Why I'm A Good Mom (And Why You Probably Are Too)

Dare I say it? I don't mean to brag but I'm kind of a good mom. I know culturally we're not supposed to say that out loud. We're all supposed to have mom guilt and professional/personal guilt and wife guilt and pinterest guilt all the time, but I also think it's okay every now and then to say we're doing okay. Now, do not for one minute confuse this for a post of me claiming to be a perfect parent. Somewhere I think we got tripped up in the land of facebook and instagram and pinterest and photoshop that there are perfect parents out there, when we know that's just not the case. No one gets it all right all the time. I fail at something every day. But dang it, mamas, we're getting A LOT of it right. And if your kid comes home with a test that they worked hard on and they got A LOT of it right we'd be proud of them. So let's be proud of us.

When I was pregnant with BeYoYo I was wanting some white cheese dip something fierce. So I asked my midwife if I got some white cheese dip that I knew was pasteurized and I heated it really hot to kill all manner of bacteria if I could have some. She said, and I quote: "There's probably still a higher chance of food born illness, but some pregnant women do cocaine." Suddenly a few bites of melty cheesy goodness didn't seem so bad.

This has become my parenting mantra. It's all about perspective. If there are no perfect parents, then the good enough parents are good parents. Being a good parent is all about changing our perspective and lowering our expectations. In real life no one would like Mary Poppins because she'd always be showing all the other nannies up all the time. People who are imperfect are relatable, and according to that rule I must be VERY relatable. Plus if I was a perfect parent I'd never get a chance to show my kids about grace and forgiveness and apologizing and all that other BS I hate having to show them. So, let's change the expectation about what it takes to be a good mom. Trust me, there will still be plenty of room for mom guilt, even when we lower the standards a bit. We will probably still fall short, even once we've changed the rules. Here are some of the things I sometimes get caught up in thinking it takes to be a good mom, minus the things I know are good enough to meet my kids' needs:

I'm a good mom because I feed my children exclusively organic, locally sourced, sustainable food. 
I'm a good mom because I breast fed my kids when they were babies.
I'm a good mom because I listen to every word my children utter.
I'm a good mom because I never leave my kids with other caretakers.
I'm a good mom because my kids have the trendiest, itch-free name brand clothes.
I'm a good mom because I show up to every school function.
I'm a good mom because I am continually playful and never cross. 
I'm a good mom because I put oxybenzone-free, organic, vegan sunscreen on my kids.
I'm a good mom because I change diapers as soon as they are wet. 
I'm a good mom because I never yell (until I've asked nicely 15 times first).
I'm a good mom because I have the coolest and safest, state of the art transportation.
I'm a good mom because I make elaborate craft projects to appreciate my kids' teachers.
I'm a good mom because I talk to my kids about politics and the environment and green house gasses.
I'm a good mom because my kids have a clean, organized, stress-free house.
I'm a good mom because I wash dishes as soon as they're dirty. 
I'm a good mom because my kids witness a really perfect marriage.
I'm a good mom because I fold and put the clothes away right after I do laundry.
I'm a good mom because I remember to send a healthy, allergen-free snack on snack day.
I'm a good mom because I greet my kids every morning with a smile and a song.
I'm a good mom because I sing love songs to my kids.
I'm a good mom because we make it magical through adventures each day.

So tomorrow, pour those Lucky Charms a little higher, and pass your kid some Deet while you're looking under the bed for the missing shoe that might be a little too small but we're going to make it work for one more week. Hold your head high and remember your kids are lucky to have you. We're good enough moms!

Preparing for Parenthood- Life Before and After Kids

We get it. Life changes when you have kids. It's amazing. I've never felt as high as I did the day I saw my first child. We thought it wouldn't change much. Then priorities shift, schedules shift, friendships change, and before you know it your BK (before kids) life feels a lot different than your AK (after kids) life.

Three years later I cried the first time I held his brother. We learned a lot with the first, and we have so far done some things differently with the second. We also set the bar kind of low to start with, not really realizing it gets lower with the next.  Here are some other specifics on the shifts we've noticed going from no kids to one kid to two kids.


Food preparation:
Before children: Menus planned for the week according to what's on sale and has a corresponding coupon from the coupon binder. Potluck poker night with friends on Wednesdays. Eat out on the weekends.

First child: Buy organic fruits and vegetables and make homemade baby food that the baby will feed to the dog.

Second child: Make one serving of homemade baby food, which he will hate. Give up and give him exclusive table foods starting at 6 months. I'm sure french fries are fine. You'll never see your poker friends again.

