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.

On the FIFTH Day of our Christmas

On the FIFTH day of our Christmas the gift we gave our kids was: all our love. Sorry we're late, but a blog post was suddenly not so important last night.

Yesterday morning, I got a 6 year old ready for school. We talked about the spelling test he'd been studying for all week and how well I knew he'd do. We talked about which morning snack he wanted to bring, to make sure his morning was great. His lunch was packed with a wonderful compromise of the healthy foods I wanted and the favorite foods he wanted. It was "Santa's Workshop" day too - the kids would all make crafty presents for their family members. He was excited and looking forward to the day. We put on his winter coat and boots, made sure his backpack was ready for his day, and hopped in the car. I dropped him off to his before-school ride and told him "I love you, have a good day. I know you can do it" and I went to work without really giving our morning another thought.

I'm sure in a small Connecticut town a mom like me, with a boy like B, went through the same motions.

I'm sure neither of us thought to address what to do in case a crazed gunman entered the school. We didn't remind the kids of safety measures or talk with them about escape routes from their classrooms.  Why would we? They're little kids. They're six years old.

But at the end of the day, I got to hold my baby in my arms again - along with his little sister. I was glad I had told him I loved him and glad he had been safe.

The other mother was not so lucky.

This hits home. Random shootings are a tragedy no matter what. They are always senseless and never fair. Regardless of circumstances or victims I am always left shaking my head and wondering what could make one person hate so many, many they never knew, so deeply they could kill. But this wasn't that random. An angry adult for reasons unknown chose to target innocent children as they went about their day of learning at their school with their friends.

I can't tell you how many tears I have shed since this news came. I've cried out of the deepest and sincerest form of empathy and sympathy I can muster for the parents, siblings, friends, teachers, and town of Newtown. Sandy Hook Elementary was never on my radar before but now it's at the forefront of my mind and heart. Seeing the children crying and streaming from the school while visibly shaken parents run by searching for their child makes me want to head to the town, start knocking on doors, and personally just hug everyone. Door to door. I wish there was something I could do to truly make this better. Something I could say.  But I know there is not.

The best I can do is offer this bit of promise to those parents: your children will never be forgotten. They will in all of our hearts, especially mine forever. In their short time with us, your children have reminded us all how important life is and how we must value every second. They opened our eyes to what mattered, how to love more fully, and to never take a moment for granted. Because of your children, our world got smaller, the love got bigger, the prayers stronger. People's lives have forever been moved and transformed for the better, even through this evil tragedy.

In honor of the mothers of Newton, I will hug my children extra each night, kiss them one more time, tell them how much I love them, and thank God for them more than before. My tears are not only from pure sadness but from a sense of gratitude for the awakening your children have given this world.

Please pray for Newtown. Pray for the new angel Heaven received yesterday and thank God for wrapping them up in his arms. While there are still many questions here on Earth and countless broken hearts, He will help us all through this and give these families the strength they need to carry on. Your children are our angels now and angels are never forgotten.

On the FOURTH Day or our Christmas

On the FOURTH day of our Christmas the gift we gave our kids was: letting them wrap their presents for us and put them under the tree!

The wrap jobs are certainly not from the mall professionals. B may have hurt himself on the tape dispenser (it's just a little scratch!) and if you touch any of these gifts the paper will probably rip and show what is inside.

But the pride and joy on B's face as he wrapped these gifts, chose the tags, and filled them out in his shaky six year old penmanship is something that will never be forgotten. He and L picked out gifts for their parents and put them under the tree as a great surprise.
On the fourth day we gave them pride in giving. An excellent gift!

The Elf on the Shelf

I have seen the many insane Elf on the Shelf tricks posted on Pinterest and blogs galore this time of year. I have also see the posts declaring the “overachieving moms” crazy for the lengths they go through to keep their children enchanted this time of the year.

I’ve also see the real news and decided there are bigger things I could be debating and choose to remain out of this one.

We do, however participate in the Elf on the Shelf tradition. Every year Kiki the Elf appears and moves about the house. We have never forgotten to move him, but hanging upside down is about as creative as we get. It’s ok though, our son (who is almost 7) loves this guy and truly believes he is a direct link to Santa. If nothing else, we get about a month of good behavior.

We had no idea what we were in for as we busted Kiki out this year, with an almost 2 year old on our hands.

While I’ve heard people say they feel the elf is creepy, I never got it. Until I had a little girl sobbing on the floor pointing at a curious elf peeking at her from the fireplace mantle. That should have been my first clue we were in trouble.

As he moved on top of the living room valence, she avoided that part of the room.

