Category Archives: Parenthood

I can’t see straight

Do you enjoy getting a good nights sleep?
Yes?
Is your idea of a “good time” being woken up in the middle of the night by things like crying, puking, thumping on the walls?
Yes?
Do you enjoy being startled by a frantic child screaming “I just had a really bad dream that I was a pop star and everytime I was alone a spiderman toy would pop out of the closet and kick me in the head and I’d try to kick it back, but nothing would happen and I’M SCARRRRRRED TO DEAAAAAAAAATH”?
Well… do you?!
If so, then may I suggest you have kids! And not just One kid. Not just two kids! Have THREE KIDS!
But if you’re like most people and you enjoy sleeping at night?
Don’t have kids.
Ok, maybe have ONE kid, but definitely don’t have THREE KIDS.

Did I mention today the boys are H-O-M-E F-R-O-M S-C-H-O-O-L?

My youngest son, Ethan, NEVER.STOPS.TALKING.
He talks C-O-N-S-T-A-N-T-L-Y.
About everything, about nothing, about something, about this thing, about that thing…
about W-R-E-S-T-L-I-N-G.
Did you know Kurt Angle is the king of the Ankle Lock? The SUPREME Ankle Lock? Well, I DO! Because Ethan told me. And he’s told me at LEAST 40 times! And so had Andrew! Because, they both love wrestling.
I thought telling them it was fake would shut them up.
Um… I was wrong.
That just made Ethan talk even more than he already does, trying to convince himself me that it’s TOTALLY real!
“Oh yeah, right, it’s fake, that’s why it says L-I-V-E right? (because LIVE = NOT FAKE)”
“Oh, yeah, it’s fake, but they are really jumping off the ropes onto their opponents!”
“Oh, yeah, you think it’s fake, but they really hate each other in real life and you can’t make that up. EXPLAIN THAT, MOM!!”
“Oh, yeah, right mom, it’s fake, but they really throw each other around the ring, yeah, like you can really make that up!”
I love that kid and I know that one day I’ll be crying about how he never talks to me anymore because he’s too busy talking to his friends or going on dates, but right now I just kind of wish he’d SHUTTIE THE MOUTHIE.

I should probably have ended this post with a ” ;-) ” so you’d be all “ohhh she wasn’t really pissed that I didn’t find it to be the cutest thing ever

Gabby will not take a bottle (and I’m thinking now that’s she’s already six months old and NEVER has taken ONE bottle, she probably never will.) Nor, will she take a pacifier. She’s like “If it aint Mamma’s Tit… SCREW IT!” However, she started doing this thing with her hand when she’s hungry that Tony and I think is one of the cutest things in the history of cute things.
It’s her silent shout out to Ma’Boobs.

You’re probably thinking… “eh, I’ve seen babies do cuter things that that” But trust me… NO, you haven’t!
I mean, come on! LOOK! She PRETENDS like she’s sucking on the palm of her hand to make me feel guilty for not giving her The Tit! Look at her eyes, she’s all “Man, I sure would like some tittymilk right now, but mom’s too busy to sit down, unsnap the bra and whip it out again, so, I’ll just sit here and pretend to suck on the palm of my wittle hands and make sucking noises while pretending to suck on the palm of my hand.”
If you don’t think that’s the cutest thing ever, then you can go…
uh…
SCREW IT!

Half way there, baby

gabbyonherpillow.jpg
Today, my daughter is 6 months old.
Where did the time go? And why is it passing so quickly?
I wish it would slow down. I look at my boys, and I am painfully aware that I’ll blink my eyes and that beautiful baby girl you see there, resting her head on her favorite “pillow”, will be growing “pillows” of her own, and talking about boys she likes and going to the mall with her friends and how she wants to dye her hair and pierce her nose.
babylove.bmp
I remember when I found out that the baby I was carrying inside of me was a little girl. I was scared. I honestly did not believe I could bond with a girl. I feared I wouldn’t connect with her the same way I did with my sons. I didn’t think she’d like me very much, Silly as that sounds. I’d have nightmares of her fussing when I’d hold her and screaming for daddy to rescue her from me.
I was so wrong. She adores me. And I adore her.
There is a powerful love between the two of us and I look forward to watching it grow and develop over the coming years.
Six months have already passed, and the love and pride I feel towards her is so heart-stirring, I can only imagine what the future holds.
(p.s. I resisted the very great urge inside of my soul to turn this post into one big fart joke, because, me and my daughter have become quite the farters in crime. However, I resisted and went with pure cheese instead. You should be proud)

A post about ice. (How’s THAT for a title?)

Choose your battles.
That’s one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever recieved in the parenting department. It has saved me from many power struggles that simply weren’t worth the aggravation.
However, today I am choosing a battle. A battle that some might not believe is worth fighting, but I am willing to fight to the death…
HEAR YE HEAR YE ,THE NEXT CHILD OF MINE WHO SWITCHES THE ICE MAKER ON MY BRAND NEW FRIDGE TO “CUBED” ICE WILL BE BANNED FROM USING THE ICE MAKER FOR AS LONG AS THEY LIVE IN THIS HOUSE.
That’s right. I’m willing to fight over ice. Because ice is important. Because crushed ice is much less likely to cause you to lose a tooth and teeth mean a lot to me.
So, back off the switched marked “cubed” or there will be hell to pay.

But I can not lie… I miss the “bacon”


While some wimmins are getting dressed up everyday to go to work, to accomplish great things, to bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan, I’m in my ugly kitchen with no make up on, tittymilk puke all up on the shirt I had on the day before, stanky breath, unshaved pits & legs, taking pictures with ma’baby girl.
And you know what?
I’m totally ok with that.

