Children

Mom, Are We Poor?

May 8, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 22 Comments

What. In. The. Hell. Not quite the question I expected to get from my eleven year old as I conducted my normal post school day interrogation Upon further questioning it came to light that a classmate had asked her if we were poor because she didn’t have any school pictures to bring home like some of the others. If there ever was a time in which I ever wanted to suggest to my child to tell someone to fuck off and mind their own business, this was it. Um…have you seen school pictures lately? Horrendous. Besides, the condition of my checkbook is no business of a fifth grader. Not even my own.

After drying her tears and reassuring her that we are in fact not poor, I felt it the opportune time to inform her that we are not what many would consider rich either. While we are not financially strapped and are able to provide our kids with the things that they need, it takes some planning on our part to be able to give them the things that they want. More importantly I wanted to stress to her that while we may not be monetarily rolling in the dough, we are rich in so many other ways. Ways that she may not understand at this exact moment. Ways that don’t agree with her “cater to me right now” mentality. Ways that maybe some of her friends don’t get to enjoy.

We live in a ninety-year-old house. Not just any old house mind you, Farmer Bob grew up in this house. While it doesn’t have sparkly new fixtures, cable TV and brand new carpet, it has things that are so much better. It has character and memories and an outhouse. We have a fort in the trees and hay in the barn to play hide and seek in. We have open space to play baseball in the yard and plenty of room to get away from each other if we need to. We have food on the table and clothes on our backs. We have fun together, we fight, we argue, we love. We are a family.

Being rich in the monetary sense would be fantastic don’t get me wrong. To not have to worry about how to cover this bill or that bill, to be able to give our kids a few of the things that are wanted whenever desired would be an amazing feeling. The question I have to keep asking myself is would I be willing to sacrifice so many wonderful moments in order to have the financial stability to satisfy what would undoubtedly become insatiable appetites for shit that serves no other purpose than to allow our family to slowly disintegrate into seven separate entities instead of one strong familial unit? The answer to that…HELL NO.

It is never easy to tell our kids no, you don’t need that. As parents we have this primordial desire to provide for them, to satisfy their every desire. We feel as if we are failing them if we can’t serve them everything that they want and need on a silver platter. Maybe we are actually failing them if we do throw all their earthly desires at their feet with no request for repayment. Are we raising a generation of entitled assholes? I hear how kids talk to their parents, my own included. I see the look of fear in a mother’s eyes of what might happen if she says no to that toy, my own included. It scares the shit out of me. Scares me that as parents we allow it. That it seems that we really are raising the kind of adults that we ourselves can’t stand to be around.

What scares me even more is the thought that these kids won’t grow up to appreciate the things that don’t cost a fortune. That they won’t understand that you don’t have to be rich in the financial sense to be rich in so many other ways. That family comes first and the rest of it is just “stuff”. That we have riches that far exceed anything that money can buy. That in fact, some of the best things in life truly are free and can’t be captured in some stupid school picture.

Filed Under: Children, Chores, Family, Gratitude, kids, Love, Motherhood, parenting, Uncategorized

Parenting Skills I Picked Up Playing Those Pesky Board Games

April 24, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 4 Comments

We play a ton of board games around here. “Mom, can you play a board game with me?” is one of the most popular questions around here. Sometimes it is the same game for a few days in a row and at times, with a little prodding, we can switch it up to something a little more exciting. As I was returning lost pieces to the game closet, I perused our selection of games and started thinking (which is always dangerous) about how playing these games as a kid myself unknowingly prepared me for parenthood. You with me so far? Here we go:

Guess Who: You know the crime, but who did it? Do they have blonde hair? Do they still poop their pants? Do they have a vagina or a penis? Can they read? Wipe their own butts? Speak in full sentences? Are they clothed? Do they have food in their hair?

Clue: Very similar to Guess Who with the added stress of discovering the crime and the weapon of choice. I suspect it was the five-year-old, in the living room, with the permanent marker. No? How about the eight-year-old, in the closet, with the scissors?

Chutes and Ladders: You bust your ass to get all the way up to the top only to slip-up and have to slide all the way back to the beginning. Relevant for things like potty training, eating with utensils, turning laundry right-side out, and of course proper table manners. Didn’t we just have the discussion last night about not farting at the table?

Memory: Who has practice tonight? Where is that concert? What cookies? How many kids do I have again? Where is my grocery list? Why did I walk into this room?

Operation: The one game you see as pointless until you need to remove that splinter or that bean from someone’s nose. How in the hell did you get rocks in your butt? Is that a Lego in your ear? If you don’t poop soon I’m going to have to help you out. I promise, this will only hurt for a second.

Monopoly: You bust your ass to save money and in the blink of an eye some asshole has taken it all. This game also taught us the fine art of patience because it. never. ends.

Perfection: Working under pressure seems to work pretty well until you run out of time and all hell breaks loose. You scream, you yell, you pee just a little.

Risk: Logistics. Trying to decide if you really want to head into the tween’s bedroom for a surprise cleaning? Do you have big enough balls to attempt to overtake the enemy that is the shithole they live in? Once you conquer one enemy you have to re-evaluate your troops (AKA, your caffeine intake) to see if you have the supplies to attempt an attack on the next. If you go in unprepared, make sure to have an ample supply of reinforcements for afterwards (AKA, wine).

