Inappropriate Behavior.

I don't know what it is about me that attracts weirdness. It seems like every time I step outside of my house, I end up having an interaction with someone that leaves me thinking ... "WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?"

Today I went to the gym to meet my friend Lesley for BodyJam. I dropped my kids off at the nursery and was sitting on a bench with a bunch of other women, minding my own business. I was checking Facebook on my phone when a complete stranger walked up and popped me on the leg with a towel. 

Strange Man: "No sexting at the Y."

Me: "Excuse me?"

Strange Man: "I SAID, NO SEXTING AT THE Y." 

And then he walked on down the hallway. The girl sitting next to me had eyes like saucers. I just sat there and stared at him. I hate it when I can't think of something ridiculous to say when someone says something ridiculous to me. Let alone ... pops me with a towel.

OMG, the more I think about it, the more mad I get. Look out, old man in the navy blue sweatsuit. You're on my shit list now.

IAMSOEXCITED.

I just summoned up the courage to step on the scale ... and I am three pounds from my pre-preggo weight! IAMSOEXCITED.

Armed with this knowledge, I went into my closet and proceeded to try on multiple pairs of jeans, none of which fit a month ago.

Verdict: I can officially wear jeans I wore before I got pregnant with TWO. Yes, there is severe muffintop. But that can be dealt with. I am so happy right now, I'm quite unsure what to do with myself.

Oh, wait. I do know what I'll do. 

This Does My Heart Good.

All I want out of this mommy gig is to turn out two respectful, helpful, God-fearing, brave, strong MEN. I realize this is a tall order. In fact, as I type this, my three-year-old is on the back porch spitting on the window, trying to get my attention.

If I manage to accomplish this task, it won't be because of my mothering powers. I can't make it through one single day without asking for God's help. I'm not trying to shove religion down anyone's throat ... in fact, I am not a huge fan of "religion" at all. I am a fan of God though. Do with that what you will.

Today this happened. And I have to say, it really did my spirit a lot of good. 

The world already has too many men in it who are completely and utterly worthless. Whiners, crybabies, lazy asses, philanderers, egotists and moochers. I have issues that stem from a series of bad relationships ... so I make it my mission every day to make sure I don't add two more idiots into the mix.

We'll start small. With the garbage can.

Happy Birthday.

Dear Husband,

Today we celebrate the 30th birthday of a very special man.  You.

You make me mad. A lot. But it doesn't really matter, because you also make me laugh harder than anyone else.

Our children's faces light up when they see you. My stomach still flip-flops when we kiss. Like for real kiss, not like the peck that you give me when we're in public. 

You and I have been through so much together ... good, bad, and ugly. We made two beautiful children. That's the good. We have been through losses and disappointments. That's the bad. Sometimes I want to bake a cake just so I can shove your face in it. Sometimes I want to kick you really hard in the shin. That's the ugly.

Life is beautiful and maddening and fun and terrible all at the same time. I'm so lucky that I get to share it all with you. You are truly the other half that makes me whole. Happy birthday, Robbie. You are a tall, furry gift to me.

Love,
Harmony

Carpe Diem.

Have you read this blog post? It's circulating among women all over the internet. A good friend of mine sent it to me, knowing I would love it. And when I say I love it ... I love it.

I read it twice. I am now semi-obsessed with the author and her blog. On Sunday, I was sitting in the middle of Olive Garden with my parents and the baby and I was trying to tell them about it.

I got to the part where she talks about when she is older and her kids are grown, what she hopes to be able to say to the younger mom she sees in line at the store. And that's when it happened. I LOST IT. Tears were just streaming down my face, right there in the middle of the restaurant. It was terribly awkward. I mean, my parents were fine with it but the other patrons were staring. I had trouble pulling myself together. And all I was trying to do was talk about this blog post that some chick wrote, I don't know her at all, but it just really touched me. Because I think she GETS it.

I never cry. I mean, not normally. Like in my normal life, when I'm NORMAL. Right now, I'm not normal. I'm tired and overwhelmed and I just seem to cry a lot.

But seriously ... it's a really great article and if you're a mom, you need to read it. Because yes, motherhood is very hard. But it's worth the hard. And it's nice for someone to acknowledge that.

