Let’s stop pretending like parenthood is all unicorns and rainbows, ok? There are great days. FANTASTIC days, sure. But there are other days that I feel like an imposter. Like I am living someone else’s life. As if I have no clue what I am doing and it’s only a matter of time that someone finds me out and I am exposed. But why do I feel that way? Because some days… I am not a huge fan of being a mom. Some days I sit and day dream about what my life might be like right now if I hadn’t had kids.
I wonder what kind of home I would have with clean carpet and marker-less walls. What kind of car I would drive that isn’t filled with cracker crumbs and car seats? I think about what career I would have, what kind of hobbies I would have taken up. What I would do with my time if I didn’t have baseball, soccer, karate, gymnastics, school events and scout meetings every night of the week?
I consider what kind of wardrobe I would own if I wasn’t concerned every morning about what food would get whipped at me by tiny hands and find its way plastered onto my shirt by lunch. I think about if I would be caught up on my favorite shows, if my pets would get more attention. Would I feel less tired? Would I have more time to go to the gym or would I eat healthier if I didn’t pick leftover chicken dinosaurs or macaroni and cheese off my kids plates every night?
What would my stress level be like if I didn’t have to fight irrational tiny humans every day to brush their teeth, go to sleep, put their coat or socks on or do their homework. I question if I would have gray hair and crows feet; dark circles and under eye bags. Would those have shown up years or even a DECADE later if I didn’t have kids?
I day dream about my trips to Europe, my girls nights that would be followed up by a day spent on a date with my couch ordering takeout and binge watching Netflix. Without any interruptions to wipe someone’s butt, clean up someone’s spilled milk or kiss a boo boo.
I ponder these things on my bad days and wonder what kind of life I would have had, if I had chosen not to have kids.
And then, something happens. Usually something small. My daughter will smile. Or my son will bring me a portrait he drew of just the two of us. My oldest will hand over a test he scored 100% on that we studied for together for hours last week. And suddenly, I am catapulted back into reality and it’s GOOD. I look around at my stained carpet, my sticky table, the blind my kid broke when he threw a basketball in the house and the sink filled to the brim with dirty sippy cups and I. AM. HAPPY.
I might have my moments where I wonder if I’m cut out for this parenting thing. If I had done things differently, if I wouldn’t be in the financial situation I’m in or if I might have planned better if I wouldn’t have soooo many consecutive years of sleepless nights under my belt. But they are fleeting moments. I can honestly say there are some days that I absolutely HATE being a mom. But I don’t hate the wet, sloppy kisses. I don’t hate the sweet and high pitched “I love you, mommy”s or the tiny arms wrapped around my neck for a hug. I adore their chubby little fingers and their stinky feet. When they fall asleep and are covered in a layer of sweat and drool, I don’t hate that.
I might hate seeing the sunrise every morning, especially when I was up at 12:30, 2:15, 4:45 AND 5 am. But I don’t mind all of the extra cuddles I was lucky enough to soak up during the times of the night when my child was sleepy and affectionate.
Laundry, dishes, and vacuuming are not my favorite chores, but making my child’s favorite meal, finding a special outfit for their big day at school, or cleaning up after a day of making cookies with my three favorite people makes it a little less terrible.
I might not have the fancy car or the plush couch. I may have a bank account that lingers around a balance of three figures on a GOOD day, but I get to spend my days watching personalities grow. I get to witness wonder, reasoning, and the development of logic and love. I am sitting front row to a live show that involves three beings I created as the main characters. And it’s kind of amazing.
My days might be long and arduous but the bad is sugar coated in kisses and sweet scents and the good, the good is just so damn good.
I miss regular “self-care”, hanging out with friends, traveling to places with more adult beverages than costumed princesses and I miss high heels but, honestly, life is a hell of a lot more comfortable with unshaved legs in yoga pants anyways.
