Why I Don't Blog Everyday

Yesterday, while I was writing, my three year old was busy discovering his creative outlet. The damage was across three different rooms and done in seven minutes. As you can see, he also ate something sticky.

Where is your head?

My daughter is a chronic forgetter. She got a B in gym because she forgot her shoes over half the time. She should have got an F. She forgets her homework, her lunch, her permission slip. She forgets to put her dish in the sink, the towel on the hook, her shoes by the door.

I know what some of you are thinking. I need to remind her about her shoes and bring her homework to her when she forgets it. Aren't parents supposed to help their kids succeed? And oh my God, a B in gym! She may not get into Harvard if I don't bring her shoes to her!

I realize some of this may seem like lazy parenting. I never read her assignment notebook or look through her backpack. I don't even check her homework to make sure everything is right. I don't help her on school projects, so hers is often the most amateur - which it should be because she's nine! Does the teacher really believe a parent didn't "help" the girl who made the three dimensional paper mache goblet for her book report cover?

But I do struggle a little. We've missed a back to school picnic and two fundraisers because I never got the flyers. Well, I was secretly relieved about missing the fundraisers. However, her missing homework or misreading directions makes me sweat a bit. Should I look over her shoulder to ensure good grades? How will she learn to be accountable? I have to let her learn these hard lessons now. That way if she forgets her term paper in her dorm room, I won't have to drive to Harvard to go get it and bring it to her.

We have to let our kids forget things and suffer the consequence to make them responsible. Right? Right? Please tell me I am right, because I saw her tennis shoes by the back door, and it's a gym day.

About the Categories

Just Laugh: Funny stories where my kids either embarrassed me, I embarrassed myself, or I thought about running for my life out the backdoor.

Just Sweat: Excersize does amazing things for my mood and is often the way I blow off the stress of being a mom. I share and review exercises as well as tell my personal goals, successes and failures.

Just Try It: Honest, real ideas of games and crafts to do with your kids from a real mom. Sometimes those parenting magazines with their craft lab and 18 assisstants make you feel like a bad mom because your craft time ends with tears and a big mess. I'll only recommend things that worked for us.

Just Eat It: Honest, real ideas of things to cook for your family. No rare ingredients or long recipes to follow. Because we all know that 20-minute recipes are really an hour when you are cooking without a sous chef while helping your oldest with homework and your youngest has a vice grip on your leg.

Just Easier: Great products or ideas that have worked for me.

Just a Contest: Because moms don't get job bonuses, but deserve one. Send me your funny stories when you wanted to quit being a mom, but didn't. I'll share them here and give the one that screams "I need a break!" a Starbucks gift card. To start, I will give $10 of my own money, but if the blog generates any revenue, I will add it all to the prize. Visit this post for details.

Cooking for Moms

One of my best friends from high school and his wife just had their first baby. A woman I volunteer with recently had her third baby. And a third woman I think is crazy and try to avoid at all costs also had a baby.

I told my husband I had to make three dinners for new moms this week. When I told him who the moms were, Mr. Hilarious said, "Okay, one of them I have never even heard of and the other you don't even like. Why would you cook for her?"

I cook for moms not because they are my friends. It's because having a baby and then staying home with them, whether it's for six weeks or 18 years, is hard. It's not like a really hard project at work where you celebrate with a fancy dinner or spot bonus. We moms don't get cateered in lunch or office Starbucks runs, raises, or office happy hour.

Someone is sucking on, pulling on you, calling for you, needing you almost every minute of the day and night. You can't even take your time in the bathroom.

I cook for them because they deserve it. We have to help each other out, because no one else will. It's my way of giving them a little bonus for a hard job well done.

Mr. Hilarious said, "Don't you think your bonus is when your kids smile at you?"

Really? REALLY? After a day of removing cottage cheese from the windows, rotten milk from the car seat, and jolly ranchers from my hair, I want my bonus in Starbucks!

Snow Ghost

I felt some guilt that I had not played with my kids in the snow this winter. For the same reason kids' hate naps, they love to play in the snow. It's a totally mystery. I would rather scrub the toilets than put on twelve layers of clothes to go out in the sub arctic winds to build a snowman. However, I got this wild idea that good moms play with their kids in the snow. So off we went to build a snowman.

As we start packing the bottom ball, my oldest, nine years old, said, "We've never built a snowman."

"That's not true." I told her. I actually do have proof in a photo of her standing next to snowman built by herself and me and her dad. However, I think she is two. The boys can make a case. They have probably never built one.

