bye bye

Hey lovelies. So I'll cut to the chase.  The BG has asked me to shut this whole operation down. Ugh.  I wasn't lying when I told you he is the fun police. I kind of want to give out his email and cell phone so you can call him and tell him to relax.

I get it.  Kind of.  He's private.  He doesn't think I should be glorifying irresponsible parenting.  He obvi takes himself too seriously. I wish he understood the part about this being therapeutic.  About it being an outlet for me. I'm going to make him sit down with me tonight to go through all of emails, texts, and private FB messages that I receive from those that read this wee little blog.  You help me.  I think I help you. I'm going to continue to write. I have to. I just won't be sharing.

Yup, I'm sitting here crying right now while my kids are tearing apart the spice rack in my kitchen. Grr.

The most upsetting part is that I've been working on writing a book for quite some time.  I'm sure it will never get further than my desktop but it was/is my dream to someday complete this book and maybe even have it published. Obvi that's going to be a little difficult because it's personal.  The BG hates personal.

So thanks for joining me on this little journey. It's been fun. It's been real.

Onward....

I must now clean up this effing mess. xox

Rainbow Doom

Morning. Before I enlighten you with this next rash of BS I need to make a correction to yesterday's I am amazing post. My friend (the one I almost ran over while not paying attention and most likely speeding) reminded me last evening that she was also pushing her infant son in the stroller when this alleged offense occurred. Yup. Only thing I can say about this - the title of the post should have been I AM UNBELIEVABLY AMAZING.

If you can move on from that....let's talk about the Rainbow Loom.

I'm not fan and I don't even own one. M, like every other tot in the world is crazy over making those gawd awful bracelets, necklaces and rings. I'm well aware of fact that the doom loom is a fun little activity to keep them occupied. Trust me.  Anything to keep my children entertained and I'm on board unless of course it involves the annoying voice of a bald four year old named Calliou or the loom of doom.

Pictured below is the problem {I'm not talking about NPF4's hairline, although it is something to be admired}

Look at that - the little fella is standing on a rocking chair. Unattended. Crying. NPF4 climbed up and couldn't figure out how to get back down. Where am I? Snapping a photo of course. Right on. Please, don't forget to click the mom of the year button at the bottom of this post when you're finish reading.  I'm worthy. Truly, I am.

Back to my doom loom rant. Those tiny elastics are everywhere. They are littered {ahem} throughout the house. I find them in the dryer, under the covers of my bed, on the floor, in-between the couch cushions and most recently in NPF4's toots. Nothing like giving your child a good ole' wipe to learn that he ingested a small elastic band for dinner last night. On the positive side -  it was purple, M's fav color.

There are a couple things I can do to address this problem:

Get rid of NPF4. I could easily pack up his stuff and drop him off at my parents and pick him up in say seven years, which is prolly the age he'll stop putting junk {aside from my cooking} in his mouth. At the same time I can also drop off the dog.  I don't need to pick him. He can take up residence at my parents.  Permanently. Woof. This seems like the logical option.

Another option involves me parenting.  What?  Yes, like actually watching my child to make sure he doesn't put things like Rainbow Loom elastics in his mouth. This is also a seemingly good option but unfortch out of the question. xox

i am amazing

Yup, you read that correctly.  A.MAZE.ING.  I'm mentally exhausted after yesterday's post, so today I've decided to share with you some of the reasons I am so effing great. Ready. Set. Go.

I know I am amazing because:

