I had a life before you kids

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2015-08-16T08:09:00.003-07:00

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Yes!!! We do have big plans for Summer. Big fucking plans

2014-05-12T09:37:00.002-07:00

Occasionally, I enviously spy on my married, yet childless neighbors across the street .

They look so rested and happy.

The husband skips and hums while he brings his garbage cans to the curb.

The wife looks unencumbered and her hair is kempt.

Their porch is pristine.

I think it shines.

Their front door knob is free of Popsicle slime and there are no smeared boogers on their doors/windows.

Their fresh shiny cars glide to and from the clean, toy- free driveway.

No Dora or Bob the Builder stickers on the windows, no emergency diapers in the trunk, and definitely no moldy cheese sticks under their seats.

They plant flowers together and rake leaves in between sips of hot coffee.

He mows the lawn in a brimmed hat, enjoying each lap.

She pulls weeds while listening to her finger print free i-pod.

They leisurely come and go as they please.

No one is crying , no blood curdling screams, or jumping from couch to chair to coffee table.

No trips to the E.R.

No small boys peeing off their porch, aiming for an ant pile.

No boy and girl jumping on the hood of their car having the time of their lives.

I watch them them from my side-walk chalk stained porch, as I sweep bread crusts and smashed gold fish into the bushes.

Another compost of snacks for the feral cats.

Our porch is crowded with bikes, training wheels, muddy little shoes, and old sponge bob rain boots.

"Good morning," I shout in a friendly voice, sweeping my porch with milk stains on my boobs.

They smile and wave at me as if they are saying- "have a good day you fucking sucker!"

I rarely think about what I used to do before I had kids.

That life is one huge, lost chunk of time.

A chunk of time that seems foreign now......forgotten.

I have felt love, hate, shame, exhaustion, failure, and joy all in one day.

Summer is approaching.

The time when people smile and ask,

" So! Do you have plans for the summer?"

"Yes! We do have plans for summer!" I say. "Big fucking plans."

I'll make lots of plans for the day.... it's just a matter of getting through the 500 million things that will ruin those plans and possibly postpone them for hours, maybe even days.

My 5 year old will piss his pants and I'll step on my 400th Lego and yell at him.

Then, I'll feel bad for yelling.

Then he'll cry and tell me he doesn't like me.

Then I'll tell him I don't like him either.

Then we'll have to leave the house because of the incessant sibling bickering and hitting.

I'll have to change the baby and feed him before we leave, and the other two will fight over who gets to hold him.

Jaxson will pour out another box of the smallest, most teeniest, teeny tiny, miniature Legos ever, because he doesn't like me.

Then Emma will decide she's thirsty. She MUST drink water out of her fancy pink, plastic target martini glass, which will spill all over the floor. She will cry and say "why do I always spill EVERYTHING????"

We'll get in the car and Jaxson will refuse any help with his seat belt and cry for 40 minutes while he tries to snap it in the latch.

Then on our way to the pool, I will threaten them 3 times with no T.V. and keep telling them to stop bashing the car ceiling with pool noodles.

They will talk about vaginas a penises tasting like chicken and the baby will coo and babble in the background .

My phone will ring and I'll want to talk to my sister but all the crazy noise from the back seat will cause me to tell her I have to call her back.

The animals are out of their cages I will say.

Then, my son will throw a banana peel out the window (to fit my description), and my daughter will tattle on him.

I'll give him the: " We do not litter speech," and he will completely tune me out.

Then, Emma will drop her Lalaloopsy doll on the floor and cry because it's lost forever and it was her favorite.

The baby will fall asleep and Jaxson will start playing with army men on his head.

Ill scream, "knock it off! Leave the baby alone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" as we pull into the pool and someone I barely know will see me acting like a maniac.

So yes! does that answer your stupid question?- we have BIG plans for summer.

And I personally have big plans to make our porch look pristine.

Big fucking plans.

*BTW, the pool is 1 mile away.

IT IS OKAY

2014-05-08T12:35:00.000-07:00

Its okay if I don't do it perfectly.

Its okay if I lose my temper, as long as I say I'm sorry and tell them that I'm having a bad day.

It only makes it worse when I beat myself up, on top of losing my temper.

It's okay that I have a muffin top and I can't fit into my cute 7 jeans that I spent way too much money on, (when I did things like went shopping).

It's okay that I feel sad sometimes because I miss my old life.

It is my old life........ One thing is certain, life will never stay the same.

It's okay that most days, I have no fucking idea what I'm doing.

It's okay to wing it, buy the cake instead of bake it, make the boxed mac and cheese or give my son a non- organic banana.

It's okay to parent with the personality I have.

I want my kids to know it's supremely better to be themselves - striving for perfection is painful.

It's okay that I envy other moms who seem so much better at this than me.

It's okay because being a mom is messy and it's really fucking hard.

It's okay that almost anything makes me cry now.

It's okay that I secretly binge out on chocolate after they go to bed.(and occasionally get busted by a small monster who wants a piece) Really- do you think I say no?

It's okay that I can't remember what I did yesterday, or last week, or who I talked to this morning.

It's okay that I have days when I just want to get in my car and drive away.

It's okay that I don't always LIKE my kids.

It's okay if I don't do it perfectly.

I can love my friends who don't do it perfectly either, and they can love their friends who don't.

This way, the "world" around us that promotes being perfect can go fuck themselves .

We are bigger than them.

Mom to mom to mom... it's the imperfect ripple effect.

When I am in the trenches of temper tantrums, shitty diapers, peed on beds,colored on walls, and half eaten meals, I need to remember : This too shall pass.

I can scream in my freezer instead of at my kids (good idea, although, I have only done that once.)

When it's mundane and exhausting and I feel alone......................

I can think of you and you can think of me and know that it is okay.

It is okay to be a mess.

It is okay to not be perfect.

From Birth to Postpartum to Evolutionary Chaos

2013-11-17T13:11:00.001-08:00

He was born September 12, 2013 at 10:58 pm.

River Declan Davis-9 lbs 9 oz. (no, I did not have a c- section)
Or, as Jaxson calls him, "Riber"

We are officially a family of 5.

Airplane rides, restaurant trips and holidays including presents have profoundly changed.
Not to mention, my husband's acute awareness of how many mouths there are to feed.

It was the worst labor yet ... my epidural stopped working at 6 centimeters, and I really did fear I was going to die.
Before the pain became unbearable, I called my sister and she talked me off the ledge.
I was writhing in pain, griping the hospital bed bars telling Matt I wanted a stiff drink.
Somehow, I gave birth again and I lived.

The hospital visit was a whirl wind.
I was exhausted, overwhelmed, scared, happy, sore, sad, ripped up and bloody.
Since it was my 3rd baby, I think I was the last patient on the maternity floor to get anything I asked for.
I guess that was a foreshadowing of my third child's life.

The sweetest moment was when I got home, Emma had made a series of incorrectly spelled cards with hearts saying how" happi she was to git a little brother."

The postpartum set in pretty quickly.
I woke up at 3 am in a panic, sobbing, I have 3 kids, I have 3 kids, What have I done?
I felt so afraid and trapped.
Not ONE rational thought came to rescue me.
I woke Matt, sobbing, " I have ruined our family." I choked on the words and he hugged me tightly.
"No you haven't," he said.
He held me in the quiet.
I cried, I felt like a needy teenager, but I knew I was doomed if I didn't let my him see me.
My heart ached.
Postpartum had come back to haunt me.
I started to feel the veil of murky slippery mud wash over me and take my left brain.
He held me, and I sobbed, looking at the beautiful sleeping baby on our bed.
I felt so guilty for saying it out loud.
I felt so afraid of the future.
I had no control.
My life was turned upside down again in a matter of hours.
It hit me.
I really did it, I had another baby.

It was 4:11 am on a Saturday. I could hear the birds chirping and the leaves rustling outside my window.
I calmed down and sat on the side of the bed.
A rational thought finally emerged: what the fuck was I doing awake when the baby was actually sleeping?????

I called the shrink the following day and got medication.
I slowly started to feel better.
In the past, I waited too long and let postpartum steal hours, days and months from me.
I did not want to do that again.
I still cried at anything most days.
My nipples burned and bled from nursing, and my stomach felt like a large bag of marshmallows; but I was relieved to be done with my pregnancy.

After a couple weeks, the blues started to lift like a bleary fog, and I felt clearer.
I started to enjoy the quiet days with the baby after the big rats went to school.

It is different this time, I feel relaxed and happy.
I love having a baby again.
River is the easy one. (for now)
I NEVER thought babies could be easy. (until my 2 other babies turned into people.)
Postpartum is not stealing my moments like it did before.

The bigger ones are still demanding, smart, rude, relentless, funny, and emotionally unstable.
Sometimes I want to strangle them.
I'll be honest, daily I want to strangle one, or both at the same time.

I am witnessing human evolution daily, with the perfect gaps in age.

River : (9 weeks) smells amazing, he doesn't move, he doesn't talk, he coos,smiles, cries, sleeps, nurses and stares at me with pure joy in his eyes. (AKA : My boyfriend)

Jaxson ( 4 yrs old) Throws things (objects and temper tantrums), jumps off anything , draws all over his body with markers, his feet smell like hot garbage, and he recently peed in his sister's face during bath time.

Emma (6 yrs old) Perfectly behaved at school and tends to brag about it, loses things often and blames me, threatens her brother 500 times a day that he is not invited to her birthday (depending on what he is doing or not doing against her will)., Wears thongs with socks, and emphatically insists nothing matches with white.

I love them all wildly, and differently.

I know now all 3 of them change all the time.

I hope....... and mostly believe.......... they do not stay unruly assholes forever.

Baby Fever or Baby on the way?

2013-04-25T17:29:00.000-07:00

It was early August of 2012 when I started to get the "itch".
That insane, irrational itch to have another baby.
Did I mention, this was totally irrational and almost embarrassing; since I write a blog about how hard parenting is?????
I have written about everything from my son's poop smears to my horrible parenting skills.
How could I possibly ?????
Did I mention IRRATIONAL?

