Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Can Coffee Stunt My Son's Growth?

It’s happening just like they said it would: Dylan is growing at an alarming pace. But before I attempt to stunt his growth by way of a coffee filled sippy cup, I’m going step back and catch my breath. Keeping up ain't easy. 

Six months ago when I made the decision to put Dylan into daycare I was kind of a mess. The idea of strangers caring for/protecting my baby had me salivating at an all-you-can-fear buffet, full of wacko what-ifs that I couldn’t stop from consuming. I even debated getting a hidden camera! But as it turns out, Dylan is a daycare hotshot and the adjustment period was non-existent. Apparently Dylan is a honeybaked ham who enjoys the schoolboy life full of fun, girlfriends, and incessant dotes over his good behavior. (Huh? He’s good?) What a relief! Dylan made it way too easy for me to get comfortable with the routine, the staff, and the whole enchilada. But do you hear that? Change is at the door. 

A promotion to big boy land with new classmates, a fresh curriculum, and teachers I don't really know is a few months away. Or, well, it should’ve been a few months away. But thanks to Dylan’s genetically predispositioned impatience (cough: from his dad) he's wiggled his way up in the world of daycare classrooms. And hyper-growth is so Dylan's style. I mean, back when newborn Dylan should’ve been content with 2 ounces of milk, he insisted on 7; and before he could even wear his 1 month clothes, they were outgrown; and don’t get me started on “percentiles” because I’m done charting his lack of commitment to babyhood.

So yet again, Dylan has rushed through time and has convinced everyone that he’s older than he actually is. While I've been stressing over the future torment Dylan would experience when he'd be separated from his beloved Anabelle, or how sad he'd be when he wasn't being held by his favorite teachers, Dylan was literally banging on the older kid’s classroom door hoping they’d let him in. WHOA! Didn't see that coming. 

Part of me wants to resist, deny, and even try to stunt his growth with some coffee, but it wont change the fact that if you knock on a door long enough, it's gonna open. So yes, change has been let in a lot sooner than mom was prepared for but what's more important is that Dylan is ready. And in true Dizbaby fashion, he has hit the ground running while I try to keep up...and I couldn't be more proud!

Saturday, July 26, 2014

What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been

I bet you’d never know that just by reading this, you’re on a tour…but you are! There’s a blog tour going on and thanks to my dear bloggy girlfriend Liv By Surprise, I’m one of the stops. I don’t know where the tour actually originated from but dang, there must be at least 1,000 bloggers who have already hopped aboard and have followed the same tour guidelines of answering 3 questions and inviting 3 others. 

Before I get to the nitty-gritty protocol, I’d like you to know who Liv By Surprise is; she is funny, she is positive, and she is resilient. She gracefully writes on the aftermath of divorcing an extremely difficult man, the qualms and successes of child rearing, and so much more. She refuses to be victimized despite living through a traumatic car accident and I don’t dare call her a survivor- she hates that. So without further adu, choo choo! 


WHAT ARE YOU WORKING ON? Uhm, is there an alternative question for lazy girls like me that regularly have 17 tabs open and waste time browsing the internet instead of working on things? No? Okay…then I guess I'm working on it.

HOW DOES YOUR WORK DIFFER FROM OTHERS OF ITS GENRE?  What the heck, did James Lipton draft these questions? My writing is exactly what it is, my writing. And since I have yet to meet another me, I am the only Dizmommy out there writing about whether or not her son will grow up and be a serial killer. 

HOW DOES YOUR WRITING/CREATIVE PROCESS WORK? Finally an easy question! I sit in front of the computer with a black cup of coffee, hoover my hands over the keyboard, quiet my mind and sit still. Then, I type the first sentence that the silence produces and before you know it, we’re going places. My process is completely dependent on good old fashion divine inspiration. 

