Over-parenting, Undermining, Oh My!

Every day I'm worried I'm running out of things to write about and then I think about whatever happened the last 17 hours and I can come up with something. Here goes!

My mom helps me with Luna twice a week. As per previous posts, I don't have the very best relationship with my mom but we manage to get by. My mom and I agree on almost nothing when it comes to parenting and she is very much "Grandma." She dresses her granddaughter, buys her toys and all the things she would never need, and gives her candy and chocolate and junk food no matter what.

One thing she does, and it drives me completely insane, is she parents over me. Let me explain. My daughter interrupts and talks over us constantly. She's 5, and no matter how we spin it, everything is too important to wait. I always ask my daughter to follow directions. Over and over again I ask. "Finish your two tasks, we can talk about that later, one thing at a time." I will literally walk in the door in full parent mode and give my daughter instructions and my mom will give them over me. It sounds like this: Me: "Luna, please clean up the table, calm down and go brush your tee---My mom: "Luna clean this mess up and go brush your teeth!" It's maddening.

There have been rough periods where my husband does the same thing. It makes me shut down. I'm sure I have been guilty of this stuff too, no doubt, but it can feel defeating. When I was a nanny, you can bet I made sure I was the authority figure and I mirror that with parenting as much as possible. But, when I get steamrolled, I get cranky.

It's important for my daughter to know I'm in the mom. The head lady of the house. And when my mom undermines me, it makes me feel 6 again. So I try to overcome!

I also try not to parent other people's children, especially in the presence of the other parent. I try and make everything a dual agreement. Candy? Okay if he can't have it, you can't. Disagreement? How do we go with this? Because parenting is a team effort, even if you do it completely differently.

My husband and I have had some serious differences of opinions and I really had to learn to stand my ground on certain things that I wanted nothing to do with in terms of parenting methodology. With that said, I also don't judge how others parent...okay I try not to judge how others parent as much as possible. I admit I lose my mind when I see children under 7 with caffeinated sodas...I do. If you aren't parenting your child when that child is harming or hurting mine though, an entirely different beast can be awakened. This hasn't really happened to me. Most of the time, I've found myself around like-minded parents and if they see their little one hit mine, we get all of us into a huddle.

One of my closest mom friends, her son has always lashed out physically at my daughter. Never to the point of any real harm but in every case, my daughter has said something or done something to provoke him. That's when the two of us moms laugh and say, "Don't provoke if you don't want him to lash out in his way to communicate and don't expect her to be nice if you always hit her when she is sassy." It's a team effort when both of them are being ridiculous. 

I've only ever had one instance with a "mean kid," where she was playing at our place and I was a room away and I overheard her saying all the reasons why she was better than my daughter. Then my daughter emerged to ask for lunch for them. I asked the guest what she wanted and she proceeded to pick through our pantry and fridge. I said, "Luna wants a turkey sandwich, would you like one too?" This young one then told me she was a picky eater. Turkey sandwiches were disgusting and she wasn't even hungry. She'd eat a slice of cheese.

As my daughter happily inhaled her sandwich and her guest picked at a slice of cheese I said to her, "Every house is different and in this one, we don't talk about how we are better than others, we talk about how we may be a different or enjoy different things. Like Luna loves to color and I like to paint, not necessarily that I'm better than Luna at painting. And when we are offered something to eat that we're not interested in, we say 'no, thank you,' or 'May I have something else?' We don't say something is disgusting just because it's not our favorite. We really use happy and kinder words with each other." The play date got awkward and then better. I regret nothing.

Dana Carvey has an epic stand up routine where he talks about parents now and how we've softened. He alluded to his childhood being filled with his parents yelling "Shut up," or "I'll give you something to cry about!," and now we find parents in the park saying, "Now Gregor, what did we agree to?" The whole bit is funny because it's painfully true. A part of me wanted to scream at this little girl to shut up and not speak to my daughter like that or she doesn't need to play over here anymore. But I had to channel the millennial mom that was calm and rational and very much not my first instinct.

But I truly don't want to undermine anyone's parenting. It's delicate. As someone coming off of 2 really rough years, I can tell you that if someone were to comment to me on my parenting or lack thereof, depending on the situation, I might have lost it, so I try to just be as objective as possible unless it becomes a safety concern for my child. Some situations are harder than others.

With my mom, I can't tell her not to parent over me. It's completely irritating and unnecessary but she would just get offended and pissy. So I just reroute the discussion or distract the kiddo and let her interject her piece. I don't like that undermining feeling because, as a woman, we get the shit end of the stick anyways, but motherhood gives us some ferocity and no nonsense force that we may have never had before.

I saw many moms as I was growing up that I would never mess with. I grew up opposite as my mom was the pushover, and my dad was not to be messed with, but to me, most other moms were scarier than my dad any day! Mom's don't mess around, and that was my general imagery for my stance in motherhood, thus I try to embody it. 

Parenting is delicate, regardless, because there are so many different ways to do everything, but I think my general point to this post is, being undermined as a parent really sucks, so let's not do that to each other. Instead of parenting over one another, I'd ask that any of my mom friends just say, "Hey Luna's being a little crazy" or, "you might want to check in with Luna about how she's acting with..." Because I'd rather be "called out" on not seeing less than amazing behavior, than let Luna treat a friend poorly. Maybe that's just me but I really want to see less "shaming" kinds of things and way more learning experiences. 

So if you see me acting a fool as a mom, or see my kid being out of line, I ask that rather than undermine, you find the time to bring me into the know and help me sort it all out as a fellow parent. It really does take a village so please don't leave me to be the village idiot!

Play Dates: A Mom's Best Friend

My daughter and a neighborhood friend are currently in a fort play-dating it up and this is amazing because I'm able to write, or watch a movie, fold laundry and breathe. Play dates, in my humble opinion, can be a mother's best friend.

Play dates with kids under one, are more for the mothers to just interact and we kind of just watch the little ones roll around and steal each other's toys. Once kids hit about 3, you relish the time when another little friend helps them expel some energy and entertains them. Now at almost-6, you just need a body in the house and less of the planned activities. They entertain each other effortlessly now.