I thought It would go away, after talking to my best friend who laughed at me through the phone.
It would pass.
It was just baby fever.
A fleeting, emotional spurt I would grow out of.

It would not just go away.
August turned into September and September turned into October and I still thought about having another baby, daily.
October turned into November and I thought about having a baby daily, afternoon(ly), and nightly.
It was not going away.
In fact, the voice was getting louder and more intrusive.

I was facing my 40th birthday in December.
I started to contemplate my LIFE and had a mid life crisis of sorts.
I knew I wanted to do something big, something meaningful.
I wasn't sure what that was.
The thought of going back to work seemed so mundane.

I knew in my heart that this was it.
This was my last opportunity to have another child.
My mind would start to ramble- and say things like, " Seriously, you want to live that last 2 months as a whale with swollen ankles and heartburn? And then not sleep for 6 months?"

Things were getting slightly easier:
I had some days that I felt like I had finally come out of the woods.
I had turned the corner of sleepless nights and leaky bodily fluids.
Leaving the poopy diapers and pissed soaked sheets behind.
Child proofing and wiping butts were a distant memory.
I could take a shower most days and talk on the phone occasionally, without being interrupted every 2 seconds.
It felt good.
It felt different.

But, I felt like there was one more out there- one more person for our family.
Something was missing.
I tried to talk myself out of it.
I'm going to be 40, I shouldn't.
I already have a boy and a girl, I shouldn't "push my luck".

My husband who is extremely generous (also insane) told me he was open to whatever I wanted.
I am sure underneath, he was also screaming, "Is she out of her fucking mind????"

For years I never understood why anyone would want a third child.
I honestly judged them and thought: now. that. is. nuts.
I came from 3, and 3 is a crowd.
The world is really built for families of four anyway.
I never thought I could handle it.

Well, I thought you should know............................
I am 20 weeks pregnant! (more to come on that mere fact/topic: pregnancy)

I followed my heart.

I have never known anything as amazing, frustrating, hilarious and heart wrenching as parenthood.
Perhaps that's why I decided to follow that voice that kept telling me to do it JUST ONE MORE TIME.

I am scared and excited.

To all of those moms whom I've asked, "Was this one planned? "( with a look of horror underneath a smile), when I found out they were pregnant with their 3rd.
I am so very sorry I asked that.

I am now one of those moms.
Isn't pay back a bitch?

The Days are Long, The Years are Short- LOVE

2012-10-13T17:49:00.000-07:00

It really is true.
What all those annoying people have said about your kids growing in the blink of an eye.

I haven't written in a long, long, time.
I guess I have no excuses since I am always busy, and I am always a perfectionist about what I post.
So this time I'm convinced I have writer's block.
Pretty tired of listening to the bullshit in my own head, so I decided to write what comes.

Oh, and I'm sure it will suck.
It's been a long time.

Life is life, but life with kids is Life times a hundred.

(I really would love for someone to make comment, or give me a topic or ask a question, and I will write about it.)
I want to post once a week again.)

Currently, things are not as crazy at the Davis house.
Emma is becoming more civilized, which I really never thought would happen.
Seriously, when others told me parenting is rewarding, I would say, "it's not fucking rewarding for me".
Not Rewarding YET, they would tell me.... Not Yet.

Well, I have been rewarded lately.
Emma started kindergarten.
She is bringing me joy, rather than daily heart ache and I wanna kill you kid ; which is new for me.
She is maturing and ceasing to fight all things, namely ME.
I have been so accustomed to telling her No, and watching her scream for 20 minutes.....every 20 minutes.
She really is changing.
Don't get me wrong, she still screams.
But she is eager to do her homework, and learn her words and write her sentences.
She looks me in the eyes and she sees me, and I see her.
She takes a moment.
She laughs at herself.
She asks me how to spell everything so she can write new words in her little notebook.
She loves her classmates.
She hugs her teachers when she arrives and when she leaves.

I watch her when she's not looking.
She is kind to that kid that no one plays with; she shares her food, and holds her friend's hands as they run in the play ground.
She is growing up and I like her.
I actually really like her.

Jaxson is talking non- stop.
He's in pre-school this year three times a week for 4 hours.
The teacher said, " he doesn't like to follow directions."
(hmm, interesting, neither do I)
He has stopped smearing his poop, but he still wears a diaper, so I'm not sure who wins there.
At least I am not cleaning up shit off of walls and crib bars anymore.
He runs around pretending like he is spider man and sometimes a monster, any monster will do.
Everything he holds becomes a gun.
I swear, he just did that naturally.
He still has temper tantrums but if I pretend to cry, he will at least laugh a minute.
He's 3, so, he is still half adorable apple of my eye, and half monkey/ mental patient.
He is getting so much easier.
I'm not sure if that is a tease, or if it's happening in real life.

I have been enjoying parenting so much more lately.
I make myself STOP and STOP what I'm doing, because it's usually not that important.
When I stop, I can calm down.
Instead of going to that place called : You are driving me craaaaazzzzy! I wish you would just get through this stage.
I am accepting the stage they are at.
Even though I stay home with them, I am not always "there".
Sometimes I am some"where" else.

When they were babies, I wanted them to crawl, I wanted them to walk, I wanted them to talk.
When they were home full time, I wanted them to start school, I wanted them to play together.
I wanted them to stop fighting with each other .

A lot of the time I wanted them to do things that they were not capable of doing.
It was my selfish human need to MAKE things go my way.

That is never going to work with my kids, they go and do in their own time, in their own rhythm.
Don't we all?

Now, I wish I could stop time and spend a few years with them now, the way they are now.

I want them to know if they do ever read this, that I love them more than I thought I could love.

Picture Perfect: Pampers and Post Partum are Precious

2012-08-19T12:20:00.003-07:00

Why do mothers with new borns on T.V. look so emotionally adjusted and skinny?
I have never seen a pudgy, emotionally drained, un-showered mom on a Pampers commercial.
I know that's what I looked like a week after I came home from the hospital.
Actually, pudgy isn't the word, I still looked pregnant.
I remember staring at myself in the mirror in the hospital room bathroom, sobbing, asking my husband if I was going to look like that forever.
No one ever told me that I was still going to look 3 months pregnant AFTER I had my baby.
I felt slightly betrayed by all my closed lipped friends who had children before me.
Now, I understand because I smile and nod at any new pregnant mom too.
Really, how can you articulate the BOMB that is about to be dropped on them, and their (great) husband.

I felt like I wasn't really told any of the nitty gritty.....
Especially,, with my second.
Especially after the honeymoon was over and the night nurses were still at the hospital.(and I was at home)
Especially, when I was hunched over trying to nurse in that cute rocking chair (I registered for at Babies R Us) at 2am with a paisley designer boppy and a screaming baby.
It all looked so fun when I wore that cute kelly green sundress to my baby shower and opened gifts while giggling.
I knew it was going to be a lot of work, but I didn't fully grasp the level of work.
I loved all the excitement,and the guiltless consumption of anything with ice cream, butter or ice cream.

Then the baby came out and my entire world was beautifully altered, while crumbling simultaneously.
Having a child is one of the most profound and permanent life changers on the planet.
So why in the HELL are we expected to look cute, thin, and smile?

Really, it's a joke.

I just pushed a small person out of my vagina........you only need 6 weeks, get back to work!

Seriously, why don't we talk about real life, better yet SHOW real life on T.V.
Maybe then we could be honest about how much it takes to raise children.
How much it really takes.

This is a time line from pregnancy to new motherhood to Toddlerhood.

It is NOT what they show on the pamper's commercials.
Parenthood is messy.

FIRST PREGNANCY:

I can't wait to have this baby
I LOVE being pregnant.
Maternity clothes are cute.
I love picking all of this baby stuff out!!!!
I am going to nurse my baby, I can't wait! (so natural and easy)
I'm pregnant, and I want everyone to know !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LABOR:
I think I am going to die.
I'm now sure I will die
This is the worst pain ever, what was I thinking?
I can't PUSH anymore.
I WILL NEVER DO THIS AGAIN.(telling husband while crying)
GET AWAY FROM ME. (yelling at husband while crying)
2-3 hours of pushing (possible b.m. on delivery table)

HOLDING BABY AFTER DELIVERY
I want to do this again.
This is the best moment of my life.

LEAVING HOSPITAL WITH MY NEWBORN:

You mean I have to take this baby home and keep it alive?(maybe just one nurse can come?)
No Nurses, no pain killers? (anxiety rising)
Gaping vagina (bleeding) wearing a pad the size of a king size bed mattress.
A.K.A Maxi pad Andre the giant would wear if he had a period.
Am I going to look pregnant/fat forever? (looking in the mirror while crying, asking husband.)

HOME WITH BABY (3 weeks in):

NOOOOOOO YOU CAN'T GO TO WORK (sobbing, holding onto husband's leg)
(post-partum depression kicking in) telling self: I'm Fine, I'm fine....
Are you ever going to stop crying?
I've had to pee for 3 hours.....
Peeing with baby on lap.
Nurse
Nurse again
Pee again with baby on lap, while nursing (can't poop- it hurts too much)
Call husband with list to pick up at the store- including more Andre the Giant sized pads
Nurse again
Stare at a wall while baby sleeps trying to form a thought.
Nurse again.
Nurse again and again

HOME WITH ONE YEAR OLD:

Please walk , I can't wait
OH NO..... you're walking!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Lock every cabinet
never sit down unless it's nap time.
take that out of your mouth, don't eat that, we don't eat mulch.
Don't stick that entire banana in your mouth.