Tuesday Chat,

Me: TWO, why won't you sleep?!?!

TWO: Ah-goo.

Me: Oh. Okay.

Fitful Sleeper = Crazy Mommy.

Disclaimer: Just because I am at my wit's end with TWO does not mean I don't love being his mother. It simply means I'll have something to hold over his head when he's older.

So what you see here on your left is what it has come to. 

I haven't talked about this yet because I was too tired to try and explain it, but now I am desperate for help. So please. Help me.

He's fitful. I mean like really fitful. 

When he tries to go to sleep, he wiggles and wiggles and scratches the mattress and turns his head from side to side and eventually rolls over and scares himself. And screams. 

Then I turn him back over to his belly, and the process starts all over again. I have tried standing there and literally holding his butt down so he can't roll over, but without fail when I leave the room, he turns right over and we start again. Sometimes it happens during his naps, but most often it happens at 3 a.m. and it makes me want to shoot myself.

As shown in this photo, this morning I attempted to wedge my son between the wall of his Pack N' Play and a rolled up blanket ... and when that proved to not be enough of a barrier (he shoved it out of the way like it was nothing), I added in a pillow from my bed. 

He's locked in there good and tight. We'll see what happens. I'd take a nap, but ONE is awake now and asking me for food. I'm fighting the urge to throw a pack of crackers at him and lock myself in my room.

Vicks.

Yesterday was kind of a hard day. I mean nothing really happened in particular, it was just that I ran out of patience at like 8 a.m. and as a result everything seemed to be a struggle. And so, I WELCOMED bedtime with great excitement. ONE was administered a bath and tucked into bed right on time. I closed his door with relief, sat on the couch, and zoned out for about 10 minutes. And then, I heard it.

Mommy? Moooooommy.

I thought that he was maybe thirsty or had a question or it was too dark in there. But as I opened the door, the smell of Vicks BabyRub smacked me in the face. My son was standing there in the dark, covered in it. I mean, covered with a thick layer. All over his face, in his ears and hair, and on his hands and arms. Seriously.

Then I saw the bed. And the stuffed animals. He was thorough, that's for sure. He emptied that entire container and coated everything he possibly could. He got every last bit of it out. Every. Last. Bit.

Apparently, I left it on his dresser when I put him to bed. I guess he  just went crazy with it, but then freaked out when it started to burn. Thankfully, my mother helped me get everything cleaned up and that is probably the only reason why I didn't completely LOSE. IT. I wish I'd taken a picture, but alas. I was concerned his skin was going to burn off.

The house still smells of Vicks, 16 hours later. My dad gave me a big hug afterwards and then started laughing hysterically. I tried to laugh. I could not. Maybe in a few days. But not now.

My parents seem to be enjoying our visit. Let's see how they feel after a few more "incidents."

(source)

Don't Take Your Help For Granted.

I have been away from my home and my husband for about a week and I don't know how to say this, so I'll just say it: I don't want to go back. Quite frankly, if Husband's birthday wasn't this coming Friday I'm not sure WHEN I would return.

I have never not missed my husband and my home. I'm not sure what is wrong with me. It worries me, actually. So I emailed a friend of mine to tell her what I was feeling and to get her feedback. I said how much I love my husband, I mean I REALLY love him, but I don't want to go home. I just want to stay here with my mother. And most importantly, should I be concerned?

Her reply: 

"NAH! You just have a really really good mother. I don't know what that's like. And I've had a LOT of girls who have good relationships with their mothers much prefer getting help from their moms than from their husbands. I just wonder what it would be like to need your mom.....that's awesome. Doesn't mean you don't love him. Means you just have different needs right now. And that's totally ok!"

And that was all the validation I needed. 

I will go back home in a few days. I'll wash sheets and clothes and bake Husband a birthday cake. I'll be so happy to see him. But when Monday rolls back around and he goes back to work, I'm really going to start missing my mother again.

For anyone who have children and are fortunate enough to live near family, you better show them your gratitude. Unless they're crazy and/or screwed up and return your kids to you smelling of stale cigarettes. Then you don't have to be grateful. But for the rest of you ... you're so lucky. Don't ever take the help you have for granted. 

Open Letter.

