10 Things I Do As A Parent That I Know I Shouldn't But Do Anyway

I had it all figured out. I read all the baby books. I did the research on parenting methods. I was going to be the best mom ever and I had a perfect plan. And then I became a mom. I realized that baby books only tell you so much. I discovered through practical application that parenting methods are not one size fits all. My plan was riddled with holes. I am a mom that lives in the real world. To my surprise, the real world doesn't follow neat plans and schedules. The real world screws up good intentions. So, I improvise. My "parenting plan" has very few "I'll nevers" or "I'll always." My plan is fluid and evolves as my kids grow. I also do some things that I know I shouldn't, but I do anyway, just to make it through the day.

Photo Credit: www.someecards.com

1. I bribe my kids. We have a deal, the kids and I. If they get up each morning during the week and get ready without tantrums, constant reminders to brush their teeth or brush their hair, I give them a candy bar each Friday. I can hear the dentist cringe. While grocery shopping, I sweeten the deal with those free cookies from the bakery. I owe each kid a brand new car on their sixteenth birthday for potty training before they entered high school. I let them stay up late if they let me sleep in.

2. I talk about saving the earth and going green, yet I have been known to wash the same load of laundry four times in one week because I forgot to take it out of the washing machine before it soured. I've also re-dried the same load of laundry left in the dryer several times to get the wrinkles out. I used disposable diapers and I have failed to teach my kids not to use a whole roll of toilet paper in a single bathroom visit. I take long hot showers to hide from my kids when I have nowhere else to go.

3. Fast food for dinner? Yeah, we have it more than I care to admit. Something about the summer makes me not want to use the oven. Or plan meals. Or wash dishes. I swear I'll start preparing healthy, home cooked meals. Tomorrow. Next week. Eventually.

4. My youngest daughter learned to sing and read her ABC's by watching T.V.

5. I have yet to throw away a single toy that was not put away before bedtime. I have not followed through on lifetime groundings. The kids laugh at me when I tell them I'm selling them to the gypsies. We're still in the age where punishments include time out, early bedtimes, no TV... it's still pretty effective. I know. I'm lucky.

6. "When was the last time you took a bath? Nah, you smell okay. Just go to bed."

7.  I forget to bring a camera with me to major kid events. I only filled out a few pages in my first born's baby book. My second born's baby book is still wrapped in cellophane. I have boxes upon boxes of mementos taking up an entire closet.

8. I've had daydreams of confronting my daughter's summer camp bully and her mother. I'd put them both in their place using nothing but quick wit and sarcasm. In that daydream, there's a crowd behind me and someone slow claps when I have the last word. I've watched a lot of 80's teen movies.

9. I purposely brainwashed my kids to despise Barney, Justin Bieber, and Caillou.

10. I forget sometimes what it was like to be a kid. I hush them too often. I tell them I'm too busy to play when I'm simply not in the mood to play with them. I worry about the mess rather than marvel at the masterpiece. I threaten to run away even though I miss them the minute they leave my sight. I forget to count my blessings that my kids are healthy. I focus on the naughty behavior at home, yet take their best behavior in school for granted. I don't recognize as often as I should, just how wonderful my little monkeys really are.



I'm not proud of all of these things. But, parenting is not easy and can sometimes drive you to the brink of insanity. I've found the best thing to do is try to improve whenever you can and forgive yourself for not being the "best mom on the block." And I'll tell you... even the best mom on the block has her own list. She's just not sharing it.

Kids and the Zombie Apocalypse

Out of all the scary monsters, I like zombies the best. Many of you already know that I am kind of a chicken shit (re: My Dark Secret), but I'm learning to face my fears. From "Night of the Living Dead" to "Dawn of the Dead" to "Shaun of the Dead," The Hub and I have seen our fair share of cheesy and scary movies. We are die hard "The Walking Dead" fans. We've spent countless hours talking about how an outbreak could possibly happen. We also have a pretty decent zombie apocalypse survival plan. We've discussed what we'll need, where we'll go, how we'll get there, and who we want on our team. On the surface, we look pretty prepared. But, let's be honest here. If a zombie apocalypse ever happens, we won't survive. We have kids.