So, sure. There are days that I hate being a mom. But that doesn’t mean that I would trade those days in for anything else. Even on the days I hate being a mom, I still love my job, I love my kids, and I am honored to be the one that they call “mom” in the first place.
Why I Don’t Let Santa Take Credit For The Good Gifts
Like many, Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. It got especially magical after I had kids. I can’t wait to see their little faces light up on Christmas morning with delight as they burst out of their bedrooms with anticipation to see if Santa actually came.
You know, the man in red with the jolly disposition and the mystical elves that make toys from scratch and report back to the North Pole every night fueled on “cheer”. The man who somehow manages to make it across the entire world in one night living solely off of milk and cookies and Christmas spirit.
I love Santa. I love the idea of Santa. And I love that my kids think that Santa is magic. It adds an extra element to Christmas that fills them (and me) with intoxicating excitement every year. What I refuse to play into is that Santa shows up with the expensive, hard to find gifts and mom and dad bring things like socks and pjs.
The concept surrounding Santa and his reindeer ALONE is one that I think brings hope and enchantment to kids lives during Christmastime.
If we can get them to believe that there is a human being in this world who flies with wingless, hooved animals (one of which has a light bulb on his face), who lives in a hidden land that you can’t find on a map and has an entire staff of tiny, pointy earred people who have not yet managed to go on strike for being forced into overtime and being overworked, and have to do it all in dangerous conditions of freezing cold and hyper active machines throwing paint and nails…. well, I think we’ve done our jobs getting them to believe.
Isn’t that enough?
I work my ass of every year to make sure my kids have a good Christmas. To make sure that they are delivered just as many presents as their friends and they aren’t lacking in all of the “hot items” that they desperately asked for. For a month straight I live off of coffee and evergreen fumes trying to scrape together pennies to bring my little ones the MOST joy I can on the mindblowing morning called Christmas. I become a ninja of gift hiding, wrapping, and assembling. On Christmas Eve, I morph into a woman who doesn’t need sleep, hydration, or daylight to survive and I spend HOURS setting up an entire display for my kids to enjoy when they wake up at the ass crack of dawn because… SANTA!
Did I mention I love Christmas? I really do.
It’s all worth it. It is. BUT, I will be damned if I am going to go through the hell of November and December’s lead up to the big day and let the fat guy in the red suit take all of the credit for the gifts that I had to fist fight someone over in Target because it was the last one on the shelf. NO. WAY.
I want my kids to have the magic of Christmas in their very own homes every year. But I also want them to appreciate the season for what MATTERS. Gifts are great. Getting gifts as a kid is one of the most exciting parts of Christmas, but plenty of kids DO NOT get gifts and if they do they aren’t nearly as cool, high tech, or expensive as some of the gifts my kids have gotten over the years.
How do I explain to my kids that some kids (the ones who really need the miracle) don’t get what is on their list from a man who theoretically brings presents to ALL kids that are good? Do I tell them those kids are bad? What makes those kids less deserving? Nothing.
How do I explain that if we have had a year when money is tight that Santa suddenly doesn’t have the “disposable income” to supply the mountain of gifts he has in recent years? I can’t. Not without them losing some faith in the big guy.
Plus, I’m trying to raise responsible and grateful humans who understand the value of material things and what it takes to make and spend money. Christmas happens to throw all of that out the window for the weeks leading up, and at least a good month after.
The holiday comes and suddenly they become entitled brats (albeit adorable ones) who deserve the world just because they exist because for weeks family and friends have been showering them with gifts. And that is WITH me giving the best gifts from mom. If they thought Santa brought those? I imagine the priveleged attitude they carry would be slightly worse, and last a little longer.
It’s because of these reasons 
that my kids get the good presents from me. Call me selfish, but I want the credit. I want my kids to know that I worked hard to make sure that they got that one thing on their list they really wanted.