Hungry Hungry Hippos: Quick, shove all the food in your mouth. Meal time really is a race to see who can get done first.

Mousetrap: Chase them around all day long, but you aren’t going to catch them unless you construct some high-falootin contraption…that works. All else fails, offer cheese.

Don’t Break the Ice: You can tiptoe around all day in an effort to keep everyone safe and happy, but one wrong move and you are screwed.

Battleship: You have to ask around in order to find that permission slip for the field trip or that one missing shoe. Where is the TV remote? I know I had that secret stash of chocolate somewhere. You never know where it is, but with the right questions and the use of the fine art of elimination, hopefully you can find what you were looking for.

Trivial Pursuit: You think you know everything that your kids are doing but in reality, you know JACK. SQUAT.

Who wants to play with me?

Are you in the Kansas City area? Clear your schedule for Saturday, April 27 and come join myself, Jen from People I Want to Punch in the Throat, and Stacey from Nurse Mommy Laughs for an I Just Want to Pee Alone book signing event from 10:00-12:00 at The Mommy Shop, 14870 Metcalf Ave, Overland Park, KS. There will be snacks and more importantly mimosas. We would love to see you there!

Mother’s Day is quickly approaching. You know what would make great gifts? These books right here. You need them. Your mom needs them. Your mother-in-law/aunt/grandmother/teacher/neighbor/best friend need them. You won’t be disappointed, I promise.

Filed Under: Children, Family, Humor, kids, Motherhood, parenting, Uncategorized

In the Blink of an Eye

April 16, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 13 Comments

In the blink of an eye you are no longer just a couple.

In the blink of an eye your life is no longer just about you.

In the blink of an eye you become a parent.

In the blink of an eye your munchkin is sitting up, feeding herself, interacting with you.

In the blink of an eye your baby is a walking, talking human.

In the blink of an eye you aren’t changing diapers and wiping little butts.

In the blink of an eye they can color inside the lines and write their own name.

In the blink of an eye they are getting their own cereal and pouring their own milk.

In the blink of an eye Chutes and Ladders is replaced by Monopoly.

In the blink of an eye they stop asking for apple juice and start asking for pop.

In the blink of an eye they no longer want to snuggle on the couch, but want to be left alone.

In the blink of an eye they are smarter than you.

In the blink of an eye your girls are fixing their own hair and asking for makeup.

In the blink of an eye your boys are talking about their balls and the smell of their farts.

In the blink of an eye your kids don’t need you to read them stories. They can do it on their own.

In the blink of an eye the boys don’t want to kiss their mother anymore.

In the blink of an eye your little girl is asking for bras and talking about her uterus. And boys.

In the blink of an eye the pants that fit them yesterday are two inches too short.

In the blink of an eye they can make their own decisions and learn from their mistakes.

In the blink of an eye you are no longer mommy and daddy. You are now just mom and dad.

In the blink of an eye they start Kindergarten. In the next blink, middle school. In the next…you are afraid to blink again.

In the blink of an eye you realize they are growing up and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

In the blink of an eye it could be gone.

What are you doing in-between blinks?

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Filed Under: Boys, Children, Compassion, daughters, Family, Gratitude, kids, Love, Motherhood, parenting, Sons, Thankful

Parenthood: It’s Nothing Like the Movies

April 3, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 6 Comments

Parenthood ain’t fancy and it ain’t a cake walk, I think we can all agree on that. ~~Most~~ All of the time I wish this shit was easier. Just like it appears in the movies. Why can’t it just be laid out for us, like in a script? Why does it have to be so HARD???

This got me to thinkin’ <danger, danger”=”"> I haven’t been on a movie set…YET; but I watch a lot of movies and read too many articles on the internet about movie stars (no one in particular) and sets, and all the goings on around them. So allow me to enlighten you just a bit. Go pop some popcorn (I can wait), sit back, relax, and let us look at how parenthood is absolutely nothing like the movies.

Don’t mind me, I just need a moment to pretend.

1. We have no script. Every good movie needs a script so that the actors know what happens next. Parenthood needs a script. Wouldn’t it be lovely to know when to expect that projectile vomit or to know that your kid will conveniently forget to do their homework? To know when your kid is gonna pee his pants at a party or have that meltdown in the store because she wants the pink one not the damn purple one. I know I would love to know ahead of time when I need to be prepared for that first kiss or that first heartbreak. To know exactly the way to handle the first time you catch your little angel in their first try at serious parental deception. Can someone please write me a script?

2. I don’t have a trailer outfitted with a salon where I get my hair and makeup done every morning while perusing an unlimited supply of amazing clothes. While I know I looked pretty incredible in Target the other in my ratty K-State sweatshirt circa 1997, thinning sweats, hair in a messy bun, and no makeup; it would be nice to occasionally have an unlimited/unstained/non-hole riddled wardrobe and someone to coordinate my hair and makeup to match. One could get used to a scalp massage every morning.

3. Having a body double on hand sure would be helpful for the old self-esteem. You ladies know what I mean. We all have that one special time of the month in which we feel slightly, what’s the word here….blergh. bloated. ick. Just imagine for a minute if you can, you and the Hubs snuggling in for some sexy time. You aren’t really feeling it thanks to the magic of PMS, so here comes the old body double. Magically you are toned, your boobs are where they are supposed to be, legs properly shaved, you look incredible. Or how about that time at the pool when you see “that mom” in her string bikini while you sit on the side of the pool in your swim skirt. Bring on the body double. BOOM. Problem solved, esteem restored.

