Help!

I have come to a startling discovery:

Patrick and I are terrible at naming toys.  Like, ridiculously awful.  It's a miracle that Miles wound up with a decent name.  Let me give you some examples:

This:

is Bear.  This:

 is Horse.  And this:

is Pillow Pet.

We have two teddy bears named Bear, two dinosaurs named Dinosaur, two dolls named Baby, and assorted Duck, Whales, and so on.

We really suck at this whole toy-naming thing.

Bad Mommy Mondays

Instead of a list today, I have a story for you.

The setting: the Festival office, after hours; completely empty save for:

The cast: Maestro, Tobar, Karla, Miles, Me

As our story opens, Mommy is leaving the bathroom.  Miles tries to re-direct her outside, but she returns to her office to finish up a few things.


Miles throws himself dramatically on the floor, and begins a temper tantrum of Epic Proportions.  Mommy walks back to her office anyway, leaving the screaming child in the hall.


Maestro: What's wrong?
Mommy: Nothing, he just wants to go outside, and I said no.

Work-related conversation continues for several minutes, while screaming continues in the background.  Occasionally, conversation pauses long enough for everyone to listen and giggle quietly at the fact that this ridiculously dramatic child just won't let up.


Maestro: [putting his finger to his lips] Shhh. [He picks up a chair] No, no!  Don't do it!  Don't hurt the Mommy! [slams chair on floor, then grins, waiting for a reaction]

Miles: [continues screaming and crying, seeming to not even notice the theatrics]

A few more moments pass, with the screaming beginning to fade slightly as Miles winds down.  Just when it seems to be over, the screaming intensifies ten-fold, now worse than before.


Maestro: [whispering] Tobar, go slam the back door. [grinning mischievously]

Tobar stomps across the floor toward the back door.  Screaming begins to fade a little.


Maestro: Bye!  See you tomorrow!
Mommy: Bye!  Have a great evening!

Right on cue, the door slams.  A moment of utter silence, then


Miles: Mom-mom-mom-mom-mom-mom-mom!!!!! [He rounds the corner to find everyone - including Mommy - laughing hysterically.  He looks around, momentarily confused, then smiles uncertainly.] Ha?  Ha ha ha? Ha ha?

The laughter increases exponentially, and Miles joins in wholeheartedly, still not fully understanding.


End Scene

Bad Mommy Mondays

I am a Bad Mommy.

But you already knew that.  That's why you're here.  Because you love reading this, secure in the knowledge that you are (or will be) better at this whole parenting thing than me. :)

I have given you lots of reasons that I am a Bad Mommy.  Lots of things I've been judged for.  So many insecurities, all tied up nicely into weekly lists.  You may also have noticed that these lists have become shorter, and less frequent.  That's because of: a) modern medicine doing its part to combat anxiety, b) a lack of time to devote to caring what other people think, and c) a realization that all parents make mistakes and choices that other people will judge.

That being said, I am still human (and female), so I still have tons of insecurities.

I am a stay-at-home mom.*  Popular culture has two ways of viewing moms like me, whose primary job is caring for our homes, and our children.  The first paints us as ugly, honorable martyrs, working our days away scrubbing floors, and wiping snotty noses, but always putting on a smile because we know we're 'doing what's best'.  The second depicts us as beautiful, lazy, free-loading wives who spend their days watching soaps and eating bon-bons while our children run wild without supervision.

Let me tell you this right now: neither of those pictures is even close to true.  And yet, both have elements of truth.  We do have the ugly job of scrubbing floors and wiping noses twenty-four hours a day.  Sometimes, we do it with a smile, and other days, we just want to throw all of the good China at the wall rather than wash it one more time.  Some days, we never get out of our pajamas, and spend the day trying to relax, and not getting much accomplished.  But, even on those days, we are rarely just sitting and relaxing, because, let's face it, children don't really allow that for long periods of time, unless they're up to something.

My point, I guess, is that each of us approaches motherhood in a different way, and yet, we are all just struggling to do our best.  I have to keep telling myself that on days when I feel like I'm getting nothing done.  When I feel like Miles hates me.  When I feel like the housework keeps piling up, and I just don't have the energy to even bother with it.  When I feel like a Bad Mommy.

If you've read this far, congratulations.  You have managed to wade through my self-doubt and analysis, hoping to find a point.  Well, here's what brought all of this up.