I want my kids to see that even though I might have missed a few important sports games or school events, it’s because I was working. Working to make sure we have a roof over our heads and our bills get paid and also so that I could do things like buy them the iPod they really wanted for Christmas. I want them to know that even when I was exhausted and stressed out I might not have seemed like it, but I was in fact listening to them when they mentioned a cool toy they had played with at a friend’s that they wish they had for themselves.
I want my kids to understand that Christmas IS magical, and there are TWO people that make it so. Santa, and ME. Maybe I’m a little self-serving, but I’ve noticed since I’ve started switching the tags around on Christmas and marking the extra special gifts from me, my kids have a new appreciation for their packages under the tree.
I have a better explanation for kids that may not get the same number or types of gifts as them or why our Christmas haul may vary year after year. And I don’t have to stress about remembering which gifts came from Santa and which didn’t when something doesn’t work correctly and I have to try to come up with some outlandish story about how I’m going to phone in to the North Pole to get a replacement.
If you ask me, the magic of Santa lies in my kids believing. Believing that there is someone watching them, rooting for them, willing to marvel them with his abilities every year because he loves little kids. He does it all in one night because he’s spectacular. And he brings things they will love and play with for the whole year (hopefully).
But the big ticket stuff, the gift that they requested for MONTHS, the one that cost a small fortune and will bring the biggest smile and the most thanks? That one comes from Mom. Move over Santa, I’m soaking up the cred over here. You already have a group of elves to do your bidding, I’m all on my own.
Halloween Candy You Should Really Take From Your Kids (And Keep For Yourself)- A Guide To The Ultimate Parent Pillage
Halloween. It’s the parent’s ultimate compensation event. Not only do you get to send your kids out in ridiculous garbs, but they’re off begging other people for shit they don’t need for a change. Triumphantly working their little tails off (in a way that any other day would be considered child labor) collecting coveted chocolate covered and fruit flavored escapes that you get to enjoy for months to come. Until the guilt has finally set in and the reality that “bikini season” is once again around the corner and you’ve spent the winter packing it on like snowman.
But it’s “fall y’all”. The season of not giving a f*ck and the perpetual mindset of “this is a problem for spring me”. We are seemingly decades away from the time of year where you’ll start worrying about self-inflicted holiday coping weight, again.
So here we go. If we are going to rage eat our kids candy in the bathroom over our own sobs while they bang on the door begging us to refill the sippy cup we’ve only just handed them on our stumble through the lego minefield on the way in here, shouldn’t we at least do it right?
Have no fear. I’ve compiled a complete list of essentials, so you can be sure that your caloric sweet treat is the ideal choosing for the dumpster-fire parenting situation that life has handed you today.
Reese’s. A go-to for any occasion as it pertains to raising hell-bound heathens. Whether in the shape of a smooshed cupcake or a pumpkin, they are timeless. From a tiny bit of toothpaste in the bathroom sink to sharpie on your brand new leather couch, these are sure to make the blinding rage fade away, if even for a few moments. Stuff the whole damn thing in your mouth because they are big enough to satisfy in one bite so you don’t have to share with your tiny terrorists. But small enough that you (probably) won’t choke.
Snickers. Anything with crunch is perfect for when you’re white-knuckling it through dinner trying to make it to the final stretch of the evening so you can lay down and let your mind race about all things you have no control over. These come in “fun-size” which is really just code for “calm down on the candy, mmmk?” But HEY, you can take this as an opportunity to remind yourself that is IS in fact fun to devour something your kid worked hard for. Karma.
Tootsie Rolls. Save these as a passive aggressive way to get back at your kids on days they have pissed you off just enough, but not entirely to the point of making you lose your ever-loving mind. Nobody likes these little turd shaped nuggets. I use these for when my kids are begging me for candy and just won’t STFU about it already, but they really don’t deserve it after their mini-episodes of insubordination throughout the day. So here you go, little Satan spawn. Chow down. (muahahaha).
