What Mom {Really} Wants This Christmas

Wondering what that special Boss Lady of your family REALLY wants for Christmas this year? It’s real simple:



1. To pee in peace.

2. To roam the aisles of Target, Home Goods, & TJ Maxx. Alone. With no budget.

3. To not have to put ONE.MORE.KID. in his carseat. 

4. A clean kitchen. Or better yet–a personal maid!

5. A massage. Preferably at a spa. Under a cabana on a tropical island.

6. To not have to wipe any butts.

7. To sit in Starbucks alone. Drinking a (gasp!) HOT coffee, whilst reading a book not about parenting.

8. To not have to make any decisions.

9. A gourmet chef. (Who specializes in chocolatey treats)

10. A silent night.

Please, Santa? I’ve been a good girl all year. (Except for those times I yelled at my kids…)

Today is a New Day

Thanking God this morning for literally a breath of fresh air. 

Yesterday was a shit day. Adelaide couldn’t go to school because she was sick the day before, but I had a hair appointment. My amazing cleaning lady insisted she watch Adelaide so I could get my hair done before we go out of town. I bring Alexander to the salon with me and he is a pretty good sport. Here’s when things go downhill: The new girl cuts my hair two inches TOO SHORT and screws up the color! It was so blotchy, but I didn’t realize this until I got home and played around with it. I cried! This is my worst nightmare! I call the owner and she says she will fix it that evening. So I scramble around to find childcare since Blake was suppose to be taking a night flight. No such luck. She says she can come in early the next day, too, but I realize Adelaide has her school pictures and I don’t want her to miss them because when you’re a military kid those things are important.

Meanwhile, I get the two littles dressed to see the Easter Bunny and in the car to pick up Emmalyn from school. We get to the mall, only to be told we have to wait thirty minutes for The Bunny to come back. The girls are hungry, but there’s no food court in our mall because: small town. I get them Chex Mix from Michael’s Crafts, but we have to wait in the longest line! By this time, the bunny is back. 

As I was taking Alexander out of the car seat, he scratches his face and is bleeding. He’s never done this, but of course it happens seconds before the picture. I also realize he has a poop and is hungry (notice his searching-for-the-boob-face below). Also, Adelaide all the sudden decides she is afraid of The Bunny and refuses to get in the picture. No amount of chocolate bribery will work. I choose not to force the situation because I don’t want to traumatize my daughter. After all, I would punch someone in the face if they forced me to have my picture taken with a bird. So I focus on the other two kids, but Alexander is fixated on finding milk from The Bunny and will not turn his head towards the camera. I am sweating at this point. We get the best picture we can and call it a day. Then The Bunny hands Emmalyn a candy and Adelaide goes to get one, but I tell her no because she did not get her picture taken. The Bunny does a back-and-forth dance with the candy, not sure what to do, and ultimately gives Adelaide the candy. I take it away and she has a full-blown meltdown all the way across the parking lot. 

I vow never to do Easter Bunny pics again. It’s not worth it! Did we even interact with the bunny? NOPE. Did we get a picture with all three kids? NOPE. Did anyone have fun? NOPE. What was the effing point?! 

As I put Alexander’s car seat in the car, the stroller rolls away across the parking lot and I have no clue until a random man shouts out to inform me. Adelaide puts up a mean fight to get in her car seat, but I don’t back down. I have to use every muscle in my body, but I finally get her in. I collapse into the driver’s seat and cry. (And this is hard to do when you’re on antidepressants!) 

“Mommy is having a bad day,” I tell the girls. Apparently this is code for: Let’s Fight All The Way Home. One shining beacon of light is Blake calls and says he will cancel his flight so I can get my hair fixed. I feel terribly guilty about that, but tell myself sometimes I need to put myself first! 

I somehow manage to throw two frozen pizzas in the oven and the girls in the tub. As soon as Blake gets home, I grab the baby and hightail it out of the house, back to the salon. The owner was super apologetic and sweet, and thankfully Alexander slept the whole time. I got home after 9pm, nursed the baby, pumped, ate a snack while watching trashy reality TV (The Twins), and crashed as soon as my head hit my pillow. 

The whole day I kept repeating the first line from The Serenity Prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.”

