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Archive for the ‘Mommy Advice’ Category

I sat down in the back of my Sunday school class, toting the boy, juggling coffee, purse, and breakfast. A visitor to the class (a young teenager) smiled at Isaiah and then said, very sweetly, “Is this your first Mother’s Day?”

I was flattered. I laughed and said, “No, this is actually my third child.” Before she had a chance to be embarrassed I added, “No seriously, thanks, I know. Don’t I look good?”

If it is possible to have pride without being arrogant, I’ll call it that.

If it is possible to be confident without being full of myself, I’d like to claim this one too.

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I often wonder how many of my friends living in close proximity to extended family take for granted the availability of someone to come watch their children for a night, a weekend, a sick day.

Some things I am not taking for granted right now:

  • Friends with no children who love our children as much (possibly more) than we do.
  • The courage of those friends to take on the twenty-four hour childcare challenge, times three, and then succeed.
  • An infant who, in just five weeks of life, has given me confidence that he can be away from mama for twenty-four hours, and then prove me right by being as good as I could have expected.
  • Children who can be bribed into good behavior and then totally satisfied with gas station candy as a reward. (more…)

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I have just about made the full switch to absolute and total mall avoidance at the holiday season. It could be Hanes Mall itself that has finally done me in, what with it being the most major retail shopping center in Winston-Salem, and ever so stupidly placed less than a mile down the road from all things non-department store (aka: Target, Kohl’s, Bed Bath and Beyond, Home Depot, and Sam’s Club).

It could also be the fact that I lack compassion for most people, generally speaking, but especially high concentrations of stupid people. Driving cars.

Not sure what our city planners were thinking when they decided to put everything you might ever need in a holiday shopping trip at the single crossroads of two main streets (and just off the highway for that matter), but I’d put money on the fact that it’s enough to cause Mother Theresa herself to mutter four letter words under her breath.

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Was Labor Day a month ago? John keeps commenting how quickly this year is flying by, meanwhile, four measly weeks ago feels like an eternity in my mind. But Labor Day weekend was a pinnacle moment for me in this pregnancy.

It is when I took my nesting hormones and actually applied them to something productive. For real.

I find it funny that the Urban Dictionary definition of “nesting” includes ridding the house of anything “potentially harmful” to the soon to be born child. It turns out, on Labor Day Weekend, this meant the fetus’ father and his older sisters.

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About two weeks ago, Eliott’s class of behavioral over-achievers filled the jar of gold drops (and I quote) “faster than any class has ever done this!” (according to the email) and earned themselves a little party. It was a stuffed animal party. Each kid was allowed to bring a favorite stuffed animal to school for the day. Talk about a genius idea.

But this was back before brand-new-and-also-pregnant-kindergarten-mom had her shit together.

It was a Thursday. John offered to take Eliott to school, so he could see her classroom, meet her teacher, and let Carter and me sleep in.

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I’ve been a little absent from the Internet.  But not from life.  Oh no.

I’ve been getting things done.  Lots of things.  Hidden messes became large piles.  Large piles are becoming small piles.  Some small piles are disappearing, and bedrooms are surfacing.

In my hormonal pursuit to get things done before December 5th, I’ve been making lists, calendars, and labels.  I don’t typically dig around the mommy blogging network for ideas in these matters, as I’m prone to believing I am probably doing everything better than anyone anyway, but alas, I have recently–accidentally–run across some ideas that I just couldn’t help but find genius.

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For any readers over the age of fifty or those yet without children, here’s some free information (that should shock and appall you): the going rate for a babysitter (here in Mid-Sized-Suburban-Town, USA) is ten dollars an hour.  This is for one or two children.  I hear that my friends with more than three children pay more.

As one of the oldest girls in the neighborhood where I grew up with a criminal background that boasted of above average responsibility, I think I started babysitting when I was about eleven years old.  Most of the neighborhood kids were the ages of my younger sisters, and to my best memory, I never changed a diaper in my life before Eliott was born.

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I’ve had this strange feeling looming in the back of my mind for a few days now. For a while I assumed it was the UnderToad, and pushed it away, believing it would resolve itself as long as I didn’t acknowledge it with too much thought.

It isn’t the UnderToad.

I’m lead believe this foreign and somewhat uncomfortable feeling is that of guilt.

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I wrote this post a month ago, on the day that it happened.  At the time, for whatever reason, I didn’t want to publish it, and wondered if I ever would.  To spoil the ending, everything turned out just fine.  Better than fine, in fact.  

So I’m having a mommy melt-down right now.

Of course, it is Friday, which means my five year old will not get out of bed.  This means the entire morning went the usual way it goes when Eliott decides not to do anything.  But my new approach to this attitude is to tell her one time, “If you do not do all your jobs before school today, or if you are not ready when it is time to go, you will ride in the car to drop Carter off and come back home with me.”  (Thankfully, school is currently a reward in her mind.)

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I’ve come to the point where achievement of just one task in a day is truly something upon which I can hang my hat.  I’m a slightly obsessive vacuum-er.  What can I say, I like a lint free floor, and when running the Bissell Versus (stupidest invention this side of 2009) takes half the time of sweeping, I’m not above busting that thing out once or twice a day.

Normally, it would bother me that my floors are this dirty.  But today’s task was huge, even by non-pregnancy proportions, so Saturday morning’s bagel crumbs will simply have to wait.  Today, I tackled the seasonal closet clothes swap.

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