I read a lot of parenting related stuff online. I like to find cool things to do with the kids on Pinterest or research the latest information available about childhood asthma (Stay tuned for a new post because, yep, Plum's been diagnosed. <cries>).  I have spent a lot of time on breastfeeding forums and met amazing women doing amazing things in the world of parenting. I am so grateful for those relationships I have formed. I've made true friends right here on the webternet. Like-minded women and mom friends. 

But with all good things come a dose of bad, right? You know,  like how good can't exist without evil or something like that. Which brings me to The Veil. Not to be confused with Sancti-mommies (I mean, they couldn't be more obvious, right?) or the mommy wars (lower case intended), The Veil is sneakier.  There is no one person at fault. It's the constant barrage of what looks like perfection. On blogs. On Pinterest. In parenting magazines. The Veil can wrap itself around you unexpectedly. And The Veil is stifling. I was under it for a spell. It depressed me. It whispered like  Wormtongue in my ear that I wasn't really good at this. That I didn't work hard enough. That I was lazy. That I should do more crafts! More from scratch cooking! Learn how to sew! Clean more! More! More! More! The Veil made me think that if I just tried hard enough I could be the best mom as long as I didn't speak of my failures. It convinced me that I should hide them.  

It gets hot under that Veil. But don't get discouraged.

If you are lucky, your veil will be lifted. But you have to lift it yourself. And if that happens you will feel 7000 lbs lighter. Because suddenly you realize that raising kids isn't easy (not news). It's been hard for hundreds of years. It's always been hard. It turns out that my self-centered belief that I was the first person to ever experience the hardness of mothering is bunk. So yeah....perfectness...it's never gonna happen. Nor should it. 

Bam!

Some moms might wilt from that realization. Some moms might find it a challenge to up their perfection game. Me? I exhaled a few years of stress and laughed my ass off. I am no perfect mother. I've already explained that. But this exhale? It is for the bliss I feel in understanding that I don't want to be a perfect mother. Not by the standards that are presented to me across the internet on a daily basis. 

I don't wear aprons (but I might PIN one!). I can't tell you the last time my house was scrubbed. If you asked me for my favorite recipe right now, I'd be hard pressed to give it to you (No wait, does a veggie tray count?). But I have come to believe that my perceived flaws are not flaws at all.  I'm not perfect by anyone's stretch of the imagination but I am way more than just enough. 

************************

A bit past bedtime one night, I was joking with the husband saying I should write a post based on all the ways I've failed our children. 

Me: "The kids probably should have had a bath tonight but eh." 
Him: "They aren't oozing, right?"
Me: "Nope. Just ridiculously dirty"
Him: " Dirt? Who cares about dirt? 
Me: "Welllllll, you might change your tune when you see their feet in your blankets."
Him: " Eh. Stop it."
Me: "Plum's hair is caked with dried applesauce."
Him: " Shit, dude. Really?"

We giggled. And then, thinking like a blogger, I realized it was a damn fine idea. Because, dudes? I "fail" all the time. My guess is that you do too. But our failures are no where near actual failures. Even if I did put my 2 year-old to bed with applesauce hair. I refuse to judge myself for it or accept anyone else's judgment of it. They are not failures.  Not to me. To others they could be the cardinal sins of parenting. But I don't care about that kind of shiz. To me these failures qualify as superficial. Silly. Normal. To me, they land squarely in the the "Who gives a rat's big toe?" category of failures.

But I didn't always feel that way. You know, because of The Veil. So I say, "Pft!" I burned my Veil. And to prove it, here is a short list of the 10 failures I can think of off the top of my head from last week...

1. Canned veggies and jar sauce. I used them. Multiple times.

2. My kids went to bed dirty a few times. But I do a baby wipe the feet first. Usually.

3. I still haven't changed sheets. From like April. Pft.

4. I let them do things, like climb play equipment, without me up their butts. They get hurt. 

5. I let them fight (Not physically). Because I want them to figure out how to not fight. I want them to work some shiz out on their own. That's not gonna happen if I'm policing toys and forcing sharing. I'm there to help, of course. But I try and stay back and see if they can work it out first.

