Wisdom from my MOM

   When I was younger I used to think my parents were so lame and backwards and that they were out of touch and literally didn't know anything. I however, of course, had all the answers because I was 21 and had a boyfriend. HA! My mom used to say some of the most aggravating things, and I hated when she would say them to me. My Mother's Day gift this year is to finally admit she knew what she was talking about. You were right, I was wrong, let me kiss the ground beneath your feet..."I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy!!" Forgive me, mommy, if I had listened I wouldn't have experienced half the heart ache I did.I want to share some of her more profound bits of wisdom, to either save some of you from tragedy, or to commiserate with me for also not listening to your mother.

1. Looks don't matter, it's the inside that counts.- I was obsessed for a long time with looks. My own and everyone else's. I reasoned that as a student in beauty school, if I didn't focus on looks, then what would be the point of my future job? I have come to find that no matter how beautiful someone is on the outside, if their inside's are rotting, they usually don't amount to much as a person. Some of the most beautiful women I know are pretty, but what makes them gorgeous are their kind hearts. I, over the years have been betrayed deeply by women (and men) who are physically extremely attractive, and what good were their looks to me? A broken heart and hurt feelings. And as far as my obsession with my own looks, I ask you, what good is a perfect body, flowing hair and a flawless face to my children? Those features don't change their diapers, gentle hands perhaps with chipped polish do. Beautiful hair doesn't hold them tight at night, a messy pony tail allows for them to wrap their little arms around my neck with ease. So mom, you were right, looks don't matter. 
2. It is better to lower yourself and allow others to raise you up instead of putting yourself on a high horse for people to tear you down. (Pride goes before a fall)- There is nothing worse than bragging incessantly and moments later, life brings you back down. It never fails, the second I start to brag about my perfect, wonderful children they poop their pants, throw a fit or use a cuss word I swear they didn't learn from me! Countless times I have been excessively proud of my own accomplishments and I blab all over town about them, and next thing I know something mortifying or horrible happens to me and I have to quickly do damage control. People love to see you fail, especially if you've gone on and on about how you don't. My mom knew that. Humility will save you from future humiliation. 
3. Family first.- I used to love to go out and party. I didn't want to spend time with my parents and my little brother at all. But the people I danced with at the nightclub, snuck shots with underage in the bathroom, and even the boyfriend I had at the time are not even remotely a part of my life anymore. The people who have been there through thick and thin, the ones with whom I would want to be on a deserted island with are the ones who share my blood. My children will grow up making friends and starting relationships, but NO ONE will be there like mama. NO ONE. The girls who you referred to as "sisters!" grow up and start their own families. And you are left with who? Your relatives. Treat them nicely and spend time with them. They're all you have and will ever have. 
4. Drinking makes a fool of you.- This one used to bother me greatly. Why couldn't my mom be like the "cool" moms who drank with their kids, allowed their friends to come over and drink in their basement and were OK with their kid's tales of debauchery after a night out? What a square! Well it turns out she wasn't strict and making rules to ruin my life. She spoke from experience! It's hard to imagine your parents having a life other than the one you knew, but they did, and they drank, they smoked, they made bad decisions and everything they learned through those times, they want to impart onto you, minus the embarrassment and regret that actually living the mistakes leaves you with. Many a time I made myself look foolish drinking too much, and I would hate for my kids to think anything of me other than a secure, safe and steady hand to hold. I look back now on the mothers I knew, the ones who I thought were "sooooo cool", and I see something very sad. Their kids can't lean on them when they're already leaning.
5. Don't buy anything unless you can pay in cash.- When I was 18 I stumbled upon the dark, dark world that is credit card debt. I stupidly paid for things with my magical little piece of plastic and dressed in a wardrobe far outside my means. I received the monthly bill and paid the minimum and then proceeded to buy more, and more and more. Before I knew it I was the best dressed broke person around. I maxed my cards out, paid the minimum and the interest just stacked on and on and on...It was misery. I fell asleep at night knowing the debt loomed over me. It never went away. One of the cards I just quit paying for all together. Then the calls started. 5 times a day. I started to hate the sound of my own phone. My mom was right, if you can't afford something, don't be an idiot. DON'T BUY IT!!! She helped me pay them off eventually, and the day I was free, I cut them up into tiny little pieces and never looked back. 
6. Write your thank you notes.- I can't stand ungrateful people and neither, for the most part, can anyone else. I used to loathe being made to sit and write them out, but now as the adult in the situation buying gifts for children with money that could've been used on a pedicure, it makes me feel much better receiving a handwritten note expressing their gratitude. The adults in my life spent their hard earned money on Polly Pockets and Barbies. Did they want to? Probably not really, they had bills to pay and things they wanted for themselves. Showing that you liked it and that it meant something to you, makes the purchase a little bit easier to swallow. Not to mention, if I'm being honest, the nicer the note, the nicer the gift was the next year. People like to be appreciated! If you don't say thank-you, it's very likely you won't ever get anything from that person again, and if you do, their heart's won't ever be in it again. Thank you notes are tedious and boring, but so is buying a gift for a kid with money you would rather use on yourself. Be considerate. My mom understood that if you love your children you want others to love them as well, and no one loves a spoiled brat. Thank you mom, for not letting me behave like one. (Pun intended there...)
7. Pray.- Sometimes growing up, I used to feel like religion was being shoved down my throat, but now I see that nothing is possible without God. My mom taught me about Him and I plan to do the same with my children and hope that they know that when life gets dark, when you are at your lowest, in the rare situation mom can't dig you out of the hole you're in, that there is a heavenly parent who can and will. 