HOME WITH TWO YEAR OLD:

I think I want to go back to work
pre-school takes 2 year olds?
You're in Time Out.
Play date planned for "socialization skills to develop" really for mine to develop.
My brain is mashed potatoes, cannot remember anything unless I write it down.
You're in Time out
You're in Time out
You're in Time out

HOME WITH THREE YEAR OLD:

You are now a 2 year old X 3. (awesome)
I thought I loved you.
What happened to you?
Will you be in diapers forever?
Say please.
Say no thank you.
Don't throw that.
You're in Time out
Play date?
You're going to your room and Im locking the door.

(stages 4- 5 will be tended to after I re-cover fully from my PTSD)

2nd PREGNANCY:

This isn't half as fun as the first.
I am instantly fat and no one even knows Im pregnant yet.
I want to have 2 kids, but I dont actually want to have this baby.

Gave birth to Baby -

NOW I REALLY HAVE 2 KIDS:

HEEEEELLLLLP!
(week 3) Call husband daily crying asking him to come home
The baby is easier than the toddler.
WHAT WAS I THINKING?
Look at clock at 5:25pm daily and tell self - "he'll be home in 5 minutes, he'll be home in 5 minutes."

Is something burning?
NO- it's my hair, my hair is on fire.

The Power of Thought- at Airports, in Airplanes with Poop.

2012-07-02T18:04:00.000-07:00

We sat in the San Francisco Airport.
Well, I sat, as my kids jumped on every seat,and ran up and down every crevice of the gate area.
They were chasing each other, screaming, yelling and laughing.
Fortunately, they had befriended two other toddlers their age to run with, who were equally as loud, and equally as annoying.
Other airport patrons politely avoided all four of them.

There was a pretty blonde in a tailored grey suit, sitting with her lap top and pursed lips as she typed away thinking, will that mom control her children?
I knew she was thinking that.
She didn't have to say anything.
I had proof.
I have observed many a childless women.
I wanted to rip her lap top off of her perfectly ironed skirt lap, and say,
"LOOK BITCH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DEALING WITH HERE. THERE ARE NO WORDS FOR THE MESS MY LIFE HAS BECOME TODAY- SO HAVE SOME FUCKING COMPASSION."
The fantasy felt so good as I sat there and acted it all out in my mind.
She got up and moved to a different spot.
The power of thought.

The mom of the other kids looked so much more serene and together than me. She smiled and laughed as if she was enjoying watching them be totally obnoxious.
I tried to pretend I loved my kids too.
Really, I wished I had purchased that benadryl I was on the fence about buying, since it was for sedation purposes only, (not hives).

"Let all the energy out... get all the wiggles out!!" she said like a happy pre-school teacher.
The perfect looking mom encouraged them with a patient, nurturing, enthusiastic voice.
Three things I felt not an ounce of in that moment.
I said nothing.
I Figured it was a safe bet to just fake a half smile because what I really wanted to do was,"Shut the fuck up and sit down, I've had it with you, and I don't know your kids lady, but so far, they're only making it worse."

I looked at my phone, pretending to read something important.
Hoping that some day, some day, I could read an article or comprehend the N.Y. times again.

My anxiety continued to increase as I anticipated the 5 hour flight ALONE.

I watched the other mom and continued to make the case that not only was she a better mom than me, she was an expert at flying with small children.
No, I did not know her name, it was the first time I had ever seen her.
Although, she did look familiar.
I think she fit the image of all the perfect moms I see that have never yelled at their kids, and pack snacks like raisins and organic rice cakes with gluten-free toppings.
I had lollipops and Starburst stashed in my bag, along with a video game and a bag of cheetos.
Oh, and my ATM card wasn't working, so when I went to buy some fruit for my kids I didn't have enough money.
Oh, and I had forgotten my lap top at my dad's house, so movies were also out of the question.
I knew I had to change my attitude and pray away the funk, or the flight was going to suck really bad.

Finally, it was time to board.
Or should I say, sit and wait for an hour in comfy airplane seats until take-off time.
We stumbled down the plane aisle with all of our carry-on crap.
Emma was close behind me crying and whining (yes, at the same time) because Jaxson was kicking her in the butt as she walked.
He was laughing.
There we were, a spectacle, again, as we boarded the smallest human space in the world: the airplane.
Our seats were all the way in the back of the plane.
So that made it more fun for Jaxson.
He had all the more time to kick Emma's ass while we made it to the seats.
Then we were stopped mid plane aisle, while people put their baggage in the over head bins.
Jaxson started pulling Emma's hair and I had to tell him to stop hurting his sister in that, "I am a good mom who can control her 3 year old son voice."
Emma was sobbing at this point, "my hair hurts....can you give him a time out?????"

A friendly man to my right with half a head of black hair chuckled and gave me a re-assuring look.
"Enjoy them now!" He said gleefully.
"My daughter is 23 and my son is 26, I miss those days."

I could barely respond accordingly.

What days do you miss sir?
The days when your're kids constantly beat each other's asses on airplanes?
Or, do you miss the days of being a stay at home mom, sir??????
Sorry sir, thanks for the sentiment but you can shove it, and shove it hard.
Again, a fantasy in my head that I played out, before I responded in real life.

All I could do was sadly chuckle,"I'm trying." I said.
Meanwhile, I dragged Jaxson by the arm as he reached for a clump of Emma's hair.

Finally, we made it to our seats.
I smelled poop.
It was a bad one, not the poopy diaper that stays in the immediate vicinity.
The poopy diaper that will turn a head and make a nose twitch.
It was a doozy.
I was doomed because I knew it wasn't the other kids in front of us.
It was my son.
Literally, 30 seconds passed while I was getting my poopy diaper changing plan organized in my mind.
I had many factors to consider: the postage stamp sized bathroom with no changing table, my stubborn son who fights diaper changes, and the other child I had to leave unattended while I wiped the butt and disposed of the stink bomb.

As I began reaching for my diaper bag, the stewardess walked by with a big smile and said,
"Smells like somebody needs a diaper change over here!!!"

I won't be writing the fantasy I played out in my head about my response to her.
I can say that a particular Delta stewardess may be die unexpectedly with a poopy diaper at her feet.

Summer is here. Bummer? Summer ? NO.

2012-05-31T04:14:00.002-07:00

Summer is here.
It's hot, it's bright, the days are long, the nights feel shorter.
The pool is a daily staple.
The days are long.
Did I mention that the days are long?

My kids are together most days, all days with me, and perhaps a few other lucky moms.
That means I get to see them fight, get along. fight, get along. Laugh, hit each other again. Fight again, scream, cry, get along. Play a game like they're best friends, fight over the game, cry.
Chase each other around, fall, cry, blame the other one for hitting, hit back, get up.
Do it all over again.
Oh, and Jaxson gave emma her first fat lip with a water gun.
Really, what a joy.

Summer makes me think about my mom.
My childhood.
I remember so many little things.
Small memories.
Imprints in my mind.

The traditional trip we would take to Lake Tahoe every summer for two months.
Where the water was pure blue liquid cold.
The kind of cold that made your skin numb and your hair freeze.
Then the hot sun made it all feel good.
The sandy turkey and cheese sandwiches, the cheez wiz on wheat thins and the smell of hot wine coolers.
The smell of pine needles and inter tubes.
Sun tan lotion and sun-in.
Do you remember Sun-in?

My mom was single.
She was not the sad single mom that men ran from.
She was the pretty, robust, slightly nuts (in a fun kind of way) mom, that all the men
fell in love with.
She had a few suitors, but she pretended they were all just "friends".
When I would say, "Mom , Michael is totally in love with you." (annoying 10 year old valley girl voice)
She would say,"oh stacie, come on, we are just friends."

Come July, we would start getting ready for our adventure.
If there wasn't enough money to go, my mom would pawn some jewelry, or write a bad check.

We had a cat, McKenzie, two dogs, Tasha and Stormy, and a parrot,Daffy.
Tasha and Stormy were black labs and Tasha was blind in one eye.
It was her left eye that was blind, and it was dark blue and glossy.
She literally ran around in circles.
Daffy was our green parrot.
My kind and moral brother Jesse, taught Daffy how to say hello and fuck you.
Daffy was mostly an asshole who either bit you, or said fuck you randomly.

They all came in the car with us.
It was a shit brown toyota corolla with a bumper sticker that said- " You had one of those days? I have one of those lives."
We would also rent a u-haul, which made the four hour ride that much longer, and only drew that much more attention.

My mom always wore cut off daisy duke jean shorts in the summer.
She would wear a t- shirt with a american flag on it or a cheesy rainbow.
She was a size double D .
She always smelled like copertone. (even in the winter.)

So there we were: my mom and her daisy dukes,
The parrot , the two dogs , the cat.
My brother was Judd Nelson from the breakfast club.
My sister was a big 80's dork with braces and a shirt that said "Bo Derek is a 10.... I'm a 15,"
And myself.

We would argue and hit each other most of the way there.
My brother called the punches to the leg muscle "charlie horses".
They hurt so bad we would laugh.

For some occasional entertainment, we held up a few paper signs with scribbled letters that said things like : honk if your horny and honk if you think we look like national lampoon's vacation.

Then there was the customary half way stop at the same restaurant.
It was called Sam's off highway 50.
My mom would always order a bloody mary with extra celery.
My sister and I would order shirley temples and my brother would tell us we were "Lame" for ordering them and make fun of us the entire lunch.
We would get back in the car and all the animals would assume their positions.
Daffy was always on my mom's shoulder.
There was bird shit all over her right shoulder.

Finally,
We would arrive with excitement and call the rooms we wanted in the cabin.
The deck was our favorite spot to hang out.
The Pine trees stood tall and green and the air was fresh and real.
The cabin was always a 70's motif and smelled like an old fire from the winter guests.

As the weeks passed, we would fill the rooms with the smells of sun tan oil, cigarettes, and barbeque steaks.

About a week into our vacation,
My mom would take us to these beautiful waterfalls.
We had to hike quite a ways to get there, it took about an hour.
Then, we would have our own watering hole to swim in and dive from the highest rock.
It was hot.
We would complain about how thirsty we were as we would hike the hills.
We never brought a cooler with water or food, just towels and sun tan lotion.