6. Do I even need to tell you how not clean my house is? 

7. I cuss. Not angry mean cussing. Just a few bombs sprinkled in for good measure. Like, "What the shit? For real, dudes? Which one of you sharpied the couch again?" or "Oh, shit. That didn't exactly make it into the toilet, kid"  I'm not a yeller. I'm a casual cusser.  

8. I took my kids to a bar. And while it was weird walking into a bar with 2 kids at 3 in the afternoon, they had a blast playing on the patio for our friend's going away party. Blowing bubbles and using sidewalk chalk on the very concrete I stumbled around on in my twenties. And yes, we left before the shenanigans began. 

9. We still have ants. My kids talk to them like they are pets. "Hey buddy? Where you goin'?"  I've tried everything. So I just bought traps. And now I feel like I am killing my kids' friends. They need a dog.

10. I can think of 2 times, off the top of my head, when I forgot to feed them. Thank Zeus they eventually tell me with words now. Words that come out very loud and hysterical. But words, all the same.

I have more. I just can't think of them right now. But I have to go because I've been ignoring them for almost an hour trying to write this and they are starting to get up in my grill about that.  So how about you tell me yours? 

Lift The Veil and tell me, my friends, how do you fail your children? 


xoxo, Colleen

"Go away, mama, pweeeeese! No grabby me, Mama. No grabby me." ~Mr. Pants (today)

I wasn't trying to grab him. I was trying to hug him. To help him off the floor where he lay after falling. I wanted to hold him in my arms and kiss his boo-boo. But that's not what he needed. So I walked away but not until I told him I'd be in the next room if he wanted my help. Walking away is mega-tron hard for me. It almost feels like I'm trying to walk through a protection spell on Buffy. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to go scoop that baby off the floor and smother him with my love. But my brain pushes me forward reminding me that it isn't what that baby wants or needs. "There is no blood. There is no broken bone. He asked you to leave him be. Stop being an exposed nerve of weepy feelings and do what your kid needs you to do. Get gone, mama."


The trainer becomes the trainee...


Before I was a mom, I worked with moms and their kids. I also trained staff on how to interact with children. So, if I had a dollar for every time I said the words "Every kid is different", I'd be living in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. It's so very true and logical and obvious and all that. But you know what? I could kick myself in the shins for not developing that idea further. But that knowledge would have come from experience. An experience I was yet to have. Until now. 

My kids couldn't be more different. Plum, a social butterfly. Pants, a solitary man. This in and of itself is no trouble at all. I want my kids to be who they are. I respect them for who they are and I actually love that they are so very different yet care so much for each other. So what's the problem? Well, it's me.

I'm an extrovert. I'm huggy and touchy and feely. I talk a lot. Even to people I don't know. I'm a hasher-outer when things get tricky. I wanna discuss and get to the bottom and take care of things. And if my words can't help crate a solution, well, then my loving arms will start a-hugging and I will kiss it all away. Closeness and soft whispers of my love for you will help us both feel better. Right? Right???

For Plum, the answer is an easy and comfortable "Yes! Hug me! Love me with closeness! I feel better!!"  But for Pants? Oh hell no. Hell to the OH. HELL. NO. And it makes me nervous and weird and uncomfortable. It goes against my skill set. It makes me have to think of how to parent him all the time. I am always thinking. Always considering tone and eye contact when he gets hurt or in trouble or fights with his sister, over stimulated or is hungry etc etc etc. 

Shit, it gets harder...

As a baby this came fairly easy. He was our first and we knew no different so we were able to roll with the punches because we didn't know that it wasn't this hard for everyone. We thought we were just earning our parenting street cred and that eventually we would "get it" and it would all fall into place and we'd hit a stride that made sense. But the more he grows and the more independent he becomes, the more I am challenged to change me. Not him. It should have tipped us off that he was at his most comfortable floating in a bathtub with our hand placed just under his head and no other contact. 

