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March 27, 2015

What I've Been Doing Lately

Asking me “What’s new?” is a surefire way to throw my brain into a tizzy. I mean, “new?” Heck if I know! I can hardly remember whether or not I ate lunch yesterday. Perhaps I’m guilty of overthinking what’s worth reporting, but I have to wonder- do you really want to know about my toddler’s recent trip to the doctor, or my dog’s dumpster diving mishap, or the constant flux of laundry that is spilling over the hamper and onto the floor? Doubt it. So either I’m as boring as they come, or I’m too busy working full-time and raising a 2 year old to know which side is up. But in lieu of my typical shrug and “Nothing’s new” response, this is what I’ve been doing lately:
  • Reading Fox in Socks twelve times in a row (by demand, obviously). 
  • Doing my best to maintain composure when a flailing, screaming child won’t follow me into the house. 
  • Planning and waiting for the most opportune moment to swoop in and leave the park sans tantrum. 
  • Trying to prevent Dylan from putting his arm down every trashcan we pass. 
  • Wishing someone had gifted me a kid-leash at my baby shower (so many years ago). 
  • Strategically dropping potty-training hints in hopes of piquing some interest. 
  • Shouting, “He’s mine!” at concerned strangers who spot a seemingly unsupervised toddler running past them. 
  • Struggling to keep up with the aforementioned running toddler, who grows cagier by my closing distance. 
  • Making an effort to shake the toddler speak I’ve picked up from overexposure. 
  • Trying not to worry why my son pretends his stuffed animals are crying. 
  • Hoping the waiter doesn’t notice my son poking him with a fork as he passes our table. 
  • Explaining to family that my 2 year old is saying “trucks,” not “fucks.” 
  • Stopping myself from laughing when Dylan says, “Shut up mommy” in response to correcting his behavior. 
  • Redefining the meaning of life on the D.L to be dishes and laundry. 
  • Regretting ever having taught Dylan the term, “One more and no more.” 
  • Negotiating with a 2 year old. 
  • Wondering what I’m going to make for dinner. 
So when I hit you with the “nothings new” shrug, just know that the alternative response involves dumping out and burying you in all the loose change from my memory bank. And you know what? No news is good news. Your welcome. 

I'm also kissing, hugging, loving on and soaking up every minute of this child's youth that I possibly can.

March 24, 2015

Tantrums…Mom Edition

This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #WhenImHungry #CollectiveBias 

There are two types of tantrums taking place on a regular basis: the type my toddler has, and the kind that I have. Because when momma is hungry, she don’t mess around. First comes pang, then comes disparage, then comes attitude and a hunt for forage. And that’s not all. 

You know those SNICKERS® commercials that depict someone as an unruly, irrational brat, only for them to revert back to their true identity once they’ve eaten a SNICKERS? That’s me. Only instead of becoming an animal or a grumpy older person, when I’m hungry, I become a different kind of monster: a toddler. I can tell because: 

I shut down. Oh, were you talking to me? LEAVE ME ALONE, I’M HUNGRY. 
I’m an intolerable mood killer. YOU’RE HAPPY WHILE I’M DYING OF HUNGER? SHUT UP!
I don’t care. Yeah, my dogs peeing on your lawn. SO WHAT? 
I don’t listen. “Will you please check traffic since I’m driving?” *Blatant silence* 
My favorite word? “No.” “Would you like a free upgrade…” NO I SAID! 

But there’s an easy fix. 

My inner toddler can be repressed by feeding it. And my most favorite snack to kill my stomach’s alter ego is a Peanut Butter Squares SNICKERS (which is also my all-time favorite chocolate of all time). 

There’s simply not enough sanity to accommodate two tantruming toddlers in one household.

For that reason, whenever I visit Ralphs to pick up groceries, I always grab a SNICKERS to keep in my purse. Because who am I when I’m hungry? My son. And ain’t nobody got time for that. 


Enter the SNICKERS®"Who are you when you're hungry?" contest by uploading a personal photo or video from your Computer, Facebook, Instagram or use the SNICKERS® Meme Generator to create something new! Voting begins at Noon on 5/11/15 and ends at 11:59:59AM ET on 7/15/15.

See great SNICKERS® recipes and fun stories on the SNICKERS® socialhub

March 20, 2015

Easter Marvel - Not Falling Through the Cracks

This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #DisneyEaster #CollectiveBias #ad

March 19, 2015

Toddler Logic & Making Men Squirm

“Are you my daddy?” Dylan asked some stranger in the chip aisle of the grocery store. I was horrified. Not for me, but for the sheepishly grinning gentleman Dylan was talking to who had no idea how to respond. “Daddy?” he pressed on. The poor guy skedaddled quicker than a cat in sprinklers. 

