Top 5 “When I was a Kid…” Moments

I’m certain that at several points in my adolescence I swore up and down that I would never become one of “those old people” who goes around telling the youth of America how much harder I had it as a kid. Because, really…how annoying!

Alas, much the same way I said I would never let my toddler have an iPhone, here I am eating my words.

(in my defense, I did NOT go buy him an iPhone, but simply gave him the dismantled remnants of my previous iPhone that he had bashed the brains out of in hope is would deter him from doing the same to new pretty shiny phone…I’m sure you all can imagine how well THAT worked.)

In any event, it is SO TRUE that kids (and tots) today are in a whole different universe than our formative selves.

We had politically incorrect and self-imagine damaging toys like Barbies and G. I. Joes. Sure they still make them now, but back in MY day, we had to actually use our imaginations to bring them to life *gasp*.

I’m pretty sure there’s an app for that now.

Without further adieu…

“When I Was a Kid,

5. “You couldn’t stalk your crush from behind the safety of a computer screen through Facebook, twitter and instagram….you had ONE lousy yearbook picture to stare at endlessly…you had to actually come up with a reason to drive past their house…wind up at their favorite hang-outs…convince a friend of a friend to arrange a group outing to the movies. All so that you could eventually get rejected IN PERSON.” Then spend 5 years of therapy to convince yourself, I AM enough.

4. “Just because you were in your room talking in hushed voices to your best friend about all things gossip, doesn’t mean your big brother wasn’t in the other room listening in to your phone conversation”

3. “If you were driving and got lost, you had to call for help (yes, my driving years did have cell phones, so I lucked out there) but the joy of trying to explain to your father where you were exactly (WHY are you in downtown?!) and then find a way out by following his verbal cues was nothing shy of the blind leading the blind.”

2. “If you got bored in church or class, you just had to be bored. Even with cell phones, they didn’t have games like they do now…and God forbid if you were caught with your phone in your hand during class or church!”

1. “If you missed seeing someone, you had to either get in a car, or buy a plane ticket and go see them. You couldn’t push a button on a phone or computer and within seconds be face to face. That was just stuff out of the Jetson’s”

It’s that last point, really, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. You see, I took Easton over to his Nena’s (my mom) house for a visit. Oftentimes, we visit Nena on Saturday, when she is babysitting his cousin, Addie. Of course, not having any comprehension of the days of the week, he is rightfully confused as to why Addie isn’t there.

“Mommy, where Addie?”

“Addie is with her mommy and daddy today….in Colorado”

“Wanna see Addie!”

“We can’t see Addie tonight, but I’m sure you’ll get to play with her very soon.” *grabs my finger and pulls me towards the front door* “Where are we going?”

“Addie house”

“Baby, we can’t go to Addie’s house tonight, we’re here to see Nena and Pops.”


“Okay, okay, come here *he is now trying to open the door* how about we call Addie and say Hi to her?”

“Yes!”Look HAPPY, are doing something rather miraculous right now.

So, I grab my phone, which is promptly yanked out of my hand with an “I HOLD IT!” (to answer any lingering curiosity from above about how my new pretty shiny iPhone is holding up)….and we Facetime Aunt Karie (Addie’s mom).

I don’t know about you, but there is something bittersweet about watching two toddlers (both under 3) Facetime with each other. It is absolutely and utterly precious how much they adore each other, yet at the same time I am overwhelmed with a fear that my son will grow up in a world where anything and everything he wants is at the touch of his fingers, without even the slightest hint of gratitude. Because, after all, hasn’t life always been this easy??SO let’s hear it! What “when I was a kind” moments would you add to the list?



Easton is now pushing two (oh DEAR LORD how did this happen!) which means we’re in for a world of hurt. I can feel it coming the same way I wake up 15 minutes before my alarm goes off. He’s already started to declare his independence and test boundaries.

At this point independence looks like two things:

#1. REFUSING to let us feed him or help him eat in any way shape or form. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for self-sufficient meal times…BUT…this also means that he will flat-out refuse to feed himself ANY of his dinner, make 3 trips to time-out for throwing food on the floor and still insist on getting a treat. Haha, nice try kid, that’s not gonna fly. But don’t mind me while I savor this cookie in front of you while you yell and scream at me…you should have eaten your dinner. Deal with it.

#2. (and herein lies my story) “Helping” mommy and daddy. do. just. about. everything.

Please note, the use of “help” rather than help.