But wait! There’s more! Here are three bloggers I’d like to invite on this never-ending tour:


 Rachel - Craving Some Creativity: She's clever, she's thoughtful, and she has a beautiful heart. Rachel is the kind of girl that anyone can get along with. I feel like I've known her for years! I wish I had just an ounce of her talents

Julia – Everyday Momma: Julia packed up and moved across the country to raise her son in California because that's where she dreamt of living. I love people that are ballsy and bold enough to follow their dreams! Plus, this one can get down and dirty when it comes to messy play. No joke.


Danielle – Dancing with my Daughter: Danielle is one of my first bloggy friends, our kids are 1 month a part in age and we've bonded over new mom problems and watching our babies grow up in two very different parts of the world....she lives in New Zealand!

Friday, July 25, 2014

I Need Help

I was the kid that wanted to change the world, with big dreams of peace and high hopes for love on a global level. And as I grew out of my sheltered and warm bubble, the logistics of a complex and imperfect reality left me permanently confused. How come we aren’t equal? How can people be so mean? Why don’t people care? That’s life. But I haven’t completely grown up; I’m still that kid with big dreams and high hopes. And one of my biggest dreams in life is to adopt. The thought of children having to grow without actively involved parents crushes me. I want everyone to feel that unwavering foundation of love. But unfortunately, I can’t adopt every kid (though it breaks my heart to admit it). But there’s good news! Meet the Orangewood Children’s Foundation

The Orangewood Children’s Foundation is a California non-profit that was originally formed by individuals who dreamt of buying a house to provide emergency shelter for abused and neglected kids. And once they accomplished that, they decided to raise the ante and focus on helping foster kids transition out of the foster system and into adulthood. The reality of being released from “the system” on your 18th birthday is mind blowing; you’re on your own whether or not you have a bed to sleep in, period. Orangewood offers those young adults financial assistance, higher education scholarships, mentoring, and housing. They even help support the foster kids that became parents before they became adults. But like most non-profits, Orangewood needs help in order to offer help; and there’s an exciting new way that you can do this by simply selling your used baby/toddler items. 

Bear & Boo - A Children’s Boutique, has launched a consignment area on their website where you can sell your used items. When those items are sold, you receive 50% of what it was sold for and the remaining 50% goes towards providing Orangewood with what they need. Orangewood can’t accept used items so selling what you’re already going to get rid of through Bear & Boo is the next best thing. You don’t even have to do the work of selling it…so smart! 

I realize that each day is filled with an opportunity to help some cause, some group, someone, and it can be overwhelming. Grocery store clerks ask for charitable donations as we check out; spare change is collected in stores everywhere; and we’ve all been humbled by a tough luck story before. And yet we continue to take those opportunities because deep down it’s as if we know that through helping others, we’re really helping ourselves. So this today’s opportunity and if you can, then please do. Details can be found here

Disclaimer: I received absolutely nothing for this post. No product, no money, no promises, nada. I was inspired and humbled by the opportunity to bring attention to a fab organization and a small business that are doing what they can for our youth. And hey, that makes my heart happy.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Am I In a Toxic Relationship?

Dylan must've known I wrote about my lack of toddlerance yesterday because when I bent down to greet him after work he slapped me squarely across the cheek. It was a good, clean, legit punishment that killed me a little. I missed that boy all day and our reunion sucked. Sure, we made up, he said “thorry,” we kissed and all that…but damn! No “Hello, how are you?” Differentiating a rotten toddler from simply rotten behavior is a challenge for me. I know the signs of a toxic relationship and sometimes I feel like my son is the abusive guy that doesn’t really love me and yet I’m stuck in the cycle of going back to him time after time. Well guess what Dylan? It’s over. We’re breaking up. 

