12 Hours of Chaos or Ho Ho Ho Get To Bed!

Who says we can't have the holiday spirit all year long?

In these past Twelve Hours of Chaos, my beloveds gave to me...

12 excuses for another drink of water at bedtime,

11 pleas for one more piece of candy,

10 minutes of hiding behind the sofa when I didn't know where he was,

9 attempts to pick the lock on the bathroom door when his brother was using the potty,

8 ounces of yogurt spilled on the floor,

7 smacks with toy swords,

6 shouts to stop fighting,

5 really good Cyber Monday emails I'm ignoring,

4 threats of no TV,

3 questioning looks at dinner,

2 exchanged looks when I tell them to get their pajamas on,

And 1 poop too big to flush down.

An Exciting Reminder of the Meaning of Life or I Finally Took Oprah's Advice and Simplified!

Nothing like a little crime to end writer's block!

A few weeks ago I started a new job that I love. And a week ago, on a rainy night, all of my stuff was stolen from the parking lot of my new job. My Coach purse, work bag, brand new Ipad, identification, credit cards, pictures, books, you name it, gone. The guy ran off with everything important to me. He actually opened my car door while I was in the car and took everything. And, because I already had my seat belt on (I'm a responsible driver), I wasn't fast enough to grab him and my stuff. I stomped my feet, screamed "fucker!" at him (I'm sure this was really fun to watch on the security camera) and called 911.

According to the police and anyone with a healthy sense of survival, getting out of your car to go after someone after they've robbed you is not the best choice. I explained to Peter that I was surprised it even happened because I thought I looked like a bad ass. He informed me I look like a small blonde woman.

What I feel like

What Peter says I look like

I was shaking as I told the cops what happened. I was shaking as Pete drove me home. I was shaking when I called the credit card companies and the credit bureau to put alerts on my accounts. I was shaking when I called Apple about the security of my Ipad. I was shaking when I told Pete to go get new locks for the house because this guy had our address and our house keys.

Then, about 2 hours after it all happened, I stopped shaking. I looked at my babies, who were trying really hard to act like things were normal, like their dad asked them to. The Moose kept trying to give me backrubs (sweet, but not normal) and The Rock was not listening and intentionally doing what I asked him not to (totally normal). And all of the injustice, anger and violation kind of swirled about and went down the drain like bathwater. Because all that really is important to me is right here. These babies are fine.

Pete went back to the scene of the crime and found my purse in a dumpster, with all my id and house keys etc. The cash and Ipad are gone for good. Some of my stuff is ruined. All in all, I've lost about $1700 worth of stuff. But you know what? It's stuff. And I really could care less. The babies are safe and honest to goodness, it is all I care about.

See, maybe if we own stuff that we feel is irreplaceable, perhaps that means that we place too much emphasis on our stuff. If we can't let it go, maybe we shouldn't own it in the first place. I'm not saying I don't want my Coach purse or my Ipad back - I really do. I bought the Ipad for Max so it really sucks that he doesn't have it now. And I might have an unhealthy relationship with my purse and I might have even had a conversations with it. But if I decided to be upset about the stuff rather than focus on the fact that the people who ARE irreplaceable are home and safe (although they make me crazy because they won't go to bed), I'd really be missing the whole point of life. And this whole thing reminds me to kiss and hug my babies every day because life is just plain weird. No matter what happens, they will know I love them to the core.

At the end of the day, I didn't really lose much. I did gain a great story however. And on a Sunshine-kind of day, I'd like to think the thief used my money for fruits and vegetables and some whole grain bread for his family. And that the Ipad is going to be a birthday gift for his kid, if he can just figure out how to reset it. I'd like to think that my "charitable donation" to the community went to some good.

Deep Thoughts By Yours Truly

Well, these aren't quite deep thoughts. But since I've been too busy to actually write a real post, I decided to leave you with a few random thoughts instead.

1. What the hell AutoCorrect? Have you never done AutoCorrect for a parent before? When I say poopy, I do not mean popping. Who says popping more than poopy? And poppy instead of puke? Seriously? I would like to submit the following words to AutoCorrect: poopy, barf, puke, and losingmyfuckingmind. Clearly my texting is not sexy.

