Guilt...the worst kind...MOMMY GUILT!

Admit it. If you're a mom, or hell, a parent in general, you have THE GUILT. The "my kid is wearing pajamas to school AGAIN" guilt. The "ummm, yeah, they ate Doritos in the car on the way to school but you would never know except for that orange mouth" guilt. The "I was SURE he brushed his teeth well" guilt. We all have it. If you are one of the lucky ones who doesn't hang on to it, I HAVE YOURS. I feel guilty over freaking EVERYTHING. Today little J wanted mac and cheese in his lunchbox, and even got it out of the pantry for me. I sent him to the playroom to pick his show and tell toy, and promptly shoved something else, which was already cooked, in his lunchbox.

And then worried about it. ALL. DAY. Almost nauseous. Yeah, my kid is fine. He doesn't really need the mac and cheese in his lunch box. For flip's sake, I would have felt MORE guilty had I made it for him, because the only one he eats is Wegman's Spirals. Surely it has no nutritional value, AND red dye, or yellow dye, or orange dye number five million in it. I would have bitten my finger nails to the nubs over the permanent damage I was causing. I would have even put it in a non-glass tupperware that would be swarming with BPA, or PPD, or BPD, or whatever it is that would SURELY be destroying his intestines.

Sigh. The real guilt though? I bought myself a new pair of shoes. Not any shoes, but a new pair of patent leather (with polka dots!) Dansko XP clogs. Yeah. They're not cheap. Never mind the fact that I have not purchased myself a pair of shoes other than clearance sneaks in THREE YEARS. I'm a teacher, and my little VivoFit screams at me daily, accusing me of falsifying the steps I take each day. Yeah, um, watch thingy? I'm a TEACHER. I hustle during the day! It happens! And my feet suck. Plantar fasciitis like CRAZY. I need good shoes. I can rock Crocs, which make me look like a Smurf, or Danskos. The Danskos I wear every day were a Christmas gift- in 2009. Oiled Patent Leather. I love them. They're adorable. THEY ARE FIVE YEARS OLD. They are showing their age. It was time. Still, I debated the purchase for almost a week. They sat in my beautiful little Amazon cart for AGES. Today, I got a notification that there was ONE. PAIR. LEFT. It was my time to ACT! To be DECISIVE! I clicked "checkout", and actually went through with it. Since then, however, the guilt has been in overdrive. That's five cases of pull-ups. A week of groceries. Three days of yogurt.

Then I had a little reality check. I have to GET. THE. FUCK. OVER. THIS. SHIT.  I have ENOUGH guilt. I still feel awful that I didn't stand in line myself to register my kid for kindergarten (even though it was literally JUST paper pushing)! Me feeling guilty changes absolutely nothing. I will be empowered to OWN my choices! I AM MAMA HEAR ME ROAR!

Snort. Who am I kidding? I'll still feel guilty, but wearing super adorable, new, orthopedic clogs.

'Tis the Season for PHILANTHROPY!

I'm a very lucky gal. I was raised in a family that valued helping others- on many different levels. I grew up know that it wasn't just about money, but about actually giving. When I went away to college, I was lucky enough to work with an organization called HAVOC- Hamilton Action Volunteer Outreach Community. I worked with children living in shelters; I spent time with mothers recently released from prison; I was able to help inner city children learn to read and write; I got to help build houses. These experiences shaped me as a person, and as a mother. My mom recently was able to attend the UNICEF Snowflake Gala- because she, too, is a giver.

I love food. Food is my comfort zone- this has translated into catering for families and individuals, but also into donating excess to organizations that desperately need food. I will keep cooking for others- the rest of my life. I am happy to be able to donate financially to organizations like Peach's Neet Feet- helped by many other families in lieu of birthday gifts for my two lovely, healthy sons. I can't wait to start sewing for Binkeez for Comfort. I donate monthly to the Jane Fund. My students and I have been filling purses with toiletries for Abby's House. These, to me, feel like very small drops in the pond. I have two amazing children that are OBSESSED with the tangible. They want every toy they see a commercial for, and feel like they are owed toys. Granted, they are still young. The BIGGEST struggle I have as a parent is teaching them the beauty in GIVING.

