Sometimes I Like to F With My Kids.

Sometimes I like to fuck with my kids.

 

I know what you're thinking. I'm sure that makes me sound like a horrible mother, even worse that I so casually drop the f-bomb but it's true. I also like to think that since I'm responsible for keeping them fed, relatively well-adjusted and alive each day, that it's only owed to me to be able to screw with them every now and again.

 

Take for instance, my middle child, my favorite child. There is this sole pair of pajamas that he absolutely refuses to wear. They could be (and have been) the last pair of clean pajamas in his drawer at night and he would much rather roll around naked on the carpet and throw himself on the floor in a fit of desperation than wear them to bed.

 

You would think that I'm asking him to do the unthinkable- that I was dipping his fingers in hot wax and plucking off his fingernails one by one judging by the nature of the tantrums that any attempt to get him to wear these pajamas elicits.

 

Keep in mind, there is nothing wrong with these pajamas.

I have not the faintest idea as to what these poor pajamas ever did to him to make him never want to wear them EVER. In fact, they're a rather adorable pair of soft flannel pajamas that boast a small Mickey Mouse applique and were handed down to him by his older brother who wore them (and loved them) only a year ago. As a matter of fact, I'm almost certain that he would still wear these pajamas if only the pants didn't fit him like a pair of Bermuda shorts.

 

These pajamas were lovingly handed down to Maclane over a year ago and the child has yet to wear them. With temperatures and wind chills in the negative double digits lately, I couldn't think of a more fitting time for these pajamas to be worn. I've tried bribing and begging but to no avail. 

He just won't wear the damn things... Until two nights ago.

 

After a particularly busy day of being two and a half, particularly a two and a half year old whose naps are becoming less and less frequent, Maclane made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch before he could make it into the bath before bed.

In our house, falling asleep that early and before baths is akin to passing out after a college rager with your shoes still on. In other words, it's a free for all. Since we've hidden all of our Sharpies (because, toddlers), I knew that I had to think of a Plan B.

Light bulb.

I scooped up that sweet sack of sleepy sugar and whisked him upstairs to his bed. Now, you have to understand that Mackie not only plays hard all day long but when he crashes, he crashes hard as well. There was no waking him.

I peeled off his pants quickly and deftly, changing his diaper with hardly a sigh. And that's when I slid open his drawer, chock full of pajamas in all colors and patterns but the pair that stood out the most to me was that plaid flannel set, boasting that much-loathed mouse.

I couldn't stop laughing. "How sick and twisted am I," I thought to myself. To take advantage of my child in a weak moment, a moment where he wasn't even able to defend himself from The Pajamas. A moment when I could proudly declare, "I WIN!" as I slipped his fast asleep little body into those jammies.

You bet your ass I did it. I slipped him into those jammies so fast- that god forbid he were to wake and demand, "no, mom! no mickey!" and I would have to abort mission. I tucked him in, making sure that he was surrounded by the menagerie he insists on sleeping with each night. Tigey, Bear-Bear, Blue Puppy and Bunny. I kissed his forehead before slipping out of his room to begin the bed time routine with his brothers.

"I bet you can't guess what I just did to Mac," I said to my husband as I began to draw the bath water. "Do I even want to know? Is he going to require therapy later in life because of it because if so, you're totally footing the bill for that one," he replied. 

I couldn't help but go to bed thinking, "I WON," a rather immature thought when dealing with someone thirty years your junior. But hey, a mom's gotta get her licks in when she can, am I right? 

5:30 the next morning I awoke to a rather well-rested and boisterous two year old running into my room exclaiming, "MY SOFT PANTS! I'M WEARING MY SOFT PANTS!" After all, he had just slept twelve and a half hours. I don't think I've been that well rested since 2008. 

His soft pants. The soft pajamas pants that he refused to wear for months have quickly become his favorite pair. A pair that he now requests to wear night after night after night. A pair that brings with it a new concept of "but they're in the laundry" that he can't quite grasp. 

So I wash them. So that he can wear them. Night after night after night. 

Which begs the questions, "who really won after all?" 

Toddler - 673 , Mom - 5.    

Kids and Cars: Is Your Car Kid-Proof?

When I think of the word kid-proof, I immediately think of those silly doorknob covers that make it nearly impossible for a grown adult to open their own bathroom door without busting into the pee-pee dance while they simultaneously twist, turn and squeeze that plastic contraption. Sound familiar to anyone else? Anyone? Bueller....?

One thing I do not think of when the word kid-proof comes to mind, however, is cars. Which, if you think about it, is rather silly because believe it or not, cars are kid-proof. At least, so are the ones made by Chevy or GM.

I thought it might be interesting to get a kid's take on what it means to be kid-proof, along with some other ideas on riding in cars safely and I'm so glad I had my four and a half year old on hand to take on the task. I'm also quite proud of him for knowing who the better driver is in our family. I'm sure his answer had nothing to do with the fact that the named driver is responsible for feeding him 3+ meals per day...

