If Seinfeld were blogging, I would assume it would be like this…

Latest

So, I’m that Mom

I swore when I became a mom that I wouldn’t be THAT mom that always talks about her children to the point of obsessing… however, my toddler cracked me up ALL day today.

My morning began at 5:10AM with my toddler having a nightmare. I rushed into his room and told him it was just a dream and to go back to bed. He then responded, “Sleeping. Hard work Momma.” I laughed to myself and turned on his noise machine and then tucked him back in bed.

I’m assuming I fell straight to sleep because at 5:40AM, I hear over the baby monitor, “You like that baby?! That be fun baby! Allright.” I now jumped out of bed and dashed to the baby room only to find my toddler sitting in the crib while my baby is rocking on his hands and knees laughing adoringly at his older brother who woke him up. AAAGGHH!!! I am so lucky that the baby was okay, he’s eight months, and was just scooting towards the toddler in a trance like state. That poor little baby loves his brother so much; his face lights up when he sees his big brother and he is always giggling at him and smiling – it is scary how much the baby already idolizes his big bro!

So then, I took my toddler to the sitter for a four hour break from chasing him. Just me and the baby time all morning. So nice and so weird to be caring for my baby without the loon hovering nearby always threatening disaster. My baby probably thinks I suffer from tourettes sometimes. A typical conversation between me and the baby may be like this, me purring to the baby, “I love you baby. Yes, I do,” then interrupted by me yelling,  “NO!!! Ty do NOT jump off the table!!” Then regain my composure, “It’s allright baby. Mommy’s not mad.” So needless to say, a morning without the toddler and the baby having my complete attention is a special occasion in this house. Anyway, at noon, we go and pick up my toddler. I walk in the door to the sitter’ s house, only to see and hear my son tackle another three year old and then say, “Ty! Master!!” I looked at the sitter and she looked at me bewildered. I said, the only thing I could say, “Well, at least it’s not the F word!” I then, grabbed my tackling toddler’s hand and grabbed his boots while saying, “We’ll get whatever we left tomorrow.” I couldn’t get my toddler out of there quick enough!! Meanwhile, my inner dialogue was saying while I was dragging my toddler behind me, “Oh, please sitter, don’t give my son the boot. He’s really a good kid with a big heart!”

Then after the episode with the sitter and after our nap, we had to go to the doctor’s office for him to check my toddler’s ears.  So anyway, we were in the waiting room and in walks the doctor. He extends his hand and introduces me to him. Then my son jumps off the exam table and puts his hand out and shakes the doctor’s hand and says, “I’m Big.” He didn’t say anything else throughout the rest of the exam. He even pointed when asked which ear hurt. I swear!! I give up. I really wonder what people must think of my tot. Oh wait. No, I don’t.

So there you have it! I have nothing else to say or think about, except for what my son did and said. I’m THAT mom!

Signing off,

The mom who only talks about her kids

Advertisements

Santa left!!

The photo above is us bribing Santa to visit. Sometimes it takes more than “good” two-year old behavior for Santa to visit. That’s why I had to bake gingerbread cookies, M&M peanut butter cookies, and chocolate rolo cookies, and then serve milk with a splash of nutmeg in it for ole St. Nick. Hence, my two-year olds Christmas PJs that read, “Dear Santa, DEFINE good.” So, sit back and take notes all you first-time Santa-Mommas on how to be a prepared Mrs. Claus!

Our first Christmas was when my oldest was nine months. Santa bought him a red truck that he could push or ride-on. As soon as my little hellion saw it, he immediately started pushing it. Right into the wall!! Nothing a little putty and daddy’s elbow grease couldn’t fix though!! Ooops! Lesson learned: If buying a push toy for your child, please baby proof the house because holes in the wall are imminent!