My mom carried her benson and hedges lights 100's in her jean shorts back pocket.
The pocket had a 60's patch on it that was a big crimson red pair of lips.

She pulled the cigarettes out of her pocket and slipped the cellophane wrapper off the pack.
Then she skillfully held the cellophane wrapper under one of the small waterfalls on the edge of the mountain to fill it with water.
We each got a cigarette wrapper filled with delicious, fresh spring water.
You could only faintly taste the tobacco remnants.
That ice cold fresh water quenched our thirst like no other water.

I thought my mom was a genius.
Small memories imprinted in my mind.

Ah........................ Summer.

Life's a beach and then you .......?

2012-04-10T17:09:00.000-07:00

I don't know why I always feel the need to write a blog when I am going fucking crazy.
Maybe it's cathartic to tell the truth.
In hopes that someone will read it and hear me inside their crazy life.

I felt like a terrible mom on Thursday.
I screamed and yelled at my kids and threw my Nike running shoes across the room.
Then I sat in my car in the driveway and listened to NPR for 5 minutes just to get away from them.
Oh, and on Friday, I sat on the toilet in the bathroom stall at the YMCA and cried (the silent, shaking, martyr cry), hoping no one would see me.
I just felt so pent up and tired of life, kids, money and my insane thoughts.
Thoughts like: would a mental institution give me some time away, some peace, a quiet bed and tranquilizers?
And really and truly, I had no idea parenting was going to be this demanding....really I had no clue.
Why then, when I see a sweet little baby in a mother's warm arms, do I want another one????? (re:mental institution fantasy)

OR, for that matter- am I just a terrible parent?
I said shit and fuck in front of my 4 and a half year old today.
Who gives a fuck!

It's been a long month.
I ran a half marathon (almost died).
I've been protesting the Atlanta public school system to keep our neighborhood school open.
My neighbors and I realized that there is still segregation in Atlanta, in the year 2012.
Shocking.
I find few things in life shocking, but that one is sad.
Is Moral courage something you learn?

Then, we went to Pensacola for a family vacation.
I had very low expectations because I haven't quite experienced that "vacation" feeling before, amongst toddlers, I mean, my kids.
It's usually more stressful to be away from home, but somehow, we got a reprieve - well, some of the time.
I was surprised, I did relax (some of the time), and we had a great vacation.

Yes, the kids fought and made messes, and broke something in the condo.(woops, forgot to tell them.)
Jaxson threw Matt's credit cards down the deck slats, after desperately searching for them, he found them the next day in the parking lot.
Jaxson also lost my keys and we finally found them under the comforter after a frantic 45 minute search.
Emma peed in the pool while announcing it to all the people lying by it.
One woman looked so disgusted, I thought she was going to tell the managers to remove her sassy ass.
So, trust me, it was not without perils.

The car ride to and from was also pretty grueling.
Mostly the serene sounds of fighting, screaming and pleas for a new snack every five minutes.
Emma asked me over and over again if she could throw her brother in the garbage.
My response was, "CAN I?"

I really enjoyed being with Matt, we had fun.
We laughed and lost our minds breaking up sibling rivalry and washing sand out of hair and butts.
I realized how much I missed him, being away from it all.
The stresses of everyday life seemed to fade.

I told Matt he was in isolation.
Essentially because he couldn't go to work... he had no escape.
Sounds petty, but he was getting a taste of my everyday life (minus the paradise beach setting), and I secretly enjoyed that.

Even at a beautiful white sand beach with clear blue water and soothing breeze, there was still a shitty diaper to change and bickering toddlers to bribe.

There was a dock just outside of our condo.
It stretched for hundreds of feet out to the ocean.
The kids ran back and forth and back and forth screaming and jumping.
They marveled at all the fish and little crabs, seeing things for the first time.
Yes, I had visions of them falling in the ocean and how I would promptly save them.

They threw sand at each other and ran through the waves.
I watched the gleam in their eyes, and the wonder in their smiles.
We were in the moment.

Emma loved the pool, all she wanted to do was swim in the pool because the sand was "too dirty."
Jaxson used the pool rails as monkey bars and threw my visor and sun glasses in the pool about 100 times.
He tried to climb into the garbage can and ate random pieces of food off the the ground.
Emma found candy in an oil puddle at the gas station and ate it. It was still in the wrapper so I didn't intervene.
Boundaries, I'm learning boundaries.

I thought about my mom when I would lie on the beach or look at the vastness of the ocean.
I thought about her ashes floating somewhere in the pacific.
I missed her, I have fond memories of our beach days growing up.
I could smell the copertone on her legs and taste of the cheese whiz and crackers.

I wished she could be there to meet my kids.
I can't believe my mom hasn't met my kids

Maybe she does see my kids.
Maybe she has met my kids in her own way.

I shed a tear or two as I watched Matt and Jax and Emma run along the shore.
I shed a tear or two just because....
There was no real reason.

Just a full heart, even in the midst of all the days I wanna pull my hair out.

I'm sad, and I'm happy... kinda like parenting, I love them and I wanna pull their hair out.

Change Changes You

2012-02-19T09:35:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about change.

How my kids have changed me , how sobriety has changed me, how my heart and mind have changed.
How my geography has changed, how my friends have changed, how my body has changed. (code for:I used to have better boobs and stomach).

Maybe it's because I just had a birthday, and I have one more year till 40.
Maybe it's because living life changes you.
Or maybe living life is just full of changes.

Divorce changed me as a kid
Marriage changed me as an adult.
Certainly, my children have changed me forever.

If I think about how much bigger my heart has gotten since having my children, I cry.
Not just tears of joy.
Tears of fear, tears of sadness and just plain tears.

Change is inevitable.
Change is good.
Change has blindsided me.
No control.
I guess I illude myself, thinking I have some control of the chaos in a house with small kids.
There's a lot of laughing and crying.
That changes from hour to hour.
Certainly, I can't control that.

I already tried to control Emma, it was a pointless exercise.
Now, I just give her boundaries.
She wears one pink cowboy boot and one brown cowboy boot.
Scratch that, correction from emma, they are cowGIRL boots.
She is who she is.
It's hard to look in the mirror.

I have had to grow up a lot.
I'm 39 and I still have many childish moments.
Especially, when my I have my own tantrum, not my 2 year old.

Emma and Jaxson change all the time.
They change their minds, their feelings and their likes/dislikes.
Emma sleeps one night and wets the bed the next.
Jaxson wakes up in a bad mood on Sundays.
No rhyme or reason.

I don't want to analyze it, I just want to be here with them now.

Thursday, I hated being a mom. I wanted to leave them in the living room kicking and screaming and go for a long walk off a short pier.

Saturday, I loved being a mom. I sat and laughed with my son, he kissed and climbed all over me. He got snot all over my face and hummus from his snack in my hair, and I didn't care.

Last week, my husband and I bickered one day, I took it personally.
I cursed him in my mind.
Friday, he couldn't find the car keys.
He cursed me in his mind.
Saturday, all was forgotten, we laughed, we endured Emma's melt down together in the car and rolled our eyes (partly with love).

Ups and downns.
I know for sure that there are many.
If my perception would change, perhaps the downs could be more up.

The changes keep happening.
Since I married Matt and birthed these 2 multi- faceted monkeys, one thing hasn't changed....
I have never had so much to lose.

I hope that doesn't change.

2 year olds, toilets, temper tantrums and sobriety don't mix

2012-01-29T08:07:00.000-08:00

Im not sure wether to laugh or cry.
I won't lie- I've been crying a lot this week.
I did run out of my Lexapro for a couple of days,
was that why?
Jaxson did ruin my comforter with lip gloss stains.
That must me why.
Oh, and he also flushed the plastic black and white dog and blond haired little people down the toilet.
The plumber fixed it, after almost dismantling the toilet to get them out.
Shortly after the plumber left, there went the dog and the little people again.
Maybe that's why.
Oh! I know, Jaxson has decided 5am is a conveniant time to start EVERYDAY.
That must be why.
I realize the toilet doesn't matter, my comforter doesn't matter.... sleep issues are usually temporary.
Bullshit. But.......
These are the things I am trying to tell myself.
Truly, it is the hope that things will change tomorrow, or that bed time is just an hour away. These are that get me through the days when I WISH I could give my kids up for adoption.
Surely I would be devastated. Right?
Aren't the terrible two's just a fleeting phase?
Nothing is fucking fleeting about it these days.

I walked in to Kroger on Friday with puffy eyes, and a pity pot stuck on my butt.
I was tired, crabby, hungry, and stressed.
I had just dropped Jaxson off at pre-school for that long 3 hour interval of time.
He had a 15 minute temper tantrum that lasted the drive to school and the walk into his classroon.
I was so exhausted from the 5 am wake up that I almost left him kicking and screaming on the wet side walk.

I love you, I hate you, you're annoying, You're my everything, I hate it when you do that, I love you, I hate you, you're the cutest thing I've ever seen, I need a picture of that, I might choke you right now..... This is what it feels like to be a parent.

I have been sober for almost 12 years.
I stared at that bottle of red wine at Kroger on Friday.
I was tempted. I could sneak it, no one would know.
It looked so warm and smooth- it would be like velvet wrapping around my heart, like silky potion slipping down my throat.
Ah, that bottle of wine looked good.
STOP!!!! alarms started ringing in my head.
Im sober . Im sober. I can't do that. I don't want to drink.
I just want some relief from how I feel.

Then I went to my friend Anna's house and her two year old was crying.
I already felt better.
My friends Hollie and Tia came over with their kids.
We watched our 6 kids dance and sing to Justin Beiber and laughed at how free they were.
We sat together and cried a little about our weeks.
Looking into Hollie's teary eyes made my eyes teary but it made my heart less heavy.

We are all trudging the road.
We all have the same thoughts.

I felt better.
We all felt better.
Because we just can't do this thing alone.