 

To read about a time that I was especially grateful for a "kid-proof" car, head on over here. Be sure to share your own stories of a time when you, too, have been thankful for a "kid-proof" vehicle!

        

The Elusive Date Night.

This post is sponsored by Rack Room Shoes.

 

I used to laugh when my kid-less friends proclaimed an ordinary Wednesday evening as "date night!" Often times it was decided ever so spontaneously and it never involved waiting on anyone else to come to fruition-including but not limited to the arrival of a sitter or the complacency of a rebellious toddler who suddenly decided that any activity that didn't involve you stationed within a 6 inch radius of them was for the birds. 

 

It was even funnier to me when these kid-less friends would wax poetic about their "date night in-" quiet, relaxed evenings chock full of wine, takeout, DVR'd favorites and ultra-late bedtimes with little to no consequence of this lateness the following morning, because, let's face it, they stayed in bed until noon which is what you do when you don't have three tiny humans poking you in the eyeballs and demanding sippy cups of "OWNAGE JUICE, PWEASE" at five-thirty in the morning.

 

Date nights once you have children are as elusive as the majestic unicorn your child keeps asking for for their 3rd birthday. Not only do they involve actual work to schedule them (clearing calendars, hiring sitters, etc.) but often times they also require actual physical work such as the calisthenics required to squeeze into several layers of Spanx just so that you can fit into your MILF-jeans.

 

Trust me, I get it. Date nights are just as important to a marriage whether you have kids or not but the reality is, once you have kids the entire date night experience changes. Prior to having kids you made a quick trip to the mall to pick out something new to wear, you probably talked about worldly matters over dinner, indulged in maybe one or two extra glasses of wine and stayed out well past your bedtime.

 

After having kids, "quick trips to the mall" don't exist and chances are you recently had a baby (recently as within the last two years) so you have no idea what size clothing you actually wear, you talk about Kindergarten applications and the latest Disney Jr. marathon during meal time then decline that extra glass of wine so that you're not slurring your words when you have to pay the babysitter later and stay out just past the kid's bedtime so that for once, for the love of all things holy, you aren't responsible for reading JUST ONE MORE story and coercing three tiny, manipulative terrorists to stay in their beds and go to sleep.

 

How do I know this? Because I've been there. As a matter of fact, my husband and I just went on our third date night in just as many years. I'm kidding, mostly, as we've clearly been on at least twice the number of date nights as we have kids which I will admit is never enough date nights but at this point in the game, we take what we can get. Although we've mastered the Date Night In After You've Drugged The Kids To Sleep it's nice to get dolled up from time to time and remember why you fell in love with each other in the first place.

 

And I'll give you a hint- it has nothing to do with the way your spouse sexily changes the baby's diaper.

 

When getting ready for Date Night After Kids, time is of the essence. You may not have countless hours at hand to primp and preen like you once did- often times, dry shampoo, eyeliner and a top that doesn't beg the question "is that chocolate or poop?" will have to suffice. 

 

The following look is nearly effortless, trust me. Not only does it quickly and easily transition one from Exhausted Mom of Three to Hot Mom; Kids? What Kids? but also it showcases quite possibly my favorite trend in footwear: the neutral bootie. (Shoetie? I'll never know but I do know that I've never met a bootie I didn't like and this pair from Rack Room Shoes does not disappoint).

 

 

 

 

sweater (on sale!) / leather leggings (similar) / bootie (on sale!)

 

 

    

 

sweater (on sale!) / leather leggings (similar) / bootie (on sale!)

 

This date night outfit wins additional bonus points because it feels like pajamas boasting an oversized chunky knit sweater and leggings that feel like butter. Dressed up for date night or dressed down with a casual pair of skinny jeans and plaid flannel shirt, the neutral booties are icing on the proverbial ensemble cake.

 

I love shopping Rack Room Shoes for a variety of reasons. Not only do they offer name brand on-trend footwear for the entire family but they do so at a cost that doesn't make me want to hide the receipts from my husband (come on, I'm not the only one who replies, "these old things? They're not new, you just don't remember when I bought them!) Rack Room Shoes also boasts an every day promotion of "Buy One, Get One 50%" on ALL available styles. You can pretty much guarantee to buy two pairs of shoes each time you shop because the deals are just that good.

 

Lastly, the Rack room Rewards program allows customers simple, instant savings with perks such as exclusive discounts, coupons and $15 in rewards for every $200 spent on their every day top brand merchandise.

 

Check out some of my other bootie/shoe-tie recommendations here and be sure to visit Rack Room Shoes before your next tri-annual Date Night!

 

The Flynn The Morgan The Tandy

 

 

 

this post is sponsored by Rack Room Shoes.

All opinions expressed were honest and my own.