Our second Christmas was with an almost two year old. Christmas Eve was awesome… not really. Our little town had an ice storm. No problem. Everyone was comfy, cozy in my house waiting for the baby to go to sleep. I put on It’s a Wonderful LIfe and we began getting all the Santa gifts out of the packages. My husband was tasked with assembling the work bench and all the tools. However, after he opened the box, he soon realized that there was NO fourth leg! Also, it required batteries for the saw to work. Second oops! We didn’t have batteries. So, my husband and his dad packed into the truck and skidded to Wal-Mart at 9PM. The most customer-unfriendly store in the world, of course, was closing its doors, but agreed to let my husband be the LAST customer. They did NOT have another work bench at all. Ugh. My husband came home with just batteries and a bewildered look on his face. He immediately went to his work bench in the garage and worked harder than any elf in the North Pole could ever have possibly worked! He soon engineered a fourth leg for our son’s work bench. He then came inside the house and gave me a look akin to a mad man saying, “If you ever buy a gift again, PLEASE  make sure it has all the parts!” I then responded, “Another spiked Egg Nog dear!” Christmas was saved that year thanks to my husband’s awesome elf skills! Lesson learned: Always have batteries and all the parts to the Santa gift before Christmas Eve.

Now this year’s Christmas seemed to be going without a hitch. I had checked all the boxes, moved the coffee table OUT of the living room, even had plastic guards on all corners of the houses to ensure minimal damage when hit with my son’s Santa gift of a Red Ryder wheel barrow. However, as always, there are always unforseen problems in the Halle House. My husband and I Christmas Eve were listening to Jimmy Stewart on the TV and assembling the parts of the all the toys while sipping our Egg Noggs. The seven month old was getting a crawl tunnel and other fun little toys; our toddler had been brainwashed all about Santa the entire month and knew that Santa was bringing him something special this year – all was well… or so we thought. You see, I had been reading, Twas the Night Before Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and letting him watch all the fun Christmas classic movies throughout the entire month. I had told him almost every evening before bed that Santa was coming to all the good boys and girls in the world to give them gifts. We even visited the portable North Pole video. So, as you can see, my son was excited beyond imagination this year for Santa to come! Christmas morning was hilarious! My son woke us up Christmas morning (he had slept in our room). I quickly went in the living room and pressed “record” on the video camera that was on a tripod facing the Santa gifts in front of the tree. When we opened the door for our toddler to come into the living room, he zoomed right past ALL the toys and went to the front door. He was trying frantically to open the door while saying, “Santa leave! Santa leave!! Where Santa be? Where Santa be?!” Evidently…. we never told him that Santa comes and gives you gifts and then leaves!! In my toddler’s mind, he thought he would awake to Santa sitting in his living room with toys in his arms!! We had to explain to a toddler that was in tears that Santa HAD come and left him presents. I showed my son where the Santa presents and then all was well!! Yay! Christmas had been saved. Lesson Learned: Tell your literal toddler that Santa visits once a year to give him/ her toys and then he leaves to go visit other children in the world. He/she will wake only to toys and no Santa on Christmas morning.

So I hope the lessons that I have learned will bode you well! Who knew that you had to literally explain step-by-step Santa’s agenda and check your Santa gifts twice while always having a surplus of batteries on hand!!!

Signing off,

The flawed-Santa-Momma

My Monkey

Being a mom means supporting your child’s endeavors unconditionally (as long as they are not harmful and healthy for him, of course). I never truly understood what this meant, until I gave birth to my monkey. I don’t use that term loosely either. My son has earned his monkey status through and through!

He began life climbing! Before he could even crawl, he was pulling himself up in his crib. Then when he was six months, it was the scariest thing, he would crawl back and forth in the tub. He never sat! His milestones were: First crawl; then climb; then walk. I was always red-eyed, exhuasted, and a harried mom who never went out to eat with her little baby because he was a full loon. He was never really happy until he was completely mobile with me on his heels pleading him to slow down!