Most of the time it is cute and adorable how hard he tries to do grown-up mundane tasks….putting the milk back in the fridge, unloading the dishwasher, putting cups in the sink (aka thrown somewhere on the counter because he can’t see where the sink actually is). Other times it’s just awkward and a bit creepy…

“Easton, mommy needs to go potty”

“I help”

“No, no baby, I can do it, thank you so much though”

“I HELP!” (as he pushes his way into the bathroom and tries to flush the toilet mid-pee)

“Easton. Hold on. Agh, stop unrolling the toilet paper!”


“Okay, when I’m finished you can flush the *flush* nevermind, good job baby”

And then…then there are the absolutely glorious moments when his “helping” turns into downright hilarious, videos-I-can’t wait-to-show-your-highschool-girlfriend moments. Tell me you wouldn’t store a gem like this for future “go clean your room or I show her the video. Yes, that one. Go. Clean. Now.” bargaining power.

Here’s how this went down. Christian and I were folding laundry. Since any “help” here usually means scattering my nicely folded stacks of clothes, I delegate Easton’s duties to handing Christian and I the laundry out of the basket. Of course, with the attention span of a small woodland creature, this typically results in him picking out a piece of laundry and running around the house with it. Which is exactly what happened on this night.

Except rather than simply running around with it, he wanted to put it on. What was “it” you ask?

Christian’s underwear.

As soon as I saw him attempting to put them on, I was delighted…this is gonna be great. Mind you, my 6’6″ husband and my 1 1/2 year old have rather different clothing sizes. So it looks a little something like this:


Now let’s talk about pride. Because, man, was this kid PROUD of himself wearing daddy’s undies! Not only was he running around cracking himself up, but he turned into his very own one-kid circus act, pausing every so often, throwing his arms in the air and yelling “TA-DA!!!”


Ahhh, yes – videos like this make me feel as though my job as a mother is complete. Screw potty-training, ABC’s, and learning to share. I have a lifetime worth of embarrassment to teach him everything he’ll ever need to know in life.


Aw crap, who am I kidding. He’s adorable, and any future highschool girlfriend will probably just swoon over this kind of shit. Maybe once he’s in college, I’ll unleash these…ehh…how about 30. 30 is a good age to bust out something this swoon-worthy. I wouldn’t want to turn him into a ladies man too early.

Rules for Being Sick

Dear Kid (and any future kids),

I believe there may have been a misunderstanding when it comes to being sick around here. In the world where these things are controllable by you, and with the absurd thought that I actually would expect such things of you, let’s put on our sarcastic goggles and repeat after me:

1. I will not be sick on a Friday.

2. I will not be an asshole.

Let’s clarify, just to hone-in on how I really feel about these two new rules.

First of all, don’t be sick on Fridays. I don’t mind going to work on Fridays. We close at 3 and I get a nice lunch out with the office. Not to mention that since your mom is still young and fun and wonderful – everyone just assumes I’m using your illness to cover-up a hangover. I mean, let’s get this straight – I’m not ashamed to send in photographic proof in the form of a vomit covered bed or diarhea diaper – but maybe we could just spare everyone the agony and make it a Monday. Deal?


Secondly, I get that you’re sick and all, but since I’ve now been presumed a party-animal and am using a 8 hour sick/vacation day on a 6 hour work-day, let’s have some fun. Nothing says quality bonding time like ice baths and snot rockets. What’s that? You don’t feel good? Let’s snuggle! Your infected bug bite so swollen you have to squint out of your right eye? We’ll play pirates! My point here is this: my time with you is SACRED, so please refrain from kicking me, whining and screaming at me all day. Hellooo, this is my vacation!

Your cooperation in this matter is much appreciated.

In the event you should find either of these rules unreasonable or unattainable, feel free to revert to the “unwritten rule #347”.

“Unwritten Rule #347”:

Piss and moan your little head off because I knew what I was getting myself into the day I peed on that stick. Cry and kick and scream because mommy tends to take 3 tries before she can figure out what is wrong and another 7 tries to make it right. I promise I’ll (eventually) take the hint and leave your food and water on the table and stay the fu*k out of your way. But don’t worry, I’ll be psycho-stalking your miniature maniac ass, like a shadow with lysol and klenex, just waiting for the slightest sign I’m needed.



How NOT to be an annoying mom.

momsWarning: If you dislike hypocrites (I have in fact done most of these things), get offended easily, or use Pinterest as your guidebook for being a mom, you may want to find something else to read.