Psh! Yeah right. But if this were anyone else, I wouldn’t take:
  • Always losing control. Something doesn’t go Dylan’s way and instantly he pops off on those closest to him. He’s smart enough to behave nicely toward strangers but unpredictable enough to lash out on mom in front of them. Red flag alert. 
  • The dramatics and the back and forth. Dylan poo-poos my presence until I show an interest in something else. Oh, moms on the phone? Suddenly he’s going to jump off the coffee table, test his lung capacity, and/or dig through the trash. 
  • Threatening me into submission. I’m not subservient but watch me quiver as Dylan picks up his Leap Frog and raises it in the air to chuck it at my face, making sure I get a good look at what he’s about to do. It’s as if he’s saying “Don’t make me…” as I remind myself that it’s not my fault.
  • Unrealistic expectations. Just because you see me drinking coffee, doesn’t mean you’re going to get coffee. Dylan’s expectations are pure insanity. He thinks fruit need not be washed, trucks need not pass, and car seats are optional because mom isn’t in one.
  • 24 shades of mood swing. One minute life is the best it’s ever been with raspberries galore and high fives up top- but the possibility of a flash flood forever looms. A toy caught beneath another toy will ignite a tumultuous storm of disgruntled toddler screams that likely terrify my neighbors.
  • Violence. Sometimes I see it coming and other times it’s a side swipe. He runs past and rips my ponytail, he kicks me as I try to dress him, or he slaps my cheek on any given day for any given reason. This is classic abuse and yet I stick around and try to make this relationship work. 
If Dylan were anything other than a 1 year old, he wouldn’t get away with bashing people me in the face and I certainly wouldn’t stand for all the break-up to make-up sagas. But what can I say? I LOVE HIM! He’s my son, he’s super cute, I can’t imagine life without him, he does give the best apologies and…he’ll grow out of it. Right? I can change him! I swear!

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

My Zero Toddlerance Policy

I accidentally invented a word. You see, each time I make plans that require leaving the house with my 1 year old, I have to consider multiple factors (nap time, travel time, sitting time) or otherwise suffer grave and unpredictable consequences. Though I long to be the parent that isn’t fazed by their toddler’s screaming and demanding public displays of independence, I’m not there yet. (First child syndrome?) So instead, I do my very best to prepare for the worst and then cower, distract, or escape when the mood swings strike. I try not to let Dylan’s antics hold me back but sometimes I can’t help it- my toddlerance is practically nonexistent! You like that huh, toddlerance

If only my iPhone had as much energy as Dylan! The kid hardly loses power and recharges remarkably fast. The simple days of caring for a snoozing vegetable are long gone and toddler life has me spinning through time. He can’t sit still for more than ten minutes before whizzing away to cut off some innocent stranger who nearly trips over the little person that popped up out of nowhere, he has a full-on attitude, and will fart, shout, or otherwise humiliate you through violence anytime/any place. 

Technically we don’t need the term “toddlerance” but hey! We don’t need the world “selfie” either! Plus, how else am supposed to summarize the threshold I have for a food-flinging, high-pitched screaming, rowdy 1 year old who stands up in his highchair every five seconds following my very specific instructions to “SIT DOWN?” (Don’t answer that.) The blatant disregard toddlers have for the general public is certainly worth noting; and a term for one's ability to endure said toddler-prone disturbances is way overdue. So toddlerance it is! You’re welcome. 

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Anything Goes in Mexico - Happy Birthday!

Today is my husband’s birthday!!! But not just any birthday- his 30th! So in celebration of his royal awesomeness, I would like to share a funny story about him from our early twenties. Though this gesture will likely leave him withering in embarrassment (he’s very shy), he’ll get over it. Aren't I just the best wife ever? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to write about the time he flew off a full speed treadmill while showcasing his 4 minute mile during peak gym hours or something...happy birthday honey!

Though you can't tell by looking at him, Junior (my husband) is a badass. At first you think he's just some nice, friendly guy and a little bit on the quiet side, but then you get to know him and you're like, "HAHA! I can't believe he went there." And what Junior says, he means. What he says he'll do, he will (unless he says he'll be there at 5pm, then add an hour). So years ago, on our last night in Mexico, where we were vacationing with his family, Junior suggested we light fireworks on the beach in front of the hotel. I was reckless, young, and childless, so naturally, I complied. Within thirty minutes we had crazy intense (but legal) fireworks in a backpack. It took no real effort to locate Disneyland-esque explosives because they're pretty much everywhere. Anything goes in Mexico, remember that.