The nice thing about days are: they must come to an end. And tomorrow will always be a new day. I woke up this morning, reciting a Hail Mary and The Lord’s Prayer, and vowed to have a positive outlook on the day. After all, our sweet little boy is getting baptized this weekend, and there’s no sacrament more exciting!

God is good!

loyally,
katie


Here’s the full Serenity Prayer in case you need it today:

God grant me the serenity 
To accept the things I cannot change; 
Courage to change the things I can; 
And wisdom to know the difference. 

Living one day at a time; 
Enjoying one moment at a time; 
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; 
Taking, as He did, this sinful world 
As it is, not as I would have it; 
Trusting that He will make all things right 
If I surrender to His Will; 
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life 
And supremely happy with Him 
Forever and ever in the next. 

Amen.
(Reinhold Niebuhr 1892-1971)

Law of Babies & The Hoover Dam

What you’re about to read are true events.

A friend was coming over for dinner so I decided to throw the girls in the bathtub directly after school to get it out of the way. They’re normally pretty well-behaved in the tub so I thought, Hey–why don’t I jump in the shower real quick? After all, the baby was sleeping in the bassinet so I figured I had a little time. 

Plus, my scalp was really hurting. Has your scalp ever hurt because your hair is so heavy? Y’all don’t hate on my thick hair. I’m grateful for it and all, but sometimes it can be a real pain in my… er, head... because it’s so thick and long and the weight just pulls on my scalp. Damn gravity. The pain is comparable to when your two year-old wants to “play with Mommy’s hair”. Wait, maybe that’s why my scalp really hurts? I can’t be sure at this point anymore. Anyway, the only thing that makes my scalp feel better is washing it. Actually, a scalp massage by my husband does the trick, too, but since he was flying, a shampooing would suffice.

But I digress.

I put Alexander in front of the shower (there’s no door or curtain to our shower) so I can keep an eye on him, should he wake up. Which he does because Law of Babies: Whenever a mother enters a shower, a baby shall cry. 
my actual shower. 
pic cred: my actual iphone.


So I’m rinsing out the shampoo and dreading turning the hot water off, when I hear, “Adelaide stop hitting me! MOOOOMMMMM, she’s hitting me thirty times!”

Shit.

How long has she been hitting her big sis while I was in the shower? How dare I care about my hygiene! Moms can be so selfish sometimes…
I throw a towel around me and fly down the hall to see: Yes. Yes, the toddler is hitting her sister. To which I sternly state, “Adelaide, stop hitting your sister.” Naturally. Then run back down the hall to tend to the still-crying newborn. 

I know he’s hungry because he looks like a blind baby bird searching for a worm. But my hair is sopping wet and I don’t want to baptize him because I don’t think I am qualified to do that; plus none of our family is here and I’d be such a jerk if I held such a momentous occasion without them. So I tell him he’s gotta take one for the team and wait while I brush my hair and ring out some of the water. But this isn’t an easy feat because my hair is naturally wavy-curly and it takes half a bottle of detangler spray and a month to brush it. No joke. My roommate in college could take a full shower before I was done brushing my hair. It sounds like I’m being ungrateful for my thick and long hair. I promise I’m not. Well maybe just a little.

So three hours go by and the baby is STILL crying. Sheesh, doesn’t he understand priorities? So I go to pick him up to nurse him, only to hear, “STOP IT ADELAIDE! MMOOOOOMMMMM, she’s hitting me again!” I run down the hall, but this time in the buff, and also this time leaking breastmilk down my body. It’s like the Hoover Dam has sprouted a leak from my boobs. I shout to the girls, “Drain the water; you’re getting out!” Then run back down the hall to the baby. Still crying.

I start to pick him up then think, I better put on some pants. It’s drafty. I STILL hear fighting from the girls so I shove the baby on the boob, then run back down the hall. With one hand, because Baby on the Boob, I get Adelaide out of the tub, towel her up, dry her off, and put on her pull-up and jammies. Emmalyn is old enough to fend for herself. Well, I wouldn’t send her out into the wild to fend for herself–yet. She’s only six! She needs to be at least ten for that. Geeze, what kind of mom do you think I am?!

The moral of the story? There is none. This was just a crazy and true scene from my life and I thought I’d share. You’re welcome 🙂 

loyally,
katie