4. Catering available 24/7, don’t mind if I do. Not cooking for a night or two (or ten) would sure be nice. To have it catered in instead of having to go pick it up? Fabuloso. Don’t see something that floats your boat? Order it, someone will go get it for you. I like to cook but this wouldn’t be all bad either. From what I understand it isn’t exactly dog fodder that they serve here.

5. Filming in a warm, tropical location? I think I could make that work. Spend a couple of months in Europe? Sounds so much more glamorous than my little farm in the middle of Kansas. Don’t get me wrong I LOVE country living and the freedom that comes with it, but a few weeks in an exotic location with other people keeping track of your schedule and making sure you get where you need to go when you need to get there…it truly does sound like a nice change to the monotony of wiping butts, keeping track of who has what practice when, who has a field trip this week, and what doctor we need to visit this month.

6. We don’t have a stunt person on hand to handle all those unexpected accidents. You dads consider the trauma you suffer when that bat swing goes awry or when the socks are a little too slippery on the wood floor and their heads are at just the right level. NUT PUNCH. Moms, how about when we try to reign in that temper tantrum and catch that elbow in the boob or that Lego to the face, not to mention the trauma that our bodies (vaginas) go through during pregnancy and childbirth. This parenting gig is vicious and we never take into account our own safety. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone trained in this area to take one for the team?

7. I would love to be walking down the street and some kick ass song comes on just for me. Think John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever minus the white bell bottoms. Having an amazing soundtrack to play at just the right moment would be so freaking awesome.

8. We have no editor. No way to remove those moments where maybe we had too much to drink or told someone to take a long walk off a short pier. Someone to cut out that time we were caught dancing a la Elaine from Seinfeld. How about that party you attended only to go back and look at pictures and see that parsley on your teeth or that booger hanging from your nose. EDIT. Realized after the fact that you said something remarkably stupid to an acquaintance? EDIT. Want to forget that you ever met someone? EDIT. Want to remove that moment of mom guilt? EDIT.

9. Unless incredible set design means mismatched couches, toy tractors all over the living room, toothpaste in the bathroom sink, and Lalaloopsy all over the dining room table, I don’t think I’ll be winning any Academy awards in that department. On that rare occasion that I entertain (still waiting on you Johnny) having a set designer would be the bomb-diggety. Nope, I never have pee on my toilets or shredded kleenexes all over the living room floor.

10. We aren’t getting paid millions of dollars to do this. When I say millions of dollars, I mean that in the most literal sense of the word. Cold. Hard. Cash. Now if you consider being paid in temper tantrums, eye rolls, foot stomps and “BUT MOOOOOOOOOM” I’m a freaking millionaire. Throw in the hugs, kisses, and “I Wuv You Mama” and I have more “money” than I know what to do with. Maybe this parenting job isn’t so bad after all.

Not only do I have a book out, but some of my friends do as well. If you aren’t reading these books, you aren’t the people I thought you were. Click on them. Order them. Put on a Poise. Read them. Laugh. I promise you will.

Filed Under: Children, Family, Humor, I Just Want to Pee Alone, Johnny Depp, Motherhood, parenting

It Really is OK to Just Say NO

March 27, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 8 Comments

Early on in childhood we are taught to say no. Say no to strangers, say no to drugs, say no to peer pressure. Even as parents we drill the same skill into our own little people. We stress to them the importance of using the word when something doesn’t seem right. That it is okay to give their friends a nice firm NO when they are being pressured to do things that they know are wrong. To say NO if they don’t want to do something. Makes you wonder why after all the years of being told to say it, we are so scared to use it as adults.

I’m do know that I’m not afraid to use it with my kids:

Mom, can I have a cell phone? No, you are ten.

Mom, can I have candy? No. I ate it all.

Mom, do you love me more than the others? No. I love you all equally, just some days I may like one of you more than the others.

Mom, do you have a wiener? Thankfully, no. If I did you wouldn’t be calling me mom.

Smell my feet mom! Not just no, but HELL NO.

Did you fart mom? Nope. Not me. I would never do that. <ahem>

While I love to piss my kids off on a daily basis by reminding them who is the boss around here, I often forget when approached by adults that I even know that the word NO is part of my vocabulary. Why do we have such a hard time saying that one little word to other adults, are we afraid of looking like we can’t handle it? Scared that we will be considered less of a woman/man/parent if we just say we can’t do it right now? Maybe it’s a little bit of mom guilt mixed in with that middle school mindset that we won’t be accepted if we don’t agree with every offer that is thrown our way.

This is extra difficult when the offers involve our kids. Sitting on the PTA board or coaching a ball team. Going on that field trip or making those cookies for the program. Never able to say no. Always willing to adjust our schedules to do what needs to be done. Never able to just walk away. Feeling as if we don’t say ‘yes’ that the job won’t get done. Forgetting that in most instances that one little word could alleviate so much stress from our lives if we would just use it. Just once it would keep us from trying to squeeze in one more meeting in an already over-packed day. Stop us from making just one more trip to the store for supplies. Give us an evening to reconnect with our already over-scheduled families.

