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Archive for the tag “mom”

Jason

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A few weeks ago Michaela (our 2 year old) began hinting there was another person in our family.  His name is Jason.  At first we couldn’t figure out who Jason was.  He would show up in odd moments and our nanny was convinced SHE was being referred to as Jason.  After inquiring it became clear Jason was Michaela’s imaginary friend.  Jason was a trouble maker sometimes.  Jason is not simply pronounced “Jason”.  Rather you must pucker your lips and express a deep drawn out ”JAAAASSSSSOOOON”.

Bailey (our 5 yr old) had never mentioned any imaginary friends.  Growing up I had my BFF Tiffany so it has tickled me to have a kindred spirit in Michaela.  As our family has become more immersed in Jason’s personality we have begun adding him to our daily questions.  “Hey Michaela where is Jason?”  From what I have surmised he is potty trained, a voracious reader, and an avid jokester.  He loves to make messes, hide at bedtime, and cause trouble.  He is her imaginary friend and her alter ego.  Jason is awesome sauce.

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Three weeks ago my dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer.  It was a shock as I am sure it is to any person finding out there dad is not invincible.  The doctors were quick to get surgery scheduled and within days we had the date.  March 29.

My world shook the moment I knew something was wrong with my dad.  Realistically we know our parents will get older and have health problems.  However it is just something we take for granted until a test result slaps us across the face.  My little brother (Rob) and I immediately launched into action making plans to be there.  Logistics wise we both had a ton on our plate but within 24 hours we had travel coordinated, work off and spouses taking over at home.

The family plan was to meet the day before surgery, stay together the night before then do hospital shifts.  Between my mom, Rob and I my dad would never be alone. The doctors felt confident the cancer was only in his kidney. Everything sounded rational and on paper it made sense.  However I knew I wasn’t alone with the feeling of complete and utter fear.

Tuesday I left my girls, Mike and our animals and got on the train.  I spent 5 hours thinking about him and honestly dreading my arrival.  What do I say? How do I act? Do I cry? Make jokes? Will they cry? My role in our family has always been the planner/cheerleader.  I typically take charge (even when they don’t want me to) and lead.  Armed with the team bracelets my daughter had made us I arrived ready to do anything to help my parents.

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The first hour was a little rocky.  My dad was understandably very nervous and my mom was trying to be a comfort while managing her emotions.  He wasn’t allowed to have any cocktails and he didn’t have much of an appetite.  We chatted about surface subjects and idly waited for Rob to get into town.  When he did we headed to a quick dinner in anticipation of our early morning.

I’m not sure when the subject of Jason came about but it did.  My family giggled at the Jason stories and we started making up new stories about Jason.  Everyone pronounced “Jassssoooon” with the deep voice and curled lip I showed them and it just kept getting funnier.  For some reason Jason brought out the child in all of us.  By the time we went to bed we had spent most of the evening laughing and swapping stories.  We bunked in the same room and my brother started cracking jokes in the dark.  We were laughing so hard I was in tears.  I honestly can’t remember the last time I felt like such a little kid hanging out with my parents.

The next day was LONG.  We checked in a 6am, dad’s surgery was at 9 and he remained in solitary recovery until almost 5pm.   At one point the nurse allowed each of us to individually visit him.  While walking back I was anxious. I wasn’t sure what he was going to look like and wanted to make sure I seemed confident and encouraging.  I walk back and in his drugged state he looks at me and says, “It went good honey. “Jaaassooooon” was in there helping out!” I cracked up.  Good ole Jason had been there watching over my dad the whole time.

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Over the next few days Jason continued to be a theme.  In the patient room next to my Dad’s there was a sheriff supervised patient.  We joked Jason would protect us.  When dad started walking we would say, “Have Jason go with you”.  Even when I left this morning I told dad I had to bring Jason back to Michaela.  Our faith was always present and Jason served as our angel.  He made us all laugh when we really wanted to cry.  He encouraged us to have fun rather than worry.  Jason brought out the childlike banter we had been accustomed to and gave a light in the scary darkness.