2. Why can't all public bathrooms have big stalls? Have you ever tried to maneuver a small child onto a toilet seat in what is the equivalent of a 18 inch x 18 inch box? I just want to give the middle finger to whoever designed these types of restrooms whenever I take my youngest to the bathroom, which means three times per meal at a restaurant because you put up those damned hanging beads on the hall to the restroom and they are SO FUN to go through. DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON PORTA POTTIES OR I WILL POPPY!

3. Is there a rule about not serving cereal for dinner? Because breakfast didn't get picked up this morning and the box of cereal sitting on the counter looks way more appealing than actually cooking something nutritious. If I throw on some gummy vitamins, that makes it a well balanced meal, right?

4. And what about ice cream for dinner? That seems like an adult choice to me.

5. I am going to write the Rock's future teachers apology notes at the beginning of the school year, apologizing for all future behavior. Because yes, I am the parent that laughs when he acts up. He is hilarious.

6. Kissing my 9 year-old in public is the worst possible punishment I can inflict on him that is legal. I have pointed out to him that while this does not embarrass me in the least, I know it mortifies him so he better stop rolling his eyes at me.

7. Apparently beauty cream is a hoax. I told my 3 year-old that it makes Mommy pretty and then I made the mistake of asking him if it worked. After a critical assessment, the answer is no. Screw you Oil of Olay. Side note, he is the one I will rely on to dress me for my funeral because I know he will pick out the most flattering outfit.

8. When I look at my dear children now, it freaks me out that I ever birthed something so large. Now I know what elephants feel like. And not just because I wear a lot of neutral colors and have saggy skin too.

9. What is the line between explicit and REALLY explicit music? Somehow one or two F-bombs are okay, but not straight cussing in rap. How did we ever decide upon this justification?

10. I am more concerned when I hear my children swearing inappropriately than when I hear them drop a justified cuss word. I have accepted that they will know how to swear - I just don't want them sounding like idiots doing it.

11. How did I ever live without these two little beasts in my life?

And that's all for now folks! Have a great night and tip your servers!

The Age Old Parenting Debate or To Spanx or Not to Spanx, That Is the Question

Moms, are you ready to discuss one of the most heated debates of parenting? Yes, even I am going to address it on my blog. I don't do it, don't believe in it and don't think it helps to raise my children to be the kind of adults I want them to be. I don't Spanx. Of course I'm not going to talk about spanking. First of all, I don't want to know if you do or not and I don't really feel like discussing it. Besides, the issue of spanxing is way more near and dear to my heart.

What brings this important topic up today? I had too much time in an airport and spent that time looking like a ditz, reading Cosmo magazine. To my defense, Oprah also discusses it, but in hindsight, that also makes me look ditzy. Crap. Anyway...it's spanx this, spanx that. Here's the thing. I don't do it and I'm going to tell you why.

1. False Advertising: Look, I'm a perfectionist. As a FORMER size 4-6, I feel as though it is my responsibility to once again get into that size by my own accord. Using any other method to look svelte is just plain cheating and no one likes a cheater. If I want to look like I have an awesome body, I personally feel that I better work for it. And work for it. And work for it. And until then, well, the mirror is just a good reminder that 1. I should get to the gym more often and 2. I should buy clothes that look better on me now. And for goodness sake, my husband knows what I really look like anyway.

2. Pretty Undergarments: You all know that I worked at Victoria's Secret for a couple of years during college. I made some of my best friends there and I also developed a certain standard for my undergarments there as well. I only want to wear pretty bras and panties. As a mom, I might be covered in puke or finger paint on the outside, but underneath, I can still look pretty. (Side note, pretty bras do not make up for smelling like puke however.) And Cosmo kept addressing how do you hide your Spanx when you are hooking up on a booty call. Well, I say, I'll never be put in that situation! I just won't wear ugly panties. Or, it goes without saying, have a booty call with a stranger.