   Happy Mother's day mom! I can only hope to one day be as wise and looked up to by my children as you are with me. I love you, smart lady. Nothing is quite as good a gift as a know-it-all fessing up to their short comings, so enjoy it, because this is the first and the last time I plan on doing so. :) Love you! 

An Exerpt from a 4 Month Old's Diary:

  I never wake in a foul mood. It's mommy's morning breath that shocks me. She comes into my room with this terrifying robe on, her hair is flying in ten different directions and she smothers my face with this atrocious dragon breath. It's horrifying. I don't know how to react because she seems to enjoy putting her face into mine, which, if you ask me, is a fairly invasive disregard for my personal space. She then carries me down the steps and I hear the other human that is smaller than the parent humans loudly shouting and mommy sighs...again, in my face. I don't know how to tell her she needs a mint or something.
   We round the corner and that blonde, small human is naked and slinging dog food at us. I don't understand this guy. He seems to me to be somewhat of a sociopath. He loves to destroy everything in his path. And the worst part is, mommy is constantly encouraging him to touch me and when no one was looking I saw him pick his nose. She calls this second form of invasion "hugs". I am so far not a huge fan. Mommy sets me down and makes both I and that blonde monster some breakfast. Here's the thing though, that crazed dog food thrower gets pancakes, bacon and eggs whereas I am force-fed, yet again, some whitish powder water. It fills me up, yes, but one can only tolerate the mundane for so long. She used to feed me delicious liquid I saw her extract from her own body, but that stopped and I don't know why, however I notice it has hugely impacted the size of her chest. I need to speak to someone in management about this. Daddy is under the impression he's in charge, but from my observations it appears the female parent is the one who runs the show, so perhaps I am out of luck.
   I finish my "baba" (I don't know what that means, mommy seems to speak nonsensically quite often. I wonder if it's a health issue connected to her morning breath?) As a show of my distaste I regurgitate half of it back up onto her robe. I don't know why is is surprised, or upset for that matter. This stuff is disgusting and anyways, her robe is covered in ketchup thanks to the short human she insists on referring to as my brother.
   Next she takes me back to my room and dresses me and forcefully shoves the most ridiculous head piece onto my skull. Large humans seem so thrilled to see me wearing this contraption so I chose at this time, not to refuse it, but it makes no sense to me. They make me hot and impede me from nap time. Speaking of, I am suddenly becoming very tired....
                                                              ONE HOUR LATER:

