at any and every hour of the day. Her giggle not resonating through the house at something silly she has thought up or seen on the television. No sticky little fingers to grab at my breakfast. No little toes to trip me when I walk. No small little hands to hold mine when we leave her sister at school. No more special breakfasts, just the two of us. My last baby is starting her first day of preschool.

The truth is that it has all gone by way too fast. It feels like a month ago that I found out I was pregnant and heard your heartbeat for the first time. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I brought you home from the hospital, swaddled tightly in a little blanket of pink. Wasn’t it just a couple of hours ago that I was changing diapers and waiting desperately for you to say Mama and take your first steps? Where have the years gone? I want them back. I want to hold you in those moments and close to me forever. I know babies outgrow their Mommies laps, but you will never outgrow my love.

First Day Of Preschool, where have the years gone

There is so much change coming. I remember this part. This is where my forced letting go begins. This is where your growing up begins. This is where the hurt starts. I am so proud of you. You are so smart. You will take preschool by storm. You are fearless. You are amazing in ways that I can not fully explain. I am sitting here typing through tear filled eyes because I know where this road ends. A parent’s job is to raise children that make the world a better place, to be humans that we wish we could be more like to fulfill their potential and exhaust their dreams. I will be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where your passions may lead and I will always be here when you need to come home. My heart will ache, it may even break, bursting with pride and love for you my little girl. Tomorrow will be just the first in a long line of little letting goes.

Tomorrow, the First Day of Preschool

Tomorrow, we begin a new chapter. Tomorrow will be one of the hardest mornings of my life. Tomorrow, my last baby has her first day of preschool. I have already summonsed the troops. The Big Guy is taking a vacation day. When Ella started preschool, Abs held my hand and we spent the morning together, trolling the aisles of the grocery store keeping ourselves occupied until we could pick Ella up from school. Abs had spent that morning screaming down the hallways of the school, as I pulled her away kicking and screaming “ELLA!!” Tomorrow, that will be the Big Guy’s job but this time it will be me who is kicking and screaming, raging against my baby growing up..crumpling to the floor in a pool of snot and tears. I only hope that I can hold the tears at bay until I am securely out of Abs’ line of sight. God, how I love this kid. She is my heart and soul. She is my happiness.

How did you deal with the letting go? Does it ever get easier? I am so dreading college that I feel like I could vomit at the very thought of it. What helps you get over that missing my baby hump? Or worse, how do I get over this giant lump in my throat? Every time I think of dropping her off tomorrow morning, my eyes begin to fill up and I just know if I try to speak…I will cry. I’ll need you ladies tomorrow to metaphorically get me through the first of many letting goes of my last baby. How did you deal with the first day of preschool?

My last baby, First Day of Preschool Blues

Pregnancy, why do any of us do it? They say a picture is worth a thousand words so let’s save some time..

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Pregnancy End Result; My First Miracle

I know why I did it. I did it because I wanted to peer down into the face of awesome and feel my throat close itself with a giant lump of love. I wanted my heart to walk around outside of my body. I wanted to cry tears of awe and inspiration. I wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted to love something so completely that time and space could not measure it. I wanted to experience selflessness beyond measure. I wanted to have a physical piece of myself and the Big Guy joined forever. I did it because, since I can remember, I always wanted to be someone’s Mommy. I wanted someone to curl into that space between my neck and my shoulder and fill my heart completely. I wanted little fingers to wrap around mine and hold on for dear life. I wanted to experience hiccups in my belly. I wanted to experience the evolution of myself into a better version than I ever could have imagined. I wanted to feel small in the universe but mighty in my own life. I wanted to provide the change that I wanted to see in the world. I wanted to create a little person who I could call my very own. I wanted to hold the future in my arms and quietly sing her a lullaby. I did it for a purpose. I did it because my heart wanted to grow three times it original size. The love and joy quota that is met by having a child is addictive. At the moment of birth, I felt so small next to my little one who had come into the world and humbled me into wanting to make the world better for her sake.

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Warning: Pregnancy Can be addictive

Then I did it again! But now, I am at a point where I am far enough away from the beginning of my babies and heading head first into big girl territory that my retrospective 20/20 vision is kicking in. The fog of baby bliss is giving way to the reality of sibling rivalry, no peeing in peace, no showering alone, no time to myself, temper tantrums, “You’re the meanest mother in the world”, changing outfits 75 times a day and  picky eating habits with an even more discerning entertainment palate. I still love my girls with all that I am and for all that  they are but now, sometimes…I need a moment or two to hit refresh. I have been spying small glimpses break through here and there of what the future holds…quiet time, me time and time alone with my husband. I hate the letting go and growing up part. It hurts to love someone so much that you can’t imagine a time when they will not be snuggled firmly in your lap or resting their sweet head on your shoulder but there is comfort in finding yourself again, with a renewed perspective and more bold take on life. I am looking forward to that. I frequently say that I am done, half true and I believe, half to convince myself. Either way, my heart is full and I have learned from experience to never say never.

Where are you on the pregnancy spectrum? Are you expecting? Anticipating? Unsure if you are ready to embark on the momentous occasion ? On the fence as to whether or not you want to go through it all again? Or contemplating being fulfilled with what you have now? Or have you decided that it is not for you at all? How did you come to where you are? Why? I’d love to hear your stories.