Trash truck comes at 8:30 am. 
Before children: Ugh. WHY does it have to come so early? Some people are trying to sleep in.

First child: Ugh. WHY does it have to come so late? It's right in the middle of his morning nap, and it might wake him up.

Second child: Ugh. You didn't put the trash out. Also, you are now thankful for the 90 seconds of entertainment that the trash truck brings.

Naps
Before children: Leisurely nap anytime you feel like it. You are practically a cat.

First child: You are a slave to the nap gods. If your child does not get a nap the world will implode. You must be home in time for nap. If for some reason you are not home in time for nap and your child falls asleep in the car, DO NOT LEAVE THE CAR. Sit in the car in the driveway until the child awakens.

Second child: Naps are still important, but not always feasible. Sorry that it's time for your morning nap, but it's time to take your brother to preschool. Sorry that it's time for your afternoon nap but it's time to pick your brother up from preschool. You got 5 minutes of sleep in the car? That oughta do it.

Contents of your diaper bag: 
Before children: No diaper bag. Knockoff designer purse from Chinatown contains wallet, keys, phone, and old receipts you don't need.

First child: All the contents of your former purse are now in the diaper bag along with diapers, wipes, hand sanitizer, teethers, and bottles. And old receipts you don't need.

Second child: Is this a diaper bag or an overnight bag? Two pirates, a motorcycle, tissues, a pair of shoes, a batman, two tampons, fruit snacks, an apple, Wonder Woman, the baby's plastic keys, a phone charger, and sour gummies. You think there might be a diaper in there somewhere too.

Punctuality
Before children: You are chronically punctual.

First child: No doubt the kid needed something on the way out the door, or nap time ran later than usual. You remind people of how you used to be chronically punctual as you show up a few minutes late.

Second child: One refused to get ready and one refused to be put down. One HAD to go back to find their special Batman, and the other pooped up his back and needed a fresh outfit. What time was the meeting again? Maybe we can email during nap time.

Contents of your car:
Before children: Files from work. A smoothie cup from this morning. Three changes of clothes for you in the trunk of your civic, just in case. You know you won't be the kind of parent that "thinks they have to have an SUV just because they have a baby."

First child: Crumbs. Everywhere. Stroller. Car seat. Diaper bag. Books. You buy an SUV because you have a baby. You keep extra diapers in the back, just in case.

Second child: Crumbs. Everywhere. Two car seats. Superheroes. School bag. Diaper bag. Art project that school sent home. A Harry Potter wand. Car rider pickup name sign roughly the size of a billboard. Diapers and two pair of toddler underwear in the back, just in case.

Presentation: 
Before children: Cute outfit. Oops, I spilt a little of my lunch on my shirt!

First child: Get to work and notice you left the house with spit up on you at least once a week.  The baby looks cute at drop off, but has on one shoe and no shirt by the time you pick him up. You'll get home from the grocery store and realize your yoga pants were on inside out.

Second child: Continual paste of goldfish and slobber on something of yours somewhere. Both kids look cute at drop off, but big kid got paint on his clothes, and the backup clothes from his bag are too small. At pickup he's sporting what are now capri pants and a midriff shirt. The baby had no backup clothes in his bag and after a diaper leaked he's forced to wear someone else's girl jeans with heart pockets.

Head Injuries:
Before children: There are no head injuries in your life.

First child: Falls out of his high chair and no one was watching. You call a friend who is an ER doc, and text two EMTs you know. You really feel terrible about the injury.

Second child: At his well checkup, you mention that he fell and hit his head 48 hours ago. He's okay, right? You feel a little bad that you kind of forgot about it until now.


Condition of your house:
Before children: The house is such a mess. There are bills stacked in the kitchen and laundry that needs folding. Whew!

First child: Once child is on the move, you put up so many gates the house looks like the stalls at the Kentucky Derby. There are baby toys everywhere. And bills stacked in the kitchen and laundry that needs folding.

Second child: There are baby toys everywhere. And big kid toys everywhere. And the babysitter texted to say sorry they threw a deck of cards all over the upstairs. And clothes discarded in heaps on the floor that look like the rapture has occurred and you've been left behind. And bills stacked in the kitchen and laundry that needs folding.

Social Life: 
Before children: You don't even realize how cool you are. You go out with friends, you go to weddings all the time, you host dinner parties and themed birthday parties for yourself. You're friends with drag queens. You take trapeze lessons and do standup comedy, and you know top 40 songs and pop culture references. If someone invites you to do something, you say yes and then you do it.