He is who he is. And he is just fine being who he is. It's how we parent him that needs adjusting. I need to keep in check my extrovert Loud-y McLoud shorts while trying to parent this amazing and foreign (to me), introverted personality that needs space. He needs room to feel. To be alone. To process the shifts and changes that hit him harder than the rest of us. To relax, center and regulate without my grabby-grabby "come to mama" arms trying to kidnap him. So I have been doing just that. pulling myself back from the instinct to run to him and help. It's face-numbing at times that my version of helping doesn't help him. My way, is not his way. So I am learning. Day to day. I am adjusting and trying new things that feel weird to me but seem to be working for him. 

It's a waiting game...

I hate waiting. But this kid makes me wait. Of course he does, right? But if I wait, if I let him process his stress the way he chooses to, he will eventually come to me for that hug. But only if I wait. Only if I respect his needs first.  It's funny because I have always believed in listening to and watching your baby for cues. That babies know what they need and that they communicate those needs to you. It is then up to you to pay attention. It is how I mothered both of these babies when they where without words. When I didn't know what they were communicating, I remember thinking that I wished they could just give me a few words to tell me where it hurt or to tell me why they were sad. Well, they have them now. And they tell me all the time. It is still my job to listen. Even when the words are not the ones I want to hear. It's not easy being told to "pweese leave me alone". It smacks me in the heart sometimes. But he's telling me and I wouldn't be doing my job letting him be his own person if I didn't respect that. I might have to glue myself to the chair, but I am learning to wait it out. 

In conclusion, I have no idea....

So these days of almost four years old and all the independence it brings are filled with fine lines and constant reminders that even though I grew these two in the same body and they live in the same house with the same parents, it isn't fair to them if we streamline our parenting and force them both to be parented the same. Sure, the basics are the same. The rules are the rules, man. But it's important that we remember that their needs are not same. And shouldn't be treated as such. Now if I could just learn how to predict the future, I could tell you how this all turns out. But alas, that the fun of parenting right? It keeps you on your toes. 

To be continued...

Are your kids introverts? Extroverts? Both? 

It's no secret that I am a Pinterest failure. It's pretty ridiculous, really. Even the easy stuff. But this activity? I couldn't mess this one up even if I tried! Go Me! I'm over-doing the exclamation points! Anyway, looky-loo at what we did the other day with Mr. Pants' Head Start home visitor...she's a genius. PS: I love Head Start!

What you need: 
Corn starch, water, food coloring, painting sponges/ really thick brushes (at the dollar store!), a muffin pan (pick up one at a thrift shop for 50 cents!)

Make the paint: 
Mix equal parts corn starch and water. You want the paint to be pretty runny so that it spreads onto the sidewalk or driveway easily. Pour the mixture into the muffin pan and color however you want. That's it. There is nothing you can do to mess this up. Nothing. Because if there was, I would have found a way. But there just isn't a way. Easy peasy. 
Prep time is like 90 seconds. So you can do this on the fly no problem.

Do it:  
Take it outside and have fun! Note: grungy clothes a must! This is a bit sloppy and drippy. It will most definitely get onto their clothes. I mean, I don't want to live in a world of only clean painting, do you? 

This was a BIG hit with these two silly people. Here are some highlights. 

So, get out there and paint the sidewalks! Kids are not even required. Although they thought it was crazy cool. You could go out and paint the sidewalks this summer just for you. I just might.

Oh and total cost for supplies that will last all summer?  

6 bucks, dude.

September 9, 2012
"So here is where I try and force myself out of the gate. By laying my heart here. And also my brain. I need to introduce the two of them since they seem to work on opposite schedules and rarely mingle. My heart wants health. My brain tells me I can't possibly get there. It tells me to give up. To not even try because I will fail. My brain lies and tells me that I'm just fine the way that I am. It says that the cookies on the counter will make me feel better. It tells me that my back injury will be aggravated if I exercise. My heart wants badly to beat the shit out of my brain." ~ Me (from my post Motivation.) 

It's been seven months. I never got those new shoes. I tried for a few weeks to feel out an exercise plan and new diet plan. Then a flood of excuses came. Hurting back. Sick kids. The holidays. Winter. Blah blah blah. Yap yap yap. Mama didn't get very far. But you know what they say (who are they?) , keep on keeping on, try try again, don't quit, nobody likes a quitter and all that jazz.

Yesterday I went to a gym to look around. 