You may have to referee a few fights or disagreements but other than that, it's a dream. Now, don't get me wrong, I interact with my little one all the time. We do crafts and go see movies and do all the things, but lately I've been so tired by the time I hit Sunday, I like to instill some chill time. For me, TV and movies have always been my comfortable zone out and relax mechanisms. Now, I've watched all the Disney movies about a thousand times, so I usually retreat to my bedroom and binge on Friends, the Office or Parks and Rec, and generally it's something that Luna can watch without picking up on any inappropriate jokes.

I'm always a room away and I make sure she has all snack needs met, but I like for her to have some independence. Plus, it lets her watch what she wants, like My Little Pony or Daniel Tiger. She tells me all of the details of the shows anyway, so it's like I'm watching them and she gets her own "me time."

When we have play dates, I make these technology free times. You have someone to interact with, you don't need a tablet or TV. Occasionally they indulge in a movie but mostly it's all about play. I like to set up painting time or chalk adventures or games but I definitely encourage them to use their imaginations and come up with things on their own.

As an only child I was fiercely independent and I've tried to raise Luna the same way. She can get along in the company of grown ups as well as she can with kids of all ages. And I'm super proud of her for being that way, because when she needs to take a few minutes away from being social, she can come sit by me and just be her wonderful self for a moment.

I have had circumstances where I've watched her have a rough time with kids who weren't so very nice to her and it's hard to not get overly "Mama Bear" on them. I kind of walk on egg shells when it comes to disciplining other kids when the other parent isn't present. Most of the time the play dates for the kids do include mom play dates for me, but there are times when they bounce between houses in the neighborhood and I'm the one overseeing the interaction. 

I've heard the little ones not really meshing well and sometimes I think it's harder for me than it is for my daughter. She seems so resilient at times and I'm the one getting annoyed that someone isn't being nice to my little one. And I know kids have phases and disagreements and such but I hate when I see one being just generally mean. 

I have stepped in and limited Luna's contact with the offenders from time to time, especially when I see them leaving her in a haze of negativity. But, mostly I let her navigate her friendships and play dates on her own. Because these are the times for her to figure things out more and more on her own, and with less and less of my help. This is the sad truth of growing up.

Most often, play dates make everything better. They give Luna the interaction and energy burn she needs, and gives me time to be productive or catch up with other moms and socialize myself. I tend to be a recluse at times and just want to be lazy and hole up at home. Play dates make me get us out there more! It's a win win!

I'm interested to see how these things evolve. I'm interested to see how things go when sleepovers, drop off parties and events happen. I'm always so attached to being around her and unless she's with my husband or a babysitter, I am the one that is there the most. Letting her be more independent is a test on me as well. We'll see if I make the grade in about another 20 years when she finds her first therapist. For now, play on little one. I have a laundry list of, well laundry and such to do!

"I Just Cleaned That!" A Mother's Memoir

Does anyone else feel like this is almost just their constant state? Work, kid care, clean up, tidy up, sleep, repeat? I feel like I'm always cleaning, always need to clean or I totally just cleaned that so how is it filthy already?

In this day and age with technology and limitless resources for things, I still feel like there aren't enough hours in the day. I don't care how "organized" I try to be or how many lists, videos or ideas I pin on my Pinterest, it doesn't make them happen. And also, I spend way longer pinning things to my boards than I have ever spent completing a real Pinterest task. I would assume I'm the only one who does this but they have too many Pinterest fails for me to feel like the sole person who is guilty of this.

This past year, which was mentally just completely defeating for me, I realized how much the tasks of cleaning and grocery shopping were just engulfing all of my weekend to the point where I was just so depressed and tired. Friday nights my daughter had demanded a movie night where she watched a RedBox on our large living room TV and I would clean the house after doing the grocery shopping. It became like a race almost, and this huge challenge. By the end I just lost steam and wanted to curl up in bed. We'd be up until 10 most nights by the time I finished so as to get it all done fast to better enjoy the weekend. 

I tried to plan and budget, budget and plan. It was so much to deal with. And then recently I discovered Wal-Mart Grocery Pick-Up. I know, I know. Wal-Mart is evil and blah blah. Here's the thing, we used to shop exclusively at Winn Dixie but their general product quality dropped. Then we switched to Publix, my favorite supermarket but, I don't care who you are, it's expensive. I tried BOGO shopping at Publix but then I ended up so obsessed with the deals I got carried away and didn't actually meal plan. We had enough Ketchup for a year though! Total score!

Finally I looked at how much we were really spending on the items we went through like no tomorrow in this house: bread, cheese, snack type foods, milk, chicken and ground beef or turkey. These were all just so much cheaper at Wal-Mart unfortunately. And grocery pick up was effortless, you pay online and they load up your trunk. Now, I still go to Publix for all of our lunch meat, our produce and many of their signature items (hello all bakery items), but the Wal-Mart app and pick up are my go to. I especially love that it shows me how much I'm spending so if I'm getting carried away I can be like "Okay that can actually wait a while, I don't need it THIS week."

My husband or I are able to pick up at Wal-Mart whenever and I go to Publix every Friday on my lunch break and am able to keep all the cold stuff in my fridge at work for a few hours. Then I'm not already exhausted and agitated when I get home. This was a game changer honestly. 

I don't care who you are, navigating a store with children is maddening. You forget something on the list. You tell yourself to remember something and forget that too, and then the child talks you into $20 worth of crap you don't even need just to keep them quiet. Or they have to stop and pee and you forget what aisle you're on. Going by myself is like a vacation, yes, I'm that cliche.

And cleaning? If I could afford a house cleaner, I would have one, but currently I can only afford myself and sometimes the help of my husband. This past year I bought myself one of those Robot Vacs as a Christmas present to myself when it was $50 cheaper than I'd been stalking all year. I saw a friend with one and she has 2 dogs and her house was so clean. I was like whoa, did you JUST clean? She showed me this thing and I was sold.

We run that thing daily and not only is the floor less gritty, it cuts my floor cleaning time in HALF each week and picks up all remnants of child and creature. I've also had more help from daughter and husband in terms of tidying up, which makes all the difference because I am always tired, which I may have mentioned in previous posts.

And I hate when you have people over and of course, you've scoured your home in preparation and they're like "I don't know how you do it all!" I know that's meant to be a compliment but I always want to say, "Yeah this is all only because I let you into my house, normally we live like gorillas and there is crap everywhere."