3. Standards: Let me get all Woman-Power on you and say, Ladies, it's time we stand up to this standard of having to be a size 2 after having 2 kids, working full-time and eating a diet of chicken nuggets and turkey sandwiches. Aren't we all supposed to be above this by now? We are supposed to look healthy, not like super models. We are supposed to be secure with our body image and teach our children to love themselves just the way they are! To hell with Spanx! Let's wear flowing skirts, eat organic fruit snacks (oh the irony) and make our own crafts out of leftover egg cartons. I am woman, hear me roar! (This dichotomy is what happens when I read Parents magazine and Cosmo at the same time.)

So whether you Spanx or not is really up to you - it's your personal decision and one each parent needs to make for herself. But now you know where I stand on this very important subject. I'm just going to head to the gym now, then shower, throw on some super cute bra and panty set and a long flowy skirt.

My Four Golden Rules (Because One Is Not Enough and Five Is Too Many)

Rocking the Moose when he was three months old, I would coo at him and gaze into his eyes. I would tell him how smart and funny he is, how perfect he is, and how he should always wear condoms. I believed it was never too early to lay the right foundation of my expectations for him.

After I had the Moose, I gave considerable thought to what I call My Golden Rules. If my boys follow these four simple rules, they really should avoid most of life's disasters. Most other trouble they get into pales in comparison to the trouble they will get into if they break one of these rules. I accept that my kiddos will screw up and screw up often. And I will love them through it. All I ask is that they follow these four simple rules and I promise to forgive them for pretty much everything else.

1. No Smoking: Seriously, if I catch one of my boys with a cigarette (or chewing tobacco) in their mouth, I will slap it right out, even if they are thirty years old. Sure sure, you might argue that they can make their own choices when they are an adult. No, I say, not if they are fucking up. And smoking will fuck them up. Do you know how much prenatal care I followed to have healthy babies? I gave up lunch meat BEFORE I got pregnant, in the anticipation of GETTING pregnant. I gave up caffeine, which is my life blood, for them both for two years - one during each of their pregnancies and one for the year I nursed them - that's four years total! And let's not even get into the permanent damage they did to my boobs during the breast feeding. Hell if I'm going to let them mess up their lungs after all I did to give them healthy ones in the first place.

2. No Drugs/Drinking: Okay, part of this is unrealistic, I know. The drugs part, I'm holding strong. I've gotten through life this far without doing drugs, and I expect the same from them. Nothing good comes from doing drugs. They are addicting, damaging, ruin your career/life, and can kill you. I'm done sounding like the Reagan Administration. Just don't do drugs. As for the drinking, just be responsible. Get a DD. Call me if you mess up. Don't drive drunk. Nuff said.

3. Always Respect Women: I just won't tolerate disrespecting women, and this includes their children. When I thought up these rules, I thought "what offenses could I just not forgive if my children committed them?" And rape or any form of sexual, physical, domestic abuse comes to mind. I just won't have it. So don't do it. Respect any woman in your life, including teachers, parents, girlfriends, coworkers, wives. By respecting women, you in turn respect their children because any woman can tell you that their children are simply an extension of themselves. If I hear of you disrespecting women, I will come down on you like a fury and you will remember that Mom is the Boss. Again, your age is meaningless. I will always be your mom and if you are really fucking up, I will set you straight.

4. Practice Safe Sex: There are too many consequences that come from ignoring this rule. For God's sake and mine, wear a condom! I rocked my boys to sleep reviewing my Golden Rules, including this one. I'm hoping it sticks a little subconsciously because we have a few years before we can have the sex talk and I really need them to remember this rule. STDs and babies last forever. They only need a condom for 20 minutes. I promise to grow a pair and teach them all about condoms when they get a little older if they promise to follow rule number four. And I don't care if she's on the pill. HIV could care less too. And this one ties nicely into Rule Number Three!

