Not Goodbye, Just a Different Dot Com

We’re moving. It’s not the typical move. We have no feelings of regret, no boxes to lift and no friends we’re leaving behind. Because we want you to come with us! We have been selected as part of the Mom Team of bloggers for the World Herald’s new website dedicated to Omaha moms – momaha.com. It’s a site with stories, advice, experts, photos, recipes and a discussion board on any mom topic you can think of.

And since we’re a package deal, we’re moving together. We will be blog-sharing every Thursday on momaha.com. Our first blog was a combined introduction for both of us, but in the future, we will primarily post separately every other Thursday. Of course, if there is something we feel we both need to weigh in on, then you will find our combined commentary (normally in disagreement!)

We wanted to thank you all for supporting us and we hope you continue to follow us over here.

New Pictures

The two of us are actually part of a threesome (get your mind out of the gutter!). We really are great friends, but we share that title with Nikki. Nikki doesn't like to write, or even read, so she rarely visits us here. However, she has an entirely different - and arguably better - talent than us. She is a photographer. And in the era of everyone who has a nice camera wants to be a photographer, Nikki stands out. She has an amazing eye that is noticed by many (proven by her crazy busy schedule this time of year). We, of course, think she rises above the rest. Kids love her and adults trust her. This, coupled with her fresh ideas and critical editing ability make her our favorite family photographer. Plus, she gives you all of the photos on a CD so you can print them yourself as many times as you want. Who doesn't love that? Here are some of our favorite family pictures from a recent fall session.

Tall, Dark, and Role Model Material?

Some days, I wish I could travel back in time. These fleeting moments normally arise when I am feeling overly lethargic or stressed. Back when I played softball in college (remember kids, that was when dinosaurs roamed the earth), I practiced on the field or lifted weights in the gym every day. I was on auto-exercise pilot and it was great.

Now, 10 years later and 15 pounds heavier, I spend on average 7 hours a day in a tiny box that corporate America has blessed me with as my home away from home. Lately, however, my focus is on why I never considered how easily my husband (back when he was just the boyfriend I dated back in college) would transition into my spouse and role model for our children.

From Chivalrous to Childish

Don’t get me wrong. My husband, Ryan, is a tremendous man and a wonderful father. The first things I noticed about him were how beautiful his eyes are, how much he paid attention to me, and how effortlessly he could make me laugh…all of these led to me saying “I do.” Fast forward 10 years and three children later, I’ve discovered there are so many questions I never thought to ask him.

Then: Honey, how are you are able to control your digestive system no matter what you eat when we go out? You are amazing.
Now: What on earth is that smell? Seriously? Grow up. The boys are trying to copy you. Nice.

Then: Hi sweetie. What movie do you want to take me to tonight? Titanic? Really? That is so sweet of you.
Now: If you agree to go to a movie that does not involve nudity or violence, I will unload and load the dishes.

Then: Babe…I can’t believe how early you start your day. Can we wait to go to brunch around 10 o’clock when I am done sleeping?
Now: Shut the *&#@! up or you are going to wake up the kids! Are you mentally off for thinking 7 o’clock is a good time to roll out of bed on a freaking Saturday?

Then: Boy, your voice really caries. Ever wonder why people think we are a good match? (flirty laughter and coy smile)
Now: Is there a reason why you feel possessed to yell at the top of your lungs over the TV that you have turned up to full blast? I literally feel like I am stuck in an airway terminal in my own home.

Then: Would you like me to go ahead and schedule your doctor’s appointment for you dear? I could easily do that and then you would have one less thing to worry about today. I know you’re busy.
Now: How on God’s green earth are you given a management position at your work? NO…I will not call your grandma back on your behalf. I will NOT be the sole possessor of the phone numbers for our children’s school, day care, and pediatrician. And I WON'T ask the waitress to get you a refill simply because “I am better at that kind of thing.” Why? Because I said so!

I would be remiss, however, if I did not give proper credit where credit is due. In our decade of marital bliss, I have been transformed into a wonderful, patient, understanding mom for my 7- and 5-year old boys and 1-year old girl. And I have my 33-year old fourth child to thank for that.

Whatever You Do, DO NOT Sign Me Up

When you think of entering mommyhood, you think of the trips to the zoo, Halloween costumes, baseball games, playing at the park – you know, the memories where everything happens in slow motion and there is lots of giggling and Hallmark music in the background? I’m not saying that doesn’t happen, but what you don’t think of – and don’t prepare for – are the things that employers list as “Other duties as assigned” on job postings. I’m not talking about late night feedings, blow outs or temper tantrums because we’re all logical adults – we knew those things would happen, but we were willing to accept them if they included the Hallmark moments.

However, on the job posting of mommyhood, if they spelled out the “Other duties as assigned,” it would include “You must spend time with other moms, many of whom are crazy and need a reality check.” Though, even then if I would have read that, I still probably would have laughed a little laugh at that line and thought, “Oh yeah, when she’s in soccer, there will be other moms who take it a bit too seriously and yell at the coach or have a really detailed snack list with the do’s and don’ts of what to bring for the post-game snack. I’ve heard all about that, but whatever…” And then Cambria went to daycare and I ran head first into the PTA.

That’s right. There’s a PTA at her DAYCARE!! At first, I was a little shocked, but it seemed to only include e-mail updates, room parents (who are never dads) and a few teacher appreciation events. Yes, the room parent aspect in a daycare (I need to keep reminding you that she is 16 months and not in a public elementary school) was a bit confusing to me, but when I asked the room mom what her job duties included, she said it was to bring cupcakes for the teachers’ birthdays or communicate any room parties or events. Sure, ok, I thought I would wait until Cambria was in kindergarten for this, but if you really want to spend your time icing cupcakes, then go for it.

And then there was Spirit Week. “In observance of Spirit Week, please dress your child in a fun and wacky way each day, following the schedule. Monday is Favorite Character Day; Tuesday is Wacky Dress and Hair Day; Wednesday is Luau Day…” Spirit Week for what? Are the preschoolers participating in a Homecoming football game that I know nothing about? Is there a dance or something I should be prepared for? Cambria doesn’t have a favorite character – well, maybe Big Bird, but that’s a long shot and she doesn’t have a Big Bird shirt. And, there’s no way in hell I’m going to buy her a special Big Bird shirt for her to wear for Character Day at her daycare!

But, nothing prepared me for the cookie dough fundraiser that soon followed:

PTA President: Cookie dough sales are here! Your order form is in your box. Please remember that sales aren’t limited to just you – ask your family, friends or neighbors if they’re interested too.

Me: Are you serious? October Fool’s! You got me.

PTA President: I never kid. I don’t know how. If you don’t take cookie dough sales seriously, I will never talk to you again.

Me: You know I pay every week for my child to be at the DAYCARE right? I mean, I pay really, really well. Why should I ask my friends to buy cookie dough to support a for-profit daycare center?

PTA President: I will cut your kid if you don’t buy 10 tubs of cookie dough.