There is something incredibly scary about gyms for a girl like me. It's what has kept me from ever stepping into them. The mean girl on the inside starts to whisper in my ear that I'm going to embarrass myself. That people will make fun of me as I sweat and jiggle on the equipment. She's an asshole, that girl in my head. She says that I will fail. I don't like her. So I held her in a headlock yesterday and forced myself into the car and across town to check out the gym. She almost gave me a panic attack in the parking lot. She tried to make me turn around. She made me shake. She encouraged me to hit Burger King for breakfast instead. But I held her tight and turned off her volume. I didn't listen.

Instead, I walked in. 

And something kind of crazy happened as I sat across the table from the dreamiest personal trainer you have ever seen. I wasn't intimidated by him. Mostly. I mean, there will always be a twinge of fear. That shit has been building up for 37 years. I'm not gonna get rid of it overnight. But  as I sat there talking to him about what having back to back babies and years of not caring for myself did to my body, he didn't look disgusted. He didn't even look like he was pretending not be disgusted because it was his job. Nope. Instead he looked... excited. Excited for me. When he said that he was excited to get started I actually believed him. 

And that gave me the ovaries to hand over my card and sign the hell up. Despite the fact that I wanted to vomit on the table. I drop-kicked the asshole voice inside my head. And she went away. Her voice replaced by the amazing voices of those that support me. I have women in my life who have my back and inspire me. They are who I heard in my head. They said, "You can do this. This will feel good. Do it. Do it. Do it."

So I was sitting there watching Plum flirt with the trainer when it hit me like a freight train and I felt like Jimmy freaking Dugan, man. 

I joined a damn gym, you guys. And I mean business. No more excuses. I'm gonna win. It's new. I'm still scared but I'm getting out of my own way. I going to do it scared. I am excited and might shart myself all at the same time. But that's what locker room showers are for right? 


Anyway, I gotta go.  I'm off to the store to finally buy those shoes.

This winter has been a little slice of crap pie for the Pants family. There were about four days in there where no one was sick. But even on those days it was clear someone was almost sick. Snow and sleet and wind chills in the negatives kept us inside a lot too. And it is true that there were times when none of us liked each other. There were stale mates and side-eyes a plenty. There was yelling and even a few choice words exchanged. We haven't been to church in five weeks and I do believe I lost some joie de vivre because of it. 

BUT...

I've learned some lessons and have been reminded of  things I had forgotten. One being that small kids don't understand sarcasm. Note: When you say something like, "Oh suuuuuuure, I think it's a greeeeaaaat idea to eat Oreos for dinner. There's probably at least one whole nutrient in there! That should be enough!" and their little face lights up with excitement , well, you went and dug the hole deeper you big dummy. 


Mostly, though,  I learned how to roll a bit better with the punches. I mean, when you've had Norovirus, two bouts of food poisoning, the flu, fourteen colds, bronchitis, random rashes and sore throats all in the same winter you learn that the Universe has a sense of humor. Sure, it's the humor of a total ass-face, but you can't win 'em all. 


When things began to descend into the great abyss of sickness and despair, I ended up re-discovering some really fun things to do with these kids despite the mud flows of snot, gagging coughs and fevers. They are pretty versatile too! I'm looking forward to taking number two outside this spring and summer (Whoa, that typed bad. Then I read it aloud and giggled. For the record, not A number two). 

Anyhowzer, here's a short list of activities for those moments when you have to break out of a bad time because everyone around you is crying. They're old school good times. Not a Pinterest craft in sight. Because, well, I am a walking talking Pinterest fail and when the family sanity is on the line, you need to play to your strengths. So these are the top six kid tested and mother approved fun times we turn to when the witching hour strikes.

1. Shadows on the Wall: Grab your book light, smartphone or flashlight and throw a blanket over the curtain rod. Cast shadows on the wall. Tell a story or dance. Wait for the giggles that are sure to come. Variation: read books with a flashlight under a blanket fort.

2. Flashlight Scavenger Hunt: Same as above but the whole house is fair game. No need to set up things to find because it doesn't matter what you look for. It's hunting in the dark by flashlight that makes this an adventure. 