So that sums up my main rules. Everything else is really minor compared to these Golden Four. I've had them in place for almost 9 years now and haven't seen any circumstances that would cause me to change them. I can handle swearing, slamming doors, and rolling eyes (personally guilty of all three!) I will yell at them and send them to their rooms, but I will know, those offenses aren't deal breakers. Of course I have created other rules over the years, but they are really level two rules, like "Never wear those awful school color overalls, even if you are drunk and tailgating, because I will take a pair of scissors and cut them off - walking around in your boxers is less embarrassing than those overalls." But the overalls do not have life changing consequences - they just make you look like an idiot and would probably eliminate the need for Rule Number Four. The Golden Four can change your world if you don't follow them. As a mom, I can only do so much to guide my boys and so far, I've noticed that boys can only remember about 4 things at a time (note - if the topic is Skylanders or Pokemon, the memory becomes infinite). Feel free to steal my rules if you want - as you can see, I don't have stealing listed above. I'm hoping the Ten Commandments covers that one.

The Glitter Star Movement or Ladies, How About a Little Love?

Moms, I need your help. I'd like to change Mom-Culture everywhere. I'm tired of happily busting my ass being a mom without any recognition. I want a freaking Glitter* Star.

They say when you deliver, "You don't get a medal regardless of how you deliver your baby." You can go naturally, C-section or with an epidural and no one cares. A healthy baby is our prize. And yes, that is true. But really, I think you need a little love if you went naturally. Why not? Do you know how much it hurts to have a baby?? I don't - I had an epidural and a C-section. But I can IMAGINE how much it hurts and I think that deserves a tiara, or at least a small ribbon on your hospital door. If you told me I'd get a tiara for delivering naturally, I might have considered it. It's all about the proper motivation. If you delivered naturally, you are a freaking Rock Star. I am jealous of your awesomeness, and may make a snide comment about it because I can be petty.

Currently I'm looking ahead at a week that involves 4 sports practices, one soccer game, one religious education class and a scout event. Oh, and the cherry on top is the authentic looking costume I "get" to make for my son's school project (and a poster - don't forget about the poster). This is in addition to the regular things that need to be done like groceries, dinners, laundry, spelling words, scheduling doctors' appointments, working full-time and paying the bills. I woke up on Monday morning and the first thing I thought was "What the fuck! How is this all supposed to get done?" My second thought was "I need coffee." And according to Parents magazine and Redbook, I'm also supposed  to find time to eat 2 nutritious snacks each day (Snickers bars and coffee do not count), exercise, meditate and journal, because by taking care of myself, I will have the energy to find 26 hours in my 24 hour day. If I make it through this week, I deserve a freaking Glittery Star.

Have you noticed that men get verbal Glitter Stars for the smallest of accomplishments? They change A diaper - Glitter Star! They pick the kids up from daycare - Dad of the Year! They take the kids to buy groceries - Mr. Mom! Moms, we do all of these things in one hour after a full day of work. No Glitter Star. Time to change things Ladies! (Disclaimer: My husband is awesome. He gets the kids ready EVERY morning, drops them all off and picks them all up at night. A.MAZING. What he does in one day would likely warrant him 72 Gold Stars by those people who have low expectations for dads. He definitely exceeds these expectations and (guilty admission) I occasionally/often take this for granted.)

Wouldn't it be nice if we could just look at each other, see that worn out look on that Mom's face, and say "Hey Sister - I've been there! Good job!" and put a Glitter Star on her stained shirt? I know I'd feel a little bit better if someone gave me a Glitter Star every once in a while. Sometimes just not screaming at your kids at night deserves a Glitter Star - there's no need to be stingy! I know we are supposed to know that the simple fact that we are moms is reward enough - that we don't need that pat on the back because the sheer fact we are raising amazing children speaks for itself. Well, I say that's crap. Have you read that Sistine Chapel email that says the creators of the Sistine Chapel didn't put their names on it? That the fact that the Sistine Chapel is amazing is all the recognition that they need? Well, I'm willing to bet that after they put in 10 hours building the Chapel that day, they didn't go home and figure out what's for dinner, run someone to soccer practice and cut up felt to make a fringed jacket for their grade-schooler's school project. (Yes, I am hung up on this costume. I will eventually get over this...sometime next year.) And maybe they did think, "Hey, how about a Glitter Star for all that freakin' work!?"

