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Lowered Expectations Mommy Resolutions

January 1, 2015 By: AreWeZenYet2 Comments

Lowered Expectations Mommy Resolutions

I used to love challenging myself with New Year’s Resolutions. They really worked for me. Year after year, I’d mentally tick off a goal and pat myself on the back for another resolution successfully completed. Since becoming a mom though, I’m less interested in personal challenges requiring more effort than say, figuring out how many pieces of chocolate I can fit into my mouth at one time while hiding behind a cabinet door so the kids don’t see me.

As I continue to adapt to motherhood so too, I realize, must my resolutions. I like the feeling of accomplishment, but I feel like I need to aim a bit lower from now on in order to set myself up to succeed. I’m hopeful that the following resolutions are ones that I can maybe, kinda, sorta accomplish.

Lowered Expectations Mommy Resolutions

1. To lose enough weight that I don’t have to unbutton my pants after a meal

You know how when you’re pregnant you hear left and right how awesome breastfeeding is for losing weight? Oh, that shit just melts right off when you’re breastfeeding. I was so excited to hear this with our first child that I gave serious thought to breastfeeding any willing baby (or funky fetishist) within a 5 mile radius after my baby weaned.

Yeah, guess what? Nope. Not me. Apparently my body doesn’t merely like to hold on to weight after birth. No. It likes to actually gain weight until baby is completely done pwning my breasts. And considering the second is breastfeeding everyday at 17 months as often as Pookie hits a crack pipe in “New Jack City”, I’m going to be stuffing myself into my “fat jeans” for a while.

I’m aiming for a two pound loss in 2015. Just enough that I don’t have to unbutton my pants after I eat a meal over a sink. (See #2 below).

2. Return to eating like a normal

It’s not that I dislike stuffing my children’s picked over and “ABC” leftovers into my pie hole. It’s that I do it over the sink. Shamefully hunched over like Quasimodo in the shadows of the bell tower. Bring me more watermelon soaked macaroni and cheese! Hey kid, you done with that chewed up piece of tofu? Give it here. Why, that’s a perfectly good morsel of avocado smashed into a pancake, I can’t let it go to waste.

Sanctuary!

I want to return to the table on a regular basis. I want to eat with my family instead of over the sink, or over pots on the stove snarling like a wildebeest as I cook and taste test.

3. Go to the bathroom alone

This really shouldn’t be a big ask, but unfortunately it is. During the best of times, I am bombarded with little fists pounding on the door yelling “Mommeh! Mommeh!” During the worst of times, I’m precariously balancing a toddler on my lap for 30 seconds.

Babywearing in the bathroom? Been there, done that. The balancing act is my preferred method versus 22 pounds on my back and a buckle around my waist to contend with. Or when babies were younger, fighting wraps with yards of flowing organic cotton intertwining with toilet paper.

I’m feeling success in 2015, people! How about you? Talk to me in the comments below. What are your Lowered Expectations Mommy Resolutions for 2015. Let’s start a trend!

5 Tips for Airplane Travel with Toddlers

November 20, 2014 By: AreWeZenYetcomment

I’m fresh off a solo trip with my adorable little toddler, Kidbe. We had a one hour plane ride each way and the two flights could not have been more different.

First flight she was all:

Second flight she was all:

During the first flight — The Exorcist Flight — I was mortified by some of her antics. There was the typical screaming, pulling on adjacent seats, kicking the seat in front of her, and spilling of my precious in-flight beverage (water from a can). She raised the bar by rocket launching her doll into the air and onto the head of the other person sitting in our row.

When we finally made it home (me exhausted), I decided to come up with 5 tips for airplane travel with toddlers to avoid any repeat occurrences that might have me once again wondering if there was a priest on the plane to perform an in-flight exorcism.

5 Tips for Airplane Travel with Toddlers

1. Do not.

2. Create an altar to whatever higher power you believe in because you’re going to need divine help. Worship at that altar for a good week before your trip. Light candles, burn incense, dance around a fire naked and sacrifice an Elmo stuffy.