Maybe it is that part of our human nature that has this desire to constantly please others. The feeling of never letting someone down. What happens when we become so overwhelmed that we forget to make those cookies or that meeting slips our mind? Disappointment and guilt. That’s what happens. Then we sit in the soup of despair and shitty feelings kicking ourselves in the ass for not being organized to write something down. For forgetting that we received that reminder call three days ago while we were juggling fixing lunch, finishing folding that load of laundry, and wiping the three-year-old’s butt. It is hard to believe that we, the uber-involved incredibly organized, could possibly overlook one little thing.

Here’s the deal, we ARE over-scheduled. We do strive for the acceptance of our peers, even as adults. We always want to appear as if we have it all together, even though we know in our hearts that we are falling apart and will be hopping aboard the crazy train any day now. In all reality, no one really gives a shit if you say “no, sorry, I just can’t make it to that meeting. I haven’t had dinner with my kids all week and I promised them that tonight was the night”. No one is going to think you are a raging bitch if you turn down that seat on the PTA board. OK they might, but if they do then maybe they are the bitch. No one else but us is looking our for us and what we need. What our families need.

The key is to find our balance. To find what is truly important to YOU. You want that seat on that non-profit? Grab it. You want to be the room mother for your kid (s)? DO IT. You want to run a bakery from your kitchen? Good for you. Do you have to do it all ? No way. Find your passion and do that. You aren’t telling the others to piss off, you are just saying that you want to be able to be fully invested in what you are doing. There is only so much room on our plates. To be truly involved with your whole self may take a little more effort but the rewards are ten-times greater than only being involved with just a piece of yourself.

We can no longer look at ’no’ as a word worthy of being placed on George Carlin’s list of dirty words. We can’t be afraid to say it to our kids, we know they aren’t afraid to say it to us. We can’t avoid it just because we are afraid of not being accepted into the cool kids club. If that club looks at you differently because you have priorities and can make a decision based on what is best for you, then maybe it isn’t as cool as you thought it was. There comes a time where that one little word can make the difference between spending time with the family that you love and adore or spending it doing something that makes you miserable. The choice is yours.

Find your true passion

Did you buy the book yet? PLEASE don’t tell me NO. Get all the details right here.

Filed Under: blogging, Children, Compassion, Family, Friendship, Gratitude, opinions, parenting, Talking, Thankful

Don’t Let the Guilt Get You

March 13, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 19 Comments

I screwed up. Not in a “I used salt instead of sugar in those cookies” kind of screwed up. More like a ”I now feel like a total asshole mother” kind of screwed up. It wasn’t over anything major, but to my fifth grade daughter it was kind of a big deal. Now I have this immense feeling of guilt. Mom guilt. Different from any other guilt you will ever feel and it sucks.

This isn’t the first time I have dropped the ball on something. I have forgotten to take someone to a birthday party, or missed that meeting about an activity. I have forgotten to call little Susie’s mom to see if Susie can come over for a sleepover. As parents we have unlimited opportunity for failure. Every second of every day presents us with an opportunity to fuck something up. There is no other job on the planet that you can enter into with absolutely no training whatsoever and then be left to deal with the pressure, the guilt, and the repercussions of not doing something right.

When I took that first job flipping hamburgers, I wasn’t allowed to start cooking the hamburgers right away. Hell no. I had to master the potato peeling and onion chopping first. I had to be able to make perfect patties and golden brown french fries before I could be trusted with the spatula and a hot grill. I received on the job training before being entrusted with the important tasks. There is no on the job training that comes along with parenthood. Sure, there are thousands of parenting books that you can peruse. There are millions upon millions of magazine and internet articles that you can sort through and read. Most likely you have friends or acquaintances that you can ask for advice. The thing is, your parenting skills will be completely different from everyone else’s. Don’t fall for the ideal of being the “perfect” parent. You are just setting yourself up for disappointment. You will be a GREAT parent, but there is no such thing as the “perfect” one.

At some point we have all royally screwed up something for our kids. Maybe we have that day that we didn’t make the time to play that board game. Maybe we forgot to write that letter of encouragement for them to read before their state assessment tests. Maybe we were taking a few seconds to read an email instead of watching them go down the slide. Maybe we were busy writing a piece for a book and didn’t spend the afternoon giving our kids scissors and glue guns. It doesn’t mean we love them any less or that we wish that they didn’t exist, it just means that we as parents are so consumed with trying to prove to everyone else that we can do everything when in reality we are drowning in our own sea of over scheduling and pressure to overachieve, present company included.

Am I a failure as a mother because my kids are currently parked in front of the television long enough for me to finish this post? No I’m not. Do I feel a slight twinge of guilt that I am doing that? Absolutely. Does it mean that I am lazy parent who only focuses on her needs instead of the needs of her children? No effing way. It means that I deserve to take some time for myself. To do the things that I enjoy and that make me a better mother. It means that I have things that I like to make time for besides wiping butts and playing Chutes and Ladders for the five millionth time. It means that in order for me to be the parent that I need to be I have to take the time to tend to myself, even if that means locking the door just so I can poop in peace.