My house is wonderful clutter. School papers, receipts for who knows what, SHARPIES from my husband, the chef's, kitchen, food wrappers from daughter and husband and dog things. Depending on how late and how tired the husband is, clothing often ends up strewn on one or both couches. There are small blankets and random stuffed animals everywhere. My dining room table always doubles as a craft space, paint place, and area to sprawl ALL THE THINGS. We don't even actually eat there very often. Maybe twice a week on a good week.

Keeping up with everything can feel so...unending and laundry truly is the "Neverending Story" of adulthood, but cleaning, working and chores are just a part of life. I often remind my daughter that we are the ones who keep this place clean so don't trash it. Don't just toss something on the floor that could easily go in the trash.  

I think we let these parts of life bog us down. The "have to's" end up burying us alive and it all feels so heavy. I'm not an organized guru, I just caved and found something that worked for what we all wanted and needed. Sometimes schedules get crazy and money gets tight and it adds more stress, but again, par for the course. Everyone has their little luxuries and "treat yo self" moments. Mine are the RoboVac and a cup of $4 coffee each week. Other people have house cleaners or Shipt. I have Wal-Mart pick-up and lunch time Publix runs. 

Every week I still need to clean. Every week we still need food, but navigating the "I just bought that," "I just cleaned that," moments successfully and not stressfully make all the difference. Feel free to email me what works for you!

Kids Are Honest, Brutally, Rudely Honest

On our drive to church last week my daughter just blurts out, "Grandma's getting old mom. You're getting pretty old too." Thank you dear, daughter, thank you for that honest and astute observation.

Last week when my daughter was doing her horseback riding lessons, on a pregnant horse no less, she was talking about the horse having a big belly and her daddy having a big belly but daddy can't have a baby so his belly shouldn't be that big. Kids say the darnedest things!

When I was a nanny and in that awesome phase where you just turn 21 and begin drinking all the sugary, fattening things and dine out every meal and calories are just a concept, I became thicker, and much faster than in my pre-drinking age days. One afternoon one of the two year old girls I watched pushed on my stomach and said, "Is that your belly Ali? Is it FAT?" Her mother was a former model and her father was a neurosurgeon. I laughed and said, "Yes, but I'm working on it." Her father heard the exchange and said to her, "That is rude! You apologize to Ali!" I reassured him it was fine. She was two, after all.

The worst part is, she was completely right. Kids are usually right when it comes to these inconvenient observations. My daughter is a chatterbox from the moment she wakes up until she falls asleep but when she sneaks in that random honesty, it is brutal, hilarious and most often, heartwarming.

I have tried to raise her to not use silly, inane and mispronounced words and to have a very strong vocabulary. Although I will admit I love when she calls Nutella, "Nella." Her vocabulary bites me in the ass on a regular basis. My daughter is the one in the supermarket telling me how big her poop was. "It was enormous mom, HUGE!" She'll talk to me about how we should only pick our noses at home or in the car, not when we're at the store. She'll tell me how stinky daddy's farts are and that her vagina was really itchy today, all in public. I'm at least proud she is using descriptive, complete sentences.

I try not to act as though she can't say things out loud or be heard but say, "That's more talk for just you and I, maybe not the whole bread aisle at Publix." With her commentary comes wonderful conversations about random things, although sometimes can get a little dark.

She's about to be 6 so that death fixation phase is real and she told me recently I would definitely die before her, which was sad because she would miss me a lot. So with the dark truth came the heartwarming part. 

My favorite to date though, was her talking about who would die first, Brodie, her 8 year old pug, or her Grandpa. That one is really a coin toss because both could easily make it another 10+ years but it's all completely health dependent, which is a sad, harsh truth.

I try to deter her from using "unkind" words. We don't say "fat" about other people but maybe "I made a big fat bubble with my bubble wand," or "I had a big, fat sandwich today." I don't let her say "Oh my god," but instead, "Oh my gosh," or 'What the heck or hell," we quote Liz Lemon with "What the what?!?" And we don't say "Stupid;" that one isn't allowed at all.

I have these ridiculous mom moments where I laugh and get a little bit momma bear when it comes to altercations at school. Luna had been in Kindergarten about a month and got in trouble because she "Called a friend a name." I asked her to tell me what happened and she explained that one little boy called her a "Poopy face," and she said "Well, you're an idiot." As much as I had to be the mother who detests name calling, I mean, she was right. Calling someone a poopy face is indeed idiotic and can we give no points for a great retort and wonderful vocabulary?

This is why my mothering can be so...questionable but also kind of awesome. But this is also where their honesty is just amazing. Sometimes I wish we never learned to have those filters and blocks of "appropriateness" and we just were brutally honest because what I love is it's rare to see kids this age actually speak these words maliciously. They just observe and report. So it's kind of endearing. It's when we use the words in mean ways that we get into trouble. 

A few years ago I had said something as a joke with Luna in earshot when she was like 4, because a little boy had pushed her and I was talking to her about using her words to express herself, not using her hands and I said under my breath, "You can hurt a person way worse with your words anyway; lasting damage." My husband looked at me horrified, and barked, "Don't say that!"

There was truth to it though. Kids get hurt by the name calling and being told they aren't friends with so and so anymore. But they bounce back from cuts and bruises. That brutal honesty bounces off most little friends and from kids to other adults too. If only we could keep varying degrees of that honesty and amplify our kindness to a good medium.

In an exchange with one of my friends recently they were complaining about gaining weight. In no way was I going to be like "Yeah you're so much fatter," but I didn't want to discount what they were saying to me with like "Oh you look fine who cares, it's the holidays," so I responded with honesty and kindness. I said, "Look you've mentioned this before and I have your back no matter what and support you going to the gym and getting into a routine. I can even go with you, but I do think you still look awesome, even if you want to improve upon yourself." It seemed to have a calming effect with their worries but also give them a positive affirmation. This is something I feel like kids do so much more naturally.

When Luna says, "Daddy makes grilled cheese way better and you make pasta so crunchy," she often then says, "But I like your quesadilla better and daddy doesn't make good eggs." 
I've worked harder on finding this medium within myself but kids just seem to have a knack! Having a filter does come in handy, though, especially with my own parents, and my boss, which is something children don't even have a little bit. It's all about balance.


I intend to keep this momentum in balance and mindfulness this year, especially. Although, for now, I intend to enjoy the young, brutal honesty because when she's 16 and telling me I'm a horrible mom, I can revisit these moments and miss her stating I'm getting old. Those are more palatable truths and we all need those!