My dad was discharged today two days ahead of schedule.  He exceeded the doctor’s expectations with his strength and determination. I heard the nurses talking about him saying he was fun and a joy to have as a patient.  We won’t know the final results until next week but his surgeon felt confident they would be positive.

As I sit on the train riding home I can’t help but smile.  Watching my dad exude the qualities I love most about him filled me with pride.  At 77 he is focused and optimistic.  He is ready to tackle anything and is stubborn to get back to his active lifestyle.  He is serious about his health but can giggle with Jason.

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Jason provided the senseless relief we needed and I can’t help but feel so much admiration for my children.  We wore the bracelets my daughter made us through the whole process and my parents implored us for more grandchild stories.  THIS is the reason for family.  The knowledge and love we receive from our elder’s passes to our children.  Our children provide purity and unabashed wonder to us.  It is absolutely awe inspiring and I travel home with a heart full of love and hope.

Sending the essence of Jason to all our readers!

Xoxo

Mari

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Fainting Couch STAT

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I haven’t written lately because I have just been SO busy.

I work Full Time. Tend to two children. One husband. Two Dogs.  Hundreds of models. 5 States worth of event staff. Girlfriends.  Family. Charitable causes. Attempted work out regime.

My kids have been sick so I haven’t slept much.  My dog gashed open his head.  Traveling for family obligations has been stressful.  My friends are pregnant/engaged/divorcing/partying/depressed. I am exhausted and stressed and being pulled in every direction.

Do you feel sorry for me yet?

If you do. Don’t.

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I decided to write on an area of abuse I see running rampant in many places of my life (sometimes mine).  It is one of the few common personality traits that knows no ethnicity, religion or gender.  It does not exclude any age, occupation or socioeconomic class.  In fact this affliction may be the most contagious disease I have seen of late (Except for diseases once abolished. Thanks anti-vaxxers).

The “disease” goes by a few terms:

Victimhood.  Playing the Victim.  Self Victimization. Victim  Playing.  (Cousins with Martyrdom)

Definition: fabrication of victimhood for a variety of reasons such as to justify abuse of others, to manipulateothers, a coping strategy or attention seeking.

Playing the Victim is useful.  It works in most situations.  You can use it to win a fight.  Elicit sympathy.  Gain praise.

I would be lying if I said I haven’t played the victim before.  It is usually to throw someone off in a fight (I have married an attorney but my dad always assumed I would be one) or to get out of something I don’t want to do.  I think everyone should get a few free victim cards per year.

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I am not speaking of the occasional overwhelmed feeling of a person needing a moment of praise.  Heck we all need some snaps every once in a while!

IMAG4976_3(My snaps cup of praise given to me by my fabulous friends)

 This blog is geared to the perpetual victim.

The card toting year around victim who literally feeds off the attention and praise devoted to their plight.  You can find the greatest offenders of victimhood in various arenas.  These are just a few I have seen this week:

1. The Social Media Abuser – Facebook, Twitter, Victims.com (OK I made that up).  Good Lord the victims use social media as a personal soap box for their need for affirmation.  These offenders post weekly but most often daily.  They share inspirational quotes about how they are wonderful in a passive aggressive way.

They write about being stressed. Over worked. Over tired. Can’t sleep. Trying the best they can as a (insert lifestyle). The posts literally BEG you to say, “You are AMAZING”, “Keep your head up!”, “You deserve the best!”, “It will get better”, “We are in AWE of how awesome you are!”… you get the picture….

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I should preface.. the Social Media Abuser probably falls into the following categories as well….

2. The Over Achiever- We all know this person.  This victim is cloaked in a shiny coat and often not categorized as a couch fainter.  This person pushes to be the lead in everything.  The class President. Head of the Pismo Beach Disaster Fundraiser. Cheer President.  The Soccer Mom, Carpool director, Team Captain- All in one week.  The over achiever is the individual others are immediately drawn to because they appear to “have it together”.  Months or perhaps years pass before one realizes the praise of being an “overachiever” is the Heroin of choice for this person. Keep praising or this hidden victim will crumble.  This person does not take on one or two areas.  They demand to be in charge of everything.  They headbutt their way to the top then wait for the praise to flow.