What makes me happy when I succumb to their pleas for a new toy? The GIVING of it. It's not in the having, the owning- it's in the joy that swells my heart when I GIVE. I see it in them, some days, when they bring a picture they made just for me. When Mr. M tells me I am a queen and he will be my knight. In the sweet snuggles J lays on me when I feel sad.

The holiday season brings out the best, and worst, in many. I encourage all of my readers, all twelve of you, to fight the urge to be cranky about what could be- and find joy in the "what is"'s. Celebrate every moment. Return every hug.

Above all, GIVE. It doesn't take money, it takes heart. There are ways to bolster our communities without spending a dime- search for those ways, and share them. Take the time to be KIND.

Kindness, and love, always win.

Extortion is SO Adorable These Days

Tis the season for formal portraits, right? No different here. My nuggets had their school pictures taken a few weeks ago, and I got to pick them up tonight. The way it works for my guys is that the company prints every possible picture- and what I pay for, I take home. Essentially, if I decide not to get ANY, all pictures are trashed. On fancy picture paper. Gone, baby, gone. Yeah, that's heartbreaking it itself- what a WASTE of resources. The thought of my precious boys' faces in the shredder kills me. This is CLEARLY what the companies that extort serve families want! My kids' pictures are cute.

The amount I have to pay for them? Not cute. NOT CUTE AT ALL. It makes me nuts! We're not talking "oh I hired a photographer so I need to pay for their time" photos. It's 70+ kids over two days. $15 a picture. Or, get a super fancy package for $234 that has ALL of the sizes plus an oil painting version. RIDIC. I bought four sheets. One of each child, one together, and one sheet of wallets- because buying those four "sheets" was less than $10 difference than just buying three. I get that it's cheaper when I buy more. But really? WHY? There are so many companies where you get a full package for $40 bucks. Clearly, I'm a sucker. Who can say no to those faces! It boils down to convenience- I can't get my guys in matching outfits and into a photo studio- no way in HELL. Convenience is king, but I will get to the point where it's just not worth it, and then, I shall feel like a crap mom for not buying the pictures. 

Granted, I will not be completely financially crippled by getting four sheets. I can make some allowances to my budget (which I have been crazily obsessed with in an effort to be fiscally responsible) to get them. However, I think it straight up sucks. It's hard enough parenting- and parenting solo? A little extra hard. Feeling supported is amazing. Feeling extorted, on the other hand? 

Well, that sucks. It's really adorable extortion, but it still bites.

People Lie.

Yes, people lie. This terrible two thing? It's bullshit. I call foul. Two was kind of awesome for both of my kids. Three however? It's an effing NIGHTMARE. Tantrums. TANTRUMS. Capitol letter tantrums. Kicking, screaming, I AM THE BOSS tantrums. They are awful. It's the age of "fine, ride to school naked because you refuse to get dressed what-do-I-care tantrums". Literally. BOTH of my children have marched into school in their skivvies because they refused to accept any form of clothing. Granted, as soon as I punched my magic code in to open the school doors, they were blissfully silent and accepting being dressed. Fine. Bottom line, they were at school and clothed. When I took J for his three year well visit, you had to answer a bunch of questions- "Are you concerned with your child's behavior?" Are you worried about his interactions with others?" Um, yeah, he's three. I may or may not have caused my pedi to pee himself.