Top 7 Ways Our Kids Will Get Us Killed in a Zombie Apocalypse

1. Food: If I have a hard time convincing my kids to eat regular food, there is no way I'm going to get them to eat grubs and wild mushrooms once our supplies run out. "Honey, eat your squirrel before it gets cold." I can hear the whining already... and so will the zombies. Mark my words, I will be bitten while searching for the last remaining box of Cheerios.

2. Volume Control: Ever try to watch a movie with a 3 year old? How about sit through a family wedding with a fussy toddler on your lap? How often can you make a phone call in peace? Now consider what it will be like when you are hiding in an old abandoned house with a hoard of zombies near by and even the slightest squeak will call attention to your location. Do you really think a three year old will sit quietly for mommy? Not mine. Even if I bribe her with the last Twinkie on earth, my noisy kid will give us away.

3. Speed: It takes an average of 20 minutes to get the kids out of the house and into their car seats on a regular day. If we need to leave our safe house during the zombie apocalypse, our kids will still lose a shoe, forget their blankie or favorite toy (which will cause tantrums galore... see #2), or fuss about sitting in their car seats. A zombie could easily bite one of us on the butt while we're struggling to buckle a seat bealt. Some of you will say, "Forget the seat belts and get in the car!" With zombies crowding the streets, seat belts are of the utmost importance. Haven't you seen "Zombieland?"

4. Hiding: Both my kids are scared of the dark. They cannot go to sleep unless we plug in four nightlights and turn on the hall light. If we do that during a zombie apocalypse and we might as well hang a "All You Can Eat" buffet sign over our front door. We're so screwed.

5. Going Unnoticed: If my kids see a zombified neighbor stumbling down the road, they will yell out, "Hey Mommy! Look! It's our neighbor! Hey neighbor! Let's say 'hi' to our neighbor, Mommy!" They do that all the time to me in the grocery store, especially when I just want to get a gallon of milk and get the hell out of there without being seen in grungy sweatpants and with a make-up free face.

6. Agility: Kids fall down. A lot. I'm not sure why kids have such horrible balance, but I've watched my kids fall down while standing still. If we have to make a mad dash and our kids are running with us, I guarantee one of us is going down. You see it all the time in the movies: A cute klutzy girl twists her ankle and some poor chump goes back to save her from the clutches of the undead only to become zombie chow. Well, our kids are the cute klutzy girls and we're the poor chumps.

Photo Credit: www.makemelaugh.com

7. Combat: We went to a birthday party at a bowling alley/arcade this past weekend. It had a large room for laser tag and both girls wanted to give it a try. The Hub took the girls into the dark room armed with oversized vests and laser guns. Our younger daughter clung to The Hub's leg and screamed. Our older daughter became disoriented and got lost behind a neon painted partition and cried for her daddy. He was so distracted with finding his kids, he was unable to ward off the crowd of seven year olds shooting laser beams at the target on his vest. If the laser tag debacle is any indication of how our kids will handle a battle with zombies, bite me... it's over.


So while it's fun to daydream about surviving a zombie apocalypse and believing we are smart enough, strong enough, and brave enough to outlive the masses, I really hope it doesn't happen. But, if it does, I hope it doesn't happen for at least another ten years. The kids should be ready by then.

Our Flag Was Still There

I pushed the full grocery cart through the parking lot with my two kids in tow. It was close to 6:00 P.M. and I was mentally checking my "To Do" list which included cooking, cleaning, packing, organizing and other tedious whatnots. The day was getting away from me fast.

"Mommy? Why is it so low?"

My eldest daughter, S, was looking past the car at the large American Flag in the Kroger parking lot. It was at half-mast.

"Oh, uh... they lowered it for the bombing in Boston."

"Why?"

Okay, mama....This is one of those learning moments... try to give her a good answer. "Well, it's the country's way of saying that we're sad. Many people were hurt yesterday. Some people even died. We lower the flag to let them know that the country supports them."

My youngest daughter, B, smiled her mischievous smile and said, "I want to touch it."