Dear Dentist's Office,

Please stop calling me and leaving voicemails reminding me to reschedule the appointment I cancelled a year ago.

I am TERRIFIED of you.

I know oral health is important. And you are sweet to remind me of that. But ... I just can't. The only reason I saw you two years ago for a checkup and cleaning is because I had an arrangement with a friend of mine. We were both facing our fears. I went to the dentist, she signed up with an online dating service.

We both probably won't do that again.

Thank you,
Harmony
 

Almond, OH JOY!

I write to you from my parent's home in Baton Rouge. I know it seems weird that I am here with the kids while Husband is in Alabama, and I don't want to seem like I don't miss him because I DO.

But.

My sweet mother-in-law took ONE to see a movie this afternoon. The baby is asleep. And I literally just sat on the couch and ate an Almond Joy candy bar while watching Real Housewives of Orange County. 

It. Was. Awesome. It kind of felt like I was living a life of leisure, just for a little while.
 

I Quit! (But you already knew that.)

I wrote my last "Working Mommy" article for Birmingham Mommy this month. It's bittersweet ...

Read it HERE!

This Really Happened.

I would have posted this yesterday, but I couldn't stop crying and therefore was unable to see the computer screen.

Last night I was soaking baby bottles in the kitchen sink. A series of events led to my phone landing in the soapy water. Lucky for me, I have experience with this kind of situation because only a few months ago I washed my iphone in the washing machine. So I knew that what I needed to do was get my phone in a bag of rice right away.

In my haste, I dumped the entire box of rice in the sink. If you look closely, you can see my phone in that half-empty Ziplock bag.

Unfortunately, more rice got outside of the bag than inside of it. You may be wondering how THAT happened. Well, I was crying. And the baby was crying. So it just happened.

After the white rice got everywhere except for where I needed it to be, I had to scrap that plan and move on to Plan B which was to freak out. And then start over with a smaller box of Publix Instant Brown Rice which I found in the cabinet.

Here is what I learned:

1. Digging rice out of a garbage disposal with your bare hand  sucks.

2. It's not necessary to dig rice out of a garbage disposal. If you just TURN IT ON, YOU IDIOT, the rice goes away on its own.

S.O.S.

I have been in a deep hole this week. It's what my friends and I refer to as The Pit. 

Caring for a sick baby and a three-year-old by myself has sent me to a dark place. Husband isn't at home in the evenings to help, and I'm just ... drowning. I feel like a failure because I know I'm sinking lower and lower and I don't have much farther to go before I either get in the car and drive away, or stop getting out of bed in the morning.

I called my mother today. I told her I need to come home, with the kids, and camp out for awhile. I felt like a big, fat, 32-year-old failure who can't handle the life she built for herself. But when she said to COME, and I heard my dad echoing her words in the background, I felt such relief. I have somewhere to run to, and as much I don't want to be away from Husband, my sanity is at stake here. And as he kindly pointed out, right now my sanity takes priority over everything else.

Admitting I need help makes me feel like something is wrong with me. And yes, I KNOW, nothing is wrong with asking for help, blah blah blah, I shouldn't try to do it alone, blah blah blah, everyone has rough patches, blah blah blah. It doesn't stop me from feeling like something is wrong with me or my children, because isn't everyone else coping just fine?

I never, ever would have imagined myself getting to this place. It's not that I didn't think it would be difficult to stay at home with two kids. I just didn't think it would be so difficult that I wouldn't be able to handle it. Of course I didn't know that TWO would turn out to be such a CRAZY ASS baby (I feel really guilty for saying that), that Husband's work schedule would be so grueling that I would feel like a single parent, (I feel guilty for saying that as well, because Husband works really hard so I can stay home), and I really didn't have a clue how three-year-olds can be when you are with them all the time.

It's hard to come to grips with these facts because I am transitioning from a professional career where I got paid good money to solve PROBLEMS.

It is humbling for me to admit that my current situation has broken me down completely. I mean broke. me. down.  I know I shouldn't feel guilty for feeling like I'm drowning in motherhood and I need someone to throw me a life jacket. I know I shouldn't feel like a failure because I cried every day this week and only cooked things that came out of a box. 