When he sat in the dining room window, she ate in the living room.

However, when she spotted him hanging upside down out of a can light in the living room ceiling it proved to be more than she could handle and her real fear was revealed.

 (please note: she doesn’t speak this clearly, but as I am fluent in what she speaks I’ll translate for you dear reader)

“Momma! Help him down!”

“L, he’s fine. He’s just an elf reporting back to Santa”
“He’s gonna fall”
“Nah, he’s holding on tight and he’s got some magic dust up there – he’s fine.”
“Momma pleeeeeease!”
“L, no. He is fine.”
“Momma…JESUS IS STUCK! STUCK! HELP JESUS DOWN!!!”

Aha! She’s not grasping this is an elf, she’s convinced that Jesus has appeared in her home and is putting himself in perilous situations. Apparently, all that money I’m shelling out to the expensive but WONDERFUL church-based daycare is worth it – she’s got the meaning of Christmas down! But, if this is going to continue much longer, I may need to think of a way for the elf to let her brother know he’s on the good list and cut out early.

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.

We opened a bakery

We did it. We decided to start our own little bakery with the goal of making safe goodies for food allergy sufferers to enjoy.

The main goal would be to get our goodies into classroom and birthdays throughout the land to let every kid feel completely normal and part of the group. No more "special" plates for kids. They'll get the same piece of cake or cupcake or cookie that everyone else does. This might not seen like a lot to most people, but to a kid (and the parents of these kids) its monumental.

The Bon Bakery came to be from the delightful way Ben said his name when he was little. "I'm Bon" was always followed by the most infectious, beaming, friendly little smile this world has ever seen. No one on the outside could tell that at a moment's notice, that smile could disappear behind a swollen face and hives thanks to food. Nor could they see the anxiety that any of those reactions could make that smile disappear forever. This bakery is "Bon's" Bakery.

Its driven by his Momma and step-dad who have an insane love of cookies, both our kids, and baking treats. Combining these three loves has driven this passion to a new personal level. We want to help kids like Bon experience things. Hopefully, people who are nervous to cook for an allergy kid will reach out to us. It IS daunting and scary if you're not used to it. After five years of navigating this food allergy jungle - we're veterans, but always looking for new ways to spread our goodies and the message behind them.

We've had a little boy sit alone with a different treat because a classroom treat that was brought in wasn't safe. It hurts. We've had a little boy who has been teased for his different "safe treat" during class parties. It infuriates. And we've had a little boy smile so big and squeeze us so tight when we've been able to recreate something he thought he couldn't have. Its inspiring.

Please visit our Etsy store at http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheBonBakery or find us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/TheBonBakery. Help us spread the word and educate people to the needs so many kids and adults face. We might not be able to find a cure, but we've yet to meet a problem that a really good cookie can't make better - especially a safe cookie.

Bird Brained Festivities

Did you have a good Memorial Day? We sure did. It was sunny, close to 90, a little humid, and we just redid the play area in the back yard. It was the perfect recipe for a day of fun in the sun family memories.

But, like every other day that I pray will become a cherished memory something always goes awry.

We were good as we played in the sprinklers, got the kids pool filled, had a water fight, munched a few snacks, and had some neighbor kids over. The swinging was great, the new fort worked well, and millions of bubbles were blown, chased, and popped. After a long winter inside, we were finally outside and at the request of our son, we decided to eat outside too.

I took one step toward the house to gather what I needed and heard a pop, then felt a squish. As I looked down, I was standing IN a baby bird. I’m assuming he fell out of a nest somewhere high in the tree that covers part of our yard.

Immediately, my normally rough and tumble ninja/warrior/brave boy was a sobbing mess. It was like the end of Old Yeller in the backyard.

“Why did you step on him mom?!”

Really? I’m hosing birdy off my foot and he thinks I did this on purpose? I assured him that other than the bird, I was probably the most disturbed party involved in this mess. There is squished bird ON MY BAREFOOT.

This led to “Why was he there? Where is his mom? Why did this happen?” and a litany of others.

To get him off the topic, I decided to try and get the bird out of the yard. The shovel just made a bigger mess, the little trowel somehow sent feathers everywhere – finally my husband quietly came over and told me “I think I’m just going to have to mow him – he’s really into the grass.”

Gross.

I moved the kids along and got them to forget about him. Hands were washed, dinner was cooked and as I approached the picnic table to give our son his plate, he was holding something in his hand and investigating it. If you have a six year old boy, you know where this is going. It was a “chunk” of our bird buddy.