Knowing she would attempt to climb the pole to touch the flag if I let her get a step closer, I said, "No, you can't touch the flag. But, you can put your hand over your heart and say the Pledge of Allegiance. You know the pledge, right?"

So there we were, in the Kroger parking lot, hands over hearts, saying the Pledge of Allegiance.

On the drive home, S stated that she knows the American song.

'You mean the National Anthem?"

She tilted her head back and sang, "Oooooooooh say can you seeeeeeeee by the dawn's early lightttttt! What so proudly we hail by the gleaming stars!!!"

"Close, baby. I'll sing it for you." And I started singing. Badly. And I'm pretty sure I messed up a line or two. But, I was trying. I've sung The Star-Spangled Banner at ball games. I had to sing it a few times when I was in the elementary school chorus when the music teacher was forgiving and perhaps a little tone deaf. It's a hard song to sing. My girls giggled from the backseat when I hit a few sour notes. I didn't mind and kept going. Then I got to the line:

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

My eyes filled with tears. My voice cracked and I couldn't keep singing. I always get a little choked up when I hear that line and I could never figure out why. I guess I always thought it was the swell of the music and not the words that touched a nerve. But, today I finally figured it out.

Yesterday, The Hub called me when he heard the news about the Boston marathon bombing. It was still early and we knew less details than the little we know now. There were two bombs at the finish line. At the time, there were two deaths reported and many critical injuries which included severed limbs. This hit home for The Hub because he was born in Massachusetts. His entire family lives or has lived there at one time or another. When we came home from work, we ate dinner in front of the T.V. and watched the news reports. It was awful. It was scary. It was unreal. Once again, I had to explain to my little girls that the world is filled with evil people and sometimes bad things happen to good people and I don't know why. I fell asleep with fear in my heart again.

But, it was business as usual this morning. Get up, get ready, get the kids ready, get to work, do my job, drive home, get the kids, run errands and get ready for another day. Even though I listened to the radio shows talk about Boston and their feelings on the matter, I felt numb to it all. I suppose it was my way of moving on and "not letting the bad guy win." Maybe I didn't dwell on it because I was afraid I might jinx my good fortune for not being one of the victims. Maybe I just didn't want to believe that someone could wake up one morning and decide that today was a good day to hurt other people. It wasn't until I sang that line that it dawned on me why I wasn't scared to leave my house this morning and how I was able to keep on keeping on even though there was no way I could be certain that my world wouldn't end today.

Our flag was still there.

Francis Scott Key did not see the rocket's red glare and the bombs bursting in air as "the end." The light from the explosions lit up the night sky so he could see the flag. Every flash gave him a glimpse of hope. As long as that flag was there, we were still there. What a beautiful thought. Even in the most devastating moments, there is hope. The flag is a grand symbol of our county. The flag is also the grand symbol of us. The flag is the first responders who ran into the blast. The flag is the stranger holding another stranger on Boylston Street. The flag is a nation in mourning for the pain and suffering that was placed upon group of regular everyday people cheering on marathon runners and celebrating Patriot's Day. Whether it is a bomb burst, an airplane crash, a gun shot, or a freak accident, these tragedies light up the darkness and give proof that We, the People are still good. The flag is still there. As long as we stand together and help each other, we are still there.

I know our country is not perfect. There is a lot of feuding about what's fair and what's right. We are not in the best way financially and there are times when it doesn't seem like we're going to get out of the hole. Everyone has an opinion and there isn't a lot of compromise. We have a lot to work on.  But, we're a family. I love my family even though there are things I don't like about my family. But, heaven help anyone who tries to mess with my family. We might not be perfect, but we stand together when things get tough. The same brothers who throw punches at each other will band together and love each other. We are a big dysfunctional family and I am so very proud to be part of it. We will mourn the ones we lost yesterday. We will try to make sense of what happened and why. We will celebrate the heroes. We will try to find the bad guys and bring them to justice. We will carry on and remember what we learned from this horrific event. And with time, we will be fine.

To my brothers and sisters in Boston: We love and support you. We are still here.