That is why when my son turned two-and-a-half, we gave in.  I NEVER in all of my wildest dreams thought that I would have a little rock wall in my son’s room. But if you can’t beat’em, join’em! My son will climb the dickens out of anything, so building him bunk beds (thanks to the ingenuity of my husband) seemed logical. Not only can he climb, but he has cat like reflexes. He has fallen so many times, and by the grace of the powers that be and his crazy-like coordination, he always seems to tuck his head and roll upon impact! He even tells his seven month old brother, “Tuck and roll baby!” That being said, we decided against a ladder for his bunk beds. Too elementary for this monkey. We instead chose to put up rock climbing grips and let him have at it.

My husband coached him endlessly on technique: Don’t cheat and touch the wood. Rocks only. Hand hold. Foot hold.

I watched endlessly while enjoying my coffee!

Now my son trains anyones who comes over. My son scales his bunk beds flawlessly and hangs out there. Now, of course, my little daredevil dons his monkey backpack (no joke) and scales his rock wall. When he is on the top bunk bed, he opens his backpack and gets out his toys tractors, trucks, and books. He will sit up there for countless hours playing with his toys perched on his bunk bed. It is the craziest thing.

 But I’m telling you, this kid will be an awesome rock climber one day. Mark my words. He will be scaling 5:15 cliffsides in his teens and his mom will be popping pills like no other while billeting him too!

Signing off,

The mom with a monkey son

Cool toddler, cooler momma!

I am such a creature of routine. Every Friday is the same routine for my boys and me. We wake up, drink our chai tea, (yes, my son gets his special chai tea mix in his cold milk and gets to drink in an espresso glass mug and feel soo big!) then we do arts and crafts until the dump truck comes and picks up our trash at 8AM. My toddler will freak out if I leave without letting him watch the roaring garbage truck roll down the alley and pick up the garbage; the garbage man knows us now and waves and always honks to his biggest fan. Then after the dump truck parade, we head off to the air force base for breakfast tacos.

I love having the sweet Asian woman cook my breakfast taco and serve our OJ and coffee. Imostly love having one day of the week where someone waits on us and then cleans up after us. However, instead of us then leaving the restaurant and going to the library and then the commissary, I thought why not call the golf course on base, which is huge, and tell a little white lie.

The phone conversation went like this:

“Hi. My son just turned two and would really like to ride in a golf cart. We’ll only use it for twenty minutes!” was what I said to the lady who worked at the golf course on the telephone. She actually said, “Sure. Come on over.” I was shocked! We were there in less than two minutes. I put the baby in his baby bjorn carrier and then held my toddler’s hand and told him to be on his best behavior.

When the lady was giving me the keys to our golf cart, my toddler let loose of my  hand and ran to this big black man and said, “FOOTBALL!” at the top of his lungs! The sweet gentleman leaned down and said, “I like football, too. Maybe someday you’ll play NFL football and buy your momma a Cadillac golf cart, too.” Then the man smiled and Ty ran back to me and grabbed my legs acting like now he is shy… The woman at the desk told me that that was Hank Baskett’s father and he does have a Cadillac golf cart that is custom made for him. How crazy!

Well, the boys and I started up the golf cart and rode around on the five acre golf course happy as clams! My toddler looked up at me while sitting beside me with stars in his eyes and said, “I wike dat! I wike dat!” My baby sat in his baby bjorn carrier facing out just as happy also. Gorgeous morning, fresh-cut lawn, cool 70 degree weather, and two happy baby boys riding on a golf cart in paradise.

Who says you can’t have fun in the country?!

Signing off,

Hopeful future-Cadillac-golf-cart-owner

Civilization isn’t for me

Have you breastfed in a cotton field?

Many moms out there can hopefully empathize with me and my quest at breastfeeding in a rural New Mexican town. Because I live 103 miles from Target, I have to travel. People out here don’t bat an eye at traveling a few hundred miles a day to shop or eat. However, traveling these distances can become a little tricky when you’re breastfeeding a baby, driving a toddler around, and living a life with a husband who is in the military and deploys often.