Today Mr. J, the lovely, sweet, child, well, until his third birthday on Monday, threw several epic tantrums. The first? Over a display for "How to Train Your Dragon 2" in Target. He wanted the dragon. Not the movie, the damn dragon. On the cardboard. On the display. Which isn't for sale. Yeah, well... that didn't work for anything. Thankfully, my Target has a Starbucks, so I sipped my lovely holiday espresso in the parking lot in 30 degree weather while my three year old screamed bloody murder in the car. Wouldn't sit in the car seat. Wouldn't do ANYTHING but scream. Luckily I was in the mommy parking aisle, apparently. Seasoned moms smiled conspiratorially when I said "three". New moms clutched their sweet infants and looked away. Eventually Mr. Cranky saw a sticky hair comb and was suddenly consumed with getting home to wash it. Phew.

Then, there was the market. Not so pretty there. I love Wegman's, but they have entirely too few car carts. As I held my writhing, sobbing three year old the kind cart attendant searched the lot- to no avail. Needless to say, we left the store with yogurt, a chicken, and wine. I drove home to wails of "IWANTTHECARCARTWHEREOHWHEREISTHECARCART!". I spoke with the manager as I was leaving, nearly in tears, and explained that I would have gladly given them all of my money if they had just had an effing car cart! He informed me that they had SIX! It was all I could do to respond in a rational voice and say "Have you seen the MOBS of people in your store? Six doesn't cut it, buddy. Get on it." I was a smidge mean, perhaps, because I got a personal follow up call about an hour later, and a reassurance that more "family carts" were ordered (I am pretty well known at the local Wegman's- just sayin').

Now? Now Mr. Three is fast asleep. He begged to go to bed, and as hard as I tried, you just can't refuse a naked three year old running as fast as his stubby legs will take him, to bed. With shouts of "you poopyhead!" he threw himself onto the bed and was asleep within moments.

Clearly, three year olds aren't stupid. They have SOME self preservation skills.

Well, that was ugly.

Everyone warned me that there would be some quiet, unassuming moment where the divorce would smack me like a ton of bricks, and I would LOSE. MY. SHIT. My divorced friends, my mom, my therapist- it was pretty unanimous that it would come. I thought I was ready. I have had some ugly moments, no doubt- just ask Sara Lynn about those early days, around the fire pit. Court was awful. I almost passed out- my lawyer had to grab me and hold me up (and for his hourly rate, I DO NOT FEEL BAD).  There are moments. Small, innocuous moments. However, nothing like what I experienced last night. Yesterday morning I met with a photographer friend to get some family photos done. I have a few good pics of the boys and I post single hood, but nothing GREAT. I wanted fabulous. I wanted fall festiveness. And let me tell you, I got it. My gal Christine is extremely talented. It was cold, a bit damp, and my boys are almost three and five. There wasn't a listening ear in the house! I didn't doubt her talents because she did J's newborn shots, and a very entertaining, nose-picking, pond-exploring shoot almost two years ago. Pics? Gorgeous. Yesterday was no different. She shared this image with me.

I loved it. I thought it was amazing, and captured us so well. I didn't feel fat, I didn't think anyone looked disheveled- I just loved it with all of my being. I felt like it truly captured who we are. And then I. LOST. MY. EVERLOVING. SHIT. Sobbing. Boogering. Ugly crying. Unable to breath crying. Couldn't see but for the tears. This is my family. My beautiful, perfect in my eyes, family. And I am the head of it. IT IS ME. There is no co-parent visible, because there isn't one, and that is a-ok. There is happiness in my house, in my life, and joy in my heart. There's also a crap ton of laundry to put away and other such things- which truly means nothing in the long run. I wept for the could haves, should haves, and won't ever happens. Hell, I even CALLED A FRIEND. I don't particularly like to "have emotions" with others, I prefer to keep them all locked up, and function under a facade of normalcy. With this kind of grief, it wasn't happening. I could barely talk on the phone, and my friend seemed to just know what to say. I talked to my mom, and as always, got me (my mom is AWESOME), and reiterated that I was normal, and having an "artichoke" moment (long story, for another day). Once the tears finally dried, I looked at this picture again, and laughed. This is my family. I love them. 

And it is perfect. 

Happiness is...

