My kid has ears.

I sometimes forget that my 4 year old can hear and understand things.

For instance, the other day my mom and I were having a conversation over dinner while Bella sat at the table with us. Something like this was said about someone: “He was probably good looking once, but now he always has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he has really bad teeth.”

Then Bella said; “Why does he have bad teeth?”

Things like this happen all the time. I say things (but for the record, it wasn’t me that said it this time, it happened to be my mom, JUST SAYIN’)  in front of her and then realize she’s listening to me and it’s like “Oh..there you are..with you ears..that hear things.”

The best part about it is that when you say something in front of her about someone, it’s pretty much a given that she is going to repeat whatever it is she heard to that person the next time that she sees them. So if I’m ever avoiding you when I’m with my child, there might be a reason.

 

*For the record, I explained to Bella that he probably has bad teeth because he doesn’t brush them and eats too much candy because I’m not above resorting to scare tactics.

 

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How I got some peace and quiet at dinnertime

It’s funny that whenever I try to get my daughter to do something, like get her clothes on so we can leave the house, it’s hard to drag her away from whatever she is doing. She’s always playing with a toy, or a game, or watching a show. But when I’m trying to find just 5 minutes, JUST FIVE MINUTES, of peace, I can’t distract her with anything.

This evening I fed both kids around 5:30. Then I entertained them, bathed them, laid out clothes for tomorrow, folded laundry, swept the kitchen, vacuumed the living room <insert a long list of other menial household chores here>. I finally tried to sit down to shove some food in my own face around 8 and I could not get Bella to leave me alone:

“Mommy, come look at this.”

“Mommy, look what I did!”

“Mommy, I need your help!”

“Mommy, I want some more juice. ”

“Mommy, come help me reach this. ”

“Mommy, come play this game with me. ”

“MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY .”

I tried giving her a puzzle, legos, her princess castle. I tried putting on a tv show she likes and giving her the iPad. She wasn’t having any of it. Finally I told her mommy just wanted 5 MINUTES to sit down and eat something and asked her what it would take to get her to sit down and be quiet.

She said, “I want you open this ketchup packet, squirt it on this napkin, and let me eat it with my fingers.”

You know what? You got it, kiddo.

photo 1-2 photo 2-2 photo 3-2

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Things I became when I became a mother

When I became a mother, I also became lots of other things, like a nervous wreck, a sleep deprived maniac, and a Pinterest addicted psycho. But for real, here are some things I have become since I became a mother:

 

A napkin

If my child does not have somewhere to wipe her hands, she’s probably going to use me.

A maid

My child is pretty good about picking up after herself, at least in our own household where she knows what the rules are. That doesn’t mean that I’m not having to pick up little “Bella piles” that are scattered about the house (or where ever we go) sometimes. I fold her laundry and empty her trash and wash her dishes. As she gets older I hope to give her more chores and make her my own maid, er, little helper.

A jungle gym

My child climbs all over me like I am her own personal playground.

A nurse

I take temperatures, monitor rashes, and trick them into taking medicine. I hold hair back while they vomit and clean said vomit out of their clothes, off my couch, out of my bathtub, off the floors and walls and out of my car. I do a lot of things that pertain to vomit. I bandage boo boos and clean up blood and inspect and treat insects bites and stings. Last week I removed a tick from the back of my oldest child’s ear.

A broken record

“Bella, no.” “Bella, no.” ”Bella, no.” ”Bella, no.” “Put on your shoes.” ”Put on your shoes.” ”Put on your shoes.” ”Put on your shoes.” “Don’t lick that.” ”Don’t lick that.” ”Don’t lick that.” ”Don’t lick that.” I get on my own nerves.

A teacher

We teach them every day but as they get older, they ask more questions. “Where does the sun go at night?” “Why do dogs have four legs?”  ”Where do my boogers come from?” “Why is my hair brown?” I have to come up with answers to these questions.  I read to her. I’ve taught her about colors and animals and shapes. We’re working on the alphabet and numbers and how to write her name. I also teach her not to stick her hands in the toilet and not to eat gum she found stuck underneath the table at Chili’s. These are important life lessons.