   I wake in a different room, but see that mommy still wears the robe. I wonder if that's her uniform and thats why she wears it so often? I see that daddy is here now. He walks towards me and I realize what he's going to do! I reach out my hands to stop him and he takes that instead as an invitation to come closer! I don't even realize when it happened but my face bursts into flames as he rubs his sandpaper cheeks onto mine! Why does the male parent have short, black spikes sprouting from all over his head? The small "brother" who is also male doesn't...There are so many things I just don't understand. 
   tedious hours pass with nothing worth mentioning. The brother continues his quest to rampage, mommy has yet to change from her uniform, "baba" after "baba" is eaten and to no avail, spit back up..  I find solace in my thumb which eerily reminds me of the bottle, but is also somehow attached to me. I wonder why mommy and daddy laugh as I try to tell them things...I am starting to question whether or not they understand me. They speak in a gibberish I don't recognize as any language. What is a "sissy" or a "diapy"?
   The day goes on like this, but then I find there is something hot and disturbingly squishy in my pants!! It's happening again! I have no idea how or why, but approximately three to four times a day I am, without warning, struck with an agonizing and uncomfortable sensation. I scream in panic!! Mommy frustratingly makes reference to my digestion, as if that has anything to do with this. GET IT OFF ME!!!!!!!!!!! She mockingly laughs but she does cease the misery with some damp wipes and a new pair of pants. As fast it came the agony stops and I am again put at ease. I can't help but assume the white powder water I am made to ingest has something to do with these episodes. I don't even want to discuss the malodorous stench associated with the issues.
   I am still shaken and decide it is again time for some shut eye, but instead mommy starts to prepare a bath for both I and my "brother". I enjoy bath time, however the small monster similarly enjoys splashing me in the face with water, and it is severely annoying to say the least. I am taken from the warm water and she dresses me and to my chagrin demands upon brushing my hair. I endure for the most part and am then laid down where a magical spinning ring of butterflies serenades me to sleep. Mommy calls it a mobile, I call it heaven sent. As she rubs my back and sings to me I decide on two things, one being that her voice is horrible, but that I like it, and that I also kind of like all three of the humans I live with. They seem to mean well and for some reason in their presence I am comfortable and safe. I drift to sleep and my last thought of the day is how nice it is to be in this bed with these blankets, surrounded by these crazy humans....zzzzzz
  