I'm in the process of enrolling Miles in daycare next year.  It's only one day a week, for five hours a day, but it makes me feel like a terrible mom.  Not because I'm putting him in daycare, but because I don't have to.  I know several working moms who hate dropping their kids off at daycare, and would love the opportunity to stay at home with them.  And here I am, enrolling my son in daycare so I can have a day off once a week.

There it is.  My primary reason for feeling like a Bad Mommy this week.  Lame, no?  Aren't you all disappointed that you bothered skimming that, now?  Well, you shouldn't be, because you're about to be rewarded with cuteness.

Hopefully, tomorrow's post will be better organized and less stream-of-consciousness. :)

*Goodness, how I hate that term, but that's another discussion for another time.

Bad Mommy Mondays

Here goes.  I've gotten a couple of doozies recently.

1. I have left Miles with a babysitter for three out of the past four days.  The first two were relatively necessary, so I could get some work done.  The third was purely selfish.  I left him with Stacey in the morning while Patrick and I went looking at garage sales, and then left Miles with Patrick that night, so the girls and I could go out.  I didn't even feel all that guilty.*
2. At work, I sometimes put up a baby-gate enclosure to keep Miles contained.  Apparently, he looks like 'a caged animal' (which, I gather, is a bad thing).  Meh.  It allows him maximum freedom, while allowing my co-workers maximum sanity. I'd say that's win-win.
3. I don't always cage him.  Often, he is allowed to run the halls of the office, checking in with everyone to say hello and hang out for awhile.  Now, if I could just count on him to not crawl/climb/open/slam/otherwise maim ever piece of everything in the office. . .
4. At twenty months old, he still has a pacifier for naps and bedtime.  And when he's having a really bad day.  Or is teething.  And, he can ask for it, with a sign he invented (basically, he sticks his pointer finger in his mouth).  I've been told that once he can ask for it, he's too old to still have it.  I don't care.  I finally have the child to a point that he sleeps without (too much) complaint.  And if that means we hold on to the pacifier a little longer, so be it.
5. We have already converted Miles' crib into a toddler bed so he can get in and out on his own.  I was warned that it's a bad idea for children under three to be in a toddler bed.  I disagree.  The transition to the toddler bed has led to a far easier bedtime routine, less fuss when he wakes up, and an overall longer amount of sleep, both overnight and during naps.  Plus, it prevents him climbing the furniture to get in and out of it, which, I'm told, is highly dangerous.  Apparently, I should have put a crib tent on, instead.  Because, you know, we should cage our children. . .but only at bedtime, I guess. :)

*Once I got past the guilt of having him peeled off of me and screaming as I drove away. . . <sigh>

Bad Mommy Mondays

Yes, I think it's time to return to this again.  I will probably trade off between this and Lessons of Mommyhood, as each strikes my fancy. :)

This week, however, I am going to focus a bit on reasons I have felt like a Bad Mommy.  Yes, I realize that I'm not, but I feel like one sometimes.  I think every mommy does.  Sorry, but this probably won't be funny.

1. I love and adore my child all the time, more than I could ever say.  There are days, however, that I just can't handle him, and want to be away from him.  It's practical, but I don't like that I feel it.  Plus, leaving him is the leading cause of panic attacks.
2. I do not spend hours every day playing with my son.  As much as I love playing and interacting with him, he doesn't need my undivided attention all day, and I run out of things to do with him.
3. I cannot stand to listen to him scream.  It is one of the biggest triggers for my panic attacks.  So, I respond in one of two ways: I either give in to whatever he wants so it will stop, or I stick my fingers in my ears in an effort to block it out, while Patrick deals with it.  I am getting better in this arena, but it's still a struggle not to just give him whatever he wants.
4. I'm not particular about what I feed my kid.  As long as he eats it, and it doesn't make him sick, I usually let him have it.  I feel like I should be more concerned about his eating habits.
5. I am overwhelmed by Miles.  Even with almost 20 months of practice, and with the help of family, friends, and medication, I am utterly overwhelmed by my child most days.

"Don't Eat That!" is my new mantra

Stuff my son has eaten recently: 

• Play-doh
• Dog food
• Cat food
• Paper
• Half of a playing card
• Stickers (undetermined number)
• Kleenex (unused)
• Napkins (at a restaurant)
• The corner of a board book
• A little yellow flower from the yard

Stuff my son has stuck in his mouth recently:

• Every damn rock we see
• My deodorant
• Golf balls (plastic)
• Dog toys
• Books
• My pants (while I'm wearing them)
• My shirt sleeve (while I'm wearing it)
• My hair
• The dog's ear
• Various and sundry stuffed animal bits
• Socks
• Coins of every denomination.  I'm pretty sure he even tried to eat a Mexican peso the other day.