3. Dress-up Goofy Yoga: First let them adorn themselves however they choose. Or they could choose to be without clothes (as is common in my house). Then clear a space on the floor and turn on some music and start doing some goofy stretches. I'd bet money they will join you. Then let them make -up their own stretches. Make sure you do the stretches that they do. You will love the looks of pride on their faces (and giggles because you look ridiculous) because they are leading you. You have become their puppet. Kids love this sort of thing. They love to tell their parents what to do. 

4. Selfie-Photo Shoot: Sounds simple enough. Do a make-up session before hand or plaster some temporary tattoos or face-paint. Be sure to let them take the pics. Turn the camera around on ye olde smartphone and let them do their thing. Take video too. 

5. Air-Bed Gymnastics: Got an air-mattress? Pull that sucker out and have some bouncing fun. Just because. For obvious reasons this one needs some safety planning. Variation: Camping family movie night. This requires all blankets, and pillows in the house, lots of snacks, your air mattress and everyone participating. Variation: I am totally planning on taking the old air mattress into the yard this spring and summer. I have a feeling that amazing-ness will happen.

6. OMG! The Floor is Made of Lava!: Build bridges (we use books and shoes for this)  and throw pillows down. NO ONE TOUCHES THE FLOOR! Be sure to use your dramatic voice and insane face. They will find this hysterical and mimic it. In turn, you will find THEM hysterical. Hilarity all around, man. Note: Beware a shoe bridge. It's pretty impossible and is usually guarded by trolls. 


And that's it. The most important part about all of these is that YOU are in it to win it. If you are, 99% of the time, the kids are going to follow suit. Because kids want to play with you. So throw off your crabby pants and slap on a temporary flying dragon tattoo right across your forehead and go all in. I bet you'll have just as great of a time as they do. 

Go forth! Have Fun!

What activities do you do when the witching hour hits? 

I'm no food blogger. Often, I am actually a food killer. I murder food. It's what I do. I should document that more. It would make all of you feel so much better about your cooking. But every so often one of my dinner experiments actually works and it gives me the cojones to keep trying new things.

With Plum's allergies always a factor, I work hard to come up with new and exciting dishes for dinner that are our kind of normal. We aren't fancy. We love pizza and burgers and fries in this house. We have a favorite pizza joint that has been thoroughly investigated and delivers us our weekly pizza. They even are cool when I ask them for no cheese on part of it. They are careful and always do a great job. But I mean....it was high time for me to get into some dairy-free pizza experiments that had more to offer. 

So set out to do just that. I pulled everything from the cupboards and let my brain get to work imagining some dairy-free pizza recipes. And dudes...I hit the Mama Pants pizza experimentation jackpot. I made a delicious pizza. So in the spirit of only sharing my recipes when I can toot my own horn, I offer you this bad mamma jamma...

I'm not gonna lie. It was magic. Mouth magic. Here's how to make it.

I bought the dough but surely you could make your own if you're looking to be a superstar.
To make the sauce mix up and mash the following:
1 large avocado
2 large diced tomatoes
some olive oil
garlic (minced)
red onion (minced)
Spices: black pepper, sea salt, oregano, basil
itty bitty bit of sugar
(all to taste because I don't do silly things like measure. I'm above it or something)

Toppings
Grilled chicken chopped up (I marinated it with a Greek vinaigrette)
Sliced red onion (we like onion in this house)
Fresh spinach

Then bake that puppy up. It's best to eat it all fresh. Does not re-heat so well.


Enjoy!
I'll be sure to share my next experiment success
when it happens in about 4 months!

Stranger: "And what do you do?"

Me: "I raise my miniature humans. But I was social worker before that. Oh and I write. Thinking about waiting tables or something too or just going to the library alone for a few hours a week so I can be alone for a short time so it doesn't take me 40 minutes to write a sentence. You know what I mean? It's farfalooging crazy trying to write with kids hanging off my face. You know what I mean? "

Stranger (eyes glazed over): "Oh that's awesome that you can stay at home! Enjoy this time. It goes so fast."

Me: "I do enjoy it!  I know. We are very lucky that I can stay home. We struggle but we get by...."