Ok, so that never happened, but it didn’t happen because I was afraid that would be the ending. Those moms are CRAZY! They spend their time thinking of fundraisers, theme parties, parades and dress-up days for 1 year olds. They’d much rather do a play date than happy hour; watch their baby sleep than take a nap themselves; or do crafts than watch Gossip Girl. I will never get those moms. And I will now read the fine print on “Other duties as assigned.”

TSIB!
-M

Ahhh...To Be Young Again

It's not like I've put myself on any waiting lists for nursing homes just yet, but let's face the cold hard truth: I will be turning 33 in December. Another little nugget of information, I just celebrated my 10-year service anniversary at my work, which also means I've been out of college the same amount of time.

Much has changed over the past decade. I have accomplished some pretty great things, most noteably are my marriage to the man in the basement (it is just easier to refer to him by that title at this time of night) and the birth of our three little darlings who have FINALLY succumbed to slumber.

But, there are definitely days when I yearn to be younger again. Don't get me wrong, I know I am still young. And I know there are many advantages to leaving my 20s behind. But boy oh boy have things changed. Once a collegiate softball player, I now look forward to my one night a week of volleyball. And by "look forward to," I actually mean consider it my physical and emotional therapy and get royally enraged if it gets canceled.

I was never a partier, but back in the day, at least I could stay up past 10 p.m. without feeling like a truck rolled over me the next day...sans a single drop of alcohol in my bloodstream. At least I can find comfort in my mom friends. None of us can, nor do we want to, party like it's 19-ninety nine (oh man, even that is dating me!) Our ideal night out consists of dressing up in something other than our work clothes, partaking in happy hour specials, and if we REALLY feel crazy, catching a movie. More specifically, the 7 p.m. showing -- let's not get out of hand.

But, you know what the saddest and funniest part is? We will purposely avoid going home until we are absolutely sure that our children are in bed and fast asleep. And I don't think this is unique behavior to just me and my friends. I am willing to bet that moms all around the world follow this unspoken rule. "What time is it? Is it ONLY 8:30 p.m.? That's funny...it seems a lot later. I think we should all sit in my car out in the parking lot for at least 45 more minutes and just talk or enjoy the silence together. Is everyone cool with that?"

And you better believe that, on these rare and wonderful nights, husbands everywhere are anxiously waiting and wanting to know where on earth their lovely wives are. Are the ladies getting down at a club? Dancing the night away with some young college men? Taking body shots off the bartender while their friends gather around squealing in delight?

Newsbreak fellas: We are actually fighting off the urge to crash while sitting in our friend's car listening to Delilah on the radio...all in an attempt to return to a quiet house...at least for six blissful hours until the kids wake up and demand breakfast.

We Pay Just As Much Attention to What's Her Face

So, I have been getting crap from my dear friends Melissa and Nikki ever since Jaycee was in utero about me not exactly being on top of my game prior to her arrival. They actually came to my house days (literally less than a week) before my scheduled c-section to make sure Jaycee's nursery was in order. Not only was Jaycee my third child, but also our first girl.

What they found when they arrived at my house were sacks of shower gifts that had yet to be unpacked, clothes that still had tags on them and had yet to be washed (in Dreft they obsessed!) and a dear friend who had no idea how unprepared she actually was. It was not until after they left that I felt a weight being lifted off my shoulders. Ahhhh...now the nursery seemed perfect.

Fast forward 11 months. Jaycee is here and is adjusting to her new family. How do I accurately describe her parents? Thrifty, practical, tight wads, penny pinchers, resourceful, ridiculously conservative with the cash...all of these adjectives do Ryan and I justice. Case in point: I BEGGED Ryan to see the light and pony up for a new crib mattress before our little girl entered the world. Ryan objected and stood firm on his position that Jaycee would sleep perfectly fine on the same mattress that her now 7- and 5-year old brothers had slept on when they were babies.

Me: But, seriously, that thing has been in our garage for years.

Ryan: Who cares. It's fine.
Me: What are we talking about, really? Thirty bucks max?

Ryan: No need to spend $30 when we already have an acceptable crib mattress in our possession.

Me: But, honestly, we have propped that up against our tree in the back yard the past two winters to protect the boys from sledding accidents.

Ryan: It still serves its purpose.

Me: What if it has mold or something on the outside of it?

Ryan: I'll wipe it down.

Me: Can you really sleep OK at night knowing that your new precious baby girl is lying on that thing?

Ryan: Yep. And so will she.

I let him win that argument. But, last week, I finally threw up the white flag and admitted to myself that my friends are right. We don't exactly supervise and protect Jaycee as much as we did for our boys. Don't get me wrong...she is spoiled rotten and will likely get away with murder for the rest of her life...but behold the straw that finally broke the camel's back.

I walked into Jaycee's room a few weeks back and I saw a shiny metal object on the floor. Giving myself a pat on the back for finding it before she choked on it, I examined it more closely and found that it was a bolt screw from somewhere on her crib. Rewind to when Owen was a child, I would have immediately bent down to the floor and hunted down the location from which it came.

Then, about a few days later, what do you know? Another one of those damn bolt screws was lying there on her carpet. And this time it had one of those washer things (pretty sure that was broken) next to it. I marched it over to the kitchen counter and slammed it down next to the first one, huffing at my husband the entire time, because I told Ryan about the first one and he simply ignored it. Rewind to when Austin was a child, I would have NEVER rested until that crib was safe and secure.

So yesterday rolls around and I happen to stumble upon those two bolt screws and the washer on the kitchen counter. What in the hell have we become and how did we get here? Ryan and I have transformed from the excited, expectant parents who regularly attended classes to learn how to care and nuture our newborn to two, tired sorry excuses for human beings who really should not be held accountable for caring for little human beings. Meanwhile, Jaycee just keeps bouncing up and down in that rickety old crib blissfully unaware of the conditions around her. Thank heavens we don't retain memories from when we were babies.

Note: We did end up fixing the crib. Don't want CPS at my door!

All Good Things Must Come to an End

I have joint custody of Cambria. Not with my husband, but with my friend, Anne, who watches her during the week. We drop Cambria off with Anne at 7:30 am and pick her up at 4:30 pm. Cambria goes to bed at 7:30 every night, meaning Anne spends 9 hours a day with her and we spend 3 (during the week). I haven't added it up – as a working mom, you simply can't go any further than this with the math. Seriously. I've thought about this a lot and I get to this point (9 vs. 3) and then stop. I can't go any further or I would probably sink into a deep depression. All working moms know this going into it, so it's no big surprise, but actually following through with the math simply isn't worth it. However, I'm pretty sure it's equal amounts (when you figure in the weekends)....hence the joint custody.

Don't get me wrong, if I could choose anyone in the world to have joint custody with, it would be Anne. She is one of the only people that I agree with her parenting style 100%, and if you met her kids, you'd probably agree. They're polite, well-mannered, smart, but yet funny, quirky in their own right and all developmentally way ahead of where they should be. All moms know that it is very rare to find someone whose parenting style you completely agree with. I mean, I love Heidi and she is one of my bestest friends, but if I lived at her house, I would go crazy...or at least deaf.

