It's spring break time.
So I made banana chocolate chip pancakes today. I love those things. So do the kiddos and surprisingly, the husband raved about them. And I thought they wouldn't be his style, since he's not an overly sweet breakfast kind of guy. We don't use syrup, just the bananas and choco chips in them are flavor enough.
They found a chocolate chip that melted into the shape of a heart. And i thought to myself, that yes, it truly is the little things.
I then took the girls to Justice, so Oldielocks could buy a gift for a friend and spend her own birthday gift cards. When we got to the register, I couldn't find one of her gift cards. It was a $20 dollar one. So I pitched in the extra 20, but then kicked myself for it. She didn't see bummed, or worried about the gift card. I mean shed a tear or something, kid. I was annoyed by her lack of caring/ responsibility.... or so it seemed. I was struggling with feelings of parent failure/she will grow up to be a beverly hills diva when she came to me with 20 dollars of her piggy bank money. Her own thoughts to make it right. Which made me smile/sad/glad/tired/proud/ all at the same time.
To which I started think about how parenting sucks. This stuff isn't easy. Too many people want it to be easy, so they let the kids make the adult choices. Because it's just easier that way. Not here, not today.
I know I want my girls to feel just like this when they mother their own children. If I let them grow up feeling that only their feelings matter, that life is always about them, then I will be doing them a big disservice. I want them to feel like crap when they do wrong. Even if it's on accident. Even if it wasn't intentional. I know I would feel like poo if I lost 20 bucks, so she should too. And she did. Just later than I would have and that's okay too.
Maybe tomorrow I will write about something more lighthearted, but today mothering has taken over.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Mean Girls
The husband is a softball coach. Of the 10 year old variety. Oldielocks has been playing for years and I think coaching fulfills the hubby's need to be Pete Rose.. or something like that.
Of course with any sports, there is politics. And holy cannoli there is some politics involved with this. Basically the hubby stood up for the coaches and mangers and became their voice for a certain situation.
(not trying to be all cryptic, but you never know when someone is googling hot dog poo and gets my blog and puts two and two together.)
Last night, a parent, who is also on the board, was talking trash. Straight up diarrhea of the badmouthin' trash. About my HUSBAND. I'm not one to get all mad... wait- who the lucky charms am I kidding- My mouth plays it fast and loose... when needed. But seriously, I wish I had her. I only heard the snarky comments. Which was enough for me to eye roll in her general direction. She is cackling with some other lady, and seriously she cackles. I would not lie about some cackling. I would probably laugh if I was annoyed with her cackle.
Does this broad really need for someone to remind her that not only is it inappropriate but just plain bad human behavior to speak disrespectfully of a member of their own organization, in a public setting? At least talk about him on the phone or in the bathroom. I guess I know what happens when short chunky mean girls grow up-
They grow up to be short, chunky, OLD mean girls.
Taking out my hoops and pulling back the hair. Mommas gonna go stand up for her man!!!
Of course with any sports, there is politics. And holy cannoli there is some politics involved with this. Basically the hubby stood up for the coaches and mangers and became their voice for a certain situation.
(not trying to be all cryptic, but you never know when someone is googling hot dog poo and gets my blog and puts two and two together.)
Last night, a parent, who is also on the board, was talking trash. Straight up diarrhea of the badmouthin' trash. About my HUSBAND. I'm not one to get all mad... wait- who the lucky charms am I kidding- My mouth plays it fast and loose... when needed. But seriously, I wish I had her. I only heard the snarky comments. Which was enough for me to eye roll in her general direction. She is cackling with some other lady, and seriously she cackles. I would not lie about some cackling. I would probably laugh if I was annoyed with her cackle.
Does this broad really need for someone to remind her that not only is it inappropriate but just plain bad human behavior to speak disrespectfully of a member of their own organization, in a public setting? At least talk about him on the phone or in the bathroom. I guess I know what happens when short chunky mean girls grow up-
They grow up to be short, chunky, OLD mean girls.
Taking out my hoops and pulling back the hair. Mommas gonna go stand up for her man!!!
Thursday, March 04, 2010
She's 10
I swear I blinked and she turned ten.
My Oldielocks.
Today she is ten. I fight blinking because I'm afraid I will blink again and she will be twenty. I don't want her to be twenty for at least forty more years. I like her being ten, and I liked her being nine. I've learned to embrace each age, instead of mourning the past ones. Because I've enjoyed every minute of her life. Even when she crapped in the tub at a relatives house. I think it turned me into a real mom.
She turned me into HER mom. She has met every milestone, ahead of time, with an ease and grace that astounds me. Who has a kid that walks at 7 months? Whose kid takes test on things she has never seen and aces it? Me. Mine. I'm that lucky. I tell her no and 99% of the time she listens. She's not perfect. I've sent her to bed early and to school in her pajamas.
I've also watched her blossom into this beauty that is such a perfect blend of her father and I. She has the common sense of me and the quiet emotion of him. She has his brown eyes and dimple, and my hands.
She is ten today, and we are celebrating. Celebrating the gift that I have been given that is her. I love that little girl!
My Oldielocks.
Today she is ten. I fight blinking because I'm afraid I will blink again and she will be twenty. I don't want her to be twenty for at least forty more years. I like her being ten, and I liked her being nine. I've learned to embrace each age, instead of mourning the past ones. Because I've enjoyed every minute of her life. Even when she crapped in the tub at a relatives house. I think it turned me into a real mom.