3. The Public figure- UGH probably the most offensive to me.  If I read another celebrity complaining about their public comments being taken wrong…. Some celebrities love to talk about how hard it is to be rich and famous.  The horrible problems they deal with and how we should pity and celebrate them.

4. The Plight I Overcamer- “Overcamer” is not actually a word but you know who I am talking about.  The person who overcame the horrible (insert situation) and is reformed… but not really.  They remind us of their past plights constantly, passively begging for us to praise them over and over and over and… well you get the picture.  They want applause for becoming better. Unfortunately they haven’t actually overcame anything because they compulsively seek adoration. Daily.

5. The Never Follow Througher- Again… I might be making a new word but this person tells everyone constantly how they are starting (insert plan).  It never actually happens but we are supposed to praise them for their thoughts toward awesome.  The “never follow througher” is the quintessential beacon of hope wrapped in a soft victim blanket.  They are letting us know they have been through EVERYTHING but are still willing to (insert-go to school, run a marathon, build a boat, become vegan, get a medal, host a speech, break up with bad person, start a freaking revolution). Obviously they never actually complete their goal(or come close) but as a victim encourage others to say YAY!! Way to go!! We never see any results because the ego is fed until the next proclamation.

It is fine to play the victim every once in a while.  We all need a dose of confidence to remind us we are amazing. Capable. Phenomenal. Awe worthy.  However, is this your crutch? Is being a victim your go to? Do you beg for affirmation regularly?

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Maybe I am crazy but why not ask for praise when you need it? Or better yet why not count one’s own blessings?

This past weekend I was in my home town and blessed to see my oldest and most dear friend Rachel.  She is the same age as I am. She has 4 children and is divorced.  As soon as she arrived to meet me her first question was, “How are you?? You have so much going on I need to hear everything”.  I rambled for an hour.  When I inquired about her and her family she shrugged it off.  She mentioned she had been a bit frustrated getting the kids out in the morning but otherwise life was great.  She doesn’t have time for Facebook or social media.  She doesn’t complain or bitch.  She is AMAZING.  If she had a fainting couch I would buy her pillows.  But she never will.  She’s not a victim.

Yet another of my best friend’s volunteers with children.  She devotes her time (quietly) to provide positive opportunities for those in need.  The stories she has told me of visiting orphanages in Mexico and being a “big sister” to two special kids…. hopefully she will guest blog- Unicorn you know who you are…

Remember when this video went viral?

The people who have the most tend to need more.  Those who could actually BE A VICTIM choose different.  Some of the most confident individuals I have met are those with little to nothing.  More important people who actually need our support don’t publicize it.  At what point does the need for praise and affirmation become an actual addiction?

 

 

 

My Ass Is In Your Spot

Last night I went to bed with a plan.  To be honest I go to bed every night with a plan.  Most mornings it gets derailed before 8am.  But a girl’s gotta have a goal right?

My plan was to get Bailey to preschool early, visit with her teacher and drop off the 45 baby food jars I had washed the night before (for art projects).  Next I would get my errands done and get home in time to get my work done and laundry folded before 1pm pickup.  Easy peasy right?? Wrong.

My morning started out late and before I knew it I was wrapped up in a work project needing to go out before leaving the house.  At 8:15 I was still in pajamas, Bailey was not fed or dressed and baby Michaela had a full diaper. UGH.  Our sweet nanny Summer knows every morning is an adventure.  Some mornings she shows up to a clean house and dressed and fed kids with backpack and lunchbox packed.  Today was not that day. Instead she came through the door with me shouting, “Watch out I am tossing Bailey’s clothes downstairs”…”Also can you please put away all the food on the counter?”… “Michaela pooped can you deal with that??”…”I need to leave in 8 minutes”….

By the time I pulled into the parking lot it was 9:05am (School starts at 9) and I screeched into the first open parking spot  I could find.  I jumped out opened Bailey’s door and glanced down at the pavement.