We got to the beach and though it may appear that I’d be down for whatever, I'm really not. The thought of losing my thumb in a firework-gone-wrong-incident terrifies me. So I stood a safe distance plus fifty extra feet from my pyromaniac better-half. The beach was empty, dark, and desolate. I was eagerly waiting for the show to start when I noticed a dark figure atop a black horse riding towards us. Junior was kneeled down in the sand and too occupied with explosives to even notice, and had no reaction as the horse rider passed him and headed towards me. I got a bad vibe immediately. I felt even stranger as the rider approached but he didn’t stop; he simply circled me before heading back to Junior.

The rest of the night plays like a movie: I watched the black horse come up behind Junior, swoop down, grab the backpack, and ride away. Junior launched up and began chasing after the horse. (The four minute mile is REAL!) I was too far away to know what was going on (does the guy have a gun? Is he going to kill us? What's my stupid husband doing chasing after criminals in a foreign country on a beach!?) but I saw them both stop, Junior reach into his pocket, then hand something to the guy who instantly rode away. Junior ran back,"He stole the bag! Our car keys were in there! We have to find a cop!"

Wait, what? I could hardly understand, what happened back there? WHY DID YOU CHASE HIM?! Turns out Junior wanted his backpack real bad and when the horse stopped, the guy said he'd give it back in exchange for cash. So Junior emptied his pocket, handed it over,  only for the guy to ride away with both the money and the bag. LOL, only in Mexico does one trust and negotiate with a criminal.

I wanted to get off the beach ASAP and Junior wanted to find a cop equally as quick when suddenly, lookie lookie, a cop happened to be on the same beach as us.  I didn't trust her. "JUNIOR, she could be working with him!" Because you know, cops in Mexico are corrupt. Oh you didn't know? Spoiler alert. Junior was willing to risk it because hello, our car keys were in that bag! Without them we would need to go all the way back home by some other means, get the spare key and return to Mexico. 

The cop took us off the beach and in some random patrol car. I didn't understand a word anyone was saying, Junior was running on adrenaline and wasn't translating for me and I was too scared to ask. I sat in the back of the cop car until we parked on some random street that I didn't recognize... literally parked on a busy street like it was normal and there weren't cars trying to drive by. I got out and there was another cop car and an officer with a girl. The girl ran up to me, shouting, screaming, yelling in my face. All kinds of crazy spanish words that I did understand. "Can someone please tell her that I don't know what she's talking about and that she needs to back off NOW?" I said to everyone. "She says he was with her the whole time and it's not him and you better not put him in jail." Apparently the girl's boyfriend was in the back of the other cop car waiting to be identified by Junior. 

Come on! The guy was wearing a black hoodie while riding on a black horse in the black of the night. Ain't nobody saw him! Seriously- the guy in the car didn't have our backpack so we let the muchacha go home with her hombre and got back in the car. Next thing I know I was in some gross, run down, cement building that looked abandoned. But it wasn't, it was the police station and I think we filed a report but all that really means is we wrote down our name and phone number on a piece of paper and were sent on our way. 

Junior was a mess. He wouldn't sleep and he paced all night while worrying about the car keys. He   came up with all kinds of theories, even suggesting that maybe the keys weren't in the bag, maybe they were on the sand but he didn't notice or think of it in the heat of his high speed chase. He really was fast!) Still, Junior desperately wanted to drive his mom's car back home, get the spare and return; but it was 3am and his mom said no way, get rest and deal with it maƱana. (God I love that woman!) So we did. 

The next morning my father-in-law walked into our room announcing that some homeless man on the beach claims he found a set of keys and for $100, he'd give 'em back. Junior immediately went to the meet him and yes, he did find keys. And you know what he did with them? Buried them in the sand. Junior offered $40 bucks for their safe return and the man pointed to an area. "No, if you want the money then you better dig!" And he did. He kicked sand around with his foot, bent down, picked 'em up, and handed them over to Junior. OUR KEYS! GLORY GLORY!