Tired Is Just Part of Who I Am Now...#Mombie

Motherhood is exhausting, no way around it but there are many awesome memes about tired just being part of who we are in parenthood. There is no such thing as enough rest for a parent and we soldier on, regardless.

A couple years ago after our family's car accident I was headed to my first day back at work, bruised and battered, trying to pick up the pieces and someone said, "You look tired." I snapped back, "Yeah well being up twice a night giving my child with 2 casts on her legs her pain medicine and changing diapers again because she can't use the toilet is kind of exhausting so I'm always tired now." I believe an apology was issued for the remark but I didn't feel bad; I was tired after all.

I am always tired and I think that is just a part of my life now. Before becoming a mother, "tired" was always associated with nights out, hangovers and fun with friends or maybe a concert or double shift. Now it's because of sick kids, different sleeping patterns, snoring husbands or on the worst nights, sick pets. And mothers are always the caretakers. 

I have been legitimately ill twice in the past 6 years and when Luna was about 8 months old and I got the flu, my best friend had to bring me reserves and when my husband was home, the most rest I got was in between the fact that he would physically just hand me my daughter to pop on the boob. This past year I was taken down for 3 full days and missed 2 days of work due to some kind of plague. My husband had to take my daughter to school, my mom had to pick her up and feed and bathe her. I physically put her in bed but would barely snuggle her because I felt like death and didn't want her to get whatever I had.

When I re-emerged slightly for the better 72 hours later, it looked like I lived in a frat house covered in stickers and traces of toddler. My husband's clothes were strewn on couches. There were McDonald's boxes and wrappers on my piano and tables, there were cups left out and the dishwasher and sink were full. The laundry hadn't been touched, just piled onto. "How long was I in there?," I thought. 

In general, I run on coffee and work-outs. I no longer work out to look cute or fit into things. I have no one left to impress as an old mom and I never intend to "fit in." I work out for survival. It's a tool to cut down on my anxiety and depression, but mostly it keeps me sleeping well and energized for a bulk of the day. But generally speaking, I am just tired.

My dad always says, "You sound tired" or maybe "run down." I usually make fun of him by telling him he sounds "old." My energy is always expended maintaining our daily routines and while I like volunteering for church and being with friends and socially living among the general population, I also love any down time I can snag because it's so few and far between. I'm learning to say "no" from time to time. 

I literally ask for a nap for Christmas, my birthday, and mother's day and book these things up to a year in advance. I say sleep is my favorite hobby and my husband always retorts, "It's not really a hobby." Well, it is for me. 

I'm okay with looking and being tired because I'm lucky enough to be living life and watching my daughter grow. I was so bad at the, "You should sleep when the baby is sleeping" stuff because I just wanted to eat or pee in peace. Or clean without her attached to me. Now I am right behind her for bed time because getting up before her is oh so important for many reasons. Coffee tastes so much better...in silence.

I think in infancy we know what we are signing on for but my daughter is about to be 6 and she still visits us at least once a night. My cousin has a one year old and text me one day a few months ago asking "Luna sleeps through the night now, right?" I think I literally text back, "Hahahahahahaha." My daughter feels the need to tell me when she's up to pee, if she heard anything ever in her life at night, and if she had a bad dream, and according to her, she "always," has bad dreams.

I've never met a well rested parent. And this makes me so happy because misery and exhaustion love company! And Will Smith and DJ Jazzy Jeff were on point because "Parents just don't understand." I will never understand where or how they get their energy but they should really learn to share.

Regardless, I'm okay with being a #Mombie. I do as much as I can and am also learning when to say..."when." Sometimes I need that extra half an hour of sleep. Sometimes I need to do nothing on Sunday morning but re-watch Parks and Rec and drink endless coffee. Sometimes I need to be exhausted and power through but go to bed early. Tired is my state of being much like Mom will forever be my title. "Rest" assured that I would stay tired forever to never miss the adventure of motherhood though, I will tell you that. And for those of you greedy sleepers out there...you drink that in for me please. No, seriously, take a nap for me. 

Pooping Cats, Plastic Horses and Baby Alive Types of Toys

As I'm just about to start writing this my daughter asks "Whatcha doing mom?" I said, "Typing and writing." Her response? "Again? Seriously?" So yes I'm back at it. Again, thanks for sticking with me.

So yesterday a friend of mine posted this Instagram story about a toy her step-daughter got that was feeding a baby doll something and then it poops. I laughed as she seemed horrified. Why did I laugh? Last year one of my daughter's best friends had this cat toy that you walked around and it pooped out plastic cat turds and farted and meowed and these girls thought this was the best thing ever.

Of course my daughter asked for her own and aptly named it "Pooping cat." On her video of her Christmas 2017 recap one of her prized possessions was in fact, "a pooping cat." She still plays with it to this day.

I remember wanting weird toys when I was young and vying for the "must haves" every year. And now I'm living in that world and sometimes it is surreal. I still don't understand the point of a Shopkin, what they are, what they do or why they are fun but I don't judge because I came from the Polly Pocket, Little's Pet Shop and Pogs era. Yeah, POGS!

I hope I'm not the only mom who just doesn't completely understand why some toys are cool versus the lame ones, but even if I am, somethings are meant just for the fun of little imaginations and that's fine with me.

So this past year for Christmas, Christmas 2018 that is, we got a Disney Catalog in the mail. Of course throughout the pages are toys that range in price from $10 to $200. They were kind enough to provide some 20 stickers for children to mark their wants and needs for Christmas. I thought I was being so sly letting Luna only pick 4 items...and the first thing she picked was a "My size" plastic horse from Tangled with the price of $99.99. 

The cheap mother inside me screamed, "Hell no you're not getting a $100 piece of plastic!" But then the nice mom who wants her child to have some of the things she wants, no matter how silly they may seem, started to consider it. 

This thing became quite the discussion point for awhile and she was all about getting her Maximus horse. She told Santa about that one right out of the gate. So, since she had never asked for anything that expensive before, I thought...we can probably make this work. 

They didn't have it at the store and even in November online they weren't giving a very good delivery estimate for this horse. So when my mom and I caught a pre-Thanksgiving sale at the Disney store I asked about old Maximus. A Disney associate said, "Oh yeah my daughter saw it at Target, it's cheaper there. She wants one too. We'll probably have it black Friday but you'll want to get here before 10AM to make sure you can get it."