Well, in my house, happiness is apparently a crap-ton of work! I laugh because today is a HOME DAY! The days with no school, and when my boys and I are all together. Daddy days DON'T count, obviously. When the boys woke up this morning and realized it was a home day there was great rejoicing. There were pancakes in our jammies, and an actual leisurely shower by mommy (hey, four minutes is totally leisurely in my book!). I BLOW DRIED MY HAIR. It's cool, pick your jaws up off the floor. I only did it because we were meeting my friend Christine for family pictures. Family picture day is important to all mamas, but for me, it's something totally different. It is like a tangible representation that our mama-headed family is real. Obviously, I know we are a family, that's not news. However, it takes on a tremendous amount of meaning when you aren't "normal". It's a way for me to remind myself, and family and friends, that we ARE a family. We're a-ok without a traditional set up. Hell, we're way freaking better. We're HAPPY. And today, happiness truly is a trashed house. It was rather orderly, but then we went to a playdate, and the fabric store, and the market. Now, it's several wooden cars drying on the kitchen table; a few smears of paint on the family room wall; apple peels on the counter; tiny cars scattered throughout five rooms; random stalks of celery on the kitchen floor from my "helpers". In fact, as I just observed, it's a living room couch in the MIDDLE of the living room (silly wood floors mean that furniture just gouges slides around). These things may make my eye twitch uncontrollably, but really, it's ok. We have chicken noodle soup simmering; apple crisp in the oven; a craft mommy and nuggets did together (the cars!); and a pretty awesome fort made out of the living room curtains, the couch, and a few chairs (alright, that part is making me nuts). It's pure happiness. The sounds of laughter and a little fighting, if I'm honest.

It's a warm, happy home, mess be damned. Oh., and apparently it's clothing optional. Sigh. So well worth it.

Fashion sense, or lack thereof.

I used to look cute sometimes. Emphasis on the sometimes! I know how to match things, and the like. These days, however, I seem to have settled into a horrific rut. There are dresses, and there are pajamas. Dresses can encompass everything from formal stuff with an actual zipper, that has to be actually used in order to put on the dress, and my daily uniform of moo-mooooooo. Yes, I know that's not how it is spelled, but remember, I love hyphens. Anything I can pull over my head qualifies. I wear them to work, around the house, to the beach, to the market. Most of my favorites dresses are actually beach cover ups, which, if I am being kind of honest, look like it. I am the woman wearing a sleeveless dress in January, with a sweater and leggings, because c'mon, who has time??? At this point, most of my moo-moos are looking a bit worse for wear. I finally trashed my purple cotton moo because it had grease spots and a black frosting stain. I cried. Then there are pajamas, heretofore referred to as things that are comfortable and in a varying stage of decay. They're comfy. Ripped. Stained. That's fine with me! My kids don't care, and typically neither do it. 

HOWEVER. And this is a gigantic HOWEVER. I am single.

Theoretically, I should have an outfit or two that isn't hideous. My mom bought me some gorgeous things at the beginning of the summer, and I wear them to work a lot. As in, I pair the shirts with some stretchy could-be-yoga-pants-but-maybe-fitted-real-pants and run out the door. I love them. 

But when faced the concept of, oh geez, I don't know- GOING ON A DATE- I freeze. I have jeans. They have tye dye on them (oops). So I have another pair of jeans. They make me look like a vienna sausage in search of some extra casing. Then there is the last pair of jeans- that fit fine, but hang off my non-existent ass in a pretty disturbing plumber-ish way (I have no ass, don't blame my comfy jeans)! NOW WHAT? I have cute shoes, of course, that I can't really wear (stupid effing plantar fasciitis) but will wear anyway, and I have GREAT mascara (who doesn't want eyelashes that leave a shadow?) and a pretty damn fine personality- and yet, NO. GOOD. JEANS. 

I think I need to live in that awesome jeans commercial where they measure the women and say things like "your size is radiant!", and every woman looks insane. 

Until then, unstained moo-moo for the win.