Category: Family
I Am 32 and Know Things Sometimes
So, I turned 32 yesterday which, eh, whatever. It’s a weird age, and it’s a total “mom age” which I can’t describe more than me thinking that I should shop at, like, Talbot’s or something but I don’t think I’d shop there if someone paid me to do that (lies, I will do a lot of things if money is involved). Anyway, in a non-life-crisis sort of way, I’ve been thinking about 32 vs. 23 or any other age I’ve been, really, and would like to share with you (both of you) some things I’ve learned along this batshit insane black diamond trail I’ve called my life. Some of these are no-duhs to some of you, but shut the fuck up and get your own blog and don’t tell me my business, devil woman! Anyway, ahem: Continue reading
Guest Post: Making The Decision
Tonight’s guest post comes from Sarah. She owns Envy salon in Richmond and is an all-around awesome person.
My grandma died. We called her DeeDee. I named her that. I was her first grandchild. She was my second mom.
At the service they said, “The name DeeDee came from Baby Sarah. She would squeal ‘deedeeeedeeedeeeedeeeedeedee’ in her face. So when Sarah started talking, that’s what she called her.” As long as I can remember that’s what everyone called her.
After the news landed and strange forms of attempted comfort started rolling in they started to say “Y’know, I’ve always heard that when you lose someone ya love that means life will bring ya a baby to love.” And then their eyes, like spotlights, were on my stomach. I could see them drawing a picture of my uterus sprouting an alien bean.
“I’m not pregnant. I’m just fatter than I used to be!”
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New Mom
A while ago (I use that phrase like one uses a scarf for fashion) Maureen put up a post that started something like this: “Dear New Moms Everywhere – where do we go when we die?”
I immediately thought, Oh! I know just what she’s talking about! How we have these children and it’s like our former selves have just died!
Wrong, and I should have paid attention to my reaction. Continue reading
Guest Post: Raising A Girly-Girl
Another great post from Melissa. I don’t know how she does it.
My daughter’s favorite song is “Blurred Lines” by Robin Thicke. And Macklemore & Lewis “Thrift Store” and “Can’t Hold Us” are close behind. She’s two. Epic. Parenting. Fail.
I have a lot of parenting fails throughout a day. The amount of TV we watch. That I will give her a cookies as a snack. That she knows how to shoot the Nerf gun with amazing accuracy (my poor dog). Sometimes, we don’t even make it out of pajamas until after her nap. At 3pm. And only because my husband is coming home and he will not be pleased. That she can use the camera on my phone without ever unlocking it. The documentation of her life should be a coffee table book.
She has some awesome moments, too. When she and her brother hug and snuggle and they read stories together. When she squeals with delight about going to the library. We won’t discuss the behavior when she’s there. How patient she is as we go grocery shopping. That she is learning her letters already and will point out E’s and O’s everywhere. When she burps or farts, which she does amazingly well, she always giggles and says, “‘Cuse me!”
My kid’s daycare costs more than my college education. Alternate title: Kindergarten is a joke in my town
I have one child. While I do happen to be a single mother, I have an ex who lives two miles away and splits custody. We live in Loudoun County, which due to the confluence of data centers and government contractors, is now the richest county in the country. However, contrary to popular belief, there are still cats, and the streets are in fact, not paved with cheese. High incomes breed high costs of living. The influx of hideous McMansions over the past decade or so only serves to solidify Loudoun’s Bougie reputation. As annoying as some of those qualities are though, Loudoun is a fantastic place to live and raise your family. This is where I chose for Cooper to grow up, and while I don’t regret that decision for a minute, my wallet certainly does.
Loudoun is great for families; it is great for single people. It is terrible for single parents. My ex works in the IT field and makes a good amount of money. I work for the local government, and make… less. However, if we were together, with one child, we would be living comfortably right now. Our combined income could get us a nice little house, pay for Cooper’s daycare/preschool, with money left over to put away into savings. Instead, we pay two rents, two sets of utility bills, etc. etc. All of this is typical single parent nonsense, but here’s the kicker: while I’m still paying off student loans ten years after graduation with no end in site, we (or more accurately, my ex), are paying more per month for our son to go to preschool and daycare than I paid to get my bachelor’s degree.
Parenting Through the Shit Spots (*Not about potty training)
As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been quiet for awhile. We’ve had some major upheavals in our home that…I was not exactly expecting even though I was the one who had to make the call. Any of you who know me can surmise what this was, and for those who don’t, the details of what happened are not exactly relevant to the point of this post.
