Parenting with Zero Forks

Recently I overheard a mom describe how mortified she was when her toddler wouldn’t pose for a class picture.

“I had to stand in with her just to get her to stop screaming.”

How exhausting, I thought to myself. Parenting is already more tiring than trying to stay awake during an episode of Caillou after taking Nyquil for the cold your kid shared by affectionately licking your eyeball; why waste time worrying what other people think?

I remember it well-- the exact moment I decided it was probably easier for all parties involved if I focused on what really mattered and less on giving a fork. I was in labor and just like in the movies I truly believed that the nurse was grabbing a sheet to cover me up; however she was actually grabbing my leg to allow for greater baby accessibility and much less mommy modesty. And so it began.

Of course it is always wonderful when your children surprise you and act like well-mannered, well-rehearsed royalty when we are out in public. This was the case yesterday when we scored a 2 for 1 trip to the dentist. I brought my mom along for reinforcements in case they flipped the switch into wild animal-mode where one bolts for the parking lot just as the other one is raiding the treasure chest. My kids were so good, other hygienists lined up in the hallway to marvel at my well-dressed, ridiculously compliant little angels. My girls loved it so much, we are skipping Disneyland another year and just booking our next 6-month appointment.

Do I often fall victim to the Facebook parenting anomaly where we only post pictures of our children holding hands and smiling in hopes that someone else finds it heartwarming? Absolutely, because no one wants to see a picture of me crying in the parking lot of Target, which I’ve done twice...this month...so far. I didn’t cry the time I got mom-shamed by a fellow mom because I let my toddlers ride trikes freely down the toy aisle—no that woman clearly has her own demons to work through. But I did cry the time I had to abandon our full cart of necessities because my youngest had taken it upon herself to try potty training in the public restroom and wound up ankle deep standing inside a dirty toilet. I felt zero embarrassment as I carried out one naked toddler and one screaming toddler; only frustration that Target doesn’t have a drive-thru window. See I prefer to spend my energy tackling struggles directly affecting my kiddos and anything I have left over I put towards dressing my girls in matching outfits.

If I had a dollar for every time my kids did something "embarrassing" out in public we could open our own restaurant where our motto would be, “Eat here where your children can tantrum, throw food, cause a scene--we’ve seen it all and we don’t give a fork”.

Halloween Treats

It’s November 1st and the big question remains, How do you explain to your 2-year-old that Halloween happens only once a year? It’s 6:30am and she has changed herself out of her ladybug costume that she slept in, back into her monkey costume, so the answer is: you do not. It will likely be Halloween in our house until Santa arrives.

Halloween is quickly becoming my favorite holiday as a mom, for the following spooktacular reasons:  

I secretly love to judge people who do couples costumes. You can always tell the husbands whose wives have their little pumpkins in the palm of their hand because they begrudgingly become the Aladdin to their Jasmine or the Adam to their Eve. But my absolute favorite are the Dads who dress up for their kids. It takes a dedicated father to rock their shirtless Dad-bod as Maui from Moana, all so their daughter can feel like a princess. I see you Dad people.

Most days we play a game called, Why is my child acting like a wild animal? On Halloween, the day before or even the week after- we no longer have to guess. It’s because of Halloween: the sugar, the costumes and the overuse of pumpkin spiced everything. For the month of October and slightly beyond we are all a little batty.

My girls love to dress up. It is something of an Olympic event in my household; which means we have no fewer than 10 costumes to choose from once the day is upon us. So just like being photographed on the red carpet, they will never be caught in the same outfit twice.

In preparation for our “Trunk” or Treat event with our MOPs group the girls and I made whole wheat blueberry mini muffins with Greek yogurt, home-harvested honey, and flaxseed. My husband entered the kitchen as I was wrapping them in individual baggies and said, “I see you are going to be that Mom for Halloween, huh?” While I only attempted to make my own baby food once before realizing all I’d have to show for my efforts would be a slightly greener looking poop. I do love to be that mom whenever I can squeeze it in.

TREAT for the moms!

I was absolutely that girl in college who used Halloween as an excuse to rock Daisy Dukes or an apron and fishnets while calling myself a “Desperate Housewife” (oh the irony) and I was fully convinced that being seen and partying into the night was exactly what this smashing pumpkins holiday was all about. In motherhood we learn that Halloween is actually about imagination, teaching your kids the value of manners/gratitude and most importantly ensuring that your children know the most valuable lesson of all: I gave you life, so you give me all your Reese’s.

The Unamusing Act of Adulting

Almost everything about becoming an adult stinks. Not only do you no longer get checks in the mail from various relatives on your birthday, but somehow you now need to be the responsible one that ensures everyone wears jackets and no one eats the Fruit Loops they find on the playground. There is a pumpkin patch by our house that allows kids to hold baby chicks, ducks, bunnies and kittens basically the full cornucopia of cuteness. Please see exhibit A below and try not to smile (I dare you).

While my youngest was attempting to ride the pregnant pigmy goats, I overheard a fellow mother telling her kids, “We can’t get a bunny because they are not for sale.”

Her 8-year-old, without missing a beat, pointed out a large sign that said, “All animals are for sale” (boy that’s going to be hard to get out of stuff when my kids can read).

“Well, we don’t have enough room for a bunny.”

“But we have enough room for a dog?”

Checkmate. I could see this moms' convictions slowly breaking down—especially since she had lead with such a weak opening argument. I’m going to go ahead and spoil the ending of this story and tell you that they left with not one, but two bunnies.

I have a vivid memory of myself as a young child begging my Dad for a candy bar at the grocery store. My parents go-to was always, “We can’t afford it.” Not because we couldn’t afford it, but sometimes as a parent you need to come up with creative new ways for "no". I thought to myself that when I became a grown-up, I’d always fill my cart with candy bars and baby bunnies. Fast forward to my so-called grown-up life where I have to be the one to explain to the family why we cannot get a 3rd dog. I told them it's because it would make Macie and Lola sad, but that's just code for I simply cannot handle any more poop in my life. I just can’t.

Of course I want to sit on my back porch eating king-sized Reese Peanut Butter Cups watching my children snuggle with their 50 Dwarf bunnies. I want to be the mom that surprises her kids with a trip to Disneyland and turns our backyard into a giant petting zoo. But all of those animals will die one day or need rabies shots and I would be the one explaining to two inconsolable little girls why all dogs go to heaven, while my husband digs a shallow grave in hopes we aren’t accidentally unburying another deceased pet. I go back to my original point—it stinks to be a grown-up and justifies why we didn’t leave the pumpkin patch with any baby animals. Somehow becoming an adult and a mom has turned me into the voice of realism and reason, however when it all gets a little too real, I still allow my inner child to victoriously eat raw cookie dough.