And that's my husband for ya. He's the guy who will run his ass off after a ridiculously fast horse in a foreign country so he can negotiate with a criminal.  No weapons, all guts. And when that doesn't pan out, he's the guy that will scramble to solve a problem and lose sleep over an impending crisis. And as soon as a little light begins revealing a fantastic, perfect case scenario, way too goo to be true solution...he's the guy that will lowball the homeless man extorting him so that he can save sixty-bucks. Yup, my husband's a badass! And I love him. P.S. I have yet to return to Mexico.

Happy 30th birthday honey!



Wednesday, July 16, 2014

List of What To-Do/To-Not, According to a Toddler

There is a laundry list of things I would prefer my child NOT do. Like unfold the laundry, pull items off countertops, sit in the dog bed after twelve NOs, and tug on my hair for attention. Then, there’s a list of things I wish he'd never stop doing. Like hugging me after I change his diaper, kissing my head when I blow on his food, or simply wanting any of my attention at all. (Can we skip the whole teenage angst thing?) So it occurred to me that if I have a list of To-Dos and To-Nots, Dylan probably has his own set of lists. He is my son after all, and by the way he pushes boundaries and makes demands, a trip to Maury a DNA test isn’t necessary. But what could Dylan’s lists possibly entail? These are my best guesses of floaters from the mind of Dizbaby:










TOP 4 TO-NOTS

Mom:
No more “sit sit sit,” I’ll stand where I want to. Stroller, highchair, grocery cart, slide...it’s my life. Plus you sound like a parrot. Big time. P.S. Same goes for climbing.
Dad:
Stop with the “one more bite.” You ain’t fooling anyone. We both know “one more” is a bottomless pit of unlimited bites. Hence my resistance, dummy.
Mom:
NO, I DON’T want to go home, stop asking. Can’t you see I’m busy playing with my friends? Just stand in the corner and wait…for three more hours or until Anabelle goes home. I’ll let you know when I’m done, thanks.
Dad:
Sharing is a two-way street. You take my basketball, my soccer ball, even my Scout Dog learning computer! So stop saying “no” when I want to stand on your laptop, throw your iPhone, and shave with your electric razor. You’re confusing.

TOP 4 TO-DOs

Mom:
YES! Keep on sneaking treats. The graham crackers, the goldfish, a spoon full of ice cream, and you know raspberries be my favez.
Dad:
Letting me walk to the car is so much better than being carried. We both know I’m a big boy- now please tell mom.
Mom:
We make a great team. Doorbells, light switches, the coffee machine…as long as you continue picking me up for button pushing, I’ll keep reppin’ Team Mommy. “Otra, otra, otra vez!”
Dad:
I’m like you- I love a good beat. SOME people (starts with an “M”) filter playlists in my presence. So if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know my favorite song; or how to say “hold up, hold up, we dem boyz.” Team Daddy!

In sum, if Dylan were a t-shirt, he’d read, “LOL, They Think They’re In Charge.” And honestly? He’s right. 


Monday, July 14, 2014

Sadistic and Proud

I suffer from stiffenitis, a condition that causes my external appearance to conflict with my internal reactions. This means that when my overactive sense of humor is triggered by environmental factors, such as Dylan doing something terrible that I shouldn’t laugh at or encourage, I’m forced to curb a smile through straining my facial muscles. Basically it all boils down to being immature and finding Dylan’s bad attitude and incessant sass hilarious. It’s troublesome. 

My little big boy likes to provoke reactions for sport. His rebel-rebel bratty ways are both the source of irritation and amusement. Yesterday as I stood at the kitchen sink, loading the dishwasher like a good girl, a car ran into me from behind. I turned around and who was behind the wheel? My proud little devil Dylan. A girls gotta be consistent when correcting behavior so I adopted his school’s term and said, “Dylan, go around.” The omen child stayed smirking, backed up and ran full steam ahead, hitting my legs. In full blown mom-tone I advised again, “Dylan, go around.” His smile grew. Part of me wanted to laugh at his blatant insurgency but instead I faced the sink. Yup, he struck again. Okay, that’s it! He’s getting popped! I turned around and before I could even try to correct his behavior, he crashed into me a fourth time. Then laughed. 

