To my daughter on her second birthday,
And like that, she’s two
I packed up your high chair the other day, you no longer use it. These days you insist on sitting in a chair at the table, just like your big sister. You’ve become her twin, her shadow, over the past few months. There is no where she goes, that you do not follow. It can be both adorable and frustrating as I try to keep you both in line. Continue reading
“Keep up that fight, bring it to your schools. You don’t have to be indoctrinated by these loser teachers that are trying to sell you on socialism from birth. You don’t have to do it.” – Donald Trump Jr.
I have been thinking about Mrs. Miller a lot lately. She was impossibly nice, had beautiful blonde curly hair, and taught the 5th grade. I can’t remember much of what I learned in her classroom that year, but I do remember how she made me feel: smart, creative, important.
Fly little one
Dear daughter, a letter on your fourth birthday.
You are the one who made me a mother. You are the one who changed my world. And this year, you are four.
The holidays are upon us
Dearest millennial host,
It’s me, your 19 pound turkey, dropping in with a very important message about Thanksgiving. I know a written 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.
For example, do you remember the other day when you thought you heard a noise coming from your trunk while you were on your way home from the grocery store? Well, that was me trying to get your attention.
My “cold and flu season” decorations are finally up.
Twas the night before cold and flu season…
Twas the night before [insert thing I was looking forward to doing here], when all through the house, not a child was sleeping, not even with their favorite stuffed mouse;
Their outfits for tomorrow had been laid out with care, in the hope it would speed up our morning routine if we prepared.
Instead I found children piled high in our bed, sniffling, and sneezing as we held damp towels to their heads
I should have realized it yesterday, when my youngest went down easily for her nap, my carefully planned schedule was about to go to crap. Continue reading
The Fourth of July is finally upon us. I can tell thanks to the sweet, subtle sounds of shit exploding outside my house. The relentless ballistics begin around supper and continue until well after I’ve passed out for the night #merica.
Don’t judge my collection
The familiar percussion, while equally obnoxious and annoying when you have two sleeping toddlers, serve as a reminder that summer is already half over. And to that I say, yaaaaaay. Continue reading
Becoming a parent is a life altering event. You go from being in charge of just you, to having this whole other human being that relies on you for everything. They also somehow quadruple your laundry load.
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.
The Wellbanks before we were both Wellbanks
It’s great, because kids are awesome and great (and I’m just going to keep saying great over and over again because I have a three-year-old and it’s great Great. Great. Great.) Continue reading
Seven steps for enjoying St. Paddy’s Day like you did before you had kids.
Step one: Dress your kids up in their St. Paddy’s Day finest. I am talking head to toe green, orange, and white. You’re going to need a gigantic green bow for their hair. This works for girls, boys, and patient dogs alike. Put giant green bows on everyone, you won’t regret it. Take pictures because OMG how cute are your kids in matching/themed/clean outfits? Immediately post said pictures to Facebook and Instagram (#littleleprachauns #luckyAF), and tell your husband that maybe you should have another baby #luckynumber3. Spend the next half hour changing a blown out diaper, navigate a meltdown over what socks to wear, and repack the diaper bag three times because SOMEONE keeps pulling the diapers out and throwing them around the kitchen. Tell your husband it’s time for that vasectomy. Load up the car with everything anyone could possibly need for the next 24-hours, for your ten-minute ride to your parent’s house. Continue reading
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.
Kids are not the same as pets. I know there are a lot of people out there who love their “fur babies.” And who may feel personally attacked by that statement, but I assure you I’m not making a judgement call. I’m not trying to quantify love, I’m not the government, but I’m pretty sure we can all agree that there are some fundamental differences between kids and pets.
Kids and cats
Some things are just different. After all frogs are not the same as lizards. My husband isn’t the same as, oh let’s say, Timothy Olyphant (I mean it’s close, it’s just not the same). Continue reading