I'm Mother of the Year

I am exhausted today. Why, you ask?

Because nearly HOURLY last night, there was just HYSTERICAL crying coming over the baby monitor. It wasn’t the kind of cry you can just ignore. But somehow, every time I got downstairs to L’s room to calm her down, she had calmed herself and was sleeping soundly. But like clockwork, an hour or so later the crying would be back and I’d go back down, and she’d be calm by the time I got there. I barely slept.

I got her up this morning and she wanted to sit on the potty. While we’re in the bathroom sitting about two inches apart, we hear hysterical baby crying over the monitor again! L and I just looked at each other fully wide eyed and she finally spoke up “Momma! That’s a BABY!” Uh yeah…it is. What’s it doing IN YOUR ROOM!?

Then we hear people talking in whispers. I’m seriously creeped out and trying to think of the best plan of action to get me and the naked two year old out of that bathroom without being detected. I was about to call the police but I realized: our baby monitor is picking up the neighbor’s newborn baby! We must have the same monitor!

So I am exhausted today not from taking care of my kids all night but because I was up attempting to care for the neighbor’s baby all night.

I’m THAT dedicated to the institution of motherhood.

We may have been robbed, but I don't care

Right now, my house is a mess. It's possible we were robbed but I'd be hard pressed to tell the difference between an actual ransacking of the place or the simple trail of happiness my kids have left behind. I should not be sitting on my couch, under my favorite blanket, watching a crime show that will probably freak me out the rest of the day, while listening to my neighbor mow the lawn.

My kitchen is a mess.

The bathroom needs to be cleaned.

Laundry needs to be folded.

The floors could use some serious attention.

I should shower, do my hair, and my nails. I'm heading out for my husband's birthday dinner tonight. We have a sitter all lined up (thanks grandma and grandpa!) so I'll be getting a hot meal without any crayons located anywhere on, or under, the table.
But I declared that today, Momma was taking a break. A glorious 2-2 1/2 hour break during naptime. I have a sweet embroidery project I've been wanting to dig into (my eyes needed a break after 45 minutes!). I have a list of possible books to read that I wanted to look into further. New recipes I wanted to find. I missed my blanket, my creepy shows, and the mere silence of being alone with my thoughts. For the duration of one nap, I'm doing precisely what I want to.
The dishes will still be there.
The tub can be scrubbed in the morning.
Another spin in the dryer never hurt laundry.

The floors shall be swept tomorrow.

The ransacked look around us is what I'm calling "Memory Chic". My kids play hard, laugh hard, and love hard. This house and the mother sitting in it are both wearing the evidence of this proudly. So today, instead of trying to "fix" what they've created, I'm "fixing" myself and feeding my soul to great a sweet little fresh-from-nap sleepy eyed girl with the same level of happy, devoted, love that greets me every day.

Be selfish moms. Kick back, relax, and recharge. Your kids will remember the giggles, hugs, and snuggles  much more than they'll ever recall your preparations for a Better Homes and Gardens photo shoot that will probably never happen.

Housework is temporary, childhood memories are forever.

Olan Mills is my Hell

Let’s get the kids pictures taken together!

Clearly, it’s been about 25 years since my mother wrangled two children into an Olan Mills to get pictures taken. Judging by the tone of eagerness and excitement in her voice, portrait studio visits must be comparable to labor in the grand scheme of motherhood: over time you forget the pain and enjoy the end result.

In 25 years I’ll be glad we went. Right now, I think it’ll be 25 years before we try again.

The six year old was a dream getting ready at home. It’s nice when they know how to dress themselves and can follow directions (when they choose to). The 18 month old somehow turned this into 20 minutes of cardio that would leave Jillian Michaels sweating and panting on the living room floor. And that was just getting her dress on, we didn’t get to hair yet.

I’d like to mention, Grandma hadn’t arrived yet either. She wisely showed up about 5 minutes before we had to leave the house – so no prep work for her. I’m writing that move down in my book of “Things to do to my children as revenge when I’m a Grandma”, its right underneath “pay for them to use that TV cart through the grocery store”.

I grabbed the comb and an easy hair clip for the girl and got the kids in the car the minute Grandma showed up.

When we got to the studio, the boy started practicing his smiles. They the most plastic looking faked things of all time. And he couldn’t do them without closing his eyes. Great. As soon as the girl saw the photographer, she erupted into tears. I’m not sure what she thought the lady was going to do to her, but she was petrified.

We get into the room where she screamed and cried and would not get within 10 feet of the photographer. And I had to remain within 1 foot of her at all times. We spent a lot of time cropping my legs out of pictures later that day.

