Tuesday, September 9, 2014

It's Just a Freaking Shirt, Kid!

“Eden, do you want to wear the grey shirt or the red shirt?”


“Okay. Adaleine, do you want to wear the grey shirt or the red shirt?”

“The red shirt!”

“Alrighty then! Looks like Adaleine’s wearing the red and Eden’s wearing the grey!”

Weep and gnashing of teeth.

This was the beginning of a thirty-minute meltdown about how the boys will make fun of her for wearing a grey shirt and they will say it’s a boy’s shirt. Then further into the abyss of tantrumdom when I suggested she splash some water on her face to help her calm down. Then the world almost stopped turning when she explained to me – while staring at her red and teary face in the mirror – that iiiiiittttt waaaaaaaaassssnnnnnn’t heeeeelllllllpiiiiiiinnnngggg.


Then I lost my cool and shouted at her that I wasn’t going to listen to my seven-year-old daughter throw a fit like a little baby about a shirt. Then she cried some more and I noticed a little stream of snot flowing from her nose. Isn’t it funny how my daughter was throwing a royal tantrum in the bathroom and all I could think was I need to add tissues onto my list for the store.

The problem is if she had just freaking told me that she didn’t want to wear the grey shirt because she thought the boys would make fun of her, I probably would have listened! I would have told her that boys are stupid and they have no idea about things like that, but if she didn’t want to wear the shirt she didn’t have to. But then she threw a fit.

Tough choice here, folks. The logic is sound(ish) but the attitude was all wrong. 

I’m torn between being a tough mom who won’t take crap from my daughter about a shirt and being an understanding mom who doesn’t want some dumb boys making fun of her. 

Rock, meet Hard Place.

This is parenting.

Sunday, August 31, 2014

Being a Mom...

Being a mom is a lot of different things at a lot of different times. Here are some of my personal experiences…

Being a mom is…

…not thinking twice when you’re on the toilet and your three-year-old busts in to tell you that the green lady in the movie he watched a week ago scared him.


…absentmindedly turning off all the light switches as you walk through the house after the little munsters leave them on.


…forgetting when you last showered, but remembering exactly where you last saw your daughter’s favorite stuffed animal. (In the living room, under the yellow and green blanket in the basket behind the chair.)

…knowing the second your child reaches the ‘too tired to sleep’ point and you will be dealing with a holy terror for at least another hour.

…going over the same stupid Cinderella sticker a dozen times with the vacuum just so you don’t have to bend over and pick it up.

…going out to eat and deciding on your order and the order for all of your kids (including side items and drinks) in the time it takes your husband to find the category he’s looking for on the menu. “Hey babe, do you see the fish and chips on this menu? Oh! I found them. Never mind. Wait—two choices of side items? Do you see the list of side items?”


…knowing that sometimes yogurt with granola will be a hit for breakfast. And sometimes it will cause a meltdown of epic proportions.

…having the ability to tie one kid’s shoe, direct another one to the location of her lunchbox, and instruct the last one to grab a Kleenex for the booger he can’t flick off his finger—and is crying about—all at the same time.

…hearing the almost imperceptible noise the door makes when your kid gets out of bed again, and pausing your episode of The Killing before they come out and are scarred for life. 

…being aware of the fact that lying is bad, but knowing that Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are magic and that makes it okay ;)

…having one kid wake you in the middle of the night because of a bad dream, another wake you because they wet the bed, and the last one wake you because of a thunderstorm. All in the same night.


But even though mom-ing can be hard and challenging and hair loss-inducing, I think we can all agree that it’s worth it. Here’s one from last night that had me smiling ear to ear.

…realizing that your hands still smell like Baby Magic even hours after bath time.

Go forth and mom! And maybe sniff some Baby Magic to get you through the yogurt meltdowns. :)

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

The Red Devil in My Belly

I’ve whined commented before about how being a woman is hard, but I’d like to revisit this topic. This occurred to me these past few days as I was in the throes of my ‘monthly miracle’ and I thought I’d share. Because that’s what friends do. 

If you’re a dude, I’m not really sure what to tell you. Part of me wants to recommend that you read on and learn a little something, but another part of me thinks that the less you know the better. Because being a girl is kind of gross.

The day before I ‘start,’ I’m like a raving and slightly insane bear. My kids drive me nuts, my husband drives me nuts—basically human beings in general. This last time I ended up calling my husband who was conveniently out of town at work. As soon as he picked up the phone I unloaded on him. Guys, it was kind of unfair but I didn’t care one tiny bit.

“I’m so sick of these kids! Judah won’t stop whining about every little thing! Sissy cries if someone looks at her the wrong way! Eden is mean! And as soon as one of them asks me a question and I’m trying to process a response, another one is right there with another need! ‘Mom? Mom? Mom? MOM?’ It’s driving me crazy!”

Mr. Bug’s response? A very heartfelt, “I’m sorry.”

My reply? “It’s fine. I’m getting off the phone.”

Poor dude just couldn’t win. Fortunately I knew this was probably due to the red devil in my belly (thank you, Jessica Day!) so I had forewarned him. He handled it perfectly.

So there’s the hormonal insanity/moodiness. And the zits. Dear Lord, the zits. I have two on my chin right now that I can actually feel throbbing. They’re enormous and they hurt soooo baaaaad. And of course I have a few bonus zits on my back. Because why the flip not? And they’re not the kind that you get the gratification of popping. No, these are way below the surface I’m just here to cause you pain and make you look stupid zits.