Yuck! Don't Touch That! Part II

It's that time of year again! The air is cold. Frost covers the ground. Time to dig out the winter jackets, hats, and mittens from the back of the closet. People huddle close to keep warm while walking in a winter wonderland. That's right, folks! It's cold and flu season! I've shared before that I am not a "sanitizer mom." Rather, I am a hand-washing enthusiast. (Re: Yuck! Don't Touch That!) However, during the winter months, I kick up my hand-washing reminders for the kids. I refill the soap dispensers near every sink with moisture rich soaps to keep our hands from drying out. I'll even break out the Lysol to wipe down door handles and light switches. I read somewhere that the cold does not bring illness. Instead, the cold forces people into close quarters where the warm air is re-circulated and germs have a captive audience.

So far, my family has not suffered from the flu or a bad cold. Knock on wood. Unfortunately, the "ick" is all around us... The Hub's co-workers come to work with the stomach flu, other parents send their boogery kids to school, or we simply stand in the check out line at the grocery store with someone who is dangerously close to coughing up a lung. People don't stop when they are ill anymore. It's not like the good ol' days of The Brady Bunch, when Jan sneezed twice and Carol Brady called the doctor. No, life is too busy for a cold. We push on and infect anyone who gets in our way. 

"Mike, Cindy has the sniffles.
I think it's time to quarantine the children and burn down the house.
It's a cesspool of disease in here."

The Disney channel runs a PSA to remind kids to wash their hands and to avoid touching their eyes, nose, and mouth during cold/flu season. I believe that it is a pretty simple and effective way to avoid the common cold. My kids, however, struggle to grasp the concept. For the last few weeks, my daughter, S, was on a mission to pull a loose baby tooth. It was her 5th one and she wanted to get her dollar from the Tooth Fairy. I would constantly catch her with her fingers in her mouth, wiggling that little tooth. She would get off the school bus, wiggling her tooth. She would walk through the grocery store and help me place items in the cart, wiggling her tooth. She would play outside or with other kids and wiggle her tooth. No matter how many times I told her to stop, question the cleanliness of her fingers, or remind her of the millions of germs dancing on her hands, she wiggled that tooth. I am so glad it finally came out last night. 

My daughter, B, always has something in her mouth. When she was a baby, just learning to crawl, B would roll over on her tummy and pick at the living room carpet, looking for loose carpet fibers. As soon as she found one, she would put it in her mouth. Earlier this year, I spent a whole day in a panic, trying to figure out if she swallowed a penny. She recently gave up her binkie. The Hub and I were tired of searching for misplaced pacifiers and when she lost her last one, we told her she was out of luck. After a week, she stopped asking about it. But, now she likes to chew on pencils and pencil erasers. Hands touch pencils... um, yuck. If I got a nickel for every time I told her to stop putting stuff in her mouth, I could pay someone else to tell her for me.

Lately, we've had the heat on in the house. I've noticed my contacts have been dry and irritating my eyes. I have a pair of eyeglasses. I don't like to wear them. They're wire frames circa 1994. The lenses are too thick for the frames which makes it look like I'm wearing coke bottle glasses. They also don't fit my face correctly. The nose piece highlights the bump on my nose from when I broke it during a softball game over 20 years ago. I don't get dolled up to go to the store, but I refuse to wear my glasses out in public. I should get new glasses. I wish I still had my pink plastic frames from the 80's...  I hear they're back in style.

I had glasses like these, except they were pink.
Back then, I looked like a dork. Now, they would call me a hipster. 

Getting back to the contacts...

While at the grocery store yesterday, my eyes were really itchy and dry. So what do I do? I reached up and rubbed my eyes. I stopped mid-rub. Holy hell, my hands are dirty from touching the shopping cart handle! Visions of Staphylococcus aureus, Haemophilus influenzae, Streptococcus pneumoniae and Pseudomonas aeruginosa danced in my head. I swore I could feel my eye getting pinker by the minute. As soon as I got home, I took out my contacts, flushed my eye with saline solution, and wore my ugly glasses the rest of the night. Right before I went to bed, my eye was sore and kind of goopy. I think I might be okay now, since I woke up without a crusty seal of mucus around my eye and the white of my eye is still... well... white. 