I have noticed a LOT of annoying behavior lately. Maybe it’s the influx of social media…coupled with the influx of sites like Etsy and Pinterest…topped off with my first year as a new mom.

Yeah, maybe. Let’s go with that.

In any instance, I felt it my duty (or just my right of free speech) to illustrate what should be common-sense guidelines that CLEARLY are not.

1. Keep the details private. I don’t care how you choose to feed your baby. Hell, chew your own food and spit it in your baby’s mouth like a friggin bird but ladies, let’s keep private. Ahem, allow me to clarify. I DON’T WANT TO SEE PICTURES OF YOU BREASTFEEDING ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE. Correction, NO-ONE wants to see that. If they DO want to see it, then sickkkkkk. But, let’s not jump to conclusions here. This isn’t just about the pictures. It’s about the details, too. I don’t want to hear about how you can’t get your baby to latch, your nipples are dying, or how your 2-year-old walked up to you and pulled your tits out on their own. The phrase “too much information” was created for a reason. A very definite and necessary reason. This would be one of them.

2. Let new moms figure it out themselves. I’m not saying throw them to the wolves blindfolded with meat strapped around their necks….but let’s just go out on a limb and assume they know that they won’t be getting much sleep with a newborn. I mean, it’s not rocket science. On that note, let’s add these to the list of assumptions: babies are expensive, your body will change, and your life will never be the same. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes, you are no longer needed.

3. Only offer solicited advice. It’s wonderful that cry-it-out worked for you. It’s cool that you chose to co-sleep. It’s fantastic that your C-Section went off without a hitch. It’s incredible that you had your child potty-trained by 18 months. Now, I’m only going to say this once – all babies are different. Sure, that sounds like it falls in there with #2, but if I thought all of these were no-brainers, I wouldn’t be writing this, now would I? Unless you are asked for help, just keep your trap shut (yes, I admit that I am still working on this too). People have enough to think about and consider when deciding certain things for their family, no one needs you shoving your choices/techniques down their throat.

4. Accept that people make different decisions than you. This is really more of a follow-up to #3, but I think it’s important enough to garner its own number. Just because you gave a convincing diatribe about the benefits of being a stay-at-home mom, and I decided to go back to work, doesn’t mean I think you’re a bad person OR that you make bad decisions. What is best for one family, is not always the same thing that is best for your family. This applies to virtually EVERY debate out there…when to introduce solid foods, whether to breastfeed, what types of diapers to use, how to soothe teething, how to get your baby to sleep through the night….it’s endless. EVERY aspect of parenting has numerous techniques and solutions for a reason….and I already said I would only say it once.

5. Being crafty and/or a good cook does NOT make you a better mom. Yes, I got ideas for Easton’s 1st birthday from Pinterest. Yes, I made some decorations and food myself to tie the whole theme together. But that’s just ME, for as long as I have been alive, I have been baking up concoctions with my friends and painting clay pots to look like turkeys, santas, you name it. I work behind a desk for an investment firm and need a release for my creative energy. I know I’m not alone in this. What kills me is that I have seen what this “Pinterest-revolution” has done to women and mothers. It has become a pathetic competition to show who can come up with the most original snacks to bring to the soccer game, who has the best theme for the baby shower they hosted, or who has a designer nursery. If you can (and want to) do those things, great! But if you constantly talk about things Martha Stewart would pat you on the back for, you’re just going to come across like you’re trying too hard and make other moms feel like they’re not doing enough. In a white chocolate-dipped, raw sugar-encrusted nutshell, your high & mighty attitude is just annoying.

6. Realize there is a world out there that does not involve your baby(ies). This one is hard for me. Because MY world revolves around my family. However, I know that as much fun as it is to talk incessantly about Easton’s newest facial expressions, I also know that it gets old. Quick. There’s no faster way to become annoying than by calling your friends to talk about your baby. Plan a girl’s night, a fun lunch, ask about work, the weather, men, anything. I can tell you firsthand how easy it is to let friendships slip away, and how HARD it is to rebuild them.

7. Don’t be a one-upper. ALL parents are proud of their children, maybe not all the time, but they are. And you should be! But, if a friend shares an exciting new milestone in their life, or their child’s life an appropriate response is “oh, that’s so wonderful!” An inappropriate response is “Oh, well Little Jimmy was walking six months before that, and he can already do back flips!”