A letter to my friends without kids

To my friends without kids: 
   I know we used to hang out all the time, and I know we both have demanding jobs that keep us busy, but I also come home to two kids, an exhausted wife and never-ending bills. Your jobs pays your bills too, I know, but the money I make has to be stretched to the limit to buy diapers, baby wipes, my wife's pedicures, fund her scrap booking obsession, pay all the bills, put food on the table, and for the record, did you know formula is 27 dollars a tub? While you have some leftover for a night out on the town, my leftover money goes to two college funds and maybe take-out from Olive Garden so my wife doesn't have to make dinner tonight. I miss you, and I wish I could meet you out for a wild night like we used to have, but after working all day, coming home and immediately helping to set the table, playing some hoops with my son on the toddler basketball hoop, changing my daughter's diaper, getting online to pay for the electricity, having a family dinner, doing the dishes while my wife bathes both kids and finally being able to lay on the couch, I pretty much just want to stay here till I pass out and start all over again tomorrow. 
   I also help my wife with middle-of-the-night feedings. My daughter is up every two hours and I take over the first half of the night, and if I'm not home, she has to do it all on her own. And if I come home drunk at 3 in the morning, and wake either my daughter or my wife, I basically will be missing two key genitalia the next day.... I'm not whipped dude, my wife is the glue that keeps us together, but I'm the grease that keeps the machine running. Without me here, production ceases to a halt and pandemonium ensues. I pay for everything and everyone here. It's a tough job that puts a lot of unspoken pressure on me. No one says what they're thinking, but if I don't do my part, we have to live in a box. But not only that, I am expected to help with child rearing, some of the housework and any and all "man's work", "honey do" lists. I am exhausted at days end and I literally don't have enough hours in the day to work AND be a decent father. But I am. I manage to pull it together for my kids.
   I teach my son how to be a good man, and I show my daughter how she needs to be treated someday when the time comes, I'm thinking sometime in her 40's. My wife has the luxury of breaking down sometimes to cry out her worries and her stress, but I don't. I am expected to be strong. I am the rock, the provider, and the protector, and no one wants to see me cry. So when I ignore your texts, or don't get back to you right away, it's not because I've moved on with my life, separate from you, it's just that I have so many things on my mind, I sometimes forget. 
   My wife also is able to have "play-dates" during the day, but I can't invite my bachelor buddies over for the game. The kids are napping and my wife just cleaned for the five-hundredth time this week, so I guess I could meet you somewhere for lunch, but only if I have time during my work day, and I probably won't be able to pay attention much to what you're saying because while the kids nap, my wife uses that time to fill me on on every little accomplishment, heart ache and drama she and the kids have experienced that day, and I actually am interested to hear my son asked about me all morning. Not to mention, if I ignore her she sends a text containing 35 question marks, and proceeds to tell me she has no adult contact all day, and why am I such an a-hole? 
    I appreciate your friendship and I really do care about you, but this season of life, I am busy and under a lot of pressure to "perform" and when I do have free time I want to use it to show my son how to throw a football and listen to my daughter repeatedly giggle at me when I rub my beard on her face. Just know when your time comes, I'll be there to offer you bad advice and zero judgement. 

                                                              Sincerely,
                                 A hardworking, loving dad of two

12 ways to improve your Facebook image

   I have created a list that will vastly improve your social media experience and image. Consider this a lesson in PR. 

1. If you are a civil, decent person you won't argue with anyone via your page. Instead you'll screen shot said unpleasant comment, privately text a friend and viciously discuss how stupid that person is.
2. If you have something to say to someone, you won't say it to them, instead you'll post a passive-aggressive inspirational quote that directly applies to the person in question and hashtag the word truth. Sometimes it's acceptable to tag a friend who will excitedly agree. "Soooo true, OMG!"
3. Never post real struggles because as far as social media is concerned you live a perfect life full of unicorns and rainbows. 
4. If you take a personality test only share the results that color you in a unique way. Or even better, retake the test ten times till it says you are a born leader full of wisdom and class. "You were Jesus in your past life!" 
5. Progress pictures of your fitness journey can and should be deeply photo-shopped and filtered.
6. Never delete people whose lives are train wrecks. They must be carefully followed and discussed with your friends who have it together.
7. Screen shot texts where you've said something especially clever because everyone should be privy to your comedic genius.
8. Egg on and encourage your average children to do and say "the darndest things" so everyone thinks they're prodigies.
9. Always post gourmet meals you've cooked and arrange the food perfectly for the picture. Don't ever photograph your plate after you've heaped another thirteen helpings on because...#portioncontrol.
10. Annoy everyone with your political and religious beliefs. Before posting your thoughts make sure you include a warning that you'll be offending everyone, because that's polite. "Be warned this is gonna offend some of you, but if you voted for Obama, you're a moron." Finish with #sorrynotsorry, so while displaying online etiquette, you're also showing you can and will make an unashamed stand.
11. If you post a selfie claim you did so out of boredom because vanity is only acceptable under extreme apathy.
12. Share my blog. ;)

Please don't ever utter these words to a pregnant woman.

   When I was pregnant, almost everything annoyed me. The sound of people breathing, skinny people, rainbows, puppies...But there were a few things that irritated me more than others. I was inundated with comments, advice and opinions from everyone under the sun, and I have created a list of the opinions held by some that put them at risk of physical injury.

