A note from Mama: I wasn't going to publish this. But he told me to. Life is messy. Love is hard. I like being honest. So here's your Pearl. Even though this one might just be for me. 

The Mister and I went on a date yesterday. It was long overdue. So very long overdue.  We had dinner at a wonderful Mediterranean restaurant where I took one of those pictures of my food like people seem to always do.  It looked like this. 

That was the last picture I took. Even though I had planned to document the date (I can't help it! I'm a blogger). But  to my surprise the camera never came back out. We walked around downtown after dinner and checked out a few stores and then sat at a bench for a few minutes right in front of a popcorn joint. Our conversation came after a few moments of silence. "Man, we have been through some shit this year, huh?" "Marriage! It's freaking hard, man!" "Oh and parenting? It's so hard!" "I'm proud of you" "I'm proud of you, too" "I think we can do this" "Me, too." "Let's go shopping" "OK!"


Something very interesting is happening to us. We are finding our way back to each other. 

<needle scratches off the record>  Say what? You were lost?! 

Yep! Yepper! Yup! Lost like Jack and Kate. Poor poor dead Jack and Kate. 

My tendency to hold the kitten too tight until it suffocates is well documented. His tendency to dive inward is too. There is no such thing as a marriage without issues.  I'm not going to detail ours here or anything because that's not your business even though I love you and usually have no problem barfing out all of the information here on the webternet. No, I'm not going to detail them because they are ours. Mine and his. The important part is that we have them and I know we are not alone. Because, and I might have said this before but, marriage is freaking hard, man. 

Recently I eased up my grip on our fuzzy kitten of a marriage. I am learning that I cannot control it all. That sometimes, it will suck. That's life. It's not real to never have a bad day. It's not real to be shooting rainbows from your face 24/7. But what was very real was my vice grip on that precious kitten. What was very real was our disconnect.

I am learning that hard times do not signal doom. Hard times are not a reflection of me. Of him. Of us. Hard times are just that, hard times. We go through them. We go through them working our hardest to be our best self.  We go through them hoping for the outcome we want. We go through them. We can get through them.

So he's proud of me because I have been working hard. I am proud of him because he is too. We had crawled into a cave when we became parents. Our lantern burned out while we were in there. We are awesome parents (what!what!). But the darkness made us unable to see each other. To see the marriage. The awesome, exhausting and enormous job of raising people gave us an excuse to stop caring for it, too. But recently these two crazy kids lit up that cave for us, held up a mirror and showed us our reflection. And it's because they did, we could see each other again (How's that for an off the hook metaphor? Nope, it sucked. I'm tired).

We are working on us. And the faith in my heart for us is gigantic. Gigantic. Basically it's Gigantor. 

So your Pearl is this... 

Marriage. It's so freaking hard. But nothing worth doing is going to come easy. Somebody, somewhere said that better than I just did. But it's late and I don't have any more time to write. The Mister is coming home from a well deserved night out and I am excited for him to come home.

*Sunday's Pearl is something kind of like wisdom wrapped up in an  idea or random bit of something or another. It might be something awesome, something awful or a lesson that I learned during the week. Every Sunday I put that lesson here. Let my wisdom words inspire or frighten you. xoxox, Mama Pants *

It's been such a rough week. I have no other wisdom this week than to please love each other and to always remember that the world is good in so many ways. People are good. Life is good. Love is good. Be kind to each other and to yourself. Not just when tragedy strikes, but every day. Hug some more people today.

Oh and this here Coca-Cola commercial? It made me cry my eyes out. I cried the love tears. It just might be the most inspiring soft drink advertisement of all time. I thought I'd share it here with you. Have a watch and have a smile...Happy Sunday.

*Sunday's Pearl is something kind of like wisdom wrapped up in an  idea or random bit of something or another. It might be something awesome, something awful or a lesson that I learned during the week. Every Sunday I put that lesson here. Let my wisdom words inspire or frighten you. xoxox, Mama Pants *

Never ever. Don't ever. DO.NOT.FOR ANY REASON engage in a poop diaper stand-off with your children. Instead, run like hell to them (think "I'm on fire") the second, and I mean the split second, they look at you cross-eyed with one hand tickling the snaps of the diaper. Because they are mocking you. 