Stuff my son has licked* recently:

• Every floor he sees regularly
• Most flat surfaces in our home
• Several flat surfaces in other peoples' homes
• Random restaurant tables
• Windows
• Doors
• Multiple televisions (not all ours)
• Random furniture
• People's legs
• My feet
• My cell phone
• My laptop
• The couch
• Lots of rocks
• The sidewalk
• The playground equipment
• My pillow
• The baby gate
• The soap dispenser in the bathroom
• The outside of the peanut butter jar

Stuff my child has refused to eat/stick in his mouth recently:

• Crackers
• Cereal
• Chicken
• Rice
• Sweet potatoes
• Milk
• Green beans
• Bread (though, he did lick the peanut butter off of it. . .)
• Beans
• Macaroni
• Pancakes
• Apples
• Various other actual foods that would provide him sustenance. 

<Sigh>


*Seriously?  Who goes around licking things?  Weirdo. :)

Bad Mommy Mondays

At this point, making a list of all of the things I've been judged for recently is a bit counter-productive.  I will re-start Bad Mommy Mondays when I have gotten my anxiety under control.

Thanks for understanding.

Bad Mommy Mondays

1. Miles has a dog.  Dogs are carriers of all sorts of terrible things.  Plus, they can bite.  And they're unsanitary.  Dogs and small children don't belong together.  Meh.  Dominic and Miles are best friends.
2. Miles allows Dominic to lick his hands, face, and everywhere else.  I do nothing to stop it.  Apparently, "that's just gross".
3. I don't wash my kid's hands every five minutes.  I'm sure that means he has eaten dirt or dog hair or something equally disgusting, but he gets that from eating off the floor, too, so I figure it all works out.
4. I choose my battles.  Because I have enough to do without fighting him over every.single.thing.
5. I do not feed my kid milk of any kind.  Apparently, milk is a must because it is the only food that has calcium and fatty acids for brain development.  Ummm, yeah.  That's just dumb.  Besides, my kid gets nasty rashes and diarrhea every time he has even an ounce of milk.  Too bad he can't get those nutrients anywhere else.  Oh, wait. . .
6. I do not discourage my son from talking to strangers.  Yet.  Someday, we'll get there.  For now, he is always with an adult he knows, and I think it's okay for a kid to say hello to someone without every other parent in the place freaking out.
7. Miles has worn short sleeve shirts for most of the winter.  It took until a relatively nice, 40 degree day for someone to notice.  Apparently, he is going to freeze to death like that.  Never mind the fact that he always wears a coat outdoors, and sweats the second we go inside.
8. My poor,  poor child has been forced to eat *gasp* fast food.  Actually, he quite enjoys Chik-Fil-A.  Which is awesome, because I do, too.*  :)
9. Oh, and he may or may not have snuck a taste of my root beer while we were there. . .
10. I don't make my son ride in the cart at the grocery store, anymore.  Because I'd rather he didn't brain himself when he MacGuyver's out of the strap and dives for the floor.  Yet another example of me allowing my child to "walk all over" me.  Meh.

*Interesting fact: I had never eaten Chik-Fil-A before last Wednesday.  Why in the hell did no one tell me that they make their chicken sandwiches plain with pickles?  Oh, yummy, yummy goodness.

Tuuuuck.

So, yesterday, Miles and I went to Target to pick out a birthday present for Daddy from Miles.  Given Miles' complete hatred of most shopping excursions, I have to admit that I was expecting the worst.  I had no idea what I was in for.

We were without a cart.  For some reason, Miles has decided that the primary use of a shopping cart is to dive out of it.  Several times, I have managed to somehow catch my son mere seconds before he crashes into the floor.  Somehow, motherhood has turned me into some sort of disaster-sensing ninja with lightning-fast reflexes.  Highly useful, considering my child seems determined to bash his head on . . . well, any and every hard surface in sight.  In any case, I've found that, as long as we're not in a hurry to get anywhere particular, it's highly preferable to just allow Miles to walk.

There we were, meandering through the store, just the two of us: Miles darting off to look at the wall of TV's or display robot in the toy section, Mommy trying desperately to keep him from pulling all of the nicely-folded polos off of the racks.  Still, for the most part, it was a far calmer excursion than most.