The rest of the day resembled what I think gets edited out of The Biggest Loser day one work outs. Two grown women jumping up and down in outrageous manners, sweat pouring down them, making crazy faces, while someone sits in the corner and screams and cries (I’m referring to the girl, not myself). Finally, we told the photographer to just keep snapping and we’ll do what we can.

Half our pictures feature a screaming baby and a boy with the fakest forced smile ever plastered on his faces as he nervously glances at his partner in crime out of the corner of his eye. Another 49 percent of the pictures feature that same fake smile, but this time a very mad little girl clearly giving us all a stern talking to for this torturous afternoon.

But there, in the remaining 1 percent, was one perfect picture of a happy, sincere little boy and his sweetly smiling, calm, happy little sister. Looking precious and perfect and angelic. It’s the kind of picture that comes in picture frames when you buy them. I snagged that sucker up, secretly happy that mother had decided this would be fun.

I also dropped the cash for one of the fake smile screaming fit ones. Someday, 25 years from now, someone’s going to tell my why they don’t want to take my grandkids for pictures. And I’m going to show them why they owe it to me to get it done.

Blood, tears, and ice cream

How are you doing with your Bible?? I’m working on it. Done in 90 days? No. But I’m not giving up – and that’s the point. I’ve started this before and never made it. I get through about a chapter a day and that’s good for me. Fifteen to twenty minutes of good for your soul time each day. I’m still recommending it to everyone! Get on it! You’ll thank me! Or at least think about it.

My blogging hasn’t improved but work has been busy. And school. And my kids have been funneling illnesses and injuries through this house faster than I can keep up (I am begging the pediatrician to start a punch card program so every 11^th visit is free).

The baby, who is no longer a baby, got her head stuck between the wall and a chair this weekend – and in the process of freeing herself since she couldn’t wait the .2 seconds it took me to get to her, she tore that little piece of skin between your gum and inside of your lip. I’m pretty sure she lost half the blood in her body and the Bounty paper towel company should add me to their Christmas list (in case my spill prone household somehow wasn’t on it already). Being the calm, cool, collected veteran momma I am – I handled it. No ER trip. I kicked it around, but we’re good (yes I checked her teeth too).

And that night, her brother (her peanut and tree nut allergic brother, I might add) ate some homemade ice cream. HOMEMADE people, as in, his mother meticulously read every label for every ingredient and let him make ice cream because “I never get to have fun ice cream – it always has peanuts.” Sadly, someone mislabeled something – or we have a new allergy. Welcome anaphylaxis (google that if you want to know the Hell we live in) and a trip to the ER. And not to mention, the sobbing little boy scared that the ice cream will kill him or that "they're going to cut me open to get the peanuts out!". He was a sobbing petrified mess, which broke his momma's heart and made for TWO sobbing messes. 

He’s fine. He’s on some meds for a few days (steroids). I’ve called and screamed at every company who SWEARS their food is safe. And I’ve made an allergist appointment to check him for something new. And for the next month, he’s back to an existence of no “fun ice cream” because we can’t be sure what the issue was.

I know that everyone wants their kids to be happy. To have what they want. And to enjoy life (and the yummy things!) but what I wish people understood is that some kids can’t. Lots of kids. And in some cases, like my son, food can be deadly. If you don’t get the big deal about peanut butter in schools and why it needs to be removed, stop and think for a minute. My son can’t have fun ice cream. He can’t eat many candies. Cookies, cakes, cupcakes, pies….all of that is out. Granola bars aren’t safe. Many cereals aren’t safe. I could go on.

Companies need to be more aware. I know they want to turn a buck and I know that these labeling are more of a legal hassle to most of them than anything. But its people’s lives. Kid’s lives. Food allergies are real things that real people deal with.

I’m madder than Hell at something. Either a company or an allergy. I’m frustrated that I currently cannot focus my anger at either possibility. I’m sad that the smartest, funniest, smiliest, most polite, energetic, greatest Lego builders I’ve ever known can’t have “fun ice cream” and faces the potential of death on a daily basis. It’s a lot for a kid. And his mom.

Keep your peanut butter at home. My kid just wants to make friends, have fun, and not die. He’s not asking for much.

I'm an archaeologist

While weekends may be for the mothers of school aged children to recoup from the trauma of elementary school....this does not apply to the mothers of babies.

I, unfortunately, am a member of both mother groups.