• When M puked in my bed last week I just covered it with a towel and went back to sleep.
• I put my hood and sunglasses on at 5:30pm and tiptoed into Dunks to buy my kids munchkins for dinner cause I was too lazy to cook BUT I got busted by a fellow daycare parent in line for coffee behind me.   
• I told the BG that Crew Cuts was having a sale and that I needed to buy M clothes when in fact there was no such sale.  The J Crew spring line had just come out and I needed to buy new garb for myself.
• I let my kids watch hours of television so I can try to beat level 158 on Candy Crush.
• I hide in the bathroom and pour M&M's into my mouth instead of giving them as a reward to M when she does tinks and toots in the toilet AND then when she asks where the M&M's have gone I tell her that dada ate them.
• A friend recently informed me that I almost hit her with my shaggin wagon when she was in the crosswalk attempting to cross the street because I wasn't paying attention. Ouch.
• I read FB statuses and posts by other moms regarding paleo diets, red #19193048, cloth diapers, no tv time and think to myself  - my kids are going to turn out so much cooler than yours.  Or fatter.
• I don't keep track of the money in my checking account and got declined for $2.41 at Dunks drive thru for having insufficient funds WHILE the BG was sitting in the passengers seat thus resulting in the lecture of a lifetime.
• I pick up the phone when my kids are doing something completely unsafe or disgusting and record them or take a pic instead of reprimanding them.
• I tell M on a daily basis that Calliou is the worst character on the face of the earth and that if she continues to watch the show she will have no friends.

You are jealous.  Being amazing is no easy feat. Carry on lovelies. xox

Surrender

I found the transition from one child to two hard incredibly hard. M and NPF4 are 20 months apart, the BG works 80-90 hours a week - maybe this was why - or I just suck at life.  You be the judge. Either way, it was challenging. More often than not I found myself waking up in the morning with this impending sense of doom.  How will I entertain them today?  What am I going to feed them for breakfast, lunch and dinner? These questions were typically met with - I don't want to entertain them all day and I certainly don't want to be creative in planning three meals. I would dread the hours from 7am wake-up to 8pm bedtime because I was alone. Alone with the kids. Alone in my thoughts.  Just alone. It's strange how my house could be filled with so much noise - laughing, crying, yelling, singing, barking, the rattling and banging of toys and all the other sounds of a day and yet I still felt so alone.

It was almost like going through the motions. Rolling the ball back and forth to NPF4, coloring with M, reading, arts and crafts, dancing, play dates, lunch dates, gymnastics, music class, park, playground blah blah blah. It's not to say I didn't enjoy doing these things with my children.  I did. I do. Something was missing. It just wasn't enough for me. I had very little sense of satisfaction.  The monotony was almost debilitating. The BG would often say "what did you expect? This is your life. This is it. This is what we signed up for.  Try to enjoy it. Stop fighting it." He was right. To say I was fighting it is an understatement. I hate when he is right.  Am I ever going to be right? Digressing.

There had to be more. This couldn't be it. This couldn't be my life. When I thought about what the BG said  I would become overwhelmed with anger and disappointment.  I was angry and disappointed with myself. Why did I feel this way? I worked so hard to get pregnant - I made it my life's mission at one point.  I had these two perfect little beings and I had never felt so alone, sad, empty, confused, bored....and a million other emotions. I would question whether I should even be a mom or why I wanted to have kids in the first place. I was supposed to be treasuring all these precious moments right? Don't get me wrong - I laughed a lot during this time.  A real lot.  My kids are innocent, sweet and delightfully comical. I just struggled with being in the moment and savoring the funnies as well as accepting the piss, puke and poop on the couch, nebulizer treatments four times a day, gallons of milk spilt on the floor, boxes of cereal being poured into the dog's water bowl, handles being ripped off the oven, fridge and dishwasher,  trips to the ER and everything else that ensues in a days time when you have little ones.

Why was I fighting motherhood? Ya, sorry I don't actually have the answer to this. All I can surmise is that I  lost myself somewhere between shooting myself up in the stomach with infertility meds and caring for a preemie. I needed to just let go. To just be, which is easier said than done - for me anyway.  According to my neighbor, I needed to surrender to the goat. Yes.  She actually said this to me.  Surrender to the goat.  What? You're getting a goat? Pretty sure I responded with "I would rather surrender to the llama." Best word EVAH. Obvi.

I needed clarification on this whole goat thing. I was confused.  Shocking. So the short of it - my neighbor had read a blog years earlier where a mother talked about surrendering to the goat.  Meaning, this particular mom did not necessarily want to go to the zoo every week and look at the stinkin goat but she did because it's what her children wanted to do. They loved the damn goat. Eventually she surrendered to the goat and accepted the situation. She embraced the goat because she is a mom and moms are selfless.  She embraced the goat for her kids. Get it?  That wasn't the very best explanation but hopefully you're smart and you get what I'm talking about. Actually, you aren't smart if you're still reading this epic post.  In fact, I'm boring myself at this point and need to stop. This is way too effing long and bordering on obnoxious.