Eventually, we had our items, and began making our way toward the checkout.  Halfway to the front of the store, Miles suddenly veered off into the women's clothing.  As soon as his feet touched carpet, though, he carefully laid down, then rolled over.  He flung a hand dramatically over his head, and said,

"I tuck."

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him with an open mouth, thinking,  "Wha. . .?!?!?"  Laughter bubbled up and out, before I could stop it.  After a few seconds, I managed to ask, "You're what?"

"I tuuuuck," he repeated, drawing it out for maximum theatrical effect.

"You're stuck?" I guessed.

"Ess. I tuuuuuuuuuuuck."

I leaned over, and tried to pick him up.  Toddlers have this neat trick where they turn into really heavy, but really limp spaghetti; he did that, all the while pointing down, shaking his head, saying, "Uh uh! Uh uh!"  I put him back down.  He carefully, but dramatically, threw himself back to the floor.

"I tuck."

Not knowing what else to do, I walked a few steps away, out of his eyesight, but where I could still see his shoes.  Sure enough, he caught up to me a few seconds later, chattering on as though nothing had happened.  Twenty steps later, he fell to the floor again, this time in the middle of the main aisle.

"I tuck."

It took half an hour to travel the fifty feet or so to the registers.  I couldn't help but laugh.

Bad Mommy Mondays

1. I occasionally refer to Miles as "my kid".  Apparently, it is just rude.  Also, I should no longer call him "The Boy".  His real name, "my son", "my child", or "my darling son" are all acceptable terms, however.
2. I have swatted 'my kid' on his bum on occasion already.  Sometimes, Miles repeatedly does something that could result in serious harm (i.e. climbing on tables, pulling out the socket covers*, etc.), and nothing I can say or do will distract him.  However, a light tap on his hiney usually stops him.  Apparently, this makes me a horrible, illogical mother who is going to psychologically scar my child for life.  Never mind the fact that his continued disobedience would result in real harm to him.  Obviously random internet-strangers know more about how to discipline my kid than I do.
3. As a corollary to #2, however, I did not begin spanking my child "hard, on the ass" at the age of six months.  Apparently, my reluctance to spank a child who is too young to really understand discipline can only end in him drinking chemicals or popping pills.  I'm not even sure how these things are related, but a neighbor told me this not once, not twice, but every.single.time  I saw her.  In fact, I'm pretty sure she would watch for me to come outside so she could tell me this again.
4. I use sign-language with my son (who has normal hearing).  Apparently (despite all research to the contrary), this will result in a child who is reluctant to speak verbally.  The lovely lady who said this also stated that she would never use sign language with her kids because she found it, "annoying" and "creepy".
5. I listen to my own music rather than always listening to stuff that has been deemed "kid-friendly" by whoever decides these things.  That being said, one of my current favorite songs is "Philadelphia Chickens".
6. My toddler throws temper tantrums from time to time.  Occasionally, this happens in public.  It doesn't mean that I 'need to deal with my kid'.  It means he's a toddler, and these things happen.  If you're that concerned, you could offer to help.  Otherwise, you can stop staring and move to another aisle.  And if I overhear your comment, and respond to it, at least have the decency to call me something more original than 'bitch'.
7. I have a potty mouth.  Oops.
8. I brag about my son.  A lot.  Apparently, this is annoying. (Not sure if that makes me a bad mommy, or just a bad human being.  Meh.)  Unfortunately for you, I happen to have birthed the most amazing human ever, so it's impossible to stop bragging.  Deal.
9. I may or may not have sprayed my son with water in an attempt to discourage him from climbing the television.  I learned that the water squirter only works on the dog.  Yet another form of discipline that did not dissuade Miles from climbing the television. (I should note that no one called me a bad mother for this one - yet.)
10. I cater to my child's "idiosyncrasies".  Apparently, I am only making them worse.  Unfortunately, the term "idiosyncrasies" was never qualified beyond that, so I'm not actually certain what I'm making worse.  I would like to point out, however, that I did not punch this person in the face (or anywhere else) for saying such things in a derogatory tone about my kid.  In retrospect, I wish I had . . .

*Yep, he does this.  Scary, no?

Silence is Golden

Except when you have a toddler.

First thing every morning, I sit in my chair, nursing a cup of coffee, and trying desperately to clear the cotton out of my head so I can function.  Many times, I'm trying to do this while Miles is awake.  Being the saintly child that he is, he usually just plays quietly.  When he's not so saintly, I resort to the television.  Because this mama?  Cannot function before coffee.