Here’s the problem. Anne is going back to work. The perfect part-time gig fell in her lap and since her youngest is now in kindergarten, she accepted. I can’t blame her – it is the perfect job for her. But, who will I now share joint custody with? This began my week-long (felt like month-long) journey into childcare research, calls, tours and advice. I had never researched childcare before because Ryan and I knew we wanted Anne to watch our baby even before Cambria was conceived, so I had nooo idea.

I’ll save you all the gory childcare details, but let me just say this:
-I don’t know how people afford to send more than one kid to childcare. I mean, I always knew childcare was expensive, but holy hell!
-Apparently not all childcare centers provide lunch, meaning some crazy moms and dads out there pack their children’s lunch every day AND don’t get a pay cut for doing so.
-Getting a 14-month old into a childcare setting is more difficult than a newborn baby.
-I would never leave my child at a couple of the “top” centers in Omaha.

Luckily, after a week of nightmares, stomach aches and stress, we found the next-best-thing-to-Anne place. Ryan’s work has its own childcare center and it’s fantastic. However, I will miss my joint custody partner. I don’t know much about the new place yet, but I’m pretty sure they won’t dress her up as a princess, feed her brownies or teach her how to sing important songs like "Boom Boom Pow."

TSIB
-M

Out of the Mouths of Moms (Stuff I Never Thought I’d Say)

-Yes, you can play your Nintendo DS, the computer, watch hours of TV, whatever…just give mommy time to breathe.
-I guess I will just have the leftover chicken nuggets for my dinner.
-If you don’t put your shoes on right now, I am leaving you all by yourself (to a five year old).
-Just prop her bottle up so I can finish my dinner.
-Do you want to see my c-section scar? It’s not THAT bad.
-Her baby is ugly.
-Yes, sweetheart. It’s ok to put balls in your mouth.
-Stop licking Kobe.
-Stop licking the table.
-Just put your tongue in your mouth.
-I need to brush your teeth to get the crayon pieces out.
-I will trade you sex for letting me sleep in tomorrow.

Things That Will Never Come Out of My Mouth

Here is a fun little list. Heidi's entries in gray, Melissa's in blue. We'd love to hear your additions!

- Hurry up and get the kids to bed…I am jonesin to have some sex.
- Is it bedtime already? I have so much energy left to burn!
- I just feel so guilty for spending so much time focusing on myself.
- Nursing is so care-free. I don’t know why the American Academy of Pediatrics doesn’t recommend doing it for longer than one year.
- Shhhh! Is that my bundle of joy I hear on the monitor? Let me get her out of her crib…you stay in bed sweetie.
- I need to beef up – I am just skin and bones.
- I really want to stay home and home school the kids.
- I could do this alone. I don’t need Ryan.
- I don’t need a night away. But, you go ahead and take as much time as you need, honey.
- One more? Hell, let’s read 10 more books. Preferably the same ones over and over.
- I want to give you a bath every day.
- Let me change your kid’s poopy diaper.
- Let’s stay at the zoo all day long and go to every exhibit.
- Can I bring my baby to girls’ night?
- No, I’d prefer you didn’t take her to your parents’ house. I don’t know what I’d do with an hour to myself.

Open Letter to Restaurant Servers

Dear Restaurant Servers (because apparently “waiter” and “waitress” is now offensive):

Thank you for shaking your head to the hostess when you see us coming in the door. Thank you for rolling your eyes when you see us sitting in your section. Thank you for acting like my baby doesn’t exist when talking to us even though it says “family restaurant” on all of your signage and menus. And, thank you for being annoyed when my baby snatches the pen out of your apron as you stood right next to her, pretending she didn’t exist. Thank you for making my restaurant experiences after entering mommyhood so enjoyable. I also very much want pack up half of my kitchen so that I can come eat at your restaurant, only to spend the time trying to keep my baby quiet, happy and fed so that I am not a disturbance on you or my fellow diners.

I also want to thank you for setting glasses full of water, steak knives and hot plates within reaching distance (or sometimes right in front) of my baby. Thank you for looking at me with disgust when she reaches for these things because, you’re right, she should know not to reach for these things. I mean, she is 14 months. Thank you for acting put out when I ask for some crackers for my baby to eat. I know it’s hard to grab the already packaged crackers that you serve with soup or salad from right inside the kitchen.

Thank you also for acting like my baby is the only one who makes a mess under her high chair. I know it’s especially annoying since you will most likely not be the one to clean it up, but will snatch up the tip. Thank you for taking forever to bring me the check at the end of the meal. It’s fine that my baby is now standing up in her high chair and screaming – take your time. We are enjoying a night out more than you can imagine.

I especially want to thank you for making a voo doo doll of me when you (presumably) realize I didn’t leave you a good tip. Thank you for assuming that I will leave you a good tip just because I had a baby in tow who made a mess your bus boy will have to pick up (wait, if “waiter” is offensive, then “bus boy” has got to be off the charts. What’s the PC term for “bus boy”).

-M

P.S. I know that kids aren’t your thing. If they were, you would be a nanny during your summer vacation instead of a server. Do you know how much those people make to lay by the pool every day?

Stuff You Should Have Told Me

So, I’m sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when a co-worker with a baby a couple months younger than Cambria stops by and drops a huge bomb. The convo went something like this:

Her: How did Cambria’s first trip to the dentist go?

Me: Uhhh (long, probably obvious pause). I haven’t taken her yet.

Her: Oh (disappointing look). But, you are going to do it soon right? You have a pediatric dentist, right?

Me: Of course (my face is now red and I’m searching for a deflection). Did you just take your baby?
Her: Yes, and I was going to tell you that I love my pediatric dentist, so if you need a referral… (It went on for awhile longer before I acted like I was late for a meeting and bailed.)

What the hell, moms? Why has no one told me that you take your kids to the dentist so early in life? My pediatrician has never said this to me, though I mostly hold my mom friends responsible. NEVER have I heard of a child going to the dentist before the age of 3! So I turned to the only source I can really trust (yes, that’s a slam to you, my so-called mom friend) – the Internet. According the American Academy of Pediatric Dentists, not only should Cambria have already been to the dentist, but babies are supposed to go when they get their first tooth! WTF? That was more than six months ago!!

To make matters worse, I am pretty sure that when signing up for health insurance late last year, we opted out of “family” coverage for dental and vision insurance, thinking Cambria wouldn’t need to go. So now what? I can’t pay for an out-of-pocket dentist appointment for her. Plus, what do they even do for a 14 month old? Either way, I don’t like the dentist and my dentist is kinda crotchety, so I probably do need to take her to a pediatric dentist. I am super stressed about this and I blame all of you! Can you not help a new mama out once in awhile?

Update: We do, in fact, have family dental coverage, so I made an appointment at my co-worker’s pediatric dentist. When I called, I asked what they do for a 14 month old (btw, after I told the receptionist her age, I got a little sigh). She said they look around, make sure the teeth are coming in right and even clean and polish them! Who knew!

