Saturday, March 28, 2015

How to do a birthday party

We've been guests to quite a few birthday parties of late and to the enormous credit of the moms who throw them, they have been super great.  It is not easy to throw a party that tiny chocolate loving trolls and giant beer loving adults will enjoy equally.  In throwing three of them myself so far and attending far more than that, I've picked up a few tips to make your toddler birthday partying more enjoyable for all involved.

1.  Preschooler pre nap:  Whether the party starts at 11 am or 3 pm, make damn sure your tiny attendee clocks some serious z's pre party.  Use whatever tactics are necessary to achieve said sleepy time, such as screen time bribes or Benedryl.  Whatever works for your family.

2.  Pre party sexy time:  While the tot is dosing or quietly playing in his room (or really loudly diff so long as is door is closed and he is inside) meet your man in your bedroom, bathroom, or closet for a quick (is there any other way with kids?!) love connection.  This will ensure you are both a bit less edgy and ready to face droves of 1-4 year olds getting their party on.

3. Mix yourself a roadie: After the monumental pile of crap you require to attend a party with young children is packed and ready to load into the car, lubricate your mind like you just did your girly bits and pour yourself a much deserved and large vodka and something.  Could be sparkling water, OJ, cranberry…what the hell ever.  The point is it is odorless, large, and buzz inducing.  Trust me.  Ignore the clock and crack the bottle.

4.  Remember the present:  You went to Target (oh the torture!  wink wink, you love it there) JUST to get that gift.  Don't leave it at home and be forced to return to fetch it.  Unless of course, you are The Man and going back to get it after arriving and realizing it is missing is actually a gift in and of itself.

5.  Eat the cake:  I don't care the flavor.  Cake is delicious and should be consumed anytime it is offered.  If ice cream is also offered, consider yourself uber lucky and spoon it up.  You can sleep off the sugar rush later.

One day you will have other weekend plans, like, I don't know, attending some adult type engagement that involves culture or art or music.  Until then, enjoy the preschool party scene in style and serenity.

Happy birthdays all!

Photo Credit

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Oh lord, the almighty blow out

The Smilus woke up early from his afternoon nap fussier than usual, especially after a nice long nap.  I was determined to finish this one damn email for the love of all things holy so I let him fuss a bit before going up to get him.  I tiptoed up the stairs to avoid waking Boy Wonder who had JUST drifted off after extended effort and bribery on my part, opened the door, and was nearly knocked backward with the sweet scent of breast milk poop, and I mean sweet in the way dead things smell sweet not in the way cake smells sweet.

Whoa, baby!  The blow out of his lifetime awaited me.  It had soaked through his onesie onto his sleep sack and right on through to his sheet.  So prolific was the poop that the material of his onesie was more tarnished than not tarnished.  I peeled that sucker off down his shit smeared body and threw it directly into the trash can.

And here's what I don't get.  Blow outs are like a great unexplained mystery.  The back of his diaper was completely clean and free of any fecal matter what-so-ever.  WTF?  Does he have a secret butt hole up front that we aren't aware of?  How on Earth does the poop shoot out of his backside and manage to completely cover him in shit from his thighs to above his belly button yet leave his dimpled little butt cheeks completely unscathed?

It's some kind of crazy breast milk powered propulsion system that defies gravity and leaves the caretaker bewildered, baffled, and in need of surgical level scrubbing up to the elbows.

Photo Credit Mike Murphy.

Friday, March 20, 2015

Better Than Sex

Ever since the babies came along, we don't get to connect nearly as often as I'd like and when we do, although it's gratifying and so worthwhile, it's all too fast and short lived.

Every time I see you, I just want to climb on, caress your softness, and feel the firmness of you below me.  I long to spend hours on end feeling the warmth of you surrounding me.

How I dream of the days when I can get tangled up in you and upon slowly coming back to consciousness, roll over and fall blissfully back into your embrace.

I want to sleep in you so hard that I'm awakened with an intense satisfaction, allowing me to endure having to wait an entire day to see you again.

I miss being with you all through the night.  I know we will get there again and until we do, I'll settle for fitful and furious quickies, which is, as they say, better than nothing at all.

I love you my king.  Until we meet again...

Thursday, March 19, 2015

How to Dress Like a Mom

Don't get me wrong.  It's not as if I don't actually do yoga.  I do.  I actually consider myself to be somewhat of a serious yogi.  But in order to justify the number of hours in which I sport yoga pants I'd have to own, operate, and teach every session of yoga at a bonafide studio and well, that's not me.

What I am is a yoga pant wearing, preschooler and infant rearing Stay-at-Home-Mom and it's really easy (and super comfortable!) to look the part.

Staying in?

Squeeze a sports bra over your outrageously huge hogs, flick the dried spit up off that 3/$15 tank top, and slip into your house pants.  Your house pants are the yoga pants that have been washed so many times that the black is a dark gray hue and the crotch sags as if you're carrying a load from seeing you through at least one and possibly two pregnancies.  This is very likely the exact outfit you wore yesterday or maybe even the day before…

Venturing out?

Even SAHM's have to leave the sanctity of their peaceful and tranquil (ha!) abodes from time to time. After all, those groceries are not going to buy themselves and if you don't refill that crazy dog's xanax script soon she's going to eat a hole through the damn door at the next thunder strike, of which there are MANY.

On such occasions you simply need to dig through the mountenous pile of unfolded clothes to find your "good" yoga pants.  Bonus plan…while digging you may just uncover that DVD or baby brush you've been turning the house upside down to find for the last week!  Your "good" yoga pants are free from holes, visible stains, and are still pliable enough to hug your beautiful baby making curves in a very pleasing way.  Slide (or force) yourself into these puppies, throw on a real bra (or cami tank, what evs), and top with a shirt that doesn't smell like sour milk and broken dreams.  Check out that rump in your full length mirror and smile at the fact that even after birthing babies, these pants make your ass look damn good with some kind of crazy compression material voodoo.