1. It takes two to make a baby.- this one was usually said to me after complaining that men don't do anything during pregnancy and was usually stated by a man.Without specifying particular gender roles, one member contributes by downing 5 shots of whiskey and a maximum of 7 minutes, while the other endures 40 weeks of torture and 13 hours of intense labor. (Babe, if you read this, I'm totally kidding, you're the man.) 
2. It's all worth it in the end. - This one was like a cheese grater applied directly to my nerves. It's as if by saying this you're suggesting I don't understand the value of my own child's life. Chemotherapy is worth it in the end too once you're in remission, but no one said it was enjoyable. 
3. You look like you're ready to pop!- Shockingly enough, I own a mirror and while I'm only 15 weeks pregnant, I too have noticed I've transformed into a beached whale, but thank you ever so much for noticing!
4. When I was in labor, much like the movie Saw, I was torn to shreds from one hole right to the next.- Dude. Why? Why would you tell me that? And for the record with modern medicine it's possible to forgo all pain with an epidural so I don't feel bad for you. (And to the ladies new to pregnancy, maybe you WILL need stitches, but your body was made to heal. You're not a zombie and wounds don't gape wide open and profusely bleed for the rest of your life.)
5. I went all natural and loved every minute of it!- Well your darling husband begs to differ. During one of your more excruciating contractions you blamed his very existence for your pain, and then demanded a divorce and a gallon of morphine.
6. If you slather vitamin E all over your belly you wont get a single stretch mark!- Not true. Stretch marks are genetic, and the only way you won't get them is if you are lucky enough to have been born to a mother, have an aunt or a grandmother who also didn't get them. 
7. You do know you're allowed to have a glass of wine or a beer once a day during pregnancy?- I could also ride roller coasters all day, go tanning and sumo wrestle if I felt so inclined, but why are you peer pressuring me? In case you've forgotten an untoasted, plain piece of bread made me nauseous, so what do you think alcohol is going to do to me??
8. The first trimester is the worst, but don't worry, it goes by quick.- I don't experience life during pregnancy in weeks and days, I count time by ingested meals that didn't come back up, and seconds until the next nap. So, no, it's not going fast, and are you suggesting the third is easier? I weighed 200 pounds, I couldn't sleep, I peed every 6 seconds, I couldn't climb my own stairs, and there was a small human performing a kickboxing routine against my ribs, bladder and spinal cord. 
9. Get all the sleep you can before the baby comes!- During my last trimester with both babies I slept on average 2-3 hours a night. I didn't get any more sleep before the babies then I did after, and telling me to rest just infuriates me. It's 3 am, I'm running on fumes, and I HAVE TO PEE AGAIN!!! At least after the baby, when you are able to sleep, you can blissfully lay on your stomach. It's truly heaven for all of 15 minutes. 
10.  I never bought a single pair of maternity pants.- Ya, we know. Your belly band is stretched to the limit in an attempt to hide your unzipped, unbuttoned size threes you've barely managed to yank up over your butt. 
11. This one is a silent opinion, but annoying nonetheless. The silent judgement you receive for having the baby blues. First of all everyone is hormonal after a baby because your body is raging with...hormones. I would never take postpartum depression lightly but insinuating a new mom has it because for no reason, she starts to sob at the dinner table is nothing short of ignorant. Postpartum depression is a diagnosed form of clinical depression, whereas the baby blues are similar to a severe bout of PMS. Either way, if you even vaguely suggest someone is suffering from it, your head will be ripped off and used as a new diaper bag. Just. Don't.
12. What if you poop on the delivery table?- Oh please, this doesn't happen. Just kidding, it does, but when you are in the middle of squeezing a human being out of your V, does it really matter? 
13. Any advice on jump starting labor- None of it works, I have literally tried it all. Your kid is stubborn and will come when he or she is good and ready. Similarly two years later when you whisper hiss at them to climb down off the grocery store shelves, they will do so when they please. 
14. Any advice regarding pregnancy and child rearing in general- the moment a woman expels a kid from their privates, they've suddenly ascended to super nanny status and know everything there is to know on mothering. Especially when it comes to women just a mere two weeks behind. They just know. (Rolling my eyes...)
15. You shouldn't be so ungrateful, I would love to be where you are right now.- Perhaps that's true, and my heart goes out to you, but would you please trade me places when I am vomiting so violently I simultaneously piss my pants and start bleeding from my nose?
16. I was all belly!- I hate to be the one to break it to ya sister, but you were belly, butt, thigh, boob, face and ankle too. 