So here's what I'm proposing. All of us start walking around with a few Glitter Stars in our purses. Consider it Adult Fruit Snacks - a simple way to make someone instantly happier. If you can't find Glitter Star stickers, then smelly stickers will work just as well. I seem to remember being really excited about them in first grade. The next time you see a mom that looks like she's had a hell of a day and needs a little pat on the back for successfully (or unsuccessfully) dropping everyone off at the right practice field on time, give her a Glitter Star.  If you'd like to make your own because you want to seem like Martha Stewart or a Pinterest Queen, then please copy, color and cut out the star below. I will be slightly annoyed that you felt the urge to show up the rest of us with your craftiness, but I will forgive you if you pin one of your stars on my shirt. Please ignore it if my shirt is stained. I am still my 3-year old's human napkin. I'm pretty sure your Glitter Star would make up for it. Side note, I'm going to print some off for my mom - I owe her more than a few.

*Side Note: This original post was called the Gold Star Movement until a friend of mine pointed out that a gold star has a negative connotation too. While the Gold Star is the highest level of sticker you can get as a kid, I am an adult and am sensitive to its other meanings too. Hence the name change to Glitter Star.

The New B-word or I Know You Are and So Am I

Those who  know me know that I am not shy to throw out a few swear words here and there. I've talked in past blogs about my colorful vocabulary and have stopped making apologies about it. But today I'd like to address a new swear word and it's one that I'm going to make a conscious effort to stop using. The B-word. Is this because I feel that the word "bitch" is derogatory? Well, sometimes it's an accurate description. And I much prefer to use it as a verb anyway. I can't give that up. No, the word I'm talking about is BUSY.

I've been giving this quite a bit of thought and have decided that "busy" is the new B-word. We all use it and frankly, it's getting too much play. "How are you?" The reply is always "busy" as if that describes an emotion. It's a cheater's way of getting out of replying to a question. And I am SO guilty of this. Does saying that I'M busy imply that you are not? "Oh, I'm so busy, you know, working full-time, commuting 90 minutes a day, running after the kids, baking from scratch, managing two sports schedules for one kid, volunteering, blah blah blah." Wow. Is anyone else thinking "hey lady, are you just trying to win this conversation or are you actually trying to make me hate you?" I'd venture to say that the B-word leads me to two other B-words - boring and bragging. Enough already! We get it. You are...busy. Snore and please don't call me again.

So I'm going to turn over a new leaf. From here on out, I'm going to do my best to avoid the word "busy." I'm going to acknowledge that we are all in the same boat and that saying we are busy is the same thing as saying "I'm breathing." In the meantime, I'm going to be trying out a list of other adjectives, such as peachy, swell, standing, overwhelmed, bitchin' (a b-word that is not off my list), and hungry. Chances are I am actually hungry.

Who's with me on my new crusade? It's time our children learn a different vocabulary that doesn't include this word, because in reality, busy is the new normal. Get over it, get creative and join me! Unless that is, you are too busy.

A Little Dried Urine Always Brings a Tear to My Eye

I have a confession* to make. I was cleaning out my cabinets in my bathroom when I stumbled across my old pregnancy tests. Not just one. There were 6 old pregnancy tests there, from both the Moose and the Rock. Surely I'm not the only one who saves/collects weird things. There are people out there who save old umbilical cord stumps or bury placentas after they give birth. But seriously, those are bad examples because saving belly button stumps and internal guts is just plain gross and I am nothing like that. Yuck. We are not in the same category. But I sheepishly acknowledge that I am saving sticks that have dried up urine on them.

As I looked at these sticks, I got teary. Not because I was disgusted by my odd collection or the amount of money I spent testing and retesting for the same results, but because I remembered the elation and absolute terror with each first pregnancy test. There is nothing like the heart fluttering joy and the stomach dropping fear of finding out you are pregnant. Those (six) little sticks brought back all those memories and tugged at my internal clock that says "Maybe just one more..."

But there are no more babies in our future. And ironically for the first time ever, I have baby lust. I see a baby on a commercial and I go all gooey. I watch family photos of my babies when they were babies and I start crying. Pete looks at me like I am crazy (and not just because I saved six pregnancy tests) and shakes his head no. No way, no how. Since it would be a little odd for me to get pregnant without his help, it looks like the final answer is no more babies.