8. Be a parent. You are responsible for a raising a future adult. Instill all of the qualities in them that you’d like to find in the people around you and for the love of all things Holy, DISCIPLINE them. God did not give you that precious little life so you could have a new best friend. Get a dog if you want that. I’m not saying not to be friends with your children, so don’t jump there. But being their friend should be something that develops from a level of trust, respect and admiration. Not because you want to be the “cool” mom and turned a blind eye.



While these may not be annoying to everyone, I also may have left some things off….it’s really more of a general guide. Feel free to share your thoughts, or any other tips on how to NOT be an annoying mom, I’d love to (and probably NEED to) hear them!

My house of Schizophrenics

Over the last year, I’ve learned that everything in my house has a case of schizophrenia.

Last night, the GIANT stuffed teddy bear my Mr. brought home right before Christmas apparently also leads a double life as a slide. I know, I wouldn’t have pictured a teddy bear as a slide, either. But, Easton must be on to something, because man, he made that shit look fun! He spent a solid 10 minutes climbing on it and rolling himself off the side. Luckily, I got my iPhone to play nice and allow me to take a few more pictures (it keeps telling me crazy stories about being too full, psh). To illustrate my point:

tb tb2

But, like I mentioned – EVERYTHING in my house has begun to take on double lives. The teddy bear was just the latest to fall victim. So, for your reading enjoyment a present to you my list of little schizophrenics:

1. My boring, decorative couch pillow that moonlights as a sombrero when placed on my head and accompanied by my pitiful attempt at speaking spanish. Great for times when there’s a boy who just bumped his head and needs a little cheer.

2. The blanket that thinks it’s in Spain taunting bulls….and my baby that subsequently becomes a bull whether he wants to or not.

3. The broom that spent a few too many hours watching Beauty and the Beast and studying the dusters every move. Everybody now…”Be our guest, be our guest, put our service to the test, tie your napkin round your neck cherie and we’ll prepare the rest!”.

4. My couch that turns into dense jungle brush the moment mommy pulls a “crouching tiger, hidden dragon” out of the peek-a-boo bag of tricks.

5. The remote control/coaster/anything remotely flat and square all become phones. Must be part of this new generation of tech gurus because all the kid wants to do is talk on the phone. Granted, watching his hold his hand to his ear and say “hiee” is precious.

6. The ottoman that serves as a sounding board for my rambunctious 1-year-old as he throws himself all over the room in an attempt to move faster than his legs will cooperate. This whole operation could also come eerily close to resembling a pin-ball machine when he really gets going.

7. The baseball glove that Easton thinks is great as a mask which he holds over his face as he attempts to walk around. What started as a game of peek-a-boo, has morphed itself further into this. He finds it HILARIOUS. Mommy finds it terrifying. remember #6? Picture that with a kid that has basically blind-folded himself.

and last but CERTAINLY not least…

8. The daddy that turns into a deaf narcoleptic as soon as little man fills up his diaper. Lucky for us, the sitter gets a majority of the poopies!

As you can tell, I’m not the most serious, straight-laced parent around. I like to have fun with my boy, I like to make him laugh. If that means it’s at my expense, so be it. I have no qualms reducing myself to a mess of dancing, face-making, singing chaos for the sake of my kiddo. I simply call it bonding 🙂

So, let me hear about the things in your house you’ve turning into schizoprenics for the sake of “bonding”….don’t be shy!

Side Effects of Teething

All the internet articles in the world can alert you to what to expect when your baby is teething. Runny nose, mild fever, irritability, drooling, loss of appetite, chewing on fingers, chewing on toys, chewing on baseboards..oh wait, now I’m thinking of my dogs. Sorry, Easton. However, the element of surprise is a busy mom’s nightmare.

Alas, days and weeks and months all blur together. You aren’t expecting another tooth to be on it’s way, and so, all those clear-cut signs of teething blur right in there with the lost hours. When coupled with constant concern for a happy baby, it becomes very easy to enter the “I CAN’T FIGURE OUT WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU” stage of mommy-melt-down.

Or, what I will lovingly refer to as: my wednesday night.

I made it to pick up Easton and home in record time (which means I managed to avoid a road rage induced, hair-splitting fit that surely sends my blood pressure through the roof – thanks to stupid drivers who clearly don’t realize I’ve been missing my son for TEN HOURS.)

So, it was a good start to the evening.

