Getting S.H.I.T. from Rusti.

The lovely @Rustilyn, my #wineandwhine co-founder & one of my twitter besties, has started an #awesomesauce weekly meme on her blog, My Life As A Officer's Wife. It is called "So Happy It's Thursday" or S.H.I.T. for those of us that like to abbreviate and curse. Go give her blog some love, link up & join in on this great meme!





And here is my first ever list of reasons that I am S.H.I.T:

• We are almost done with our move. (I'm ignoring the monumental task that is unpacking & setting up the house. Please, don't ruin this for me!)
• I have a legit excuse to ignore packing with another #wineandwhine tonight. Clearly, I can't let my girls down! #TheYankeeMustHateMe
• Because I can be lazy and wear jeans to work tomorrow.
• It is The Yankee's turn to wrangle the kids into bed tonight. (Insert evil laugh.)
• I'm at work, not at home getting snot wiped on me. (Summer colds can suck it, but I'm staying positive here.)
• It's payday! Woo-hoo!
• The delish lunch that I am about to devour!

And that is my first ever S.H.I.T. list. Looking forward to read everyone's list!

(Count 'em, that was three sh*t related jokes. I love this meme!)

Mommy's magic bag.

I know a lot of moms gave up their purse in the transition from RockinPreggoLady to HolyCrapImAMom. I mean, why have one more thing to carry when you can just put all your stuff in the diaper bag, right? Not for this Momma! I drew the line at two things: Minivans and giving up my designer purses. I mean, sure I'm rocking shorts that are two sizes bigger than they were four years ago and yes, I have left the house knowing full well that I had a handprint of crushed up goldfish and snot on my bum, but I HAVE SOME DIGNITY PEOPLE!


My last shred of glamour is this unnecessary, expensive and oh-so-beautiful bag that I complete my sloppy, pony-tail and a t-shirt look with. And no, the contents of my bag are not nearly as fascinating as the contents of, say, Kate Walsh's bag, but I've come to peace with that. (Besides, who buys $18 underwear and keeps them in their purse? Seriously!) So, today, my exquisite bag and I sat down for a pow wow, because I was starting to look like a hunchback carrying her around. Admittedly, it's my fault that we got to this place, but the old gal needed to lose some weight & fast, lest scoliosis permanently set it. 


So, because I haven't already shown the interweb how unglamorous I am, why don't I give you a peek into the disaster that is my final attempt at vanity? Try not to laugh too hard at my purse, please. She's already on edge after I called her hefty and used hand gestures. I'm not sure her supple leather skin can take much more.

My Silver Beauty in all her overstuffed glory.

Poor thing couldn't even button her clasp.
She & the ceiling fans I never dust are
considering a civil suit for neglect. #LazyMom

The snack portion of my bag:
One sippy (water), one nearly empty water bottle,
one small bag of goldfish crackers and
two packs of Cars fruit snacks.
(Fruit snacks are part of my bribery reward system.)

The toy portion of my bag:
One gummy porcupine, one orange block,
one stuffed octopus rattle, one fire engine,
one stuffed shaking elephant, one little person,
one Mack Truck, one Lightning McQueen,
one Jeff Corvette and one Doc Hudson.
(Anyone know of a treatment facility that
specializes in Cars obsessed children?)

The technology portion of my bag:
One iPhone 4 (my lifeline, #appleaddict),
one iPad (The keep-them-quiet-in-public tool,
which explains all the gross fingerprints),
one baby phone (She's got people to KIT with)
and one iPhone charger (I am a battery slayer).

The paperwork & whatnot portion of my bag:
One ridiculous pile of receipts & papers,
one red wallet, one passport
(I might be invited on a last minute,
international adventure, you don't know),
three crayons and two pens
(of course, I can only locate the
crayons when I need a writing utensil).

The Mommy portion of my bag:
One container of BareMinerals lip gloss,
one tube of Soft Lips & one pair of tweezers.
(You never know when a crazy hair will pop up.)

The Bug portion of my bag:
Four binkies and four hair bows.
(The binkies are always in use, the bows
are usually on her head for .23 seconds.)

