Because we are Winners

I dragged my husband to a kid's Halloween party recently. The Kraken went dressed as a SWAT officer, which by the way I hope he doesn't choose as a profession (guns and violence and crazy people and busting in doors and . . . I might never sleep again). Rosie donned her cheerleading outfit, again not what I would choose for her (watching men hold my daughter in the air whilst copping a feel and looking up her skirt doesn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside). My husband went as a disgruntled husband, and I dressed as an exhausted momma. Our costumes were spot on.

It really was a fun party, and that's saying quite a bit for the social anxiety nut job that I am. We sat with other moms during dinner. I don't think my shaking and sweating was too noticeable. We took a group picture. I didn't crap my pants. I met some new people and their kids. I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything so stupid that I couldn't recover. I walked the Kraken around to "trick or treat." And I didn't run away screaming. Like I said, it was a good party.

Toward the end of the night I began to clean up our dinner mess while my husband watched the kiddos. Suddenly, mid trash run, the baby was shoved into my arms and my husband disappeared. Annoyed, I continued pitching and recycling. A couple minutes later, one of the hostesses of the party presents me with a prize for "Best Boy Costume." I was very surprised by the award though I must admit my little SWAT officer was irresistible. I told my husband about it, and he was "shocked and happy".

Fast forward to the car ride home. "Hey hon," my husband begins. "Turns out I knew about the costume contest. I saw the prizes earlier and was watching the whole night for the judges to gather and decide the winners. I saw them congregated in the corner and did what I had to do to win." What exactly did he do? Once he ditched the baby, he picked up my son and plopped him directly in front of the judges. "That's what we do," he says. "We win."

So I think the real question I am left with is. . . Should I ban him from little league now or wait until he has a public breakdown when my son accidently runs the bases in the wrong direction?

There will be no sleeping tonight

My son is addicted to his paci. He calls it his memaw. At least 4000 times a day he asks for the memaw. It's his symphony, his theme song of life. Unfortunately, sucking on a binky during English 101 is a tell tale sign that he will either be living at home forever or married to one crazy loony toon. So, it is up to the momma to end this addiction before the school bully pounces.

Knowing this task is not going to be pleasant, I sought out help from other moms with experience. Some negotiated release with a toy, some sent the plugs to children less fortunate, some took it away and wore earplugs . . . the suggestions were endless but only one really appealed to me (and my gutless "I don't want him to hate me forever" ways). A friend of mine cut a slit in the paddy mo causing it not to work correctly. Her daughter eventually just got bored with it and let to gather dust in the corner. Aha! I won't be the bad guy.

So that was the plan, but when I was going to carry out the deception was still up in the air . . . but then he dropped the darn thing during a long car ride and proceeding to scream his bloody head off. I was done. Over it. Today was the day.

I tucked my son in for naptime, handed him one sabotaged paci, placed the second one on his headboard and kissed him goodnight. All was quiet for about 30 seconds. Then the Kraken called out "Momma HELP." I walked in expecting tears, screaming and terror. What I got was an outstretched hand holding both ruined plugs as if handing me change from a purchase. Then he calmly said "Memaws broke. Go bye bye. New memaws please."

My heart was broken. What a cold hearted momma. All he wanted was a little comfort, and I broke his memaws.

Who was that moron?

Each day I wake up and decide how I am going to balance a 5 month old who needs consistent naps and trips to the buffet every three hours with a 2 year old who literally gets cabin fever and can't can't can't stop moving. Usually I time naps for Rosie with park adventures for the Kraken. My sweet baby girl sleeps peacefully whilst my son terrorizes some poor unsuspecting public play yard. Unfortunately, little miss diva emerges when her ideal outdoor temperature rises too high. Apparently we have reached maximum sweat allowance.

Today we went to the mall, which doesn't, by the way, have a play ground (who knew such a mall existed) so my son could walk around, socialize, flirt, possibly run and my diva could sleep in air conditioned comfort. Here's how that went . . .

(In order of appearance) -- Young toddler : evil laughter, delight, sprinting toward escalator, smiling, ecstatic. Diva : snoring, bliss, riding in very large double stroller, smiling, clueless. Momma : yelling, panic, pushing very large double stroller, sweating, worried.

I got to the escalator just one step fast enough to prevent disaster, but not before attracting the attention of everyone within a 20 foot radius. Some of whom I am certain decided to converse about my parenting skills.

We went home.

Wanna take a dip?

A relaxing day at the pool a short few years ago is NOT the same day now after two children. Here are a few reasons why. . .

I traded my small yet tasteful bikini for a durable, comfortable albeit slightly unflattering one piece whose biggest draw is its ability to keep my large milk producing breasts from flopping out and scaring innocent children whilst I sprint after a fleeing toddler. (I tested a number of bathing suits by attempting to mimic the motion of sprinting in the dressing room before I forked over any cash.)

I didn’t often purchase sunscreen because I was never able to use the whole thing up before it expired. This summer we are on our 5th bottle of SPF 60 spray (for little bodies) and 2nd bottle of SPF 60 lotion (for little faces).

My packing list went from coke, towel and a good book to multiple cokes, towels, bucket of sunscreen, swimmies, diapers, wipes, changes of clothes, stroller, pop up tent (in case there is no shade for B Rose), snacks, milk, water, cooler for said snacks and drinks, water wings, ball, teething toys, pacifier, sunglasses and sun hats. Whew, I’m tired and I haven’t even gotten to the pool yet.

A very even tan obtained by flipping over every 30 minutes has been replaced by bronze face, shoulders, neck, tops of arms and fronts of legs. The backs of my legs and undersides of my arms look to be stuck back with old man winter and are certainly craving a little face time with mister sunshine, but I just don’t have time for even baking, The Kraken wants to swim.

I could wear my trusty bikini year after year because sunbathing isn’t a contact sport. Its unflattering one piece successor will have to be replaced, possibly midsummer, because swimming with a toddler is a rough and tumble activity. Turns out sitting on the side or bottom of the pool, is not healthy for bathing suit material. I have so many snags on the bum region that sooner or later my behind is just going to come bouncing out. A horrible thought, I know.

I could go whole summers without that helpless sinking feeling coming just after an ambush splash that I had just lost a contact. Ever wonder what it’s like to be blind as a bat? I rediscover this joy every morning I wake and stumble to the bathroom for contacts. Each and every day at the pool with my kids has me panicking as I search for a contact in my eye. Thankfully I haven’t yet actually lost one. Maybe I should add extra contacts to my packing list. Oh, and that ambush splasher is now my son.

My pool and sunbathing life, I admit has totally changed, but watching the joy on that little guy’s face as he jumps with such bravery and trust into the water is way beyond worth all the sagging, dragging, snagging and mooning that comes along with it. I am after all a sap at heart.