Stop reading.  Grab a chocolate frosted doughnut and come back in a few.
........................................................................................................................................................

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 How was it? Yum, I hope.

So who knew all I needed to do was surrender to the goat?  Apparently, my neighbor and the BG, although he did not turn me onto to the whole goat movement.  Yup. Loving that I just referred to it as a movement.

Bottom line: I let all the other stuff get in the way of enjoying myself and my kids. I focused too much on the parts of my day that were downright horrid instead of celebrating the fact that M spelt her name or that NPF4 said mama.  I paid more attention to what needed to get done around the house or the errands I wasn't running. I couldn't just sit and be.  What was I in search of? The BG was right, this was/is my life.  It's okay. It will be okay. This phase isn't forever.  I'm often reminded of this when strangers at the grocery store see me with my lil' devils and offer comments such as "enjoy this time. It goes by so quickly.  Oh, how I miss those days." Why is it that when I'm in the moment, in the shit so to speak  I'm not feeling this way? I mean some days I do and some days I don't. I'm scared to death I'm going to look back and regret that I wished away this time. Fifteen years from now when I see a mom carting two tots around the grocery store will I stop and smile and say "enjoy it, I miss those days?" Right now I can't imagine ever uttering those words.

Don't mistake my tone, M & NPF4 are the reasons my life is worth living.  They are the best things that ever happened to me. I would not trade one millisecond of my life for anything in the world.  I didn't get here - a confused gal riddled with self doubt - because I'm a bad mom. I got her because like so many other mamas  I have sacrificed every ounce of my being for my children. There is a danger in this. Selflessness is wonderful but dangerous. I can write about the beauty of my life and the many things I have been and continue to be blessed with.  I enjoy sharing those moments as well but I also enjoy acknowledging these small revelations I have about being a mom and wife. I think my journey helps others because it's real.  It's honest. I'm not embarrassed to admit I had sever postpartum after both my children.  I'm not afraid to admit that my marriage is far from perfect.  I'm not afraid of growing and leaning and sharing my journey with you and hopefully giving you a little chuckle along the way. He haw.

Onward.

So, basically I need to surrender to the fact that M swoons over puzzles and that we are prolly gonna to do the same one over and over again for the next two months and that NPF4 will pick up a toy off the ground, place it on the table and then swipe it off and repeat this same sequence over and over  for hours on end.  Swiper no swiping!

I spend hours upon hours of my life pinning quotes on being grateful and I sometimes feel as grateful as I think I am that I'm not really at all.  Or do I just need to remind myself that I am lucky.  Very lucky. That I don't (for the most part) take one ounce of my good fortune for granted. I know that my very worst day to some would be their very best day. For me I think it's as simple and as complicated as this: life can be great and life can suck.  So I surrender. It's okay to awake some mornings and think I just don't want to be a mom today. It's okay to want ME time. It's okay to ask the person at the Dunkin Donuts drive thru if they need 3 year old or 1 year old workers for the day.  It's okay that there is piss on the couch, split milk on the floor and unflushed poop in the toilet.  It's okay that the dishes in the dishwasher are starting to smell because I don't have any dish detergent.  It's okay that I spray our washed laundry with Febreze because it sat wet in the machine too long and I'm too lazy to rerun it.  It's okay that I let the dog out at 8am and didn't let him back in until 1pm because I forgot about him.  It's okay that NPF4 prefers the dog food to his own.  It's okay that M asks me to take pics of her poops in the toilet to send to dada while he is working. It's all just okay. Ya know why? Cause at the end of the day if my kids go to bed alive and happy that's all that matters. They are healthy and happy.

I on the other hand am a work in progress. As much as I want it to be about me - it's just not. As a mom I have sacrificed  pieces of me in order to give my kids what they need. In due time I'll start recollecting those pieces, putting them back together and begin morphing back into me. I've already started.