If you can honestly look in the mirror and say to yourself that you don’t have needs. That you are the ideal parent. That your sole purpose in life is to be the beck and call girl for your kids. That you don’t ever make mistakes and suffer from mom guilt. You are full of shit. I mean, you have it oozing out of every orifice. Instead of filling yourself with these unrealistic expectations, why not tell yourself that it is OK that you forgot to make that phone call. That you aren’t ruining your kids if you let them have pop for lunch. That it is OK that you forgot to do something. That they won’t be traumatized for life if they have to go out into the backyard and play by themselves for fifteen minutes while you switch the laundry or eat that bag of M & M’s that you’ve been hiding in the cabinet.

We all make mistakes. We all have the guilt. We all have those days where we want to pack our bags and run away to the Bahamas with Johnny Depp. Well, I do at least. We can’t sit around criticizing each other and ourselves for the choices that we make for our own children. We can’t constantly attack each other because we do things differently. We can’t look in that proverbial mirror and beat ourselves up because we have those moments of doubt. Because we forgot something. Because we made a mistake. Because we just wanted to take a few minutes for ourselves. Guilt will eat you alive if you let it. We need to support each other despite our differences. We must have the belief in ourselves that we are doing something right. That we have one, or two, or five little people who think we are better than sliced bread. That these kids will turn out just fine. Have faith in YOURSELF. You’ve got this. WE’ve got this.

Faith

Have you bought the book yet? NO?? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR???? Talk about a good way to remind yourself that we aren’t perfect. Go ahead and get a copy for yourself and feel free to get a copy for all of your mom friends too. You will laugh, you may cry from laughter, you will definitely no longer feel alone. All positive reviews will be sprinkled with glitter in celebration. Get all the details right HERE.

Filed Under: Children, Compassion, Family, Humor, Johnny Depp, kids, Love, Motherhood, opinions, parenting, self worth, Women

Long Hairs and Snow Days

February 27, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 19 Comments

The other day I found a hair. A long one. On my knee. At first I thought it was just a hair from my head that stuck to my leg in the shower. Nope, that thing was attached. Be aware that when I say a long one, I mean that sucker could have been braided if only it would have had friends close by. This one hair made my mind start to wonder; How in the hell does one miss the same hair for months? How? The same reason I can’t take a good poop without having to stop halfway through. The same reason my hair needs to be colored, but isn’t. The same reason my house looks like a colony of monkeys live here. Because I have kids and they’ve been home for days, that’s why.

I have been trapped in a snowy hell for days. DAYS. I am sure that somewhere around here I have some funny lying around, but in all honesty I think my kids have sucked that well dry, kind of like my boobs. I can’t possibly stomach another game of Guess Who or another episode of Dinosaur Train. I also cannot bear to listen to myself tell my kids to stop fighting with each other. To keep their hands to themselves. To say excuse me when they rip a big burp or gag me with a fart. These unexpected long breaks are painful. So much so that the government could use it as a form of torture. You want someone to talk, lock them in a house with young children for days with minimal provisions. They would break in a matter of hours. It is so different from a scheduled break because of the lack of preparation time, the scramble to stock up on “provisions”, or maybe it is just the fact that there is. no. escape.

The first day, everyone is so excited. HEY LOOK! SNOW! Get out the gloves/boots/hats/scarves/five-hundred pairs of pants, and listen to the squeals of delight. It fills your heart with rainbows and unicorns and you are so glad that they got a few extra hours to play in it. You don’t mind the piles of wet gloves and the constant requests for hot chocolate.

Until that first snowball is thrown.

Day two brings constant snowfall. Trapped. Here is where things go downhill, and quickly. See if any of this sounds familiar:

MOM! He took my blanket!
MOOOOOOMMMMMM, she farted on me!
But MOOOOOMMMMM, I don’t WANT to watch that!
But MOM! He touched me!
Can we have a snack? I’m still hungry, can I have something else to eat? I’m HONGRY MOM!
Mom, can we go outside? <10 minutes later> Man! It’s cold outside, we are coming in!
Hey PITA, put down that frozen milk jug and put some clothes on before you freeze your wiener off! (What? You’ve never said that?)

One would think that living in the middle of Kansas in the winter that I would be better prepared for such occurrences. Well, one would be wrong. I don’t keep a file of lesson plans for snowy days. I don’t keep a well-stocked craft closet. I suppose that would be because I don’t enjoy “crafting”, but it is mainly because the thought of giving young kids scissors and glue gives me heart palpitations. ”Hey MOM, look at my pretty new haircut!” . ”Hey Mom, why do they call it a HOT glue gun? AHHHHHHHHHH MY EYE!!!!!” ”Don’t you love our new wallpaper mom? I used all the colors that you love!”

I’m not afraid to be honest with you all. The wine helps. I’m not talking about dousing myself in it every night, just a glass or two (some days three). It doesn’t make me a bad mom nor does it make me an alcoholic. It makes me real. For some it may not be wine, it may be food or pharmaceuticals or vodka or a nice hot bath mixed with wine and cookies or running away to Mexico to enjoy sunshine and drinks served by a handsome cabana boy by the pool. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to help you relax at the end of the day. It doesn’t make us bad parents to enjoy a glass of wine or a couple of cookies or a nice hot bath. Running away to Mexico, maybe, but only if you never return.