Google it

2012-01-08T08:27:00.000-08:00

Christmas break was like a roller coaster, well, honestly it was a shit storm.
In short, it was too long.
And we we celebrate Hannukah, not Christmas.

After many hours/days of rain, I wanted to scream, yell and break small objects with large hammers.
So, I yelled at my kids too much, and felt guilty.

For about a week, I was just really down in the dumps.
I pretended like I was doing fine.
I didn't want to be a grump around the holidays, but I was on the inside.
I was growling and grumping and hating most people in crowded parking lots and stores.
I knew I was creating my own reality and I couldn't seem to change it.
I felt like pig pen with that smelly, gloomy cloud lingering above my head.
I still exercised and did stuff with the kids and my husband.
I just felt like a crunchy chip, about to break at any point.

When I feel awful, I have a tendency to fuel it like a fire.
Add another match, another newspaper page, another match, and see how big the flames can get.
It's a sadistic game.
The flames start taking over my mind, and soon enough it's a fire of negativity.

It all started with Google.
I google things that I feel, or predict I will be feeling in the future.
And all things that may happen as a result of feelings I may feel in the near future of which are usually very unrealistic.
I had a terrible cough, so I started to google Lung cancer symptoms. That made for a great wednesday.
Then I googled, unbearable 4 year old.
Then I googled, unbearable siblings that are also my children. That was during, and prior to hair pulling and fighting over meaningless, stupid toys that neither of them ever play with.
The googling continued..... Benji the movie playing in the background and an occasional blood curdling meow from the kitten being chocked by Jaxson.
Why do husbands still get to do whatever they want?
Can a four year old truly manipulate?
Is it normal for a 2 1/2 year old boy to be violent?
How many brain cells do you lose after pregnancy?
And now for the most important google- DO THEY EVER COME BACK????

Am I disillusioned, or is it really maddening to spend millions of hours with toddlers?
I want milk, I want to paint my face with water colors and wear dumb princess outfits, I want to stick stuffed animals and paper clips down the toilet. I want to curl up in the fireplace and smear soot all over my face, I want to throw my food, I want to spill my milk for the fucking 20th time. I want to ask for something to eat and not eat it.
Is this supposed to be joyous? It's not.

In my rut throughout the week, I was on and off the pity pot.
I went to my friend Lori's house and she had a poem on her wall that really struck me.
It stopped me in my tracks.
It changed my perception.
It opened my heart again.

Really, I hate to admit it but I was regretting my choice to me a mom.
I was feeling depressed and tired of all the tedious, thankless tasks, all of the service, the unending service it is to be a mom.

Then I read this:

How to Really Love a Child *

Be there.

Say yes as often as possible.

Let them bang on pots and pans.

If they’re crabby, put them in water.

If they’re unlovable, love yourself.

Realize how important it is to be a child.

Go to a movie theater in your pajamas.

Read books out loud with joy.

Invent pleasures together.

Remember how really small they are.

Giggle a lot.

Surprise them.

Say no when necessary.

Teach feelings.

Heal your own inner child.

Learn about parenting.

Hug trees together.

Make loving safe.

Bake a cake and eat it with no hands.

Go find elephants and kiss them.

Plan to build a rocket ship.

Imagine yourself magic.

Make lots of forts with blankets.

Let your angel fly.

Reveal your own dreams.

Search out the positive.

Keep the gleam in your eye.

Encourage silly.

Plant licorice in your garden.

Open up.

Stop yelling.

Express your love.

A lot.

Speak kindly.

Paint their tennis shoes.

Handle with caring.

*Copyrighted to SARK

Pooping Princesses at the Park

2011-12-12T13:54:00.000-08:00

I live in a big bubble with little crazies.
By crazies, I mean people under 5.
It's been one of those overwhelming, draining, fun, frustrating, blurry weeks.
Oh wait- every week is like that.

I know- the days are long and the years are short.

I am fumbling my way through this parenting thing, trying to be easy on myself on the days when I feel like an impatient, spiritually bankrupt piece of doo doo.
I change it enough, I start to feel like it.

I had no idea parenting was going to be like this....
Some days it's just fucking exhausting, trying to explain to my 4 year old why she can't have 4 candy canes in one afternoon, or why it's not nice to call her brother, "Bad Brother".

And, explaining anything to my 2 year old is really a mother- fucking joke.
I have been trying to teach him to be gentle with our kitten for 6 weeks. He's still choking her and biting her like a lion cub. I'm surprised she's still alive. (please dont call animal control- I have enough on my plate).

Change the sheets, do the laundry, wash the dishes, make the lunch, drop her off, pick him up, feed him lunch (pick all food up off the floor), put him down for a nap... listen to him play in his room and NOT take a nap until he falls asleep the minute we have to leave.
make breakfast, pack lunch, make dinner, iron shirts,clean up an occasional puddle of pee, do bedtime, read stories, spray fake ghost be-gone spray,(water in a green spray bottle).... the list goes on and on.

It feels like groundhog day.
The menial tasks that may be killing many brain cells by the day, by the hour, by the minute.
It's the repetitive task of filling and emptying the dishwasher that makes me feel like my head is going to explode.

Especially, because most of the things I do, become undone, or interrupted by the small children (animals) that live with me.

I really needed a good laugh by Thursday.
Emma provided me with that.
I can always count on her to do something that simaltaneously surprises, and humiliates me.

Emma's favorite friend is an adorable red haired, blue eyed 5 year old named Wisteria.
I really like her mom Tanya.
It's a blessing that I can have such great conversation with her while our girls run wildly.
They are a pair of whirling, giggling, dirty princesses in stained white tights and bright red glitter shoes.

Thursday, we sat at the school playground talking, while the girls threw their pretzels up in the air, pretending they were glitter. They wasted every bit of snack I had packed- oh well.

They went running up the hill together.
Emma pulled down her tights and showed us all her little bare butt- I yelled from the bench, "Emma! pull your pants up!!!" She laughed and put her tights back on.

Then, they disappeared into the bushes for a bit, probably innocent play I thought/hoped to myself.

Three minutes later they came running down the hill giggling, their glitter shoes covered in dirt.
Emma started shouting to me, "I pooped in the bushes mommy!"

Tanya and I looked at each other with that look.

"She did poop......FOR REAL!!!!!" Wisteria yelled.

I looked at my friend Tanya with that look, nodding my head - like what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
Can I pretend like she isn't mine?

we laughed for a minute, and I was crying inside, knowing what I had to do next.

I liked Tanya's suggestion, she said, "Well, you could just go sprinkle some pretzels on it."

I grabbed my trusty travel wipes and took emma's hand.
I looked at Emma with that look I give her - you little shit, you little 4 year old hellian, you shit in the school play ground.?????? You actually dropped trough and took a dump!!!????? WTF kid? you know you aren't supposed to shit outside.... much less outside at your school.

Instead I said, "Emma - did you really poop in the bushes?" (another endearing trait about the 4 year old- they often lie)
"Yes mommy, I did." She said with a wicked, "I got you mommy" smirk.

We walked up the cold, grassy hill. I told her that pooping is not something we do outside. I told her the obvious- come and tell me you have to poop and I'll take you to the bathroom. Do I really have to cover this?
Silly me.

She was laughing inside.
They don't call them the "Fuck you 4's" for nothing.

She said sorry and she said sorry, assuring me she wouldn't do it again.
That made me want to throw her, and her poop tumbling down the hill.

She better not do it again.

I cleaned up her shit (disgusting) and put it in the ziplock bag I had used to pack the pretzels they wasted.
Thank god I had that bag.
Then, I walked all the way to the disgusting, dirty green dumpster and threw it away.

This was one of those days I would've called my mom and said, "sorry mom." and she would have said, "for what?"
"Just everything."
"SORRY"

What is a two-year old boy?

2011-11-21T16:40:00.000-08:00

I know it's a pointless pursuit......

But I just can't seem to figure it out.

Why do I love this obtrusive, unruly, emotionally unstable, physically out of control boy?

Is a two - year old boy a maniac with half a brain?
A mental patient?
A crawling, climbing animal who turns red when he screams?
A living example of how immediate gratification can ruin your day, your life?
A milk addict that doesn't seem to require food?
A hair pulling, stick throwing type of dog?
A rabid dog?
Oh, I know! a dog with 2 arms and two legs, instead of 4 legs.
A snot leaking, pooping and peeing diaper wearing miniature cave man?
A deaf dog who likes to grunt and watch Bob the Builder?
Does he hear me?
Yes, he ignores me.
Apparently, I am an object to ignore.
He gets lost in bushes, closets, hallways, and hills.
He climbs on dressers, tables, couches and T.V. stands.
He takes old food out of the garbage cans at the park and eats it. Mainly crusty week old cupcakes and stale corn chips crawling with ants.
He screams, kicks, and rolls violently on the floor when I say no.
He pulls Emma's hair.
He sits in the litter box and smiles.
He grabs the kitten with violent vigor and won't let her go.
He smiles at me when I put him in time out.
He puts on my shoes and tears my closet apart when I'm on the phone.
He unfolds my laundry and throws it all over the living room.
He calls, cries and screams for me at 3am.
He writes on my hardwoods with crayon.
He pulls his diaper off and pees on the floor,in the bath and sometimes the bed.(duct tape is an item on my grocery list)
He puts wash cloths and stuffed dolphins in the toilet for his personal entertainment.
He shits in the bathtub monthly.

After all this abuse........
I do believe I would stand in front of a car if it was going to hit him and walk through fire if he was going to get burned.
Is this irony or just plain insanity?
I put him to bed at night and look into his big brown eyes......
it's then that I forget he's a screaming, pooping, mad man boy who runs me ragged.