Half of my car was in the parking space next to me.  BALLS.

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I had inadvertently double parked.  I knew I would need to fix the car even though I was running late.  But before I could get back in the driver side I saw the owner of the car through the windows.  She realized she couldn’t open her door (Because my entire car ass was in her spot) and had turned around.  I was trying to get her attention waving through my windows but they are dark tinted(illegal tint-I know, I am hardcore) so she couldn’t see me.  Next thing I know she is jumping in her passenger  seat and climbing over her seats to get to her driver’s seat.  I was mortified.

When she backs out I walk to the back of my car to get her attention bracing myself for the daggers she would certainly fling. I was envisioning a shaking head.. utter disdain.. annoyance…

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 Instead she sees me, smiles and waves! WHAT?? She rolls down her window since I am flailing around like an Idiot and I immediately start stumbling over myself,” I am SO SO sorry about my horrible parking…. I was just getting back in my car to fix it…. I was running so late I wasn’t paying attention….I can’t believe you climbed over your seats… ” you get the idea.  This adorable mom just laughs and explains it happens to her all the time and her garage is so tiny she is used to climbing in any door that has the most space.  Then she tells me to have a great day and drives away.

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O.M.G.  How cool is that?? How many of you would have had a smile on your face if someone parked in your spot and you had to climb through your car? She didn’t know I was on the other side about to amend my wretched parking.  She wasn’t annoyed or snarky.  She was wonderful.

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Her kindness inspired my day and reminded me for all the negative stories and poor human behavior kindness is still alive and well.  Patience and assuming the best in others is still thriving.  It really tickled me.

Remember the next time someone double parks or cuts in front of you they might not be a horrible person.  They could be just running late or distracted.  They could be shuffling and multitasking and their morning plan might not be panning out.  Let’s try to be kind to one another and assume the best.. not the worst.

XO Mari

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I Know Too Much

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I know your wedding anniversary was last week and the lasagna you ordered was phenomenal.  Your child has pink eye, a stutter and likes purple.  Your husband has horrific gas in the middle of the night and often it keeps you up at night.  The neighbors on your left are loud and annoying and the smoke from their partying comes into your window. You have lost 6 pounds on your new weight loss program and typically work out at 6:30am before work.  Your youngest child has the flu and the vomit is horrible.  You and your best friend are fighting over the girl’s night out last Tuesday.  Your job sucks and you were late last week because of traffic.

You are my Facebook friend and I don’t have your phone number.  We don’t hang out; in fact, we met in passing.  When you are down the street from my house and check in at a local bar you don’t realize how close you are.  Even if you did I wouldn’t be invited.  After all, we don’t know one another and I don’t want to be real friends with you.

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I have almost 500 “friends” on Facebook and have relationships with possibly 75.  I check Facebook throughout the day and peek into people’s lives knowing details about their family, their day-to-day activities and their life.  I know their religion, their political affiliation and their music tastes.  Many of these people I haven’t spoken to for more than 5 minutes in my entire life.

For the few real friends I have my feelings get hurt when I see a post and realize I wasn’t invited.  I can tell when someone is annoyed with me because they don’t like my picture or comment on a post they would normally comment on. I worry I might make someone feel excluded when I update a picture or event and may have forgotten to invite a friend.    Before Facebook I wouldn’t know when a few friends had an impromptu get together or quick coffee date.  I would be oblivious to a friend’s mild annoyance with me.

I have been thinking a lot about Facebook and the impact it has on my days.  More important, I worry about the time I set aside to read update after update from people I barely know.

Having aged from a young single girl to a mother the updates are equally annoying.  The constant competition of other parent’s boasting their child’s advanced skills or perfect post baby body will leave any person insecure.  On the flip side I receive notes from people commenting on the person without the perfect body or phenomenal child.

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Then there is my favorite area.  Friends I might not be real friends with any longer but don’t want to unfriend on Facebook.  After all it would be childish, right?   I read posts of them boasting their best night ever with their newest friends or vacationing down the street.  According to Facebook their lives (or ours) is much better now and the passive aggressive dance ensues.

