Did I Marry Mr. Wrong?
Here’s a little bit of my latest blog post!
I came to an unsettling realization recently: I married the wrong man.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my husband. A lot. He is my best friend, my soul mate, an amazing dad, the whole package. But there’s just no denying that marrying him was a huge mistake. Another man would have been a better choice.
I should have married a pediatrician.
Think of all the worry I could have avoided! All the questions I could have had answered with no copay or waiting! Like, does my one-year-old wake up 5 times a night, every freakin’ night, because something is wrong with him OR because he’s a pain in the butt? And, is my preschooler hearing impaired or do all kids his age talk so loudly they scare the cats? If I had just married a pediatrician, the whole why-is-my-newborn’s-poop-dark-brown-instead-of-yellow-like-the-books-say-it-should-be fiasco would have just been a sentence in our parenting story, rather than a whole chapter. If I had married a pediatrician, the latest period of our lives—The Ear Infection Epoch—would have involved a lot less time watching Toy Story 2 in 20-minute increments in the doctor’s waiting room. (I think I have now technically seen the whole movie, in jumbled up bits and pieces.)
Even More Unclear on the Concept(s)
Matthew: Mommy, Car is the opposite of Train.
Matthew: And, they rhyme!!
Just a taste…
…of my latest blog post, “How to Look Like A Chicken on Ecstasy:”
Turns out I don’t look like Britney or Shakira or when I Zumba. Not at all. Turns out I look like a chicken on ecstasy. A sweaty, sweaty, chicken on ecstasy. (To be fair, I haven’t ever done ecstasy so I can’t be entirely sure of how a chicken would look while on it. But I’m pretty sure that if some demented farmer gave a chicken ecstasy, it would dance around and think “Holy Hell! I look like Molly in Zumba!”)
The good news is, I’m slightly nearsighted and if I just squinted up my eyes a bit I couldn’t really see myself in the mirror. Of course, then I looked like a constipated chicken on ecstasy, but I didn’t care because I couldn’t see myself!
My Latest Blog Post…
Is called, “Chores? More Like, #WINNING!” about Mommy Games (aka housework).
Here’s a little bit…
Beat the Garbage Truck: On Thursday mornings, sometimes as early as 7:30 am, our city’s garbage trucks begin their rounds in our neighborhood. Most of my neighbors manage to get their three cans (garbage, recycling, and lawn clippings) out to the curb before dark on Wednesday night, but sometimes we don’t quite make it. Then the next morning finds either me or my husband—wearing pajamas, of course—racing back and forth between the curb and the gate with the cans as the first of the three trucks lumbers toward our house. (Usually my 3-year-old, wearing nothing but his Thomas underpants, is standing on the sidewalk yelling “Go, Mommy! Go!” while his younger brother screams “GARBAAAAAGE TRUUUUCK!!” as loud as he can.) My very nice, very efficient, and very childless neighbor is often standing on her porch, fully dressed and nicely coiffed, waving politely as I run around in my jammies. She never has to/gets to play Beat the Garbage Truck. And, she always takes each can back to her driveway as soon as it’s emptied, so she never gets to play our next game…
Read more here
Bring on the mommy guilt…
At William’s ear infection follow-up appointment today, the pediatrician told me that at some point in the last few weeks one of his eardrums had perforated. It’s fine now and all healed, but ugh. Poor little guy was really hurting a lot.
William just came up behind me and rubbed his face on the back of my knee. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Booger on leg!” he shouted.
Unclear on the concept, Part 2
Matthew: Mommy, I want you to have another baby. Because we don't have any girls in this family.
Me: But Matthew, when you have a baby you don't get to choose if it's a boy or a girl. So if we had another baby, it could be a boy. What would we do then?
Matthew: Well, then you would just throw it away and get another one.
What my husband told me this evening.
William, 22 months, called him on my cell phone this afternoon. We were at Matthew’s swimming lesson hanging out in the lobby so I gave my him my cell, set on airplane mode. I looked away for a few seconds, and when I looked back he had the phone to his ear and was saying, “Hi Daddy!” (pause) “Hi Daddy!” (pause) “Hi Daddy!” I just thought he was being cute, but it turns out he somehow broke through airplane mode (again) and hit redial. Chris said he chatted for a while and then hung up, so I never knew it happened until he told me later. I wonder who else he has called recently??
It’s all about how I can’t cook. Embarrassing.