First child: You now realize how cool you used to be. You know Sesame Street references and top 40 songs from last year.  You go to baby showers all the time.  If someone invites you to do something you wonder if it will interfere with nap time. Then you check with your husband to see if he's cool if you go.

Second child: You know all the superheroes and their alter egos. You only know top 40 songs from the 90s. You go to kid birthday parties all the time. You watch standup comedy on Netflix. If someone invites you to do something, you check with your husband to see if he's cool if you go. Then you spend the next 45 minutes trying to get a babysitter because your husband has to work at that time. You text 14 people to see who's available. You see if your friend can move the time to accommodate the sitter's schedule. Then, when you're about to leave someone throws up and you have to cancel on everyone anyway.


This is why we aren't having any more children. We don't have much room for decline. In fact, I bet even the Duggars used to be cool before they had all those kids.

It happens before you know it. 

Marriage Vows for Parents

I recently went back to my OB's office to see the physician's assistant for a recheck of a complication from my c-section. I'm fine, thanks for asking. The sweet PA, Sarah, and I were talking and she said "Does your husband help a lot with the kids?"

Me: Yes. No. He's great, but I don't like to call it "helping" because these are not MY kids that he is "helping" with. These are OUR kids that we are raising together. 
Sarah: Oh! Uh. Yes, of course. 
Me: I am SO sorry. That sass wasn't actually intended for you at all. 
Sarah: No, I totally get it. 
Me: He helps a lot. 
Sarah: Great. That's really great. 

When The Husband and I got married 7 years ago, we said all the traditional vows. The only thing we skipped is the giving away part, because I am not a possession to be given away.  We said for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward as long as we both shall live. And guys, we meant it. We stood in a horse pasture formerly owned by Kenny Rogers in front of all our friends, families and coworkers and committed to the good and the bad and the ugly. We'd already been together for eight years by that point, and had seen our share of ups and downs. But we were young and times were good, and we were the only people we had to worry about. At that time it was hard to imagine how different our lives could ever be. Looking back, those vows seem vague and simple and short. 

Since then we have lost family members, we've renovated houses and changed jobs. We've fought and made up, we've put offers on three houses and moved two times. More importantly we have created two more humans. Let that sink in. We are parents, parents of little people who need a lot. And our marriage is still good but has changed.  If I had to stand before family and friends and coworkers again (and I would. I would a thousand times over) I think I'd choose different vows, vows that are more reflective of who we are and what we're committed to now. 

They might sound something like this. I take you to be my (wife/husband), in ramen noodles and in steak dinners. In pop tarts and in celebratory anniversary dinners at fancy restaurants. In family vacations and in stomach viruses with sick kids who throw up in our bed. In sweet, sleeping children who look serene, and in overtired infants who scream in the car. In new houses, and in old. In clogged toilets and backed up septic tanks, in happy family dances around the kitchen. In watching children discover the world, in hearing them backtalk and wanting to slap them. In bath time and bed time and quiet time and having no time. In you've-had-on-those-yoga-pants-for-two-days and in dressing up for a special occasions. In whispers on pillows and in talking through clenched teeth. In annual bonuses and in just get the store brand cereal. In the baby won't stop crying, in the excitement of his learning to walk. In we're in this together, in I can't stand to look at you right now. In you look exhausted, let me take over, in I'm exhausted, can you please take over? In tick bites, in knee scrapes, in eat your dinner, in go to sleep. In I'll back you up. In awkward holiday meals with family when we make secret "thank you" or "you owe me" faces at each other, in fun and easy dinners with friends. In we've been up all night, in kids are with the grandparents sleeping in. In bikinis, in stretch marks, in anger, and in love. In cursing you in labor, in apologizing afterward. In holding a sleeping child, in chasing one through a parking lot. In arguing and in making up. In honesty and in holding back. In I'm sorry, in thank you. In no privacy, in saving something for the imagination. In moments of intimacy, in times when we've only talked logistics of childcare. In tears and in laughs, in filth and in cleanliness. In pregnancy, and in infancy, in toddlerhood, in preschool, in elementary, middle and high school. In day and in night. In we'll start this all over again tomorrow.

Till death do us part. 

The Ninth Month

The ninth month of pregnancy is the longest. It's at least twice as long as any of the other months. And while we're at it let's talk about the mean trick of calling pregnancy 9 months in the first place. The average is 40 weeks. 40 weeks divided by 4 weeks in a month = 10 months, right? Plus, that's only the average, meaning some people are pregnant for 10 and a half months. Lord, please don't let me be one of those.

