motherhood is humbling

Cow Poop and Mother’s Day Breakfast

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I was rushing around to get to a Mother’s Day Breakfast with Vivian at school. I am not a morning person, so I was cutting it close. I was completely ready, I simply had to take our beloved Ollie Augustus down the hill to his kennel.As I reached to remove his collar, I quickly realized that he had rolled in cow poop…again!

Two things, 1. Eau de Cow Poop lingers even after washing your hands three times. 2. There are few things more humbling than texting your child’s teacher about cow poop. In light of the first point, I hand sanitized my hand about 20 times as I drove to the school. I finally got rid of the horrible smell, just in time to be the last mom to arrive to the breakfast.

I had a chocolate milk with Vivian as she finished her Fruit Loops in chocolate milk with orange juice. Upon clearing our tables, we walked back to the pre-K room to find a precious gift from our children.

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Allow me to show you an enlarged version of the letter in which I am 70 feet tall and weigh 60 pounds.  It sounds awesome until I read my age… 62 years old. Oh, and apparently Vivian likes doing the dishes with me. Who knew?!

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According to Vivian I am super model skinny, despite my age, I make a mean batch of chocolate fudge, and she knows that I love her. I am just going to embrace the age and let people tell me, “Dang! You look good for 62!” The cow poop, however, I could do without.

American Girl Doll$$$

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The girls begged and begged to get an American Girl Doll a couple years ago. Knowing how rough my girls are and how expensive the dolls are, we came to an agreement. I would pay for half and they could earn the other half through chores, good behavior, and good grades. Just before Christmas, they earned enough money in their jars.

Sofia, Lydia, and Vivian had taped pictures of the American Girl Dolls that looked most like them on their money jars. My girls had obsessed about their American Girl Mini-Me’s for months. When we went to the American Girl Doll Store, the girls quickly changed their minds and decided upon Historical Character dolls instead.  Different dolls, same ridiculous price.

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The girls love their dolls, but my girls are also very active in dance and sports, so they really only bring their dolls for special occasions. You know, when they just have to have their doll, then ask you to carry it within 10 minutes. Yep, times three. So, I bought rolling doll luggage from Pottery Barn Kids and now we look like ridiculous divas when we travel.

We have every Disney Princess outfit for the dolls, Nutcracker Sugar Plum Fairy Costumes, Historical Character books, and then some.  Imagine my surprise when Sofia leaves me this note that has a math problem…or so I thought. As it turns out, Sofia was letting me know how much money she needed to get a second American Girl Doll, a new outfit, a horse, and some other essential American Girl Doll accessory she saw in that catalog.

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Being the good mom that I am, I just looked at her and wrote my response, “Get a job” with a heart (because I love her). You can see how she felt about that. Still no job, still only one American Girl Doll. I am “the worst mom ever.”

I Gave up Yelling at My Kids for Lent on a Snow Day

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If you know me well, you know that patience is not my virtue…and I’m not a morning person. Naturally, school mornings in our house are festive to say the least, as are Saturday game days and Sunday church mornings. Okay, every morning is rough. Did I also mention that I have 3 little girls? There are a lot of wardrobe malfunctions, fighting, and yelling to get through the morning routine. Yes, I said routine. It’s the same thing, every morning, yet my girls wake up in a brand new world every day.

On Valentine’s Day, we were all getting ready for the last basketball game of the season…and running late. On the annual day of love, amid the hectic morning, my family informed me that I am a nag. Romantic, I know. You see, I had been asking and asking (and asking and yelling) to pick up their things, to get dressed, to stop fighting, to put on clothes suitable for winter, to brush their teeth, to put their dirty clothes in the hamper, to brush their hair, to put their toys in the toy room, and… you get the point.

Naturally, I protested and let their daddy get them ready. Rather than repeating myself, I simply took all of the things I had been asking them to pick up and put them in an empty hamper. I also let them go to the game rocking the first ponytail attempt by their daddy.

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When we returned from the ball game, they realized that their American Girl dolls, favorite sweatshirts, toys, books, etc. were gone. I showed them the hamper and told them the new rule, “I ask once to pick up your things and after that, I simply put it in the hamper and you have to do a chore to get each thing back.”

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Sweeping the entry to get her American Girl doll. Parenting like a boss.

The rule had been helping, but mornings were still rough. So, I decided to give up yelling at my kids and losing my patience with them for Lent. Naturally, Ash Wednesday was a snow day. Thursday was a snow day. Friday was a snow day. That’s right, 3 consecutive snow days. My husband is a bit worried about my sanity, but so far I haven’t yelled at my daughters. Day 4…only 36 more to go.

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Planning ahead for next year.

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No sleep + kids = Momnesia

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I will never forget my first week home with my firstborn.  She never slept more than 3 hours. Ever.  The usual for Sofia was 2 hours awake, 2 hours asleep, until the day I thought she died.  That’s right, with all of the new mom stress and worry, magnified by my exhaustion and overachiever tendencies to be the perfect mom, I thought I killed her in less time than it took me to kill a houseplant.

She was sleeping so soundly that I couldn’t wake her up.  Her breath was shallow, her body didn’t react to my touch, and this had gone on for more than her maximum of 3 hours.  I called my husband in a panic to get home because I had somehow killed our child in the first week.

We used cold rags on her feet, I tried to nurse her, we talked to her, turned on music.  I thought she was in a coma.  We rushed to the pediatrician and, as soon as the doctor came in, Sofia opened her eyes and smiled at me.  That’s right, I had all but blasted Beastie Boys but the sound of the pediatrician coming in woke up my newly rested, happy child. I then proceeded to have an emotional breakdown. The pediatrician recommended take out food and paper plates, to let my house be messy, and sleeping pills to get at least one night of sleep a week.

I am pretty sure I haven’t slept a solid 8 hours in almost a decade, but I have managed to keep all 3 of my girls alive. That’s right, all girls. Not the sweet, mellow girls either. I have thrill seeking, strong-willed, opinionated divas who are meaner and messier than any boy I know.

Go ahead, feel bad for my husband, just for a moment.  Then, realize that men determine the gender and I have to do their hair every morning.  Every morning.