Skittles. If you like fruity , like I do, these are great. I have mastered how to silently pour the tiny bags from the front seat of my car into the cup-holder so that I can sneak little morsels to suck on while my kids are screaming for whatever bullshit toy I told them not to bring into the car that they (of course) dropped the second I pulled onto the road. I highly recommend. Starbursts and suckers work for this as well (although harder to hide from the blood sucking sugar cravers). It makes reaching around into the black hole that is my minivan while simultaneously trying to not kill everyone in a fiery car crash that much more enjoyable.
Smarties. It wouldn’t be Halloween if your kid’s buckets weren’t overflowing with these cellophane wrapped chalk wafers. This is the La Croix of candy. The first one or two may be ok, enjoyable even. But after a couple you end up with a sugar burn on your tongue and aren’t even remotely satisfied. You know it, I know it. But our kids, for whatever reason, do not. Save alllll the Smarties. These can be used as bargaining chips in the future to bribe your kids into good behavior when you’re desperately trying to complete a task (like pee in peace) or need them to just get the hell out of your face for a second so you can think.
Your kids are going to get 
a lot of bullshit candy for Halloween. Circus peanuts, jelly beans, Good N Plenty. All of those are basically compost material. Or a lovely parting gift for the neighbor kid you’re constantly turning away who comes knocking on the door at dinner time every night to see if your kid can “play”.
Some asshole will for SURE hand out those stale popcorn balls that in my house I use as way to showcase my impressive nothin’-but-net shot… right into the garbage can.
If you’re like me, you’ll tell your kids they can’t have any until you’ve carefully investigated it all for dangerous ingredients like razor blades and gluten. Let’s be honest, I’m a lazy (or more accurately, exhausted) parent. If I weren’t sorting through it anyways to find my stash, I’d probably risk it. I’m detail oriented, but only when it comes to stealing from my own children while they’re asleep, what can I say?
Halloween doesn’t have to only be known as the holiday that kick’s off the annual downward spiral of eating like a complete assbag for months on end. Leading you to question what kind of magical elf stowed away in Santa’s trip down your chimney and found it’s way into your unopened drawers to replace all of your spring staples with similar items, just a couple sizes too small.
So, if you’re gonna pilfer candy from your kids, make sure you do it right.
Godspeed, kiddos. Go get your mamas some chocolate.
If you liked this check out some of my other parenting inspired humor pieces:
As A Single Mom, Sometimes It’s Bring Your Child To Work Day
Every Mom Has A Favorite Child
5 Things I Learned About Dating Apps – A Cautionary Tale
So Many Parts Of Parenting I Did NOT See Coming
When I was a little girl I had a dream. A dream of growing up and being free of the know-it-all but know-nothing-at-all dorky, embarrassing parents of my own. Little did I know I was on my way to becoming them….
I had visions of never having to share any of my shit with anyone ever again, playing whatever song I wanted in the car, or putting whatever the hell I wanted on the TV because I was a damn adult and I could do what I want. When I want.
It’s almost endearing to think how wrong I was.
If someone told me years ago I would be arguing with a toddler about how to put a sock on (I’m doing it all wrong, apparently). I would have laughed in their face. Adults have it all under control.
So many thing I did NOT see coming as an adolescent with aspirations as far as the eye can see. Such an idiot. The list of experiences with children that have hit me like a torrential downpour on a sunny day are literally endless and growing by the millisecond. You can still feel the sun on your skin but you’re suddenly soaking wet and wonder, “where the fuck did that come from??”
That’s basically the narrative of my life now.
If I would have been warned that no matter how much I protested, I 
would listen to the Frozen soundtrack OVER AND OVER AND OVER until my ears were bleeding just because it was a more pleasant emotional assault than screaming children, I would have said NO WAY. Not in my car.
Paw Patrol is the new Jersey Shore, in my house. I can sing the lyrics to pretty much every children’s animated show just by hearing the first note. And don’t even get me started on the viral shark family. I’m ready to do my own rendition including homicidal shark, no fucks given shark, and perpetually exhausted shark.