I'm not really certain when that started.  I used to be a morning person.  Really, I did.  I loved the morning.  Then, while I was pregnant, I redefined morning to mean anytime between 10 and noon.  Because I was exhausted.  Constantly.  Baby-building is a tiring process.  So, I started sleeping in.  A lot.  Then, Miles was born, and I learned to sleep when he slept (which was never, it seemed).  Morning became obsolete.  If I managed to get out of my pajamas before Patrick went to bed, I considered it a success.

Now, however, I have been blessed with this amazingly energetic toddler, who thinks that 7:00 am is sleeping in.  So, I started setting my alarm for 6:30, in an effort to down a cup of coffee before he woke up.  And then, Thursday, he woke up, screaming, two seconds after my alarm went off.  Somehow, waking up to screaming just makes my morning worse.  So, by 8:00 am, I was still slumped in my chair, slurping my second cup of coffee, and just trying to survive.  Miles was being saintly, and playing quietly.  Without the television.  I felt like a good mother.

Then, I realized he was too quiet.  Like, completely silent.  I peeked around, certain that the room would be destroyed.  Instead, I found Miles sitting very quietly.  I did a double take.  He was stark naked.  His diaper was lying in a heap about four feet away.  And he was industriously investigating the . . .toy he had discovered.

I couldn't help it.  I laughed.  A lot.  He looked up at me, startled.  Then, he grinned at my obvious delight and pointed as if to say, "Look, Mom!  Isn't it neat!"

I died.

Anyone know of a brand of diapers that closes with duct tape? :)

Haircut

Miles has had his second haircut, now.  It went . . . well enough, I suppose.  Once again, I trimmed it, this time in front of the television.  All was well until he turned his head at the exact wrong moment.  The back of his hair is a little (read: a lot) shorter than I intended, but it still looks good (read: it makes me crazy, but there's nothing I can do about it).  And, well . . . judge for yourself.  It's a little too close to being a bowl cut, for my taste, but <shrug> not bad for an amateur, I guess?

Ah, what the hell.  The kid is freakin' adorable, no matter how badly mommy butchers his haircut.  Especially with that mischievous little grin.

Bad Mommy Mondays

I know you've been anxiously awaiting the return of this beautiful little list, since I took last week off for Valentine's Day.  Well, the ooey-gooey-ness must have worn off, because this week, I have plenty to add to my litany of bad deeds.  Enjoy!

1. I let him wander all the way across the gym from me.  Seriously, some psycho mom could snatch him up and run away with him.  Well, she could if she wasn't so busy helicoptering around her own little cherub, at least. . . 
2. My house is a disaster pretty much all the time.  I don't even care anymore.  Untidyness runs rampant, and I am fighting a losing battle.  <shrug>  At least I keep the floor clean, since:
3. Miles may, on occasion, eat food off of the floor.  I mean, it's not like it's everyday, or anything (it is), and it's not like it's every meal (it so is).  And at least I try to stop him, right? (I don't).  To be fair, though, if I threw away every piece of food he ever dropped on the floor, our grocery bill would be in the thousands of dollars a week.  Seriously.
4. Miles plays video games already.  Yep.  And he's entirely obsessed with the computer.  I've already set the poor little guy on the road toward nerd-hood. . . Oh, wait.  That's not a bad thing. 
5. I actually allowed my poor child to grow a mullet.  And I didn't even realize it.  <hangs head in shame>
6. My kid did some of his earliest teething on a pickle.  True story.
7. For Miles' first birthday, a bunch of us went to the zoo.  No, we didn't rent it out, and no, I didn't plan it for six whole months.  It was a last-minute decision, and it was fun.  Apparently, I should have stressed about it more, but frankly?  I saw no reason to.
8. I bribe my kid with cookies.  When you're sitting in the Dermatologist's office, and your son suddenly becomes a manic, destructive mini-monster, then you can judge me.  Meanwhile, pass the cookies.
9. I can't always control my kid.  Sometimes, no matter what I do, he runs screaming around the room like a banshee.  See #8 for an example of my failed efforts.
10. My kid rarely wears socks unless we're going somewhere that requires shoes.  His feet sweat, he overheats, and he gets cranky.  Apparently, allowing him this minor comfort is allowing him to rule the roost already.  Meh.  We already knew that . . . :)

Dermatologist Appointment From Hell

As promised, from yesterday.  Remember that this was all part of the evil plot of my arch-nemesis, Tuesday.