To make matters worse, it also occurred to me that I am getting TOO OLD to have babies. This month I am rounding 36, which is on the downward slide to 40. A pregnant 36 year-old? Ancient to the medical community! They would hand me a walker when I came in for appointments. It's funny because I've always been young enough to have kids, until now. Sure, I know of lots of 36 year-olds who have babies, but to be honest, being pregnant in my 20's was way easier than it was in my 30's. This ship has sailed.

So my baby days are over. I will still tear up at Johnson and Johnson commercials. I will still call my babies "babies" and snuggle them even when they push me off. And I will still save those pregnancy tests, even if they have dried urine on them. At least they aren't umbilical cords. (Gross.)

*As a Catholic, we always feel guilty about something and are always making confessions. This is what we do. If you aren't guilty, you aren't Catholic. And now I feel guilty for making jokes about being Catholic. See how easy it is?

The Good Mom List or Maybe It's Time We Facebook Break Up

Back in "the day" a good mom made sure her child didn't drink bleach, made sure the bath water wasn't too hot, and made sure the kids were home at the end of the day, even if the mom didn't know where they were for the previous 8 hours.

Today, the "good mom" label that I so desperately seek includes the following:

1. Serving a home-cooked meal every night that doesn't include shaped chicken nuggets.

2. Not swearing.

3. Having a supply of art supplies at the ready.

4. Reviewing spelling words EVERY night.

5. Reading to each child for 30 minutes, individually.

6. Not getting on Facebook until everyone is tucked into bed.

7. See #6, but with your iPhone.

8. Exercising every day because it sets a good example and allows you to keep up with your active children.

9. Serving fruit as dessert.

10. Journaling, mediating and doing yoga.

11. Always having a positive attitude.

12. Remembering the kids' daily vitamins.

13. Getting down on the floor to play with the kids every night.

14. Only reading "meaningful" books, that don't include Fifty Shades of Gray.

15. Taking the kids outside at every opportunity.

16. Always being up for play dough and finger paint.

17. Bringing healthy snacks to the sporting events after sending out the petition for a healthy snack policy to the league parents.

18. Attending all PTO meetings and coaching every sport.

19. Remembering every detail from the past 5 years of your children's lives.

20. Not having fruit snacks in the house.

21. Making your own popsicles out of only fruit juice.

22. Baking bread and muffins from scratch.

23. Taking tons of high quality pictures that are promptly scrapbooked.

24. Joyfully listening to Raffi and classical music instead of "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore.

25. Using only natural cleaning products.

26. Having afternoons off for fun trips to the circus, county fair, and local farm.

27. Working a full-time fulfilling job to set a good example for your children, while still providing 9 hours of engaging individualized one-on-one time with each child before an age-appropriate bedtime.

28. Having quiet, well-behaved children at the mall, library, and every restaurant.

29. Getting to church every week instead of sleeping in.

30. Planning educational and interesting weekend trips.

31. Never drinking margaritas while your children run around outside chasing fireflies.

32. Always looking put together, with clean clothes and fresh looking make up.

33. Never yelling at your children, even if they are slamming the doors for the 14th time.  

34. Strictly keeping to the 2-hours a day screen time limit.

35. Having healthy snacks in the car and band aids always in your purse.

Let me just say that if you do 20 or more of these items above on a daily basis, you should just de-friend me on Facebook. If you don't, I will just follow your posts like Single White Female, putting you on a pedestal with the hopes of replicating your perfection while at the same time resenting you for the same reason. Do you every wonder as you drive home from work "How many times did I serve chicken nuggets this week? And is there an appropriate limit? And when does one start counting the days for the week? Maybe the week starts today." I do. And perhaps somedvays my children might think that their names begin with "God Damn It." On a good day, I might be able to knock off 5 of these items from the list. And I keep a "Good Mom" list on my iPhone that I check to make sure I remember those vitamins and the never-ending spelling lists - I swear I'm not checking Facebook while you are telling me what meal you hated at child care from 4 years ago. And if your bath water is too warm? Well, at least you have bath crayons to make art with while it cools. I may even color along. Because, I'm trying God Damn It. And some days, I think that's all that counts.