What is happening? Why has social media become the dominant presence in our lives? I have always defended my Facebook membership as a tool to keep in touch with family and friends who live far away.  However, I spend much more time reading updates about people I don’t interact with!  Why do we care so much about reading what people are doing? I find myself delighting in the mortifying admissions and the horrific posts people write.  I hear my disappointment because a friend forgot to invite me or another friend is annoyed because I missed an outing. This is not who I am and I am quickly realizing I have no interest in knowing so much.  Facebook creates insecurity in my friendships and encourages me to post nothing but what I want people to perceive is my life.

I am not done with Facebook. Yet.  However downsizing is part of my phase out program.  I don’t want to lose the years of previous posts because I think it will be fun to include in my kiddos scrapbooks.  Also our blog reaches all of my contacts.  But I am tired of too much information.  I am bored of worrying how I look in each picture to prove I am still a hot mom (thanks Photoshop).

For my real friends please just let me know when you are upset with me or just love me.  Please begin sending photos to my email address because I cherish them.  Remember I might not be available but invite me! Mostly, think about what you post on Facebook.  Know people are reading and might be hurt, offended or excluded.

What do you think? What is your social media pet peeve? I would love to hear your comments while I check Facebook 😉

Xo Mari

 

The Invisible People

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Invisible is not a word anyone would correlate with my name.  In fact, I would be described as the exact opposite.  I am outgoing, like to bedazzle everything, and wear pink.  I talk to everyone and move into party hostess role in mundane places like the grocery store.   People remember me and my social circle because we are loud and probably annoying.  We are never invisible.

Now that I am getting older my “sparkle” tends to take the back seat, focusing my attention on our little girls and celebrating that they are stars of the life show.  I don’t get dressed up or bother with makeup but my girls are always fabulously dressed, brushed and excited to flirt with the world.

A few months ago my Mom was in town and we were doing errands(i.e. going to Lunch, Target and Coldwater Creek since CC isn’t in her area).  People constantly comment on the girls and how fun they are since they smile incessantly and interact with anyone who will look at them.  My Mom loves it (OF COURSE what Grandma isn’t proud of her little ones??) and always engages in conversation with strangers.  During our lunch we were talking about their attention and my mom said something I hadn’t ever considered.  “The hardest part about getting older is becoming invisible.”  I was shocked.  I AM my mom’s mini me.  She has always been the outgoing, hostess with the mostess, girlfriend group leading, impression leaving gal.  People LOVE my mom.  How could she feel invisible???

Since then I have thought a great deal about her comment.  After my initial skepticism I started delving into the possibility and the reasons why.  Guess what I realized? She was absolutely right.  In our superficial culture age isn’t celebrated it is discouraged.  Americans go into debt to get surgery to look younger, more vibrant, thinner, more voluptuous.  Adults are terrified of looking old because the elderly are deemed irrelevant.

When I realized my mom might be right I did a very unscientific completely based on my own marketing skills study to see what I found.  Luckily I didn’t have to go far.  Our area is full of retirement communities and virtually every store or public place I go the age demographic is significantly higher than my own.

What I noticed sickened me.  The utter disdain toward the elderly is prolific.  I watched in horror last week when a couple was attempting to use a grocery cart to stabilize themselves on their way to the parking lot.  The grocery cart became caught on the floor mat and they were unable to continue.  An employee watched it, walked around them and went back to work.  They were stuck at the entrance.  At least 20 customers walked around them to get in and out of the store without so much as a glance.  I became enraged and yelled for the employee, chastising him for not helping the couple.  He looked at my like I was crazy and mumbled a half hearted excuse. I helped them out and told them to have a great day.  The two were gracious, lovely, and appreciative.

The visible eye rolling I have watched in the past month is enough to start a crusade.  For some reason our society is annoyed that the people who RAISED us, CARED for us and SACRIFICED are now old.  How dare these people age and not walk as fast, drive as well or pick out their spices in a timely manner?