TSIB!
-M

And I Quote

"da da da da da da da"

With love,
Jaycee

P.S. Who are you again? Yeah, you. The woman who had her midsection sliced open to remove me, and has to have that same incision re-opened and re-done since her staples were removed too early the first time? You know...the strangely familiar female who I sucked on for nearly six months, who puts me to bed practically every freaking night, and makes sure I am fed and dry? Your name is escaping me. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, but at nearly 10 months, I refuse to say it.

Grandpa Geier's Life Lessons - Thumbs Up or Down?

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I love my dad with all my heart. And I also want to kill him sometimes. And I also can't imagine what I would do without him. And I honestly can't wrap my mind around why he does the things he does.

Case in point: Grandpa Geier was put in charge of watching my angelic (note sarcasm) boys one evening. My husband and I come home with our baby girl, fling open the door and prepare to hear about the latest adventures our 7- and 5-year olds have endured with grandpa. Past adventures have included: canoeing for literally hours (note plural) on the Missouri River, hiking on trails, swimming at water parks, rough-housing in the lawn, etc. Basically, anything to get them off their TV-hypnotized butts and out of the house to explore and exercise.

So, you can imagine my surprise when my 5-year old, Austin, practically plows me over with excitement. And, before he can even get two words out of his babbling mouth, I catch a glimpse of my 7-year old, Owen, flashing his all-too-familiar devilish smile. And then there's my dad just sitting back on the couch waiting for the exhibit to begin. What exhibit you ask? Here is the sequence of comments/events that ensued.

Austin: Mommy! Mommy! Come to our room and see what we did with grandpa!

Me: Ok...ok...take a breath, settle down.

Owen looking up from iCarly: Yeah, it's cool (for the kid to take a sacred pause and utter three words to me is out of the ordinary and proves something really is up).

And, then, we open the door to find pictures drawn on construction paper and taped all over their bedroom walls. I initially thought, "How cute. They really spent quality time together and created some special memories." Then, reality sets in as I begin to look closer at the pictures. (Make sure to read the captions I inserted below every photo to truly understand my train of thought.)

Owen drew a ghost. How funny...and surprisingly proportional. I hope the ghost won't scare Austin when night time comes.

Oooo! A mummy! Good job of cutting out the arms and legs. I guess Halloween is on their minds.

Wow. This one is a classic Dan Geier drawing. Liittttttle bit creepy, dad. Can't you at least give the skeleton a smile when he is in the process of being tazed?

Hold up. Why did Owen feel the need to draw a giant getting ready to either torture or eat a small man? Did the giant snatch up a golfer? Is that a club in his esophagus?

What the...? Why are a couple of penises closing in on that tiny helpless person?! Owen tried telling me that those are actually tanks getting ready to shoot that guy and, despite the clarification, I am not feeling any better about the direction we are heading.

Another priceless offering from my 7-year old Picasso. And I quote, "That bird is taking that guy away to eat him and that other guy pushed the man yelling 'HELP!' off the cliff."

Oh heavens no! No he did not! My dad explained to them what a guillotine was? And is that a HEAD I see rolling around at the bottom? Seriously dad? Do you think that by simply inserting a smiley face severed head you will cancel out the fact that you just stole a piece of innocence from Austin's precious little mind?

Holy hell...it keeps getting worse. Austin, reading my stunned expression, looks up at me and declares, "We asked grandpa to tell us what ELSE was scary back in the olden days."

Owen, not to be outdone by grandpa, tossed this gem into the mix. His explanation: This guy is stuck in a lion's den with sausages wrapped around his neck. (I cannot make this stuff up if I tried.)

Death, death and more death. Quality time with grandpa.

Last, but certainly not least, Owen reminds us all that torture can still occur in the twenty-first century.

So, I offer up the question to all our viewers...should Grandpa Geier be left in charge of the boys again? Let's be honest. He will be. My freedom trumps the cost of future therapy sessions for the kids. So, maybe the better question is: What's your favorite piece of art from the exhibit?

Separation Anxiety

No wonder employers make you come back to work when your baby is between 6 and 12 weeks old. That's when your baby only eats, sleeps, poops, spits up on you, cries a lot and maybe throws you a smile once in awhile for good measure. If you were to go back to work when they are 6 months or older, no mom would ever go back. They get you to want to come back in the beginning and then you have no choice but to stay.

Cambria is 13 months old and separation anxiety is at its peak. For me, not for her. Oh hell, she says "buh-bye," waves and blows me kisses and I am the one kicking and screaming and holding on for dear life. "Just one more hug." "Give mama a kiss." "Are you gonna miss mama today?" "Did you dream about mama last night?" She is already looking at me like I am high during these times and then starts pushing me away, arching her back and whining to get down. I may overdue it a little. Ok, I overdue it a lot. The "just one more hug" phase lasts a good five minutes.

The problem is that she is at such a fun age right now and doing and saying something new (literally) everyday. She is such a little sponge and mimics everyone and everything. I was taking her to the store the other day (see...when in the past would I have ever taken her to the store with me if I could've avoided it?) and I said, "It's hot." I buckled her in, got in the car, started driving and she is in the back saying, "hot" over and over again. What mom doesn't eat that crap up?

I was able to put up with my separation anxiety and repress it like any good adult would do until yesterday. We met my family for dinner and Ryan picked her up after work (which is usually my job) and brought her to the restaurant. So, I'm already bumming that I missed pick up duty, missed the smile on her face when she sees me and have lost a good hour of Cambria time, when they come waltzing in and my husband announces that Cambria took several steps today. Shoot. Me. And then he twists the knife a little more and says, "And, I even had her try it while I was there and it's true! She took 6 steps, sat down, picked up the toy, stood back up (has never happened) and continued walking to me." Jerk. The only thing saving me from bursting in tears at that point was a) we're in front of all of my family and that would just be childish and b) my sister looked like she may be even more torn up about this than I was. I actually think I did see tears in her eyes. I'm not sure though, because my arms were crossed, lip was out and I was pouting like a 4 year old.

So after a bit, my sister throws her chair back, stomps around the table, grabs Cambria, puts her on the ground and barks at me, "Put your arms out." Cambria stands there, pretends to take a step, then gets to the ground and crawls to me. This happened a few times before we gave up. So, not only did my baby walk all day yesterday and also walk when my husband (not me) picked her up, but she's probably walking right now while I’m at work. We got home too late last night for anything but pajamas, books and bed and this morning I woke her up from a dead sleep so I could see, kiss and hug her before heading off to work. And ask her if she dreamed about me, of course.

TSIB
-M

Austin-isms

I am afraid that if I don't start writing these down, my horrible memory will erase them from my mind forever. Here is just a random sampling of things that have been uttered out of my five-year old's mouth over the years.

Anatomy
"Boys have penises and girls have chinas."

