And That's How She Became A Vegetarian

While on a family outing last night (read:  a trip to Costco), The Bird asked approximately 2 million questions, because WHY and WHY NOT? 

The questions ranged from why we were there yet again, to how come we aren't buying this, or that, or this, or that, or DIS, or DAT??!?!?  (The answer is because until she starts working and earning her keep, Mommy calls the shots and no, we do not need a $175 giant teddy bear.  She already has 175 $1 teddy bears and I think that's sufficient.) 

She, of course, is not one to let a simple shoot down of her dreams of owning the giant teddy bear deter her from asking more questions that demand a response... which leads me to forget the one thing I came to Costco for.  (Usually a year's worth of toilet paper or a day's worth of pumpkin seed bark.)

"What's that?"
"Eggs."
"Can I see?"
"Sure... see how they're not broken?  Let's just put them back so they don't break."
"Okay.  What's that?"
"Salad."
"Why did you get salad?"
"Because I like salad."
"But why do you like salad?"
"Because it's yummy!"
"That's weird.  What's that?"
"That's steak."
"What's steak?"
"It's beef."
"What's beef?"
"It's, um... cow."
"I LOVE COW!"
"I know.  It's yummy."
"Yea!  How do you get the cow into our cart?"
"Well... I buy it here... from the store."
"But how does the store get the cow?"
"Well... they get it from the farmer."
"But HOW does it get so small so we can buy it?"

At this point, I'm frantically looking around for anything to distract her... where is that damn giant teddy bear?  Maybe a sample cookie?  Anything????  But we were un the checkout line and people were lining up behind us... and I sensed that more than a couple strangers were enjoying our little show and were anxious to see how I would handle the situation.  The Bird loves cow on her plate.  And she also loves cow in the field. I just don't think she's ever made the connection, ya know?.

And am I ready to do that to her on a November night, over eggs and salad and steak, in the middle of the checkout line at Costco? No.  Because I already made her wear tennis shoes instead of sandals, so I've hit my Ruined Her Life quota for the day.

So, I did the next best thing.

"You know what, sweetie?  I bet Daddy can answer this for you."
"Ok!  Daddy, how do they get the cow to the store?"

And without missing a beat, the love of my life jumped in.  Head first.

"Well, you see, the cow lives on the farm, right?"
"Uh-huh!"
"Right, well, there's a man that is a lot like grandpa.  He's a farmer..."
 "Be careful, babe...."
"Hey!  I got this.  I GOT THIS!"  He looked at me with waaaay more self-assurance than any parent should ever have... and then turned back to The Bird.  

"Okay..." as I looked around nervously and smile at the other shoppers who were trying to pretend they're not eavesdropping.

"So, the farmer - someone a lot like grandpa - comes up to the cow in the field... and KILLS it and SLICES it into small pieces with a KNIFE!  And then the store buys it and then we buy it from the store and eat it....."

And I don't know what else was said because I FELL OVER DEAD RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE COSTCO CHECKOUT LINE.

"Just"

On a flight to Texas this weekend, I noticed a mom traveling alone with her little girl.  Izzy* was about 15 months old and her mom... well, she was about to fall asleep with her eyes open. Because I was full of caffeine for my early-morning flight, I was unusually talkative (and jittery) and mentioned to her that I had kids of my own at home, so she shouldn't worry that Izzy had just pulled my hair and had been licking my elbow for the last five minutes.  It didn't bother me... that's what kids do.   I'd rather my kids lick someone's elbow than the floor at Dickey's BBQ.  But sometimes life likes to spit right in your eye and waddayagonnado?

When she asked how many kids I had and how old they were, I told her... and was met with the obligatory wide eyes at the whole "they're 16 months apart" piece of trivia about my life.  And yes, she gave me the "How in the world do you handle it?" stare that I've gotten used to from new mothers who need a little more sleep than their child allows.  So, I nodded my head, and murmured my obligatory "(sigh)I know....(sigh)".