I don’t really know where the long knee hair and snow days are connected, hell I don’t really know where I was going with this entire post, but I do know that sometimes we screw up and we miss things. Things that we may look back on and laugh about later, but also some things that we don’t want to look back on and be sad that we overlooked. We bitch and moan about having our kids home for extended periods of time. In all reality though, somewhere deep down (WAAAAY deep down) we enjoy these moments. While at the time we don’t enjoy the puddles of melted snow in the dining room and the endless games of tag in the house. We cuss under our breath about the extra loads of laundry and the constant requests to play on some sort of electronic device while munching on handfuls of popcorn. We know that these moments are passing ever so quickly. That we should treasure them. That we should enjoy them. That someday we will miss them. For now though we will laugh at our long hairs, poop when we can, and enjoy that glass of wine while watching our kids play in the cold. While working on our passports from the window.

Before you leave, do two things for me please:

1. Don’t forget to subscribe to email updates up there on the very top left. It really is the best way to ensure that you don’t miss anything and I promise I won’t spam you.

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Filed Under: Children, Family, Gratitude, Humor, kids, Motherhood, parenting, wine

How Flipping Burgers Made Me a Better Parent

February 5, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 11 Comments

When I was fifteen years old my parental units gave me a choice; either get a job to help pay for your car insurance and gas, or walk. As you can probably imagine it really wasn’t that difficult of a choice. They were kind enough to buy me my first car (don’t be jealous, it was a 1981 Ford LTD and we often joked that it came with its very own docking permit) so I guess it was only fair that I be responsible for the things I needed in order to drive it. Of course in 1990 gas was under one dollar a gallon and insurance on old Ethel was minimal, but a beast like that was gonna burn the gas and I needed the cash to fill her up. I was left no choice. I got a job. I didn’t just get any job though. I got THE job. Burger flipper supreme.

At the time it was just a job. The building was so small that you could fart at one end and smell it at the other, simultaneously. It was old-school. Fresh meat, fresh potatoes, no cash register to tell you how much change to give. It was a way for me to make a enough cash to buy a tank of gas a week, which at the time was twenty bucks for the boat (that was so much money back then, I would love to be able to fill up my car for twenty bucks now), buy a few clothes, and of course support my very busy social life <cough, cough>. I still laugh at how I thought I was rolling in the dough on four bucks and a few cents an hour. Looking back on it now, I have realized that it taught me so many other things besides how to blow a paycheck in one weekend. While I never thought that flipping burgers and peeling potatoes would give me anything that I could use as a mother, I think have figured out how my high school job helped prepare me for motherhood. How in the hell can I equate cooking hamburgers and raising kids? I don’t really know, but this is the way my brain is working right now so let’s just roll with it.

Onions. They make you cry. Imagine being given a twenty pound bag of them and having to peel, cut in half, and chop the entire bag. Repeat at least twice a week. Sound like fun? Not really. Like peeling onions, there are times when motherhood makes me cry. Maybe it is from peeling back the layers on a difficult situation. Maybe it is the residual stink left on your hands afterwards. All I know is that tears are involved. Some days there will be more tears depending on the strength of the onion. Some days the layers come off easily, some days you have to fight to get to the important stuff. Some days you stick your head in the freezer using the cold to stop the tears, some days you stick your head in the fridge looking for a cold bottle of Riesling to help ease your pains.

Big bags of meat. Sounds gross, but we would have to take these five-pound bags of hamburger, ball it and smash them in order to form the burgers. Yep, fresh meat makes for better burgers this is true. Our little people are given to us unshaped. I suppose if you wanted to be technical you could say they come in a bag and some weigh about five pounds. Which if your kids were that small, my now cavernous hoo-ha and I are jealous. Anywho let’s not go there, back to bags of meat. Just like a lump of beef, our kids need to be formed into something amazing. It is up to us to form those patties, cook em up until they are just right, and serve them up to the public in an appealing package for consumption. If you don’t do it right, they can be unappealing and sickening to the stomach.

You can’t have a nice juicy hamburger without a side of french fries. Farmer Bob would say onion rings, but believe me when I say that onion rings are never a good option. It grosses me out enough to watch them be eaten, smelling them hours later is tortuous. French fries. That is where it is at. Not just any fries though, they have to be fresh. One would never thing that sitting in front of two, one hundred-pound sacks of taters armed with a peeler and a trash can could teach you anything, but you sit your ass on a bucket with those two hundred pounds of starchy deliciousness and two hours to peel them all and you quickly learn how to handle monotony, frustration, and the removal of fingernails. While motherhood is very exciting and always changing in many ways, we have those days in which we are in a rut and never know if we are going to get out. We find ourselves bruised and dirty, but with a little bit of patience, the removal of some of the outer layers of skin, and soon you find yourself at the bottom of that bag ready to chop up your problems and serve them up fried with a side of ketchup.