The random portion of my bag:
One plastic electrical outlet cover
(I have no idea why that was in my purse),
two diapers, one chip clip (on-the-go snacking),
and one bottle of off-brand Benadryl and syringe.

The key portion of my bag:
One set of car keys with Kroger saving card,
one large set of work keys (No, I'm not a janitor),
and one set of house keys
(Yes, I am using a hair tie as a key ring).

I forgot to take a picture of the huge trash pile from my purse. It was quite large and an affront to my gorgeous bag. I hope she'll forgive me for that significant transgression soon.

The finished product, my now deflated bag.
Not so glamorous know that you've seen my
"dirty secret", huh?

Now I'd like to see all of you lovely gals (and guys, if you've got a murse) embarass yourselves lighten your mother-load & show all the funny/random/ridiculous things your Magic Mommy Bag contains! You can grab my button for your post, tweet about it with the hashtag #MommysMagicBag and link up below. Looking forward to checking out your posts and pics!

<a href=”http://JustLikePeanutButter.blogspot.com” style=”border: none;”><img alt=”Just Like Peanut Butter” src=”http://i1214.photobucket.com/albums/cc491/AnonyMOMous/MommysMagicBagButton.jpg” style=”width: 129px; height: 129px;”/></a>

Men have it easy. There, I said it.

I think everyone agrees that there is still a discrepancy in the standards that men & women are held to. (If you don't think this is true, please give Cinderella & Sleeping Beauty my kindest regards.) The standard can swing either ways depending on the topic. Men are much more likely to be promoted and applauded for being foul-mouthed and inappropriate. I let one "fawk" fly & I'm branded as one of "those" women. (Not necessarily a bad thing, but still.) On the other hand, if I am stranded on the side of the road, there is a good chance that at least 2 men will try to come to my rescue, 3 if I'm wearing a skirt. The Yankee would be sh*t out of luck, if he didn't know how to change his own tire. But when it comes to parenting, at least in our house, I think that Mommy get the short end of the parental stick. I highly doubt I'm alone in this.


Even if we start by ignoring the obvious pregnancy, delivery & breastfeeding related gripes, because those are just too easy, the masculine crowd still lucks out. Have you ever heard a dad stress over the male-equivalent of mommy guilt? Me neither. How about seeing a dad up stay up late researching pesticide content in fruits and vegetable? Or researching anything to do with raising healthy, well-rounded and emotionally mature children? Nope, not my husband, but you better believe he can tell you the Yankee's up-to-the-minute batting average and what the average MPGs are on the car we haven't purchased yet. To add insult to frustration, he thinks I don't notice his eyes glass over when I start talking to him about a article I read on emotionally preparing our children for schools & bullies. If he's not careful, he might end up with a bully in bed next to him.


The daddy habit that really takes the cake for me is The Yankee's ability to ignore a child's whining and crying like he's got built in ear plugs. Hell, the man can manage to watch TV (without using the pause button 83 times) with two kids under the age of three and trust me, it's not because they are sitting calmly. I will be upstairs, head stuck in a dryer and stop to yell "Why are they crying?". I don't know why I even bother to ask, because I guarantee the response will be "They're fine!". I can't even hear my own thoughts over the ruckus those two create, but The Yankee can hear the witty banter from "Top Gear" just fine. I swear he ignores them just because he knows I will come intervene and then he can continue to enjoy his relaxation. Come to think of it, I'm being played. Guess that doesn't make me the brighter half in this marriage, huh? Anyway...


But the REAL problem begins every time The Yankee steps in public with at least one child in tow. All the man has to do is carry a child and he is guaranteed an "Awwww, what a great dad!" or two. Nobody notices yours truly struggling with a diaper bag, purse, two sippys and a unyielding, squirmy toddler. Bitter? Yes, BUT not without cause! Heaven help me, if The Yankee is babywearing one of the kids, his accolades become worthy of their own award show: "Wow, you are such a sweet husband!", "You are such a great example for your son!" and continue ad nauseum. I refrain from yelling "That's his freakin job!", when someone applauds him for taking care of his children. I want to stop these well-meaning, but annoying folks before his ego gets so big it won't be able to fit it back into the car, but anything other than smiling & nodding makes me look like the bitter old hag that I'm trying not to be.  