Teddies, Stockings and Flannel Pajamas or It's a Wonder I'm Still Married

Pajama Reflections:
It is an end of an era. I finally threw away my baby blue flannel Victoria's Secret pajamas.

Back in my college days, I worked at Victoria's Secret part-time. Initially I intended to use the income to help pay my bills, but in the end used all my paychecks and then some on the merchandise itself. I guess it was a win-win for Victoria - I was basically free labor with all the stuff that I bought. I have an entire drawer dedicated to stuff I've only worn once. But it was a growth moment for me too. Not only did I meet my best girlfriends at this store, but I can also tell you the difference between a teddy and a merry widow, explain silk over satin, and extoll the virtues of stockings versus full pantyhose. And lucky for one caller, I also know that a sheer lace babydoll does indeed become see-through if you get it wet. Duh. It's sheer and it's lace. Side note, if you are getting your rocks off by calling Victoria's Secret, at least come up with some interesting questions. If there was a lingerie Jeopardy, I would win.

Back to my flannel pajamas...it was the first Christmas Pete and I were married. I had stopped working at Victoria's Secret so I could intern and graduate into the lucrative field of fitness and wellness. Pete hands me a huge box from Victoria's Secret and I was so excited. What would my husband buy his newlywed, who also knew every product at the Victoria's Secret store? I open the box, pull apart the tissue paper, and what do my wondering eyes should appear? Blue flannel pajamas. And I thought, WTF?

After I started talking to my husband again (a few days later), these are a few of my direct quotes:
"What the hell were you thinking? We just got married and you bought me flannel pajamas??"
"Am I too fat to wear something cuter?"
"FINE! I'll wear these goddamn pajamas every fucking night!"

My husband sputtered a couple of replies like, "But light blue is your favorite color." (true) and "You are always cold at night." (also true). But when you are 21 years old, common sense and reason aren't always readily available - see note above about spending all available income on bras and panties. Being as stubborn as a mule, I did wear those pajamas constantly. At first it was to prove a point but gosh darn it, those were the best pajamas I've ever owned. I guess I was right when I was selling them to customers; they really do get softer with every wash and they do last forever so it's worth spending $55 1997 dollars on them because they hold up.

Being me, I hate to be wrong. But I will admit, I was wrong here. My husband gave me a thoughtful gift that I ended up loving. Sure, they aren't sexy, but as I've gotten older (ie wiser), they were way more practical. I have cleaned up baby puke in them, lounged around on lazy Sundays in them, and have even found them very absorbent for spit up emergencies. My husband is a sweetie that not only bought me a super gift, but also stuck with me while I went into a crazed rage about it. I guess he knew something that I didn't - that life wouldn't always call for satin and lace, but sometimes flannel can be just as good. This lesson is even more true as a mom. We may not stay out all night anymore unless our kids are keeping us up, but life is still pretty awesome. And if these pajamas get wet, they are NOT see-through. Won't be getting any prank calls on these babies!

My pajamas in their prime

Mom Moments that Parents Magazine Doesn't Feature aka Things I Hate

Just a few things I need to get off my chest...

A List of Mom-things I Hate To Do (look who found how to change font colors!)