While the kindergarten antics have died down, the baby is making sure no one has a boring weekend. She's mobile now. I've become a carpet archaeologist looking out for every stray string, crumb, toy, marble, bead, or WHATEVER that the carpet seems to create overnight. I am having an affair with my vacuum - giving it more loving attention than I have been giving to my husband.

Yet last night, it happened. Not in my 5+ years of motherhood have I experienced this. I saw one of the ends of those little plastic "strings" that hold price tags on clothing on the floor. No idea where it came from. I started to go get it but before I could, she snatched it and ate it.

Then game the gagging and gasping as it went down, followed by her crying and gagging as I tried to get to it first and pull it out (I failed) and then the crying as it went down - you can't tell me that felt good.

So at 8 months old, before trying bread, milk, cookies, real meat, or anything that does not come in a prepackaged jar from the baby aisle, the baby ate plastic. And now my archaeological ambitions continue, only they've now moved to the diaper table as I tear apart every turd from this kid looking for the price tag.

And here I thought archaeology was all glamor and excitement like Indiana Jones. I'm in the Temple of Doom alright - but its much stinkier than I envisioned.

I drool over my kids...

Literally.

Following an epic Friday night bedtime battle and then overseeing a 5 year old's birthday party can be exhausting (Note to self: probably should have had more parents stay to corral their kids!). Add in having a 3 week old newborn baby and limited sleep as a result and Momma starts to look like the most beautiful zombie in the world - since I like to think I still have better hair, skin, and fashion sense than most zombies.

Was anyone shocked when I passed out on the couch with my little bambinos tucked in all cozy for their naps? I certainly wasn't. I was, however, shocked when I woke up to the top of my 5 year old's head sweating like crazy!! I was moderately concerned that he'd picked up some strange strain of the flu or other illness at the party. I felt his forehead and he seemed ok, pulled the blankets back to cool him down, then started to move for the thermometer only to realize - the puddle on top of his head wasn't his fault. It was mine.

I drooled all over his head.

So yes. I drool over my kids - I've been accused of that before - and now its taken on a literal meaning I can no longer deny. I love them to pieces and I'm not afraid to make a bold statement about it.

Even if it means adding a second bath into the day.

Bet you thought I gave up...again. YOU WERE WRONG!

But I didn't! I went off and had a baby :) She's fine, I'm fine, and life is good now. Glad that the random contractions have stopped, I no longer visit the bathroom every 15 minutes, and I am proud to say that I have been Tums free for over 1 week now!

And the fact that I have a sweet, soft, cuddly, cute as a button little baby girl to snuggle up with every day is pretty darn great too!!

But now, all I can think about is this great big, still somewhat pregnant tummy I have. It took me just over 4 years to get this under control last time...I don't want it to take another 4 years! And now I'm in my 30's, not my 20's! So it could be longer!

So although strict dieting is out for a few weeks still, especially since I am nursing, and I haven't gotten the all clear to exercise, I have been sitting here stewing and investigating my options. I will look ok this summer - I am determined. And NEXT summer is my husband's high school reunion, I have to look super by then :)

I started this by asking the question I consider before many of life's bigger decisions "What would a Kardashian do?" (it might not help me in financial decisions but for those of the vanity variety it never fails!). I was led to the Belly Bandit to get me started.

Not sure what it is? Basically, one heck of a binding, corset device that gets things back into place and helps aid in shrinking things back down (you can check their site for more info or to order KK's limited edition design www.bellybandit.com). I thought it would be awful - but worth it. Who doesn't want the body of a Kardashian? Well - maybe not Khloe, but the other two? For sure!

I got it. I threw it on. And one week post partum, I look MAYBE 3 months pregnant. I seem to recall looking a good 6 months along for easily the first month or so with my first child. Looking at how things are progressing - with no diet, no exercise, and NO EFFORT I am sure I'll be into my pre-pregnancy clothing by the time that I return to work. I'm geeked. It's comfortable, I keep it on all day and FORGET it is there! I'm hoping it might even help repair some damage from #1 and get some skin back in place - we'll see.

From there though, I'm considering a diet plan and a MODERATE exercise plan. I AM nursing. That is hands down more important to me than any weightloss goal or fabulous pair of pants or the ability to look respectable at the beach this summer. So I'm curious now if anyone who reads this (ya know, both of you...) has done the Weight Watchers program for nursing moms?

I've looked into it on their site and it seems legit and they seem to be working hard to preserve milk supplies while giving mom some weight loss success - so I'm looking for some feedback. Did you do this? Something else? What worked, what didn't, what do you recommened? I'm lonely home with a newborn all day obsessing about my return to milf status this summer...give a momma a hand and leave me some feedback on it :)