Therefore, it was on this particular day that I had just dropped my husband off at the airport in Lubbock and was headed home. This feat doesn’t sound too bad, except if you add into the equation that I had a randy toddler who knew Daddy was going to be gone for a while, a little newborn who insists on breastfeeding marathons throughout the day, and a saddened mom who knew her full-time job was just beginning and I couldn’t even find comfort in Caffeinated beverages…

Thus, we began our trip home, 106 miles through cotton fields, dairy cow farms, and through towns that boast of  populations of one-thousand people strong. We were fifty-two miles into our trip, when my potty trained two-year old started saying, “I tee-tee. I tee-tee.” Eeerk. Pull over the truck, get out, and then have him stand on my feet because God forbid he ever have his shoes on while in the car, and balance him while he tinkles on the tallest weed on the side of the road. Yes. That is right. There are no convenience stores out here where I live. This probably bothers a lot of people, but not me. It is the cleanest bathroom fora  toddler –  he doesn’t touch anything with tons of germs on it and I don’t have to help him while juggling my newborn. When he is done sharp shooting, I put him back in the car, put the DVD player back on his favorite Max & Ruby episode, and we’re off.

Sixty-two miles into the drive, and now the baby is screaming because he evidently has decided that he is starving. I see to the left and to the right of me nothing but corn fields, tall omniscient corn stalks that could only be harvesting all types of horror-like fictional murderers in their midst. This must have been where Stephen King filmed Children of the Corn. I can almost see Malachi peeping out from behind the scary tall stalks of corn. Sorry baby. Way too scary to pull over here. Lucky for my baby, not even five miles down the long stretch of this country road, there is a huge cotton field. Cotton fields are nice and inviting, unlike corn fields which freak me out.

I do what any country mom has to do now. I pull over. Get the baby out and begin feeding him and then I get my toddler out and let him run rampant beside the cotton field. I even pull a piece of cotton out of its shell and show him where cotton comes from. My toddler loves this and begins collecting cotton and putting it in his pockets. Oh to be a toddler! Why do I ever buy him toys? Right in front of this huge cotton field, my son is running around with cotton flying out of his pockets and is happy as can be while I breastfeed my newborn.

It’s moments like this that make me so glad that we do not live in the city. Because quite frankly, I don’t think the city can provide the clean country bathrooms that our rural small New Mexican town can, and I definitely couldn’t pull over and stop on a busy highway every time my toddler’s small bladder reached full capacity. And, I much prefer the openness and freedom of breastfeeding in someone’s cotton fields over a hot asphalt parking lot anyway.

So yes, I don’t think my little family is fit for civilization yet. We’ll take the country please.

Signing off,

The Country Momma

The Price of Beauty is Humiliating

I promised myself a tune up after my babies were born. And now it’s time to give back to me. Evidently, playing sports, not stretching as you should, lifeguarding, having two pregnancies, and just being outdoors all my life, oh yeah, forgot to mention having a horse falling down on me, have all contributed to the decline of my body. So 2010 is my year to make a few needed repairs. And if you know me, nothing goes off without a hitch.

My pursuit of “Operation Getting My Body Back” started at the dermatologist’s office under a fine magnifying glass and the nice doctor was saying something along the lines of this, at least this is ALL I remembered, “Yes. I  can see hyperpigmentation, redness, fine lines, and broken blood vessels.” Maybe she put it more nicely and wasn’t as blunt, but that was all I could remember her saying.

I walked out of the office with an estimation in my hand and my hat pulled down low.

Round One of Scout’s Beauty Regime:

One week later, I walked in with my seven week old in his car seat feeling proud of myself that “Momma’s gettin’ her groove back!” I was going to have to wear an intense mask for 10 hours and needed a professional to apply the chemicals that were proven to be completely inorganic and never been tested on animals before. I didn’t care. I saw BEFORE and AFTER photos and was sold! Give me the strong stuff please doctor!! (who knew lifeguarding and having a few horses fall down on you could be so damaging!)