Scene: The Dermatologist's Waiting Room

Time: 9:00 am, Tuesday* Morning

Miles ran around the waiting room screaming his fool head off, leaving a trail of cheerios and soy milk, as I tried desperately to complete the endless pages of pointless paperwork that were required before they would even let us back into a room.  I tried, desperately, to control him, offering him everything from toys to cookies, to no avail.  After fifteen minutes of this, I finally gave up and sped through the paperwork, while my son did his best impression of a banshee.

Every patient and receptionist in the room gave me with that disapproving, "Control your child" look.  Except one mom, with her perfectly-behaved four-year-old girl-child, who looked at me with pity.  I tried to ignore it, finally finished the paperwork, then cleaned cheerios off the floor, scooped up Miles, and his sippy cup, and his snack cup, and my purse, and took all of it up to the front desk.  As I was dropping off paperwork, and trying not to up-end my bag, Miles took a dive for the floor, and the stench of dirty diaper whacked me across the face.  I excused myself, changed him, and returned just in time to be called back (finally) to see a doctor.

We had been in the office for fifteen minutes.  It felt like days.

Once in the room, I answered questions about Miles' medical history and the Devil's Rash that covered him from top to toe, while Miles generally did absolutely everything he shouldn't.  He opened and closed the drawers.  He pulled the sheet off the bed.  He screamed.  He wanted up.  He dove for the floor.  He rustled through my bag until he found the secret stash of animal crackers, and then begged for them, "Cook! Cook!" until I finally gave in out of desperation.

He sat quietly for about 90 seconds while I answered more detailed questions.  Then, he asked for more "Cook!"  Ad nauseum.

Exit Doctor Assistant Lady (DAL).  Five more minutes of Chaos in a Tiny Room.  Enter Doctor Dermatologist Lady (DDL). More questions.  More chaos.  Ad nauseum.

Exit Doctor Dermatologist Lady (DDL), in search of Big Wig Doctor Dermatologist Lady (BWDDL).  Five more minutes of Chaos in a Tiny Room.  Enter both Doctor Dermatologist Ladies (DDL & BWDDL).  More questions.  More chaos.  Ad nauseum.

In the end, it was determined that Something Terrible (but Unidentifiable, apparently) is wrong with his skin.**  Prescriptions were written.  Good-byes were said.  The Monster was re-dressed, and the door finally opened.

Exit Bedraggled Mommy, chasing Mini-Monster of Doom, running at top speed through the maze of hallways.

Then, we had to stop to check out.  While at the desk, I managed to finally succeed in dumping the entire contents of my bag on the floor, and Miles fell flat on his face, in front of everyone who was waiting in line, giving me that, "Control your child and get your shit together, I'm tired of waiting on you" look.  And, we had to make a follow-up appointment.

It's set for Tuesday.  My arch-nemesis is good.

*See, I told you.  Evil plot.  Arch-nemesis.  It's all there.

**Wonderful.  So glad that two specialists were able to collaborate to come up with this gem of a diagnosis.

Tuesdays. . .

It's not unusual to hate Mondays.  The beginning of the work week.  The end of the weekend.  Totally understandable.  But, honestly, Mondays don't bother me, much.

Tuesdays, on the other hand, have my undying hatred.

Mainly because at best, they're the blah day.  Monday, I feel hopeful at the prospect of another week, another opportunity to get things right.  Wednesdays are the halfway point.  Thursday is so near to the weekend that you can almost taste it, and I don't even have to explain the appeal of a Friday.

Tuesday, however, is just there, taunting me.  The weekend is still but a distant dream, but I have usually lost the motivation of Monday.  So, it just hangs there.  Being Tuesday.  Wretched.  I abhor it.

