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.

A break and an accomplishment

I couldn't finish December. What I meant to be playful and fun got to a deep place with me after the horrific events of December 14th. Instead, I threw myself into everything possible with my kids, keeping all those families who could not close to my heart and in the front of my mind. And you know what? It was one of the greatest holidays ever.

We made it through a 2 year old's birthday party since then (yeah, she's two! yikes!) and we're preparing for a 7 year old's birthday party in three weeks. Equally as mind blowing.

The news of year, so far, though? I GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE! At 32 years old I finally have my Bachelor's Degree in Integrated Supply Chain and Organizational Management. I get things done. And its documented. Finally.

I know this seems silly to most, but I spent a total of 13 years working toward a degree. What started as a teaching degree, moved into this as my work life expanded and my time spent working in a school system soured my outlook on a teaching career.

I promised my grandma when she died 9 years ago that at some point, I'd go back. I'd find something, I'd go back, and I'd get a college degree. For sure. Back then, I didn't even believe it myself. It seemed completely impossible but over time, I dug out of that dark place and moved forward with my plan.

Since returning to school 4 years ago I have gotten engaged, lost a job, gotten married, gotten a new job, bought a house, had a baby, and enjoyed many unbelievable moments in between. To say it was easy would be an understatement. I am forever in the debt of my husband for his support in helping to keep the house running (and for being cool with me taking on some student loan debts!). But I do not regret a moment of it.

If you're looking o change your life, do it. You can. Trust me. If I can, you certainly can.

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.

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.

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.

What's my name?

I thought that the first day of kindergarten would be the hardest. I was wrong. The second was worse. First, it was worst because I could not bring him. I could not hide around that corner and make sure it went ok. I had to let him be dropped off by my sister and then pray someone in the building found him before he accidentally passed himself off as the shortest third grader ever. I called after drop off time and my sister, a pro at this with a 1st grader in the same school, laughed about my neurotic worrying and assured me he made it to school just fine.

Then came the call at lunch.

"Mrs. P? Just calling to see why your son wasn't in school today."
"Not in school!? What do you mean NOT IN SCHOOL. He's there. Check all the rooms! HE IS THERE!"
"They have a sub and she took attendance and he's not there."

Now, its important to stop here and note that my son is a Junior, named after his dad. To save confusion (and in part because I wasn't 100% sold on the first name when he was born) we agreed to call him by his middle name. While all legal forms have his actual God-given name, he has never in his life been called or referred to by that. I used to joke that I wasn't sure he KNEW his real first name...turns out I was right.

"They have a sub? She's calling the wrong name. GO back and ask for him by his middle name..."

The secretary ran down, called out the middle name, and there was my sweet boy sitting at the table coloring a cat with all of his friends. Crisis averted. Again, never doubt the level of stress and concern your mother goes through on any given day without your knowledge.

She's freaking out over something possibly major often....and you're just coloring a cat.

Kindergarten time

I did not disappear. Again. I just got busy. I'm not airing dirty laundry for the world to see but lets just say that Jimmy Carter would be proud of the fight and negotiations that went down between my ex and I to get the boy into kindergarten.

Two and a half weeks late.

In all fairness, it would have been only two weeks, but the child decided that after 6 months of stress and headaches, it would have been too cliche if he'd just, ya know, gone to school finally. Nothing like a hospital visit and case of pneumonia to slow things down. The ER doctor looked at me like I was nuts when I requested a note saying he's honestly sick...

"You want a doctor's note for missing TWO days of kindergarten?"
"Yes, yes I do. You have no idea."

Not so sure work would have believed the luck, or lack thereof, without some actual proof either. I swear I'm not a slacker employee nor a truant mother! We just apparently broke a mirror under a ladder when that damn black cat walked in front of us. But we made it. Two and a half weeks late.

We walked him up to school, showed him around, then turned him loose to play before school started. It was magical. It was going really well. Then, like any other overprotective mother that is having a hard time letting go, I hid around the corner to watch him do the locker/classroom morning routine.

I watched him awkwardly put his coat and backpack into the locker. Then stand there, completely overwhelemed and lost. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. I watched him carefully start to walk one way, then stop completely unsure and walk the other way, only to stop and just look lost. My heart sank. Then it broke. He was all alone and had no idea what to do. I wanted to run over and help him. But I did not. Finally, I watched him start to slowly walk completely away from his class and around the corner. I wanted to go help him and let him know I was still there and it was ok. But I did not. I caught his teacher's attention, told her he went the wrong way and needed help. She ran to go get him and then ushered him into his class.

I had to let him do it himself. Without me. Or so he thought. Even if you can't see her or don't know she's about - never doubt the ability of your mother to look out for you, kiddo ;) And when you come home bragging to me about how well you did, how easy it was, and how you were right on top of things - know that my proud smile is secretly directed at us both.

We're growing up.