I'm learning albeit slowly that this is my life and it's a good one.  I need to remind myself  to stop, take a moment, pull my head out of ass and recognize that it really doesn't get better than this. I lie. A beach somewhere warm is totes better than this. xox

trashy gal

So the Big Guy asked me to stop littering.....and here we go.....

Last week I asked the Big Guy if he would go outside and start my car for me. Mistake #1. When he returned inside after starting the car he told me I really need to stop littering.  I shot him a look of death and asked what he was talking about. Mistake #2. I should have done what I usually do - walk out of the room or ignore him. According to the BG,  I have "litter" in my car. Yup. Litter. AKA trash, which is how any other normal human being would reference it. Apparently, littering is not just throwing trash out of your car window or disposing of it on the ground.  Littering is also trash that you leave behind in your car. O really? Well thanks for informing me of this.  Not sure what's more frightening - that we actually had this conversation or that he truly believes I have "litter" in my car.

Um, I apologize. No, I sincerely apologize that my car is not as immaculate as the BG's. Ya, that is sarcasm you're picking up on. Here's the problem. The kids are in his car maybe like twice a month so he can keep it clean whereas they are in my car every single day. When I get in and out of the car I'm usually carrying NPF4 and about 20 other things. The last thing I think about is bringing in the trash. He should be happy I'm bringing in the kids and not leaving them locked in the car alone so I can pin my life away in peace. Woof.

Moving on.

I prefer to wait until the trash build-up gets unbearable and then do one giant clean up.  Either way it doesn't really matter because within minutes of cleaning M & NPF4 somehow manage to mess it up again. 

The inside of my car looks like a legit dump, I'll give the BG that.  Milk stains all over the seats, month old half eaten munchkins crushed into the floor mats, goldfish, Pirates Booty, and the occasional dirty diaper are some of the things you can find in my car on any given day. M's window is so caked with milk I don't think she can see out of it. The seats are so sticky often times I contemplate bringing a towel to sit on but then quickly reconsider cause it's just one more thing I'll have to carry. Most recently M decided to bedazzle the bumper of the wagon with smiley face stickers. Sweet.  Anyone need a ride?

The wagon is gross but since life is a highway and 2014 is all about being positive and embracing the joys of life I think I'll leave the trash for yet another day. I'll just be sure not to ask the Big Guy to start my car EVER. AGAIN. xox

Not sure what's going on in this pic, but there is a Volvo under there and it made me smile

Dearest NPF4

Since I wrote a letter to M it's only fair I do the same for her bro. Bare with me.

NPF4-

June 7, 2012 at 5:30 pm when I was 12 weeks pregnant with you I started crying and I've never really stopped. I'm crying right now. There is something about you sweet little Nicholas that always brings me to tears.  Tears of happiness, fear, joy and unending worry. I'm not even sure I can write this - my eyes are overflowing already.  Ugh.

For the first 22 days of your life I would visit you everyday in the NICU or Special Care Nursery. I would cry every single time. Some days I would cry so much I couldn't catch my breath. I would stare at you and feel so many emotions. Other days I cried because I was relieved you were finally here with me.  And some days I would just cry because I couldn't bare to see you with a feeding tube or when you would forget how to breathe and all the machines would beep. I always felt a little crazy because I don't really think anyone understood why I was so emotional. After all, I was the lucky one. At one point you were sharing a room with another baby boy born weighing just over a pound.  Well, I cried for him and his parents too. At the time in my head it was the worst possible thing in the world. I had a baby.  He was early. He forgets to breathe. Looking back now, I was just scared. So incredibly scared. I wouldn't take back a single tear from the past 15 months for this simple fact: you are worth it.  So worth it.

I read your early intervention reports every week and cry. I read them over and over. I cry because I'm proud and happy you're doing so well.  I'm excited about the progress you've made and continue to make. I look forward to the future and all that it holds for you. I mostly look forward to the day you start talking. I can't wait to hear you express yourself and to hear you say that you love me or when you finally yell at M for her constant abuse.

Okay, enough with the crying.

I love your dad and sister with every ounce of my being but when you came into this world I swear I was so overwhelmed with love it hurt.  I never ever thought I could love someone so much.  I don't know the first thing about being a mom; your mom. What I do know is how to love you and feed you fatty foods so you can gain some weight.