Ugggh, black Friday. Once I tried to get a TV on Black Friday for my husband, I just ended up driving right past Best Buy like "Nope," when I saw that line. I would pay full price to not have to deal with the hysteria.

I found out that the discount would be worth it though so I started psyching myself up for what would be my first Black Friday endeavor...ever. So Black Friday morning I wake up super early, get a workout in and then head to the Mall. After hitting JCPenney first I found my way to the Disney Store and was first in line! I was going to get that horse! And for cheaper!

I get in there...nowhere. Nowhere to be found. I ask 3 employees and somehow they never had the "My Size Maximus Horse" in the store. Then I heard an employee say, "You should try Target." I almost lost it.

A friend of mine who was familiar with my quest found that a Target about 25 minutes away had it in stock for just $70 and I could order it online and pick it up, no stress. Moms to the rescue! Other moms are such wonderful friends! They make the world a better place.

So, $70 in plastic isn't as impressive but it definitely would not be easy to wrap. Amazon large Santa bag to the rescue. The things we do for love. 

Some of you may read this and think "I can't believe you bought that," but she was so excited. Maximus, whom she has decided is a girl, not a boy, despite our review of the film where they call him a "him" and "boy" repeatedly, now stays right by her bed and comes out to watch TV with her often. She brushes and fixes his hair and feeds him apples and makes him neigh repeatedly.

And while Pooping cats are hilariously gross and ridiculous, while pooping baby toys are strange and seemingly unnecessary and $70 is a lot to spend on a fake toddler-sized horse, some of these things are just a part of kids being kids and I feel blessed I can give her the silly things, even just for now, because that Christmas happiness, is definitely priceless, as is their reactions to pooping cats and babies. Back to your weekends readers! Until tomorrow...

Motherhood Can Feel Lonely...And It Really Shouldn't

Last year I had a casual conversation with a fellow mom at church who had just had her second baby. We were talking about normal things in terms of infancy and how she had forgotten some things between her first who was then 4, and her second one. Wherever we ended up in the conversation I said to her, "And it can feel so lonely," and without hesitation her retort was, "Yes, I know! It CAN feel lonely!"

I felt a connection with her since then but later upon reflection my heart sank. There are literally millions upon millions of women who are mothers on this planet. There are even some fathers who end up being motherly! We shouldn't feel lonely, and the fact that we have those moments, breaks my heart. 

We're in a sensitive society right now I feel. I respect all opinions, but when playground talk turns into politics, personal beliefs, whether religious or otherwise, and parenting methods, things can get ugly, and fast.

One of my longest and physically closest mom friends and I began our friendship based on the fact that I didn't judge her as a parent and she returned the favor. I witnessed some pretty harsh mom on mom stuff at a birthday party last year that has forever been branded into me and what I want to say is this: You never know where someone else is in their life, their journey or their state of mind and judgmental words and commentary can hurt. I wish we could all just be patient and be kind. It's not your responsibility to parent the world.

Now, granted, if another child physically harms mine, the mama bear can come out but as a whole I try and teach Luna to just think "Well maybe he had a bad day or things are tough at home, we don't know. You use your words and express your feelings and let him feel his." Or hers.

I don't care who you are, and if you've never seen Bad Moms, watch it immediately because it posits some serious truths that support that motherhood and parenting is hard. We shouldn't be AGAINST each other. Often my mom friend and I that live judgment free hit the park with our kiddos and when we see other little ones being scolded for the same things we scold for or acting the same way ours do at their moms we joke, "Oh good, it's not just us!" See? We're NOT alone.

I know we use so much of our patience on our tiny humans that sharing that with the rest of the world is often difficult but I've worked so hard on becoming less judgmental in general but especially when it comes to other moms. Now the birthday party scene that scarred me, was an instant of watching other unfair judgment and my not knowing how to handle it but by being especially kind to the mom victim and her little one. She handled it much better than I could have, in my humble opinion.

It's funny because years ago when I was deep into some of the darkest places of my life with work, family, marriage and what felt like everything, I was called out for my judgment and being a "hater." What it really was, now that I look back, was a "Comparison Hangover," which Kristen Bell has explained on her husband's podcast, ArmChair Expert, to be when you get stuck in the social media and life haze of watching everyone else and judging them and yourself based on what their lives and experience look like, or that's what I got from it.

And, as a mom, hangovers of any kind are so much worse than they were before baby. Side note, Kristen Bell is a gorgeous mental health advocate, wonderful mother, great actress and I want to meet her someday and have lunch. I digress, and once I stopped thinking in terms of comparison, of "She's a better mom, she's a smarter mom, or a kinder mom," and started thinking "She makes great lunches and dresses them so cute! She has a great job and must balance a lot! She doesn't even raise her voice and her kids respond so well!' 

It's been a process. It IS a process but my aim is to be welcoming so that no mother that crosses my path, feels alone. I hated those feelings. Especially early on. Between postpartum and all the new mom stuff, feeling so alone is just so hurtful and I wish I had been kinder to myself and been more comfortable admitting, "Hey I'm lonely and I really would love some help here."

Moreover, I think each mom can teach me something and we all have so much to learn! I remember when a mom at my boot camp heard me complaining about Luna's cold and said "Vapor rub on the feet with socks on and run a hot shower when she's at her worst and sit with her in then." My mind was blown and we became friends after that! 

With all of this said, I will also advocate the importance of taking a step back if you feel judge or feel like you're just in a "judgey" place. We all have those moments. We're mothers, we're supposed to be imperfect. Why do you think Mary Poppins is a fictional character and just a nanny? No one can be "Practically Perfect in every way!"

Finding your boundaries and setting them can feel just as daunting as being open to all these suggestions but they are just suggestions. This is coming from 5 rough, ROUGH personal years of motherhood and womanhood, so I just want to impart what I have learned because if there is just ONE reader who can get something from this? Mission accomplished!

Me As a Mom Part Two

Yesterday we journeyed into Luna's entrance into the world and before we go into my feelings of immediately failing motherhood, I just want to say...I was just on Amazon looking for "Tooth Fairy Kits" because my child is so tense about her loose tooth coming out and it's driving me insane. I can see the other one coming in behind it. Do all parents go through this?