I'm not trying to begrudge The Yankee his praise, because he really is a great dad, ignoring the kid's whining, not withstanding. He deserves to hear how awesome he is on occasion, but every day? Come on! If Steve Jobs was told every day how amazing he is, would there even be an Apple? Err, bad example. What I'm trying to say is...well...you know...if he would just...Ugh, I give up! Maybe I am becoming old and bitter, but would it kill a stranger to tell me I look like a great mom instead of pointing out that my shoes don't match & my hair desperately needs to be colored WOULD IT?! Come on, give a mom a chance!

Took a broken nose to set me straight.

In the age of constant introspection, "Where did I go wrong?" seems to be a popular question. Hell, I haven't even grown a kid to school age yet and I'm already asking myself that, especially when he is vehemently refusing any sustenance besides chicken nuggets or is trying to pee on his sister during bathtime. I sob into my delicious salvation beer and try to figure out where I got off the path of awesomeness and onto the path of terrible indiscretion that will undoubtedly ruin my precious child[ren]. Was it that time I turned up the radio so I didn't hear him wailing from his car seat? Was it because I watched Law & Order: SVU ad naseum while I nursed him as a newborn? Was it because I forgot to take my prenatal vitamins every day? Nobody can second-guess details like a Mom & I think I was given a double dose of that specific neurosis.


I'd spend half my Mommying time wishing for some quiet, alone time and then the moment The Yankee freed me to go take nap or Facebook in peace, I'd swell up with guilt at all the things I was doing "wrong". I'd berate myself for wanting to nap instead of playing yet another game of "tickle the toddler without getting kicked in the face". I was making myself miserable, imagining a life of traveling carnivals & "How did that make you feel?" for them. Then it hit me...my son's melon of a head, a direct shot to my nose. It HURT and I cursed, loudly & in the presence of my children. After I could form a thought that was longer than four-letters, I realized something so obvious it was painful (or was that my nose?). HE IS 3!


I can no more banish him to a lifetime of carnival work than I can assure him a position in the West Wing of The White House. Worrying over every parenting decision at this point, is akin to doing the post game wrap-up after kick-off. I can talk the play to death, but I'm still no closer to knowing the final outcome! So, to follow the analogy, I had to learn to shut [my brain] up & enjoy the game. Doing so allowed me to be much more present and to actually, gasp, enjoy my time with them instead of analyzing every behavior, response and sentence for a sign that I was doing something wrong. I'm certainly not one to tell you how to parent (especially because I don't need the responsibility of screwing up your kids AND mine), but I do think moms should cut themselves a few more breaks. The job is tough enough with all the pressure from the outside, try not to add your own weight to the pile. But if I could give you one piece of advice, try not to get head butted in the nose, because it hurts like hell and you probably don't want your kid to learn "f*ck" from you.

The parenting buffet.

My idea in starting this blog was to talk about my crunchy take on parenting. See how well that's worked out for me, don't ya? As with most things in my life, my desire to laugh (yes, I laugh at my own posts) and my ADD took me down a different path, but today I am going to talk about the crunchy me.

So. Me. Babies. Crunchy. Yeah. Well, first let's tackle where I fall on the crunchy scale. My overriding parenting theme is to parent my children with love and respect them as individuals. Here are some of the things I believe in and choose for my family:

I believe in the benefits of intervention-free childbirth and strongly support midwives & doulas. Monkey's delivery was rough (a**hole OB, unnecessary pitocin use, pushed into an epidural [excuse the bad pun], blood pressure issues and episiotomy), so I said "Eff that jazz, I am doing this crunchy mom style!" on the next go around. A ton of research, one midwife, two doulas and an acapella version of the Sesame Street theme later, I had a BabyBug and birth that I remember fondly. And since everyone asks, yes, it freakin hurt but, I would do it again! 