We had dinner plans and my momma sue was going to be coming over in t-minus 1 hour to stay with man-cub. Just enough time for me to pick-up and clean dishes I was too tired (ahem, lazy) to get done the night before, get Easton fed and ready for bed, and get myself changed. Pft, I’ve got this.

I start on the dishes while E is brazenly trying to find new ways to give me a heart attack. I don’t know how he went from barely walking to running overnight, but kid can get himself into trouble…and about 10x faster than he used to. So of course, trying to keep him alive while washing dishes just means that I have now scattered my kitchen and all adjoining rooms with random dishes and soappy bubbles (fellow moms, you know what I mean).

Not to worry, I’ve got 45 minutes to go.

Easton is starting to fuss – dinner time. I get him all set-up in his high chair and enter “airplane mode”. Yes, I may be a mere mortal and the spoon may be shaped like a monster, but when there’s food on it, together we become an airplane. This tactic typically results in laughter, bonding time and an empty bowl.


Typically. Not this night. No, no, no.

Easton decided to play along with the whole “airplane” theme, an assumed the role of Godzilla. With every futile attempt to get a bite of food in his mouth, he swatted my hand and sent the spoon and food flying. Being the stubborn gal that I am, I let this go on for about 10 minutes before making the executive decision that he must not be hungry and he wants to play.

For those of you keeping tabs, yes, my house is now scattered with random dishes, soappy bubbles and chicken and stars gerber graduate meal.

Did it cross my mind that he may not be hungry because he’s teething? Of course not. I gave up checking his mouth for incoming teeth after the first two came in – those suckers are like razors and he is a biter! I think I’ll keep my fingertips, thank you.

We still have 35 minutes until we need to head out, I’ll just feed him right before we leave. I resume “doing” the dishes. Right as I’m about to go get changed, Easton starts to get fussy again. Okay, now he’s hungry.

Repeat: Airplane vs. Godzilla.

Okay, fine. You don’t want to eat. Don’t eat. You’ve been a bottomless pit for the last 3 weeks, so if you were hungry, you’d eat. Get over it, Kelly, let the kid go play and quit trying to force-feed him.

*enter Christian* “Oh thank GOD you’re home, Easton won’t eat, here – you try” (as I basically throw the food at him – sorry, man). Twenty seconds later: “Kel, he’s not hungry”. Christian pulls him down from his chair and proceeds to make him laugh his little booty off. Agh! Mommy always has to be the big bad wolf.

I sulk off, defeat weighing me down. Then the light bulb goes off.

Wait – maybe he just doesn’t like that food!

Ah-ha, that must be it, he did the same thing the last time I tried to give him avocado. I grab a sure-fire hit from the pantry. It’s one of those fruit & veggie squeeze pouches. He LOVES those things and sucks em down in about 10 seconds.

10 seconds later…my child, my area rug, my feet and my kitchen island are covered in apples and sweet potato or whatever the heck that stuff was. I don’t want to get into the details of how we managed that, go ahead and let your imagination run wild.

Yeah, yeah, probably not a good idea to give Godzilla over here a squeeze pouch. I was pretty much asking for that one.

WHAT am I doing wrong here?!?! We need to cancel our dinner plans, that’s it. I’m the worst mom ever and the world is ending.

*enter momma sue*

“WELCOME – aren’t you glad to volunteered to babysit tonight?!”


The rest of the night was wonderful, Easton was great for momma sue and one glass of wine was all it took to bring my blood pressure back down.

Like my husband, some of you are probably wondering how I could get myself so worked up over what seems like nothing. Well, those ‘some of you’ must not have children. Just let me think that, okay? Because in my reality, there’s nothing like children to make to feel like you can’t seem to do anything right from time to time. Yet, just as quickly as it all seems to unravel it can all make sense.

In this case, it meant finally noticing Easton’s new tooth poking through. How, you ask? He was happily eating (he didn’t die of starvation overnight) with daddy this morning and giving me giant goofy smiles. Serves me right for obsessing.

Maybe one of these days, I’ll get over the idea that if he’s unhappy it’s because I’m doing it all wrong.

Maybe, just maybe I’ll finally learn that sometimes I just overlooked a simple fact of life. Babies get teeth. Babies also get gas. They pinch fingers in drawers when you’re not looking and they cry when they’re tired because they just don’t know what else to do.