Venturing out and actually seeing people you know?

Play dates, happy hours, movie night with friends?  No problem.  You can still feel cool and comfortable without looking like you just stepped out of the yoga studio.  A post baby body loves leggings and they are actually fashionable!  Feel "dressed up" when you pair your leggings with an actual shoe rather than your worn out and torn cross trainers.

Yoga pants and leggings, at least for this mom, are a kind of uniform.  They are my "I can do any mom related work, eat as much as I need to in order to continue producing enough milk for an insatiable baby and still be comfortable, move freely from actual exercise to an outing away from the house and not look entirely ridiculous, and still have my butt look damn good pants".

Weather warming up?  This is the best time of year for the mom wardrobe.  Yoga pants can get on the bench and make way for maxi dresses…oh, the possibilities!  As long as it has boob access…gotta have boob access for nursing in public.  But that's a different post.

Photo Credit Meme Center.

Monday, March 16, 2015

Bleary Eyed and Beach Dreaming

I had one of those long, semi-tortorous nights during which I clocked maybe 4 hours of sleep and that was intermittent at best.  The Smilus has a runny nose and can't breathe well when he lays down nor when he nurses so I basically can't bring him any comfort and he can't sleep.  On top of that, for some inexplicable reason I couldn't fall asleep around 11 when I went to bed, even though I cracked open The Grapes of Wrath, which up until last night did the trick of putting me right out nearly instantaneously.

We spent two super awesomely fun hours from midnight to 2 am crying and trying to sleep, and I do mean both of us.  I've reached a point in this rearing an infant phase where the sleep deprivation is so profound that I have thoughts only a crazy person would, like, "He's five months old.  It's high time he gets his shit together."  You see my point?  Only months and months of less than adequate sleep can produce such ludicrous ideas.

Though I can't seem to take the big leap to moving him out of our bedroom (mostly because that marks a permanent end to a beloved chapter in my mother life of as many midnight cuddles and feedings as I care to have with my baby) I have been thinking more and more about it, especially in moments of raw agony where punching my pillow repeatedly or screaming into it seems like a reasonable outlet for my pure exhausted desperation.

As a result of my overnight adventure in sleeplessness, I have consumed two carafes of coffee (that oughta help me catch up on my z's tonight!) and wandered around from chore to chore trying to stay alert and not be too snappish with Boy Wonder, our older son.  After all, I must remember it's not his fault mama has not rested well (though it IS his fault when he acts like a little asshole.) I know, I know, I shouldn't call my 3 year old an asshole but let's face it, just like me, he sometimes acts like one.

The Man reminded me this morning to just hang in there.  It's Friday and therefore, a margarita prize awaits me when I successfully make it through to the end of it.  It may not seem like a big deal, but it's enough of a carrot to keep me walking through this day, even if like a crabby, filth spewing zombie.

All day, and for weeks really, I've been daydreaming about this yoga retreat I was invited on in Mexico in September.  I really, really want to go but when I originally floated it past The Man we both decided it was too long and too expensive.  But I couldn't stop thinking about it.  And I have this thing where once I get something in my mind I can't let it go and I must make it happen.  I didn't push or anything so maybe it was just yet another case of The Man and I being telepathically connected but when I casually brought it up last week he, much to my surprise and delight, told me that if I could figure out child care, he'd not only support me going, he'd support me going, as in pay for the retreat.  WTF?!  I don't know what I did to deserve this, you know, other than grow two human beings, push them out into this world without so much as a tylenol, and nurse them to healthy and vigorous life with milk my body produced, but I'll take it!

So, as I push through this day, tired but ultimately completely content, it's because I see a week of an entire room to myself that I will SLEEP in with twice daily yoga sessions with beach and cocktail time sandwiched between them every time I let my mind wander.  It's coming.

How's that for an effing carrot?
And, how do you feel about babysitting?

Welcome to Stiff Drinks!

I have been doing lots and lots of blog reading for the last 5 months or so.  I've also been doing lots and lots and breastfeeding the last 5 months or so.  Coincidence?  I think not.

I also thought I kind of had this mothering thing down considering I grew, birthed, and successfully reared my first son to the ripe old age of 3 years before his brother came along.  How hard could it be to add a second child?  Well, let's just say that since becoming a mother of two I have many more stressful days, much less sleep than even the first time around, and not entirely pure and loving thoughts about my offspring every single second of the sometimes never ending day than I did when I was a mother of just one.  Coincidence?  No, I think not.

As a family we already have a place where we post family photos and tidbits about our daily lives for posterity and for extended family.  But as someone who loves to write and finds herself in need of an outlet for my sometimes extreme thoughts on parenting, the running of a household, and whatever other pursuits and interests that may fill up my crazy life, I decided to start this here blog.  Here I will deposit (and let go?) of my feelings, frustrations, successes, urges, ideas, and rants about this wonderfully amazing, entirely fulfilling, but woefully challenging life of mine.

Here I will be free to speak exactly what I am feeling, even if it's less than kind to my children, because I endeavor to always be kind to them in our "real" life.  Here I will drop as many f bombs or oh shits as I feel is necessary to adequately convey my sentiment because I endeavor not to do so in our "real" life.  Here I will be open and honest, but not always literal, so hold the phone if I say I'm about to choke somebody.  I hope I can be funny, real, raw, and maybe even helpful if anyone stumbles into reading my hastily pecked out entries.

I love, adore, and admire my family so freaking much that I sometimes feel like my heart may actually explode.   But occasionally, being the mom makes me want to scream or cry or just run far, far away for a brief shining moment of solo sanity.  This place is for those occasions.