I am a breastfeeding mom. I've spent the last three years doing a really good impression of Elsie, the dairy cow. I've even been known to go on TV and make witty signs in support of breastfeeding. Boobies are serious business to this momma! I've experienced just about every sort of breastfeeding (extended, nursing while pregnant, tandem nursing) and though I always sometimes cry when I take my bra off, it is all worthwhile. Now if I could just find an plastic surgeon that takes liquid gold as a payment for a breast lift!

I am a co-sleeping mom. I co-slept with both Monkey & Bug from the beginning, mostly for the ease of popping a boob out breastfeeding. They have both transitioned into their own beds, but still wander into our bed to kick me in the kidneys & torment my sleep-deprived patience on a regular basis.

I am a baby-wearing mom. Baby K'Tan, Ergo (x2), Lucky Baby Sling and a Ring Sling have all been a part of our family. It is common knowledge that the Ergo is my favorite, but I still love on my other carriers from time to time to avoid a baby-wearing coup.

There are a variety of other crunchy ideas that I attempt to employ into my parenting style, but I do choose to dissent from other crunchies on one topic. I am pro-vax. (I'm not even going to defend the why, because this is my blog & that is an entirely separate post.) 

The reason I mention that is because this is where I feel a lot of moms, crunchy or smooth, go wrong. Somehow parenting philosophies have become the new religion, with all the accompanying pressure, closed-mindedness & judgement. That, in my humble opinion, is the completely wrong approach. 

Your parenting style should be completely unique to you and your children. Finding the right parenting style should be like visiting a buffet! Pick out your main dish, the items you know are important to you, like leading by example or parenting with love. Then pick out your side dishes, the habits or choices that will affect your children, but won't be a permanent part of your life, like breastfeeding or sleep training. Then sample a few things that you haven't tried but look appetizing, like organic cooking. The great thing about this buffet is it is "all you can eat" and you can change your plate as many times as you want. Get a big helping of "working mom" only to discover you hate it? No problem. Scrape that bad boy into the trash and go browse the buffet for a better choice! Feel free to browse other moms plate for anything amazing you might be missing, but please don't berate others because you don't like what they picked up at the buffet. Isn't there a strict "no judgement" policy at all buffets, so why should the parenting buffet be any different?

The mom list, take 2.

Consider this chapter 2 of "NuttyMom's less than comprehensive guide to MommyFriends". (I'm really going to have to work on better titles if I want to land that book deal.) For chapter one, please refer to It's funny, because it's true. Done already? Sure, just like my 3 year old brushes his teeth in 12.6 seconds. Either way, let's make hilarious generalizations profile some more of the minivan mafia, shall we?

6. SunshineMom: Let me say that until about a year ago, I thought SunshineMom was the parenting equivalent of a unicorn. A lot of hype and a story from your neighbor's sister's best friend, but as it turns out, I was mistaken! So, what is a SunshineMom? She is a mom that doesn't get frustrated or impatient. She doesn't gossip (putting a big kink in my "all mom's judge" theory) and isn't frazzled by whiny kids. She can handle newborns twins, a trying three year old & a traveling husband without so much as a "Can I just go pee by myself?!" freak out. She lives the adage "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all". And frankly, she makes the rest of us look bad, but you can't be mad at someone so sweet. Trust me, I've tried.


7. AlternativeMom: If you don't have an AlternativeMom in your friend circle, you have my pity. They are entertaining, unpretentious and, as a group, some of the least judgmental mommas I've met. Some AltMoms are easy to spot with brightly colored hair and visible tattoos and some aren't. These moms march to their own maraca, are generally alright with adult language and have stories that bring me right on the edge of needing a Depends. I highly suggest you break your idea of what a mom friend should be & meet a few AltMoms. I'll admit they make me feel a bit boring in my Loft cargo pants and uncolored hair, but that's just my complex. Plus, everybody needs a friend they can drop an F bomb around. Everybody.