Stranger: (eyes glazed over, creepy smile and backing gracefully away) "Oh kids, they grow up so fast!"

Me: (creepy smile returned) "Yeees. Hahahahaahha!"

Everybody nods and giggles knowingly. End scene.


--------------------------------

I am struggling. With one income we struggle financially (That's no secret) but it's more than that. I am struggling to find balance. I wasn't going to write this post just yet because I have no idea where it will go. But I've been blocked lately and it occurred to me this morning that this is why. It occurred to me that I am not the only one going through this. I can't be. So here we go...

<takes a deep breath and jumps>

I don't know if I can be a stay at home mom anymore.

I am beginning to feel anxious. I'm having a hard time remembering myself while being a mom. Right down the basics. Showering, eating. It's all so cliché. But I have it on good authority that clichés can develop for a reason. I am a kick ass mom. I am. But I suck at being me. I suck at caring for myself. Most days I never get out of my pajamas and on the days that I do? I change into clean pajamas. Gross.  

Before I had kids I believed strongly in self-care. As a social worker you are destined to be ruined if you don't practice it.  So I was really good at it. But when I became a mom, that all fell away. Along with the rest of the world. And I think that is normal to an extent. It's instinctual. It's primal. Mothers protecting and keeping a close watchful eye. It's what we do, right? It's the animal in us. We do it for a reason.

But there was something else that happened too. And it's this something that has me typing away right now. I actively chose to ignore me. I don't regret it. I didn't want to be anywhere else than right next to my babies. I wanted to change every diaper and give every bath. Nursing them both. Being there. I wanted that. I still do, but I am starting to want other things too. It's confusing even though it probably shouldn't be.


I don't know if I can be a stay at home mom and be the mom I want to be.

The mom I want to be is relaxed. Happy. Satisfied and content to be enough. That is the mom I have been for three years, nine months and a few days (for the most part) but I see it changing. I see me changing. I see all of us changing.

<cue the David Bowie here> Ch ch ch changes....

And here's the thing. I am starting to believe that what works for a time doesn't always work forever. What worked for us when these guys weighed 10 pounds isn't necessarily what is working for us now that they are giant 37 pound rampaging, laughing, fighting, growing, learning short people. I go back and forth with knowing that it's normal and having the giant monster hands of guilt squeeze my neck.

So what's with the guilt, man? Why is it so damn heavy?

It's not me. Oh wait, yes it is.

I feel like a failure even though I know on so many levels that I am not.  But my heart? My heart is harder to convince. I start to feel panicked that if I return to work or am separated from my kids for a short time, I will have failed them. I will have failed myself. And I wonder why that guilt is so strong. I wonder why it seems like I'm a failure because I need other things. To need more of myself to come through in addition to being a mom. Why does being my whole self have to mean that I am less of a mother? I don't feel that way about working moms so why am I chaining that concrete block to my own ankle? 

The short answer is that it just doesn't make me less of a mother, of course. The long answer is way more complicated.

There's a pressure  to be all in. To be everything. To be on. To have the answers. To know how to fix everything from boo-boos to the water heater. To know who to call when things go wrong. To be ready for anything. To always be perfect (gag).

But who is pressuring me?  It's me. I am pressuring myself. I am setting a standard for myself that I can't achieve. And I wonder why I do that. I don't think I'm the only one who does.  Why do we do that? Oh hell, who knows? Let's just blame society and call it a day.

The truth is I can't be everything. And that's ok.

I stayed home with my babies and that was a dream of mine. I did it. I'm still doing it. I am their mama. Our love for each other wraps around us like a blanket. That won't change even if life does a little. But change can be hard. This morning I asked Plum if she was ready for a change. Pants piped up, "Yes, Mama. She ready" and I started to bawl my eyes out. I mean, sure, we both meant that Plum had, in fact, crapped her pants and needed a diaper change but the wording struck me. It grabbed my throat and took my breath away. Change. Maybe we really are ready. Maybe there is a new path just around the corner from today. And maybe, just maybe, we really are all ready for that.

We'll see.

