my curses are for real


I’m starting to regret cursing my children with children JUST LIKE THEM someday. Hazel is just like her mommy at every age and stage that she has been through so far. Soon to be five year old Hazel is just like almost five year old Hollie was…just in case anyone is ever wondering what Hollie was like when she was a little girl.

Oh wait!

Soon to be five year old Hazel does not pray daily, out loud for a baby sister. I am pretty sure her mommy has pointed to my children to show her what happens when you do something like that. But everything else about Hazel is so much like her mommy at that age it is a little bit scary…and pretty cool because Hollie was a pretty awesome little girl. Then she grew into preteens and teens…oh dear…sorry Hollie.

Fallon, on the other hand, is nothing like her mommy at age 18 months. No. Fallon is actually her mommy when she was around age 14…except for the fact that Fallon isn’t potty trained.

I’m thinking since she has spent the last eighteen months raging against the world she has maybe three, maybe four more years of rage left in her…wishing…hoping…praying. I’m sorry Hollie. I am so sorry that I ever cursed you. Then again, your rages often drove me to curse you.

Hang in there baby! If I survived, you can too.

You too, Fallon! I mean your mommy survived. Hurray for being so gosh darn cute!

those hormones I warned y’all about


Oh dear glob they are bubbling up…and they ain’t no female, pms-y kind of hormones either!

My sweet boy, my beautiful son is 11 years old and the hormones are starting to bubble up. No, they aren’t a raging, rolling boil…yet. But they are just at the boiling point and…

I’m not liking it.

Not.

One.

Bit.

I have survived four girls through the transition of child to stinky pre-teen to raging adolescence. This can not possibly be hard for me anymore.

No way!

I’ve got this.

Totally.

I believed that.

I truly did.

I thought wrong.

Oh my goodness! My sweet little boy suddenly is one big gloomy, grumpy, irritated, annoyed person and he is directing that flood of emotions at me…complete with heavy sighs and eye rolls.

WHAT?!?

What indeed, son. We both are wondering what right now. Although I have to confess that my “what” is actually a three word “what“.

Then this comes on.

Oh my darling boy! Not a day goes by where I am not reminded just how fortunate, how so damn lucky we are…

you are.

Yesterday was one of those days. My heart breaks for another family, another amazing, brave and strong one like you. So I close my eyes and cry hot tears while I offer up a quick thanks for you…and say a prayer for the other. Then I say thank you for these hormones that are just beginning to bubble up to a boil because I get to experience them…again…with you.

the truth about motherhood that no one ever (always tries to) share


Confession time: I never wanted to be a mother.

I know!

Mother of FIVE children, Mima of two gorgeous babies never wanted to be a mother.

Then I fell in love…HARD. I got married and a few years later the stick turned blue and OMG, I was going to be a mother! Yes, after a brief moment of “oh crap! I’m going to be a mother!!” I melted all over the place because I was going to have a baby…I was going to be a mommy!!

And the first thing someone told me was you’re going to be so fat! Hollie was told the same thing years later…by the same person. I didn’t believe it. Neither did Hollie. But yeah, I did get big…as a house…at least in my mind…while I was pregnant. Good god, who knew one’s belly could stretch THAT much without the skin ripping. But nine months or a little more later after the birth of that beautiful baby who made me as big as a house, I was wearing clothes I wore before I was impregnated. Except for bras. People tell you that your boobs will never be the same again and of course you don’t hear that because who is going to hear such negativity but it is true. Your boobs will never be the same again. In my case, I went from pre-pregnant barely an A cup to a C cup. Funny how I finally got the boobs I always wanted but now I didn’t want them. Take note your mileage may vary, er your boobs will be different after having babies but might not end up like mine.

No one ever tells you that you will never, ever want to go to the bathroom ever again after you push out a nearly nine pound (in my case the first time) human being out of your body…they also don’t tell you that you will likely poop when pushing that human out of your body…at least you don’t hear people telling you that…at your baby shower…at church…in the supermarket. So when your post-partum nurse comes in and happily suggests that you get up soon after birth and go to the bathroom you are thinking “OH HELL NO!!! Did you see what just came out of my now bruised and swollen bottom?1?! That human nearly ripped me apart!!! I am never going to pee or poop ever again!!!” What you don’t realize is that you kind of, sort of predicted your own future…you will never be able to pee or poop ALONE, in private without someone wanting to talk to you right now.

Somehow you manage to pee and poop and survive sleepless nights and cracked nipples and vomit and potty training temper tantrums and snot…so much snot. And if you are a fool, like me, you forget everything everyone told you and that you have lived through and you do it again, and again, and again. At least I was able to go to the bathroom with no trauma after Daniel was born. Eventually, you get to the point where that precious human is ready for school and you think, “Hurray! I am going to be free!”

Heh-heh!

You foolish, foolish mother!