Sickness
After watching Austin helplessly become incapable of holding in diarrhea before he made it from the kids' bathtub to the pot and seeing it literally spew out onto the bathroom floor, I had scooped him up and rushed him into my shower (older brother Owen was still in the bath dry-heaving at what he just witnessed). Post floor clean-up, I poked my head into my shower to check up on him. He was kicking more liquid poop down the drain when he looked up at me and declared, "My butt won't stop pooping!"

Intervention
My precious Austin informed my dad awhile ago that "You (grandpa) are addicted to cigarettes." And then he added without a beat, "Just like Lydia (a preschool classmate) is addicted to lying." I am happy to say my dad quit smoking after that confrontation.

Drinking
He also informed my husband's grandmother that "Alcohol makes you crazy. Mommy doesn't drink too many adult drinks or she could drive into the creek (behind our house)."

Politics
He also bragged to the same ultra-conservative grandmother that "Mommy voted for Obama and daddy didn't."

Punishment
In one of their nightly bedtime debates, I overheard big brother Owen say that he wanted Austin to stop talking or he would tell on him and Austin would get a spanking. Austin fessed up "Mommy's spankings don't even hurt."

Sibling Love
I had asked both boys to go through their shared bedroom and pick up anything they wanted to give away...basically all of the things they didn't play with anymore. I thought this would keep them occupied while I tried picking up around the house too. Jaycee had to have been only 3 months old at the time. Things got mysteriously quiet and, next thing I know, Austin is giggling and waddling down the hall holding Jaycee's dangling noodle body underneath her arm pits in front of him. I say "Austin, put her down! Give her to me!" And he replies, "We can give this to Goodwill!"

Should I Be Proud or Ashamed of Myself?

I do not keep my house as clean as my mom keeps her house. I do not keep my house as clean as my mother-in-law keeps her house. I do keep my house picked up; however, I rarely deep clean. Ryan and I have an understanding. Neither of us want to be embarrassed if friends or relatives happen to pop in. So, we hide our clutter in closets and corners and force ourselves to deep clean about once a year...you know, the kind of cleaning that makes a person sweat. Moving furniture, wiping down floors and walls, doing 13 tons of laundry and actually folding and putting it away. And every time I succumb to this kind of personal torture, I wonder: How on earth can people do this crap regularly?

Tomorrow is our big third of July party. This is the fourth year we've hosted this shin-dig and our family looks forward to it every year. This is the first time I've been smart enough to take a week off from work to spend some quality time with the kiddos and fit in some pre-party cleaning.

I was actually wiping down our wood floors today (after my mid-morning nap of course!) and I couldn't believe the amount of dirt and grime I collected. My routine went like this: vacuum, clorox wipes, disgusted look, gag reflux, wet rag, repeat. I kept thinking about all of my mom friends who will be visiting our house tomorrow with their little cruiser babies. Every time I felt like throwing in the towel, I would imagine one of their little darlings pulling my hair out of their mouth...a rare treat that they found in a special spot on my floor.

I was pretty proud of the work I had done when something dawned on me: Jaycee, my almost nine-month old, has been crawling and scooting on this same floor for the past two months. My pride turned to shame. Why is it that I am obsessed with cleaning floors for my friends' children but am perfectly OK with letting my own brood swiffer up the same surfaces with their tongues, bellies, and backsides?

No matter what the motivation, I am still glad this place is clean now. On a side note, I asked Austin, my five-year old, to help vacuum and all I could hear from the other room were these sounds: vvrrrroooom, ffuuttt, giggle giggle, tiny wimper, repeat. When I turned around the corner, I saw this scene. Jaycee, the human swiffer, is now as shiny as our wood floors.

For the Record

Melissa = Team Kate

Heidi = Team Jon

I think we can all agree that in this situation - TSIB!!

Welcome To The World

We want to welcome two new readers. Maxwell Eugene Evans was born June 11 to mama Abby Evans (loyal reader and commenter... we LOVE commenters!). He was 8 lbs. 15 oz. and I've already gotten to meet him. He's adorable and looks just like his older brother, big hands and all! Abby - if you send me a photo, I'll post it here.

Presley Jean Hayes made a very sudden, early appearance on June 21 to mama Whitney Hayes. She was 7 weeks early and weighed only 4 lbs. 11 oz. She is still in the NICU, but a fighter and getting stronger everyday.

That Mom

I am officially that mom. You know, the mom I saw other women being and swore I would never become. It's all good and easy to coach from the sidelines, but when you're faced with a tantrum or breaking point, it's a whole new ball game. I became a mom at 28, so I had the advantage of watching many of my friends and family members parent their children. I have looked into their mommy book and highlighted the things I would do and crossed out those I swore I would never do. But, moms are only human. And we have breaking points too. 

When Cambria was colicky in the early days, I would have sat her in front of the TV with a bowl full of french fries covered in chocolate WAY past her bedtime if it would have helped. Yesterday on Father's Day, I took Cambria to the grocery store with me so that Ryan could have some quiet time. After the 10th person didn't say "hi" or wave back at her, she had a melt down. She started screaming "hi" and yelling at the top of her lungs. I tried all the tough mom routines, but the only thing that she decided would calm her down was my grocery list, which we've tried before and has ended in me holding the pieces together to see what I still need to get. So, I did it. I said I would never do it. I made fun of the moms who do it. I grabbed a box of crackers and gave her one after another until we checked out, when I had to shyly hand them to the cashier and explain why they were open. I swear Cambria was smiling during that conversation. 

This next that mom moment I have photo proof of. Ryan was at the CWS and I was on bedtime duty. All I wanted was to finish loading the dishwasher before we headed to bed (that's right, I said "we" - Ryan had been at the CWS all day and I was exhausted). Cambria wanted to help...

I just needed 3 more minutes, so I gave her a wooden spoon and a bowl. I had heard rumors that babies liked this. She did...

for about 30 seconds. I had to think fast. I needed 2 more minutes out of a very tired baby. Without thinking, I opened the refrigerator door so she could play with the condiments in the bottom shelf. I know - I was desperate, but it has been proven to work before. I turned after 20 seconds to see this. Still with the spoon in her hand.

Yes, yes. I am that mom. And yes, I grabbed the camera instead of the baby. You're welcome. :) 

TSIB,

M

You're Rich, You're Stylish, Big Whoop, I'm Awesome

So, I will admit that it has taken me so long to publish a new post that I had to think about what our password was just to get into this thing. My apologies. I did have an excuse, though. My husband and I just returned from a trip to Seattle. It was for my work (exciting world of health insurance), but we extended our stay to make it a mini-vacation as well.

Here are my thoughts on Seattle. It was freakin' fabulous. As compared to Omaha, there were more hills, more stores, more style, more gay men, more culture, more seafood. Here is what was lacking: no Woodard kids. That's right...I missed my little brood. Granted, their tiny faces never even crossed my mind in the first 48 hours of the trip, but after that, I did miss the mayhem that only they can give me.

As I walked the downtown streets with my husband (a lot, what an excellenct city for exercise), I kept noticing all of the business types in their designer shades and high-priced labels. We stayed at a fancy-smancy hotel and it took all of my power to keep my poker face on. You know, the face that reads, "No need to stare at me, I've totally stayed at 5-star hotels before."