Who would have thought that as an adult my new life motto’s would be #getyourshoeson #thisisMINEDAMMIT #becauseIsaidso or #areyoukiddingme?
I q
uit a job as a server at a restaurant shortly after I found out I was pregnant with my first. I did a whole Half Baked eff-you exit pointing fingers and cursing the staff on my way out the door because I was about to be a mom and EVERYTHING would be different now.
The owners must have felt so smug with their little kids and parenting experience thinking “God bless her, she really has no clue”. I didn’t. Here we are, years later, and I’m an order taker, short-order cook, AND bus boy and I do it all for disdain. Or hugs…. If I’m lucky.
Getting anywhere on time is like a unicorn sighting. There is absolutely 
no speed my kids are capable of moving in other than sloth. Even on a good day when the sock isn’t tickling their foot and they were able to locate BOTH shoes quickly, it’s still an episode of Frazier (slow, boring, mildly humorous) getting to the car.
Showering used to be something I looked forward to. My daily release where I could feel renewed, fresh, clean. If I chose not to shower it was because I was being progressive and “hip”.
N
ot because I was unable to lock my kids into an episode of some mind-numbing cartoon long enough. Or I hadn’t put thought into charging the tablet to a percentage that would “babysit” my kids until I finished.
Now I have to plan my showers. If there is any part of my life that resembles a successful business executive, it is the way I schedule a shower. And that’s about it.
“Bedtime” used to happen for me after a night of dinner and drinks with friends. I would reminisce about the hilarious events that had unfolded while I brushed my teeth and set my alarm. Now, I haven’t used an alarm in eight years and doubt I’ll need one anytime soon considering my little refusers-of-sleep are up at the ass crack of dawn (or before) every.friggin.morning.
This includes the weekend. The time when I swore as a teenager when I “grew up” I would mosey around the house all day and lay in pajamas on rerun binges if I chose to, because adults have that option without someone hounding them to get up do something productive. Ha! Yeah, right. It’s almost cute how stupid I was in my visions of the future.
Bedtime has become a complete shit show charade of song and dance, stories, and endless excuses as to why it’s not that “time” yet. Begging for snacks and back rubs while someone sobs (usually me, sometimes them) because we are all exhausted and if they don’t go to bed soon I’M GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT.
Parenting is like a domestic partnership. Only you didn’t walk into it agreeing to share anything and everything from this day forth, till death do you part. You are forced to or all hell breaks loose.
This includes your belongings, your money, AND your sanity. What’s yours is theirs and what’s theirs is theirs. Forever and ever, Amen.
Honestly, I love my kids with every ounce of my being. I would be lost and devastated if anything changed in our family. But there are days where I wonder how I keep it all together. And that’s what chocolate and wine are for. Cheers.
The Most Terrifying Day – A Brush With Every Parent’s Worst Nightmare
I want to preface this by saying – I am in no way trying to compare my experience today with an awful tragedy some have experienced. My kids are all safe at home and sleeping soundly in their beds. And, they were safe all along. But there were moments where I wasn’t so sure…..
Today was like any normal, chaotic day. My kids woke up slightly late, were running around like maniacs trying to get themselves presentable for picture day. We had countless arguments on the way out the door this morning about who grabbed who’s snack and put it in the wrong backpack, why someone couldn’t find their shoe, who still hadn’t brushed their teeth or combed their hair (despite me nagging them to for at least an hour), and who changed the YouTube channel (even though we are literally walking out the door). You know, the normal morning shit-show routine.
I dropped my kiddos off at school and spent the day cramming in work, cleaning the house, doing some laundry — caught up on the really “fun” stuff parents get to do 
when they work from home or stay at home during the day while raising kids and find themselves with some downtime.
I actually had thought quite a few times today about how nice it is to have a free day to myself for a change and not have to entertain at least one kid for 8 hours straight. I daydreamed about how I could take a nap, if I wanted to. I could meet a friend for lunch. I could go shopping, alone. I could go for a run (HAAA!) Ok, that’s a stretch, but you get the point. So many things I was appreciating today as I sat home and worked, cleaned, and folded in peace.