8. BitterMom: Have you ever come across a mom that seemed impossibly negative? Not just having-a-rough-day negative. These Moms will share a seemingly endless stream of vitriol about any topic including their husbands faults, their children's annoying habits and their third grade dance teacher. I once knew a BitterMom (also as InappropriateMom) who described her 5 year old as a "little b*tch" and made jokes about her ending up a stripper. I needed two weeks of antidepressants and a nap after such close proximity to evil. Fortunately, most BitterMoms announce themselves through a combination of bad hair & a permanent B*tchFace, so you should be safe. Be extra careful to avoid BitterMomGoingThroughADivorce unless you want a reason to root for the husband who ran off with the 22 year old.

9. DitzMom: Remember when you had a mom approach you and ask to borrow wipes, a (specific size) diaper AND a snack all in the same outing? She belongs in this category. These ladies take "mommy brain" to a whole new level. I mean, I'll forget my keys or sunglasses occasionally (OK, once a week, whatever!) but I've never started backing out my driveway only to realize I forgot my child inside! DitzMoms are good people & I greatly appreciate that their frazzled appearance makes me look pulled together in comparison, but I would not suggest asking her to babysit or take care of any important tasks for your next event. On second thought, maybe I should start acting more like a DitzMom.

10. DramaMom: These ladies took the phrase "Save the drama for your momma!" as a personal challenge. They love to loudly say "I hate drama! Why do mommy friendships have to be so complicated?" but are the first to get involved or give you the line by line recap of what went down. By all accounts, they keep a written log of whispered insults to stir up histrionics when things get to quiet around the parks or forums. In their defense, their memory and understanding of complicated emotional combat fully qualifies them for a history channel expert position. I keep my DramaMom friend around to keep me entertained during work outs, but constantly remind myself that everything I say is being screened for her "drama log". Chances are if your friend group doesn't have a DramaMom, you're it, so *cheers* for keeping us entertained!

The other N word.

I have a nanny. There, I said it. I pay someone to come to my house and play my role for 8 or 9 hours a day. She feeds them, sings songs, does dishes, picks up toys and keeps the peace. She's known for her amazing mini meat loaf and love of music. Some days she is even a better "mom" than I am. She is patient, she gets on their level, she comes up with fun distractions that mommy's tired brain could never think of. And, you know what? I am OK with it.

Do I get a bit teary while slaving away working because my darling kids are home having fun without me? Yes. Does it make my heart ache when she texts me sweet/adorable/hilarious things the kids said or did? Oh yes. Do I question my decision to be a work outside the house mom? Sometimes. Would I change our arrangement? Not in a million years.

See, for me, being a stay at home mom is a fantasy. You know, the "I should definitely do that one day!" thought, that goes in the same category as completing the IronMan triathlon or giving up sugar. It is like I once told my best friend "Me being a SAHM is like communism or pool sex; a great idea in theory, but absolute sh*t in reality." I'm not cut out for it. If I was a SAHM, more days than not would end in tears and I'm not talking about the kids.

[Before I get bloggy blacklisted, I would like to stop and say that I have a TON of respect for SAHMs. I wish I could be that patient, creative & self-motivated. You ladies rock! I just wasn't given the skill set to join that particular club and trust me, you wouldn't want me ruining your good name anyway.]

At work, I am a management machine. I can field phone calls, send off brilliantly vague emails, put out (figurative) fires, balance spreadsheets, handle terminations with ease and motivate the laziest of employees. At home, I can't get my fat butt out of my PJs, much less out of the house for educational outings. Seriously, I can barely keep my trashcan from overflowing and my husband in clean underwear. SuperMom, I am not. But again, that is OK with me. 

Working outside the house makes me a better mom. It keeps me motivated, helps our family financially & keeps me sane(-ish). And the great thing about my paying job is on the days when my employees are acting like petulant children and I want to scream, I throw out a vaguely legit sounding excuse (I'm the boss, insert evil laugh) and head for the door. I know if I were a SAHM, there is no leaving "work" on a terrible, no good, very bad kind-of day and trust me, we'd have lots of those days. So, I will keep going to work & paying our awesome nanny to keep things under control, because I know no matter what fun things she thinks up, I'm still the one the kids are waiting by the door for.