Anyway, I am sitting in the office waiting for doctor to “mix the goods,” when my little newborn begins crying. Uh-oh. I politely excuse myself and tell the medical assistant to hold off on the mask while I HAVE to nurse my baby, unless she can apply it while I nurse. The young twenty-something-year-old nervously laughed and almost ran out the exam room giving me a full-timed fifteen minutes to myself and my exposed boobs!

Fifteen minutes later. My newborn is sated and in his car seat nodding off. I then lie down and have the mask applied. It looks like a mud mask that is one inch thick on my face. Not pretty, but it WILL be… hopefully. That is the plan anyway. I then have to march out of the office holding my newborn’s car seat and PAY for my treatment while others are looking at me with fear in their eyes! Ooops, I forgot to tell you that the office I went to is also the Women’s Medical Center where women from this town and any person for that matter with a vagina in a 100 mile radius have to go to. Yes, the waiting room was packed with women sitting cross-legged and ogling at the freak of nature that just walked out. It was at this moment that I wished I was a celebrity that was whisked out the back door and secretly put in a black limo and on her way to a “hotel” with a full-time nurse waiting for me. Oh well. I am neither famous or beautiful. I pay the clerk with my mud mask on and endure the stares with my head held high.

As if this wasn’t enough, I then have to go pick up my toddler at his day care. I had already texted the director about my “condition.” I walk in and the director casually pretends not to notice. Then I go into my toddler’s room where there are 10 two-year olds eagerly waiting to be picked up. Needless to say, when I enter the room, it is as though Freddie Krueger himself came in. The two-year olds ran away from me leaving only my son there saying at the top of his lungs, “Mommy!! Mommy! You Owie on face!! Dr. hurt you.” Thank God for unconditional love, otherwise, I think my toddler would still be sitting at day care.

Round Two of Scout’s Beauty Regime:

One month passes and I have been diligently putting the night-time and morning creme on my face that has sloughed off all skin cells, turned my face pomegranate red, and then left my face looking smooth and even toned. Hallelujah for modern day chemicals!! Now it is time for my laser treatment on my legs. I have torn ligaments in my ankles so many times that the veins around my ankles are angry red and fighting to break free of my skin! Also, pregnancy has made some more ugly veins surface on the back of my thighs rear their ugly heads as well. This time I am solo though at the doctor’s office and ready to be “tasered” as I call it. I have shaved the front AND back of my legs for the first time since my first son was born and am ready to have all my flaws tasered away. The doctor works on me for 45 minutes! Yikes! It stung, it smarted, and it was worth it. After my tazering, the doctor then asks for my weight and height and opens up a cabinet filled with SUPPORT hoses. I am instructed to wear these all day and all night for three days, and she wants me to begin wearing them NOW.  However, as my luck would prevail, she only has BLACK in my delicate size, and in delicate, I mean GINORMOUS post-pregnancy-self that has seen better days.

I pull on the black support hose only to then notice that I had worn flip-flops to the office. I can’t wear flip-flops with hose on. So now I am walking out of the office with my Nike shorts on OVER my hose and my nasty flip-flops that harbor all kinds of germs in my hands. Nonetheless, I have my head held high and march out of the office with my support hose on and barefoot!

So, once again I am humiliated in my quest for beauty. That is why I plan on going to the doctor’s office next week AND just sitting there: no veins, no mud mask on, and no support hose on!! I’ll show them!!

Signing off,

The defeated Scout

Cleaning while dodging my toddler

Notice Big Helper Toddler

I hope this picture resembles you. I truly hope that I am not a freak of nature that has to carry my newborn while my toddler zooms across the floor pushing his wheel barrow at high speeds and then he rams into my vacuum. My toddler seems to think that my vacuum cleaner is synonymous to a bumper car. As soon as he hears the noise of it, he instantly grabs whatever toy he can that can make the most amount of damage to my vacuum cleaner. He then proceeds to  ram it into me and then runs away with an Evil Conevil conviction on his face. He also sometimes can be heard shouting, “I GIT Mommy!”