And it’s not my all fault (well, maybe the fingers in the drawer part, someone needs to babyproof better!). So, I’ll try to cut myself some slack and go buy more oragel because GOD DAMMIT I’m a great mom! 😉

In The Trenches

Day three of being home with a sick 9 month old. Rations are quickly dwindling. Easton is still on a strictly liquid diet – lucky kid, he doesn’t have to digest some of my most recent attempts at “breakfast” and “lunch”.

I just shamefully caught myself eyeing a jar of baby food for one heartbeat too long. NO! Kelly, get your head in the game, this is no time to go soft.

Day four. The search for food is relentless. Yes, I could order pizza or chinese, but that’d be too easy. I like a challenge. I like to make things so much harder than they need to be. Sadly, the reality is that in the moment, this does not even occur to me.

Wait. *sniff sniff* I smell vomit. Food will wait.

I tiptoe to his door, careful not to be overly clumsy at a time like this. It’s already cracked – I learned the hard way that the turn of a door knob is just enough to jerk him from the brink of dreamland. Verryyy slowly I push it open. Just enough to stick my noise in. Nothing else. If my eyes go in also, and he’s awake, then there’s no turning back.

*sniff sniff* hmmm I can’t tell anymore – my senses are deceiving me lately. Or my entire house just smells of vomit.

Moment of truth, I peak the rest of my head in. Ever. So. Slightly.

He flips over.

I drop to all fours in the flash of an eye. CRAPPPPP. Did he see me? Is he awake? He didn’t look to be covered in vomit. If I woke him for no reason, I’m going straight to mommy-hell. Don’t cry, pleaseeee don’t cry.

I’m holding my breath. Because apparently the lungs buried deep within my chest are in need of a tune-up. Rickety old things.

He’s settled back down. Easy, Kelly – wait 30 more seconds. If this were a horror movie, this would be the part where they always assume the bad guy is dead and THEY NEVER ARE. But, I am smarter than that. So, I wait.

He’s still silent. (win!)

Now I’m crawling. Ha – apparently there are things my rambunctious 9 month old is much more graceful at – this is one. I ever so slightly peep over the bumper pad to be greeted by a little rear sticking straight up. Is he doing yoga?? I eye the landscape, thumb in mouth, butt in air, no visible signs of vomit, no scent of diarrhea. Whew, we’re in the clear this time!

I slowly stand and against all instincts – BOLT out the door. All the logic that had me creeping in the room nose-first is out the window now.

Day five. I’m buried deep in the trenches of pillows. The cries wake me before the sun. Seeing as how he still isn’t eating much, I know what these cries mean. Little one has shat thyself. Good Morning! Supermom runs to the rescue, scoops him, cleans him, bathes him, hydrates him, and does everything humanly possible to kid him happy. This involves singing. Yikes.

But it works. He is happy and laughing and playing again. I. Am. The. Bomb.

The clock reads 14:00 hours. We have been a poop and vomit free house for 12 hours. I have not only managed to keep my boy happy, but I am also in the process of finishing up the laundry. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, I am almost out of the trenches.

Uh-oh...did you hear that too, mom?

Uh-oh…did you hear that too, mom?

Haha, arrogant thing you are, Kelly. That light is a train slamming headfirst into me like an explosive diarrhea. No, not like an explosive diarrhea, it is an explosive diarrhea. Up and out of the diaper, all over the carpet.

*sigh* I get back to cleaning. I am on all fours with 3 different types of carpet cleaner when I hear the door slam. YES! Christian is home early. Moments later I hear the bathroom door slam. I cringe, cross my fingers and toss-up a quick Hail Mary.I emerge from Easton’s room and hesitantly wander to our bedroom. I find my beast of a husband curled into a ball beneath the duvet. While the apology for the bathroom is still hanging in the air, I run out the door, load Easton in the car and head to the grocery store.

We need backup. One hour and $90 later, I am loaded with Lysol, carpet cleaner, Gatorade and what the hell did I buy?!!??

By 17:00 I have disinfected everything and barricaded my two sleeping boys to their rooms. This is no longer a fair fight. I am in survival mode. I take refuge on my couch, put on a terrible chick flick and spend the next 3 hours desperately trying to use wine to kill any germs that may have gotten to me. At least this way, if I wake up vomiting I still have a 50-50 shot of not having caught the crud!

The glass if always half full  🙂

Terrible Twos…Do Those Come Early?? I Mean EARLY

I’m a mess.