It is NOT ADVISED to attempt to speak to them like rational human beings. They have NO INTENTION of being rational human beings because they are tapping at their diaper closures like a pistol in a holster, dude (I'm your huckleberry). They are watching your heart beat faster. They can feel it from across the room because of all that bonding you did with them as newborns!  They think this is hilarious yet they are cool as a cucumber because They know they hold the cards.  


Please do no not try to employ boundary lessons at this time, I get that you want them to make good choices on their own, but this? This right here is GO time. 


So instead of trying to calmly walk to them lest you startle them into ripping that diaper off? Hey, guess what? They are going to rip it off anyway, man! That's the entirety of their goal. Never forget that you are Johnny Ringo, they are Doc Holliday. So here is what you do....


Using your best and most ridiculous loud, but non-scary, voice (think Ed Grimly/Pee-Wee Herman/The Swedish Chef) begin to go hog wild with your legs and arms as you travel toward them. Don't look them in the eye as this will be met as a challenge. Your aim here is to throw them off long enough to get near them. This technique, when properly applied, will delight the child's brain long enough for you to grab the wipes and properly change that diaper. 


Happy Sunday, My Lovelies. It is my hope for you that you never need this lesson. But you know...you probably will. You can do this. 

*Sunday's Pearl is something kind of like wisdom wrapped up in an  idea or random bit of something or another. It might be something awesome, something awful or a lesson that I learned during the week. Every Sunday I put that lesson here. Let my wisdom words inspire or frighten you. xoxox, Mama Pants *

Looking at the pictures I took of my sweet boy dressed as a fairy princess, I had a moment of sadness. Not for him or for us. But for all the boys who have been made to feel wrong for dressing up in "girly" clothes. For the boys whose families even take it a step further and punish their boys for something as simple and sweet as playing dress-up. 

I felt a lump rise in my throat remembering the story of a little boy who was killed by his father for doing exactly what my precious son was doing this morning. My heart ached. But right there in front of me was my boy. In all of his princess glory. I showed him the pics and he ran off to play with his baby sister. And I whispered these three words to myself. Which is the Pearl for this holiday weekend.  


                                                                                                    Let them be.

Just let them be.

To those of you celebrating this week, Happy Easter and Blessed Passover. To those of you not celebrating a holiday, have a wonderful weekend. There will be no Pearl on Sunday because a giant bunny is coming to my house, then church, then family. 

See you on Monday!



*Sunday's Pearl is something kind of like wisdom wrapped up in an  idea or random bit of something or another. It might be something awesome, something awful or a lesson that I learned during the week. Every Sunday I put that lesson here. Let my wisdom words inspire or frighten you. xoxox, Mama Pants *

Let me tell you a fun little story. Your Pearl  this week is the moral of the story. Let's begin...


When I was a kid my mom did some babysitting to pull in cash for the family. Michelle came a few days a week with her little brother, Steven. Michelle understood the artist in me. She was a dancer too. She felt my burning intensity to perform and she joined me for meticulously rehearsed dance recitals  to an audience of one (Steven) in my tiny bedroom. Blankets on the windows to block the shining sun and an extremely hot metal desk lamp (Fire hazard ) shining its spotlight on my insanely fluid and profound interpretations of Pat Benatar's We Belong. 

Michelle and I would perform our asses off for Steven. And there were times when little Steven was so moved by the beauty he was bearing witness to that he shed silent tears. That is how Michelle and I gauged our performance. If Steven was moved to tears we could be certain that we had reached(!) the pinnacle(!) of our abilities as dancers. Michelle and I coveted those tears. 

So I was nursing Plum to sleep last night and smiling at this particular memory for it's sheer absurdity. Yeah, that was me. Forever chained to the fantastical. Such drama! I thought about how my kids will experience these intense, if silly, emotions and I will giggle about it with their dad. 