If someone else was telling me this story, I would assure her she was strong and capable and NOT a failure. But it's not someone else ... it's me. I will always put pressure on myself to be better at whatever I happen to be doing. It's what my therapist called "internal motivation." 

So here it is: I am internally motivated to go see my Mama. Maybe one day, when my boys are grown and I have recovered from the task of raising them, I can return the favor.

Crafts.

We made crowns for the whole family.

Aaaaaand ... that's our Tuesday.

Sick Day.

TWO is sick.

ONE seems to be catching it. I kind of wish he would get sick, so he would lie around the house quietly instead of chattering nonstop and running around screaming. Does that make me a bad mother?

This week I swore I would go to the gym every day, and I went exactly one day before TWO got this cold. So maybe next week I can go every day. All I want right now is to wash the snot and drool off of me.

A few things:

1. Toothpaste works better on a pimple than any acne product I have ever tried. I wish someone would have told me about this when I was in high school instead of when I was in my thirties. I'm passing it along as Very Helpful Information. You're welcome.

2. Where do people with overly-curious little boys keep their knives? Because I definitely caught MY overly-curious little boy standing on a kitchen stool yesterday trying to smell all of the spices in the spice rack, which happens to be right next to our knife set.

3. Do people with small children even have knife sets? Or are we the only ones?

4. We probably are the only ones.

Boobs.

If you are flat-chested and bitter about it, stop reading here.

For the rest of you, I'd like to discuss boobs. Today during Bodyflow class at the Y, I am almost positive mine tried to smite me. I really do think it's possible to be smothered to death by your own ladies. 

If you are flat-chested and opted to continue reading this, and are thinking something along the lines of "I wish I had that problem," YOU DO NOT WANT THAT PROBLEM. I have outlined the reasons why:

1. Although none of my bras fit properly, I am afraid to get professionally measured because I'm almost positive they don't sell my size in normal stores and I'll be forced to spend $80/bra at one of those stores for large-boobed women.

2. Big boobs may be attractive to some, but only if they are fake or holstered by a sturdy undergarment. Otherwise, they're gross. Pure and simple. Gross, sad, and depressing.

3. If you don't believe me, why don't you visit this website (NOT SUITABLE FOR WORK): www.theshapeofamother.com.

4. I noticed the other day that my cleavage is creeping up to my neck. This means that pretty soon, I'll have cleavage up to my neck.

Since I am only 32 years old, I have decided to make do with my current situation. I will work out, lose weight, have more babies (maybe), work out, lose weight, schedule Husband's vasectomy, and then schedule myself a boob job and possibly skin removal for my lower abdomen. Yoga and pilates seem to be doing wonders for my core, but there ain't nothing that can be done about all of that skin.

Now, if you'll excuse me ... ONE is outside covered in mud and poop. I lead a very glamorous life.

Check Me Out.

Six years ago, I couldn't stomach the act of touching raw meat.  My carnivore of a husband was sooooo screwed.

Look at me now! I made meatballs at 9 a.m. this morning. That's RAW COW you're looking at.

Update.

ONE just came in from outside.

He smells like gasoline.

Fail.

Why I Don't Do Naptime.

Naptime is my nemesis. OH, HOW I HATE NAPTIME.

I have blogged about this problem over and over, but basically my three-year-old has refused to nap for half of his life. We finally gave up the battle about a year ago because it was just too ridiculous. He fought it tooth and nail. At daycare, he would remove articles of clothing and throw them at the other kids to wake them up. We got complaints every day because of "disruption during naptime." He has always slept 12 hours a night so we never pressed the issue.

Fast-forward  to four months ago when the baby was born and I NEEDED him to nap. I tried letting him watch a movie on my bed, which worked for like a week. Then he was over it and would come looking for me. 

Some of my friends were aghast to learn that my older child doesn't have a naptime or a "rest time" and I concluded that I might be a better mother if I tried to force it. So I did. On Monday he pooped about 15 minutes into "naptime." I was trying to relax and just when I got settled I heard his little mouth against his bedroom door telling me that he pooped. So I changed him and laid down again and right about that time, the baby woke up. And so on and so forth.

This is why I have an addiction to coffee.