A chauffeur

Well, this one is pretty self explanatory. My children can’t drive, so I cart them everywhere: school, doctor’s office, playground, dance lessons, summer camp. I spend more time running my children around than I do driving myself places that *I* need to go.

 

I’m sure there are other things. What jobs have you taken on since becoming a mother?

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Motherhood- why I did it.

I have friends that have kids. I have friends that don’t.

I have friends that have zero desire to have children and I’m down with that. You shouldn’t have them if you don’t want them or need them in your life to feel complete.

However, I, personally, always wanted to be a mom. It was probably the one thing I always knew. Career wise, I wanted to be a teacher, an actress, a writer. Probably a writer more than anything else, that’s obvious, why else would this blog exist? But most of all, I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to have a family, I wanted to have that bond, I wanted that guarantee that when I was old, there would be people around at the holidays and grand babies.

I never thought it would be easy. I baby sat. I was a server and had screaming kids at my tables every single day. I heard the horror stories from other moms. When I was pregnant, I knew what was to come was sleepless nights and giving up life as I knew it. I knew there would be vomit and poop and an insane amount of temper tantrums. Obviously, I didn’t fully understand how those things would play out until I actually had children. I didn’t know that there would be potty training regression and fear of bowel movements. I didn’t know how infuriating a preschooler could be in a battle of wits when they try, with every ounce of their being, to exert their independence. I didn’t know what years of sleep deprivation would feel like. But do you know what I truly didn’t understand at all?

What love feels like.

Until I had children, I don’t think I really knew what it was to love. Sure, I love my parents. I love my sister. I love my husband. I love my friends. But I .LOVE. my children. Who would I die for? Who would I throw myself in front of a bus for? My kids. All those other people? Maybe. I don’t know. I love them a lot but I would probably have to weigh the options. I’m just being serious. My kids? I don’t even have to think about it, not even for a fraction of a second.

My children have taught me how to feel, how to be compassionate. I cry a lot more these days and it’s either because my hormones are out of whack from childbirth or just because I’m a better person that is more sensitive to everything and everyone else around me.

So that’s what I have to say to the folks that don’t want kids and don’t know why anyone would. They make my life complete. They make me feel. They make me love. I felt before. I loved before. But did I REALLY? It’s a completely different experience now. They bring me joy in ways that I never could have imagined possible. They also INFURIATE me to extents that I never thought imaginable but you have to take the good with the bad. Nothing is ever perfect, but I wouldn’t trade a minute of it for anything else in this world.

So like I said, I’m down with folks that don’t want to have the babies. Not everyone should, trust me. It requires sacrifices and a whole lot of patience. But for me, it’s totally worth it. It has grounded me and I don’t, even for one minute, want to go back to my childless care free days. They’re nice to remember, and I cherish those memories and I am glad that they exist. But I don’t want to go back there because this is so, so much better. The joy that I experienced on my own was just ME, ME, ME. MY vacations. MY experiences. MY happiness. MINE. Things for me!!! Now, it’s mostly about things for my kids. And that may sound like it sucks, but it’s so much more satisfying than ME, ME, ME.  It’s a lot more work, and it’s a lot less me, but it means so much more. The excitement and happiness on my children’s faces is worth 10,000 times more than a new pair of shoes for me, or a trip to the Bahamas, or a night out on the town drinking over priced drinks. It’s so much more than that.

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The time I glued my thumbs together

I’m not sure whether to blame this occurrence on sleep deprivation or stupidity. It can really go either way.

The other night, I decided I was going to apply some fake nails I found in a drawer. I usually go to a nail salon, so I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing. Obviously.

I opened the container of super glue and squirted a large glob on my thumbnail. I stuck the nail on. I pressed down on the top of the nail with my index finger and stuck my other thumb underneath the thumb getting a nail applied and pressed down. And thats when it happened. That’s when I glued myself…to myself.

I successfully superglued my thumbs together.

I didn’t panic. At first. I new that I could soak my thumbs in some acetone and fix the problem. So, then, I set out to find said acetone.

I had to search around a bit before I found it in a box under the coffee table. Then I had to search for a shallow bowl in the kitchen. This was a rather awkward search, mind you, while one’s thumbs are fuzed together.

