There are very few things worse than a hangover. I can actually only think of two, one of them is a hangover at 36-years-old, the other thing is toddlers. Really really loud toddlers.
Because parenting is sometimes like a hangover from which there is no recovering
If you’ve experienced either of these things then you know that while you’re in them, they seem to go on endlessly and have no real cure.
Fortunately I have a list of ways to help. And this list applies to both overindulging and the tiny little people living in your home and draining you of all your ever loving energy.
- It’s all about the right foods – If you’ve ever woken up from a late night of partying with that cottonmouth, head pounding, belly full of acid feeling then you know how important your first meal of the day is. Whether you’re using it to suck up all of the remaining alcohol, as a pillow soft Landing for your ibuprofen, or to fuel you through a long day of chasing after small children. Breakfast really is the most important meal of the day. Make it equal parts carbs, proteins, and grease and you will have no problem making it through two straight hours of Paw Patrol, or you know, life.
- You’re gonna need a bigger coffee mug– Maybe you were doing jagerbombs until the bar closed at 2 a.m. Maybe you were up every hour because the blankets were simultaneously too soft and too hard. Just maybe, if you were really lucky, you woke up in the middle of the night to a small toddler face two inches from your own, saw your entire life flash between your eyes, and were so unimpressed that you were unable to fall back asleep. No matter what the reason, it’s now morning and you’re exhausted. My tip, brew a fresh pot of coffee, skip the mug, and put a straw in that bitch. That carafe is your mug today.
- Water is life – Alcohol dehydrates you. So does caffeine. It’s cruel and unfair, but you’re going to have to suck it up buttercup and re-hydrate. You’ll need to drink half your weight in ounces in order to maintain. Then you’ll want to add an extra two ounces for every alcoholic drink your downed the night before. Add an extra three ounces per toddler you have at home.
- Silence is golden – It’s much easier to recover from last night’s happy hour or a three-year-old’s birthday party if you can get some quiet time for your brain to recover. Whether that means a nice long bath (bonus points if you throw in a fistful of Epsom salts in for detox purposes) or locking yourself in the laundry room because that’s the last place your kids will look for you. Get your grey matter some time to heal.
- And the only real cure for both a hangover and parenting a toddler is the same, just abstain– Yeah, you’ve heard this one before. The only sure fire way to avoid a hangover is not to drink. And the only surefire way to not have toddlers is to not have babies. Who among us hasn’t sworn off alcohol after a particularly bad morning? Or said, “I really don’t think I want anymore kids.” only to eventually find yourself doing just that. Nothing lulls you into the false sense of security of, “we can handle another one.” quite like the sweet coo’s of someone else’s sleeping newborn.
The moral of the story is that only YOU can prevent hangovers and toddlers. Just say no.
If your house is anything like mine, your dryer lint has gone from being pink and bespeckled with glitter, to being red and bespeckled with glitter, signaling that Christmas is finally upon us.
Also, that this family has an unsustainable glitter habit.
This is a magical time. Everything is festively decorated and there’s an extra crackle of excitement in the air. Sprinkle kids into the mix, and that excitement gets dialed up by about a million.
After all, most kids spend the entire year in (not so quiet) anticipation, plotting and planning how to get Santa to bring them everything they desire while just toeing the line between naughty and nice.
That is unless your kids are toddlers. Then you can forget about that line all together. There is no pretending to be good with toddlers. You can’t bribe good behavior out of a three-year-old, or threaten it out with the prospect of ending up on the naughty list (trust me, bribery and threats are the backbone of my parenting philosophy, she sobs into her messy living room).
Also, you can’t give a two-foot-tall person approximately three feet of cookies and expect them to have any chill what-so-ever when it comes to anything Santa related.
I mean, my toddler spends every day sneaking up to our advent calendar and setting it to Christmas Eve and then exclaiming that today is Christmas and asking where Santa left her presents.
It isn’t really much different than her normal day-to-day lack of chill, to be honest. And I contemplated that one day while listening to the holiday station on the car radio while trying to drown out my oldests pleas for ice cream from the back seat. I noticed a common theme among some of my favorite Christmas songs…
I present to you all the Christmas carols that are forever tainted by raising a toddler.
Please Come Home for Christmas, The Eagles – Bells will be ringing? Yeah, I hear them. I hear every single one of them. My toddler just rang each one and ran away, only to run back and ring them again.
Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer, Elmo and Patsy – “IS THAT WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER FACE?”
Do You Hear What I Hear, Harry Simeone – “Do you? Do you hear it, mommy? Mom, mom, do you hear it? What is that? Mom? Mom? MOM?!”