Once you polish off that burger and fries, you must have a milkshake just to add those few extra pounds right to your ass. I mean you have to have a milkshake in order to have that sweet taste in your mouth afterwards. When I say milkshake, I mean a real shake with real ice cream and real milk blended up on a shake machine until it is so thick your spoon stands straight up. I do NOT mean some pre-made mix that comes out of a machine like poo out of a baby’s butt. Just like family life, you gather up all the ingredients and you blend it all together. Some days it comes together nicely and you are left with a cup of thick deliciousness that everyone wants to be a part of. Other days nothing gels and you are left with an unrecognizable mess of runny goop that all you want to do is throw it across the room while screaming obscenities at your co-workers, or husband. When it all comes together it is amazing, but when it doesn’t it is like a super-sized serving of shit soup. You take the good ones and try to remember exactly how you did that so that next time you can replicate it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Once you are done with your meal, you can’t forget about the clean up. Here’s something you may not know, hamburgers and french fries are greasy. Shocking I know, but true. It could have been due to my extreme clumsiness but for the sake of my self-esteem let me just tell you that greasy floors are slicker than snot on a doorknob. When you are busy flipping them burgers, or having a dance party on floors like that, your chances of ending up flat on your ass are great. Just like that time you accidentally cursed at your ten-year old, or threw away your eight-year old’s favorite drawing, as parents we all have times when we slip, fall, and endure a shot to our pride. The thing to do is to lay there for a while in the grease and laugh at yourself. Then you must get back up, wipe yourself off, clean that shit up and get back to life. Life goes on, even if you are covered in slime. Or poo. Or even a little vomit. Put a little bit of time and elbow grease into it and before you know it you are back to dancing on your own two feet on a much steadier surface.

While at the time that job was just all about the money in my pocket, that job taught me more than I could possibly have realized at fifteen/sixteen/seventeen years old. I stayed at that job until I didn’t come home in the summers from college. I made friends that I still have to this day, and lessons that will help me survive this parenting gig one single hamburger and pile of fries at a time.

One last thing, do me a favor if you would please. Go to this website right here, read the story and watch the video. Then next time you are at Wal-Mart or Target and you see those slippers sitting there, buy a couple of pairs. Take them home and put them in a box and send them to Lilly. She is an amazing girl and I would love to help her reach her goal. It won’t take much of your time, but it sure will bring a smile to so many. I thank you and I know Lilly will too.

Filed Under: Children, parenting, Thankful, Uncategorized

Dear Diary, My Kid is Sick

January 14, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 32 Comments

Day 1:

Dear Diary,

Today one of the kids woke up with a fever. I don’t think I will run him into the doctor just yet since he isn’t complaining of anything hurting and we have no vomit or runny poop. I didn’t have any plans today so we can spend the day cuddling on the couch in our pajamas with blankets and any show he wants to watch. I will work while he takes nice long naps, laundry loads in-between temperature taking and medicine doses. This shouldn’t be too bad. So far there is no vomit, but I took precautionary measures and outlawed all dairy products just in case he gets a bad case of the upchucks. I’ve heard this flu stuff is vicious and I don’t do well with vomit. Here’s to a quick twenty-four hours. I’m optimistic that this will pass quickly and we will be back to normal procedure tomorrow.

Day 2:

Dear Diary,

PITA didn’t sleep too well last night. I think we may have had intermittent moments of sleep, but really the entire evening is a fog. Apparently this is more like a forty-eight hour bug. I am confident that since the fever hit 105 degrees we are on the up and up now. I have coated the house in Lysol and been doing laundry continuously in an effort to keep this from spreading like wildfire. PITA is getting tired of having a thermometer in his pit, but I just remind him that I could put it somewhere less enjoyable. He is too young to understand my jokes. I hate it when sarcasm is wasted, but damn it, it’s my coping mechanism and I’m just trying to survive here. While I love a good challenge, trying to work while holding a roasting hot thirty-seven pound two-year-old in your lap is not quite what I had in mind today. I haven’t bathed, unless you consider being drenched in sweat bathing. I smell delightful and I found a pencil in my hair. I can’t be certain how long it has been there. I sent Farmer Bob to the adult package store because if there is one thing I learned in college it is that alcohol kills germs and I intend on heading these bad boys off at the pass.

Day 3:

Dear Diary,

Did I sleep last night? I decided that since I was already up at 6:00 that I would finally get that shower that I didn’t take yesterday. It was nice to wash off the two-day old funk and hair growth from my pits, even if the only place I’m going is the germ infested cesspool that is the pediatricians office. The things we do to get out of the house. I was hoping that they would give the poor guy something to help him get better so that I don’t have to hear “mama, my face hurt” one more time, but instead I received the ever popular “it’s a virus”. To a mother with very little sleep this translates to “thanks for wasting my time by bringing in your kid with a fever of 105. Don’t you know that if you had waited another day or two it would have passed and you wouldn’t have had to leave your house? Leave your co-pay on your way out because I am planning my trip to the Bahamas. Oh, and chances are I’ll see you back in a couple of days because this is most likely not a virus at all. At this time I will take another co-pay and wonder how I could have missed that pesky ear infection the first time. My bad.” I don’t want to go back home. The traffic is so pretty and there are other adults driving those cars. I want to flag someone down just to have a quick conversation that doesn’t involve the words backpack, hugga-mugga, or ALL ABOARD! I think the Moscato from last night is working. I will need another dose tonight to make sure it is effective.