After I had obtained the acetone and selected a bowl of my desired shape and size, I attempted to open the bottle of acetone. Do you know how hard it is to screw the lid off a bottle when your thumbs are superglued together???

I had to nuzzle the bottle between my neck and shoulder and unscrew the darn thing with my teeth, that’s how.

Then I poured the acetone into a bowl and soaked. After about 10 minutes of nothing happening, I started to panic a bit. WAS I JUST GOING TO HAVE TO LEARN TO LIVE LIKE THIS?

After another 5 minutes, things were looking a bit brighter, and another 5 minutes after that…FREEDOM.

I now have a pathetic, melted looking press on nail on my thumb and obviously, no other press ons applied because…HELL NO.

 

 

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Foxy in the jungle

All I really talk about lately is my kids, but since they’re the humans I’m around the most every day, I can’t really help it. So here is another story about my kids, or, well, one of my kids.

Last year my mom had to put one of her dogs to sleep. It was this pomeranian named Foxy. Bella was 3 at the time but she still talks about Foxy pretty regularly. After Foxy was put down, my parents buried her out in the woods near their house in this creepy pet cemetery that we have. There’s this little trail that leads to it and they all have little headstones.

Anyway, Bella was present for the burial and she brings it up on occasion

A few weeks ago, Bella was talking about how she wanted to go to Disney World and who all she wanted to come along on the trip. In addition to her father and I she listed her grandparents, her aunt, her great grandmother, our cat, and all my mom’s animals, including Foxy. I asked her if she remembered Foxy and she said, “Yes, Foxy is sleeping out in the jungle.” The jungle is what she calls the woods.

Today Bella brought Foxy up again when she was listing who she wanted to invite to her birthday party. Without me even asking, she said, “Foxy is out there in the jungle under that dirt, why is she out there? Why is she under the dirt?”

Me: “Ummm…she’s out there under the dirt because we buried her.”

Bella: “Why?”

Me: “Because she went to a better place.”

Bella: “No she didn’t. She’s dead.”

Me: “…Yes. You’re right. Yes, she is.”

Bella: “She’s still invited to my birthday party.”

I probably should have tried to explain at that point that one can’t come back from dead unless they’re a zombie, but I think I’m going to save that conversation for a later time.

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Sleep deprivation

 

Oh, sleep deprivation. I knew you were coming when I brought baby number 2 into the world. I remember you from the first time around. Even so, I didn’t quite remember HOW HORRIBLE YOU ACTUALLY ARE.

I keep trying to put the milk in the dry storage.

I’m mixing up my words.

I’m watching television and rewinding constantly because I keep zoning out and missing things, “What just happened? What did they say?”

The other day I asked my husband if he had used the new stroller yet WHILE WE WERE OUT USING THE STROLLER.

I keep misplacing things. The other day, Lottie’s birth announcements arrived and I immediately lost them. I found them 2 days later, shoved between the pages of a random book on the shelf.

I also lost Bella’s birthday party invitations for a few days. I found them in the chest where we keep the bed sheets.

To date though, the worst thing that has happened is this:

Lottie doesn’t sleep in bed with us. She is in our room, but next to the bed in a Pack and Play. When she wakes up, we take her out and she comes into the bed to eat, but when she falls back asleep, we move her back to the Pack and Play. While she’s eating, I’m usually playing a game on my iPad. Anyway, one particular evening she woke up at, oh, I don’t know what time, it all runs together. I got her out, fed her, played a little Hay Day, she fell asleep, I moved her back to the Pack and Play, and then I went back to sleep.

Well, the iPad fell out of the bed at some point and hit the hard wood floor with a loud WHAP and I sat straight up in bed SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER, successfully freaking out my husband. I have never in my life heard myself scream the way I did in that moment.

It was definitely my sleep deprivation causing me to be completely confused about where the baby was. All I could remember was her waking up and me bringing her into the bed. I didn’t remember putting her back in the Pack and Play, even though I had. When I heard that WHAP, I was convinced the baby had hit the floor. Once I realized she wasn’t in our bed at all and was sleeping safely and soundly, I started weeping. It was totally terrifying.

Long story short, you won’t find us co-sleeping any time soon. I don’t have a problem with it and I know there are safe ways to do it, I just don’t think I will ever be able to shake the terror I felt in that 30 seconds.