I did receive product in exchange for these opinions but not additional compensation was received.

           

Has Anyone Seen My Baby?

Because surely someone has crept into my house during the middle of the night and replaced him with this efficiently mobile, dexterous, communicative legitimate miniature human being who is nine and a half months old.

 

Long gone are the days when I would move the furniture around in the nursery, centering the glider in the most delicious path of natural light, having changed my baby into a white onesie adorned with one of those adorable monthly stickers on his belly.

 

Frankly, long gone are the meticulous monthly updates because, hello, third baby, despite how dedicated I was the first three months in the beginning to not become that mother who skimps on the third child.

 

Even though I keep a notebook that moves with me from purse to nightstand filled with milestones I want to remember as well as "Funny And/or Embarrassing Things the Boys Say," I feel the need to come to this space and throw together an update so that when he finds himself on a couch inside a therapist's office in thirty-something years, he certainly won't be able to pin his distress to the exact moment he realized his mother stopped blogging about his diaper size, sleeping habits and adorable chin dimple.

 

Collins Mason, you are nine and a half months old this February and without a single doubt you have been the missing piece of the puzzle all along. Even though I can't remember what we had for dinner last night, not an ounce of our being can remember life before you.

 

Actually, scratch that. I can remember. And life wasn't nearly as bright, our faces didn't' hurt nearly as much from smiling so hard and I definitely had much less laundry piled up around my house. But everyone in our little family loves you to pieces. If we could literally tear you into pieces and tuck you into our pockets, carrying you around for the day, we would. That's how much we love you.

 

You are charming. You are wonderful and snuggly and smell like fresh chocolate chip cookies. You laugh all the damn day. One might become sickened or jealous of just how happy you are- but they are too enamored by the joy that radiates from your eyeballs. Seriously. I have never met a baby so happy.

 

You love your brothers. They are your playmates, your climbing gyms, your tussle buddies. You seek them out just as they seek you out, the moment they enter a room. You also love balls both big and small, anything you can bang together (blocks, cups, etc), mealtimes, bath time and walks in the stroller.

You have yet to graduate from your duck tub and I just purchased this stroller muff to get us through the next couple months of this wicked weather. Cabin fever is beginning to set in and it is not a pretty shade on us, particularly your older brothers.

 

You've got tricks, oh yes you do! You clap, you dance, you stand, you crawl, you roll, you laugh, you wave, you do "SO BIG" and my most favorite, hearing your sweet raspy baby voice saying big boy things like "hiiiii," "mama," and "doh,' for dog. While I miss your brand new freshly born baby days, you are just ridiculous amounts of fun right now and I cannot get enough of you. My happy, hip-riding chunk of love.

I've begun planning your first birthday party and while it definitely gives me a lump in my throat, I'm so happy I can sit back and say that I've truly, wholly and desperately at times, soaked up every single moment of your first year. That's the thing about third babies- they make you candidly aware and appreciate of the passing of time, much more so than the babies who came before them.

You're sleeping in your crib all night most every night- you go down at 8pm after your favorite time of day, bath time, and wake anywhere from 3am-5am to nurse. Some days I'll lay you back in your crib once we're through but if I'm being honest, more times than not I'll sneak you into bed with us where you'll proceed to stretch out real big, claiming your half of the bed and sleep dreamily there until you're awakened by the Bash Brothers who come tumbling into our room around 6:30 in the morning.

 

You're nursing every 5-6 hours during the day, starting upon waking. You'll eat purees although you'd much rather slurp them direct from the bag than from the spoon. If it's mushy enough, you're also eating anything we're eating including but not limited to berries, eggs, rice, pasta, matzoh balls, broccoli, pancakes, etc. You have two shiny new teeth this month, hopefully the first of many.

You're wearing 12-18 and 18-24 months clothes and size 4-5 diapers. I have no idea how much you weigh because I've been avoiding the pediatrician's office like the plague this winter season since our area has been a hot zone of influenza. If I had to guess, you weigh somewhere in the ballpark of 23-26lbs. I would even venture to say you're the very same size Maclane was at this age but we won't know for certain until your well check later this month.

You're moving and doing and talking and going places. I laugh and shake my head because I'm still hauling you around in your infant bucket seat, something that by this point in your brothers' first years, had already been retired to the recesses of the garage. You're just so content to be hauled around in that thing and since you're still a ways away from surpassing neither the height nor weight restriction and you nap so well in it, why mess with a good thing, I say?

That and I'm relying on you to work my biceps before swimsuit season.

But really, Collins. You are a joy, a light, a bright spot in our days and all of the sweet cliché things mothers always say about their angelic children. You are our favorite, our beloved last little baby, the icing on our family unit cake of life. You're amazing and your Daddy and I are so grateful we get to raise you up. We apologize now for any therapist fees you may incur in thirty-something years.... We love you more than carrots, Scooby Bear.