Meanwhile, everything's done in there. The baby's just sitting around getting fatter. No, really. Look at our last ultrasound pic. This is a close up of fat rolls, labeled "fat rolls" by the ultrasound technician for clarification. The ninth month is the fetal equivalent of that one summer in college where you just binge drank, ate Poptarts and watched Snapped marathons on Lifetime. Just like you, he's got nowhere else to be till August.

PS- We think this is his side. 

In the ninth month you are tired. Maybe you are too tired to care if batman wears cowboy boots to swim lessons or a long sleeved spiderman suit to the library when it's 110 degrees out. You are making a new person, for goodness sake, and that trumps wardrobe decisions. That explains why you are down to wearing glorified muumuus and chacos everyday too.  You may also become less organized and together in the ninth month. Yes, less than you were just a month ago. Maybe you get to the grocery store and have to put shark slippers on your kid because somehow you lost his shoes in the last 10 minutes. Then, as you put the groceries in the back of the car, maybe you realized one shoe rode on the tailgate all the way there. Maybe you'll find the other in the parking lot of swim lessons, I don't know. 

In the ninth month things get messy. If your three year old cries in frustration that he didn't quite make it to the potty and peed on himself just a little, you can respond "me too" with all sincerity, and get everyone a fresh attitude and pair of undies. One of you may or may not have to waddle to your room, past the front door which you left open so that The Boy could watch the pest control guy try to get the bats out of your attic, just before said pest control guy sticks his head in to say he's done. Whatever. Your OBGYN appointments will morph from "how are you feeling?" to intrusive questions about the appearance of a "mucus plug" and "bloody show". Girlfriends will also start to think these are appropriate topics for conversation, and you will not care. These are obviously terms reserved for Insane Clown Posse lyrics, sci-fi movies, and of course, the ninth month of pregnancy. 

In the ninth month, strangers stop you in public bathrooms, where you spend much of your time, to ask you how far along you are and to tell you that you must be close to your due date. They will tell you that you are having a boy or that you are carrying low or high or backwards. They touch you without invitation. They talk to you like you have not noticed that you are pregnant. It's not that you want to be rude, but you want to wear a sign that says "2 weeks. August 10th. Boy. 2nd one."  Also, you will feel the urge to mention something inappropriate and obvious about their bodies too ("And you, ma'am, have bad breath." "You are forty pounds over weight", or "sex change operation?"). Resist. 

You might have all the feels. You may alternate between feelings of frustration and isolation, feeling like the first person on earth who has ever been pregnant and having NO ONE understand the plight of carrying another human internally for 24 hours a day; being angry and frustrated with all of humanity; and being grateful and tearful over each blade of grass you see, each opportunity you have to connect with others, each healthy checkup with your midwives, each time you put gas in a car that reliably works. I don't mean to complain but this cycle is exhausting. 

In the ninth month you are hot. You are swollen.  You feel bigger than the side of a barn you used to make out behind when you were a teenager. Your back hurts. You are tired. You have a pregnancy swagger that can only be described as a waddle. 

You appreciate the miracle of life that you are carrying, and understand that people pay tens of thousands of dollars to be in the condition that you're in, while you did little more than make out behind that barn. And while you appreciate these things, also you don't always love the condition that you're in. You are ready to get that fat baby out of your belly, even if you don't always feel ready to bring him home. The ninth month is like baby purgatory and you are stuck between being fearful that you'll be pregnant forever, and fearful that you won't. It's pregatory. 

The only thing worse than the 9th month....is the 10th. Come on, baby. 

That Time I Was Pregnant With Gary Coleman

You may remember from this post It's All Fun And Games Until Somebody Gets Dwarfism that
1. The Boy was tiny, and 2. I love little people.

Fast forward to today. I had a 36 week ultrasound for Beyoyo. He is growing well, I had plenty of fluid, and everything looked a-okay. (sidenote: so grateful).

I saw his little ribs, hands, face, and man parts. All good. Then the technician asked if I wanted to try to get a 3D picture of his profile. Duh times 100. Since I am so far along it's a little harder to get a good picture because of the squish factor. Apparently it's pretty crowded in there.

So she scanned around trying to get him to cooperate for a picture. What came up was unbelievable.

.

.

.

.

.

. 

Y'all, he looked like Gary Coleman. 

While I was waiting to see my midwife I googled a picture of Gary Coleman just to make sure I wasn't seeing things. 

I inexplicably started crying. I texted the Husband and told him baby was fine. I texted my friend Kati, saying the baby was big and fine and looked like Gary Coleman and I was crying. This was her response: 

Isn't that a good friend? It's a little are-you-okay-get-it-together-this-is-what-you-always-dreamed-of. 