But then something reached out of the night and slapped my across the forehead. A 28 year-old light bulb was switched to on. HOLY SHIT! WE HAD KIDNAPPED STEVEN!  

He wasn't crying because our artistry had changed his life. He was crying because all of the other kids were outside playing and we had him trapped in my room. No escape. Forced to watch his sister and her friend dance. He wouldn't make a run for it because he was shy. And little. Would we have turned on him had he tried to leave? Would we have used our muscle to over power him? Come to think of it, we positioned our stage in front of the door. He would have had to red rover us to get out. Oh man. 

At 37 years old I finally see it clearly. I was an asshole. It blows me away that IT TOOK ME THIS LONG to realize that this poor child was MISERABLE and it was MY FAULT. I can't stop shaking my head at myself. Shaking my damn head. 

So your Pearl this beautiful yet frigid winter-y spring Sunday morning is this.....

Somewhere along the way I stopped creating an impromptu piece of poetry in motion every time I hear We Belong. 
I rectified that this morning and it was beautiful. Oh I mean, kidnapping is bad. Don't do it. 

Most almost four year-olds have the capability to dress themselves for church.

Do your best to let them express themselves. 

Because they will.

They will definitely express themsleves.  

You know when your kid looks at you with those oh-shit-eyes reserved only for the pukes and trots? You've seen The Look before. You know it. It's the one that makes you reach for the nearest receptacle or towel with a preternatural speed. It's the one that makes you cup your hands in front of them when you know full well you have no time, because you'd rather catch it than scrub it out of the carpet. The Look makes you draw your infant closer into you right before you feel the warm and horrifying feeling of barf running down your back. 

Three years and nine months. That's our magic number. Because last night our big kid gave the oh-shit-eyes and then learned how to point and shoot. And for that I would like to give a What! What! to the Universe. Because those Buzz Lightyear jammies over there? They are his favorite. He's been wearing them for three days now and they never got a drop on them. And that is a frignany miracle. No kid should have to go through being sick without their favorite jammies.

So hang in there parents of infants and toddlers! There will come a day when the kid will be able to assume the position and aim. And when that happens you will be very surprised by how happy you are about it. Giddy, even. In fact, you might marvel with your parenting partner about it for an hour. Saying things like, "Wow, dude! We got through this with just one sheet change and one load of laundry! Isn't that just amazing?" and you will high-five each other like you are the bosses of life.  

Then your kid will wipe his pukey and snotty face all over your clean t-shirt and remind you that you are most definitely not the boss in a puking situation. Not even a little bit.  Because  everytime he gives you The Look, you still have the urge to cup your hands.

In my twenties I used wake up feeling like this, you know, like I'd been hit by herd of galloping steeds. After knocking me down, those steeds had obviously caught hold of my fishnet thigh-highs still on from the night before and dragged me another several miles before taking turns stomping on my face. When I woke up feeling this way, the chances were high that I had been dancing on some tables the night before. The chances were astronomically high that I talked you out of your hat, too. Sorry about that. I was kind of a douchecanoe when I did that. I just wanted to see if you'd actually give me your hat, man. And so many of you did. Anyway...

I feel like this this morning. And it's because I pulled another all-nighter. Only this time there was no dancing. No hat stealing and no tirades warning of the downfall of the music industry at the hands of Dave Matthews Band. Nope.  

Last night was a mom all-nighter. And while I did have to get too close to someone's face, it wasn't because I was moving in for a you're the best friend I have ever had kiss. I did sleep in some awkward positions but it wasn't because I was wedged between four other people on a couch.

I was checking fevers and holding this baby girl upright so she didn't choke on snot. We were up every twenty minutes or so when the coughing got so hard it made her cry. And I cried some tears too. Sometime around 3 a.m. there were tears for her and maybe a few for me. We were tired, dudes. I get weepy when I'm tired.

I also get weepy when I've had too many Lemon Drop shots. But not last night. Last night I was just a mom laying next to her baby all night asking her to feel better.

What a difference ten years makes, no?