My Mom was completely right.  And I am devastated.  Our culture is slimy and lame.  How dare we feel superior because we are younger?  Since the conversation I seek out anyone in my path who might need help.  I offer a smile and inquire about their day.  The response has been wonderful and encourages me to pay more attention to those outside the ‘optimum age demographic’.

If it weren’t for my mom telling me I wouldn’t have noticed.  I am not a super cool evolved human being needing snaps but I am a woman who will strive to not allow ANYONE to feel invisible.   What about you?

xoxo

Mari

So this happened today.

Typically I don’t post/write on the weekends.  However in honor of Mother’s Day my nonfiction story needed to be told.  As with my last post on the follies of motherhood this blog applies to everyone.  Feel free to laugh, shake your head knowingly or simply cringe at the thought. Whichever emotion my blog elicits, enjoy.

Yesterday morning I got my hair highlighted and cut.  Relaxed, blonde and happy I returned home to find flowers from Mike and an adorable card from Bailey(our toddler).  While I was gone Mike and the girls had gone grocery shopping and planned breakfast and dinner for Mother’s Day. Further, Mike asked me what he could do to make Mother’s Day awesome for me.  I told him to just take the girls in the morning so I could sleep in.  Done and done.

Around 6:30 a.m. our baby awoke and was giggling in her crib.  Mike wasn’t quite awake so I jumped up to get her for snuggles and a quick diaper change.  As I went to change Michaela I sensed something was off… she was holding on to a gooey wad and it seemed to be all over her; in her hair, her onesie, even smeared on her face- what was that?? It looked familiar and smelled familiar but I just couldn’t quite place it. All of a sudden my groggy mind clicked into place and I recognized what the squishy clear balls were.  My heart sank as I quickly surmised her diaper must have been faulty.  It had emptied the contents of the absorbing gel typically sealed inside the crotch of a diaper all over her body.

For those of you lucky enough to not know what I am talking about here is a visual of what the gel beads look like:

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This is the amount in one diaper:

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Michaela was playing with it.  She was smearing it.  She was covered and playing with urine filled gel balls UGHHHHHHH. I yelled for Mike,”Babe we have a pee situation. I neeeeeed you. Quick!” Mike came stumbling down the hallway and didn’t miss a beat.  He started a bath while I attempted to peel the urine soaked onesie  and the remnants of the diaper off Mich.  Did I mention the poop? Yep. Amidst all of this she had pooped and I hadn’t noticed. Now I have a naked, gel covered, poop smeared baby.  I step backward in shock and my foot sinks into the squishy gel balls that are now all over the floor. I look down and I am covered in miniscule urine droplets.

It was 6:45 a.m.

I take all the dirty blankets downstairs and shake them in the backyard only to realize I had stepped in fresh dog pee. Sigh. I wiped my foot with the soiled blanket while our Maltese walked through the puddle and happily trotted back in the house leaving pee pee paw prints.

By 7:30am I was showered and back in bed with a clean baby, cuddly toddler and sheepish husband.  Mike kept apologizing, saying he just wanted to me to sleep in and relax.  I just laughed and snuggled in with my favorite people.  By 8 a.m. Mike had both girls playing downstairs and I sipped delivered coffee while perusing facebook.  I knew I was supposed to sleep but the sounds of a dance party and giggles downstairs were beckoning me to join. The best part about being a mom are the moments not intended to be awesome.  Listening to Mike play DJ to Bailey’s favorite songs and hearing the shrieks of laughter from both the girls and Mike is the best gift I could ever receive.  My heart was exploding just thinking of the fun happening downstairs and there was no way I could sleep through it. Just then Bailey came upstairs to find me and asked me to help her find clean “pony choanies” ( our term for my little pony themed underwear). I told her I didn’t have to because it’s Mothers day.  She looked at me and said,” But mommy who is going to make dinner??”

9ish a.m.??