So you hate humanity which is fine because you’re not really fit to face humanity with all the zits on your face and back. Add to that the cramps. People, the cramps. Punched in the gut, heating pad, curl up in a ball, stop looking at me cramps. The ones that make you seriously consider having another baby just so you get nine months without that pain. I’m pretty sure that’s why the Duggars kept having kids. She probably just has cramps that are slightly more painful than mine.

To top all of this off…you are freaking bleeding. I know it’s not a ton, up to a cup according to Kotex (like they know) but still. There is blood coming out of you and you feel gross and smelly and you’re worried about leaking and if you have to wear a pad you feel like it’s a diaper and you wake up in the middle of the night and have to change pajamas and God forbid your three-year-old walks in on you when you’re going to the bathroom and oh, there are going to be so many questions. 


If any guys have made it this far, I’m sorry. But really, I’m kinda not sorry. Be nice to your wife/girlfriend/friend/mom/random lady who looks like she wants to kill all the humans. Chances are we’re dealing with some serious stuff. But if you ask if it’s ‘that time of the month,’ you will be in the news. Because we will kill you.

Monday, August 11, 2014

Sissy Belle is Sneaking Off to Kindergarten

School starts the day after tomorrow and I’m having a hard time catching my breath. This summer seemed to fly by, and although I’m ready to send my girls off to start their school year, it’s a little bit bittersweet for me this year.

Sissy Belle is starting kindergarten and in typical middle child fashion—she is completely unfazed and unconcerned with the idea of being away from me all day. The difference between her and Miss Eden, who was still asking me to walk her to her classroom 3/4 of the way through her kindergarten year, is like night and day. When I walked Adaleine in to her first day of preschool, she said, “Okay, Mom. You can go now.” Independent much?

I’m so glad that my little Adaleine Grace is brave. I’m so glad that she’s confident and strong and ready to take on the world without me. Her whole attitude when it comes to trying new things is so easygoing and ‘I got this.’ How can there possibly be any downside to this trait in my girl?

The downside is this: she doesn’t make a big deal of things. Sometimes it’s a good thing but other times—like with the start of kindergarten—we need to make a big deal of things! Just because she’s acting like it ain’t no thang (I’m sorry, I know I’m waaay too white to say that) doesn’t mean that I should blow it off. 

So here’s the deal: if you talk to me on Tuesday or Wednesday, remind me that kindergarten is kiiiinnnnd of a big deal. I will try to remember to squeal and make a fuss over my little laid-back girly. She deserves it :)

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Confessions of a 30-Year-Old Housewife

I wrote this last week on my birthday, but my internet has been so awful for a week that I couldn't even upload it!

Okay, bear with me. I only have 21 minutes to write this post while I’m still technically 30 years old, so grammatical errors will occur. 

In true procrastinator fashion, with 20 minutes left of my career as a 30-year-old, I give you:

Confessions of a 30-Year-Old-Housewife

My kids are rocking the ‘summer schedule’ thing pretty hard. Aside from having to roll over to open Judah’s cereal bar, those kids know not to wake me up and to get their own breakfast if they can’t wait.

I don’t get personalized license plates. I don’t understand why you want people to know that you’re called ‘Nana’ and isn’t everyone a Husker fan? It’s beyond me.

18 minutes

Mountain Dew. Seriously, guys. It’s like the actual nectar of the gods. I know people like beer (although I can’t figure out why) and fancy people like wine (Bouquet? Palate? I watched Sideways so all I know is that it might be lame to like merlot) but give me the Dew. For real, go get me a Dew.

I have a shameless appreciation for the freckles on my face and arms. I love when I get a little sun in the spring and those freckles start to reappear. Who doesn’t look better with freckles? Now if only the sun didn’t make my mustache-like discoloration worse…

14 minutes

I have realized I like every single kind of music except heavy metal. I’m partial to sad songs and anything sung by Barbra Streisand, Harry Connick, Jr., Mumford & Sons and maaaaaybeee Garth Brooks, depending on the day.

Sometimes I will wash the same load of laundry three times because I keep forgetting it’s in the washer. One of the hazards of a basement laundry room?

I love my children, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what the crap to do with all their papers from school. I know each one is special to them, but seriously child. That’s a stick figure of a cat. Let it go already.

Nine minutes.

I want to write a book. I don’t think I would put this in here if I had more time to think about it, but that clock is ticking and I’m gonna be 31 soon. Mr. Bug has even come up with an outline for me if I ever get my poop together and sit down and do it. So I really have no excuse.

Jillian Michaels is on my list of ‘People Who Might Be The AntiChrist.’ 

I hate Anne Hathaway. Not many people do, but I seriously do not like watching her ‘act’ in anything. Every time the girls want to watch The Princess Diaries I die inside a little bit more.

I have never tried hummus. There was a chain email when I was in high school that compared hummus to poop and I’ve never been able to get past that.

Five minutes.

Most of the time I feel like I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Seriously. Almost all of the time. And almost no idea.

If I ever meet Nick Nolte, I think I’ll give him a hug. I know he’s probably not a good guy and I actually hate hugs, but he really should have won an Oscar for Warrior. That was not cool, Academy.

Two minutes. 

I have zero anxiety about getting older. Turning 30 didn’t faze me at all and I’m feeling good about 31. Young at heart? I don’t know. 

Aaaaaaaannnnnnd NOW I’m 31! Hopefully next year I won’t wait this long to write my Confessions. 

Thanks for reading!

Read Confessions of a 28-Year-Old Housewife here
Read Confessions of a 29-Year-Old Housewife here