Tag Archives: parenting

Top 10: Nuggets of Spring Break wisdom

3 Apr

Helloooo party people! Pardon my week long absence, but I’ve been away on Spring Break doing nothing but research for you lucky hooligans. I know you’re all wild ones in desperate need of my guidance since the very things we love about this random pre-summer week off are the same things that can give us a wicked hangover the “flu” for days afterward. Heed my advice and you’ll surely strike that magical balance between rest and relaxation. Let’s begin!

1) Pooping. I don’t know about you, but when I’m away from home I just don’t. And when mama’s teeny bikini fails to disguise the bloat then it’s fast track to cranky town which is no fun for anyone. My advice? Bring pooping pills. Or take a lot of shots. I did both and neither worked, but it was sure fun trying!

2) The sun. Because the whole purpose of spring break is to make your friends jealous of your preemptive summer tan, one might be inclined to just forgo the sunscreen and soak up the skin damage. But unless you’re Cherokee like me then you’re bound to end up with heat rash and a wicked forehead burn, like my husband. If you’re any brand of white I recommend slathering on the SPF 60 and handing the coconut oil over to us experts. Your skin cancer will thank you.

3) Alcohol. Do I need to explain this one? Certainly the best part of spring break (aside from family time and sightseeing, duh) is the daytime drinking. And the evening drinking. And the late night drinking while gambling at the kitchen table. And now that I’m three sentences in I can’t remember why the hell I slipped this one into my “cautionary” list because, damn, yo, those Jack and Cokes did the trick! Hmmm. I’ll do some more field research and get back to y’all on this one. Continue reading

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Backfire of the week – revisited

21 Feb

So I’m feeling all nostalgic today…what better to do than dredge up some bad mommy moments from years past, huh? Here’s an old favorite that I wrote two Februaries ago when my little dudes were just 2 and 4. Time flies, and thank Holy Jesus for that, because I’d have an effing hernia if this happened again…enjoy!

So you know how, as a parent, the best of intentions don’t really mean a whole lot? And how just the slightest flick of a butterfly wing can turn a smiling two year old into a bipolar mess? If you don’t then I envy you. And your children should be cloned.

This morning Chinese Acrobats visited my sons’ school. I could launch into a whole tangent about that alone but I’ll stop myself and keep focus. Because wow…really, WOW. Anyway, as I am a “present and conscious mother” (see New Year’s Resolutions), I put off work for a couple of hours to attend the performance with my children.

Mistake number one. Since, as my husband pointed out, who needs to add any more excitement to a day already filled with spinning plates and kung fu? I’d planned on sitting with my kids on the auditorium floor, but decided last minute to take the boys into the bleachers so the three of us could sit together.

Mistake number two. Because not halfway into the show, little brother started kicking his feet against the aluminum stairs, which, truth be told, I didn’t even notice. I’m a mother of two small boys, who therefore wears powerful imaginary earmuffs at all times to keep from going completely nuts. Continue reading

The kid’s gone crazy

30 Apr

So I know we all feel like our kids are heathens sometimes; unruly, disobedient, the worst of the worst. And when, through some inexplicable turn of events, you find yourself to be the parent of the worst of the worst, well, there’s truly nothing worse. Unfortunately for the adult contingent, there are no rules when it comes to the parent-child standoff. No three steps in the opposite direction before turning to fire. No rules of engagement to reduce operational risk, or define appropriate constraints and stuff (thank-you Wikipedia).

Anyway, I’ve felt this way periodically since my first son was born, initially when he was screaming his infant lungs out at Target because I’d miscalculated his feeding time, then at the park when I pulled the “I’m pretending to walk to the car without you” move, and many times over in various parking lots, frozen food sections, and notoriously in the middle of a school assembly.

The only saving grace is that with my first son the operative word has always been “periodically”. There was always that “oh crap I forgot to change your diaper so that’s why you’re screaming” moment, or “oh right, you skipped your nap three days in a row so I’ll forgive your delirious headbutting” allowance. With number two, however, all rules have changed. His tantrums are chronic, decisive, and unwelcome accessories to our daily routine.

Take today, for instance. When I picked the little dude up from school all seemed well and good. He even reported that one of his teachers was out sick so he had to be Ms. Gina’s “assistant” in the classroom (Ms. Gina is apparently a saint). He ate a hearty snack in the car on the way to art class, and sat through the hour like a champ. He was proud of his finished picture and didn’t hit his brother or friend in the back seat on the way to hip hop. And for the first ten minutes of big bro’s dance class he even sat on my lap and watched like a benign and obedient four year old. I was seriously dewy eyed – and judiciously deceived.

We all know when our children are teetering on the brink of a breakdown. Today I made the mistake of ignoring the warning signs. The restless pulling of my sweater, twitchy inability to sit still, high pitched whining over the sub-par volume of the Fart app. These were all warning signs; ones that I know, but carelessly ignored. Until he headbutted me. And, as outlined above, all rules were out the window.

There’s more to the story, but it’s not really relevant except to say that we oscillated between peace and power struggle for the next few minutes until little dude was overcome by the apparent urge to sock me in the kneecap. For that he landed some hard “thinking time” in the car while I pretended not to hear him breathing fire at me from outside. And though he fell asleep on the drive home, I can’t justify the kid’s behavior because he was tired; he’s four years old and does this every-single-day between 3 and 6 pm. We call it witching hour, and it’s grating on my already over-taxed mom nerves.

So tonight I’ll do what I always do: pour a glass of wine and turn to the parenting books. You should see my bedside table. Really, it’s a wealth of psychological insight…and vampire romance. Both essential for effective parenting. At times like this I wonder if I’ve got it right, if my I’ll-show-you-by-trapping-you-in-the-car parenting is whittling my son into one of those teenage cat slayers. If all of his spitting, hitting, scratching, and biting are a sign that I didn’t hug him enough as a baby (he’s really snuggly…maybe he needed more?). Or maybe today he really was just…tired?

What I do know is that for all of his challenges that little bugger is worth the fuss. Contrary to how it seems at the moment (to both you and me, I assure you) the kiddo is overwhelmingly loving, he’s audacious, he’s 100% boy (except for that whole pink cake and puppy party thing). And although his brand of tantrum is twice the storm of his brother’s, I guess I kinda’ can’t blame him. After all, I know perfectly well who he gets it from 😉