I’m not opposed to letting them live in a bubble.

I’ll admit to being extremely over protective when it comes to my boys. I’m terrified of them getting hurt. When I watch them ride their rollerblades, I become consumed with thoughts like “Oh my GOD, they could fall, break their neck and become paralyzed!” So, I’ll shout out to them things like “Slow down!” “Not so fast!”
“WHY DON’T YOU COME INSIDE AND WE’LL BAKE COOKIES INSTEAD!?”
I usually get a response that goes a little something like this…
“You always ruin our fun! Why don’t you just go back inside and let us ENJOY OUR LIVES?”
And that’s exactly what I have to do. I have to go inside and not watch them play, or my urge to save them from losing an eye or their ability to walk will take over and I’ll “ruin their lives.”
Over the years, I’ve learned to control my overprotectiveness on the outside by not freaking the hell out when I DO watch them play. And? I don’t say no when they ask to go places like skateparks or BMX racing tracks. Even though, on the inside, I am throwing up, wondering how I’ll care for them when they’re in their wheelchairs. (And I’m not exaggerating) I realise that I can’t prohibit them from enjoying their childhood because of my fears. That said, I still believe it is my job to protect them from harm, to keep them safe, so there are times I will forbid them from doing things, even if every other kid in the ‘hood are doing them.
There have been many times where my husband will say things to me like “Think about what YOU did as a kid and you lived, RIGHT?!”
So true. I think of the things that I did as a child and yes, I survived, BUT… it IS a miracle that I still have legs that work.
When I was in Junior High, I was totally obsessed with tanning. I wanted the best tan the sun could offer, so I’d search endlessly for the perfect place to bake my skin. I decided that perfect place was THE ROOF OF OUR HOUSE. I’d grab a towel, my pink boom box, I’d climb on the side fence, hop up on the roof, climb to the very top and park my ass at the very top, facing my backyard.
I think about that now and it makes me sick to my stomach. I could have fallen off and DIED! And, oh my God, if I ever found MY kids on OUR roof? I’d call 911 to come rescue them because I sure as hell wouldn’t let them climb down once I saw them up there.
Climbing on the roof was mild compared to the things me and my siblings did when we were young. Things that could have gotten us killed, things like trying to put out a match in a motor home with A CAN OF LYSOL (Can you say ‘how long does it take for eyebrows to grow back in?’), driving my parents car when I was 14, when I had no clue HOW to drive. Things like jumping out of trees, running on the concrete around my grandmas pool to get enough speed to do flips into her pool without a diving board, playing “operation” with real knifes and getting (literally) cut open in the gut, riding bikes at 523532 miles per hour in the middle of the street with NO HELMET, jumping the train tracks trying to “beat the train”, etc….
So why am I so paranoid about my kids? Why can’t I ease up a bit? Why do I panic when I watch them jump their bike off of a ramp? Why do I secretly wish they could wear mouthpieces, knee/elbow pads and helmets at their basketball games? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually enforce my overprotectiveness in such an overbearing manner, I try to keep it inside so as not to raise a couple of wusses, but I wish that I could relax a bit and not worry so much about them becoming quadriplegic.
Is that actually possible? Are there mothers out there who watch their kid racing down the street on their roller blades at 50mph and actually enjoy it and cheer them on? Are their mothers who don’t think “Oh my God, those are permenant teeth, if he falls and knocks them out WHAT WILL I DO?” Do these mothers exist and if so, what in the hell is your secret? How do you do that? Please, enlighten me.

From the archives…

One day it will all make sense

I woke up this morning not feeling like myself. Everything is different. For the third time in my life, there is a child forming and growing inside of me.
To say it’s overwhelming doesn’t even begin to describe the emotion that is constantly present in my heart and in my mind.
As I made my way down the hall this morning, the sweetest voice I know said softly “Goodmorning my pregnant mommy.”
The words stunned me and a rush of pride and joy swept over my entire body. However, it only lasted for a moment before the shock and disbelief once again took over my mind.
The reaction of my children is comforting. They are excited. Everytime I look at Ethan, he’s staring at my stomach and he’ll say something like “I can’t believe you have a baby in your tummy.” Or “I’m going to love this baby so much mommy.”
Andrew has already offered to help me in any way I need it, with one exception.
He will not change poopie diapers.
I find myself touching my tummy often and telling my baby I’m sorry.
“I’m sorry that I cried when I found out you existed. I’m sorry for the things I said when I called to tell your daddy you existed. I’m sorry. I do love you, I do, but it’s so complicated right now. I’m sorry.”
I know that’s silly, but I feel so guilty for the way I feel right now.
When Andrew and Ethan were concieved, the joy I felt was unmeasurable. I would look at Tony and laugh. “We’re having a baby!” I would walk around with a smile on my face and overwhelming excitment in my heart.
Today, I walk around in shock. Stunned. Overwhelmed. Scared. In disbelief. Wondering if I can give this child the love I gave to my other children. Wondering if it’s fair to bring a sweet, innocent child into this world under these circumstances.
I am ashamed of how I feel. I am.
However, with every hug Ethan gives my tummy, with every name Andrew spontaneously suggests, with every smile and reassuring touch my husband gives to me, it feels a little more like this is the way things are supposed to be and that when I finally see this unexpected little creature, everything will be as it was meant to be.
And finally, the family that I live for, the family I love, will be whole and complete.
I wrote that post on December 6, 2003.
When I read that last sentence, chills went through my entire body.
I had NO idea just HOW much we needed that little “unexpected creature”.
Thank God HE knew.