Blood, Tears, and Fake Nails. (By Stacie)

2011-11-08T17:08:00.000-08:00

It was a cold, foggy San Francisco summer day.
My best friend Colleen lived up the block from me and we spent all of our time together.
I would say, "I'm coming up." and she would say, "I'm coming down."
This particular Saturday, I went "up" to see her.
We were playing house, one of our staple Saturday games.
We were about eleven years old.
A portion of her house was under construction, and we were forbidden to play there.
It was in the back of the house on the top floor.
It smelled of lumber, saw dust, and cold eucalyptus air.
Naturally, that's where we played house.

I was the "mom" and she was the other "mom"
We were in separate rooms (under construction) talking on the phone.
We each wore Lee press on nails.
My nails were candy apple red and Colleen's were hot carnation pink.
I was wearing my brand new white Esprit outfit, that I had begged my mom for at Nordstrom.
White, cropped, cotton pants and a white button down top.
It was Esprit, that was the important part.
All so stylish, it was 1980 something.

Mid- sentence, chatting on my imaginary phone, I sat on what looked like a beautiful love seat.
I was so engrossed in my "mom" character, I missed the fact that it was a big piece of thick glass covering a hole in the floor.
Suddenly, I was mid air, floating, falling, screaming bloody murder.
Chards of glass surrounded my face and ripped through my skin like claws.
Within three seconds, I hit the floor like a boulder dropped from a cliff.

BOOM.
It felt like my tail bone had been hit with a fifty pound metal bat.

I immediately jumped to my feet.
Okay, I could walk.
My heart was racing, blood was dripping rapidly down my face, my back, my legs.
Adrenaline was rushing like a ferocious beast through my trembling body.

There were no thoughts.
Colleen ran down the stairs and saw me, she screamed.
There were no words exchanged.
I looked into her terrified green eyes and we had the same silent thought- PHONE.
Get to the fucking phone now.
We need to call my mom NOW.
Blood dripped on her beautiful hard wood floors with every step I took as I made my way to the phone that gripped the wall.
I grabbed the cream colored receiver and the cumbersome cord got stuck in the one part of my hair that wasn't stuck to my bloody face.
I tried to dial my mom- 239-8989.
I couldn't get the buttons to push and the 2 kept slipping.
"Fucking Nails!!!" I screamed as I tried to rip the plastic albatrosses from my fingers.

My mom had told me they weren't good to wear in case of emergencies.
I heard her voice in my head.
I finally ripped one off and threw it across the kitchen.
239-8989.
Done.

I ran for the front door, Colleen followed closely behind me, crying quietly.
She sounded like a whistling tea kettle, then I heard the screech of brakes.
I don't even think a minute had passed, and there she was, my mom.
She pulled up frantically in the station wagon.
She had on her cut off daisy duke jean shorts and a red t-shirt with a rainbow on it and a little bit of bird shit on her shoulder.
She had reversed backwards up the hill, which she did often, not just in emergencies.
"GET IN THE FUCKING CAR !"
I stood there covered in blood.
My "white " pants were now red pants, completely saturated with bright red, fresh blood.
My hair was glued to my face with blood and tiny beads of glass.

"Get in the car!" She yelled.
"What Happened!!!!!!!!!!!!!" She said horrified.
I was stunned.
I opened the door and laid across the back seat, all I could smell and taste was metal.
I got in the car, my mom was trying to be calm.
She didn't succeed.
It was obvious this was bad.

We flew off at about 60 MPH down our residential street.
I sobbed and sobbed, trying to get the words out, telling her what happened.
We both knew stitches were imminent.

She told me it was going to be fine.
That was one of her go to phrases, "Not to worry Stacie, it is going to be fine."
"No it's not mom!" I insisted, sobbing.
There was no way she was right this time.

The right side of my face was pulsating, my back was sliced up and it felt like a thousand bees were stinging me.
It wasn't enough to be on the way to the ER with glass chards in my body and face.

She couldn't resist.
"God damn it Stacie! I told you not to wear those god damn fake nails!"

She's Dead right?

2011-10-30T14:57:00.000-07:00

My mom is dead.
I still can't believe it sometimes.
It's been 15 years and I think about her all the time.

I miss her.
I look into my daughter's big brown eyes and I understand what my mom felt when she looked at me.
I used to ask my mom,"what are you staring at?"
My mom would look at me and gently touch my face with her rough, warm hand, "You. I'm looking at you." she would say.
Now I understand.

I used to look at the furrow in my mom's brow while we rode together in the car.
When I'm driving, I look in my rear view mirror and see that furrow in my brow.
Now I understand.

I miss her.
I wish I had recorded her voice.
I can still hear it in my mind, but it's like a faded recording.
A comforting recording I play when I need to hear her say, "This too shall pass."
It's different when your mom says it.

Dead is dead.
That person is really gone.
I know right?
We know right?

There will always be a part of me that doesn't believe it.
I'm not analyzing why.
Somehow, I want the moment to be different, to be better, to be what I want it to be.
It is just the moment.
My mom is just dead.

I can still love her, miss her, and hold her in my heart while I share her with my kids.

My daughter looked at a picture of my mom this morning and said, "mommy, that's you!"
I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the kitchen.
"No, that's not me Emma, that was my mom."
"It is you mommy! " She insisted

I felt a sharp tingle squeeze my heart.
My chest got hot, my throat lumped,
Silently, I thought, wait......
That is me.

I love Emma the way she loved me.
Maybe she's not really dead after all.

You had one of those Days? I have one of those Lives......

2011-10-23T08:47:00.000-07:00

I was raised in San Francisco.
When I was growing up, my parents had cocktail hour , they passed around joints and listened to Brazil 66.
My dad dropped an occasional hit of acid and hung a posters that said fuck the draft.

Before I was born, he painted every room in our first house a different color while flying on LSD.
He also had a perm and wore hawaiin shirts with thongs.
He drove a lime green 1969 porshe.

My mom had long dark hair parted down the middle and rich brown eyes, she liked to drink vodka with soda and a twist of lime, and she smoked benson and hedges lights 100's.
She wrapped my dad's porshe around a tree one night.

When we were teenagers,
My mom told us to drink at home if we were going to drink at all......I mean why take the chance?
My brother grew pot in my closet with tinfoil and hallogen lights.
Never mind that my high school uniform reeked of skunk.

He was an innovative guy. He used to microwave the leaves from the pot plants and we rolled joints and smoked them in the kitchen on friday nights.
"waste not, want not!" my mom would say.

My mom would sometimes pick me up from the 10pm movie with wine on her breath, or even a "traveler" in the car.

Needless to say, I grew up in an environment where drinking was accepted, not rejected.
Meanwhile, my curfew was 11pm until I turned 18, but I could smoke and drink at home.
Mixed messages sent me to therapy for a long time.....

We had a french exchange student named Christian who lived with us for a while.
He helped me with my french homework and made good crepes.

We also had a long lost cousin who lived with us, Bruce.
He was from Alaska and he had a ten foot boa.
We used to feed the boa live mice.
They would squeal and then sit like golf balls, slowly sliding down his throat.
Discovery channel shit.

I had a pet rat named Egg Nog and I loved her.
One night, my brother blew an enormous cloud of pot smoke in her face and killed her.
He blamed it on our dog.
I cried and cried.
My mom helped me bury her the next day.
I wrapped her in my pink Benetton sweater and put her in a shoe box.
We dug a small hole in the back yard, and buried her next to a tree.
I cried more.

We also had 2 dogs, black labs, Tasha and Stormy .
Tasha was blind in her left eye, it had blue specks in it and she ran around in circles a lot.
Tasha had a brother, Hawkins, but he was totally blind, and got hit by a car.
Stormy was our other dog, she was so sweet, she couldn't have hurt a fly, much less my pet rat.

We also had a green parrot named Daffy.
My brother taught him how to talk .
He would sit on my mom's shoulder and occasionally say "Hello.", or "Fuck You."
My mom sat at the oak wood kitchen table with a vodka soda every evening at about 6pm to chat with her best friend.
There would be bird shit all over her shoulders by the end of her converstaion.

My mom drove a station wagon, the kind with the wooden panels, even in the 80's.
It had the kind of radio with knobs and plastic squares that you punched with your middle finger to change the station.
There were white t-shirts on the driver and passenger seat.
It smelled like dogs, cigarettes, and an occasional christmas tree.

She had a bumper sticker that said, "you had one of those days? I have one of those lives."
And she really did have One of those lives.

Her mom died in a fire while smoking and drinking milk with whiskey.
She fell asleep and her mattress combusted.
We lived down the block from her, so the night it happened, we were just a dozen houses away.
My dad was a fireman at the time, he went to save her and she was already dead.

So many tragedies, perhaps not appropriate even for this blog.
Oh, not to worry, I'll end up sharing them with you.

I have written some haiku poetry about my experiences as a child, so I thought this would be a good time to share one with you.

DAD, IM TRYING TO LOVE YOU

Cocaine up his nose
bottle under the front seat
dad you passed our house

My Meeting with The Master

2011-10-11T17:14:00.000-07:00

(by Stacie)

It was a steamy Saturday morning in Atlanta.
My husband had been out of town for more than a week.
I think I was going off the deep end, pretending like everything was fine.

Both kids desperately needed a hair cut.
It was also an activity, something to do, that made me feel like I was doing my part to keep my kids looking somewhat civilized.
Although, Emma was wearing a snow white dress with a huge rip in the butt, and Jaxson's diaper was duct taped (purple), and there was a huge dirt stain on the butt of his plaid shorts.

I looked into the window of Great Clips and the line was too too long.
Getting a hair cut at the end of a half an hour line is no bribe for a 2 year old and a 4 year old.

Then I saw a sandwich sign on the sidewalk to my right:
"Faith Barbershop"

Why not? I thought, let's go in there, how different can it really be?

I'm almost sure we were the first white customers they had ever had.
The '20 somethings' waiting in the front seats, all looked at us like we were purple smurfs.
Maybe they thought we were white martians visiting their barber shop.
After all, they were regulars.
I didn't care.
"how can I help you darlin?" the friendly barber said. "I'm L.J."
Three black guys turned their heads and looked at us like , are you sure you know you're in a barber shop white lady?