I have never been one to handle anticipation well. This has not improved with age. For this reason, I hate being tickled, boiling water is annoying and waiting for 5 o’clock is just pure torture. Oh, and when my dad taunted me with “I know something you don’t know” (in the nanananabooboo tone) 3 months before Christmas – my head nearly imploded. *Thanks for informing my husband of this, Dad. He finds it HILARIOUS how much this gets to me.

Well, let’s just say that my anticipation is at an all-time high these days. I’m trying to keep my cool but actually, I think I’m losing hair. I feel like I should be hiding under a bed or in a closet or shower or somewhere for what I know is coming. Oh, it’s coming alright…

Easton’s terrible twos.

Oh, I hope you're ready for this mom!

Oh, I hope you’re ready for this mom!

I know ALL kids go through this stage – yes even your perfect little doll in the flowered dress with pigtails…I can see right past your Pinterest lifestyle and recognize that gleam in her eye. I too was once an innocent-looking, baby doll hugging, pony-tailed little she-devil myself. Oh my was I awful. I can remember the tantrums. Stomping with every ounce of force I could muster all the way up the stairs, throwing myself on the floor kicking and screaming until I was out of breath.

This is not a vague memory. I remember vividly what I was thinking and feeling. I had to have been at least 7-8. Let’s round up, shall we? That is a solid SIX years (my siblings will argue 16 years, but what do they know) of terrible “twos”.

But allow me to remind you (or inform you, if you don’t know me) that Easton is 8 1/2 MONTHS. He hasn’t even blown out birthday candles, learned how to walk or said his first words. I’m pretty sure I blinked and he started crawling. I sneezed and he started pulling up to standing. And because I’m a slow learner I had the nerve to sleep for 8 hours.

And now…he has a temper.

Look what I’ve done to myself. Silly me to think he didn’t take after me…HA.

Like I said, I’m well aware terrible twos happen to all kids. I was even aware that they can start earlier for parents with karma out to get them. But EIGHT MONTHS?!?! Excuse me, but the parenting books and websites did not mention this.

Seriously, how early DO they start?

Every time he throws himself backward with a shriek while I’m trying to change him, I think “ohhhh noooo” (insert pure terror) “this is it, hold on!” And just as fast, he turns all adorable, starts babbling and then something comes out that sounds like “mamama” and I’m putty. My little angel has returned, he was just sleepy. I get grumpy when I’m sleepy too.

Night falls and I go to sleep again.

WHEN will you learn, Kelly?!

Sure enough, the next day, these little “fits” happen not just when I get him ready for bed at night, but also when I try to put him in the car seat, high chair, put socks on him….ohhhhh nooooo.

Fortunately, he is the sweetest, happiest little guy 99% of the time and the “fits” are just brief blips in our days. Yet, I still can’t help but think this is just the beginning. Once it starts, there’s no turning back – right?

But if this is just the begining…and well, let’s assume Karma is out to get me, I am really going to be in for it (sorry, Christian). Which explains the crippling anticipation I’ve been feeling waiting for the inevitable. I just hope that Christian and I…and our house…are still standing by 2020 when our then 8-year-old will hopefully have outgrown his terrible twos.

Wow – I am acutely aware of how much that sounds just like wishful thinking.

Maybe I’ll win the lottery while I’m at it.

Ho-Ho-Holy Sh*t, What Just Happened?

Are we really NINE days into the new year?!?

Let me begin by saying this post was started on December 27th. Just 2 days after Christmas. The fact that it is now 2 weeks after Christmas goes to emphasize my point here. And the theme of my blog – “spinning faster”. Just thought I would point out that little gem – you’re welcome 🙂

Moving along…

For anyone who has ever experienced the “shot” in which you are attacked by a woman in a bar, spun around really fast, molested, fed liquor upside down out of a test tube and then asked for $20 – you know how I feel right now.

My house looks like the remains of a cat. 5 hurricane and the last 2 weeks are a blur.

the remains

the remains

Maybe it’s all one giant food coma.

There. was. so. much. food.

Maybe Santa tinkered with my clocks so he could nap at my house…probably ate all the brownies too. That definitely wasn’t me.

In any event I am dizzy & confused.

Since last Christmas, when Easton was just a little “mango” in my belly, I’ve been looking forward to this year’s holidays, building it up…all the FIRSTS!

I worked so hard to make it all special, to savor it. Then sonic warp speed kicked in.