1. Putting sheets on bunk bed mattresses.
2. Sewing patches on Scout shirts.
3. Yelling at my kids.
4. Not getting to eat ice cream for dinner.
5. Having to explain what a condom is when my son hears it on TV.
6. Paying daycare instead of buying a new car.
7. Having to be very careful where I put my copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.
8. Cleaning up pink throw up. Other colors I can manage.
9. Going to church to set a good example instead of getting to sleep in.
10. Going upstairs to put certain people to bed for the fourth time in the night, especially after I've painted my toenails.
11. Feeling guilty for leaving the house to work out, buy groceries, or go to dinner with girlfriends.
12. Matching little pairs of socks.
13. Making May Baskets (see post from May 2012).
14. Dealing with playground politics.
15. Dropping my kids off at school or daycare. I hate saying good-bye.
16. Working late.
17. Remembering to put money under the pillow for the tooth fairy.
18. Using a 5-point harness while running really short errands.
19. Having a constant supply of fruit snacks, holiday candy and pop tarts.
20. Stopping at one bowl of ice cream in front of the kiddos.
21. Hearing that I look like I am in my late 30's.
22. Being quizzed like I am an encyclopedia when I least expect it.
23. Explaining what an encyclopedia is because the 70's and 80's were SO long ago.
24. Feeling guilty for going to work and feeling guilty for staying home.
25. Baby. Weight.
26. Feeling like I have to make the obligatory comment about how motherhood is worth all of the above. Because that should go without saying. My list of things I love about being a mom is much longer than this list of things I hate to do. But Moms, sometimes it's okay just to admit that there is no glamour in cleaning  smeared poop off the walls - NO ONE loves that part of parenting. Add it to the list!

From Pap Smears to Playgrounds

I was at my annual exam the other day and I realized that I dreaded stepping on the scale more than my pap smear. The annual witnessed weigh in leads to uncomfortable small talk while everyone tries to ignore those three little numbers the nurse writes down. But during my pap smear? Cheerful chatter about vacations and the latest antics of my children. I don't even bat an eye anymore while being probed. It occurred to me that motherhood has stripped me of all semblance of modesty. Motherhood has made me exposed in more ways than one.

I don't know when it happened. Before I was pregnant, the thought of those awful doctor's office gowns made me shutter, because no matter what you do, you are always showing off part of your ass. Just make them bigger people! Even during the first pregnancy I was shy about the usual examinations. Until I had what people innocently call a "pelvic exam" which I like to call the "you-aren't-doing-that-again-unless-I'm-drugged" exam. At that point, I thought 1)Whatthehell? and 2) How is this baby supposed to come out when I thought that sucked?

Breast feeding the Moose, I tried for a while to cover up so I wouldn't expose myself to anyone in the room. But then the Moose had colic and I gave up modesty in an effort to quickly and effectively quiet him down with my boob - this did not help of course because colic is God's little gift to people who need to learn that they can't control everything.

But the coup de gras was Rocco's delivery. Any modesty I had held on to through Max's first 5 years went out the window as I was being raced down the hallway, spread eagle, with a nurse riding my bed with her arm up to her elbow in my woo hoo. Please don't ask me where the sheet was. I don't think it made it for the ride. A few days later when the Rock's explosion into the world settled, I asked Peter to please tell me exactly how many people saw (what Peter calls) my va-jay-jay. "Not too many," was his response, which, unless you are a stripper, is too many people. For a brief second, I cocked my head, thought, "huh" and then went about my day of whipping my boob out whenever Rocco fussed. Exposure was now just a part of my life as a mom.

See, motherhood is a tough game. Perhaps the reason we have to go into the doctor so frequently for examinations during pregnancy is so that we get used to being exposed to the world. Frankly, letting the whole world see my "business" was just a small taste of how exposed you are as a mother. When you are a mother, you recognize that your heart is out there running on the playground, holding your hand at the mall, and sleeping in their crib. Your emotions and what feels like your physical being are impacted by your child's experiences every day. You have no defense - at least I have not yet found a way to shield myself from the everyday exposure of being a mom. Whether your child is picked last for the team or is fighting with bullies on the bus, it strikes you to your core. Our children's victories and challenges are our own. When we see the babies' faces at Sandy Hook, I know I wasn't the only one who literally sobbed, because we know that those babies were really their parents' hearts and souls.

Being a mom makes you vulnerable. Thank goodness children are worth it. Plus, it makes that annual pap smear look like a breeze.

Quick footnote to my parents in case they are reading this: Really sorry about jumping out of a plane to try skydiving. I see now how this might have stressed you out slightly and realize how watching the video of myself careening out of a plane perhaps was not as entertaining to you as it was to me. It was actually pretty fun and I'm glad I did it. But at least now I can understand why you weren't as enthusiastic.