I may have freaked out more then, than when it was on my foot. I marched him in, made him wash his hands three times. I washed them once. And we purelled the living daylights out of the kid. I was about ready to cancel eating outside (I hate it anyway with all the bugs that fly around). But we got to the table, sans bird, and enjoyed a meal.

As our daughter finished her meal, my husband plopped her onto the ground to play for a few minutes – RIGHT ON TOP OF THE DAMN BIRD. I may have lost my cool for a moment when asking him why my darling baby was now SITTING in dead bird. I’m not sure how, but he claims he forgot the bird was there. Temporary insanity possibly? Maybe.

By the end of the day, the bird was scrubbed off the baby’s legs and butt as well. We’re all bird free. And my lawn is getting mowed today.

And I’m guessing, while it’s not the stuff of Hallmark movies, we made plenty of memories we won’t be forgetting any time soon.

NO SCHMUCKS!

Experienced something new this week. Grounding. Not a new concept to me, but this time around I’m the parent.

It’s weird on this end.

As I recall from my childhood, my mother liked grounding kids. She greatly enjoyed watching our eyes swell with tears as our guilty little lips quivered after being caught doing something that could be chalked up as childhood curiosity, but was still wrong. Seeing our little shoulders slump as we stared at the ground and listened to our simple world of playing with friends and watching tv before bed be shattered before us. And once we were crying, I’m sure she felt a true sense of happiness and fulfillment.

That’s what I got from this process as a kid. That and the fact that she was always over reacting and I never did anything wrong.

Then I had kids. And my oldest, at age 6, did something that was naughtier than what a simple time out could fix. I’ll spare the details (he could Google this at some point and not want his mother sharing his childhood follies in complete details). I had to ground him. Half an hour earlier bedtime and no DS for 4 days. Sounded great in theory. It was hard to say it to him. Then after he went to bed in tears, I sat there fighting back tears. I felt like the meanest, most unfair, horrible mother ever. I took away 30 minutes of his play time. His play time WITH ME. And he doesn’t play the DS often, but it’s the one thing in life he loves to play with more than anything…

Mothers do not like grounding. They might hate it more than the kids. I am not happy or fulfilled. I am sad and full of guilt. I’m not up at night playing his games and laughing at his fate. I’m praying all night that he can just be perfect during this time so I don’t have to extend this. I think that might kill me. I honestly think that grounding my kid is the hardest thing I’ve done since giving birth to him.

All I really want to do is go tell him nevermind and give him a new game as a peace offering for how mean I am. But I know, that’s not what he needs. He’s got friends. He needs his mother to guide him and lead him, even when the path is hard for us both. I repeat this mantra in my head: “I will not raise a schmuck, I will not raise a schmuck…” and it’s gotten us through. I just hope someday he’ll see that punishing him is my least favorite thing of all with being a parent.

Stand strong Mommas. Be firm but love your kids. We can all do this and raise nice boys. The kind of boys we want our daughters marrying.

And I’m sorry Mom, you’re not evil and I’m guessing the same feelings and thoughts went through your head too. Thanks though, I got the message and I’m glad I’m not a schmuck.

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.

Bullied at work - what's a mom to do?

Alright kids, here we go. Am I just a mom who struggles with kindergarten and keeping things off the living room floor? No. I’m a working mom with career goals. Over the years have they changed? Well yeah. My priorities have changed.

Do I want to rule the world? Well, I already do. I’m the final say on the outfits in our house. On the tv shows, when friends can come over, when friends must go, who gets a bath when, how much food “counts” as a dinner, and a plethora of other items.

Do I want to rule another world? Not so much anymore. But I wouldn’t mind managing a small corner of it or at least being treated like I’m not an idiot. See? Change in priorities but completely doable, right?

So I’ve got a real problem with people strolling into my corner of the office (note: not my corner office) and trying to tell me how to do my job. Not so much if this is an actual boss or executive – but when you’ve worked here for 3 months and 2 years experience? I really don’t need to hear it. In fact, when I get these lectures from the new kiddo – who I shall refer to as DB from here on out – all I really hear is blah-blah-blah.

I know this Is a male dominated industry, but it still gives DB no right to speak to me or anyone else as if we’re inferior idiots to him. Most of what he says is wrong or at least slightly off base. He needs help with simple tasks non-stop. And answering a question once isn’t enough – we have to answer it at least 4 times a week, every week. There’s no learning when you know it all already, right? Not sure why he’s asking so many questions if he knows it all though….perhaps that’s part of my idiocy.

I have loved this job and my work at this company for the duration of my time here. Yes, there’s been hiccups along the way, every job has them. But now, to be degraded daily and spoken to like a child (did I mention I’m college educated in this industry with 10 years experience?) is disgusting. To get no assistance from any level of management in correcting this when dealing with it personally didn’t work is disheartening.