All that said, I’m going to bed now. I’ve already stayed up too late and the baby will be up in an hour.

Wheeeeee!

 

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I get mad at inanimate objects

I’ve always kind of had this problem. I get mad an inanimate objects when they injure me. I’m a blame placer. What I mean by this is that if I slam my finger in a car door, it’s likely I’ll kick the car and yell at it. Nevermind that I was the slammer of the car door. It’s the car’s fault for sure. No question.

It seems that I have passed this problem on to my child. The other day she was repeatedly kicking a trash can because she said it hit her. The other day she was running and ran into a table and started yelling at it, “WHY YOU DO THAT, TABLE? WHY YOU DO THAT TO ME?”

I’m pretty sure it’s just going to get worse from here. Tempers and borderline anger management issues? Oh we have them.

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Mother of two.

Week 4 of being a parent of two:

I’m already mixing up their names. So, I’ve just started calling them the Big One and the Little One.

When one isn’t needing me, the other one is. When I get a rare moment when one of them isn’t needing me, I’m either doing laundry, washing bottles, emptying the trash, or doing some other household chore.

I’ve learned not to tell the Big One that I can’t do something because the Little One is needing me. It makes her jealous and angry.

Actually, it doesn’t matter that I’m not telling the Big One that I can’t do something right that very second because I’m busy with the Little One. She’s knows no matter what and is now using it to her advantage. The other morning I was trying to dress, feed, and console the Little One and the Big One was like “Can I have mini marshmallows and potato chips for breakfast?” I came THISCLOSE to saying yes.

Taking two children out to run errands is TERRIBLE. Especially right now. Does it get better? I don’t know. I sure hope so. Do you know what grocery shopping is like? I put the infant carrier in the cart and Bella in the child’s seat. Where, I ask you, do the groceries go? I have to pack them around the infant carrier which means I can get like, 3 items. Or, I can make Bella get out of the child’s seat so I can put items in the seat. Then I have to worry about her wandering off or touching ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING SHE PASSES. But you know what? I can’t get her out of the kid’s seat because then she’s jealous that the baby gets to ride in the cart and she doesn’t. A month ago I didn’t have this problem. She used to scream when I tried to make her ride in the cart, she wanted to walk like a “big girl”.

Pee, poo, spit up. Repeat repeat repeat.

Sleep? HAHAHAHA.

Seriously, I miss sleep. Remember that whole “Sleep when the baby sleeps” thing? You know what that is? Crap. First of all, it was crap the first time around because if I had actually slept every time the baby slept, my house would have been disaster and I wouldn’t have paid any of my bills. But at least SOMETIMES I was able to sleep when the baby slept. This time? Pssssh. No. When the baby sleeps, I’m playing Jake and the Neverland Pirates with my 4 year old. Or fixing her lunch. Or teaching her to write her name. Or parking her in front of the tv for a few minutes so I can take a shower. THAT is what I am doing when the baby sleeps.

All of that said, I have never felt more complete and happy as a human being. I love my days with my girls. I love sweet baby snuggles that I need to soak up every moment of because I know all too well how fast they grow and how fleeting these moments are. I love how proud Bella is of her baby sister. I love that when she comes home from preschool she says, “Where’s my baby? How’s my baby?” She might be jealous sometimes, but what 4 year old wouldn’t be? She also loves that baby.

Some mornings, all 4 of us, plus the cat, end up in bed together. It’s cramped. It’s hot. It’s…kinda miserable, actually. But it’s also lovely and amazing.

It’s hard. It’s draining. It’s completely monotonous.

But it’s also totally worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Zimbio quizzes are the devil

Random thought this evening:

I open my computer intending to do important things and then OH LOOK A ZIMBIO QUIZ.

LET’S FIND OUT WHAT BOY MEETS WORLD CHARACTER I WOULD BE.

OMG I’M TOPANGA.

#RIDICULOUS

Yes, I just used a hashtag in my own blog post which is even more ridiculous.

Maybe I would write more if I wasn’t so busy taking pointless quizzes to figure out what kind of potato chip I am.

I don’t know if that’s a real quiz or not but it should be. I would take it.

 

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