Tag Archives: parenting

Year One: Much Better Than The Movie

Hey man! Where's the party?

Dear Boogie,

One year ago you officially joined our family, though for many months pending your arrival you had been sharing your personal brand of zeal for life with my rib cage and lower back. It took 34 hours, but you finally came to us, covered in goo, with swollen cheeks and puffy little eyes, your button nose perfectly perched above your tiny little lips. We were so happy to meet you.

One year later you have grown so much, from a tiny little bundle of bones and fat rolls to a tiny little person, complete with a few more emotions outside of mad at the world, more sophisticated control of your extremities, an actual chin, knuckles that are more than just decorative dimples, and an inexplicable fondness for dog food.

I am convinced that this transition has indisputably proven your superior intelligence.

You are curious and fearless, as evidenced by your lack of concern for bodily harm. You are empathetic and loving, as we see with every slobbery kiss and concerned tilt of your head. You are every laugh and smile your Daddy and I ever shared together, on two marshmallow-man legs and with a set of killer lashes.

There are some days when I wouldn’t trade you for all the riches in the world, and others when I would for a stick of gum. And though I may spend the majority of my days just trying to keep you from getting crusty, I assure you that when I scrub your cheeks until they are raw it is not without all the love in my heart.

The last year has been somewhat akin to living with a perpetually drunk Japanese midget, but we have enjoyed every challenge and every finger that has inexplicably ended up in our nostrils and somewhere in the vicinity of our ocular nerves.

Tonight we are going to take you out on the town, stuff you full of black olive and mushroom pizza until you stop banging on your tray like a medieval king who isn’t afraid of gout. And as we tuck you into your bed, snuggled in with your rabbit, we will embark on year two with you, looking forward to the moment when you stop going peeing your pants every few hours and start letting us in on what all of those judgmental faces really mean.

With all the Love in our hearts,
Mommy and The Mister

Dog Food & Gratitude

Also, this happened. I guess at least I'm still technically keeping her off the pole...

There are many things in my life I am grateful for. At this moment it is that the ladies from Lipstick and Laundry weren’t here with their cameras rolling when my child ripped her pants off like a Chippendale, and then crammed a fist full of dog food into her mouth. The fact that she looks genuinely shocked when I tell her not to eat dog food has me not just a little worried.

The previously mentioned camera crew *will* be here in about an hour however to document the tumble weeds of dog hair that Boogie has not eaten (they are few and far between, but they exist), and if they are lucky they may even get a nice shot of Boogie passionately tounging her favorite outlet on the wall.

I should probably put away all of the clues as to how bad of a mother I really am (hide all yer remotez and shock collarz), toss around a few kid friendly CD’s and throw a wad of cookie dough in the oven to char while they are here. Instead, at this moment, I may or may not be considering throwing all of our dirty dishes and laundry in the trash can.

Devil Horns | Melody

Totally Viral… In The Sense That It’s Time to Get Ill

There are a lot of things that I love about parenthood… and I am not saying that sarcastically (mostly). However, if I would have known having a baby gave you so much fodder for changing the lyrics to your favorite songs I would have done this way earlier.

We also have a few Tone Loc and Salt and Peppa songs up our sleeves. Which begs the question… what was Metromix thinking when they called me Twonder Woman?

Why I Should’ve Earned a New Girl Scout Badge Last Night

Warning: NSFL (not sufficient for lunchtime… or probably any other time for that matter. So, move along, nothing to see here.)

I would do anything for love, or to earn the Ninja Merit Badge (BoyScoutStore.com)

 

Remember how cool peeing outside was when you got a little stitched “camping” badge at the end? Or how cool going door to door begging for money in the freezing cold in exchange for the respect of the rest of your troop, oh and delicious cookies for your patrons, became when you got little stitched entrepreneurship badge at the end? Girl Scouts made even the most disgusting and boring tasks a little more glamorous because of the end-game, that little stitched badge on your sash.