Six minutes into the project I realize why they have never built one. Building a snowman is HARD! And it FREEZING! Ten minutes into the building, I get the snow shovel thinking that could speed things along. Twelve minutes in, with frost bitten fingers and snot frozen on my cheek, I declare the snowman complete.

"But it doesn't look like a snowman!" All three kids whine.

"It's a snow ghost!" I exclaim. "Let's go in, tell ghost stories and get some hot chocolate and donuts!" I have long ago learned that the best way to drag kids away from something they deam as fun is to promise junk food.

I did remember to snap a photo of the snow ghost so they will remember we did play in the snow. Lord knows I won't be doing it again for at least four more years.

The Day After

Yesterday I was sick. I laid in bed most of the day thinking if child services saw my poor neglected children, I would be arrested. On their own, they ate junk food and watched tv all day.

This morning I woke up feeling so much better, until I saw the kitchen. What a disaster. No one washed one dish or threw away one peice of trash. It was a wreck. I yelled at all my nuts and Mr. Hilarious that this was just more proof that they all thought I was a maid. They were just waiting for me to feel better so I could get up and clean up their mess.

This maid wants a raise.

Running by Feeling

Mr. Hilarious has been working insane hours and suggested we all do something fun together on Sunday. I said, "That's a great idea. You do something fun with the kids, and I'll take a day to myself." This mom needed a day off.

I started my day at the Y with Amanda, my best friend, running partner, and free therapist (she is gestalt trained). She received a book called Run: The Mind-Body Method of Running by Feel. Neither of us have read it, but just by the title, we decided we both agree that running by feel is the best way to go. In a mom world dictated by bus, lunch, nap, and soceer schedules, our plates our full. Sometimes we have zero energy to run one mile, and if our training schedule tells us to run eight miles, we feel like a failure when we don't.

Last year, Amanda and I took a year off from races and ran just for the fun of it. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you it was largely because I didn't want to spend the money paying for races. I also didn't want to spend the money for new shoes and am still paying for it. Replace those shoes to stay injury free!

Running without a schedule was amazing. We both ran farther and faster than we ever had before. When it was hot and humid (or one of us had a few drinks the night before), we ran until we couldn't take it, sometimes only two miles. But when the weather was right and we needed to vent, we could run ten or more miles without even realizing it.

We didn't use a clock, and we don't have a gps so we don't really know how far we ran, but we were runners. I also think I was the most mentally fit I had been in a long time. I wasn't stressed out because my kid was sick and I couldn't run, and I didn't have to leave any parties early to get to bed because I had a long run in the morning.

As this book warns, this kind of running is not for beginners. It's also not for those coming back from an injury. I ran four miles yesterday and felt like I could run four more. However, I am so cautious not to over do it and reinjure myself. I'm sticking to a strict running plan of one mile a week increases until I am back to 30 miles a week. However, I am truly looking forward to the freedom of running without a schedule, and the reward of running as far and fast as my body needs. It's a different kind of run.

Baby Blues

I don't know if it is legal to post someone's comic on my blog, but I couldn't resist. I love Baby Blues and read it every Sunday. I swear this mom could be me. She even look like me - dark poofy hair, frazled look on her face. This strip really captures what I'm saying here: raising kids is like running a marathon every single day. Run, mom, run!

Lemi Shine

I love it! I don't know what is in it, but it is some kind of miracle. Yesterday, I told my husband I wanted to move because hard water and I have been at war since we moved in and it has won. It has taken over and since we have no access place for a water softener, we just had to move.

Mr. Hilarious didn't think this was funny and did what he does (research) and comes home with this stuff (5 bucks at Walmart). I pour it in the dishwasher and... Magic! The dishwasher is cleaner than it was when it was brand new. I think someone has crept into my house and switched out the glasses because they sparkle like diamonds. I used to soak them in vinegar weekly to get the hard water off them, but they've never looked like this.

My shower door has been crusted with hard water since we moved in. I've tried every single product out there, including ,my own elbow grease, but this LemiShine wiped it right off.

Everything just feels better. This morning, my son held one of our newly washed porcelain bowls and said, "whoooo, this is so soft."

The bottle says it's all natural and environmentally friendly. I find it hard to believe, since it works like some sort of magic acid, but I will believe it because I don't want to know if it is actually really bad for me. It just made me love my home again.