After I got over the adjustment of not being in the Midwest anymore, I started to think about how much I meant to my kids and how much they mean to me. And that naturally gave me a little confidence check. As I passed by all of the skinny, well-dressed, completely put-together people, I kept thinking to myself, "Sure, your jeans cost $300, but I know how to multi-task with the best of them. Oh, and what's this stain on my shoulder? It's my daughter's spit-up. Deal with it." And then I shimmied my hips a little like I was on the mommy cat walk.

So, to all the moms out there...we may need to sacrifice our bodies, freedom, and money for our children, but nothing (nothing!) replaces the feeling of coming home to people who believe the world revolves around you. That's right, skinny biotches, add that to my list of accomplishments.

-H

Well...

First birthday parties suck.

The Future?

My father-in-law, Al, is one of the best out there. He treats me like a daughter, not a daughter-in-law. When I came home to a mouse in my garage and Ryan was nowhere to be found, Al came (laughing all the way) to get it out. He ran to get me ice cream when I was pregnant. And, the number of times he has come over to fix something or help with a project are countless. Ryan only has one brother, so when Cambria was born, the only person more excited than Al that she was a girl, was Ryan.

But, he still has high expectations for her. Ryan's family is athletes. Ryan was an amazing track star and his brother was the track and football player that every other team wanted to crush. So, it comes with no surprise that Cambria (and all future children) are expected to be star athletes. Almost every time we're together, Al dreams (out loud) about going to her games and meets and how fast she could be one day.

I know she's only 11 months (kinda in denial she'll be 1 on Friday), but after hearing this time and again, I feel the obligation to prepare him for the worst. I mean, it's no secret that I am nowhere near athletically inclined (though, Al likes to ignore that fact and instead focus on how fast my sister was a track star, so athletic ability is SOMEWHERE in my family). And, I know a lot can change in 10 years, but Cambria is almost 1 and has absolutely no interest in walking. If I try to get her to walk, she'll bend and sit instead. This, coupled with the fact that she has been showing signs of having my personality instead of her dad's, makes me think athletics may not be in her future. At least not after age 7, when micro sports are over and true talent starts to rise to the top.

So, at dinner the other night I say, "You know, there is a really good chance she will steer more towards the arts or music instead of sports." And although I think he was thinking, "She could do both," he obliged and we started talking about how she may play an instrument, be into plays or in the choir. After a 5 minute conversation about this, I threw out the possibility that she may be a genius and be the smart, cute geek that doesn't have to try hard at school, never has to study for tests and still gets straight A's. You know, the person we always wished we were. As we looked over at Cambria to size her up for a Genius Award, she had her own idea and was ready for us with this face. It's kinda hard to tell, but she was making the fishy face at us, in between saying "uh oh." Hopefully that will silence her Papa for awhile!

It's Ok!

Rest assured, moms. I’ve decided the things that you feel the guiltiest about are actually ok! Here’s a quick list I put together. 

It’s ok to:

• Think Cheez-Its can pass as a healthy snack, especially if they buy you five minutes to eat your own dinner.
  
• Think if you have to sing “Old McDonald” one more time, you may lose it.
  
• Pray your kids take an extra long nap today.
  
• Give your baby a little Tylenol before bed because you don’t think you can take one more sleepless night of teething.
  
• Not remember the words to popular lullabies. What is it that mama will buy if the diamond ring don’t shine? I can never remember.
  
• Put a small book in the crib so your baby has something to play with when she wakes up, buying you another five minutes to get ready.
  
• Look forward to going back to work on Monday.
  
• Think your kids are the smartest – and cutest! – kids you’ve ever met.
  
• Secretly take credit for how smart they are.
  
• Get excited for your People magazine to arrive every Saturday.
  
• Scold your son for saying you still look pregnant when your baby is 8 months old. And cry about it later.
  
• Grab the camera instead of picking up your baby when she’s crying. Those big bottom lip pictures are the cutest!
  
• Work out only to have uninterrupted time to watch your favorite TV show.
  
• Cuddle with your baby a little longer than you should before bed.
  
• Hate all the work involved with bath time and push it off until it’s absolutely necessary.
  
• Want to open mouth kiss the person who invented the epidural.
  
• And kick the crap out of the person who invented the bra, pantyhose and high heels.
  
• Plan a day away, not really because you need it, but mostly because you want your husband to understand and appreciate how much you do.
  
• Get on Facebook instead of reading that book to your son…again.
  
• Comment to add to this list instead of helping your husband.
  

-M

Summer Hours

We, Heidi and Melissa, do solemnly swear to not let the warm summer air affect our timely blogging. We promise to get better at posting more frequently, but not to affect the quality of posts. We promise to write blog posts instead of getting jiggy with our husbands at night or working during the day. However, please don’t expect writing to replace sleeping or eating. These are two things we must abide by. We MUST get 8 hours of sleep every night and MUST take our lunch breaks at work (which are sometimes the only thing that gets us out of bed in the morning). This we promise to you as our faithful followers.

Tattle Tree

There are many, many reasons why I admire teachers. No matter how crappy my day goes, how many meetings I have or how many stupid people I have to interact with, nothing can compare with the average teacher’s daily agenda. I have to be honest, there are weekends when I am literally staring at the clock…trying to coerce the minute hand to move faster…just so I can return to my cubicle and escape from my four children (my oldest being my husband).

I am not rolling in the dough (have you seen my wardrobe?) but I am fairly certain I make more money than my kids’ teachers. They are the most patient, brilliant and underpaid people in corporate America. They come to work with a smile on their face, knowing full well that they must encounter ADD children, overly- or under-involved parents and mass chaos in general five days of the week.

I often wonder how they get through their day. Recently, during my five-year old’s parent/teacher conference, I learned a great life lesson in dealing with difficult people and stressful situations. This technique can be summarized in two words: Tattle Tree. The tattle tree is a simple but fantastic concept.

When my son’s teachers are too busy to listen to every whiney, snot-nosed kid in their tiny classroom complain about how “Olivia stuck her tongue out at me” or how “Martin got out of his chair,” they calmly tell the children to “Go tell the tattle tree.” The kids proceed to gather around a leafy plant in the corner of the room and shout out all of their friends’ offenses. At the end of the day, the teacher then listens to the tree and harmony is restored.

In doing this, both the tattler and the teacher achieve satisfaction. The tattler gets to blow off steam by ranting to a plant and the teacher gets to prevent him or herself from going to jail for strangling the tattler. It is pure genius.

When I returned to my job at an insurance company, I wasted no time and posted a sign with large letters reading “TATTLE TREE” to the closest plant on my floor. Word spread quickly about the tree’s purpose and (I kid you not), people began to utter the phrase, “Go tell the tattle tree” when someone complained about how “Vicki was talking too loud” or how “Heidi took a two-hour lunch.”

Teachers are the smartest people in the world and I bet some of the lessons you learned as a kid still reside within you today. Make sure to thank all of the teachers in your life…it’s the least we can do for everything they contribute to our society.