"They need a cut, both of em'" I replied.

He started with Emma, it took him about 15 minutes just to comb it out and sprayed it with water.
First lesson, combing, not brushing. (I didn't think of that) No brush? No, there were no brushes.
It really wasn't that snarled. I swear.
I don't know what he was doing.
He bragged to me, " I been cutting white hair for 20 years, a lot of black people don't know what they're doin', but I do."
First RED FLAG.
Bragging = Bullshit.

He was nice though, and who can screw up a kid's haircut?
More will be revealed.

Emma did fine for a little while, but then she started to get antsy, and a little scared of what was happening to her hair. I think it was the combing.
I assured her it wouldn't be much longer.
Then, the tears started. She looked at me with that desperate glimmer in her eye, Save me mommy, save me.
I didn't really want to make a big deal, so I assured her again, it wouldn't be long.
She was not assured, she cried more. (pretty normal for Emma.)

L.J. called me over and whispered to me, "your daughter, she's special, she feel the devil in that guy over there, so she's crying."
He was very sure his intuition about Emma was strong and right.
The man in the chair across from her did look a little different.
He had long jerry curls and a gold front tooth and he was tapping his feet to the beat of the music.
He had a very mean look to his eyes, like he had hate inside that he wanted to share with anyone who'd make eye contact.
I felt it, but I think Emma was just upset about the hair cut.
I was waiting for Emma to ask me out loud about his gold tooth but she didn't.
That would've really topped it off.

I was sure her tears were of impatience and fear of L.J's comb, not the devil with the gold tooth.

I just made him think he was an intuitive genius.
"yes, she is special." I responded.
"I can't stand that guy." L.J. Said. "And she felt it, she felt it too."
I'm thinking to myself, really? It has NOTHING to do with the hour long
comb out, I mean "hair cut" you just gave her.
It's that guy, with the shitty attitude's fault.

Almost an hour later, her hair was cut. It looked exactly the same. what haircut?
Okay, the bangs were a little shorter, and it was combed like it had never been combed before.

Now it was Jaxson's turn.
He had already been waiting for his sister, so you can imagine his mood.
I eyed the place for a lollipop, anything to stick in his mouth.

I asked around, "Does anyone have a lollipop?"
The Devil with the gold tooth looked at me and grunted,"No."

But then a nice lady at another barber chair pulled a stale one out of her drawer.
"Thank you!" I said with enthusiasm, like she was giving me gold.
It was yellow and flat, and stuck to the wrapper, it was so stale.

Jaxson sat in the chair and looked at me with that look- "What the fuck is happening mom???!"
I gave him the lollipop and he mellowed out.
Then, of course Emma started whining about how she
wanted one too. If she weren't a 4 year old, I could have said, "you don't want one, they're stale!"

Jaxson cried a little, sucked his lollipop, cried a little more, and never took his eyes off L.J.'s scissors.

Okay, less than ten minutes later, his hair was cut.
Kind of like how when you chop celery and there are all those little wiry stray green things on each piece. It was chopped, and uneven.
Kind of like a bowl cut with layers.
Oh well, he's only two.

Just like my mother used to say to me when I'd be in a pool of tears over a bad hair cut.
"It'll grow back."
Yeah, no shit sherlock.

L.J graciously told me to come back anytime.
"Sure, " I smiled, literally lying through my teeth.

Then, for the best part, he gave me his card.
It said L.J. Master Cosmetologist.

Oh Cave Boy- The Places you Go.

2011-09-30T15:38:00.000-07:00

(by Stacie)
My son stood up in the bath tub the other night peeing and smiling with glee.
I thought he'd shed a tear of joy, he was so damn happy with himself.

"MOMMY!!! I peed! Mommy! I Peed! I peed!" he was filled with pride.

Okay, so peeing standing up is an accomplishment?
Okay. Not so sure how to react.
Would a new age advisor tell me to praise him so his self esteem isn't connected to his penis?
Or vice- versa?

This may have been the first prideful moment of his two- year old life.
As for myself, I haven't found the words for the kind of moment it was, aside from, well, disappointing in a funny way.
Also, relieved it wasn't poop, since he does have a history of pooping in all parts of his world.
Let me tell you, shit in the tub is no picnic.
It doesn't float, if you know what I mean.

Having a boy has been an eye opening experience in truly seeing the differences between males and females.
I thought I knew a whole lot before I had him.
Truly, existing with a "boy''s" mind can be so simple, it's mind blowing.

His new favorite toy is a turkey baster which he insists on taking with him to school .
It was actually my mom's from the 70's, with a yellow top and lots of scratches on the plastic part.
It has spurted lots of juice and basted a lot of turkeys.

He nonchalantly walked into his pre-school class with it in hand.
The teachers just looked at me with that "okaaaay" look when he came in, holding it like it was normal.
He looked at them like "What the fuck are you staring at?" " This happens to be my favorite toy."

As the day progressed it became a rocket and a megaphone all in the same hour.
Not as simple as I thought.

When I pick him up from school I always ask the same question. " How was school?"
No answer. He just walks steadily to the car in his black, fake, suede vans.
"Milk mommy?"
When we get into the car. I make another attempt,"Did you have fun at school today?"
He grunts, drinking his milk, and looks out the window.
Hm, I think to myself, is he ever going to tell me about school?
Probably not.
I couldn't get my daughter to stop talking after school.
Amazing.

We go to the park most afternoons.
He is usually holding a stick and making grunting noises or just violently slamming it against something, anything.
He also likes to bolt like a horse.
One minute, I'll be enjoying the moment, the next , I'll be in a panic looking for him, thinking to myself, I'm never fucking taking him to the park again! (yeah, like that's not an empty threat.)

I kept hearing boisterous honking, over and over again, "HONK, HONK, HONK..."
(I thought to myself, give it a rest asshole.)

Seconds later..............
I turned my head and there he was, my son, standing in the middle of the street with two cars stopped in front of him, honking loudly, wondering, where is this kids dumb shit for a mother?

Oh there I was, running frantically to retrieve him.
I will never forget holding him in my arms and just breaking down, as I ran back to the park.

Literally, I cried out loud like I was alone, in front of everyone.
I have never made such an emotional scene in public.
Not even in my drunken hoe bag days.

I looked around at the moms and they all had so much love in their eyes.
They understood why I freaked out.
There were no words exchanged.
It was such a close call, I think they were stunned too.

We all stood there next to the green and blue monkey bars, watching
our little boys, un- phased, running around with sticks, grunting.

They knew the love I felt.
It was their love too.

They all love their peeing, pooping, stick and rock throwing little cave boys as much as I do.

Suckers for Soccer

2011-09-19T12:07:00.000-07:00

Emma started soccer last month.
She said she wanted to play and my husband was thrilled.
I was suspicious from the beginning, thinking she just wanted to wear the uniform. But I hoped it was just the judgmental voice in my head that is out to ruin shit, so I carried on and encouraged.

The first practice was so new and exciting and fun. Emma could not wait to go. She LOVED her new uniform, especially the number 11 on her back. Her dad took her to get the entire garb. She started wearing it around the house, shin guards and all.

We arrived at the field at 6pm, my two year old in tow.
He was more excited than Emma, acres and acres of grass, hundreds of sticks and dirt everywhere.

I forgot a blanket, so we sat on the itchy grass and got up and down, up and down, up and down.
Emma played, or kicked a soccer ball, and ran back and forth with other 4 year old mental patients. I don't think you really call it playing.

My son was like her shadow, running behind her and the line of kids, everywhere they went. The coach was nice about Jaxson pretending to be on the team, but it was only the first practice.
Little did he know, he would later run into a real game and almost tear down the netted goalie.

The first practice, the second practice, all went well. Fun for both kids.
Mostly sweaty and stressful for me, aside from interrupted conversation with a few moms I like, it was a long hour.
Probably because Jaxson thought he was part of various teams, when in fact, it wasn't even soccer practice for him.

So the big game was coming soon. Conveniently, my husband had to be out of town. We were both disappointed for very different reasons.

I still, to this day cannot tell you who won Emma's game.

She cried the second her feet hit the field. She wanted me to come with her everywhere. I tried to explain to her that that was just not possible.
Emma being Emma would not accept that reality. She dramatically tried to drag me out on the field with her team. "Mommy, I want you to come with me.....come with me, pleeeeeaaaaasssse come with me!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Then I would say something rational, none of which penetrated.
I mean come on, why would it?

Then she had to pee, and Jaxson decided to take a big dump two minutes before the game started.
So, I had her crying to pee, and him needing to be changed, and no husband, and I have had to pee for an hour. What's gonna happen if I pee my pants?

It got worse. After the bathroom escapade sucked up about 10 minutes, we missed the beginning of the game and Emma barley played.
Emma was still crying, now blaming the team for being mean.
I threw out some More fake, calm, rational words of which she didn't listen to. Inside, I was just looking forward to bedtime.

Jaxson was running into the game while they were playing, and at one point he was running in circles inside of the goalie, about to tackle the net, so I grabbed him out, while Emma was hanging on one arm.
Meanwhile, the 20 ounces of milk in my bag spilled, so my phone, my keys and my wallet were swimming in a sea of milk. I had no way to clean it up, so I just used my shirt.

Now I smelled like shit, dirt, milk, and probably pee.

Emma was STILL crying.
Naturally, Jaxson started crying because he wanted milk.
I was on the verge myself, but had to politely tell the coach and his wife good bye.
"Thanks for everything!" I lied.

The game was over.
I had no idea who won.
Dare I ask?
Deep down, I could give two shits.
(Oh, and my husband will ask,"who won?"
My Response will be " I DON'T KNOW.)

We had to park like a mile away, so the walk to the car is longer than the game was.
The smell of hot spoiled milk, sun on asphalt, tears, sweaty faces and dirty hair.

