Oh No She Di-int (but yes she did) 

You know your Zoloft is working when:

While PMSing, you emerge from your bedroom to find your oldest child scaling over the railing at the top of the stairs indicating that she just climbed the stairs via the banister and you miraculously keep your shit together and calmly explain how dangerous that was and how she could seriously get injured {“break yourself” was the actual terminology used} and that “next time it will most definitely be a spankable offense and there will probably be a lot of very loud yelling but for now just please go to your room for the next 20 minutes” and you suggest putting away her clothes and reading to pass the time while you take a deep breath and begin to research local indoor climbing facilities while wondering if that’s really a smart parenting move… 😳

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Dude, Where’s My Car?

That moment when you pull into a parallel parking spot at your children’s school for dismissal and masterfully use your backup cam to reverse towards the car behind you and stop just as your warning is barely on yellow and well before red knowing you have three feet of space between you and the afore mentioned car. The car to your front is a good ten feet away and has another five feet of room to pull up further which would leave space for another car to fit in, which would be nice since the lack-of-street-parking situation at school is laughable, parents are not permitted to park in the faculty lot {a rule many blatantly ignore}, and it’s raining. 

Anyway, as you put your car in park, the car behind you beeps as though you’re too close. You put the car back into reverse but hold the brake pedal to make sure you’re in the clear and see that your bumper is still feet away from his car so you shift back to park and turn off your engine. He steps out of his car, raises his hands in utter disbelief, and the gentleman parked five feet behind him does the same, as if they were signaling each other with some sort of primitive male caveman language, “Can you believe this woman?” “She should learn how to drive!”

As I’m watching this signed conversation in my rearview mirror and twirling my hair, the valley girl voice in my head starts having fun,

“Like, I’m totally sorry I only left you a few feet of room for your car’s personal space! I don’t know WHAT I was thinking! Silly me! I’m just another stay-at-home-soccer-mom with a car that’s WAY too big for me to handle! I’m such a ditz! I even forgot my bumper sticker that boasts about my perfect family and kids’ accomplishments! What ever is a girl to do? Oops! Sorry!” 

And then I punched him in the throat and told him that he should learn how to drive… But not really…

It Happens

That moment when you have just finished a lovely ladies afternoon with your youngest daughter and friends and you’re on your way to your older children’s school to wait for dismissal and the school nurse calls to see if you can pick up your middle child early from school, because there was an apparent accident in his classroom that he was not directly involved in; however, he did step in it, literally, and is in need of a change of clothes and shoes {and to be sanitized in a clean room decontamination area from head to toe just as a precaution.} So you ask if you can pick up your oldest daughter early too because you don’t have time to go home to get him showered, changed, and return before actual dismissal time, which of course is fine because the school recognizes what a crappy situation this is.

Minutes later, you arrive at school and carry your now sleeping child instead of waking her because she is shoeless from getting her first pedicure, it’s a cold, rainy, winter day, keeping her locked in the car is generally frowned upon in the parenting {and legal} world, she’s often quite unpleasant upon waking, and frankly, you have enough schtuff to deal with, so you keep it real and carry on. 

In the school office you begin to sign your children out but get stuck on the section that asks for a reason for the early dismissal and want to write in “it happens” but politely defer to “minor accident” to decrease the load of paperwork that may follow. You and the school office manager have a good laugh in apparent solidarity, I-can’t-evens,and what-the-hell-just-happened-ness, while your {now awake} youngest shows off her toes and you instruct your son to stop moving around and not to touch ANYTHING, especially with his shoes which is a problem because, as he points out, he can’t fly, all the while forgetting that his CLEAN rain boots are in his book bag…

You walk to the car where you open the back of your SUV to put him in and remove his shoes with a plastic bag. As he begins to climb over the back seat you notice that he had clearly sat on his feet before realizing his shoes were covered in it so you remove his pants and place them in the plastic bag and wonder what the parent parked behind you must be thinking as your son climbs pant-less into his seat, but you don’t really care all that much, and you head home for a glass of wine (or 2) because, on days like today, it doesn’t much matter that it’s not 5 o’clock anywhere…đŸ˜łđŸ’©

#ithappens

Thoughts from a Fitting Room…

I am sitting in a fitting room with Lady J who is trying on pair of pants after pair of pants in hopes that just a few of them will “feel as good and comfy” as she wants, and hoping that this will end the morning battle of getting dressed. We have been here for no less than 45 eternal minutes.