-H

Book Club Minus the Books

I'm starting a book club. Except we won't be reading or discussing books. But, we will be drinking and eating in the quiet heaven of a kid- and husband-less house.

The book club is to solve a problem that probably many moms have. We don't get equal personal time as compared to our husbands. And I blame us. Our husbands have golf or basketball leagues or fantasy football nights, which makes it easier to get away when you have something organized and regular to go to. But, women tend not to get involved in organized activities as much, and if so, we drag our kids along. Case in point - Heidi plays in a volleyball league once a week, but takes her two boys with her so that her husband only has to tend to the baby. When was the last time our husbands took the kids with him to softball or the fantasy football draft (that lasts 3 nights)?

When we complain about equal time with our husbands, they tell us to join a league or get involved in a hobby. Heidi will be the first to tell you, God gave me brains, not athletic ability (and not a small butt, which we will be talking about one day). And the thought of scrapbooking makes me want to shove a hot poker in my eye. So...no talent + no hobby = no Melissa time. Until Nikki and I decided that we are going to get together one night every other week to catch up on our TV shows we never have time to watch, drink wine, eat take out and enjoy the peace and quiet. Ahhh...I'm blissful just thinking about it. Anyway, we can't say, "Tonight is TV and wine night." That sounds lame even for me.

And what's sort of annoying is that we had a long discussion about what night to get together to account for t-ball practice, soccer games and, of course, our husband's tee times. AND (this annoys me even more that I'm thinking about it) we are only doing it every other week so that we're not taking too much time for ourselves. When was the last time your husband cancelled his tee time so he could hang out with the family? I digress.

So, we're calling it a book club. Which is ironic since Nikki HATES to read and makes an exception only for her texts, e-mails and this blog (complaining all the way). First thing on the agenda: red wine, Paradise salad and Gossip Girl! Book club is going to be off the hook!

Where's My Baby?

Tornado season has begun. I grew up in the Midwest, watching the green sky and funnel clouds outside with my dad and loved every minute of it. Even when I was in labor with Cambria, there were tornadoes all around us and I remember I was more disappointed that my TV shows weren't on because of the breaking weather alerts. The nurse would come in and update me on the storms, though I was more interested in having her get me another popsicle or pillow. The only thing I worried about was how the tornado would affect the anesthesiologist’s response time.

That all changed as soon as Cambria was born. The second day we were home from the hospital, another tornado came through and it was like I was possessed by someone else. Someone who is terrified of tornadoes. I was screaming at Ryan to get downstairs as I held Cambria in my arms, huddled in the corner of the basement, rocking back and forth. I got a tad better with every severe storm we had, but here it is again.
And this time, I have some crazy people stirring up all of these same feelings.

I recently picked up Cambria from the childcare at church and found a note in her diaper bag informing us of their policy and procedures if the tornado sirens were to sound during church. It starts off nice enough, saying that they will line up the children and walk them downstairs, making sure every child is accounted for. Even though I have no idea how they would deal with my baby, who doesn’t walk, let alone “line up,” I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt; I’m sure they have that figured out. Then they say that a map of exactly which room they will be taken to is on the back of the sheet. The back is blank and I am mildly annoyed.

The letter goes on to say that parents should not pick up their children from their room and that the children will remain with the teachers until a pastoral staff member gives further instruction. Now listen, I am a pretty rational person and I have no anxieties about leaving her with other people, but you’re telling me I can’t be with my baby during a tornado when she’s in the same building as me? That’s ludicrous. And, I understand that the pastoral staff is probably the closest to God in the building, but shouldn’t we let trained meteorologists or – call me crazy – the National Weather Service make decisions about when we are able to come out of the shelter?

This memo author has become my church nemesis. Should you have a nemesis at church? Probably not. But, I stare everyone down, wondering if they wrote the memo. I’ve ruled out all moms because, surely a mom wouldn’t write this nonsense, right? And, I spent the entire time during the next week’s service checking out the exits and which door I would use in the event of a tornado to run to my baby (oh yes, I picture me full out sprinting, which says a lot for me). I also have a Plan B in case this insane memo author is one step ahead of me and blocking the door. Let’s just hope that tornadoes stay away during the one hour a week I’m at church.

TSIB!
-M

But That's Just Me

So, it’s no secret: I’m down for making people laugh. I have yet to run into anyone who I can’t at least coax a smile out of…even if it’s just a condescending I’m-just-smiling-because-of-your-ridiculousness grin. I don’t care what the motivation is behind those pearly whites. I just want to see them.

My friends know that, despite the fact I am a 32-year old mother of three (well, technically, I don’t turn 32 until December but once you hit 30 what difference does it make anyway?) I will still take on their dares. They can live vicariously through my public displays of embarrassment without having to do stupid things themselves.

My list of “accomplishments” include:
- drunken handstands at music festivals
- performing “I Love Rock and Roll” by Joan Jett at a company work event
- chest bumping a senior executive
- break dancing on top of an officer’s conference table
- playing football with a bunch of strangers we stumbled upon during lunch hour
- answering the hotel room service in my t-shirt, gym shorts and knee-high sexy black boots

Here is what I am not good at: offering to pay for stuff and being thoughtful. My friend Nikki, in particular, is one of the most protective, talented and genuine people I know. Just last month, I barely remembered to wish her and her family (which includes three kids) a Happy Easter. But, low and behold, Nikki came hopping into my cube with a homemade tin full of goodies for my 6-month old daughter. And this wasn’t just your standard basket of crap…it included a pinwheel, some bubbles and Jaycee’s favorite puffs to eat (all color coordinated).

Seriously? She has the same amount of time in her day as I do to balance her full-time job, her three kids, her fourth kid (husband) and all of their after-school activities. You know what I accomplished the week of Easter? A shower and 10 hours of quality TV…Rock of Love, The Office, E!’s Soup, etc. Oh, and we attended church to celebrate Jesus’ rising (trapping our boys for at least an hour of quiet time was an added bonus!)

But that’s just me. I’d love to hear how other moms view themselves.

-H

Say What?

You know when you are seriously dating someone and you get asked over and over when you’re getting married? And then as soon as you get married, you get asked when you’re having kids? Well, that doesn’t stop when you have your first baby. Almost as soon as Cambria was born, we were asked when we’re having another. I mean, come on. I know that the 24 hour labor without an epidural and colic-filled first 3 months will soon be erased from my memory, but I still hear Cambria crying in my sleep, even when she’s not in the house.