Today, we tried once more. He pooped, AGAIN (it took everything in me not to sling a cuss fit, I mean WTF is wrong with my kid?!), destroyed his room, and piled clothes against the door so I couldn't come in.

Oddly, he also found a birthday card that sings Life Is A Highway. He was singing loudly when I tried to open the door to check on him. That's when I smelled the poop.

He is currently locked in our backyard with a snack and some rubber boots. Maybe I'll give up on the nap and just enforce outside time instead.

Changes.

TWO has magically morphed into a laughing, squealing, bundle of JOY. No more crying ... unless I leave him in the gym childcare, of course. Then he acts a fool.

After looking at these pictures, maybe we will have a third one day.

Friday.

Husband doesn't like it when I blog about him. I really try not to, but sometimes, it just has to come out. 

To compensate for what I said earlier today, I say to him: look at this! Look at what we've done. I cooked these babies, now let me have my therapy. Even if it sometimes involves discussing your size 13 feet.

Some people (my mother) do not understand why I am compelled to overshare on the internet. I could never quite explain it. It's just what I do. Then, this morning, my friend Kellie texted me a quote she found that completely explains why I MUST BLOG:

"The reason I write is not so that others may read it, but so at the end of the day I am not alone in my head."

To whoever is reading this, thank you for being there to write to, so at the end of an endless day, I don't feel completely alone. Someone out there went through the day with me. 
 

Open Letter.

Dear Husband,

You are a good man. But you drive me crazy. When you wake up from a solid night of sleep, yawn, and say "I am so tired," I want to kick you.

When you track dirt into the house with your size 13 feet, leave crumbs on the carpet and feed our son marshmallows for breakfast, I find myself irrationally wanting to kick you.

When you elbow me in the head in the middle of the night and wake me up, I really want to kick you.

Just rest knowing that I don't plan to ever follow through on this impulse. It's just the hormones talking. Thank goodness I'm still in there somewhere ... I think. My rational old self is still buried under a layer of mush. My hair is still falling out by the handful. I still seem to cry almost every day. Sometimes I feel like giving you a swift kick would make me feel better. Like it would somehow right the ship and compensate for the fact that you haven't undergone any physical changes whatsoever. You just have to endure MY changes.

I think it's sweet that you didn't judge me for drinking a glass of wine at 5 pm yesterday. You never criticize me, ever. You accept me good and bad, even when I nitpick your every move.

Thank you for trying to be nice to me this morning even after I woke you up by throwing a pair of pants on top of you and yelling, WHEN I ASKED YOU TO CHECK THE WATER FAUCET OUTSIDE I DIDN'T MEAN "TRACK DIRT ALL OVER THE LIVING ROOM." 

You really are a good man. Today you don't need to worry about wearing your shin guards.

Love,
Crazy Bitch Your Wife

!!!

OMG! This season's cast of Celebrity Apprentice has been revealed and it is something.  

Clay Aiken? Aubrey O'Day? Arsenio Hall? TERESA GIUDICE?!?!?!?!?! I am sooooo addicted already. Only 38 more days to go until the season premiere. I lead a very small life.

1. Cheryl Tiegs
2. Patricia Velasquez
3. Teresa Giudice
4. Tia Carrere
5. Dayana Mendoza
6. Aubrey O'Day
7. Debbie Gibson
8. Victoria Gotti
9. Michael Andretti
10. George Takei
11. Arsenio Hall
12. Lou Ferrigno
13. Clay Aiken
14. Penn Jillette
15. Adam Carolla
16. Lisa Lampanelli
17. Dee Snider
18. Paul Teutul Sr.

Zumba.

Today I took a Zumba class. I fully expected to run smack into another person, or maybe a wall, but it was surprisingly fun and dare I say ... easy. 

Allow me to clarify: I am clearly not a dancer and I have zero rhythm. I do not know how to do the salsa. However, I did manage to perform a sort of dorky, white girl impersonation of the dances and I never had to stop and take a break. Based on these facts, I declare it a success.

Also, some lady totally pulled her shirt up at the end of the class to wipe her face, and she took her sweet time doing it, which allowed everyone to get a nice long gander at her business. It brought me happiness and relief to know that if I ever do happen to yank up my shirt in the middle of a Zumba class at my local YMCA, I won't have the mushiest midsection or the saddest boobs there.