Day 4:

Dear Diary,

Oh look, the living room needs to be re-painted and I should strip the wallpaper in the dining room. The vacuum needs to be run and I found some more laundry. Where in the hell have these black hairs on my chin come from? Are those the sheep in the living room? HELP ME! I’M A PRISONER IN MY OWN HOME!!! If I don’t get out of this mother effing house soon I am going to need someone to talk me down from the ledge of insanity. It is so bad I am debating cleaning the ceiling fans. Notice I said “debating”, that is pretty serious business right there. How much more fever can one little body take? Really. More importantly, how much Barney/Daniel Tiger/Dinosaur Train/Dora can one incredibly shaky mom take? Are those men with white coats coming up my sidewalk? I need wine. Stat. And a shower. And fresh air. And more wine. Oh, look, dust bunnies. Aren’t they cute?

Day 5:

Dear Diary,

Woke up to a fever free house. It was like the sun rising on a summer morning around here complete with singing angels. I celebrated with some hair color, driving the preschool carpool, a trip to Arby’s, and some Moscato. Fingers/toes/legs/eyes crossed, for the safety of my mental health, that this is the only encounter we have with the plague. If the other kids do become infected, dear diary, I hope it is all at once so that I can just set up an infirmary in the living room and start running this place like a Civil War hospital. Minus the amputations, the rusty tools, and the whiskey. Maybe the whiskey because if I have to endure this again, it may take whiskey to ensure my survival.

Filed Under: Children, Humor, Motherhood, Uncategorized, wine

One Little Book

January 11, 2013 by Tara-YKIHAYHT 23 Comments

Mom! I brought home a book for you from the library today. You are going to LOOOOOOve it!

When your six-year-old daughter says something like this to you, many thoughts go through my mind. Things like, “Holy shit, this book is going to have three hundred pages and no pictures and she is going to want to read it in its entirety this weekend”, or “NOT ANOTHER DAMN BARBIE BOOK!”. Just judging by her uncontrollable giggles, I did not have a good feeling about the book that I was going to be forced to read over and over and over again all. weekend. long. I love reading to my kids. I do not enjoy some of their choices. Unsupervised book selection has a tendency to not go well for my kids, so you can imagine how nervous I become when they start using their funny voices telling me how much I am going to LOOOOOve this book. Never in a million years did I expect her to pull this out of her backpack:

Brainwashing or excellent taste?

At first I couldn’t help but giggle, but as I listened to her talk my heart melted into her filthy, germ infested, beautiful little hands. “I was looking for a different book, but saw this one and just knew you would like it so I got it so we could read it together”. I don’t know if it is because of the raging PMS, or the fact that I have been trapped in the house for four days with a sick two-year old, but this one, selfish little act caused my eyes to overflow just a bit. I tried to tell myself that it is just a book. How in the hell can one little library book turn me into mush? Then I realized that it wasn’t the book that did it to me, it was the selfless act of my six-year-old that helped me forget about the armageddon about to break out in my uterus.

As parents, we often dream of what kind of adults our children will grow up to be. Will they be kind? Will they be thoughtful? Will they be total assholes? While we always hope that the latter doesn’t occur, we all know that these days it seems to happen more often than it should. Shall we all take a moment and just imagine what a world this would be without them? Ahhhhhh, how delightful and amazing. Since we all know that an asshole free world will never exist, maybe it is time to concentrate on where we are going astray as parents and what we can do to change it.

This current generation we are raising scares the living crap out of me and we are left to point the finger at ourselves. Why are we as parents are more concerned about becoming their friends and by what kind of parent we appear to be in a public setting instead of actually being their parents? I can admit that I am just as guilty as the next person. While I may not be so concerned about being their friend, I already have plenty of friends, I know I am more concerned with public appearances than I should be. Maybe it is the desire to be accepted by others, maybe it is the desire look like we know what we are doing, maybe it is some deeper issue that I have locked away deep down in my emotional vault. What I do know is that I am mortified of the thought of my kids becoming one of those assholes and if I succeed in nothing else in life, as long as I prevent that from happening, I will die an old, extremely happy, woman.

This one little book left me asking myself if I am the kind of parent that my own parents hoped I would be. What a mind-blowing thought. One that I am hoping I know the answer to. Now as parents ourselves, we often joke with each other that we will never say and do the things that our parents did. You know what I mean, the “well shit, I just sounded like my mother” moments, but when you really think about it and take a good long look in the mirror, we seem to have turned out pretty good so are those oddities that we tried to fight for so long really that bad? I suppose it is time to accept the fact that our parents really did know what they were talking about all those years. Damn, that was really hard to type.

What I do know is that little miss Mouse gave me hope last night. Hope that Farmer Bob and I are on the right path. Hope that we are raising the kinds of kids that we can be proud of. Hope that kindness and love can overtake the assholes and the hate. Hope that our kids will grow up to the be the kind of parents that we hope they can be. This journey that we are on as mothers, as fathers, as parents, is without a doubt the most difficult thing we have ever done. Harder than college algebra or writing that thesis. Harder than perfecting that recipe or choosing a paint color for the living room. Harder because there isn’t a textbook. There isn’t a recipe. We can’t pick out the “perfect” child from a paint chip. They are put into our lives for us to nurture and develop into the kind adults that we can be proud of. Maybe if we all agreed to be the kind of parents that we hope our own kids will be, we can have a little bit more hope for our future. In the meantime, sit down and enjoy a book with them and don’t be afraid to look at the pictures.