    17. Pregnancy isn't as bad as you're acting (unspoken part here: MAN UP)-I think in an attempt to   keep the human race from going extinct, nature blocks certain gruesome memories from a woman's mind in the hopes she will procreate again, but out of respect for current and future mothers out there, I have forcefully willed myself to remember each and every detail. No one likes a sanctimonious idiot, and empathy means so much to a woman whose intestines have been turned into a human factory. It's all she can do to roll out of bed, go to work, clean the house, take care of the other kids, and she can't have a drink or take anything to relax, so the least you can do is keep your opinions to yourself. Then again, go ahead and say what you're thinking. Nothing would feel better to a hormonal pregnant woman than to poke your eyeballs out.

WWCD

   I profess to be a Christian, and I try to lead the life of one, however, we are all human and we all think and act like humans. That means that we are outrageous a-holes most of the time. I have been taking my kiddos to church with me, and for the most part I really enjoy it and so does my son, who I send off to Sunday School. The church I attend is rather large, so all the kids get special badges with special codes imprinted on the name tags and the parents then receive matching codes so that no one can steal your child while you are in the sanctuary. I think it's great, but for some reason the kiosks and the badge printers never seem to work for me, so I spend fifteen minutes punching letters into the touch-screen, swearing under my breath, forgetting where I am.
   After everything is printed and documented and sent off in plain manilla folders to CIA head quarters, your next step is to sign your child into their specific classroom. When I first took Dominic I clearly gave our mother-son bond far too much credit, because I expected a tearful good-bye where the teacher would have to pry him from my arms, but he ran away from me, stood at the doorway and reached his arms up waiting for the Sunday school teacher to lift him up over the baby gate and into the classroom. I waved farewell to the the back of his head. He didn't even remember who he came with. Standing in between the one year old and the two year old classrooms is a rotund woman with peroxide blonde hair, a blue tooth piece in her ear, a clip board and just enough power to be truly infuriating. She barks at the parents and taps her pen impatiently trying to herd little toddlers into their appropriately aged class. It seems to me like perhaps any literate parent who knows how old their own child is can easily perform this task on their own but "Maude", ( I rechristened her. She reminds me of the mean lunch lady from elementary school... totally not cut out for work with children. Pit bulls, convicts and perhaps sharks are more her calling.) stands there each Sunday pointing and yelling. 
   As I dejectedly walk away from the first-born who has completely abandoned me, I remember I need to sign him in on a paper that asks for information that may be needed during the time they are in charge of my son. I sign his name, his age and in the spot reserved for allergies and other important medical history I write, "He's a punk :)". Maude will enjoy that I think. I then follow my dad, who is with me this week, to the small cafe the church houses where he buys a muffin, takes a bite and tells me how gross it is. 
   "It's banana! Ew!" Apparently instead of asking what kind of muffin, he just pointed at one. Maybe he was hoping for manna, given where we were. He finished off his coffee and his muffin and we entered the gigantic sanctuary that is quickly filling with people of all kinds. I love that my church is lax on dress code, but if you don't have time to brush your teeth and hair and change out of your pajamas, maybe Bedside Baptist should've been your choice church today. I am completely for worshiping just as you are, but I'm not sure it is meant to be taken as literally as some take it. I flip my hair and think to myself how on top of things I am, showing up looking decent, with two perfect children and my dad, ready to get my spiritual fill for the week. 
   Just as I am congratulating myself, my husband's ex girlfriend walks past us, and sits very nearly right behind us! I can't be positive it was her, we have never met, and I've never seen her in "real-life", but after some moderate Facebook research, I can be fairly certain, it was her. Well now what? I have to spend the entire hour sucking in my gut and flexing my buttcheeks. And for those of you reading this and thinking to yourselves how disgusting it is of me to participate in such petty behavior in church of all places, well, good for you, for being the most perfect humans alive! I made you some gluten-free, all organic eggplant brownies for your outstanding personalities!
   I tried to whisper to my dad what was going on, and he pointed and stared excruciatingly obviously, and whisper shouted "what?!?!" ten times. I decided to myself that I was acting like a 13 year old, so I let it go, and paid rapt attention to the sermon, which would've been wonderful had it not been marred by my three month old spitting up all over my super cute, yet conservative, jean jacket. I swung my hair over the puke to hide it, only to smear the regurgitated formula into my locks. Things were not going as planned. Here I was being the epitome of religious, I showed up, I judged the people who were literally wearing pajamas, I was passive-aggressive with Maude and I was attempting to show off when I saw someone I felt threatened by. I wouldn't even take communion today because the bread was all clumped together in one gross, bacteria and virus-filled basket and I reasoned that now was not a good time to get sick. 
   When all was said and done the last song of the sermon was being sung, I realized what today was even about. Christ coming to Earth to pay for our sins. All of us. Mean, old Maude, those without fashion sense, all of us. I had wasted the entire time acting like a complete brat, instead of being truly grateful for what God had done for us. I made fun of everything, including the banana muffin. I was ashamed. As the saying goes, pride goes before a fall. My daughter throwing up on me was a way to bring me back to Earth. I was just like every single person in the room with me. I felt humbled to have realized when I did how I was thinking and acting. Even worse was getting my son from his class and see him happily waving a palm branch around. Like the palm branch, we are to lay our insecurities, our judgements, and our agendas down and focus solely on Jesus. I realize we as people as far from perfect, and life is a crazy roller coaster ride, but this Easter think of my jean jacket, and Maude and remember what and who you are celebrating, and why. Happy Easter readers!