I was about to admit that most days, just remembering to feed and water them is my only victory.  But then she said something that stopped me cold.

"Yea... I just have the one. So, it's a lot easier."

Just?  JUST?  

Nonononononononononono.  There is no JUST.  And there is no EASIER. I've heard this song before, and I'm taking a stand.  I'm tired of mothers who apologize for not having more than one kid because they think - or have been told by other mothers - that somehow their value in this discussion is diminished by the number of kids they don't have.

Pisses me off.   TO. NO. END.

"No.  You don't have just one.  You have one.  And she's awesome.  And also?  Having one doesn't make it easier by any stretch of the imagination.  Having a kids is tough, whether you have 1 or 10.  Don't qualify your motherhood.  You're a good mom.  She's a beautiful little girl and you're doing great."

And I went back to letting Izzy lick my elbow while I read my book.  

She looked a little taken aback... possibly because I hadn't brushed my teeth yet and I refuse to wear makeup that early in the morning... but maybe because I was the first woman to say something like that to her.

And that's just sad.

Seriously, why can't we all give and take credit where it's due?

We've all missed out on hundreds of hours of sleep because we're a mom.  We all have our "I was so tired that I threw up" stories.  We all have explosive poop stories to share... you know, when the poop comes up out of the neck of the onesie? Usually in public. And always when we are low on wipes?   We all have those travel nightmares when the kid screams the whole flight or drive because they have an ear infection that we didn't know about.  We all feel guilty for one thing or another every day of our mothering life.  We all have our moments when we just don't think we can handle one more second of crying/whining/screaming/fighting.  And that's when we need other mothers to talk to and cry over a beer with.  We all need that time to just be a human... not a climbing wall or a milk machine or a maid. 

How about we stop putting qualifiers in front of everything about being a mom... because it's getting old.  I'm tired of the labels... because they never end.  There's never anyone "good enough" and we're always ready to slap a label on someone so that we diminish who they are and the value they have.  And why?  To make ourselves feel better?  To make our choices seem like the only choice that is appropriate?

You know what?  We're moms.  That's it.  It's nothing fancy and it doesn't require a qualifier in front of it.  Rather than arguing about whose life is harder or whose way of mothering is better, we should stand together as one force.  We should stop comparing ourselves to others for either the better or the worse.  We should stop being mean girls and start being empathetic women.  Can you imagine the power we would have if we did that one simple thing?  If we stopped worrying about what others are doing or what others think of us and just took care of each other?  We would be unstoppable.

When I look at my friends, I don't see a stay-at-home mom.  I don't see a working mom. I don't see a mom of four or a mom of one.  I don't see a mom that gave birth with or without drugs, or a mom that adopted.  I don't see that you have twins (although, I will admit that multiples may be the exception to this whole post because OMG... that has to be the hardest thing ever)(okay, fine.  I see you have twins and I'm in awe.  Serious awe.) 

But, I digress.

You know what I see when I look at my friends? A MOM.   

Tearing each other or ourselves down, either outright or passive-aggressively, doesn't make anyone a better mother.  The mommy wars are just about the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen or heard.  Second only to when The Bean walked outside naked yesterday and declared she wasn't naked... because she had socks on.  And who can argue with that logic?

There are common themes that run through motherhood, whether you work inside the home or outside the home... whether you have one kid or six... whether your children eat tofu or french fries.  Those themes usually center around poop, nursing, sleep, crying, whining, eating, poop, teething, growth charts, sickness, losing the baby fat, fevers, laundry, forgetting to change the laundry, rewashing the laundry three times, getting the smell of mold out of the laundry, keeping the house a semi-respectable state of clean, bed wetting, the best way to change a bed in the middle of the night without turning on the lights, getting the kid to eat a veggie, lifelong fatigue, potty-training, oh so many fill-in-the-blank lessons, doctor's visits, trimming nails, picking boogers, tubbys, reasoning with a toddler, which car seat is best, how to fit 36 hours of life in a 24 hour period... (deep breath) and more poop.