ZUMBA!

One more thing ... before the class began, I overheard a lady talking about how she just dropped her kid off at the nursery and there was "a little baby with an LSU hat on that was just crying and crying." I smiled and interjected, "that one's mine." 

I thought it would help me make a new friend.

It did not.

Farewell.

I just picked up my box of stuff from my former place of employment. It's a weird feeling to have almost 6 years of busting your ass reduced to a box of random items, shown here:

I thought I'd feel ecstatic. But really, I just feel weird. It's like, I went to college, I worked so hard, I studied for these insurance exams and tried to talk to the right people and do the right things ... all for this. To have kids and quit. But I'm thankful. It will just take some getting used to.

I should have taken the time to tell a few people F*CK YOU before I left for good. But, alas ... I forgot. I was too focused on making sure that Husband got a picture of me waving goodbye to the sign.

 Goodbye, career. I don't think I'll miss you.

Just Another Family Outing.

Yesterday we decided to make a family trip to the mall. We got almost halfway there when I realized we forgot the stroller. I asked Husband to turn around. He kept driving.

He hates turning around. Something about it turns him into a big jerk. He was MAD. And we hadn't even made it to the mall yet. I reasoned that at least we remembered before we got there. He insisted he could carry the baby. Yes, all over the mall. I vetoed. 

We went back home.

We arrived at the mall 20 minutes later with the stroller. We hunted for a parking spot for what seemed like an eternity. After we finally parked, I got out and started to unload. The wind was blowing. Something flew into my eye.

I rubbed my eye and my contact came out.

It blew away.

We had to put everyone back in the car and go back home, again, so I could replace my lost contact. If I had semi-bad vision I would have toughed it out with just one good eye, but my last prescription was -7.50 which is pretty much blind.

Husband didn't speak the whole way home and the whole way back to the mall. ONE made up for his silence with his constant chattering: Where are we going, Mommy? Daddy? Anyone? Why are we going back home? Are we going back to the mall? What's going on? Why can't Mommy see? Does she need GLASSES? DO I NEED GLASSES? ANYONE? HELLOOOOOOO .... 

Personally, I found this situation to be very funny. Husband did not. But I don't find the whisker hairs he left in the sink to be funny. So I guess we're even.

 
 

ALERT!

This blog's name is changing. I uploaded a new header this morning. Since I am no longer a "working" mommy, I figured I needed to change the title accordingly.

As soon as I can figure it out between diaper changes, I will change the url to www.modernmommymadness.com and you will be alerted when this happens! I hope I don't lose all of you ... please don't stop reading!

OMG I HATE POTTY TRAINING.

A New Year.

I am so disoriented.

Somehow the holidays have come and gone. The tree is down. It's 2012. The past year has been a total blur. That's what sleep deprivation and two little boys will do to a person.

Husband and I did absolutely NOTHING for New Year's Eve, and I didn't mind. Last year we went all out -- fancy club, dancing, band, champagne, crazy-high heels (me, not him) -- and it was awesome, but this year all I wanted to do was have some wine and go to bed early.

I make no apologies for this. I am 32 and just had my second child. I only pull that out when I'm feeling extra fat or extra tired.

I hope that this year brings good things. We have big plans for our family. It's a time of TRANSITION. I accept that we have no money because I just quit my good-paying job to stay home with our kids. I accept that we will probably end up cutting off our cable, downgrading our phone plan and after I use the salon gift certificate my sweet aunt Nancy gave me for my birthday, I likely won't be able to afford to go back.

I accept that I might have horrible hair in 2012. I may have to use ... box dye. I accept that I will have to coupon which makes me itch just thinking about it. 

But. I resolve to remember WHY I am using dye out of a box and a coupon for Cover Girl makeup. It's because I am privileged enough to have a husband who believes I can raise our sons without losing my shit. And I believe he can support us without losing HIS. 

I resolve to appreciate him every day. I resolve to be sweet to my children. I resolve to starve myself back into my old wardrobe. And invest in a cute hat to hide my box-dyed hair.

See how ONE and TWO are holding hands? That is why I am fine with having bad hair.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!