Mom Fail

I have every intention of not making this a tried and true “Mom Blog”, but here’s the truth of the matter. I’m a mom. I blog. The two shall converge. Especially because 98.9% of my life is my son. Let’s call son “R” for the sake of this blog and the land of crazy Internets.

As a mom, I try to be a realist. R is a boy through and through. He’s rough, falls a LOT, wants to eat dirt, play with bugs, fart in the bathtub. All those things that are gross and dangerous. I try my best to strike a balance between danger and a “boys will be boys” mentality.

Then you have what I like to call Mom Fails. Situations where motherhood has failed you. Or you have failed motherhood. Or both. Being a single mom I must realize that as much as I try to prevent them, these things happen. With that being said, my first true “Mother of the Year” moment was just this week at daycare.

Daycare is a magical place where R goes to play with his friends, share ridiculous amounts of germs, make poops and throw tantrums for someone other than me.

Daycare also comes with notes, shoved in diaper bags and lunch boxes that get lost in the abyss. Some notes are important like, YOUR SON NEEDS DIAPERS OR HE MUST POOP IN NEWSPAPER. Other notes say things like “Tomorrow is Wear Green Day, World Rat Day, Kiss a Frog Day.” Don’t care.

Well, apparently, I missed the note about the Easter Egg Hunt. Which detailed that each child should bring 6 filled eggs, plus a special basket of treats in order to participate in a super funtastic event.

Guess who didn’t have eggs? Or treats? Or a basket? Yes. My son. Luckily, I was not the only mom who neglected this note. And even more luckily, the teachers had extra eggs so that R wasn’t completely missing out on the fun.

Mom fail.

Most lucky of all, R is still young enough that he can’t form memories. Or know that his mom messed up majorly. I don’t think I have to start the “Things for R to Discuss in Therapy” list until he’s like...3? 4?

But before you start to be all like “Poor R. His mother neglected Easter fun and treats,” I’ll have you know this child is far from neglected. He has already received an Easter basket with many treats including outfits and Elmo paraphernalia, Little Tikes Grill, toy lawnmower and at least 2 Easter baskets on the way. In the grand scheme of things, I think missing the daycare egg hunt is a blip on the radar.

Guess I should read those daycare notes a little more carefully next time, eh?

Four Reasons Toddlers Are Like Tiny Drunks

via

When you sit and think about it, dealing with a toddler is most certainly like dealing with a tiny drunk person. This thought came to my mind last night as I was picking my screaming son off the floor after I wouldn't let him drink the bubbles straight from the bottle. How inconsiderate of me. I mean, they were non-toxic after all.  So, here’s a few likenesses between a toddler and a drunk.

1. Beer tears? Toddler tears? Same diff, I say. You know how you have one too many cranberry vodkas and all of the sudden you’re reminded of all the wrongs in your life? Then, suddenly you’re spraying your tears and blubbering on the shoulder of whoever happens to have the pleasure of standing next to you? No? Just me. Whatevs. Well, my toddler’s teary tantrums bear a slightly eerie resemblance to the irrational episodes of emotional madness I’ve seen at many bars. I cut your banana in chunks instead of slices? How inconsiderate of me, young man. This absolutely calls for you to run your tear ducts dry.

2. Lack of reasoning. Have you ever tried to reason with a drunk? Tried to argue with them? It’s pointless. Any small thing can set them off. You might as well be arguing with my sassy pug, King Wiggles. In one ear, out the other. Once my toddler throws himself into an undeniable tantrum, reasoning with him as to why he should eat his dinner instead of smash it in his hair is moot. Most days, I let him smash his taters into his silky locks and throw him right into the tub post-meal. No shame in that game.

3. Treads on the cusp of danger. When you’ve had too many Miller Lites, sometimes you deem yourself invincible. Things that you would normally never do, seem like the best idea EVER. Like, running around the neighborhood in your underwear. Trying on the dog’s shock collar. Things like that. For a toddler, treading the line between danger and sanity is a daily occurrence. What would it be like to shove a pea up my nose? Jump off this high couch? Touch this hot oven? Eat this bug? Run my head into this wall? You get the idea. I feel like I’m one teensy step ahead of a full-on disaster most days of the week.

4. Physical inability. Then there’s the worst drunk of all. The drunk that goes all flimsy on you. The one that can’t stand up. Can’t sit down. Walking? Nope. A slithery, boneless mass of dead weight that you most certainly need to figure out how to get from Point A (bar) to Point B (home.)  I don’t know about you, but my son goes limp when in full melt-down mode. Like, a slimy wet noodle. Snot, tears, floppy limbs. Trying to pick him up off the floor is virtually impossible, but somehow I make it happen.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my son. When he’s happy, he’s the best. Full of life and love. I could listen to him make kitty cat noises and call for Elmo all day long. But these tantrums? I could do without. However it’s just a phase. This too shall pass. In the meantime, when you hear a tiny child screaming amidst the aisles of your local Target or you’ve agreed to play DD to a gaggle of drunks, think of me.

Once Upon A Time...

Everyone has a story to tell. I've certainly weaved myself a tale or two over my 31 years of life. Specifically this last year and a half.

Most of us have this plan for our lives. At the very least a rough outline. Especially us Type A’s. I have a need for things like lists, plans, goals, to-do’s. I had my life plan all worked out since high school. Go to college, graduate, get a good job in my field, get a dog, get married, get another dog, buy a house, have a baby, buy a bigger house, have another baby, live happily ever after.

Well, I got halfway between buy a house and have a baby. Then things began to fall apart. Suddenly, my well-planned, well thought-out life, turned into a life I never could have expected.

Several posts will follow to tell my story. But here’s the basics. Wife (me) gets pregnant with (well-planned out) baby boy. Husband loves this idea until Month 7, then he rethinks the whole “family/marriage/baby” situation. Wife is shocked and hurt and panicked. Wife births baby. Husband decides he wants to separate. Wife takes 6 week old baby boy, quits her job, moves out of new house and moves back to her (teeny-tiny) hometown with her parents. There’s the cliff notes version.

You see, I used to have a blog where I detailed all kinds of aspects of my life. It revolved around my marriage, my life, my pregnancy. My last post was in November 2012, just a few days after the birth of my son. Blogging went down on the priority list. Plus, how was I to say that my great (or I thought) marriage went down the proverbial crapper right in front of my very eyes.

Here we are, over a year later. I’ve missed my blog. I’m a writer by nature. Partially by trade. Not writing in that capacity has created a hole in my life. But I couldn’t continue on with my old blog. That’s not my life anymore. My life is new. Challenging. Joyful. Chaotic.

So, here I am. Single, working mom, mid-divorce, raising a toddler, a sassy pug and living with my parents (but only for the next 2 months until we strike out on our own.) Although I’ll get serious every now and again, I’m not a serious person at heart. I’m a smart-ass. I appreciate the art of sarcasm and a well-timed pun. I try to keep things light-hearted.

I’ve learned that sometimes the best-laid plans don’t always pan out. That flexibility is a virtue. That happy hour(s) is the 2 hours after my toddler goes to bed and when I inevitably pass out from exhaustion. I try to find time to workout (semi) regularly, as I’ve lost 45 pounds since the birth of my son and I would really like to not let it creep back. Clutter makes me anxious. I like wine. My iPhone is an extension of my person. I hit snooze 9 times each morning.

It's a wild ride, this life. I'm trying to hang on and keep it all together.