I’ve mentioned before how I don’t think parents, and moms especially, put themselves first, that they let their kid rule the roost and lose their identity as actual people and don’t exist outside of being “Junior’s Mom.” To be fair, it’s kind of our job to think of our kids before anything else. This was ultimately what led to me making the decision I didn’t want to make. I had to put my son in front of me. But now…now I need to parent through a lot of feelings. Like, shitty feelings. Depress-y feelings. Angry feelings. All them shits. And I need to do it in a way that my son won’t feel the effects forever and take it out on some poor lady in the future. I have to put myself first. So here is what I’m doing to maintain balance of Kiddo and me and our home. Continue reading
Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child?
I was raised by parents who firmly believed in “spare the rod, spoil the child.” When we did something wrong, and they found out, it ended in a spanking. Usually with the wooden spoon, though I remember having to go pick my own switch more than once. We’d have to wait in our room upstairs until Mom came up, sat on a bed and said, “Elizabeth, get over here.” God, those words were terrifying. I feel like it always went oldest to youngest, but I may just be making that up. We’d all get punished together, so first was best, because it was over and you could just cry while the other two were getting theirs. Last was the worst, with all the anticipation. In the end, though, I guess it didn’t really matter when you went, it still hurt like hell.
I know at some point in the process, we’d have to say why we were in trouble, what we did wrong, and, I think, ask for forgiveness. At the very least apologize. I’m thinking this was before the hammer fell, because I know I was usually too upset to talk after. Was there a prayer too? My sisters have better memories than I do, they’d know. And the rule was you had to cry. Crying meant you were really sorry, and the bad-behavior demon/devil/evil was broken. That’s not a joke, the devil made us do bad things, made everyone do bad things. My parents did a brief stint at a couple’s therapy group program at the church. When they fought, my sisters and I formed a ring around them, shouted “STRIFE BREAK” and stamped our feet to get the devil out.
I had a weird childhood.
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Let’s discuss how children are creepy monsters
Cooper loves sleeping in my bed. LOVES IT. However, since we have a consistent bedtime routine, he never really gives me any trouble about going to sleep in his room. Or at least, pretending to go to sleep in his room. There have been many times that I’ve been in bed watching TV, or reading, or whatever, and I’ll see a blue eye peeking through my door, trying to see if I’m asleep yet or not. That’s bad enough, but I just tell him to go to bed and get on with whatever I’m binge-watching on Hulu.
The trouble comes when he does outlast me, and I’m already asleep. If he either stays up later than me, or wakes up in the middle of the night, he knows he has me. Why? Because during the day, I have no problem being firm and sticking to a schedule. But if I’m tired enough, I don’t care about anything. Cooper not only exploits this weakness, but has turned it into an art form.
Kids In The Kitchen
I really enjoy baking. This was not always the case; it used to seem fussy and overly complicated. Then I learned a bit about the science behind the recipes, why things need to be done in a specific order for a certain amount of time, and it all clicked. Cookbooks weren’t written by OCD dicks, there was a reason for everything, a science reason. I like science and cookies, so it all worked out. Baking became something awesome and relaxing, follow the steps correctly and you have something delicious to shove into your gaping maw. I prefer to make things from scratch. They usually taste better than box mixes. They generally don’t take too much extra work. It’s cheaper in the long run. Choices are endless. I feel like a badass when I make something delicious. The only problem? I now live with other people who find my baking pretty fascinating.
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Back to school, don’t you mean back to hell?
Am I the only one dreading the return of the school year? Here in sunny CA school starts in less than 2 weeks. AGGHHH!! Less than 2 weeks of lunch hours spent however I want, in less than 2 weeks pedicure bliss and eating with adults will be gone. I was unable to get my boy into one of the after school programs on campus and will be playing taxi every afternoon at 2:15 until a space opens up for him. I did it last year, it was hell! The only good thing is that he will be out of school later and I won’t be taking lunch at 10:30 in the morning, but worse than the loss of my “free time” is the fact that I am implementing school schedules now and that is going less than awesome. In a nut shell, I am not looking forward to him going back to school. I wish I could rewind to the baby stage. I feel like those times were much easier, he didn’t talk back, I could get him dressed in 2 minutes flat and be out the door on time every day. Those days are history and a brand new type of fun has begun.
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Put Your Damn Pants On! 