Motherhood Uncensored

When I'm not here, I'm there

I still can't believe it's September, which I realize makes me sound old, but seriously, how is it September already? 

I've been busy with a few things over the last couple of weeks that I thought you might be interested in reading with all your free time and all. Ha. 

- I should have known better when it came to Internet and kids, but I didn't. Learn from my mistakes and talk to your kids about tech before this happens to you. 

- I finally wrote a 50 Shades of Grey review for parents. Hey better laters than never, right? Heh. 

- I think you'll get a kick out of the first couple of episodes of the new show I'm hosting at Cafemom Studios called Coffee Shop Confessions. It's no Honey Boo Boo or anything but with topics like I made Macaroni and Cheese with my breastmilk and We had sex while the baby was in our bed, it's pretty entertaining. For the record, I've done the latter, not the former. You? 

 

Buit, rhymes with OMFGCUTE

I've heard a lot of toddler talk in my years as a parent, but I swear none have been as adorable as Bridget. 

Or BReeeeeeJET, as she calls herself. 

Okay, so to be fair, pretty much everything that Bridget does, save smacking us in the face (what phase is that?), is freaking adorable because it's the last time anyone will ever do anything like that around here. 

Yes, I fully admit to having a case of the "OMG my last baby is growing up" syndrome. 

And while I'm not going around saying to myself "This could be the last poop in the diaper ever" because OH GOD I WISH IT SO HARD, it's a little sad. 

But unlike her siblings, who generally followed the typical language development track of single words, then 2-word phrases, then holy crap shut the heck up already, Bridget has her own language system. 

And of course, it's awesome. 

A month or so ago, we noticed that she jumped from saying simple things like "No" and "Okay!" (the exclamation point is important, people) to "IWANTDAT," but as one word, which sort of confused us a little. 

My husband and I would look at each other, puzzled, wondering if we actually just heard her say a sentence. 

Then when she said "IWANTTOGOTOPOOL" we realized that indeed it was, though you'd completely miss it and think it was just baby mumbo jumbo if you didn't actually listen. Or watch her grab the entire pool bag and drag it to the door. 

She also has a pretty advanced vocabulary for a near 2-year old, which like her ability to peel her own clementine orange in the trash can, is because she's the 4th kid. No babas or binkies around here. 

"Raining" she said to me, the other day. That also sounds very similar "Candy" and "Bandaid." You know, just common every day words. Also, really confusing when we keep those things in the same cabinet and also give them out at the same time, and she's screaming one of them at you over and over again. 

I totally need to invent edible bandaids. 

But she also runs words together, something we didn't quite figure out, even after she kept saying "Buit!" or "Buit?" or "BUIT" in the hopes that inflection would help us know what the hell she was talking about. 

Then she grabbed my hand and dragged me to our deck where her BATHING SUIT was drying in the sun. 

BUIT. 

A way more energy efficient way to say those words, if you ask me.

And so freaking cute I nearly ate her and her tiny little buit that very second. 

Recharging

When I found out that I was pregnant with Quinlan, I decided, in those few seconds staring at the positive pregnancy test, that I would be a stay-at-home-mom. I'm glad that it didn't work out that way because as I learned, that looked much better on paper and in my head.

That's been the case for so many parenting decisions I've made.

I've always been conflicted about what I think I should do and what I can really, truly physically and emotionally do as a parent, some lessons learned the very hard way, and others smartly given up before I even started.

And lately, I've come to the realization that in order for me to be a good mother to my children, I need to get away. As in physically leaving my house for a short period of time. No need for lounging at a poolside or sipping drinks in a fancy bar.

Though that helps.

In fact, I can be working long 10-hour days in Jersey City, like I did last week, and still come home completely refreshed and recharged as a parent. Mostly because during that time, I'm not parenting.

It's hard to explain this to my husband, whose "breaks" or parenting respites (to not piss anyone off, ahem) are already worked into his daily schedule. I get that it's work to him, not a break. There is no respite sitting in a small cockpit for 10 hours at a time. And I imagine I'd feel the same way if my job was more all-consuming of my time than parenting.

But in that time, he's not cooking, cleaning up, then cooking and cleaning up some more. Refereeing fights between sisters and debating the likelihood of rain with an anxious 5-year old. He is not the only adult in a home full of children, with no other adults around, with no place to hide and just catch a breath. That's what I do on a daily basis.

When I arrived home last week, I was excited to see my children. We played and talked. The daily goings on became almost novelties to me, even after only a few days away. Even the middle of the night visits didn't bother me.

I'm fortunate that my job affords me the opportunity to travel. And that my husband is able to ask for off days during those times, even though this means sacrifices for both of us other times during the month. 