My choice from the execs? Sit here and take that – or I can be demoted to another department. One where my brain will slowly rot and my co-workers will wonder, what on earth happened to me? I’ll keep my pay but ever moving up will be even more of a challenge.

Do I swallow my pride and continue being treated like garbage?
Do I just leave the situation and stress for something I can do in my sleep?
Do I try to find another company and job I’d love like I’ve loved this one?
What do I tell my kids if I take the demotion?
What WOULD I tell my kids if this were them?
What would you do?

Happy Birthday Grandma....

I received a call from my mother today that it was my grandma's birthday. Being the fabulous daughter and granddaughter I am, I asked for Grandma's phone number to give her a ring and wish her a happy birthday. I realize, I should know this number - but lets just stay on topic, alright?

I called half expecting voicemail and was surprised when she answered - but shared the following heartwarming conversation:
"Hi Grandma! It's Danielle!"
"What?"
"It's Danielle Grandma, how are you?"
"What? Just a minute..."

She was on her cell phone with "her daughter in Colorado" - wasn't sure who was on a trip there, but I was in a hurry and wanted to get the call moving.

"Grandma, its Danielle - Mary's daughter - I wanted to call you for your birthday..."
"OH!! Thank you! It was a couple weeks ago but I'm glad you called."

We went on to talk about the weather, what she did for her birthday, and I told her I would try to stop by this weekend or soon for her to visit with my newborn daughter. All in all - a fabulous conversation.

I hung up, pleased with myself, and called my mom to ask why she told me it was grandma's birthday two weeks after the fact. After a very long pause...she sheepishly admitted that she had given me the wrong number by mistake.

I hope whoever's grandma I talked to did have a good birthday and enjoyed our talk. And after calling my own grandma, and getting the right one, I know that she did too.

My next dilemma: should I call the wrong grandma to cancel our visit?

"You work here? I need a salesman."

I come from a long line of strong women. Mostly because they can't stay married for long and end up with no other choice, but strong all the same. I can change the oil in my car, I can fix many things around the house, I am the breadwinner in my marriage, and I am succsesful in a mostly male industry. While I don't routinely burn my bras (although I have a few underwires I'm tempted to) I have spent the last five years hoping that my son is taking notes and learning that he better respect women because we can do whatever he can. Then my husband and I had a daughter and its come to a new level.

I have to pass these skills on as they were passed to me - minus the ability to drive a man away in 2 years or less.

The first chance to do so arrived yesterday when I took my sister to look for a car with my daughter and 2 year old niece in tow. The greatest moment did not come when we asked technical questions of the salesmen (eyebrows raised before answers were given) or when we haggled some of the prices down into our range then told them "we'd think about it". It came in a used car lot no where near ANYTHING - when my 1 month old decided to poop and completely fill her outfit!

It was magical as we wedged her into the front seat and my sister and I stripped her down nekkid in the front seat in the used car parking lot with a bunch of mechanics watching and get her changed into a new outfit. The whole time my niece is in the back seat waving a burpl cloth screaming "da baby needs dis!!!!" My sister and I are covered in bright yellow breastFed baby poo but we did not panic, we remained strong in our abilities and the mission at hand as mommies. Wiping ourselves with wipes and using hand sanitizer, we get her diaper packed away, and my sister gets out and walks up to the mechanics and says "You work here? I need a salesman."

After a very nervous, barely out of high school kid showed us the in's and out's of the vehicle in question, we climbed back into our car and left the used car lot. We may not have found the car (yet!) but we handled a mommy crisis and never broke stride in our ability to still be strong, competent women.

Lessons learned:
1. Don't go to the used car lot near nothing with a baby that hasn't pooed all day. There is no 1999 Malibu on the planet worth that nightmare.
2. Put some plastic bags in the diaper bag. A McDonald's cup will contain an overloaded diaper and half a package of used poo filled wipes - but what if you don't have older kids and therefore, there are not McDonald's cups hidden underneat the seats of your car?
3. Want to let a salesman know not to mess with you? Let him watch you soak your hands in baby poo, wipe it off, shake his hand, and ask him for the truth...that takes balls.
4. The 2 year old needs to be at daycare next time. I don't think I need to elaborate here.
5. We're all going to be ok and these girls will grow up fine with role models that can literally handle anything at any time and any place. And if they can't - they'll know they can call their mamas.

We found a few car options ,we're going back out tomorrow so I'm sure to have more fabulous tales for you.

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.