And that's where we can start. Do all parents go through this? We ask ourselves that DAILY, don't we? No, let's be honest now...it may even be HOURLY. Because we have these epic parallels don't we? "Every child is different and unique." "What works for one won't work for everyone." It can all be overwhelming.

I got everything all at once it felt, which is probably a common feeling. One of my oldest and closest family friends became a dad of twins long before I got pregnant and I quote him often when he said to me, "Man, I thought I was tired before." Babies are tough. Period. And disclaimer, I loved sleep BEFORE I was pregnant. Huge difference between 6 hours of sleep Alison and 9 hours of sleep Alison. And now, sleep is my favorite hobby.

During my therapy in college for my anxiety and depression, one thing that was made very clear to me was the importance of sleep as self care and that getting the right amount has everything to do with my depressive feelings and anxiety levels. Now I knew infants would require my all but let me explain something...I was very much a mess and I thought I had the support I needed. Turns out I had no idea what kind of support I needed.

Everything after the birth was a blur. Then and now. Visitors and everything. And the way it is portrayed in television and movies? Bullshit by the way. I remember the sweet moments of some of my favorite people holding her and meeting her. One of my favorite co-workers at the time, who has since grown into this incredible woman with a step daughter of her own, held Luna and just looked at her and said, "Oh, wow...she's so REAL!" She wanted to hear every moment of the birth story immediately.

One thing I remember vividly is that I was obsessed with this idea of skin to skin but also am always the coldest person on the planet. I had the robe and stuff and the socks but was still freezing. I also wanted to immediately stick her on my boob which is where she would stay for 2 years. I was going to breastfeed. There was no other plan.

I thought I did okay her first day, but before I knew it I had so many people in my face and in my ear talking about how to hold her, "Put her here, she has to do this" and I was just so exhausted. Hello? I just had a baby. Again, in a haze and I thought things were okay.

I'd asked for a Lactation consultant because again, breastfeeding was my only plan. All of the sudden a surly nurse was telling me to "Sit up, move this way, put her here." I remember being so uncomfortable and just wanting to find a way that worked for me to not hurt. Then the nurse started barking at me about inverted nipples, which I read a lot about, and I was just tired enough to be offended and cranky. It's COLD in here I thought, and come on! She shoved a nipple shield on me with little direction and then was gone, while again, I sat in this twisted position just trying to get Luna and I to get breastfeeding going.

It's six years later I still look back on everything with tears. Even as I type, I cry because...I had no close friends that were mothers. My dad had me at an older age and clearly didn't breast feed. My mom breast fed but wasn't one to talk about how it actually was and the few mothers I could talk to ended up with formula. If I'm being brutally honest, now with serious reflection, there were definitely home and life circumstances that didn't help my chances to succeed either, but that may very well turn into a book later. Stay tuned!

Back to baby. We got home. My dad did laundry constantly. My husband cooked way too much food. I thought I was breastfeeding okay. I remember now a few times saying, "If she wasn't getting enough, she'd be miserable right? Like, if I was that horrible of a mom she'd tell me, right?" 

Breastfeeding hurt. Badly. Not because I had thrush or clogged ducts or any of the things that scare you in the books. Turns out Luna was a lazy nurser and I had not the best hold. Breastfeeding started to hurt me so much I would lock Luna and I in my room and cry and drink water and suck on hard candies and repeat until she was done. I didn't leave the house for fear of breastfeeding in public and would only let visitors come after she'd been fed. I was just about to call La Leche League for support because the only thing that helped was a nipple shield my husband got at Wal-Mart, and I didn't think she was getting enough but was also completely exhausted with a house guest arrival looming. We went in for her two week appointment, where I thought I could talk to someone, and they didn't have us on the books, didn't care and pushed it another week. This was when everything changed. That last week before the appointment was horrible and the pushed back appointment made everything worse.

At 3 weeks old Luna was diagnosed with "Failure to Thrive," which means she was losing weight, not gaining. Again, I still cry when I think about this and while some people have never heard of failure to thrive, for me, it was just a diagnosis of "Failure to Mom." We went from the pediatric office to the hospital because we needed to supplement with formula and get her weight up ASAP. They also wanted to test her for other reasons beside bad mothering that she might not be gaining. It was horrible waiting to get into a room and calling family members and repeating that "Failure" word over and over.

When we got in the room, for whatever reason Luna and I were completely alone with doctors and nurses and I just remember sitting, being freezing and crying while I heard "Oh it's not your fault, what formula should we try and we have to put in a feeding tube, you can start pumping and we'll do this and as soon as this and the doctor and..." It was a whirlwind of emotions drowned in tears. 

Enter the nurse I met at Massage Envy just over a month ago; she recognized me and looked sad. She said sweetly, "I meant it when I said I hoped I'd never see you. But congrats. She's beautiful and a little fighter, I can tell." She and one other nurse became my quick favorites and lifelines during our stay. 

It broke my heart that I couldn't breastfeed her and she still had to have formula. It STILL breaks my heart and brings me to tears. Now, plenty of people have had healthy babies with formula and I'm not judging ANYONE who chose that, but as a mother and parent you probably understand that when it's not part of your plan, it certainly throws a wrench in things. The postpartum hit me the hardest here, while stuck in the hospital. 

Luna and I were alone for 8 out of the 10 days with the exception of my best friend at the time who came daily to bring me a Starbucks, Chik-Fil-A, or just to hold the baby so I could shower. We were in a room that was shared with 4 other families of varying baby ages and illness and injury. There was a communal shower on the floor and exhausted parents would shuffle around in and out of common areas and the nurses station. It took me 5 days to realize I could leave Luna with the nurses for 10 minutes to get Starbucks downstairs instead of the shitty cafeteria coffee.

My oldest half sister had offered to come help. After 10 days in a hospital fighting with a mean doctor who didn't know how badly I needed to be out of this environment to get my daughter and I well, I was afraid maybe the doctors were right...if I went home alone with Luna maybe I'd just fail again. 

It was 10 days of pumping and supplementing with tests and blood draws and hospital food. When they put the feeding tube in her first day, I cried and curled into a ball. Luna ripped it out herself on the end of the second day and breast fed and bottle fed afterwards as if to say, I got this. I just couldn't give up on breastfeeding. I refused.