When I left I called The Husband, who was stuck at work, and gave him the details.

"He looks like Gary Coleman." I said.

"You love Gary Coleman!" he said. "It will be our own little Webster." 

"That's Emmanuel Lewis!" I said, with the tone of arrogant comic-conners who are offended that you said Star Trek instead of Star Wars. 

At any rate, I cannot WAIT to see what this little guy is going to look like in real life. 

So, karma again. This is a combination of me loving little people and loving black people all squished into one. The squish factor.

Whacoo talking 'bout Beyoyo? 

Update: this post, the best baby present ever. 

Preparing for Parenthood: Pregnancy

Well, here we are in the 7th-ish month of my pregnancy with BeYoYo. While I'm no pro, this is my third pregnancy, sort of. I had a miscarriage before I had The Boy. Then, because The Husband and I didn't know yet that we are really good at getting pregnant (like, pass each other in the hall and we are pregnant) *blush*, we were immediately pregnant again. So if my pregnancy with The Boy felt like I was pregnant for a year straight, it's only because I was.  Now here we are again. So, while I'm no Michelle Duggar, I feel like I'm fairly familiar with the plight miracle of pregnancy. If you're considering this journey but aren't sure if you're ready, here are some simple steps to get you prepared.

How to Prepare Your Wife For Pregnancy

-Rent a circus elephant to sit on her chest and torso for five minutes. Once she can tolerate five minutes, work up to 12 hours a day. Have her work, clean, cook, or complete any normal daily activities with said elephant.

-Secretly invite over people who have (or who are recovering from) the stomach virus. You want your wife to be nauseated, vomiting, or on the verge of vomiting for about 6 hours a day for the first three months. If you want extra spousal points, offer to hold her hair back while she hangs over the toilet.

-While she is sleeping, replace 3/4 of her wardrobe with children's clothes. Start with a large children's size, so that they almost fit. Then, gradually replace them with smaller and smaller clothes until her closet is filled with toddler shirts and pants. All yoga pants can stay.

-If you can manage it, find a way to replace some of her joints with silly putty. This will ensure that the joints occasionally give out and she collapses to the floor upon standing. You should also practice not laughing when this happens.

-Find a way to injure her without her knowing. This injury should involve the lower back, and should last for 3-4 months. Shooting sciatic pain down one or both legs is also acceptable. If you prefer not to injure your spouse*, you can also install a 25 pound weight in her shirt to do the trick.

-At night time, elevate her head to reduce heart burn. Elevate her feet to reduce swelling. Have her lie on her side with a pillow between her knees to help with sciatica. You may need to hire a professional circus contortionist for consultations. See if you can get a package discount with the elephant. 

-Monitor her diet so that she can no longer have alcoholic drinks, sushi, bagged salads, certain fish, queso, Gorgonzola, feta, blue cheese, sprouts, or deli meats. Go to restaurants that serve many of these newly forbidden foods.

-When your wife gets up to pee in the night, you must ask in a panicked voice what's wrong and if she's ok. Never, ever assume she just needs to urinate more frequently, no matter how predictable the pattern.

The same thing we do every night, Pinky.

*I do not actually endorse injuring your spouse. 


How to Prepare Your Husband For Pregnancy

-Cry. There should be no algorithm for this. Just sprinkle some tears around throughout your day (and his) with no warning and no predictable pattern. Good reasons include the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., and your toddler pajama shirt not fitting over your belly.

-Eat. Eat a lot, and especially eat the last of anything your husband was looking forward to. If he asks what you'd like from the grocery store, declare you need wasabi and brownies. If he complains, this is an acceptable occasion to cry.

-Gradually take up more room in the bed. I'd recommend investing in a maternity pillow, which will make this task dramatically easier. Ideally, it should be as big as a full grown person, or two.

-If your partner asks what you did today, say you grew new arms and legs and supported another life. Ask what HE did today.

-Each time you dine out remind your husband which foods you cannot eat, as well as which foods make you nauseous, so that he won't forget the sacrifices you're making for your family. This is most effective if you do so while he's enjoying a beer and sushi. If you feel guilty, you may tell him how delicious the wasabi is.

-Begin to leave the milk in the pantry and the cereal in the fridge. If he questions you about this, remind him that you are busy sustaining new life and can't be responsible for EVERYTHING.

-Set an alarm to wake him up 3-4 times per night. Walk around your room, turn the bathroom light on, sigh loudly, and return to bed. Be irritated if your husband asks if you're okay. Be irritated if he doesn't wake up.