But the most important theme that every mother can agree on?  This. $%*#. Is. HARD.

And if a mom you know tells you that it's not hard and she's got this mothering thing down, just smile.  Because she's lying.  She's lying to you and she's lying to herself. And she probably needs a night out with the girls so she can decompress.  (And you should go ahead and schedule that ASAP.)

Listen, at the end of the day, our issues may not be exactly the same.  For instance, my girls drive me bonkers on Tuesdays because that's the day they only eat orange food.  And also?  They've recently started growling at me like wild animals when they don't get what they want.   But, you know what?  I bet your kids are driving you crazy, too. And it doesn't matter.  Because I can be empathetic.  I can care.  I can laugh with you about the insanity of parenting.  I can give and/or ask for advice on raising children and staying mostly sane. I can cry with you over a beer.  I can tell you that it will get better... and then that phase will be over and it will go back to sucking until the next stage... and the cycle repeats itself over and over and over until you die.  But it's okay!  I can let you lean on me when it gets to be too much and you're ready to crumble.  Because I'm going to need you to do all of that for me sometime.

That's what friends do.  Screw that.  That's what moms do.  In some form or another, we do that for our children every day (minus the beer).  Why can't we do that for other women who we have a sisterhood with simply because we're moms?  I don't even need to know your name to empathize with you because I know what you're going through.  We're in the trenches together. We should celebrate each other and our successes!  Guess what?!  The kid made it to another birthday mostly intact!  TIME TO PARTY...

.... but not too late because the kids wake up early on Saturdays.

Seriously, let's celebrate our motherhood.  Let's revel in the power of our existence and our experience.  Let's harness that and figure out a way to put our combined expertise to work for the good of humanity... and the good of our psyche.

No more labels.

No more qualifiers.

No more "just".

We are mothers whether we have 1 kid or 100... whether we work in the home or outside of it.  The knowledge and experience we possess right now is staggering, so stop the comparisons.  Stop the worrying about what someone else is doing.  You!  With the circles under her eyes and the vomit on her shoulder... the one traveling alone with her kid across the country... the one who hasn't slept in months.  You're doing a great job.  You deserve - we all deserve - a big round of applause STANDING OVATION.

End of story.

Now, recline that seat two inches and take a nap... I'll watch Izzy for you.



*Name changed in case her mom reads the blog and is all:  Yea!  You really did have bad breath!  What was THAT about!

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

I read this post by Christine Burke, of Keeper of the Fruit Loops fame, and I gotta say... it made me get the warm fuzzies to know that I'm not the only mom who lies to her children.  But, it's not just around the holiday's that I find myself fibbing to the kiddos. And if you're offended by that or want to get all Mommy-Shaming on me, I suggest you go ahead and navigate away.  Because what I'm about to admit to is waaayyy too real for you.

I admit it, I never planned on lying to my children.  Lying is bad.  Lying is something that only weak people who can't stomach the truth do.  Lying is evil and leads to nothing good.

And I had no idea that I would come to rely on lying as an effective parenting tool.  I had no idea I was capable of something so sinister. 

But that was BC... Before Children.

Before we had children, I remember thinking that the only thing I would lie about to them would be the obvious:  Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny.  And maybe leprechauns. Because I'm not convinced the little green men with gold don't exist, mkay?  Also, I'm a huge fan of Lucky Charms.

But I digress.  Apart from those four things, WHY must we lie to our children?  Why can't we simply take the time to give them a straight answer?  I am an educated woman. I have a degree in communication. And at one point, I was convinced I could talk to animals. Surely, I can explain to my children that the reason they can't have any more kettlecorn is because it's bad for them and it will make their tummy hurt.  I mean, a good mom wouldn't tell her darling angels that the kettlecorn had to go in a timeout because it wasn't being very nice.

Yea. 

