Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Onesies are Disposable, Aren't They?

hi. underneath this costume, i'm wearing a onesie that has no crotch.

yup, after my mommy wrestled to get this humiliating, um, i mean, adorable, costume on me, i decided to go ahead and let loose in my diaper. oh, and not just any old turd, mind you. i decided to do one of those explosive things that not only fill up my diaper, but then soil my clothing. yup, soiled it all up.

little did i know that mommy was in no mood. no way in hell was she going to take me out of that god-awful, i mean adorable, baby monster costume.

so, she got a pair of scissors and just cut the poop right out. yup. the bottom of the onesie -- the part with the snaps that keep my shirt from riding up? cut it right on out. snip, snip. she then tucked my new "shirt" into the bottom part of my costume and happily declared "there!"

and off to the parade we went.

so in answer to the above question? yes, yes, yes, and yes.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

The Perfect Mommy

dear m, j, and n,

i'm writing you this letter because i'm feeling...icky...and sad. i feel like i haven't set the example i want to set for you and, in fact, i've done the opposite. i want you to know when you're older, life can often be complicated. sometimes we succeed at doing the good, positive thing and other times, well...

so here goes: i'm not perfect. and i have been particularly un-perfect the last five months.

being your mother is a mish-mosh of naps, spilled drinks, trips to the park, bike-riding lessons and bedtime stories. i pack your lunches at night so we don't have to rush in the morning. i lay out socks, shoes, jackets in easy-to-reach spots so you can get yourselves ready with ease. i brush your teeth. i help you make your beds. i fix zippers and snaps you can't yet reach. i make sure homework (mar) and extra clothing for accidents (jack) are in your backpacks. i hug. i kiss. i tell you i love you.

that's the easy stuff.

but, then there's the harder stuff. and when that harder stuff comes along -- as it most definitely will -- it's up to us as your parents to show you, with our actions, to open your hearts.

we didn't do that this time. and, i'm more disappointed in myself than you will ever know.

we always tell you to be the bigger person. to be nice even if others aren't. but, we got caught up in our own crap this time. we showed you anger and judgement. all those things i want to shield you from have been present in our home. and you've seen, heard, and taken it all in, which breaks my heart.

i want you to know that life is messy. people do shitty things. friends, family, coworkers, etc. -- no one is perfect. i'm not, you're not, and they're not. what you think is the absolute right way to do things or to treat people? others may not see it the same way. and to try and change their minds will only fuel your own anger.

so sure...be angry. be hurt. be fucking pissed off if the situation warrants it. but, then -- if for no one else, but yourself -- open your heart.

focus on the good that is in your lives because the richness is there. write down the positive things -- over and over again if you have to. spend time doing stuff you love. talk with people who will love and encourage you in a positive way. keep being generous because it's in your heart to do so -- not because you expect people to do the same for you. forgive even if you don't feel it. i promise...it will come.

staying angry is not about hurting the people who wronged you although it may seem that way. by staying angry, you actually hurt yourself.

and, so, as your mother, i am going to take some of this great advice myself and try to let go of some of that anger -- for me. and you.

i love you all so much.


Monday, October 10, 2011

Dear Diary

So, my 6-year-old daughter has declared she is now old enough to have private thoughts."I need a diary," she announced one day after dinner.

Last week, she made her first entry. How do I know this? Well because she ran up to me right afterward and showed me of course. Shuh.

I do feel slightly guilty posting on a blog her first diary entry, but I figure if there is any time I can share what my daughter is thinking and feeling, it's now when she's six and sweet.

Freeze frame, please.