Why am I so worried about pink eye, you ask? I used to work with a real jackass. One day, he overheard an emergency phone conversation I was having with S's daycare teacher. S woke up from her nap and her eye was very pink and I needed to remove her from the daycare immediately. My co-worker said in a very loud voice so the rest of the office could hear, "Pink eye comes from touching your own poop and then rubbing your eyes! Your kid messes with her own poop like a monkey! That's disgusting." See? Told you he was a real jackass. Now, I know that was not the case and my daughter is not a poop-throwing monkey. But, I was mortified that someone would say that (even in jest) about my kid. Now, every time I hear that someone has pink eye, I think of poop-throwing monkeys. Which makes me wonder how many other people think the same thing? 

I call my kids "monkeys" ONLY because they like to climb on things...
  

Moral of the story? Don't be a poop-throwing monkey! Wash your hands and don't touch your eyes, nose, or mouth. I wish you and yours a very happy and healthy winter season! 

Elderly Men Think I'm a Bad Parent.

Three years ago, when my second daughter, B, was a little over six weeks old, The Hub and I agreed we needed to get out of the house and walk amongst the living for a bit. It was a beautiful early autumn weekend. We decided to go to The Yellow Daisy Festival at Stone Mountain Park and wander around the craft booths and get some fresh air. I double checked the weather and made sure B was appropriately dressed. I packed her diaper bag with all the items we could possibly need for the next three to four hours. We brought her Snugli instead of a baby stroller so we could navigate the crowds with ease. For those of you not familiar with baby paraphernalia, a Snugli is a baby carrier that you wear on your chest. It's kinda like a kangaroo pouch for little humans. Since B was my second baby, I didn't have the "taking the new baby out" jitters like I did with S.

It was a lovely morning. The crowd was light and we were able to walk around without bumping into other people. B was sleeping soundly in the Snugli. I draped a thin blanket over her head to shield her face from the sun. Her little feet in ducky socks peeked out from the blanket. She was warm and secure. While tasting samples of homemade salsa and pickles from a popular booth, an older gentleman approached me with a warm smile on his face. He pointed to B's socks and asked, "Is it a boy or a girl?" I replied with pride, "Girl." "Ah," he said, "How old is she?" "A little over six weeks." Then he shook his head and said, "You have some nerve." He turned and walked away, leaving me completely baffled as to what just happened. The dude just shamed me for bringing my six week old daughter to a festival. My daughter was soundly sleeping, covered and safe in my arms. There was not one inch of bare skin showing. I would understand someone questioning my parental decisions if she was chain smoking or sucking down bottles of bourbon, but I felt that this was completely unwarranted and just plain rude. I stood there, on the verge of a postpartum hormonal break-down, replaying the exchange over in my head. The Hub walked up and asked me what happened. I quietly retold the story and asked if we could leave the festival. My outing was ruined and I just wanted to go home. The Hub wanted to tell the guy where to stick his opinion, but he was no where to be found. He just disappeared.

Two weeks ago, I went to the grocery store with both kids in tow. I only had a few items to pick up: toilet paper, cold medicine and a couple of ingredients for dinner that night. I broke several of my errand rules that day. (For complete list of rules, please read How to Defuse a Bomb.) I did not have a neat and organized grocery list. B was not feeling well and did not have a nap that day. She was cranky and only along for the ride because she's too young to stay home alone. S was fresh off the school bus and was a little miffed that the shopping trip was cutting into her after-school playtime. I was fighting seasonal allergies and looked as worn out as I felt. But, I needed to pick up these items and I assured everyone that it would only take a few minutes.