NPF4 you are a fighter.  You came into this word fighting and you are still fighting but only now with your sister. I love your T-Rex stride, your annoyingly loud cry, your cute little good-bye wave, I even love that you're so proud of yourself when you climb the stairs despite the fact that you shouldn't be. Sometimes I even love when you throw your food on the ground but it ends up getting stuck in the dog's hair before it hits the floor. I love your fierceness and feistiness cause it reminds me of a gal I know.

You are enamored with your big sister. You are like M in many ways but mostly in that you have an immense love for life.  She is forever your protector and you her sidekick.  M is the first to tell others that you are her brother and she'll be the first to push you down when you steal her toys.  It's okay, she means well. I promise.

I'm not sure I can put into words how much you've changed me and how much I've learned about myself because of you. I am stronger for you and because of you.   I've learned more from you in the fifteen short months you've been in my life than I have in my last 34 years. I can only hope I teach you as much in your lifetime as you've already taught me.

NPF4 you are magnificent and truly a blessing. Thank you for being you. Because of you our family is complete; I am complete.

XOX
Mama

who knew

It was a bold assumption to think my second child would be mellow.  Very bold. Based on my logic it wouldn't be possible or fair to have a second child as crazy as the first.  Makes total sense. Right?  Wrong.  Very wrong. M is the true definition of a high maintenance gal.  Can't imagine where she gets that from. Takes one to know one. He haw. She is a spunky, loud, hyperactive three year old with absolutely no listening skills.  Okay, I can deal.


Now throw NPF4 into the mix. I can't deal. NPF4 is feistier, louder and fiercer than M.  Yup, you read that correctly.  Fiercer. My 22 pound fifteen month old has a temper unmatched by no other (well, maybe his mama.) The kid is totes insane.  My little guy is a wrecking ball, leaving a path of destruction behind him wherever he goes...

Went to the doc's office on Friday and was checking in at the front desk. M decides to take off her boots. When I'm done with check-in M is sitting in the waiting room picking her nose and NPF4 is nowhere in sight.  "M where is NPF4? Where are your boots?  Please stop picking your nose." She points to the bathroom. I open the door and M's boots are submerged in the toilet while NPF4 has a smile from ear to ear and is holding up his hand waiting for me to slap him a high-five.  Now, it's totes impossible to get mad at the kid because he is beyond clueless.  I mean c'mon, I'm still basking in the fact that he just learned to wave and high-five. So, being the amazing mom that I am - I did nothing except text my friends to tell them.

Now trust me, I get it's not an easy age.  The kid is into everything. But I truly, never in my wildest dreams thought that both of my kids would be certifiable.  I know what your thinking - apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  Why is it that M & NPF4 seem to have inherited all of my best qualities - they have explosive tempers, are annoyingly loud and are incapable of comprehending the word NO. It's totes not a part of their vocab. Things that make you go hmmm.

So who knew two crazies were a potential? It sure wasn't on my radar. That's all I've got. I must enjoy some me time because M & NPF4 are at daycare today while this gal has a snow day. File this under: WINNING. xox

we've got a situation

It's a hairy one. M is obsessed with having her hair did. Yup.  I have a daughter who convulses with excitement over pigtails, ponytails, braids, and barrettes.  Really M?   M successfully sports a receding hairline, mullet and is already showing signs of balding.  It's possible folks.  Just look at my gal. Be jealous.

So here's the problem.  I don't do hair.  I don't do makeup either but we can address this in a few years when she asks me to buy her an eyelash curler.  I wouldn't be caught dead with one of those devices in my house. I digress.

For those of you fortunate enough to know me  you are aware of the fact that I've had the same hairstyle (actually it's not even a style) since about 1986.  It's simple.  I get up.  I shower. Two strokes of the brush through my lovely locks and presto I have a glamorous low ponytail.  It suits me.  I think. I mean I look a tad like a boy but whateves. I don't have a clue  how to blow dry my hair never mind attempting to style it. I couldn't be bothered. On the rare occasion I'm feeling incredibly ambitions I use my flatiron and straighten it BUT my flatiron does not require my hair to be dry.  Yup, I run it through my soaking wet hair. The results are amazing. I lie.