Easter Bunnies, tantrums and Lo Mien.

   The day started out positive enough. We were going to go to the mall, visit the Easter Bunny, capture the adorable memory in photo form for 76 dollars a piece, and then eat at the food court and buy our son some new birthday shoes. While I primped in the bathroom, my husband was wrangling the kids. I sent him a text from two rooms over listing several things he would need to remember to pack, because in a matter of two hours, you always end up needing 7 diapers, 4 bottles, the sippy cup with Spongebob on it and baby wipes, the cure-all for every mess imaginable. When we were finally set to walk out the door, luggage in hand, the dog, who has severe separation anxiety, prepared herself for the panic attack she was going to have before we even left and took a dump in the hallway. So I set everything down, and cleaned it up, all the while muttering unspeakable curses to the dog, who was shaking in the corner like some kind of mentally ill canine weirdo. Once that was taken care of, we all had to slowly step-by-step go down the basement steps, because my two year old son is Mr. Independent and likes to descend the steep staircase on his own. If you attempt to assist him, he will thrash and kick until you drop him on his head and let him roll down to the bottom. Broken bones not being on the agenda, we just sigh loudly and allow him to tyrannize us. 
   We all then piled into the car where the two year old converted himself to a two-by-four, refusing to use any kind of flexibility to help us strap him into his car seat. The seat-belt song I sing didn't even work this time. "We all have to wear seat belts, yes we do! We all have to wear them, it's safer for you!" He then had the audacity to cover his ears, which implied my singing voice was bothering him. As if his stubborn, anti-seat belt act of defiance wasn't bothering me in the slightest! At this point in the trip we were still in our own garage and I was panting and sweating already. I don't know why I ever bother to attempt to look decent, I always sweat my make-up off before we even leave. As we pulled into the mall's parking lot, my husband circled the place three times, hoping to snag the parking spot reserved for pregnant women and young families, and as we hone in on one, a young twit pulls in, with no belly bump, no kids, and a cigarette hanging from her lip glossed mouth. As I curse her under my breath, worse than I did my dog, my husband parked three miles from the entrance. 
   We have one stroller designed for one child, which means that my son has to be a big boy and walk everywhere on his own. Thankfully, usually this isn't a problem, unless he decides to inspect chewed gum on the ground or jump into a filthy puddle. We were now an hour into our journey, and we had just entered the building, like a miniature parade. We load the stroller with so much STUFF, it nearly could pass as a float, and since my son likes to throw things at people, we truly are a parade of four when we go places. We made a bee-line for the Easter Bunny because I wanted darling pictures of the kids with him before they ruined their hair and clothes with ketchup and other stain-worthy condiments.