So I tried, even though it felt ridiculous to address, “No Dylan, that isn’t your daddy.” The kid already knows that. In fact, my son and his dad are a lot alike. Both go to great lengths to embarrass me, quiz me, and illicit a reaction from me. Which is why my “not your daddy” response was considered a declaration of my readiness to engage in the “Who’s my daddy?” game, and why Dylan began calling out for the man from a growing distance, “DADDY!!!!!! DADDDY!!!!” Okay, now I’m a little embarrassed. 

This one actually is his daddy.
But that’s just the way toddler logic works sometimes. They say one thing, you say a different thing, and then they insist. The first few times Dylan began asking strange men I’ve never seen before if they were his dad, I’d save the unsuspecting fool some awkwardness by nipping it in the bud. I’d laugh a little whilst saying, “Nooo Dylan….that’s not daddy!” But in toddler head, my response was a game- not a conversation and Dylan only grew more certain, pointing and shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!” at the stranger. And after going through this scenario 10 times with 10 different daddies, I decided to get creative…or at least have some fun. 

“Mommy, is that my daddy?” Dylan knowingly questioned while pointing at the man standing directly in front of us at Starbucks. The man tried to pretend he didn’t notice the random toddler referring to him as "dad," but his squeamish shuffling to distance himself from us revealed otherwise. So...I couldn't help it. “Yes Dylan! It’s DADDY!” I boasted. Dylan laughed as the man turned around towards us, looking relieved  as he surveyed his surroundings for the real daddy but nope. We're talking about you sir. “Look! It's daddy!!!” I reaffirmed as I made eye contact with the stranger- he quickly gave me his back. But before I could put a call out to Maury, Dylan pronounced, “Nooooo, that’s not Daddy!” Toddler logic hacked. 

And it’s kind of our thing now. Dylan asks a random man if he’s his daddy, I watch said man squirm uncomfortably with panic and nervousness, and then I proceed to agree with Dylan, "Yeah! It's dad! Hi Daddy!" And let me tell ya, nothing clears out a Starbucks line quicker than pinning a 2 year old on a man you've never met. I mean, I could try harder to shake the toddler logic out of my son’s head, and I would, but it’s too funny. So sorry sir but today my son is calling you daddy. And so am I.

March 11, 2015

Mom, Before She Was One

Though I’ve only been a mom for two years, parenthood has led me to question a lot of things. Like, how did my parents survive 5 daughters? Why don’t toys come assembled? What is the child-induced phenomena responsible for making the days shorter and pass quicker, but more importantly, is there an antidote? 

And as the duties of child rearing unremittingly consume me, the ongoing development of a gazillion new mom-life memories are taking over my memory bank and pushing any pre-parent recollections I had further and further out of recall. It’s as if I can’t remember a life before diapers, car seats, small hands, and a constant flux of exhaustion. But I want to. 

I like to presume that my life has more meaning now than it ever has, that my purpose has expanded much like my awareness of a crying baby, and that my life’s current state of spilt drinks, random Cheerios, and stroller pushing, is way better than its former state of….whatever it was. Still, I have to wonder…. 

What did I do with my money before I had a child? I must’ve been rich. Or at least I should’ve been since I didn’t have to buy shoes, clothes, food, diapers, or daycare expenses. Where’s the wealth at? 

What did I do with my time? I mean, I had so much of it! With no one demanding that I feed them, raise them, or take them to the park, I reckon I must’ve had so much time to blow that I could’ve called it “free” and meant it. 

What does sleeping in feel like? Long ago in a faint and distant memory, I vaguely recall waking up at 9am and considering it “early.” Now, snoozing until 9am is like the Hope Diamond- I can hope all I want but I’m never gonna get it. 

What did we fight about? Nearly every argument my husband and I have boils down to conflicting parenting practices. If we weren’t fighting about who’s spoiling the kid, who changed the last diaper, and how to diffuse a tantrum, what were we fighting about again? 

What did I eat and why did I have cookware? Since I didn’t have to cook for a family every night, why did I even own cookware? And there’s no way I skipped a meal, so what was I eating, anyway? I suspect my stomach is where the bulk of my riches went. 

What stressed me out? Lately I have a reoccurring vision of rushing my 2 year old to the Emergency Room to get a medical professional to evaluate his incessant screaming, body thrashing, and obvious agitation, only for a doctor to scold, “Ma’am, there’s nothing wrong, he’s having a tantrum!” Oh. So uhm, what exactly was considered stress before I was being brutalized by a child with such a colorful disposition? 

And honestly, what did I talk about? Yes, put me down as one of those parents that always have the funniest (or not) story about what my kid did the other night. I shamelessly whip out my iPhone to show off his cute face, and I effortlessly find a connection between whatever the hell you think it is important and my child. Sorry, not at all sorry. 

So if I happen to forget your birthday, our dinner date, or to reply to your text, don’t feel bad. I can’t even remember what I did during the 27 years preceding parenthood! (But feel free to remind me.)