No such thing as a stupid question.

Right?  That’s what your third grade teacher drilled into you, yes?  And I’m here to tell you, that in the mommy-world, it’s absolutely true.  I can’t tell you how many stupid questions about pregnancy, babies, toddlers, hormones, poop, teething, chicken nuggets, etc. I’ve asked in the last 3 years.  It’s been A LOT OF QUESTIONS.  Normally I do some digging first.  Sometimes I reach out in despair.  But my point is, you have to reach out.  Ask your question.  Please.  Because you are never alone.  And no matter if you’re asking your sister or your mom or your college roomie or that girl you knew in high school – someone’s been right where you are, and probably has the answer. Or a shoulder to vent on.

For example:

My big girl is potty training.  We’re a daycare family.  Which means if she has an “accident” (dude – she knows what she’s doing. please.) at 9am – those icky clothes will be sitting around allllll day in her cubby, then her backpack, then my laundry bin, until I get a chance to toss ’em into the wash that night.  The teachers wrap the dirty clothes in plastic bags, which is fine, but a little messy.  So I posed the following question to my personal facebook page for ideas of a better way to do this.  Because today, was not our best potty day today, and honest to betsy, that was one hot mess that I had to deal with.

Wet clothes are gross. How do I fix this?

Some suggestions were sending ziplocs to school for the wet clothes to come home in, search etsy, specific brands of wet bags and where to buy, offers to post for other friends…

So anyway – you can see that my friends 1) are awesome 2) don’t ridicule me for having a poopy kid and 3) know their shit.  {pun}  Which means I get a few of these to save the day.

Super cute, right?

Also, to my working momma friends – please add this to the list of stuff that you eventually will need for daycare.  A really great thing too, if you have a kid that’s prone to blow outs.   So there you go.  A little help from my friends, to yours.  Making this whole motherhood thing a little less WTF.

JC Penney – ugly clothes, uglier philosophy

When I saw this shirt, I almost threw up in my mouth.  As an educated female, an advocate for math and science education (for all kids, but especially girls), and a mother of two young daughters – this made me want to bang my head into a concrete wall.

JC Penney thinks girls are stupid. NOT OK.

And thankfully, as a result of other like-minded mothers losing their freaking minds, JC Penney has smartly pulled this shirt from their racks.

Now if we could only work on getting rid of pants with words on the ass, life would be sweet.

This makes your ass look bigger. Just saying.

Moms of daughters unite: stop buying this crap for you kid, so my kids don’t start thinking it’s right.  Otherwise, I’ll have to resort to petty name-calling and snap judgments about you.  (i.e., – her mommy wants her to be a working girl.  and not the kind of working girl with the corner office and the $500 shoes she bought herself.)

 

 

Tuesday: not quite Monday, still too far from Friday

Some Randoms to get you through your post-lunch coma.

1.  I realized this morning that Oprah’s been off the air (from her regular 4pm time slot) for several months, and I haven’t really missed her.  This makes me sad for her.

Shake.It.Up.

Mommy Fail #42 billion and 12.

One day your child will bring home one of these from school.

Looks innocent enough.

And you will ask her, with interest (because seriously, what the hell?), to tell you all about it.  And she will exclaim, “You SHAKE IT Mommy, SHAKE IT UP!”

Turns out that it’s a simple enough craft project: a paper towel roll, covered in tape, decorated with marker, and filled with rice and dried beans.   Ya know, so you can SHAKE IT UP.  And it makes a noise.  And anyone under the age of 4 thinks that this is pretty damn amazing.   And you will think it’s amazing, too.  Because it keeps her busy while you’re making dinner, and changing the baby, and doing 8 million things.  And then this happens:

Seriously. You have got to be kidding me.

And it’s not so amazing anymore.   Sweetly, gently, “Mommy.  There’s a big mess.  I MADE A BIG MESS.”  I wish I had taken a picture of that.  Oops.  I could take a picture of the rice and lentils in the Dyson canister (because I’m too lazy to empty it) – but I’ll spare you.  I had to vacuum rice up immediately, because I have a crawler that eats everything.   And everyone got strapped into their highchairs and had a nutritious dinner of goldfish crackers and puffs while I continued to vacuum.   So it was basically a great night for the kids.

Moral of the story: when your kid brings one of these home, distract them, and then THROW IT AWAY.  For the love of God.

You’re welcome.

 

YABS has NOTHING to wear!

