If you’re looking for the perfect parent, you won’t find it here.
There is actually no just thing, despite all those beautiful crafted photos of family bliss you see on social media. We love our kids. We are trying to remember to sign and return all those papers that come home from school. We try to yell as little as possible. And forgive ourselves when we do.
But despite our best efforts, there is no perfection. I’m very sure of this because over the last few weeks, I had the following things said to me (by family, friends or complete strangers)…
“Your child is eating something off the floor.”
He was. It looked like a cracker. In fact, it looked pretty good.
“You have a chin hair.”
I did. I think it’s gone now.
“You left your car door open.”
I did. But can you just shut it? Why do you have to get me involved?
“Your son is standing on the kitchen counter.”
He was. He’s off now. He’ll be back. He really likes it up there.
“Your son just pulled tampons out of your purse.”
He did. That kid is fun!
“Is that sweat on your back or is that from your hair being wet?”
It was water from my hair being washed. With all these children, I didn’t have time to dry it. Obviously, I’ll make the time in the future. OMG.
“There is a lollipop stuck to your son’s back.”
Awhile back I started a letter writing campaign to get bedtime moved to the morning because wouldn’t we all be fantastic parents if we could do dinner, bath and books at 9:30 am?
For reasons that are unclear, my idea has not really taken off so for now I send my kids to school. Except for this guy…
Some mornings I take him to the grocery store. Sometimes to mommy and me classes where I’m the unofficial leader of the old moms. (Actually, I might be the only old mom.) And sometimes I take him to the gym.
Now please don’t think I’ve signed on to this CrossFit sensation or actually raise my heartbeat at the gym. Because I pretty much joined the gym for childcare. It’s a little known secret that they don’t actually make you exercise when you go there.
I drop Cash off at childcare and then I go to the pool area, set up my own personal office and work on my freelance writing assignments. I could show you a picture of my surroundings but you would resent me which wouldn’t be good for either of us. But think sunshine, palm trees, a sparking pool and solitude. Okay, I’ll show you.
Once in awhile someone will be in my “spot” and I will burn with fury because dammit, don’t they know that’s my lounge/office area?!
Anyway, once I do a couple hours of work, Cash and I go home. He takes a nap and I make calls, neaten the house and then try to squeeze in a quick nap myself before Rick brings the twins home from preschool.
Now apparently, I’ve never shared my morning itinerary with my twins because as a school project, they were asked what I do when they are at school. And this is the summary…
Yup, that’s what I do. I lounge around in my bed all day. Glad they think I’m well rested.
I finally had a mammogram this week. It’s kind of like a candygram but more boob grabbing.
I was a little nervous about the whole thing because I should have had one a lot sooner but it kept getting delayed by pregnancies, breast feeding and me temporarily forgetting how to use a phone to make an appointment.
But finally the day arrived and I showed up at the imaging center. You can’t wear deodorant which seems unfair to the people who work there but made me feel very free like a 1970’s wild child.
They immediately gave me this soft, warm robe and I suddenly thought to myself, “Hey, I’m getting a coconut infused seaweed wrap with my mammogram!” But they sort of forgot about the seaweed and instead compressed my breasts in this big machine.
The technician was quite friendly so I asked the question every woman there (without a boob job) wanted to know, “Is there an award for flattest, most droopy breasts?”
She smiled but didn’t really respond so I think I’m still in the running. She did call my breasts dense which seemed rude. I’m sure her boobs aren’t the smartest but I’m not going to call her out on that. I have manners, you know.
The mammogram experience was surprisingly okay. Just some minor discomfort and it didn’t even take too long. Although there are ways to make this experience more enjoyable for women…
Lime spritzers while you wait.
Passed hors d’oeuvres. Pigs in a blanket would be ideal but lamb chops acceptable too.
Complimentary hair styling. Keep this versatile.. hair straightening or curls!
Ryan Gosling slippers. I don’t know if they exist but they should.
Turn the volume of the TV in the waiting room down from ridiculously high to normal hearing level. Or maybe just turn it off because we are all reading our phones anyway.
Thankfully, my mammogram results were good. I don’t have a family history of breast cancer but you just never know. So I was relieved.
They want me back in a year. I’m open to it. But currently negotiating about the lime spritzers and Gosling slippers.
Obviously, we all harbor a secret desire to work at a carnival but just lack that special niche talent like sword swallowing or contortion. But now, I’m going to give you the skills to jump on the carnival circuit and finally fulfill your dreams of traveling with fire breathers and Congo, the two headed calf.
What is your new talent? You will learn how to guess people’s age with remarkable accuracy! Or sort of accuracy. Read on!
It’s a new website (by Microsoft) that tells you someone’s age and their gender by analyzing a photo. Of course, I immediately tried it out. Because what’s more egocentric than taking a selfie? Analyzing your selfie age! Okay, here I go…
What?! I am WAY younger than 46. Okay, a little bit younger. But come on. And then this program has to throw it in my face that there is a 24 year old sitting behind me?! I want a do over!
I recently saw my friend Robin from high school and we took a selfie. Computer algorithm do your thing…
Now I’m 55?!! At least Robin is still in her 40’s.
Okay, let’s try someone older than me. How about Hillary Clinton…
Oh good grief. Clinton is 67.
How about my nearly 2 year son Cash…
Please no one tell Cash he looks like a 4 year old girl.
Alright, I’m sorry to break this to you but your carnival career is not happening unless you own a two headed calf.
I never know quite what to do with the teeth that get left for the tooth fairy.
Throwing them out seems unsentimental but keeping them seems totally creepy. I tend to shove them in envelopes or little boxes in my closet. One of my kid’s baby teeth once fell out of an evening purse but I swear I never put it in there.
Some day my poor kids are going to be combing through old boxes and baby teeth are just going to rain down on them.
I don’t even know how we parents keep the tooth fairy magic alive. Sometimes the tooth fairy forgets to come. TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. Other times the tooth fairy borrows the same $2 bill she gave last visit and puts it under the pillow again. (But in all fairness, you can’t criticize such an admirable recycling effort.)
Ever since I read my children Silverlicious from the Pinkalicious series, nearly 5 year old Harlowe wants to know which tooth is her “sweet tooth.” I’ve tried explaining that having a “sweet tooth” does not refer to a specific tooth but rather the desire to eat an entire chocolate cake at 3 in the morning. But apparently she thinks I’m wrong because Pinkalicious is the almighty ruler of everything.
None of my children have lost a tooth in awhile but my 10 year old daughter Dylan always has a lot of requests when she does.
She once left a note for the tooth fairy demanding money for herself and her two sisters which seemed very ambitious. Although I think the tooth fairy got tipsy on chardonnay and actually followed suit.
Dylan also wanted the tooth fairy to leave a photo of herself but the tooth fairy left a return note insisting she’s not from the selfie generation.
I recently saw one of my favorite letters to the tooth fairy. A little girl lost her tooth at her cousin’s house and couldn’t find it. She immediately took action and wrote a note to the tooth fairy….
Girl, I like your moxie. Way to get what you deserve.