Little Drummer Boy, Harry Simeone – BANG ON THIS, BANG ON THAT, PRETEND ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING IS A DRUM… BANG BANG BANG.
Baby it’s Cold Outside, by like, everyone – “But I don’t wannnnnna wear a jacket!!!”
Silent Night, Joseph Mohr – LOL, JK
All I Want for Christmas is You, Mariah Carey – “I want a puppy.” “Oh, and a firetruck.” “And, and, and a talking Marshall from Paw Patrol!” “And THAT! What IS that? I want it!”
Deck the Halls, Thomas Oliphant – If your kid isn’t “Fa la la la-ing” at full volume is it even Christmas?
HAPPY HOLIDAYS FRIENDS!
Dear daughter, today you turn three. And although I will miss your tiny little voice, and your tiny face, I am excited for the year ahead of us.
This year you surprised me in so many ways. Your personality is clearer than ever. You are the charming little weirdo with a great laugh who is quick to use it. You’re brave, braver than I could have ever hoped you would be. Whether it’s facing down the dentist for the first time or spending your first nights away from me, you’ve gone at it all with the same determination. Continue reading
It’s me, your 12 pound turkey, with a very important message about Thanksgiving. I know a letter seems a little formal, especially since you are about to be wrist deep inside of me, but it’s pretty hard to get your attention any other way.
Remember the other day when you thought you heard a noise coming from your trunk on your way home from the grocery store? That was me, trying to get your attention.
Shit changes fast around here, and as soon as I’m used to the current state of things, it changes again.
I’m still in survival mode. I say still because I think I shifted into it somewhere around my sixth month of pregnancy, maybe somewhere around my second round of strep throat? The “baby” is now almost seven months. It’s been a while. Maybe it’s not even really survival mode when you’re coming up on the one year mark. Maybe this is just my life now.
I’m okay with it. Because between the old life and the new, the moves and the changes, we’re all managing to survive. And that’s good enough for me.
Stuff, stuff everywhere…
Today marks two weeks since we moved into our new house. All the rooms are still piled high with boxes. We arrange and then rearrange while we try and figure out where to put all of these toys. Every time I think I’m making progress I find another box, jam packed with more brightly colored crap. I am inclined to think that Pandora’s Box was just full of mismatched doll outfits and random Lego pieces. Continue reading
To the woman who made fun of me today at Target,
I saw you…
You were openly mocking me. I don’t think you knew I was watching, I was in the back of the store, a few rows away tucked almost out of sight.
I get it, I really do, I make an easy target with my unnaturally slow gait, my arms always lifted just so, the slack jawed look on my face. You’re not the first person to make fun of me. You’re not even the first person to do it in front of me. It has happened for as long as I can remember. Continue reading
Halloween is almost here. And while I may not be sticking to my pre-parenting traditions (scary movie marathons, obnoxious decorations, and drinking my weight in pumpkin beer), I am still finding time to be living in a constant state of fear #isthisyearoveryet?
Don’t look too close, something may move…
You see, when you are a parent of small children, everyday is Halloween. Someone is always asking you for something (trick-or-can-I-have-more-crackers), there are costumes, and cobwebs. Lots and lots of cobwebs.
And like I said, shit is scary. I’m talking more than just the day to day cray that is 2017. Toddlers are scary. I mean, they are known for the weird things that they say and do. And weird things become terrifying things when they happen in the middle of the night.
As a matter of fact, life with a toddler is kind of like Halloween married a scary movie and they had a haunted house for a baby. And now you’re stuck changing that baby’s diapers.
Parents, you are doing everything wrong! Yes, I mean you. Every. Thing.
That’s what the headline read as I scrolled through my newsfeed on my phone while nursing my 3 month old (apparently that’s another big no-no, no phones while breastfeeding. Babies need eye contact while nursing. PUT YOUR PHONES DOWN RIGHT NOW AND ENGAGE YOUR LITTLE SQUISH WITH YOUR EYE BALLS). Continue reading
Yesterday would have been my grandmother’s 89th birthday. We would have celebrated with her favorite dinner (shrimp Alfredo, which she liked the best when my father was the one making it). There would have been cake, or maybe milkshakes, depending on her mood.
A girl and her horse
There would have been laughter, and some grumblings about how she couldn’t believe she was still here, and that she hadn’t yet given up the ghost– a phrase she was growing fond of over the past two years.
Pregnancy, for some it’s a time of glowing and eager anticipation, for others it’s a time of great discomfort and fear, but for almost everyone it’s a time of struggle.
And I’m just talking about the dads here… ba-dum-tss.
The struggle is real
It can be hard to watch the woman that you love the most going through something that you feel like you can’t help with. I mean, I can only assume, it looks like my husband is having a hard time here.