But, just like the questions about marriage and starting a family, it starts to wear on you. At first, you are appalled at the idea, then you laugh because you get the question so much and then it starts to sink in and you begin thinking about it. This happened for me when Cambria was 4 months old. We were celebrating Ryan’s cousin’s daughter’s (Kristy’s daughter, Allison’s) 1st birthday in September, when she told me she was hoping to get pregnant again by the end of the year. I couldn’t control my horror. “What? Why?” came out of my mouth. After I realized that was not at all supportive and very rude, I retracted with something more like, “I mean, really? Already?” She explained to me that she had always wanted her kids to be two years apart, so she needed to get pregnant soon to make that a reality. It hit me like a ton of bricks. We have also said we wanted our kids to be two years apart, but I guess I didn’t really do the math. And, the kicker is that Kristy had lots of problems during pregnancy. She had preeclampsia, had to be on hospital bed rest, delivered 8 weeks early and Allison was in the NICU for a few weeks. To this day, the thought of the tubes coming out of Allison’s tiny, doll-like body make me shudder. Every time I see that sweet little girl, I hug her a little tighter and thank God for helping her through that tough time. And, we’ve known that the chances of Kristy having the same complications are pretty good. To think that she’s ready to go through all of that again with a 2 year old really made me think.

So, I asked Ryan a few days later when he thought we should have our next baby. The look on his face must have been what I looked like to Kristy. When we decided to have Cambria, it was all about our feelings – the time feels right; I feel ready; we feel like we could handle it. But, when it comes to your second (and so on, as I’ve heard from my friends), it’s all about logic. Can we afford another one in diapers, daycare and more formula? What will be going on in our lives around that time? How old will Cambria be? Will she still be in a crib/in diapers/in daycare? But, I’ve decided that I can’t even seriously consider all of these questions until I’m able to bring it up to Ryan and he doesn’t look like he just saw a ghost.

M

“I’m Just Sayin…”

Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends. Really I do. And my two current favorites are Nikki and my blog partner Melissa. (They are aware of this lofty status and realize they can lose it at any time because I have a large pool of friends from which to pick. This is not arrogance, just stating the facts.)

I love them because they get me, and I never have to put up a front around them. I love them because they tell me with no remorse whatsoever that I used to dress like my legs were two inches shorter than what they actually are and my abdomen too inches longer than what it actually is. I love them because they are my therapists, sounding boards and motivators all wrapped into one. And, most of all, I love them because they take care of me.

But there is always a yang for every ying. They annoy me because they always feel the need to “teach” me how to parent. (Have I mentioned I have three children and all are happy and healthy?) They freak out because I rotate my baby girl’s formula like they switch out purses. They questioned my decision to stop giving her acid reflux medicine when it seemed to do nothing (Yes, she continues to spit up, but who really cares? NOT HER…she just sits there smiling with a milky white waterfall bubbling down her chin half the day.) And don’t get me started on the brand of diaper debate. They both swear by their sacred brands and wouldn’t dare deviate from them. By contrast, how do my husband and I decide what to buy? We simply scan the aisle to see what’s on sale. Problem solved.

So, when I start to see them raise their eyebrows at one another in response to something I have or have not done for my children, I know their collective advice is coming (whether I like it or not). And it usually begins with the phrase, “I’m just sayin…”

Thankfully, they have grown accustomed to me “just ignorin.”
-H

Do You Hate Me?

Why is there a divide between stay-at-home (s@h) moms and working moms? It's no secret that Heidi and I both work full-time outside of the house, and if you know us at all, it's also no secret that Heidi would love to be a s@h mom if she could swing it financially. I, on the other hand, fully admit that being a s@h mom isn't for me. Someone (a s@h mom) recently told me that s@h-ers will never understand why I want to work. Why? I COMPLETELY understand why s@h-ers want to stay home. It sucks to leave your happy baby every day, who thinks you're the funniest person in the world, to go to a day of non-stop meetings, corporate politics and grouchy people. I also think being a s@h mom is probably the toughest job out there. I have complete respect for s@h-ers.

But, it isn't for me. I took 12 weeks of maternity leave and it was brutal. Ryan would come home to me crying many days because I was so lonely. We soon realized that I needed to get out of the house once a day, even if just for a long walk. I would beg my friends to meet me for lunch, walk around the mall and often just showed up on my mom's doorstep. I loved my baby more than anything, but I was ready to go back to work. 

Since Cambria is 10 months now, we've been getting involved in all the first-time mom activities - baby yoga, swimming "lessons," etc. In all of these scenarios, I'm asked right away if I'm a s@h mom or not. And, there seems to be a clear divide in these activities of s@h-ers vs. working moms. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen.

So, to all the s@h moms out there - do you hate us? I find that hard to believe. I really want to believe that we can respect each other's decisions and realized that s@h or not, we're all moms. We could all use a margarita, fried food and chat about ANYTHING but poop now and then, right? 

-M

Am I mean, lame or really smart?

I had to attend an unusually late meeting last week at work. I knew about it in advance so I scheduled my mother-in-law to pick up our baby girl and my husband offered to pick up our other two boys from school. The meeting wasn’t supposed to end until 5 (yes, that is unusually late for me), but turns out we ran ahead of schedule so I was able to leave work around 4:40. None of this may seem all that interesting, and it didn’t seem too out-of-the-ordinary to me either, until something dawned on me…

…I had at least 20 extra minutes in my day when no one needed me because no one but me knew about my whereabouts. I felt like the guy who escaped Alcatraz for one brief, glorious moment.

So, what did I do? I decided to stop by my middle child’s day care. I needed to make a copy of our zoo pass anyway so he could attend next month’s field trip. I walked in and announced, “I know my kid’s not here, but all four of my kids (my husband being the oldest) are together and I have time to hide.”

The funny thing is, both of the ladies at the front desk just nodded in complete empathy and told me to take a seat. They made my copy and allowed me to sit in peace. They are mothers too…and all mothers know how sacred quiet time can be.

I contemplated making a road trip to Canada when I returned to my car, but instead opted to go home (after all, the dogs needed to be fed and my second full-time job was about to begin). My 20 minutes of freedom was brief but outstanding.

-H

This S#%& Is Bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S!!

When your day consists of cleaning up other people's vomit, chasing away monsters, making up songs about diapers, talking with your husband about the consistency of poop and praying your daycare doesn't notice the little cough - all while wearing two sports bras because you're STILL drying up - there's no better way to sum it up than "this S#%& is bananas...B-A-N-A-N-A-S!" We know the song reference is a little old, but as a mom, do you really have time to stay up on the latest music, let alone fashion, movies and books (all of you who know Heidi knows she was NEVER up on fashion, but I digress). We originally thought about writing a book on mommyhood during our maternity leaves, but that turned into writing a few paragraphs in three months because our little angels demanded a bit more time than we bargained for. Does anyone really have the idealic maternity leave of sitting next to the pool, reading a book while the baby sleeps peacefully?

Anyway, the book has turned into a blog. If you're looking for the mushy blog about how we treasure every moment of our kids' lives (even though we do), you probably shouldn't subscribe here. This blog will be dedicated to real (and hilarious), everyday stories of being a mom.

We are great friends who work together. Heidi has three kids - Owen, 7; Austin, 5; and Jaycee (finally, a girl!) who was born in October. Melissa is a first-time mom to Cambria, born in June. If we were sisters, Heidi would be described as the athletic one and Melissa as the smart one. We will both write individually, so look for Heidi's posts in gray and Melissa's posts in blue.

TSIB,
M&H