Back to M. My little lady repeatedly asks me to do her hair.  I always deflect. Let's go eat cupcakes, let's go watch Dora (I DESPISE DORA). I go to great lengths to avoid this arduous task.  I'll pretty much offer her anything in an attempt to distract her from having her hair done. Anything. Three days a week M goes to daycare and low and behold every time I pick her up she has the cutest little pigtails or braids. Seriously, she looks adorbs.  I decided to step out of my comfort zone on Sunday and this happened:

It looks strikingly similar to a rattail. I believe the rattail was popular for all of 20 seconds back in the 80's. Apparently I have an affinity for 80's hairstyles.  Who knew.

Since 2014 is my biatch and it's all about me bettering myself, perhaps I'll take a class on popular hairstyles for three year olds.

I know what you're thinking - mom of the year. I get that a lot. Another lie. xox

Dearest M

M-

You are fierce.  I love this about you. You're stubborn, determined, sweet and o' so smart. You're bossy. You have a propensity to lead.  You love being the center of attention. You love having your hair done and your toe nails painted.  Pink and purple are your fav colors. Barf. You're in love with your brother whom you've dubbed "little rabbit." You have a zest for life and I'm quite certain you've adopted my "unless it's fun I don't want to do it" mentality. Um, this is bad  for a tot of your age and beautiful thing when you reach mine. Unfortch, they'll be oodles of things you'll have to endure that aren't "fun" in the years ahead. Grin and bare it little lady. Sorry in advance.

M, I love so many things about you, but I beg of you to STOP hitting me, pushing and kicking your brother, spitting your milk out to be cute, stealing my DY jewels and hiding them under your pillow, helping yourself to all the goodies in the fridge, wearing my undies around your neck as a necklace, going into my closet and trashing it, throwing your Dunkin' Donuts bag out of the car window while I'm driving, dumping the sea glass we collected over the summer into NPF4's crib, tying the scarf (stolen from said closet) around NPF4's neck and telling him to giddy-up like a horse, asking to look at my toots after I go the bathroom, tossing yourself on the ground when you don't get your way (the flailing of your arms and legs is totes annoying), taking my water bottle and drinking out of it leaving a wad of snot behind, using my legs as a tissue to wipe your nose, rummaging through my bag stealing my credit cards and then not telling me where you hid them, peeing on the couch, shampooing your bestie's hair in suncreen- coating my entire bed as well as the walls and floor with sunscreen (stay away from the damn sunscreen), arguing with me about what you're going to wear to school, letting the dog into the shower when I'm in there, calling me Becky instead of mom.

Oh, and one last thing - please stop ignoring me when I talk.

You're a hot ticket. You are you - your own unique self and don't ever apologize for that. However, I do think a few apologies are in order for the aforementioned offenses. Yes, offenses. I know, I sound like your dad.

I don't want you to ever change M (maybe just address some of the behaviors above).  Don't ever lose that smile, your willingness to learn or that insanely infectious laugh. I thank you for making my life eventful, messy and pretty much worth living. Shine on M. Shine on.

xox
Becky Mom

bacon

Hello and happy Monday lovelies. I would love to wow you with tales from my weekend but just not today. If you feel so compelled stop by tomorrow. I'm sure you're itching to read about how M started hitting me or how she lathered my entire bedroom with sunscreen.  Or maybe my meltdown at the gym will peak your interest. Today, I'm focusing on the positive - bacon.


Thursday night I went out with some darling ladies and ordered myself a burger.  Extra cheese.  Bacon jam. Yes, bacon jam. A.MAZE.ING.  There are no words to describe the deliciousness. All you need to know is that reliving the 4 seconds  it took me to inhale this wholesome goodness got me through dodging M's punches and my sunscreen slicked bedroom floor this weekend.  I'll  find a good recipe, test it out and share. Scratch that. I'll just break into the restaurant and steal the recipe or the jam.

Bacon. One of the many reasons 2014 is my biatch. xox