The thing about trying to explain anything to the tiny humans is that there is no answer they are satisfied with.  "Too much kettlecorn will hurt your tummy" sounds like a reasonable answer.  For reasonable human beings.  But, if I've learned anything in my four years as The Mommy, it's that The Little Dictators are anything but reasonable.  And if I don't lie? If I decide to tell them the truth?  Well, that's when we engage in a game I refer to as "20,000 Questions/Excuses/Bargains".

"Why will it hurt my tummy?"
"How come?"
"No, it won't hurt my tummy!"
"Can I just have one more handful of popcorn?  Pweeaaassseeee."
"I pwomise it won't hurt my tummy?"
"You never, ever let me have all the popcorn!"
"When can I have more popcorn?"
"I pwomise it won't hurt my tummy."
And my own, personal favorite:  "BUT!!! I'M STILL HUUUUUNNNGGGRRRYYYY!"

Of course, if you offer them an apple to appease that hunger, suddenly their hunger pains have a much more specific need.

See, the thing is, they don't understand logic.  Duh.  But they do understand things like "timeout" and "being mean" and "because I said so".  So, to avoid both dry mouth and driving myself crazy answering all of the Questions That Never End, I have taken to lying to my children.  Quite often.  And often in public to avoid a meltdown... Judgy Judgerson's be damned.

Yes... My dear, sweet, children who get in trouble when they fib, are being lied to on a regular basis.  Because a) I'm tired and b) I'm an awesome parent like that.  And if you need clarification of what being an awesome parent is in my world, allow me to list the lies I've told my children in the last 24 hours:

1 - If you suck your thumb, your hair won't grow long like Rapunzel's.
2 - Yes, your hair looks like it's getting a little longer, but it would get a lot longer if you stopped sucking your thumb.
3 - Dino (our Elf on the Shelf) just looked over here when he heard you whining.  I bet he tells Santa that you're not being nice.
4 - Dino decorated our house for Christmas!!!
5 - We don't have any more pecan pie.
6 - Either get in the car right now, or stay here by yourself.  I'll do it.  I'll leave you here.
7 - You don't have to get shots this time. (This one was inadvertent because I didn't realize boosters were due.)
8 - I know it doesn't look like a braid, but trust me, it's a braid.  Mommy's really good at braids.
9 - I can't carry you because I have an owie.
10 - Only grownups can have croutons.

People without kids can sit back and dream about the ideal way to raise children. Go crazy thinking about the magic of raising children and what a great pinteresty Mommy you will be. But when those children turn 2... those same people will quickly realize that lying is one of the only things that give you an upper hand in this nonsense we call parenting.

Well, that, and control of the kettlecorn.

Little Dictators

So many things my kids do these days are amazing to me.

And frustrating to me.

And it's in those moments of frustration that I find myself thinking that if they were 3 feet taller, it would be unacceptable and they would have zero friends and would probably be locked up in a psych ward.

And then, I bring myself back to the present and get bossed around by The Little Dictators That Live With Me.  Who laugh in my face when I tell them that I've had enough and they need to go to sleep.

Whose beautiful little minds are capable of making my ears bleed with all of their many, many... oh dear God so, so many questions.

Who forget what you told them 3 seconds ago, but can somehow remember exactly where the treats are that we bought 3 weeks ago... you know, the ones I forgot we had?

Who are capable of finding something for me to fetch for them even when I have covered my bases and finally sit down to eat.  Because mama must be... doing something.  She must be... cooking.  She must be... cleaning.  She must be... wiping our butts.  She's never allowed to sit still and just BE. 

And when they can't find something for me to get them or for me to do... when I've preempted their attempt at being tiny little dictators... they sit at the table, fork in hand, glass of milk and glass of water in front of them, plenty of fruit so they won't run out, blanket next to them, napkin next to their plate and say:  "Hey, mama! Can you, can you, can you, can you, can you (deep breath) can you, can you, can you..." while she looks around for something, anything that she desperately needs RIGHT NOW, "... can you, can you, um... can you, can you, can you get me, can you get me, can you get me.... " her eyes light up and I know I'm screwed.  "Can you get me that steak knife so I can cut my Cheerios with it? PLEASE?"