Oh well. This is my life. Whenever you visit my home one day, I am sure my greeting at the front door will be something along these lines, “Please overlook the hole in the wall caused by my toddler, and please keep your eyes only on m clean floors.”

Signing off,

Mom of one loony toddler that is always willing to help out

Motherhood = Guiltyhood

As soon as the pregnancy test is positive, you instantly feel overwhelmed and guilty. “Maybe I should have taken my prenatals more regularly, maybe I should have not been drinking caffeine while trying, maybe, maybe…” the hypothetical questions are never ending. You truly have never experienced guilt as strongly as you have as soon as you become a mom.

As if those nagging questions weren’t always prevalent enough in pregnancy, they’re even moreso when you have the child. I need to swaddle the baby better, change his diapers more often, stimulate him more when he is awake to help develop those synapses in his brain… These are my never ending strings of thoughts throughout the day, and I hope that you’re nodding your head in agreement and not thinking that I am a freak of nature!

However, take your guilt and times it X10 when you have Baby NUMBER TWO. I had a mom ask me how many naps a day my three-month old is taking a day, and quite frankly I had no idea. My response was something like this, “Hmmmm,” shrug. “I don’t know.” I said this with a puzzled look on my face. Now rewind my life back two years ago when I had my first-born and I would be able to tell you exactly how many naps, how long they were, and how many ounces of breast milk he was consuming daily. But poor baby number two!! Momma doesn’t even know how many naps you are taking. And being a stay at home mom means you have no one to blame. Baby number two is a doll to tell you quite honestly. He never cries. He just waits patiently and grunts while sucking his left-handed thumb waiting for me to pick him up and breast feed him. He doesn’t even mind it that I am never able to sit throughout an entire feeding. No, my toddler makes sure of that. I am always getting my toddler off of something, or giving my toddler something to eat, or playing games with him that require movement while breastfeeding.

The other day I went to sleep feeling completely defeated. My poor little three-month old baby is not getting the physical therapy, nightly calming body lotion rubs, or being able to just relax with mommy (many of you may be thinking, where is your freakin’ husband? But he is deployed and will be for quite some time, which leaves ALL the household duties and mothering/fathering duties to me) So that night I decided to try to do better the next day.

I did really better the next day with my baby, which meant I sacrified my house to my toddler. Yes, he brought out all fifty little tractors, trucks, fire engines, choo choo trains, and everything into the living room floor while I cooed and awed at my little baby… at least I did that in the morning, and then all hell broke loose in the evening and the baby was once again in the Baby Bjorn with me while I was tending to all the evening routines.

And it wasn’t until the next day while I was attending Yoga, that the Yoga instructor told us during our Corpse pose during meditation, “FORGIVE YOUrSELF. FORGIVE YOURSELF. LET GO. FORGIVE YOURSELF.” I opened my eyes and thought perhaps I was experiencing divine intervention. It was as though the Yoga instructor was speaking directly to me. Yes. I do need to forgive myself. I do everything I can to be a good mom. Some days I’m better than others, but my intention is always true. And really isn’t that all that matters? To just have genuinely sincere intentions while raising your kids and at the end of day, forgive yourself and relish the good moments of your day because you deserve it. Let go of the guilt and just be present in your life and in your children’s life.

So today, I am forgiving myself and enjoying my chai tea while my kids napping and typing this blog in a house that resembles a day care instead of doing my chores. I deserve it AND I don’t feel guilty either.

Ain’t too Proud to Bribe

Many Uses of Candy

I had a friend come over and she told her two year old to sit in the green chair. I was shocked to see that her son SAT in the green chair!! I then asked, “How did you teach him his colors?” She replied, “Well, I used to be a teacher and I so I taught him his colors.” I then found myself vowing to NEVER tell this “friend” that I, too, used to be a teacher – good teacher, bad momma!