Pregnancy, to be or not to be

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Cocktail Play Dates They say necessity is the mother of all invention and mother did we need something invented to make tolerable the ordeal of being held hostage with strange women as our children licked, bit and chewed on one another ( all in the name of socialization). I’m not saying it’s always going to end in disaster sometimes you may actually salvage a friendship amongst the rubble of the biting, licking and whining( and that’s just the moms). For years, we’ve been drinking coffee during play dates. Isn’t coffee considered a gateway drug? Whether it was the white noise effect our children provided in the background as we gossiped ( as we kept one very suspicious eye on that 3 year old baby Huey about to hit our little princess with a toilet brush) or as we caught up with our most favorite Mommies. Then we’d go home, behind the closed doors of suburbia and drink ourselves into a small stupor at #wineparty after the kids finally passed out from exhaustion. While coffee has it’s place, let’s face it…it leaves something to be desired in the breath department and on an empty stomach can cause quite the scandal at someone else’s loo. Not even Starbucks has figured out a way to remedy that situation. But then the two were merged, play dates and drinking.

Cocktail Play Dates Anyone?

Many people like to have a social drink now and again to loosen up or unwind. This is no secret. A glass of wine to be heart healthy. A Bellini with brunch. A wine spritzer to cool off by the pool? People drink on dates, correct? To calm the nerves? With that being modern culture, it would be no great leap that one might have a nip of this or that to relax and enjoy the date…the play date that it. Do moms get drunk, stumble around dropping kids and play spin the bottle with one another? I’d hope not. Do they do it every single play date? Probably not ( who has the time or energy). But I don’t see the harm in an occasional drink, in moderation, if drank responsibly. It’s been argued that by having these cocktail play dates Mommies are advocating underage drinking or being a “bad” example. I agree, if you are fall down drunk or have a cocktail in your hands at all times, you are probably projecting the wrong impression…functioning alcoholic anyone? But really by having a glass of wine at dinner or the occasional sangria on the back porch,  aren’t we teaching our children to drink socially and responsibly?

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Cocktail Play Dates the beginning of the End

Obviously, if your kid is an infant and you are still breastfeeding steer clear of the alcohol. If you are driving your children even a block, no alcohol for you. If your children are young enough to need you to wipe their asses, noses and hold their hand because they are too shy and/or afraid to socialize..having a drink is probably not an option for you. But if one summer afternoon you find yourself with a couple other Mommies from the neighborhood, your 9 and 10 year olds are together running through the sprinkler, I see nothing wrong with the host Mommy pouring everyone a nice regulation sized glass of Pinot Grigio ( Mimosa, Bellini, Wine Spritzer) coupled with a plate of fruit and cheese ( let’s soak it up as to not make asses of ourselves, Ladies). Everything in moderation. I wouldn’t recommend doing body shots off of one another. I know in my neighborhood, the home association frowns on that sort of behavior. It has something to do with the whole lewd and lascivious behavior or something of the like. Apparently, Mommies gone wild doesn’t have the same appeal as Girls gone wild. Go figure.

In the end, you have to go home to your family, look yourself in the mirror and be OK with how YOU parent. No one else can make that decision for you. They can look at you with judging eyes and disappointed hearts but really who are they to judge? What do you honestly think about mixing the two? Would you? Could you? Have you?

*To clarify, I’ve had one Cocktail during a Play Date in my entire life ( nothing even remotely like those gals in Florida). It consisted of drinking a Mimosa while my mom responsibly chaperoned my daughters’ play date with the neighbor kid. It was brilliant in the way that eating carbs at your leisure is, just a little taboo. Not something I would want or be able to do all the time. Let’s face it, having my children has reduced my tolerance for alcohol to that of a gnat.

Cocktail play dates anyone?

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Have you heard the one about the box of disappearing tampons? Can you explain it to me?

*TMI alert! Tampons

My girls do everything with me. With the Big Guy out of town, the attachment parenting has been taken to an entirely different level. I want boundaries. I want to wax my lip in private. I want to change a freaking tampon without having to make it seem like a magic trick where no one sees anything.Oohhh, its an illusion. My littlest once caught a glimpse of something and gasped and almost fainted because apparently she thought I had cut myself and was bleeding out.I went with it. Yes, Mommy has a booboo. I’m OK, I just have to use one of my special Mommy band aids. So, the girls KNOW that those are Mommy’s special band aids.

Imagine my surprise when I went to find one of my “special” band aids and NONE were to be found. I was getting flashbacks of the missing toothpaste incident. Oh wait, I know..look in the garbage. Remember where I found the girl’s missing hair? There they were… an entire boxes worth of applicators. APPLICATORS!!! Where were the cotton balls attached to string? Nowhere to be found that is where. What was going through their mind when they did this? Are they anti Tampon? Pro Diva Cup? Trying desperately to save me from a gnarly case of Toxic Shock Syndrome?

Tampons and Treatises

I interrogated those two littles for almost 2 hours. There was a lot of ” I didn’t do it”s, “Ask her”s and “I don’t know Mommy” followed by tears, hyperventilating and finger pointing. But still NO FREAKING COTTON. Those kids are unbreakable! They should bypass kindergarten and go straight to the CIA. Let’s be honest, I’m not married to David Blaine or David Copperfied and I sure as hell don’t think that Tampax can evaporate. So, as I sit there bewildered with my Diva Cup in hand wondering where the hell all the cotton in my house has gone to, I go for the last ditch effort to get myself an answer.

“Tell me where the cotton balls are Abbi?”

Abbi,”The Ones with the strings”

“yes!”

“Uhhm, Me no know!”

“Tell me or I’m taking away your tv for a week”

“Mommy, how long is a week?”

“7 days!”

“One, two, three, ….seven. Me can do that!” and with that she skipped off into the sunset.

I just hope the next person who comes to my house for a showing doesn’t open a closet or drawer and get attacked by an army of zombie Tampax tampons wondering the world aimlessly searching for their applicator counterparts.

Tampons, Treatises and the Toddlerish Set