And then, before I knew it, the time had come to leave so I could get to school early enough to park in pick up lines and start rounding up my kids from various schools.
I left the house, drove my normal route and about a block away from school I started noticing lights blinking. As I got closer, the sirens were starting to register from each direction surrounding my car. I could see more and more police presence, but not enough to cause panic… yet. I take a main road in town to get to my first child’s pickup and so traffic stops were not extraordinary or unusual considering the police tend to stake out these areas for speeders, especially during the school hours when kids are present.
I still wasn’t going to let my irrational anxiety get the best of me. Not yet. But as I went to turn down the quieter, calmer street that directs me straight to the school I realized it, too was blocked off. Multiple police vehicles and what looked (to me) like riot gear being pulled out of the back of one of the squads.
Ok, WTF is going on? Now I’m 
nervous. But still trying not to let myself completely lose it. I hadn’t heard anything from the school, or other parents. Certainly if there was an emergency parents would have been made aware? Right?
I drive around the block only to find that the other side (and the only other street I can take to lead me to the school) is also blocked off by multiple police cars and NOW I panic. What the fuck is going on here? IS MY KID OK? Why has no one warned us about this?? And… IS MY KID OK???
Being the crazy, loving, borderline mother I am I run out of my vehicle in the middle of the road and start flagging down the nearest officer I can find because I NEED details! And that is when he assures me that my child is safe, all of the kids inside are. But there has been an incident at a home near the school and the school is on lockdown. To keep the children safe inside.
Parents are congregating on the outskirts of the school. People were in tears, others were telling nervous jokes, I was calling my mom on redial over and over to help me round up my other kids who’s bell was about to ring on the other side of town and I was not about to leave this scene.
I needed to SEE my kid. To touch her, to smell her, to love on her as much as possible. I immediately regretted any feeling of peace or relief for my free time earlier today.
I was beating the shit out of myself for even letting those thoughts cross my mind. I should not be thanking my lucky stars for 8 hours sans kids. I should be thanking my lucky stars for every single goddamn moment I have with those sweet angels because it could change in a SECOND and there is no taking it back. Time does not go in reverse.
I was mad at myself. Haunted by the scene I couldn’t tear my eyes from because not one officer had come back over to talk to us about any of the details of the situation yet and the kids were still locked up inside. What if there is a bomb? What if they weren’t in a house anymore at all but right by the school? What if….. what if…..
I woke up this September morning reflecting on the events that took place on 9-11 and what I was doing the day the twin towers were hit. I was reminded of the sadness for the loss of so many strangers and the fear for the future of my country. And by the middle of the day a real horror was almost unfolding before my eyes.
The situation was eventually under control and all of the children were released, safely and a man was taken into custody for discharging a gun near a home very close to the school in an unrelated-to-school incident.
So tonight I am thankful that what happened to me today was nothing in the grand scheme of things. A story I might tell as this “crazy thing that happened” but not more. It won’t change our family. We aren’t grieving or missing anyone tonight because today was a freak coincidence.
But, I am aware enough to know that there are people in this world who have witnessed that same scene at their child’s school as the unthinkable was going on. People who have lost and hurt and had their hearts ripped out of them because someone had brought harm into a place that was supposed to be safe. For learning, for socializing, for independence and support. Not for fear, worry, and trauma.
I’ve never been so scared in my life, and *nothing* serious even happened. But it was a terrifying reminder of the world we live in and the real possibility that things could have been very different.
Tonight I am hugging my kids just a little tighter, reading the extra story they ask for that normally annoys me, and making sure if they want some water, I’m getting it… WITH ice. And with a smile on my face. When they call me back into the room because they forgot to tell me they love me, I will give them ten more kisses before bed instead of telling them to go to sleep. And when they ask me to come check on them, I will. Many times.
MomTransparenting