I'm not jumping into any waitressing jobs. I'm just trying to discover what it is that I want to do and make a plan for it. But first I have to come to terms and accept that it will eventually mean taking off my glamorous pee-stained stay-at-home mom yoga pants and changing course. And I love those damn pants. I really do. They have been so good to me. So forgiving. They love me back, too. Wait...am I still talking about the pants?

You probably missed it yesterday if you read the Pearl. You were probably distracted by the smooshy sweetness of Pants zonked out with his dad. But if you have an eagle-eye, you might have seen it. There in the crook of his arm...the bottle.

Dun-Dun-DUN! { Cymbal crash!}

If you saw it, I hope you didn't judge. I know that it's possible that some did. And I'm ok with that. It's hard not to judge sometimes. I get it. There are rules, right? Rules that people who haven't met my kid or yours have written into forty-two thousand parenting books. One of those rules is that three-year-olds shouldn't still have a bottle. And if they do, even though they shouldn't,  it better not be chocolate milk in there.
 
Meh. I've never been a rule follower. I mean, it's not whiskey. I'd draw the line at whiskey.

I could explain why he still uses his "bubba" but I'm not going to. Trust me, I am tempted. Because I am not immune from feeling bummed out by judgment. But I'm more stubborn than that (Note to self: That is why the kids are stubborn!).  So I'm not explaining. Beyond shrugging my shoulders and saying that he still needs it. Someday he won't. That's all. See, I think it doesn't matter why. There could be a reason that would make people understand or not. None of that matters because I'm just not worried about it.

There are probably 20-30 (thousand?) things we do here at the Pants Ranch that I sometimes feel the knee-jerk reaction to explain. But I've made the decision to not do that anymore. It's not easy to do because of the whole culture of parenting judgment that seems to have so many of us by the nuts. But I vowed a while back to end my judgment of other parents. And it has been kind of awesome letting go of that negativity.

So now  I am working hard on not giving a damn what others think about things like the bottle (Dun-Dun-D... oh forget it). Now I am working on my fear of judgment. We do things differently than many. And many people do things similar to us. Blah blah blah. I am throwing out the need to explain for fear of judgment. I am kicking it to the curb. Our three-year-old still uses a bottle. The end.  

Do you ever feel the need to defend your parenting choices? Have you felt judged for your parenting? Have you handed out that judgment to others?

Like most new mothers I dove into motherhood head first. I love being a mother. I love it in my DNA. I was supposed to be a mom. This little family that calls me theirs is the best thing that has ever happened to me. So why did I find myself crying in the car on the way to pick up our Chinese take-out last night?

Well, I turned on the radio.

"Karma Police, arrest this girl.....
Karma police I've given all I can. It's not enough. I've given all  I  can. But we're still on the payroll. This is what you'll get. This is  what you'll get. This is what you'll get. When you mess with us..." ~Radiohead, Karma Police

My tears fell before I knew they were coming. So many all at once. There was a sadness that I had no idea was right there at the surface waiting for those words...for a minute there, I lost myself...

I had promised myself in 2012 to find my fancy. But I'm not there yet. I missed my deadline. I have a long way to go. And it's more than that. It's more than clothes, make-up and doing my hair. I know what it is that I am working toward. Mama. Wife. Me. In sync but not necessarily balanced. Not always in that order. I don't want to be a third of a mother, a wife or myself. I want to be all of those things, all of the time, without losing any part of myself.

But I'm not there yet. I still don't know how they fit together. My tendency to go all in on one with the hopes the other two will just fall into place is revealing itself a failure. Of course it is. Nothing works that way. I knew that before. But the reminder is good.

I am taking the timeline away. I need to stop telling myself that I have to figure it out by a certain day. A certain age.  The pressure is too much. It defeats me. I am feeling a relief that comes with accepting that there are no concrete answers and there is no race to win. There is only today moving life forward. There is only this minute. And inside of a minute life is always good. Even if it's hard.  Because we are here. 

But I want it to be better.

The tears didn't ask permission to spill. They came to tell me that, for a minute there, I lost myself. And that there is work to do.

I am listening. And I am awake.