Everything was zooming by, paper was flying, cameras flashing, champagne was popped, there were lights, and hugs and parties and more champagne and there I was just trying to turn my head in the right direction at the right time so I didn’t miss any of it.

I admit I am slowly adjusting to the new fast-pace at which time disappears these days…but the sonic warp speed brought on by the holidays is just something I don’t think I’ll ever grow accustomed to. Yes, it has already been 2 weeks since Christmas. Yes, I still come home to a yard full of lights only to turn on my Christmas tree for one. more. night.

I’ll take it all down tonight.

Tomorrow at the latest.

Ha. Who am I kidding. It’s Wednesday. That sh*t can wait until the weekend.

In reality, I can’t say it is the nostalgia or even post-holiday gloom that has me putting off on the inevitable. Anyone who buys a real tree will understand that leaving it up for one. more. night. actually becomes a bit more depressed than uplifted when the tree looks like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. Seriously, I’ve never seen a tree droop or bend like that. Maybe one more week and the ornaments and lights will have all fallen off on their own. Wouldn’t that be a nice little treat!

In reality, I CAN say that I am just spent. Done. Fin!

The tree can live to die a little more tomorrow. The neighbors can all sleep a little easier knowing they’re not the last to take down their lights. I for one, am going to cut myself some slack and unwind at my own pace.

What really matters is that Easton had a WONDERFUL first Christmas  & he doesn’t seem the least bit disheartened by our droopy tree. On the other hand, the dust balls he acquires while crawling down the front hallway…well, those may need to be addressed a tad more quickly.

Eh, I’ll add it to my list of resolutions. Bring on the New Year – this momma still has one more bottle of champagne!

12 Blinding Truths of Motherhood

I have said before…maybe not on this site but it’s been said somewhere so it counts…that as soon as I became pregnant with Easton I realized exactly what kind of person I WANTED to be.

The blinding truth for me: I was far from it.

But I think a lot of people can probably say the same thing…okay, a lot of honest people can say the same thing. The rest of you are all liars.

Yes, you too.

Maybe you weren’t as far from your ideal mommy as I was, but let’s face it – becoming a mom is a wake up call. For you it might have been waking up to the sunlight peaking through the curtain. For me, it was like a bucket of ice water thrown on my head.

Shock, disbelief and terror.

Pure terror.

But all most things become funny with time and thankfully that terror has run it’s course. Oh, you know the course (please keep all arms and legs inside the rollercoaster) it goes from terror to fear to tears to worry to anticipation to tears (again, thanks hormones) then excitement and finally humor…ok, probably back to tears again. Along the way you question every thing you’ve ever done, why, and what you’d do differently. You analyze ever mother and make a mental list of I’m-never-gonna-do-that’s. Because, with enough planning and preparation, maybe…just maybe…you will manage to raise an intelligent, sane adult.

Sure, I still have plenty of years to screw this little person up and send him into therapy…but so far, we have one happy baby on our hands. (win!)

Given that we have now reached the humor phase of this cycle, I would like to share some of the other blinding truths that came to me over the last year….aside from the obvious ‘you’ll never sleep in again, or your stomach/boobs/thighs/(vagina!) will never look the same’

Please bear in mind, this was during my transition of being largely pregnant to my own one-man circus act.

1. I will never like wearing heels again. tear.

2. Wow, baby gear really clashes with my decor.

3. My emotions will go into complete identity-crisis mode and not know what to do.

4. I will genuinely consider wearing depends.

5. I have to share my husband….and his attention (yes I’m a selfish little attention hog)

6. I have a terrible potty mouth and will now have to whisper – or spell – words like (vagina!)

7. All baby gear is actually out to kill my child.

8. I stop using the gear and learn my house is basically one giant death trap…how does he find ALL the crumbs?!

9. Wow, my floors are dirty. I will never have clean floors again.

10. Correction, I will never have a clean house again.

11. Come to think of it, I will never have clean clothes again either.

12. Strollers have the unique ability to infuriate me in a nanosecond.

In all reality, this list is much…MUCH longer. But, ’12 Blinding Truths of Motherhood’ sounded better than the 358. And less painful. So I cut it short.

However, for humor’s sake, please share your own blinding truths. Let me know what is still in store for me. I can’t even wrap my head around what happens when there’s 2…or 3…or oh MY GOD how do people have more than 3?!

The thought makes my head explode.

pretty tree?...oh no, that's a 9 foot death trap my friends.

pretty tree?…oh no, that’s a 9 foot death trap my friends.