Dylan is sadistic and proud. He starts with a sneak attack and ends with an unwavering, “Well whattaya gonna do about it momz?” Somehow he knows I won’t press charges or knock his butt out, and the risk of hard time in his crib (2 whole minutes) is totally worth it. 

But..my sense of humor is so twisted and sick that I actually find his repetitive jerk of all jerks attitude to be nothing short of hilarious. It kills me that I cant enjoy our cat and mouse exchanges like I really want to. Apparently a girl’s gotta parent responsibly because what starts with crashing into mom will evolve into crashing into the neighbor's cat if I let him get away with it. “It’s not funny Dylan,” I lie while picking up the car and pushing it away. “Mommy said go around."

And with my full-fledged stiffenitis in effect, I turn back towards the dishes and do my very best not to laugh hysterically at the miniature-button-pushing-brat-year-old. 

Friday, July 11, 2014

Ask Away Friday - THE Funniest Blogger I Know

GUESS WHAT?! It's ASK AWAY FRIDAY with one of my girls, ECHO! 
   
What is #AskAwayFriday? Well…
#AskAwayFriday was created by the amazing Penny from Real Housewife of Caroline County as a place for us to connect with other bloggers by asking them ten questions to really get to know them. The sky is the limit with the questions you ask! Meeting other bloggers and making new friends is one of the best parts of this online world!


TamaraLikeCamera

Echo blogs at Domain of the Mad Mommy and if you haven't been to her blog before then get prepared for a laughing snort fest. She's a homeschooling mother of two, a blogger who dreams of being a pioneer woman, and honestly...I cannot stress enough how funny this girl is! I'll let you figure out why I call her the meme queen (though I kind of give it away in #7 below) and I'm a strong believer that her blog is going places. Keep an eye out for her! AND HEY! You're welcome. You're going to love her just like me!
 

Here we go....!

1. So, you and are blog are totally AWESOME! Was Dylan your only inspiration for blogging? 
Thank you! Though Dylan is my little muse, I’ve been blogging since…geez, I don’t know, 2000? The blogs are embarrassing, please don't look them up! I was 16...and let's just say Dylan makes for much better blogging.

2. When was the first time that you called yourself a blogger? Either out loud or to yourself. Referring to myself as a blogger aint no thang. Referring to myself as a writer…now THAT’S a term I used to fumble with. I mean, Bob Dylan is a writer, J.D. Salinger is a writer, Tom Robbins? A writer. Me? Yeah! 

3. What is your FAVORITE post that you have written so far? What is one that you wish you didn't post? Sharing my words makes me feel naked… my stomach drops with each click of “Publish"...and yet I'm elated each time. I finished a post! I made it! Out of my brain! lol Here's one I won't read...lol  And this is my fave.

4. Dylan is seriously adorable and so expressive! What are a few of your FAVORITE Dylan faces? (Pictures please!!!!) It's cute but I know what it really is: his father. His infamous expressions are so distracting in conversation....!  
Recent faces

I put this one together a year ago

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Confession: I Can See the Future

Becoming a mom has turned me into such a visionary. And by visionary, I mean that I suddenly have a gift where I see dozens of possibilities flash seven seconds prior to Dylan acting a fool. “Gift” might be the wrong word for something that inevitably results in high blood pressure and an early onset of gray hair, but this newfound mommy-vision has saved Dylan’s head from cracking open on more than one occasion, so “gift” it is. But let me tell ya, being a visionary aint all that, it’s freaking stressful! 