I am a patient mother. I really am. I don't get riled up when things aren't going my way. Ya know, like when my little angels take a day by the balls and tear the place apart? I can handle that. Usually. Or when I take extra time to make an elaborate (well, by my standards) meal and both kids end up with cereal after gagging at the taste of the slop I so lovingly prepared? Oh well. Or when the frustration of a particular event builds up inside them and they lash out and hit me? I return a calm voice to them "We don't hit in this house"  Because they are very young and still learning how to self-regulate. Sometimes they don't know what to do with their feelings when those feelings get bigger than they are. Hell, sometimes I don't know what to do my feelings when they get bigger than me. But when you are three and almost two you don't yet have all the tools you need to work through and process the intensity that comes with being human. And it's that intensity that sometimes grabs a hold of all three of us at the same time and creates the powder keg. All three of us sitting on it. Waiting for it to blow the entire day straight to hell.

I am a patient mother. But I am also human. I am a gentle mother. But that is tested sometimes.  I have my hot buttons. One of which, when pushed, is my greatest test. I am an imperfect mother. It doesn't get pushed very often but when it does, my anger comes fast and furious. My gentle parenting strategies become foggy. I see red.  So it is my job then to have a plan for that button getting pushed. As the adult here, that's my job. The button is different for everyone. For me? It's biting.

Enter Wednesday.

We were in the shit. From dawn to dusk. I started considering an afternoon beer around 9 am. It was as though all three of us woke with an impossible itch to scratch. I had plans. They had plans. These plans were in direct defiance of the other.  I was doing ok managing the chaos. Pulling out my bag of tricks and trying to change up the routine to make our day exciting enough to calm the raging waters. They have cabin fever, I know it. My fear of Plum contracting the Flu has been playing into the plans we make. So I employed just about every tried and true technique I had to make them happy. But nothing was working. Pants was on fire and spraying it everywhere. Plum was out of sorts because Pants was out of sorts and he is her spirit guide. Mama (That's me!) started completely falling apart sometime around 3 pm after hours of constant conflict, destruction, hitting, crying and drama. I reached back into my patience reserves for any little bit of something, anything, to propel me through this day to bedtime. But they were empty.  I am a patient mother.

And then it happened.

I felt myself flinch. I was at a breaking point. My button wasn't just pushed, my Achilles heel was slashed. He bit her. AGAIN. For the third time. Her tears immediate and plentiful. Her face, destroyed. Pain. He laughed at her tears.  And I flinched. My hand rising up without a thought. My brain hadn't a clue what my hand was about to do. But it wasn't going to be good. My arm was angry and wanted to exact revenge on behalf of my crying Plum.  I wanted to spank his bare butt. But in a moment of clarity, I looked through my eyes and saw his face. A sadness washed over me.

This is not you. You are not this. Don't make THIS one of his memories. Put your hands in your pocket.

My arm came down to my side as tears came to my eyes. That was close.  And I employed the plan. Walk away (I took Plum with me). Breathe. Re-think. Start again. Mama needed a time-out. We all did. Once I brought myself back to a good place, I employed step two.

Step two is designed to keep us from returning to that ugly and volatile place. Basically, step two is a resolve. A surrender to the needs of the whole family. Leaving my plan for another time and forming a new plan. On Wednesday, for me,  it looked like this...

You wanted to get the dishes done but today they need to just sit there and wait. You wanted to get the laundry folded, but its ok that it won't happen. You didn't get a shower. Oh well, you stink. You wanted to write a blog post because you had ideas swirling in your head that you have long forgotten inside of this crazy day. Don't worry about that. So because you didn't get the dishes done and now can't fathom trying to make dinner around the mess, order a pizza, heat up some broccoli, dump some applesauce into some bowls and call it a day. Now is the time to give 100% of you to being present with the kids. Everything else will wait. They will not. Be with them. Go all in. Not just because they need you. But because you need them, too. Erase it. Start again. Let go.

And that's what we did. One minute at a time until things began looking up.

So we went about repairing our bad, bad, awful and straight-up miserable day. And what better way to do that than with one-on-one attention, snuggles, eye-contact, sitting on the floor and playing for real, junk food, pizza and a dance party?

Well don't you know? That's the Pants Family recipe for turning that frown upside-down. Oh and Daddy coming home early from work. That helps too.

How do you turn a bad day around?