But I am learning that they're no longer a luxury for me. They're essential to my survival as a parent. 

I'd love to know what you do to recharge and reboot. And feel free to share what you need to do for yourself in order to be a good parent to your kids.

Breaking the helicopter habit

A few weeks ago, Tina and I watched in awe as my sister-in-law and her husband obsessed over the direction that the stroller should be facing while the baby napped on the beach.

Of course, this was out of the corner of our eye as we were tending to our six total kids. 

But the breeze blows this way and well maybe it should be the other way and just check the wind sock to see OMG JUST LEAVE THE BABY ALONE ALREADY. 

Ah, parents with one kid. 

Now look, I have many friends with one kid, and I love them, dearly. And I admire their ability to be able to do things that I cannot, which I think is a benefit to the child and not a detriment. 

Plus they're not paying out the nose for a babysitter. 

But I think even they can relate to the level of helicoptering that can and does take place when you've just got one kid. 

I might even add you parents of two kids in there as well. 

Because the more kids you have, as I once wrote and as Jennifer Garner recently said in an interview, you just can't hover like you used to. 

Granted, just because you have one or two kids doesn't make you a helicopter parent, however, logic tells me that compared to parents who are outnumbered by their childern, you have more of an opportunity to hover.

I'm the first to admit that I have total helicopter parent tendencies, with my own anxiety leading the way to creating a the first anti-bacterial bubble for my children to live safely in. 

Even those of you without such tendencies probably still sometimes coddle when you shouldn't, give in when standing your ground is most likely healthier, and you do somet things, maybe even unconsciously, that could fall under the helicopter category.

At our core, we all want our kids to be safe. 

But when you have one kid, even two, it's just a lot easier to do all those things that you probably shouldn't. You can wash their binky when it falls on the ground or cut their food into pretty shapes. 

Neither of those things are bad, per se', and there's really nothing to say that my kids will be less successful than the kids with pretty shaped food. Or vice versa. 

But when you're surrounded by kids, and in my case often alone, a lot of the extra stuff I might do, the time I might have spent hovering and coddling, is forced out of the picture. Not necessarily because I want it to be that way but because that's how it has to be for us to get through our day. 

Of course, you can't just tell people "Well, have more kids, then you'll see!" even though I've wanted to. 

Okay, I may have said that out loud a couple of times. I'm an asshole like that. 

But if you want to loosen up and you want to let go a little (or a lot), what you can do is parent like you have lots of kids. 

Just as I learned so much from spending time with other work-at-home-moms and a mom of one (now two), I think there are a lot of parents who could learn from spending time with moms of many. 

And if anything, you'll figure out quickly that there's just no physical way we could hover. 

We're just too damn tired. 

Why women's clothing sizes are a bunch of horse shit

Yesterday I went shopping with a personal stylist, which sounds really fancy, I know,  but just bear with me before you start rolling your eyes back in your head.

See, I'm shooting more videos for Cafemom Studios next week and I need clothes. Or better, clothes that I can wear in public. 

Okay, not even that. Clothes that I can wear on television. 

In the last few months, I've put on a few pounds that even my "marathon training vegetarian diet not eating after 8pm only drinking water and four tons of coffee" regimen could help me with, so I have nothing that fits.

Well, I have a black pencil skirt, a black wrap around dress, and 40 pairs of shoes, as I told my new BFF-ish Carmen. 

{I figure if a complete stranger I met on the Internet can see me half naked nd agree with my disdain for my choice in underpants then she earns the title of BFF-ish}

"I play urban chic on television," I said.

And it's true.

I work from home and chase around four kids so the way you see me in photos is not how I look on a daily basis. 

I know this is a shocking, disappointing revelation because clearly all the photos you see of bloggers of themselves on their blogs are exactly how they look every single day (except maybe Tanis. She totally looks goofy all the time). 

But truthfully, I've just been feeling really crappy about myself lately and bla bla bla wah wah wah I have no clothes. 

So to save myself some time, I decided to hire Carmen to assist me in finding clothes, which was probably the best money I ever spent because she pre-shops for you, pulling a bunch of stuff at various stores, then you just show up, try stuff on, show her your terribly awful underpants and then leave two hours later with stuff that looks good and fits you, all within your budget. 

But that's really not the point of all this because more importantly, I discovered that most of us are shopping for clothes incorrectly.

And I've always sort of known this, with vanity sizing and the ridiculous range in numbers in my closet, but when you see it all laid out in front of you in a big pile of mediums and larges, 10s and 12s, you really get it. 

Which is something I think we all need to remember:

No one sees the size you're wearing. Or the spanx your squeezed into.

They see the way the clothes look on your body. 

So stop shopping for clothes like penises, ladies, because size doesn't matter.