 Do you have a daily uniform?  Your go-to-wardrobe preferences?  Whether you’re a stay-at-home-mom (chief domestic engineer) or a work-out-of-home-mom (lucky lady gets to scarf down lunch at a desk in peace) – you probably have a typical daily uniform.  Or am I the only one? 

The Morning Rush

I wonder every single day if I am the only crazy person in the world trying to get two babies and myself clean, dressed, and out the door by 7:30am…

I mean, I know that I’m not – because I see the other moms screeching into the daycare parking lot at 7:45 right next to me.  We exchange rushed smiles as we hurriedly wipe the Nutella-and-Waffle (eaten in the car of course) smudges from our munchkins cheeks as we nudge them into school.  And by nudge, I mean NUDGE – every day, I’m coming up with a new way to hurry my dawdling toddler down the hall and into her class:

Up all night long.

There comes a time in every Mom’s life when you are faced with a sick baby.  Dude, it sucks so bad.

I scripted this whole post in my head at 3am on Tuesday morning while I was pacing the hallway with a baby with a double ear infection, a monster fever, teething gums, and a slimy nose.  I was going to offer support and survival tips, and tell my new-mommy-friends to hang in there.  That we’ve all been there.  That the hours seem so long when you’re living them, awake in the middle of the night, alone with a baby.

I woke up to a Sickie McSikerton screaming like a crazy person, totally inconsolable, at 3am.  She refused the offer to lay down with Mommy, she refused the notion of the rocking chair.  The only thing that I could do was jostle her just so, the way that only I can, and pace up and down the hallway, until she drifted off to sleep.

Hours.

I know that they outgrow these sick nights, I know that it is only one night out of a thousand, I know that deep down there’s a part of me that secretly loves holding them so close so that I can smell their sweat and tears and baby smell.

But when it’s 3am, all I can really say is that it sucks so bad.

It is a love based on giving and receiving, as well as having and sharing. ~the brilliant Mr. Tribbiani

I’m talking about the love women have for sharing their birth stories and tales from the delivery room.  There is something innate about a woman’s need to share her labor and delivery experiences with other women.  It is as natural and necessary as little girls chasing little boys around the swing set, telling someone to smell something gross, or looking both ways before crossing College Ave. (IT’S A ONE WAY – JUST CROSS).

I am so guilty of this.  And especially since I’ve had a captive audience to enthrall with my tales for about a year now.  By captive audience, I don’t mean interested, I mean that I’ve held them against their will to talk about birthing.  I’m lucky enough that I’ve had two pretty normal, non-traumatic experiences and I’ve regaled my sister and cousin with these fables for months and months.  We’ve talked about birth plans, medicated vs. un-medicated, unexpected turns of fate – you name it.

What’s the Opposite of Blister in the Sun?

Hint – it’s more Casper than Bronzed Goddess.

The Environmental Working Group (EWG) released their 2011 Sunscreen Results today, confusing consumers with the multi-level rating system and scaring the bejesus out of paraben-fearing Moms. 

Here’s my sisterly advice, with a little dose of chemical engineer and environmentalist, but mostly sisterly.  First, I am not a doctor.  Second, I am not a doctor. 

I think I misunderstood Tyra when she told me to look “FIERCE”…

Show me a Mom with perfectly coiffed and colored hair, groomed eyebrows, manicured nails, smooth legs, and no panty-lines, other than a Real Housewife of Wherever or Reese Witherspoon.  Go ahead, I dare you.  Find her and bring her to me.  So that I can prove that she’s a Stepford-Robot-Wife.  (Guilty pleasure folding laundry movie.)
 
This is one part of motherhood that I am seriously failing miserably at: keeping after myself in a way that wouldn’t make Tim Gunn say, “Oh, HONEY”. 
 
There’s a part of me that longs for my pre-husband and pre-baby days of spending upwards of $200 on a haircut, highlights and blow-out.  There were days of yore when I had a standing bi-weekly appointment with a favorite manicurist, followed by a trip to Hollywood for a warm, bronze glow.  There were times when I didn’t have to wear pants for weeks on end in 80 degree weather, because, well – if I am lucky enough to get a 10 minute shower – I am going to shampoo my hair, not bust out the Venus. 
 
I most definitely look back on those days longingly – missing the indulgent and carefree aspect of my past life.  But more often than not, my gut says – OH MY GOD.  YOU IDIOT.  DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DIAPERS THAT ONE HAIRCUT COULD BUY??!! 
 
These days, I’m faced with “budgeting for beauty”.