   The Easter Bunny is a massive costumed man or woman, who besides being a heavy mouth-breather, is disturbingly mute. Even to the parents. I tried to ask him a question and his vacant eyes stare back in silence. The photographer speaks for him, and tells me to place both kids on each one of his knees, and then she will take the picture for me. My three month old complies, mainly because she can't move, and has no choice, but my two year old runs wildly in the opposite direction, terrified. Understandably so, the bunny was a monstrosity and his silence was giving me the creeps. While I attempted to chase after him, my daughter's pacifier fell out and she began to wail. So what did my husband do?!? He sanitized it by sticking it into his own mouth from off the mall floor, and then shoving it back into our daughter's mouth! 
   The "photographer" had given up pretending to think my son's behavior was cute and started to sigh and roll her eyes, so I gave up on him being in the picture, and had her snap one of just my daughter. We paid 94 dollars for an atrocious photograph of my three month old and the Bunny, and walked away, defeated. Our next stop was the shoe store. Our son immediately moved all the toddler shoes within reach off the shelf and replaced them with men's running shoes. We found a pair we liked for him,on sale of course, and while my husband tried to get him to try them on, my daughter started to scream. I grabbed her diaper bag, thinking it would be an easy-fix. I would make her a bottle and she would settle. 
   Well, wouldn't you know, because I had forgotten to specifically include bottles on my text-list I sent my husband that morning, he had only packed formula and water, and NO bottles. Through gritted teeth, and in hushed tones, we fought with each other over who was to blame for this massive screw-up. All the while, my son is running through the store barefoot and my daughter is screaming still, only more urgently. We had successfully irritated every employee and customer in the store and once we had gotten shoes back on our son, we left the store dragging him along by the arm behind us, still fighting bitterly over who caused our daughter to go hungry. 
   What had started as a fun family outing had turned into a family brawl in the food court. I was starving to death at this point so I ordered my food and sat down, pretending not to know any of them. I did however, have to figure out how to feed my daughter, so I mixed formula and water in a Styrofoam cup and spoon-fed her. My husband was mortified I was publicly displaying such white trash behavior, but when I hissed at him, reminding him who had forgotten the bottle, the insults ceased. He refused to eat, apparently too worked-up and embarrassed, but I shrugged it off and enjoyed my Lo Mien. I offered some to my son who threw it to the floor and fought tooth and nail to escape the filthy mall high chair we had practically tied him to, so again, I ignored him, and proceeded to also enjoy my egg roll. 
   The trip had been a disaster. I had no positive way to end my story, because we left furious with each other, and the teenager at the door who callously ignored us and wouldn't hold the door got an earful. We threw everything and everyone into the car and drove home. Then we put everyone to bed for a nap, and didn't talk to one another for an hour. I had no way to positively spin the day into some kind of cutesy life lesson. Sometimes having kids just isn't fun. And sometimes it's too soon to laugh it off, so I waited a few days before I wrote it all down, and like I hoped, I now can look on it with affection and  I guess days like that, make the good days that much better. Already the memory is a funny one, and I did end up with a hilarious picture of my daughter and the Bunny. Sometimes you just have to take a breath, wait a few days, and look back with fresh eyes. And would you look at that! I was able to make it a happy ending!