Despite my knowledge of whether or not the clothes actually fit, I am keeping my opinion to myself and only asking her, “Do they FEEL right?” It is excruciatingly torturous.

Of the 23 pairs, only 3 are just right for Goldilocks. We go back to the store floor for more sizes and styles…
After another funtabulous round in the dressing room we find only 2 styles that work. They are too short, just barely reaching her ankles. Yet they hug her miniature waist line without those godforsaken buttons that usually need to be adjusted to the last loop, thus creating enormously uncomfortable bunching.

She claims her boots will cover the length issue, a valid argument, so I give in, knowing her ankles will be cold on gym days.

We return to the display and choose a rainbow array of leggings and jeggings. I hope they match her tops at home, but after trying to mentally match them, I realize that I don’t care that much at this point, although I will tomorrow morning.

My only thoughts now are of my own mother and the shopping trips she endured throughout my childhood:

Mom, I love you. I’m sorry. You were right. Thank you.

Mondays

That moment when your threenager comes into your room in the middle of the night because she’s scared or something to that effect and climbs all over you and your husband for no less than 2 hours until she finally settles in a horizontal position across your pillows which you happen to be using and when Daddy suggests that she moves she begins to sob an uncontrollable “Oh Woe Is Me” sob that makes you unwillingly rise from your non-slumber and carry her back to her bed and lay down next to her so she calms down but then you fall asleep only to be woken by your husband an hour later because the sun is rising so you slip out of her bed so as not to disturb the now-sleeping-beauty and begin to get ready for the day by getting your other children dressed, fed, making lunches, and all that other schtuff that makes mornings absolutely and maddeningly entertaining if you were a fly in the wall but you’re not, so you’re just mad, probably from the lack of sleep for the better part of a decade.   But then the princess emerges from her kingdom mere minutes before it’s time to depart and you think, “Effit. Keep the pajamas on and here’s breakfast to go, Kid” because it’s time to go and MONDAYS

You arrive at school and you hear the comments about your daughter still in her pajamas but you don’t let it bother you because 1) You made it to school on time for her older siblings  2) She’s the youngest so rules don’t apply to her…duh… 3) It’s not a school day for her anyway 4) MON-DAY {nuff said.} 

After a busy but accomplished day of cooking, cleaning, and playing dress up you inform your threenager that it’s time to get out of her dress up clothes and into real clothes where upon she immediately ventures upstairs to put on a fresh pair of pajamas, tights, and her tap shoes which she disliked SO MUCH that she insisted on dropping dance class, which you did just last week, but now she is happily tapping off into the sunset to pick up her siblings at school, where people notice that she is wearing yet another pair of pajamas and that her “outfit” makes no sense and you STILL don’t care because 1) You made it to school on time to pick up her older siblings 2) She’s still the youngest so rules still don’t apply to her…duh… 3) It wasn’t a school day for her anyway 4) She looks adorable 5) MON-DAY {nuff said.} 

#thiskid #threenagers #thirdchild #mondays


sunglasses 

That moment when you’re on vacation at the beach and there’s a giant wave that’s about to break and you have a choice to save your son or your sunglasses so you instinctively choose to grab your son instead of your sunglasses even though the wave wasn’t really all that big {you realize after the fact} plus he can swim rather well and he actually thought your attempt to grab him and save him from “eminent doom” was a shark attack but your “momma bear” reaction took over and you tried to prevent any harm to him as you have been trained to do as a lifeguard since the days of BC {before children} and moments later you realize that you not only scared your son into thinking the water was shark infested but you also lost your {good and only pair of} sunglasses in the wave and now you can no longer see in the bright southern sun as it reflects off the shimmering water and blinding sand so you try, in vain, to find them in the current and hope, pray, and cross your fingers that they wash up on shore all while getting an earful from your husband that you shouldn’t have been wearing those sunglasses in the water and that you are now (unfairly) relegated to wear dollar store glasses to the beach “just in case” even though (you don’t own any and) your track record for these sunglasses is pretty good considering they are 3 years old and you have yet to lose or damage them (not counting today) so when you average it all out, they have cost close to PENNIES per day so you go to sulk in the shallows and find shade for your burning eyes while your husband returns to the depths of the sandbar with your son and 20 minutes later, by sheer luck, he finds your sunglasses in another wave out in the ocean and almost looses his own sunglasses during the rescue and recovery…