"Emma," I said, " You don't have to play if you don't want to. It's okay if you don't like soccer."

She looked at me and sobbed, hair stuck to her face," I like the uniform mommy."

mortified to moved

2011-09-12T10:38:00.001-07:00

To say that parenting has humbled me, is an under statement. It’s good to be humbled in life.
Being humbled is no novelty for me anymore; it's really a state of mind.
More than half the time, I have NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING.

I used to say," I was humbled today"- like it was a good experience, or a much needed wake up call.

Now, I am a little sick and tired of being humbled.
Do you find yourself trying to be polite asking to change a shitty diaper? Attempting to leave gracefully after your child has had a tremendous blow out? Or has thrown up all over someone's couch? Or, has said Fuck in front of everyone?

Must it always be a reflection of us? (Emma said, "What the fuck" yesterday)
Hmm, that's what I say.

I feel like parenting is a true spiritual teacher, not to sound new age, but really, who else can make you show your ass like a toddler can.
I pray more.

My mantra used to be-" I am calm and in control". I’m 38 and she’s 3. If that's not humbling, shit, I don't know what is.
My daughter has broken me down. I had to have a mantra to make it through the day. Now she's in school.
My mantra is now used for my 2 year old, that poor second kid, always getting the leftovers.

In Atlanta, we had perfect weather yesterday. It was a gorgeous fall day. I couldn't let my kids stay inside. We walked to the park. It’s 3 blocks away and it only takes us a half an hour.

The park was filled with kids.
Running, screaming, jumping.... all different colors, shapes and sizes. Babies cooing in swings, toddlers sliding, boys galloping with sticks, girls on the see saw.
It was a sea of color, noise, beauty and insanity.

We live in a diverse neighborhood and go to a diverse school. Simply, we live in
Atlanta and I don’t think my four-year sees color, or nationality.

Jaxson, Emma, and a group of screaming kids came barreling down the slide. Jaxson got stuck under some kid’s legs and he was crying loud, I mean loud.

EVERYONE stopped to look. I grabbed him.
He was fine. It just scared him.

Emma starts yelling, “THOSE BLACK PEOPLE, They hurt Jaxson on the slide.
I try to give her “that look” to stop her from saying anything more- Then again, “Mommy, THOSE BLACK PEOPLE……”

“ Emma, Emma”, I try to stop her mid sentence again.

Not again, please! God help me.
I am calm and in control.

“MOMMA I’M trying to tell you, THOSE BLACK PEOPLE!!!!”

Can I run? Can I crawl under the slide and leave her? Pretend she’s not mine?

I was mortified.

Meanwhile, a calm, sweet black girl was standing beside me the entire time.

I had to confront this in front of everyone… what choice did I have?

“Emma, “ I said, “there are people with white skin and black skin and brown skin, we don’t say that out loud, it can hurt someone’s feelings and it’s rude.”
Oh brilliant! I thought to myself, well that sucked.
Another book I’ll have to buy.

Then, to my surprise the sweet girl beside me said, “ Emma, can I tell you a secret?”
“Can you hold my drink for me?”
Emma looked at her sheepishly, ”okay,” she said.
The girl whispered in her ear that she was black and that Emma was white and only the inside of people matters and that black people get upset when you say that….” Trust me.” She said with confidence.
Emma said, “Okay.”

I was speechless.
I said ”Thank you, how old are you?”
She said “Ten.”
“Thank you”, I said again.

I had a huge lump burning in my throat.
I heard it in my mind again,”Ten.”
Tears streamed down my face.
I slowly walked back to the park bench.
What a day.
Well, at least I remembered my sunglasses.

I'm 2 too.

2011-09-07T08:34:00.000-07:00

My two- year old son started pre-school today.
A few days ago, in anticipation of this day, I felt sad.

Well, not sad, I'd say sentimental.

This morning, after throwing a match box car at his sister, smearing his banana all over the dining room floor while laughing, and screaming out the window, standing on a dangerous step stool ladder; I was no longer feeling sentimental.

Then it was on with his back pack filled with diapers, thinking woo hoo! One less shitty diaper for me to change today.
BTW, this is not a new back pack, (first sign of second child syndrome). It was his sister's back pack. So, naturally, I took a big sharpie and crossed out her name and replaced it with his name- real classy.
Way to make the first day of school special.
I would have actually cared what the teachers thought when I started emma in preschool. But at this point, I could give a flying fuck.
I think with the second, all bets are off, and I can't imagine what would happen with the third. I Hope I don't find out.

After running after him throughout the house trying to get his shoes and socks on, convincing him we were NOT playing hide and seek, we were almost ready to go.
I also did try to take a picture for his first day, but he ran around the living room yelling NO!NO Pictooore! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
See why I'm so sentimental?

What a crock of shit.
Should I really make him take the picture? No, I'll just take the damn picture of the real moment- Here's my obstinent two year old's first day of school....... Click click.
And no, I'm not posting it in FB with a cute caption about how sad I am.

Now I'll Cut to, the pre-school open house last week. I went to meet the teachers. It was an open house of sorts where you and your child hang out in the class room, pretending like life is grand. You are also asked to fill out a meaningless questionnare, with questions like, "how will we know if your child is upset?" and, "what are your child's favorite foods?"
My answers were: he will scream, cry, or throw a tantrum. He likes milk and mostly throws all his FOOD on the floor.
Oh, and don't worry, I left out the part about how he loves to remove his diaper and then walks around with shit on his hands, and sometimes smears it on a wall.

There were many polite introductions with screaming two year olds who were not sharing trucks and blocks. Everyone was smiling, while trying to manage their small animals/2 year-olds. "Come on sweetie, share with your new friend." Underneath that smile was a tired, worn down mom like myself... excited to be leaving my child with another sorry sac for three hours a day, three days a week.

There is always that chipper mom who "LOVES this age", that I just can't relate to.
Oh, and yes, she was at the open house.
Her son was a genius, not that she said that, but you could just tell by the way he played with his blocks.
"He knows 24 signs!" she said gleefully.
Wow, I thought, 24!I guess you have time to count them.
Don't judge Stacie, don't judge I thought to myself.
Then she said, "He also doesn't really get that upset, he will point or sign for what he needs!" She told the teacher.
Spare me, I thought, he's two years old.... If a two year points at anything, isn't he screaming at the same time?

Okay, my higher self vanished after that comment.

Must be nice, I thought, I guess he's also potty trained and he can fucking read?

"He also speaks two languages," she said.

Last straw.

Wait a second, did she really just say that out loud?
EYE ROLL, and I don't care if she saw me, I live with a 2 year old.
I too have regressed.
I am 2 now too.

2011-09-02T14:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my two- year old is starting pre-school.

It's a jungle out there: Do you live with small animals? I DO.

2011-08-30T09:27:00.000-07:00

I remember when a shower was a mundane part of my routine, something I did without fail in the morning at the same time everyday. That was also when I worked at a "job"- the kind you get paid for, that automatically comes with adult conversation.

In that lifetime, I just thought.... oh, it's time to take a shower, like oh, I have to pee or, oh, I just have to make a phone call.... no big deal, it'll only take a minute.

That was then, This is NOW.

Currently,any of these activities can be in the background of my mind all day, and it may take hours to turn them into reality. Or not.

These small-uncivilized creatures we call children, can change these activities to such a degree, it becomes an unexplainable phenomenon. You must master the art of distraction while trying to keep these animals/small children safe, so you can do ONE thing.

Some days, it feels like you're trying to survive in a jungle, swinging from tree to tree, trying to accomplish something.... anything, two things.

After having my first born, a shower became a luxury. That is, if I got to take one.
She was this little, screaming helpless being that I could NOT leave alone for one second. I would put her in bouncies, swings and saucers just inches from the shower and feverishly wash my hair so I could get out fast. It was like these surges of post partum anxiety would fill my body with a “Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up…” message. There was a voice yelling at me, telling me to take the fastest fucking shower possible.
No longer mundane, certainly not relaxing. Honestly , kind of nightmare – ish.

As my daughter grew into more of a mobile animal, I would do things like stick her in front of Barney (shoot me now), or really take a risk and let her play with her toys on the bath rug.
That would result in my finding her covered in Desitin like it was face paint.
Or she would pull every baby wipe; every q-tip and an entire roll of toilet paper would be strewn across the bathroom and the length of the hallway.

Little did I know, there would be more shower and bath treats in store for me with my second born.
Then, there are two small animals to contend with, if you ever take a shower again.

And let’s not forget, they also need to be bathed regularly.

I decided I was NOT going to let them turn me into a fat, sweat pants wearing mom with filthy hair.
Most days I resort to letting them kill each other in the living room and my “inner secret rule” is: when one starts crying, I’ll get out.

Then, I started to experience the joys of bathing my two-year-old boy.

He stands up and pees and yells with absolute glee…. “I peed mommy! I peed mommy!” So it begins, being proud of his bodily functions...... very similar to another man I know.

And, a bath for him has also become a game called: creating a fucking flood for mommy to clean up. I stupidly leave a goddamn cup in there every time, and he pours water out of the bathtub every night.

When am I going to learn?????? Last night I found myself wringing out yet another towel and draping it outside. Yes, I am white trash and I hang the fucking thing over the porch- the front porch.

This is getting rather drawn out. Who knew bathing could be so complex?

I am truly saving the best for last.

As I was pulling the drain up in the bath tub last night, I felt a soft, squishy thing in my hand, and no, it was not a bath toy.

My throat closed up like I was going to vomit.
“OH NO!!!” I yelled.

“I pooped!” Jaxson said with pride. Seriously, he was so excited.

As if the huge turd wasn't enough, the small balls of shit started to float to the top....
the smell of johnson's baby wash and shit. sense memory, sorry.

“Oh god Jaxson, seriously."

I have a son who shits in the bathtub.

Or would it be cuter if I said, “poops in the bathtub?"

I mean seriously, what the fuck?