Which is probably the reason that Tuesday has decided to seek revenge.  Perhaps it's psychological - the way expecting bad things tends to bring them about.  Or maybe Tuesday is simply my arch-nemesis.  I prefer the latter explanation.  Let me give you an example as to why I think this:

Yesterday was Tuesday.  It was also a simply awful day, for a million tiny reasons, each one seemingly innocuous on its own.  But combined?  They made for a rather hellish day.*

It started when my alarm went off, a full 40 minutes before Miles usually gets up.  Usually, this gives me enough time to snooze once or twice, then come downstairs and have a nice cup of coffee before I launch into my day.  Tuesday, however, had other plans.  When I pushed the snooze button for the first time, relishing the idea of nine more minutes of blissful slumber before I had to drag my ass out of bed, I thought for a moment that I hadn't hit the right button.  Several seconds later, my sleep-ridden brain finally figured out that those noises?  Weren't coming from the alarm, but from the next room, where Miles was already wide awake and playing.  Patrick got up, too, and helped, so I could at least brush my teeth, and by the time I got out of the bathroom, the two of them were already downstairs.  I drank my morning coffee in between helping find Miles some breakfast and re-locating the remote.**

Our normal morning routine was planned to be somewhat different, anyway, since Miles had an appointment with the dermatologist at 9:00 am.^  So, just as Miles' second-favorite show was coming on, I had to whisk him upstairs to get him ready to go.  Unfortunately, that meant that he spent the entire time fighting me in an effort to get back downstairs to find Boo.  Blargh.  I managed to dress myself and him, brush his teeth, and brush his and my hair in record time.  And, like the Bad Mommy I am, I parked him in front of the end of Boo  so I could get my shoes on and get the diaper bag packed.

Then, we had the dermatologist appointment from hell.  More about that tomorrow.

Afterward, I put Miles in the van, where he promptly fell asleep, and I used that opportunity to get his prescriptions filled.  I dropped them off, then went to get a chai from Starbucks, since I have a gift card.  The chai?  Which was supposed to be a delectable treat?  Tasted like butt.  And when I got back to the pharmacy, there was some sort of problem that prevented me from being able to pick up the prescriptions right away.  So, I drove home, anxious to sit in the van in the driveway, just breathing for five minutes.

And that's when Miles woke up.

We went inside, to find that the dog had, once again, escaped his kennel while we were gone, and had strewn dirty laundry all over the house.  For the second time this week.  Only this time?  He decided to tear some of it to shreds.  Just for giggles apparently.  I cleaned it up, got Miles some lunch, and then fell into my chair in a heap.  The clock read 11:34 am.

Tuesday is a bitch.

*Okay, okay.  I am being dramatic.  What else is new?

**No way can this mommy face a Tuesday without a cup of coffee.  If that means television first thing, so be it.

^Right during Sesame Street.  That was some bad planning. :)

Bad Mommy Mondays

This week's list of reasons I am a Bad Mommy.  It's a little short.  We've been indoors all week, so we've had fewer opportunities to be judged. :)  Enjoy!

1. I don't want more kids.  If I truly loved being a mommy, I would continue to reproduce.  If I truly cared about Miles, I would give him a playmate.  Even if the thought of going through pregnancy and the newborn stage again (this time with a toddler in tow) makes me want to vomit.  I should be barefoot and pregnant already, dammit.
2. Despite my best efforts, my child is not a good sleeper, and never has been.  Apparently, if I would just [let him cry it out/rock him to sleep every night/random other useless advice] he would be sleeping just fine.  And I need to fix this now, because obviously it's going to affect him for the rest of his life.  He will always have sleep issues if I don't fix them right this minute.  In fact, it may already be too late!!! 
3. I blog.  Which means I must be ignoring my kid to do so.  Because, you know, I should be watching him even when he sleeps.
4. I stay at home with my son, rather than going to work and helping to 'provide' for him.  Yeah, this little gem actually came from another stay-at-home mom.  Who doesn't work at all.
5. I work.  I may take my child with me, but there's no way I'm actually interacting with him at all, so the poor guy must be suffering horribly.  Never mind the fact that he's quite happy to go to the office, and will actually sign bye-bye and go for the door when I mention the word, "work".
6. I act as a short-order cook some days.  Miles has just hit that picky stage.  Psychology says that this is just a sign that he's discovering his control over his environment.  One of the ways he can control it is to refuse to eat.  So, I offer him three or four different foods at some meals, trying to get him to eat something.  Apparently, this means I'm setting him up to be incredibly picky.  Who cares if he is too young to understand the idea of "you eat what you're given"?

Bad Mommy Mondays

At the request of my husband, I have decided to start a list of all of the reasons that I am a Bad Mommy.*  I will only list things if someone has actually been judgmental about it - either to me, or about me, or said in my presence.  I will post a few every Monday, and post the complete running list on a tab at the top.  When appropriate, I will try to link to the appropriate story.