I remember being so distraught and I had one low moment, and one moment of resolution looking back. In all of this my husband, with good intentions I hope, said, "Some women can't breast feed, and that's okay. Maybe you just can't!" It was then I quoted Rachel from Friends and said with hatred, "No uterus, no opinion." It was my dad who calmly said, "Sweetheart you have been with that baby 24/7 and all you do is look at her and love her. you couldn't possibly notice her losing weight like that and this is not your fault." This is why my dad still is my calming force.

My sister ended up flying in the day before we were discharged and came to the room. She looked at me in terror and said, "When was the last time you were outside? You're pale enough as it is but now your skin matches the walls!" She commanded my husband to hold the baby and took me outside for the first natural air and sunlight I'd seen in over a week. She got home with me, held the baby lots, and had infinite patience in making sure I felt motherly again.

Luna bounced back after what will live in infamy as my own personal "hell week." Reflecting on this will always completely break me in every way, but I like to share because I think we don't get enough support easily available for new mothers, no matter WHAT YOUR PLAN. Maybe I didn't know where or how to look, but I regret being afraid, feeling completely ashamed and not asking for MORE help. And any mother reading this who has gone through or is going through something similar, I'd love to hear from you. Reach out if you need a shoulder. 

Needless to say we've never had any food issues since the,n and she continues to be one of the healthiest kids I know, but for such a rocky start, and as a mom who knows she still has bad days and crappy ways of parenting, I return to this story often as a reflection for just how far we've come in every way. 

Challenge 14: What's In My Handbag? Okay, No One Calls It That Anymore.

What is in my handbag? Do women still have a handbag? I thought we call them purses, bags, or a satchel even? Wristlet or clutch maybe. I haven't heard handbag lately. Currently I am sporting a Betsey Johnson small backpack much like Cher and Dion in Clueless or Elaine Benes of Seinfeld. I thought I was being cutting edge but seemingly all the cool kids are in on it now. 

My purse is always a mess. Complete with receipts, the general "woman supplies," hair ties, bobby pins, hair clips, lip gloss, chapstick, a pocket mirror, pens, a few business cards, the wallet, stray jewelry and change. Also any papers I'm "supposed" to review for later and various unopened pay stubs.

I don't miss the diaper bag days. I also find it sad that as we move into motherhood we are seemingly downgraded a purse, which we grow up to feel is as tantamount to being a woman as tampons, and handed a bag filled with everything your baby needs to the point of no room for anything we might need in there...besides a wallet with cards to pay for more baby stuff. My husband went to the lengths of finding me a purse by my favorite designer that could actually be used as a diaper bag and was even styled as such. It was still one of my least favorite mom moments though, because the cute diaper bags are rarely useful. 

Purses are fun and also a curse in a way. We feel naked without them like we are forgetting something. And we always have to find "The right one." Not to mention the trendy ones are always expensive. I had a friend who lived and died for Coach purses. Another dreams of Fossil. My mom went through a Tommy Hilfiger phase. Now I'm sure it's all Michael Kors and Kate Spade. I will always be a Betsey Johnson gal, myself. Some are desperate for the Louis Vuitton. 

The handbag question is personal and kind of ridiculous in actuality. Most of us carry the same staples but our bags hold all of our personal and private things. Sure, men have a wallet but how much can you really fit in there? Unless of course you're George Costanza. Purses are definitely and blessing and a curse for womanhood. Regardless, our handbag is our handle, if you will. We love to accessorize and match for special occasions and every day needs. They are just another way to let us express ourselves.

So whatever is in your handbag, and the mundane things that are in mine, those are unique and personal, much like the bag we choose to throw it all in! 

Crock Pot Contentment

I was able to cook something in the crock pot that was edible and this is why that's a big deal.

I told you the blog was simmering as was my soup! Now to preface: I don't cook. When I say that, I don't mean it in some flippant way. I actually do not cook. I can make an epic sandwich and salad, true, but outside of anything that comes with 3-step instructions in a box, I have mastered very few dishes during my time on earth. I am the person that burns rice, and watches that Friends episode where Rachel talks about following the recipe, "If it says boil 2 cups of salt, you just boil 2 cups of salt!," and I'm too  afraid to ask if that is a real thing or funny because it is so not. 

I grew up with both parents until I was about 12. My dad was domestic. My mom was and is not. My mom shopped and made sure we appeared to rank in some kind of white collar status that she was raised to believe was of utmost importance. My dad was the guy up at 5AM on Thanksgiving making legendary pies. The only thing I ever recall my mother making was lasagna, and I think she literally just put it together but my dad did everything else. I rarely remember her even eating much, let alone cooking. But my dad was planning dinner over his bowl of Total cereal at 7AM, every morning.

My dad and I didn't have bonding activities where I learned things so much. Rather, I just got told what not to do or what I did wrong. We bonded over television shows and cynical humor. My mom was only nice when she bought me things, and then if I exhibited any shred of buyer's remorse, like "Maybe that sassy shirt was a bad idea for a Catholic school girl with no self-esteem," I became an "ungrateful little shit." Terms of endearment. 

When I was in therapy and dating my then-chef-boyfriend, whom is now my chef-husband, one of my depression group homework exercises was to try something new that would give me a sense of accomplishment. Bonus points if it included others. I wanted to make spaghetti sauce with real veggies and tomatoes and stuff. I did this with Eben's prep help and supervision, but had to follow the recipe and do the watching myself, and I was able to feed the house that evening. It came out well. 

Besides occasional peeks over my dad's shoulder, I had one slutty friend in high school show me how to make scrambled eggs when I was 17 so that was a big day. I need to name her, "slutty friend," because all other lessons were merely tales of her sexual triumphs at the ripe age of 16, random how-to's, as laid out by Cosmo, and then where to get thongs on sale if your mom wouldn't buy them for you. The scrambled egg lesson stuck, all other lessons would be for other blog entries or perhaps a conversation accompanied by alcohol.  

Other culinary lessons came from my middle sister. I spent a lot of time with her my first summer in Oregon, mostly because my dad didn't know what to do with me. She taught me how to make grilled cheese with my favorite Oregon cheese and my go-to for all shared mornings hence forth, French Toast. The french toast was fun because we always got epic bread to slather in the eggy mix. I remember my nephew thanking my sister for making it and my sister saying, "Nope, that was Aunt Ali." His response, "Nuh, uh, no way!," will forever be my cooking mantra and one of my favorite moments with him.