She turned me into HER mom. She has met every milestone, ahead of time, with an ease and grace that astounds me. Who has a kid that walks at 7 months? Whose kid takes test on things she has never seen and aces it? Me. Mine. I'm that lucky. I tell her no and 99% of the time she listens. She's not perfect. I've sent her to bed early and to school in her pajamas.
I've also watched her blossom into this beauty that is such a perfect blend of her father and I. She has the common sense of me and the quiet emotion of him. She has his brown eyes and dimple, and my hands.
She is ten today, and we are celebrating. Celebrating the gift that I have been given that is her. I love that little girl!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
annual WTF- do- they- wear- for- easter post
Easter revolves around these shoes....because they keep my little girl looking 3.... and since she typically looks like she is 5 and acts like she is 20, she needs every bit of 3 she can get.
Here's what I'm thinking....
MIDDLE:
OLDIELOCKS:
or the white dress with yellow sweater......
BALONEY:
Thursday, February 04, 2010
This is my life......
My daughter just told me she puts stink bombs in her underwear.
She then stares at me with a blank face and says...
"What?"
I looked at her and said "What?" (I mean really, is that conversation starter?)
"Well, I'm like "what" and you're all like... frozen."
To which she makes a horrible grotesque face. As if she froze witnessing a horrifying incident while falling.
An apparently that's how I look, upon news such as stink bombs.
Before laughing hysterically.
And she's only 3.
She then stares at me with a blank face and says...
"What?"
I looked at her and said "What?" (I mean really, is that conversation starter?)
"Well, I'm like "what" and you're all like... frozen."
To which she makes a horrible grotesque face. As if she froze witnessing a horrifying incident while falling.
An apparently that's how I look, upon news such as stink bombs.
Before laughing hysterically.
And she's only 3.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
The happy in my day
"We tend to seek happiness when happiness is actually a choice."
Today I chose:
to take delight in watching my little girl give her speech about Wales, and realized that my cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. The best part was when I winked at her when it was over, she smiled that snaggly tooth grin and blinked both her eyes back at me. My Middle.
to listen to my Baloney chatter away in my back seat and enjoy just how very lucky that I am to have such a chatty girl. Not a day goes by that I don't laugh at that girl.
to watch my Oldest do her homework, easy peasy, no questions asked. Her ease and love of learning is a gift. To herself and to us. She is brilliant.
to be happy, and ignore when others say things that try to make me unhappy. Sometimes I think people are waiting for someone to make them happy, when really happiness is there all along. I need to remember this when it starts to suck me in.
to help the husband. He does so much for me, and simply just loves me, every day, all the time. It made me happy to help him. He is perfect.
Today I chose:
to take delight in watching my little girl give her speech about Wales, and realized that my cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. The best part was when I winked at her when it was over, she smiled that snaggly tooth grin and blinked both her eyes back at me. My Middle.
to listen to my Baloney chatter away in my back seat and enjoy just how very lucky that I am to have such a chatty girl. Not a day goes by that I don't laugh at that girl.
to watch my Oldest do her homework, easy peasy, no questions asked. Her ease and love of learning is a gift. To herself and to us. She is brilliant.
to be happy, and ignore when others say things that try to make me unhappy. Sometimes I think people are waiting for someone to make them happy, when really happiness is there all along. I need to remember this when it starts to suck me in.
to help the husband. He does so much for me, and simply just loves me, every day, all the time. It made me happy to help him. He is perfect.
Monday, February 01, 2010
I still wear hooker shoes
Years ago, when I first met my husband's mother, she commented on my choice of shoes. I was wearing a long skirt with a tank top, and we were going out. She took one look at my knee high black boots with a chunky heel and exclaimed,
"You are wearing streetwalker boots!!!"
She sounds like a pearl clutcher, but really, she's not. Nor is she from the farms of Amish town or the halls of a convent. Streetwalker? Really? Who says that? A hooker is a hooker is a hooker. Go ahead and say hooker boots. (to which most hookers would laugh, since they were more clubbin boots. I got game.) I should have told her to save the streetwalker business for someone that doesn't know that she shows off her cleavage. Always.
Anyways, I have given birth to 3 kids. And cared for several more. I have found grey hairs on my head and worn my pajamas to drop my kids off at school more times than I can count. I have worn fat mom pants, and driven a mom car. I scrapbook, and fold laundry and only get my hair done a few times a year. And nails. I work out sometimes and stuff my face with my kids leftovers the other days.
But if you open my closet, there they be...... hooker shoes. High heels galore, boots with heels. And when I put them on... I am every bit the hot momma that my husband met all those years ago. I will always have hooker shoes.
"You are wearing streetwalker boots!!!"
She sounds like a pearl clutcher, but really, she's not. Nor is she from the farms of Amish town or the halls of a convent. Streetwalker? Really? Who says that? A hooker is a hooker is a hooker. Go ahead and say hooker boots. (to which most hookers would laugh, since they were more clubbin boots. I got game.) I should have told her to save the streetwalker business for someone that doesn't know that she shows off her cleavage. Always.
Anyways, I have given birth to 3 kids. And cared for several more. I have found grey hairs on my head and worn my pajamas to drop my kids off at school more times than I can count. I have worn fat mom pants, and driven a mom car. I scrapbook, and fold laundry and only get my hair done a few times a year. And nails. I work out sometimes and stuff my face with my kids leftovers the other days.
But if you open my closet, there they be...... hooker shoes. High heels galore, boots with heels. And when I put them on... I am every bit the hot momma that my husband met all those years ago. I will always have hooker shoes.
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