I realize it’s been an absolute age since I sent my thoughts out to the internets, but I’ve been kind of busy with life and grad school. There will be so much more on that in another post. Today is about me geeking out and flying my woman flag so incredibly high. Thanks to Nerdist, I have been blessed with the trailer for the Wonder Woman movie that should have existed so many years ago. Today my inner woman-child grew 10 times larger and danced like she’s never danced before. Continue reading
“Why I haven’t met your Daddy, Mommy?”
I’m still not clear on what triggered that completely reasonable question from my almost 4-year –old. I’ve had to answer it before, but this time there was more behind it. Lately I’ve noticed Miss O becoming increasingly observant and I can see how this is going to be a problem for a lot of people. I know I was woefully unprepared to have this discussion even though I’ve been dreading it since I found out I was pregnant. I knew it would come someday, but I don’t think I was truly prepared for the weight of it or how soon it arrived.
“It’s just your dad saying ‘hello.’”
There’s a silly papier-mâché star that sits on the top shelf of the baker’s rack in our kitchen at Christmastime. It refuses to stand on it’s own two points and jumps to freedom at every opportunity when I try to anchor it with hidden tape. It’s been bugging the ever-loving heck out of me for a week but I love that silly star so I tolerate it.
Hubs took it’s latest attempt at freedom to make a beautiful connection for me. Instead it made me burst into tears asking in my most wavering and blubbery voice, “Why would you say that to me?!”
One of the greatest phrases in my life is “Parent’s Night Out.” All of the words in the world in any combination of positive expression will never accurately explain the euphoria I feel when these words appear in my email. For why, you ask, do I have such joy when surely I must have these nights all the time?!
Not so, my friends. Not so.
Today a bunch of Trader Joe’s Wheat Crisps soaked up my feelings and it felt amazing. It would only have been better had they sidled up to a personal-pan-sized wheel of Brie with some raspberry jam and gone all in.
Work has been rough lately.
Oh, you too? (Hugs)
I have yet to meet the parent of a toddler or preschooler that can tell me they took less than 20 minutes getting their offspring out the door even close to what “on time” might look like. Miss O is no different than her peers in this regard, especially when there is a choice between Legos and brushing her teeth, but we may have finally found a chink in her tiny armor and it looks like this:
There are moments, usually in the middle of one of Miss O’s tantrums or the aftermath of a tantrum, that I find myself wondering if this is the moment that I’ve ruined our relationship. Is this the moment when I’ve said something that will forever change how she feels about me as a mother or as a person?
Last week I copped to how I’m a member of the Funky Bunch. Ok, no, I am not the chick on the right rocking those kneepads like nobody’s business. But since I have owned my funk, I gained perspective into it. I don’t exactly have good vibrations yet, but at least there’s an outside chance.
Toddler girls have a special ability to take your heart in their tiny little hands, squeeze every last ounce of love out of it then hand it back to you expecting you to love them like your heart was whole again and you hadn’t lost a drop. My daughter is no exception. My greatest fear is that my mother’s curse has indeed come to life in the deep blue eyes of my greatest love.
“I hope you have one just like you.”
Suburban Jackpot 