There’s the school drop-off and the pick-up and the PTA (that just might judge you and reject you) and T-ball and soccer and homework…so much homework. You thought you were done with math homework…heh-heh. The added bonus is that small human who changed your body and disrupted your bathroom habits and sleep yet you adore because you are the center of their universe replaces you! You, my dear, are no longer the center of that child’s universe…and you never, ever will be again. There will always be a teacher or a coach or a best friend who they will worship before you. Yes, you were told this. I’m telling you this now. But you won’t believe it.

Just you wait.

Then when you finally have adjusted to life with a school aged child and all that comes with that even managing to eek out some time to yourself something else happens.

Dun-dun-dun!!!

HORMONES!!!

You thought pooping and peeing right after giving birth was traumatic.

You are knee deep in stinkiness and emotions and anger and eye rolls and heavy sighs and slamming doors and closed doors and on and on and on. You are also, clearly, the dumbest person on the planet…EVER. Wine and the fact that god made these children cute so you wouldn’t kill them are the only thing that gets you through this period. Take note if you have three teenagers at one time in your home you will need LOTS of wine.  Trust me, I know. You are certain that you (and your child) will never survive this time and of course you don’t believe it when your friends with adult aged children come along side of you and promise that you (and your child) will survive and you might even be smart again. If you are really lucky, you will become the wisest person they know…the one they tell their young adult friends to talk to because you are the smartest person they know. They also try to tell you that when that child of yours turns eighteen and is an “adult” you are not done…that you will NEVER, EVER be done. Yeah, they tell you that but you don’t hear them, which is why you foolishly post on your Facebook page how you can’t wait until your little darling’s eighteenth birthday because then you will be done and free at last.

Heh-heh-heh!!!

Why doesn’t anyone tell you this, you wonder?

Why?

The thing is everyone told you this. Everyone. They tell you this maybe to prepare you but I think they tell you with wicked delight because they remember just how naive they were back before they became parents…back when they KNEW they would be so much better and never, ever go through any of this crazy joy ride that is motherhood because, for them it would be different. They tell you with a warped, wicked glee that foolish you have no idea what you have gotten yourself into for the rest of your life. You have no clue…no clue at all. Just you wait.

It is a wild crazy and ride.

Thank goodness for the joy…and, if you hang in there, the grandbabies…and the joy of witnessing your mother’s curse upon your child that they will have children someday just like them come true.

I told you so.

I did.

Happy Mother’s Day!

a cautionary tale


Parents, isn’t it fun to dress up your little darling children? It is. It is indeed.Oh the oh-so cute little dresses and sailor suits and t-shirts and shoes and hair styles and…if you have more than one darling child…the match-y, match-y siblings look.

A total win! People can totally tell that they are all sisters. And the first born isn’t resentful at all over the fact that she is dressed just like her barely-potty trained sisters because she is a mature, confident third grader and totally trusts her Mom’s fashion choices…like dressing her kids exactly alike.

Heh!

But it gets better. At least Mom imagines that it gets better.

No, we are not match-y, match-y but we are awesomely Gap coordinated. Weren’t the 90s just too stylish?I think so. Hollie, on the other hand, believes that this is just photographic evidence that her mother dressed her funny on purpose.

Whatever!

Oh, and in case you are wondering, Bill is smiling in this picture. He is smiling on the inside. Don’t believe me? Ask him. He’ll tell you.

But I digress…

Parents, while it is truly, truly fun to dress up our children not unlike the way we used to dress our Barbies…or our GI Joes.

Did boys dress up their GI Joes? I don’t know. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.

Whatever…

Parents, be careful how you dress your babies because it will come back to haunt you with all of your babies’ judgement and angst and bitterness when they are all grown up.

This.

This is evidence enough.

 

overheard under the Big Top #419


Daniel: I think I will FaceTime with Zoë.

And so he did. As you can see, she is looking (and feeling) so much better after her I’m-going-to-stress-and-worry-the-shit-out-of-my-mom-and-try-to-kill-my-guardian-angel-in-the-process mishap. She is so lucky she lives down in LA where I can’t my hands on her. Just saying.

But it was good to see her smiling face and hear both Daniel and her laugh. Happy, happy music that makes my heart smile, especially after the messed up, exhausting week of nothing but crazy messed up-ness we all have endured. It was good to listen to the laughter of your children.

Want me to show you my butt?”

Wait!

What?

No!

You may NOT show your sister your butt on FaceTime!

Add that to the things-my-mother-never-told-me-I-would-have-to-say-as-a-mother-someday. Then again, she never really told me much of anything about being a mother.

Oh well.

Thankfully, no butts were exposed on FaceTime. But there was more laughter and secrets shared and the discovery that it is the same time in Los Angeles as it is in Manteca.

Who knew?

“You press ‘End’.”

No, you press ‘End’.”

“No! You!”

More laughter and finally they said goodbye and ended their FaceTime.

I’m not sure who pressed “End” first.