Breakdown on aisle 10

Ronan was so excited to get new shoes. "Mom! When are we going to go to Target? You said we can get new shoes!" He's been wearing his snow boots for about six weeks straight. Poor kid needs some shoes. So the three nuts and I go to Target today to get some kicks.
I am hoping for a sale, but just really hoping to be in and out of there in fifteen minutes. We book it to the shoe department. Ava measures Ronan's foot while I scan the two rows of boys casual shoes. One starts at size 13 and one ends at size 12. My big boy is a size 13.5 and gets to move up to the big boy shoes. Exciting right! No! That's when they take the velcro off and replace them with laces. I knew this day would come. I mean eventually everyone wears tennis shoes that tie. But I am not ready today! I am willing to fake though, because what else can a mom do?
Ronan will not play along. He throws himself on the floor sobbing that he can't tie his shoes, he WON'T tie is shoes, he won't practice. He will just wear the snow boots until he dies. Really, he said that. I told him everyone needs to practice and he sobs, "No they don't. Everyone else just knows how to tie and can do it the first time." He enters the I-will-refuse-to-listen-to-anything-reasonable zone.
UGH! I consider bribing with candy, and I consider what things I can take away from him without punishing myself more. I just want to throw down the diaper bag (yeeees, my three year old still needs diapers) and walk out the store, march over to Starbucks, sit at a table and cry.

Mop

I asked Mr. Hilarious for a Shark steam mop for my birthday. He guffawed, "I am not getting you a mop for your birthday." Instead, he bought me a very fancy black satin dress and heels. Then he took me to a very nice dinner. The dress is beautiful and the restaurant was elegant, but I was actually disappointed I didn't get the mop. Luckily, I was able to pool enough cash birthday and Christmas gifts from the aunties and grandmas to buy myself a steam mop. I don't get many fancy dinner invitations and since we have no weddings on docket for this summer, I am willing to bet I will not wear that dress again this year. If I had a steam mop I would use it religiously every day (well, twice a week) and my home would sparkle and everyone would be happy.
I bought it New Year's Eve and while we were at a party, which turned out to be a surprise birthday party, I kept thinking, "I can't wait to get home and try out my new mop!" It hit me that I have crossed an age gap between young thirties and old thirties.
I finally got to try it out yesterday. I vacuumed the tile and removed everything not built in from the kitchen. It was appalling how disgusting my floor was. I currently mop once a month, give or take a month. I started mopping and the dirt and gunk did come up. When the box promised the floor dried instantly, it wasn't lying. In fact, it was like pushing around a dry mop on a sticky floor. After thirty minutes of pushing and pulling that *&@! thing, my floor was cleaner than ever, and back and shoulders ached liked I had just done P90X. I was so thankful my husband bought me that dress instead of this slave machine. What a good man.
One month I will make a resolution to have a better kept home. I will actually mop every week. But it's not this month, thank God.

Resolutions

I love making New Years Resolutions. I usually make about ten lofty goals and include one gimmie, like "quit smoking crack" or "quit hooking". That way when February rolls around and I have nine broken resolutions, I can say, "well, at least I am not smoking crack."
This may not be funny to you if you are a crack smoker or hooker, but it's funny to me since I would not reveal my post nursing breasts to anyone except my husband no matter how much I was paid. One of my usual resolutions is to care less about offending other people, because someone is always offended.

This year I am trying out twelve monthly resolutions. Each month I will focus on one change, and I will get to start anew each month. That way if one month is a total flop, I can try something else the next month instead of waiting eleven months to start over. And either way, at least I'm not smoking crack.

January's resolution is to write everyday. I have wanted to be a writer since I was a kid. I love doing it, sharing it, reading it. I have this image of me in a cluttered room with a fireplace overlooking a lake. I am drinking coffee, sporting red framed glasses and smoking cigarettes while I type away. I have no fireplace, lake, glasses and quit smoking, but that shouldn't let that stop me. However, you have to write to be a writer and since I rarely get around to writing my head writing down, this will be a good habit for me to cultivate. Whether it's a blog, short story, contest entry, or letter to my kids, I will write 15 minutes everyday. I am three days into the New Year, and this is the first time I've written. I'd give myself an F, an F, and a C-. The C- is because while I did set my alarm early, and I did drag myself out of bed, and I am writing away, I have somehow deleted this blog twice in some sort of secret computer move. I've cursed more than I've actually written. I should make one month's resolution "become more computer savvy", but at least I'm not smoking crack. Okay, I know it's tired now, but I just can't help it. It cracks me up every time! Now I have spent 45 minutes writting and accidently detleting and will be late. Not only have I run out of time to proof read, but it undoubtably means I will yell at the kids who are complete slow butts in morning. I am 90% sure no one is even dressed, and we have to leave in 25 minutes. It's a good thing this month's resolution is not to stop yelling and rushing in the morning.