                          ---------------------------------------------------------------------

That's it! After doing these activities for just 10 months (40 weeks = 10 months) you'll be prepared for pregnancy!

If these suggestions don't work, you may also try to simulate acid reflux, high blood pressure, swollen limbs, Braxton Hicks contractions, hives, poor body image, vaginal pain, acne, rhinitis, frequent urination, hemorrhoids, asthma, irritable bowel syndrome, alien embodiment, or general grouchiness. Just kidding, the grouchiness will come on its own.

Preparing for Parenthood: Cleaning

My pre-baby vision of parenthood including fondly looking into my baby's eyes while he nursed and we shared an intimate mother-son bond. It included long walks in strollers with just the breeze and the sound of his coos. It included preparing organic, free-range meals that he would enjoy, and me relaxing after I put him to bed, meditating on all I had to be thankful for.

Is she baptizing this baby or what? 

And then I had a baby.

And I cried when I spilt the milk that I'd pumped. And long walks in strollers led to getting rained on and bringing a soggy, sad baby into the house with no thought of the mud I was tracking in. And he spit out the organic, free range baby food and splattered it on the wall, where he attempted to paint in it. And he left a trail of toys and dishes and food and junk all over the house, and there was no time for relaxing. Note: the meditating on all I have to be thankful for at the end of each day was the only accurate part of this vision.


If you're preparing to have a baby, you're going to need a bag of flour with a cantaloupe balanced on top.  Have someone come into your house and cook, throw clothes on the floor, stack bottles in the kitchen and eat half a sandwich without cleaning anything up.  Give the flour baby to your friend, and have them set a 3 minute timer. You may begin to clean when the timer begins, but every three minutes you must hold the baby for 20 minutes. If you try to carefully balance the flour in one hand so that you can use your other hand, the cantaloupe will fall off and you'll have to start again. You may heat the flour baby to a temperature of 100 and wear it in a wrap around your body, but if you choose to do this you must check to ensure it is breathing every 60 seconds, and also now you must clean with a baby between you and anything you try to touch.

If you think you'll clean when the baby naps, he'll only nap on you, and you'll be too exhausted to care. Every other time you hold the bag of flour you should alternate being topless and having someone spill something on you. This is how you will live for the next three months, and you will love it.

Cleaning with an infant is hard because you have little time to do it. Cleaning with a toddler is hard because they work diligently at undoing anything you've just done. If you're preparing for cleaning up with a toddler, have a friend on hand. As you take a dish out of the dishwasher and place it on the counter, have your friend take one out and place it on the floor. If it's tupperware, have them place it on the dog. If it's a spoon, have them play the drums on a fondu pot. If it's a knife, have them lick it. You'll need to rewash all of those. When your friend gets bored with this game, clean feverishly when they walk away. Discover that they  were keeping themself entertained by using their toothbrush to brush the dog's teeth. 



 Having a toddler is like cleaning up after a Harlem Shake video all the time. 

There is inevitably something on someone's head, random half-costumes are everywhere, there are crazy dance moves, the music makes little sense, and you're not sure why it seems so glamorous. Some examples: 

While you continue with the dishwasher, have your friend remove all their clothes and throw them. Try to elicit their help in cleaning, and have them take the broom and run the handle along every wall. If you are at your in-laws, the broom can also be used for a rousing game of croquet, as demonstrated here:

                   

Learn to look for clean clothes only on the couch, and clean dishes only in the dishwasher. Learn not to mind that your house looks like it's inhabited by squatters because you will be overwhelmingly impressed with your little flour baby/Harlem Shake video. AND when the mess is driving you to drink you'll remember this poem that you heard long ago:

Cooking and cleaning can wait til tomorrow

For babies grow up, I've learned to my sorrow

So, settle down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep 

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep

And if you're like me you will write your own third stanza that will be something like 

"I could have cleaned during nap while baby rested his head

 but it's more fun to blog about my messy house instead."

Preparing for Parenthood: Cooking Dinner

Welcome to our second installment of Preparing for Parenthood. Today we will cover preparing dinner for your family when you are a parent. Remember, this is not a tutorial claiming how to be a good parent. It's simply an exercise to prepare you for life on the other side. Once you've completed this exercise you'll be ready to cook dinner with a kid at home. You may need to practice a few times before you get the hang of it. What are you kidding? Eat in peace while you've still got the chance!