Reasons I Am a Bad Mommy

1. I chose not to nurse my son.  Because I didn't want to.  If that's not enough of an explanation, let's talk.  Because I totally enjoy discussing my breasts with complete strangers.
2. Instead, I fed him formula, which apparently, is like feeding him toxic waste.
3. I did not fight the c-section.  In fact, I kinda welcomed it.  Oh, and I got the epidural as soon as possible.
4. From early on, I have followed my child's lead.  I trust he knows what he needs. (Like, no socks. . .)
5. I allow my child to watch television, even though it is obviously of the devil.  Just another of my selfish choices so that I can eat occasionally.
6. I feed my child juice, even though it is obviously going to make him fat.  It would be better for him to drink nothing at all, because juice is as bad as soda.
7. I don't jump and run every time my child falls over.  Which is often.  Apparently, that makes me lazy.  Even if he's not actually hurt.  The correct (and societally-acceptable) move would be to hover over him, never allowing him the space to learn anything for himself.
8. I don't always order my kid his own meal.  Most times, in fact, he eats off of my plate.  Apparently, I am a terrible mother who wishes to starve her child. (Interesting factoid: this happened when Miles was 7 months old, and barely eating table food at all.)
9. I use a harness and leash on my son when we are out in public.  Apparently, this means I think of him as a pet, rather than as a rambunctious child who would run into a crowd without thinking.
10. As a family, we have incorporated Miles into our lives, we have not changed everything about our lives to fit him.  Apparently, we are being selfish by 'dragging' him along.  His obvious joy at leading this life is apparently only because he doesn't know any better.

*Please know that I do not think I am a Bad Mommy.  I think I am a Mommy who does her best, just like every other Mommy on the planet.  This list is meant to be funny.  So laugh.  Now. :)

Who Knew Juice Would Be Such a Big Deal?

So, apparently, it had been too long since someone flat out told me I was a bad mother.

First, let me just state for the record that I should know better by now than to be entirely honest on the Mommy Forums (not my SAHM board, but others).  Someone asked the question, "What does your kid drink?"

I responded that he drinks a ton of juice, because he won't touch water.

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.  I was e-reamed by a bunch of women I've never even met, and who obviously don't know anything about me.  "Juice is as bad as soda!" one mommy wrote.  "Is this for real?" wrote another.  One flat out told me that I was ruining my child by giving him so much juice - and the AAP would back her up.

Okay, let's step back a moment.  I've done my research.  I know that the AAP is now recommending lower consumption of juice in children.  But I also know that they're doing that for two reasons: 1) the high sugar content of most juices, and 2) childhood obesity.  The sugar, frankly, doesn't bother me.  Sugar, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing.  I brush his teeth.  And if I have a bouncy toddler all afternoon, that's my business.  As for the childhood obesity, all I can say is: have you seen my kid?  The poor kid is always struggling to keep his pants up.  He could stand to gain a little weight.  Childhood obesity is on the bottom of my list of worries.

And besides, other than the juice (heck, including the juice), this kid eats healthier than I ever did.  He eats a balanced diet of carbs and proteins, fruits and vegetables.  So if he wants a little juice to drink with it, so be it.  And no one but no one is going to tell me I am a Bad Mommy for this one.

Although, I may or may not have told the ladies on that forum board to 'shove it'.  So, if that type of language makes me a Bad Mommy, I'll take it. :)

Toddler Gym

I have writer's block.  And a bad case of the Lazies.  So, here are some cute pictures from Toddler Gym this morning.  Enjoy.  Maybe someday I'll write something decent again. :)

Ah, the toy car.  It frustrates him, and yet he loves it.

Exploring far away from Mommy!
[He was across the gym.  I had to crop and zoom
so you could see him at all.  Bad Mommy, I know.]

Vacuuming the gym floor.  I'm so glad he's such
a neat nick.  Soon, he will clean the entire house with
his tiny broom and tiny vacuum. Mwahahahahaha!*

*Sorry.  Not much sleep last night.  Does it show?

Reason #1 My House Will Never Be Clean

Exhibit #1: Living room at the end of Miles' nap. (Literally, he woke up about 2 minutes after this shot)

Exhibit #2: Living room ten minutes later.  Miles had been downstairs for less than 8 minutes.  And yes, the laundry basket is my fault, but to be fair, I was on my way downstairs with it when Miles threw a fit and made it very clear that I was not going anywhere.  Also, it is important to note that there was cereal crushed into the carpet just below the scope of the shot.  Fun times.

Don't you feel so much better about your own houses, now? :)