Trying to determine the likelihood of the multiverses I sneak peak when Dylan tempts fate through acrobatic freak shows is half the torture. I see it all: broken teeth, paralysis, concussions…you name it. The other half of my perception’s torture is trying to figure out when to swoop in and shut that shit down. Sure, I may have come to terms with the fact that keeping Dylan in a bubble is illegal impossible; and yes, I want him to experience the slips, trips, and falls of toddlerhood...but avoiding the emergency room would be nice. 

I’m beginning to think my mommy-vision emerged from a survival instinct because obviously Dylan’s trying to kill me. I mean, why else would he transform seemingly safe things into suicidal instruments?My expectations for a toddler’s sensibility may be a tad out of touch...but really Dylan? Is it really necessary to fall four feet to the ground in order to realize that standing on top of a slide isn’t a good idea? “Look Mom! No hands!” Psh, show off. 

So should you catch me running to the aid of my perfectly fine baby seconds prior to him stepping off a curb, know that it’s not just helicopter mom activating the chopper, I’m practically psychic! Honestly, I just saved the day in at least a hundred ways. I’m “gifted” like that. 
Cousins...aww!

Monday, July 7, 2014

All Things Dylan, All Things Crazy

Sometimes (okay, ALL the time) an extended weekend is much needed and this past 4th of July fit the bill. In between fireworks, a family reunion, a fancy-schmancy dinner, and a day at the beach, we were all over the place. But it was the kind of busy that comes easy because it’s voluntary, rewarding, and FUN. And I’m all about the fun, all about the sunshine. 

Last night my husband and I fell into bed like two overcooked lobsters and tried to come up with our favorite parts of the weekend but it was too good to narrow down. Considering the long nights that overlapped Dylan’s typical bedtime, he remained well-behaved and in good spirits throughout. My little big boy has changed so much since he was born that it’s nice to spend a bulk of time with him and observe details that may normally slip past unnoticed. And if Dylan is anything like me, he’s going to grow up asking a gazillion questions about what he was like as a baby kid. So while the pan of memory is still hot, here’s to Dizbaby developments: 

The name "Dylan" means: Son of the sea. Can ya tell?
  • Much to my dismay, my son is a misogynist. He violently rejects female attention and refuses to engage with the opposite sex; unless you’re a kid, because… 
  • My son is also an ageist. He’s down for kids under 10, but if you’re in the female over 10 demographic, either get out of his way or he’ll make you, because…
Hi! We're Dylan's Parents..!
  • He’s MEAN! I cannot stress enough just how mean this 1 year old is. He’ll cry, he’ll shoot the evil eye, he’ll push, smack, scream, leave your high-five hanging because…
  • Dylan knows what he wants, knows what he likes, and won’t fall for your tricks. Sure, he might love avocados, kisses, and dancing, but will take direction from no one. He’s his own boss [ugh] and too clever to be fooled. But he’s much more than a little tyrant, he’s also (and equally) extremely sweet and courteous. He will approach you with a “Hi!”, give you a kiss, hug-hug-hug, and lift his sippy-cup to in the name of “cheers.” And uhm..
  • It’s confusing. The contrast between his pleasant disposition and serial-killer attitude is a cluster of madness. Nice to meetcha, toddlerhood. 
  • And he’s SHY! I’m constantly asked if Dylan can talk...of course he can! Is it not obvious? No, it’s really not. Apparently my chatter-box-Charlie is a mute in the presence of large groups. His favorite, “Can Dylan Say…” game becomes a round of “Mommy is a braggy liar” with anti-climactic silence followed by, “I swear he can talk.” But his shyness extends beyond small talk intros...
  • Warning, TMI! My kid wont go number 2 anywhere but home. He’ll hold his uhm…you know, all day long if he has to. This means that there’s a lot of catching up to do once home. But hey- when duty calls.... 

So yes, my legs may be covered in a series of 4th of July mosquito bites and a sunburn that screams idiot alert, but whatever! It’s all good. And even if my son is turning out to be a bit of a high-maintenance weirdo who doesn’t trust women, yet will fly to the arms of any male stranger, it was nice spending three days with my little (HAH) pooper. My only complaint? I want to do it all over again. Translation: Expect a festivity filled photo dump. 