#instantkarma #sothathappened #myhero #vacationwoes #vacationdosanddonts #firstworldproblems

Relaxation-Shmelaxation

That moment when you’re soaking in the tub for the first time in 7 YEARS because baths aren’t really your thing but between athletic injuries, motherhood, moving (several times), doing your best at finding-the-funny, staying positive, and life-in-general you figure that perhaps it’s time to try out this Epsom Salt fad, so you light your one aromatic candle (because candles aren’t really your thing either because, well, FIRE) and you fill the tub with organic, non-gmo, gluten-free, super-fruit-extract, ass-firming bubbles mixed in with a few teaspoons {and-then-some} of relaxing lavender scented Epsom bath salts and hunker down, eyes closed with a glass of {boxed} red wine in hand {because you’re fancy like that} and just as you’re maybe-sorta-kinda-starting to get it, you hear the giggles of two little girls whom you had foolishly assumed were sleeping soundly for the past 45 minutes because it’s 9-farking-PM and bedtime was 2 HOURS ago and as you denyingly open one eye you see them disrobe and begin to climb in with you while both taunting and laughing at you, and you protest IN VAIN and finally give in because you remember that baths aren’t really your thing anyway… #motherhood #giggleswithmygirls 

  

Mustn’t Cry

Whoever said, “You mustn’t cry over spilled milk” clearly never had a child spill milk all over himself, the table, the floor, and his sisters mere minutes before it was time to leave to school… #justsayin’ #MadeItOnTime #IsItSummerYet?

IKEA

That moment when you’re putting IKEA furniture together and you have extra pieces…or not enough…and you think, “Whatever, I drank Mountain Dew for the first time since college, or maybe ever… WOOOOO! Let’s Do This!” #GitErDone #NewHouse

sidenote: the extra “energy” from Mountain Dew  lasts approximately 12 hours…4:30am is very early while being simultaneously VERY late…

 

Stream of Consciousness: The Mysterious Bruise

That moment when you’re having a lazy Saturday morning and you’re sitting on the couch next to your child, watching a movie and you notice his chin is bruised and seems to have a rash and no less than one BAZILLION thoughts fly through your head like lightning, gaining speed and intensity as the list rapidly grows: Did he bump it? Does it hurt? How long has it been there? Was it there when he woke up? Did it happen in his sleep? Why didn’t you look at him carefully earlier than this moment? There was no time. Make more time. Should I call the pediatrician? Should we go to the ER? Is it contagious? What is it? It could be a rash. Is it swollen? Did he knock a tooth loose? It could be anything. It’s probably nothing. It could be meningitis, hepatitis, any-itis! Does it hurt when you turn your head? Does he have a fever? Is he exhibiting signs of a concussion? Can you follow my finger? How many fingers do you see? Work on counting skills. His eyes are focused. He might be cross eyed. Should I compare it to pictures on WebMD? No, then he’ll have cancer. Call the pediatrician. Get kids dressed as quickly as possible in case you must flee to the doctor or emergency room. There’s no time to clean up. Clean up while you wait for the doctor to call you back. Should I wake up my husband. Only if we need to leave. Should I wake him just in case and have him look too? No, you can handle this. Get him an ice pack for the bruise. What the hell is it?  Why is it so circular? Has it spread? Check the rest of his body. Does it look like Lymes disease? Check body for deer ticks. Stop freaking out. It’s probably nothing. Is he going to die? Why hasn’t the doctor called back yet? Stop looking at pictures online and trying to diagnose the mystery.  You did not go to medical school. I should have gone to medical school. Think back to lifeguarding. Is it in the first aid manual? You shouldn’t have let your certifications lapse. WHY HASN’T the DOCTOR CALLED?!?!?!?!? He Is Going To DIE!!!!!!! Please no!  Please let him be ok. Don’t do this to me. Take that toy cup off your chin so you can put ice the back on it….Oh, the cup…Did you suck and suction the cup on your chin? Mmmmmm-Hmmmmm…. Click! It’s a hickey…. He gave himself a HICKEY…. Who wants popcorn?