As soon as we walked through the door, B started to whine. "I don't want to sit in the shopping cart. I want to push the cart. I am a big girl now and only babies sit in the cart." Fine. I let her push the cart with me. First aisle was the bread and peanut butter aisle. I pointed to a loaf of bread and asked S to put it in the cart. Bad move. The next item was peanut butter. I was looking at the sale prices (another no-no) and B grabbed a jar of peanut butter and chunked it into the cart, crushing the loaf of bread. I removed the jar and told B that it was the wrong brand of peanut butter. Before I had a chance to hand her another brand of peanut butter, B stomped her foot at me and said, "No! I want to put the peanut butter in the cart like S!!" I calmly said, "Please, do not talk to me like that. You can put the peanut butter in the cart once you apologize and calm down." S looked around to see if anyone else was watching her little sister's bad behavior. B raised her voice a little and said, "I want the peanut butter now!" S pleaded with me to just give her the peanut butter so we could move on. I explained to S that B was not going to get her way. She had to calm down first. If I let her talk to me like that, then I am setting myself up for more of the same behavior down the road. That's when B stomped her other foot and said, "Please mommy, now!" Just then, an old man pushing an empty cart pulled up next to me, walked over to B, put his face inches from her face and yelled, "SHE SAID NO!"

I stood there in shock. S turned ten shades of red and started to cry. B, absolutely terrified, ran and hid behind my legs and exploded into tears. What was a fairly quiet debate between a tired mommy and a cranky child turned into a major scene. Everyone stopped shopping and stared at us. The old man shrugged his shoulders and grunted as he turned the corner, "Just trying to help."

It happened again. Some random old man put his nose in my business. This jerk had no right to barge in while I was trying to control my kid. I was not going to let my 3 year old tell me what to do. I was not letting her get her way. I was letting her know that she was not allowed to talk to grown ups like that. I didn't let my exhaustion or desire to get home as quickly as possible stop me from upholding my parental responsibilities. I was doing exactly what people say you should do... be a good parent and discipline your child. You hear all the time about horrible little brats walking all over their parents. Whenever someone commits a crime, without fail, someone will say it's the parents' fault the person grew up to be a criminal because they allowed their kid to behave however they pleased. Not this mama! But, I don't raise my voice at my kids in public. I stay calm and firmly resolve the issue. I had the situation under control and this nosy old bastard decided that I wasn't doing my job to his satisfaction. Once again, I was a victim of drive-by old man criticisms. Why does this happen to me?! Do I have bummer sticker on my butt that reads: 

This was my chance to finally say all the things I wanted to say to the guy at the festival, but didn't. I never tell rude people off. Too many times, I am rendered speechless at their behavior or bravado. I also constantly stop myself from saying anything in return because I want to be "the better person." Not this time. To hell with my quick shopping trip! This was way more important. I am fully aware that my daughter is not perfect and can have an attitude. She's 3! But, this guy passed judgement on my daughter and me without any knowledge of the situation. He does not know that I don't back down when my kid whines. He did not know my kid was not feeling well. He has not seen all the other times she is out and on her best behavior. I was not going to let this man think he can go around and yell in a child's face (especially while the mother is in the middle of dealing with her child) and get away with it. He crossed a major boundary and I was going to give him a piece of my mind. 

I put B in the cart, grabbed S's hand, and went after the guy. I stormed down each aisle, checking out every man's face and preparing my speech. Oh, and it was good. I was going to wave my finger and shake my head to really illustrate just how serious I was. After twenty minutes of searching the entire store, I lost him. I knew he had just arrived when the incident occurred because his cart was empty and he had a fairly long shopping list in his hand. There was no way he could have finished his shopping within minutes of yelling at B. It's like he just vanished. And that's when it hit me... it was divine intervention.

It was a freakin' miracle. I am sure that some sort of heavenly being swooped in and pulled that old man out of the store before I could get to him. His guardian angel must have heard the alarm that his human being was moments away from getting his face chewed off by a pissed off mama bear and rushed in to save him. I mean, think about it. How can an old man just disappear like that? Twice! It happened once at the festival and then again at the store. One minute they are there and then Poof! - they're gone.

Or maybe he's in some secret league of opinionated geezers and their only mission is to rile up frazzled mothers and then slip back into the shadows... like a geriatric Batman with nothing better to do.

I shared this story with my mom. She thinks he may have realized he made a mistake and decided it was better to shop somewhere else. It's possible, but then, that's giving the guy too much credit.

I may never figure out the who or the why to this mystery, but mark my words, the next time an old man criticizes my parenting or tries to interject, I'll be ready.