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

How Adults Are Born - Ick

My childhood may be long gone but my inner child lives; not as much as I’d like her to, but she’s still there. She’s easily excitable, believes in magic, wonders why/why/why, and at her best- will forgive fully, apologize sincerely, and judge nothing. She’ll also unintentionally embarrass those around her (it's too fun to act a fool have fun). You see, I don’t wanna grow up! I want to be forever young [in spirit] and enjoy experiences the way children do. So when I eventually did “grow up,” I was delighted that my newfound freedom enabled chili-cheese fries with each meal, T.V. until midnight, and making my bed when I freaking felt like it. Doing what I want sans restrictions? Every kids’ dream. 

But as much as I want to goof-off, run rampantly, make-believe, and eat junk food all-day-all-night, I can’t shake the truth: I’m responsible, I’m a mom. Being a rule maker/enforcer/straight up bossy is part of the whole child rearing shebang and is proving to be a powerful antidote to my anarchist nature. I thought having a kid would allow me to be more of a kid but the opposite is happening: I’m actually becoming more of an adult. Ick, what a drag. 

My high hopes for playing one of the “five little monkeys jumping on the bed” alongside my son has been replaced with motherly concerns for the bumping of heads. The back-to-back chocolate bar binges are further and farther in between and I have zero desire to stay up later than need be because quite frankly, I’m exhausted. Skipping dinner? Not a chance. Waking up whenever? Ain’t happening. I once believed I would be the cool mom who'd let her kid do whatever because said kid would appreciate boundaries and would actually want to be sensible. Obviously if you stand on a toy car enough, you WILL fall on the tile floor; it has wheels, Dylan. Yeah uhm, not so obvious and not so appreciated, apparently. And though I still take every chance I get [within reason] to be childlike with Dylan, "within reason" is proof enough that my childhood really is long gone. 

This whole “parenting” gig has taught me that with each sticky-handed, freedom-seeking, shelf-climbing, nocturnal child that comes to be, an adult is born. And according to my [at times] boring but rewarding routine, my fatigued but well-nourished body, I’m really okay with being forever young on a part-time basis because have you seen my son? He’s pretty neat. Take a good look, I’m a no-nonsense mom...now.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Food Fights – The Struggle is Real

Even though I’ve [pretty much] come to terms with the fact (yes, it’s a fact) that toddlers are unintentionally evil, the struggle is real. For the past couple of weeks, my fatty-little-big-boy has decided that he no longer needs to eat meals, he just needs to taste them. It’s his new “thing.” It makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner an epic fail every time. Dylan has been historically fat, eating twice, sometimes triple of what a kid his age would should be eating, so I thought perhaps the food itself has become the problem. Oh, he’s learning what he likes! Oh, he’s sick of eggs; he doesn’t like cheese. Oh, this rice is hot! 
 
But there’s just no way; Dylan’s food rejection is far too frequent to be picky eating. Besides, picky? HAH! Dylan is practically a garbage disposal; three weeks ago he would’ve eaten a piece of paper with an “Mmm” if I let him. But sure, he's picky. If by "picky" you mean he only pulls the chew & spit behavior with mom and dad. So what gives? I cross-checked the possibilities: too many snacks in between meals? Too much water? New-found flavor/texture discrimination? Highchair contention? Let’s get mommy to lose her shit syndrome? Who knows!? The bottom line is the kid needs to eat. Why? Cue the Mom Anthem: BECAUSE I SAID SO. 

My house looks fairly normal from the outside. One would never guess that there’s a war taking place behind those walls. You’d never anticipate dinner being flung at your face when you open the front door. I might even hand you the problem child with a stern, “GOOD LUCK” before locking myself away in the bathroom until the food dust settles. But don’t worry, I’m not just escaping the wrath of a baby gone bad, I’m googling search terms and coming up with obvious clever ways to get this situation under control. Because when all else fails, there’s nothing like 23 different websites all telling you the same thing: toddlers are evil rebels without a cause.