Our sons were literally only a week apart, so there was no excuse there. Nope, I just had to get busy and teach my son some colors, which sounded easy in theory, but in reality, it was not. You see, my two year old owns his own pair of rock climbing shoes BECAUSE he loves to climb! He loves to defy gravity in every room of the house and at every park. Just yesterday, he said, “Me, jump high. To the moon.” Then he jumped from his play yard onto the green plastic slide and it then propelled his little thirty-pound self straight into the grass. I didn’t hear any scary thudding. (trust me, I know what a scary thud sounds like, been to the ER three times already with my son). My son, then got up and looked at me and began laughing. A scary, demonic laugh that only a true Evil Conevil can master. So, you can see my dilemma right? . How do you teach something as trivial as COLORS to a stunt devil?

My mother came and visited; she is a fourth grade teacher. She brought with her Sixlet candies. While my son was playing outside and my mom was sitting in a lawn chair watching him, she would give him one Sixlet at a time and tell him the colors. He would receive the Sixlet only if he repeated the color of it. After my mother’s four day visit, my son was saying colors and remarkably getting them right, most of the time. Damn you pastels!

So after my mom left, I continued re-enforcing the Sixlet color wheel and am proud to tell you that my son can now sit in the GREEN chair…. not for long though, but I’m sure he can sit for just as long as any other stunt devil can!!

Signing off,

Proud Momma of  a Physically-Advanced-Child

Letting go of the Kate Gosselin in Me

Can You find the Toddler?

We’ve all seen the show at least once, Jon & Kate Plus Eight, or now it is Kate Plus Eight. If you’re like me, you probably were empathizing with the kids! It always seemed as though Kate was neurotically cleaning, wiping, and screaming at the kids if they messed up her perfectly clean kitchen or dared to do arts and crafts inside the house. I remember distinctly one time Kate was cleaning the floor while her kids were asking her to play with them. It was during this episode that I thought Kate should be committed to an OCD clinic with Dr. Drew! She was missing everything! Her kids were being cute and interacting with their environment, but yet Kate was hell bent on keeping her house clean instead of playing with her kids.

I thought to myself that I would never be like that… but then my son turned two! Yesterday he grabbed the whip cream can out of the refrigerator and sprayed whip cream all over the floor and was putting his hands in it and rubbing it all over the place. My initial reaction was flip out! I grabbed the can and instantly jerked my toddler up and began washing his hands while thinking to myself that now I have ANOTHER mess to clean up. Then my toddler went into the office and grabbed a crayon and began drawing on the coffee table WHILE I was cleaning up whip cream on the floor. I came into the living room and was about to lose it!! Why couldn’t he just keep the house clean AND play at the same time? Why does every time he play mean MORE work for me??

But then I realized it. I was being Kate. She flipped out and made everyone miserable around her. That was her trademark: Obsessive-Kate-that-will-control-ALL-of-her-kids. No one will do any activities that were not planned. Everything has a time and place – no room for spontaneous fun.

So, instead of me flipping out and grabbing the crayon from my son, I decided to go get some paper and sit down and color with him. It’s just a coffee table. The crayon marks can be wiped off and the whip cream can sit a little longer on the floor. It’s just me here with  my kids. Who cares if the house looks like a toddler lives in it? So, I sat down and colored with him.

It sounds simple to just interact with your kids. Whenever they are misbehaving, they are telling you in their toddler words, “Play with me.” I need to really learn how to let go and not CONTROL every thing in my house. My toddler should be able to play and make messes and I should be able to play with him and overlook the messes sometimes. Because if I don’t learn to give in and just let him be a kid, then I will miss all these “kid moments,” and if I miss these moments, then what was the point of me choosing to be a stay at home mom for?

Signing off,

An OCD Mom in recovery