There are two variations of this exercise. If you're preparing to be the parent of a baby you'll need a bag of flour and an orange. If you're preparing to parent a toddler you'll need to assemble a string of tin cans tied to a roomba vacuum set to warp speed, or you could just borrow someone's actual kid. Mine is available, let's set up some sort of sign up sheet. No matter which version you're trying, you'll need to start at approximately 4:30pm.

For the baby version: place the bag of flour awkwardly on your hip. You'll need to place the orange precariously atop the flour and secure it loosely with one piece of floss. This will replicate your baby's floppy head and limp neck. If at any point during the dinner preparation your orange falls off, you'll have to start over. It's okay! This is only practice. Prepare dinner as usual. Do not drop the flour, do not let the orange fall off, do not allow the flour to get wet or remotely close to anything hot, and do not put the flour down. Do everything one handed.

For the toddler version: Start out with the toddler on your hip. You can't cook in this messy kitchen! Begin to sweep but abandon that when the baby won't let go of the broom. Begin measuring your ingredients with the measuring cup as far away from you as possible, so they don't fall prey to baby swipes. This works best if you have your hip and butt jutted way out into the middle of the kitchen. Once baby figures out he can't reach anything with you in this position he'll want to get down. He'll squirm and lunge stoveward just as your water begins to boil. Catch him before he lands in the boiling water and place him on the ground. He'll say "wun!" and run. This is where you'll turn on the roomba if you're using it.

As long as the kid is happy and not bleeding, you can ignore him for a few minutes while you chop vegetables. Do this quickly, as you don't know how much time you have. Allow the child to pull the pots and pans out of the cabinets, throw magnets on the floor and dance around the kitchen. Catch him just as he pours the dog's water all over the flour. Tell the dog to clean the floor as you pull the kid's hands out of his mouth to clean them. Your kitchen will look like this:

See the video from my last post if you're curious what this dance looks like

Once you've cleaned up the kid and the floor, you'll realize the beans are burning. Go to check on them and give them a little stir. While you're here, check the chicken and re-set the timer. During that time, the kid will have wandered away. You have to find him. He's pulled every toy he owns out of the cabinet in the living room and he's yelling "bump! bump!" as he jumps on the couch. Tell him no, and put him on the floor. This will start a meltdown of epic proportions.  He'll feel so betrayed and devastated that the only thing he can do is put his head under the couch cushion and weep dramatically. 

The oven timer will go off, so you'll need to take your quinoa out of the oven. (Yes, you'll cook quinoa when you're a parent.) Abandon the crying baby and the messy living room and go get the quinoa. You've scorched the beans so you'll have to determine if they can be salvaged. The quinoa is ready, the beans are burnt, the chicken is raw in the middle, and the peas haven't been opened yet. It's time to triage: ignore the first two and deal with the second two.  Oh, but wait! What about the baby? He's stopped crying and is quiet. Yay! He's feeling better. But where is he? Do a visual sweep of the room. You found him. He was squatting beside the unswept lunch remnants, licking the dog door, with a bottle of paprika in his hand.  At that point you'll also notice that the dog has taken a box of tampons outside and scattered them in the yard. Indifferent, you'll leave those there for now. 

Scoop up the kid against his will. Hold him while he fights to get down as you answer the phone. It's your partner. "I have to work the day after Thanksgiving" he/she says. That seems like a long time from now. You accidentally talk loud because you can't hear over the baby's protests to get down. "BUT WHAT ABOUT TONIGHT? ARE YOU COMING HOME TONIGHT?!" you ask, exasperated. He/she confirms that he is, indeed, leaving in a few minutes. Whew! 

Alas, you've still got cooking to complete. You decide you'll turn on Sesame Street to entertain the boy, but you can't find the right remote that gets you to Netflix. Search for it to no avail while the kid pulls more stuff onto the floor. He'll have to watch real tv. You find the regular remote but the only thing on PBS is the show about real animals that he's really too young for. Maybe it'll last for a few minutes, but if you leave him in the living room he's bound to jump on the couch again. Hold him on your hip as you angle the tv toward the kitchen. Drag the high chair into viewing distance and plop him in. 

At this moment you become the parent you always said you'd never be. Toss a toy onto the high chair tray, scoop some burnt green beans beside the toy, and walk back into the kitchen to finish dinner. It is 6:00. 

Moments later your partner walks in. He/she surveys the huge mess of toys all over the living room, then the pots and pans in the kitchen floor. That will be met by dog water on the floor, and the aroma of quinoa, chicken, and burnt beans. The microwave timer will be sounding as music plays from PBS. The child, ever an angel, will smile broadly at him/her and reach out for a hug. 

