It’s intense. And it colors everything in your world. Suddenly you find yourself wearing these parenting glasses that change the way you view everything. It’s like Predator vision, only everything is in primary colors and has soft rounded edges because holy shit everything is a death trap.
On the days when my arms are full but my heart is not, I try to remember why.
When everyone needs something right now, and I just don’t feel like I have anything left in me to give, I try to remember.
When they’ve already eaten lunch and are asking for snacks but I haven’t even started my breakfast, I force myself to remember.
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.
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!
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
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.
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
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
When you’re carrying your second child, the wellspring of advice dries up. People either sympathize with you, or whisper cautionary tales.
They’ll tell you about everything sibling rivalries, and how the work doesn’t just double, it increases exponentially, “One is like one, but two is like twenty.” Continue reading
Becoming a mother has been one of the most rewarding (awful), magical (terrifying), and amazing things that has ever happened to me. I cannot even begin to fully explain the range of emotions that it fills me with every single day.
It also gives me a whole new appreciation for my own mother. I see things so much differently now. It’s as though I’ve moved across the street. The view is still familiar– I know this house, and these neighbors, but I see them in an entirely different way. Continue reading
I’m sitting in the driver’s seat. My two year old is in the back in her car seat, losing her ever loving mind because her shoe came off.
Actually, her shoe didn’t come off, she took it off. Then she threw it onto the floor. Now she’s filled with the burning rage of a thousand suns because she only has one shoe on. She can’t reach the one on the floor to put it back on and she can’t remove the second one and throw it as well.
I’m parked here because I’m meeting a stranger to pick up Girl Scout cookies, well the why isn’t as important as the fact that I’m stuck here for at least ten more minutes. My daughter, who is now screaming for me to drive away, doesn’t care why we’re here. She just wants us to go.