Michaela was ready for her morning nap and Bailey and Mike were downstairs making me French Toast.  I took Mich to her nursery and remembered the bedding was gone. Oops. I quickly changed her crib, fed and changed her so she could sleep.  By the time I got downstairs the tired protests from a too tired baby were waning and the delicious smells of bacon and french toast were wafting through the air.

Happily I walked into the kitchen to see my phenomenal husband flipping french toast with Bailey stirring the egg mixture.  I planned to sit down and begin sending notes to my favorite mom friends and glanced at the video monitor to ensure a sleeping baby.

Instead, I saw this:

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O.M.G.  What is my 6.5 month old baby doing standing up??? When did this happen? Shocked, I yelled to Mike to look at the screen while simultaneously telling Bailey to not spill on her new dress.  At precisely this moment Bailey dumped the majority of the french toast mixture down the front of her, completely soaking her new dress. The sticky, eggy mess sunk into the hardwood floor and coated the snouts of my dogs licking it up.  Bailey lost her shit and started screaming.  Michaela was standing in her crib.  Bacon was sizzling in the oven.  The french toast smelled amazing and my dogs were thrilled with the taste of their face fur.

10 AM

Bailey was no longer crying and Michaela was sleeping soundly.  Bribed with the promise of another mini my little pony she happily ate all of her french toast.  Mike made me another cup of coffee and apologized again saying, “I tried so hard to make this morning just right for you.”  He made it more than just right.  He made it perfect.

Mother’s Day is a day to appreciate the mothers in one’s life.  It does not mean that chaos won’t ensue.  It does not mean the day will run smooth.  It just means you are loved and admired.

Happy Mothers day to our phenomenal mom readers!

 

The dirtiest girl in town

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Nasty. Dirty. Smelly.

AKA, my daughter.

My friends, the books — everyone talks about the terrible twos. Bailey wasn’t terrible in her twos. But turning three.  Good Lord, what happened?

Almost overnight my precious angel has turned into a disgusting human being. Out of nowhere she is gross.  And clumsy.  She is so damn accident prone, my heart can’t take it. I try not to drink wine every day but it is virtually impossible with all the foul germs and accidents.

She has bad breath in the morning. She farts constantly. Her poop stinks. She has dried pee down her leg most days.  She gets boogers and thinks it’s funny to wipe them on me. She almost always has dirt under her nails. Even worse, she seems to delight in her repulsiveness.  She laughs every time her ass expels a nasty toot.  She is tickled with booger flinging, and thinks it’s hilarious to make me cringe.  I think she likes completely grossing me out.

I just don’t get it. She always smelled so delicious. She was meticulously clean and looked perfect (almost always).  Now, I have to tell her she stinks and to go away.  I have to tell her to wash her hands, to wipe…. to WIPE again, to wash her hands again — with soap.  She likes filthy stuff. She loves to throw dirty leaves in the air, to play in the mud and then suck on her fingers.

Today she sheepishly admitted she peed everywhere. I told her it was fine, thinking she was exaggerating. She wasn’t.  I casually glanced at her bathroom as I was walking down the hallway and something was amiss.  Upon closer inspection I realized her stool to get her to the potty was covered in pee.  I brought the bleach in and cleaned the stool thinking no big deal.  Then I picked up her princess potty to wipe the seat, and pee poured out the sides like it was a pitcher of iced tea.  Pee splattered everywhere — the toilet, the white rug, even in the grout of the tile. The best part was the combinations of old pee versus new pee. I had no idea there was a reservoir catching pee in her princess seat so when I picked it up various vintages of aged pee splashed liked waves onto me and the floor.

My only glimpse at my little lady is the fact she insists on wearing dresses every day.  In addition, she is the cutest dancer on the planet (I am completely unbiased). She dances to just about anything and when she is in her leotard and matching skirt and tights for dance class my heart swells.  In her dance outfit, one would never guess how repulsive she is(Headlining picture).

I can’t wait to tell her how disgusting she was later in life.  When she hits her teens and spends hours applying makeup and obsessing over outfits I am going to unleash the stories.  Until then, I will keep chasing her with hand sanitizer and hope the germs are making her tough!

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