Your sweet little family will sit down to a dinner of tough chicken, burnt beans, bland quinoa, and cold black eyed peas. The baby will throw much of his on the floor, where the dog patiently awaits. Your partner will turn to you with lies in his eyes but kindness in his heart and tell you that dinner is delicious. Then he/she will stoop down to give you a kiss, but you'll respond with "I almost forgot! I've got to get the tampons out of the back yard before it rains!"

Preparing for Parenthood: Co-sleeping

Y'all! Blogspot tells me that this blog has had more than 8,000 hits from people in 10 countries. Crazy, huh?! Like Sally Field, "you like me- you really like me!" I'm no expert at parenting since I've just had this one kid for this one year, but since you're reading I'm going to do a series on preparing to be a parent. People always say nothing can prepare you to be a parent. That's not true. I'm going to give you real world experiential activities to prepare you to be a parent, one issue at a time. Today we tackle co-sleeping.

There are many advocates of co-sleeping that preach its many benefits. I'm not one of them.  I used to be on our local child fatality review board and was traumatized from the high incidence of co-sleeping related infant deaths that we staffed on that committee. I said I'd never let my kid sleep with me. After night feedings we always returned him to his bed. We let him learn to self soothe and fall asleep on his own. When he woke up in the night we patted his back and put him back in his crib.

But eventually, you have a sick kid, or you go on vacation, or you've got a teething toddler, and no matter what your theoretical approach to sleep, that kid WILL sleep in your bed. This post is to prepare you for those nights. By following this fool proof method, you'll know what it's like to co-sleep in just ONE NIGHT!

To fully get the co-sleeping experience, you're going to need your partner and another friend to help. Have your friend come in and place a bunch of dog bones and ink pens under your fitted sheet. As you and your partner sleep, the bones will jab into you at awkward angles and the pens will stab you in the night. This will simulate anytime your child is still during the night. If you rearrange your body so as to not touch any of the bones, your friend will begin to cry.

You'll also need a cantaloupe or other melon with a rough surface. As you and your partner sleep on the dog bones, have your friend roll the melon around in the bed. Make sure he or she takes careful precautions to rub it with force against your bare skin, creating friction burns. This simulates the baby bulldozing his head into you as he changes positions. This should occur between each transition throughout the night.

Somewhere about 11pm place a heavy duty spring between you and your partner. Sleep this way, being pushed apart so that you have to hold on to the sides of the bed. At midnight have your friend replace the spring with one of those small, bottom weighted punching bag toys. Have it bounce upright and sign "thirsty." Lay it down, only to have it bounce back up and sign thirsty again. Do this 7 times. Then get up and fix it a sippy cup of milk. Spill some milk in the bed.

Around 2 am have your friend roll the melon off the bed onto your floor. This simulates the baby falling off the bed in the night, and should be followed by a 20 minute recording of a hyena giving birth.  Babies seem to think that beds are round, like the earth, so they will be shocked and hurt that they could fall off the edge. It's like a reverse Christopher Columbus. You and your partner should both wake up, turn on the light, and search the screaming melon for bruising. You may take this opportunity to blame each if you have the energy.

Replace the melon back in the bed. When you've finally drifted back to sleep have your friend take a 20 pound bag of sugar and wedge it between you and your partner. The sugar should be approximately 100 degrees. Have it rotate every thirty minutes like the handle of a faulty jack in the box.  At 3:00 am the jack in the box will pop and scare you out of your slumber. Have your friend place the sugar on top of your chest. Sleep that way for the next hour. Anytime you try to gently roll to your side and lay the sugar on the bed, have your friend frantically pull your hair and grasp at your face. At this point you'll wonder how people who co-sleep every night ever have the opportunity to make any additional children.

At 5:00 am have your friend sit the sugar up straight with the cantaloup balancing on top. Begin to play the hyena recording again. At this point your partner will need to sit up, search for the remote, and find Curious George on netflix. You and your partner will go back to sleep, leaving the sugar sitting upright in the bed between you. Right now you're judging. This is how it will go, I promise. The sugar will eventually fall over onto your partner's arm, where it will stay until his/her arm falls asleep. Carefully, carefully, help your partner pull his/her arm out from under the sugar like a highly sensitive booby trap.

As you lay crucially still on the dog bones with the hot sugar on your arm, pens digging into you, the cantaloupe pressing into your face, the scent of sour milk in your nose and Curious George playing in the back ground, you will eventually fall back asleep. Fifteen minutes later your alarm will go off telling you to get up for the day. You will notice your baby sleeping peacefully.