my life, guys.

Is it just a husband thing to be ready for any event in a matter of minutes, and then look upon his wife and kids with a “tsk” in his eye…?

I get it. We’re slow. Like, exceptionally slow. We’re the most low maintenance people that you’ll ever meet, we’re just really REALLY slow.

SORRY NOT SORRY. (I’m actually mostly sorry.)

I typically blame it on having to get myself ready, which – let’s be real – doesn’t look like much, but then also having to round the kids up and convince them to wear weather appropriate clothing, preferably forward-facing, and without ketchup on it. It’s no easy task, but I’m often left to it alone while my husband sits in the car.

Yea, his sitting in the car used to drive me crazy, but it’s a flaw I’ve grown to accept because that’s what you do in marriage, I guess. I accept his waiting in the car like we don’t even exist, and he tries really hard to just accept the sound of my coughing fits when I have a cold/flu.

Be still my heart.


Years have taught him, though, that rather than just heading to the car, it’s good social (and marital) etiquette to at least let us know that he’s ready and walking out the door. He actually does one better now and will say things like “guys, get your coats on” or “let’s get in the car.” I mean, he does those things whether your hands are covered in Fudgsicle from Grandma’s house or not, but baby steps. So on Thanksgiving, my son comes running up to me – hands covered in Fudgsicle from Grandma’s house – and whines “Mom, I need to wash my hands but Dad’s making us get ready to leave by saying the weird thing he always says…!”

“Oh my gosh. What’s the weird thing he always says…?”

Embarrassed, and through gritted teeth, my son says “that we need to bounce like Beyoncé…”

And then there’s that.


kids and presidents

This morning, I awoke to the news that Trump had won the presidency and, alongside that, COUNTLESS articles on Facebook titled something along the lines of “What will we tell our children?”

This evening, I read that children as young as 3 were crying because of the election results and that schools had extra staff on hand to help children “deal.”

I dunno about you guys, but I told my children and they were mostly all “oh ok. Hey mom, look at these zombies we’re drawing…”

(No pun intended by them as far as people and elections and zombies go, they’re just super obsessed with Plants vs. Zombies.)

See, they’re not concerned with the future of our country because they’re 8 and 9 years old. And that’s way ok. Now that doesn’t mean that they’re so in their own world that they don’t know about issues, or have ideas and opinions – even ones different than mine – it means that they have their whole adult life to be concerned with these things and they know that. They also know that they will likely experience things that either strengthen those opinions or flip them completely on end.

And that’s ok. As adults, I trust that they will handle it.

But as of right now, no matter the outcome, it was easy to tell them because they’re busy BEING CHILDREN. They’re busy playing Minecraft and soccer and toilet tag with the neighbor kids (don’t ask). It was also easy to tell them because we talk about the human condition on a regular basis – and how a vote one way or house control the other way will never do away with that. But more than that, it was easy to tell them because politicians do not direct their moral compass and celebrities are not their role models.

So, “what will we tell our children?”

I’ll probably just keep telling mine the same thing I always have – they seem to be ok.

baby steps

My husband is a helicopter parent.

Not in the traditional sense of the word, as he is rarely hovering around the kids himself – but more in the “just don’t do anything ever because you might get hurt and then I’ll blame your mom,” sort of way.

Ok, I added the “blame your mom” part, but only because it’s so true.
(And he knows I love him anyway.)

It’s possible that I’ve been pegged as a helicopter parent by those that know us best, but I can assure you that I hover by default; attempting to avoid blame for things that I couldn’t possibly control without bubble-wrap, duct tape, and a really convincing argument for staying put forever.

That kind of talking/thinking clearly has affect on the kids, so lately we’ve been really mindful about what is said/not said in an effort to curb some of that anxiety and timidity that they have, e.g. refusing to ride bikes without training wheels.

I dunno if they’ll ever do the bike thing (sorry not sorry, husband), but my oldest daughter has recently taken to YouTube and fallen down the rabbit hole of “CRAZY/INSANE scooter tricks #2016 YEA!”

So I’m whipping up dinner in the kitchen yesterday, when one of the kids’ friends knocks at the back door, dragging my oldest daughter’s scooter with her. I answer the door and she calmly tells me that my daughter was at the end of the sidewalk bleeding, and hands me the scooter that has blood all over it – soaked into the foamy handlebars, dripping down the rest of the frame, even down to the tires.

I dunno how a person measures progress when it comes to their anxiety, but I can tell that I’m moving forward because I felt a tiny twinge of pride before I felt any sort of panic – wondering what “CRAZY/INSANE” trick she suddenly felt brave enough to try.

Turns out that she just collided with another friend and had a bloody nose and a fat lip. And I dunno how you measure progress when it comes to your kid’s anxiety either, but when I met her on the sidewalk, she wasn’t completely beside herself about a bloody nose like she usually is, she was just laughing and going on about how weird her lip felt, so I think she’s moving forward, too.