That fact that Scouts doesn’t continue to give you badges through parenthood is a crying shame.

Just imagine the respect you could command while proudly wearing your mommy sash. It has the potential to completely revolutionize mom-judgement the entire world over!

You would get the cracked nipple badge for breast feeding, the steaming pile of pooh badge the first time you had to deal with a blow out, and the badge I would have earned last night: the up-all-night-drug-free-because-of-puke badge.

Reenactment

We had our first official all-nighter because of sickness, and the up-teenth mom overreaction marathon to accompany.

It started with a very cuddly and lethargic baby. It makes you feel terrible as a parent to like how sweet and good they are when they aren’t feeling well, but that is how they get you. No one warns you when they are being cute, cuddly, and quiet it is merely the first phase of a sneak attack. Following which is a horrific letting loose of whatever disgusting bodily function they have been storing up for hours, possibly days.

The hardest part is, unlike when a friend would puke all over you after a night of drinking in college, you can’t get mad at your little one for doing the exact same thing. For one thing it more than likely has nothing to do with appletinis or Jagerbombs (and if it does your kid is far cooler than mine), and the other is that getting mad at them will not result in a fully paid dry cleaning bill or car detail (and if it does then I would like your kid to come over and teach my kid how to start pulling her weight around here).

Instead, if your like me and this is the first time you have had your sick baby barfing all over your business, you just keep telling them how much you love them over and over because you are convinced that there is something incurably wrong and you are really just a terrible parent for not getting them immediate medical attention. Or maybe in a haze of exhaustion you just make sure you are wearing a robe and pj’s you weren’t particularly attached to while they lay in your arms puking like a Greek rush.

That would be another badge though, the resisting-the-urge-to-rush-your-child-to-the-children’s-hospital-everytime-they-sneeze-the-wrong-way badge. Yea, I earned that schnitz. So, in addition to the not-killing-your-spouse-because-they-are-sick-at-the-same-time-your-baby-is badge, that would make three total badges I should have earned over night. However, Scouts, I did not.

Instead, these milestones will pass with very little commemoration or fan-fare aside from gag-inducing dirty laundry, a sadly depleted coffee supply, and a more intimate relationship with the infomercial folks (whom I will thank later when I have a mansion on the beach and a fleet of sports cars because of their proven money-making methods).

Make Sure You Can Decrypt Before You Encrypt

Usually around mid-week the Mister and I coordinate our schedules to make sure there are no surprises when the weekend hits. But even with that effort there usually is something that one or the other forgot to relay, so the phone call ends up with each of us trying to recount every conversation over the past week to see if the other really, truly told us the event they just “sprung”, or if they have just merely convinced themselves that they shared it.

Yesterday we were chatting and he’s all, “What’s going on the 25th? I have this big red box drawn around the day, but I can’t think of anything we have going on.” I sat there for a second, wondering if I should really answer. Was this a test of my vanity?

Finally, I asked, “Are you serious?” He’s all, “Yeah, I know you’re leaving for Blissdom the next day, but I can’t figure out if I drew that box to remind me to get ready for your trip, or what it means.”

“Well, the 25th is my birthday…”

A mixture of uncomfortable laughter and silence on his end, followed by, “No there must be something else.”

“Nope, nothing.”

Long silence again.

“You know this doesn’t count because I can’t technically forget your birthday before it even happens.”

“Dude, I think you just did. If it makes you feel any better I called Boggie our dog’s name three times during Little Gym today.”

So I ask you, dear readers, how likely is it that our baby is actually a brain eating zombie who is feeding while we sleep? I ask because I am pretty sure we used to remember these things before she was born, therefore she be responsible in some way for the forgetfulness. Once you have established that, the only logical conclusion that can be drawn is zombies, because when it has to do with brains it can always be traced back to zombies.

Therefore, she must be a zombie and just really good at hiding it.