My grilled cheese triumph was immediately squashed when I offered to make my dad one in a, "See I learned things," way and he shamed me for the use of too much butter. "Nevermind," I shrugged as I channeled Eeyore in my response. Beyond that as soon as I found Eben it was like, why learn? I had someone who could always make it better. 

In her infinite wisdom, one of my favorite women and ex-employer, "Totally Tess," had warned me that one day I will want a real meal that I will be forced to create myself, and I will find all the shit in my pantry and have a recipe in hand. With a kid by my side I will be so desperate that I will make it. She told me one day it would happen. And damn, she was right!

This was NOT my first time with the crock pot. To be fair, all other experiences were not-so-awesome because my usual theory with cooking is, "It will all end up in the pan together anyway, what difference does the order make?" It was those little details that always made something less edible. That, and my basic and general misjudgment on the effects of heat. I butchered some chicken recently and now my friend will only pay for me to eat out, or cook for me himself. 

So, this recent crock pot exercise could have been some spasm of all things previously hindering my culinary explorations but I'd like to say it's just one big exercise in confidence during a depressive episode. After a row of miscommunication and frustration I decided to find an attainable, easy to understand, uncomplicated recipe that I couldn't really mess up and it happens to be soup season. Much like Jerry Seinfeld had noted in a few episodes of his iconic show, soup is just always good, but I often feel awkward ordering soup in Florida in July. Since it is widely accepted as soup season, I thought, why not. Chicken Noodle Soup, here we come!

I enlisted my 4 year old's help because, as Daddy's sous chef, she actually has a much better cooking understanding than myself, and loves to help with things like that. I followed most of the directions closely so as not to mess up any kind of balance and ruin everything. I got all the ingredients myself at the store and did all the prep in the order of the recipe. It came out edible, edible enough that even the 4 year old volunteered to eat her creation, "except not the onions, mom." She got an onion and celery pass. 

It wasn't that it was "so impressive that I made it," but that it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. I come from a long line of people who can plan amazing things  and nothing ever comes of it. We fail to make those ideas realities. I like to say my half sisters and I are highly intelligent and creative underachievers. My dad likes to scoff because he paid for those under achievements. Mostly, for the soup, I was proud for following through on a plan that was a few days out in the making. Do they call that meal planning in adult life?

This triumph followed  a huge marital miscommunication about shelving. As a bit of a background, my dad built 3 houses in his lifetime, all of them still standing. I was that 7 year old girl who wanted a tool box and got one complete with real, actual tools. I learned how to use them properly and spent many days nailing wood scraps onto other wood scraps as my dad built a deck, a screened-in porch, a play house and a basket ball court for me over my 13 years as a Pastor's kid in Pennsylvania. Some of my  building visions came without me knowing the terminology, but just being able to pick out what I needed in the hardware store by finding it and forming ways to make the vision a reality. When Eben and I were dating I displayed this once and he was astounded that I knew my way around the hardware store. To this day, I love going to Lowe's and Home Depot as I feel like it is a haven of possibility and creativity. 

So, when I gathered a bunch of wire shelving pieces from my last job failure I knew you couldn't just grab a kit at Lowe's and manifest a Closet Maid ad. It would be a little homemade and rigged for necessity. It would require creativity. This is where my Eben and I just disconnected. I lack the vocabulary and have only the vision. And when it comes to ideas, I can Pinterest with the best of them and come out feeling strong so I thought I had planned it all. My understanding was clear. And when we started assembling, Eben was worried about stability. My idea was to reinforce later, for now the budget on the project was already more than I had planned to spend. He disagreed on timing and conveyed it was a no go with what we had on hand. 

Now, part of being the head-case that I am with depression, anxiety, PTSD and the #MeToo situation looming,  which I'm sure will make an epic blog when I can better understand my feelings on the incident, is that small things in the eyes of the normal folk can be huge things for me. So devoting an entire day to a project promoting productivity and order for my manic mind, only to find out it will not be done without more money and more stress than anticipated caused a pretty big mental collapse. It's honestly very tough to explain adequately. So, after a rough few days I pulled myself back up with plan B, one in which I would do solo.

I realized we had a saw --that had never been used-- scrap wood, and drywall screws. It didn't have to look pretty. It had to be functional. In a rare burst of Rosie The Riveter confidence, I started sawing with the hand saw to cut the pieces I needed to secure the shelving. The rest came together with up-cycled crib pieces, zip ties and nails. This was my house. I don't care about holes, I wanted a functional creation! So after I put Luna to bed, and still in my work clothes, I attacked all of these half-pinteresting ideas and made my vision a reality. By the end of that evening, that was when I decided to crock pot something because after my closet masterpiece, what could I NOT create? Let's be real. I was a frigging rock star!

I love how all of this was fueled by a huge mental breakdown. Perhaps I should lose my shit more often. Creativity awaits. I was even more validated in my closet success when my 4 year old said, "The shelf looks good mommy, let me show you!" She walked me back into my closet and said, "You did good mommy! I like it!" That was all the acceptance I needed really. And I carried that excitement the rest of the week and got her to go to the store to help me get all the soup stuff and told her I needed her to help me get it all ready. 

So the soup is a big deal. This is me, sifting through the mania, the broken pieces and the "unstable" moments to grow and get better. Life is so often very heavy, no matter how good you have it. And I spend so much time just praying for my perfect little girl to never end up a mess like her mommy that if I can redeem the bad mom moments by showing her that I can actually do many real things, that I can comfort, create and am capable than more than I even acknowledge myself, it can't all be that bad! And yes, Daddy will always make food better, but mommy also knows where all the best restaurants are in the area. 

Big deals are good for my anxiety-riddled soul. Small accomplishments can be very large wins. After my last blog installment, I was very humbled by those that reached out to me about their struggles with the same mental hurdles. It was such a comfort to feel less alone, and to know that some of the most "together" people I admire most had the  same "irrational" fears and ideas. And maybe this is part of my calling, just to open up about the crazy and embrace anyone who needs a hug and gets comfort from how much fun I can put into the dysfunctional. I am incredibly broken and flawed, but I might be the most amazing train-wreck you'll ever see at the station when you really get to know me. Soup's on! Who's coming by for dinner?