3. Leave yourself enough time before boarding to have a drink. (One drink. Otherwise you may have child services waiting at your destination.) You must not have this one drink on the plane because your toddler will dump it all over you, effectively rendering you a human brewery or vineyard or distillery… and it’s a waste of alcohol too. That’s sacrilege in my book, and probably in the book of your higher power. If you did not follow tip #2 then forgo all beverages both in the airport and on the airplane. You’re screwed.

4. Creative play goes a long way. Sure, people will tell you to bring loads of toys to swap out during the flight, but my experience is that I spend more time picking them up over and over again, or as previously stated they are used as weapons against innocent passengers. A few games we played that actually helped pass the time were: Rip the Pages of the Complimentary Magazine, Pretzel Drop Down Mommy’s Shirt, Baby Performs a Digital Tonsillectomy and Confined Space Gator Wrastlin’.

5. Eliminate the concept of “vacation” from your mind and re-set expectations. There is no vacation with kids; you go on trips. Vacations happen without kids for people like us. If you’re like Beyonce and Jay Z, your vacations are champagne toasting, slow motion playing on the beach in black and white film, throwing your heads back laughing family music video affairs and you-can-suck-it-no-I’m-not-bitter.

Do you have any epic airplane travel stories? Share them in the comments below!

Morgenstimmung

October 10, 2014 By: AreWeZenYet4 Comments

As I was stepping out of the shower this morning, I heard a knock on the door. “Yes…?” I said, expecting to hear the voice of Kidday talk back to me since he’s the only one in the house who will knock most of the time when I’m behind a closed door. (I’m looking at YOU, Schmooops, my dear husband.) Except this time, Schmoops opened the door as he said “What’s Kidday having for lunch?”

I don’t know I tell him. And I don’t. I’m dripping wet with a towel wrapped around me. “I can’t — I don’t know. Whatever you want.” What’s he having for lunch, Schmoops asks again. “I can’t — I can’t… think… right now. You have to give me a minute.”

“Oh” he says as he turns to leave, “Kidday is crying because a song on his toy computer is sad. So he’s just lying in bed, listening to it over and over again and sobbing.” And as he says it, Kidday’s crying becomes audible in the background and I just start laughing my ass off.

I dry off, put on my robe, grab my hair brush and enter Kidday’s room. He’s lying down, head on his pillow, wearing his signature pout, dried tears on his face. Lovey in one hand, computer next to his head. Is there a song that’s making you sad I ask, as I brush my wet hair and sit on the bed. Yes, he says, it’s the song for the letter “N” and he presses it.

And the song snippet is immediately recognizable to me. It’s that song that’s always played when you see videos of the sunrise, or of spring time: birds hatching from eggs, time lapse of flowers emerging from the ground. I stifle a giggle at the thought of something so associated with life in my head making Kidday weep.

I tell Kidday that it’s normal for music to make us feel things and that’s what is so great about it. That when he was a baby, I used to cry when I heard a particular song on his projector. I would make Daddy skip the song if I was within earshot because I was guaranteed to start bawling. (Don’t judge — postpartum hormones… maybe.)

Then, I tell him that this song is actually a very happy song. That lots of times they play it with pictures of baby birds or flowers or new days when the sun comes up. I ask him if he’d like to hear the whole song and he says yes.

So, I scramble with my dripping hair to find my phone and Schmoops tells me we’re going to be late for school. Pfft. This is more important, says I. I sit back down on Kidday’s bed and Google search on my phone, but come up short. I decide to download one of those “name that tune” apps and find one that seems okay. Here we go! Enter password to download. Argh. Okay. Download complete, click on launch app. Now we’re in business. Oh, damn, I hope they don’t make me register. Schmoops opens the door to the room: “We need to finish getting ready for school; you two aren’t dressed. His lunch isn’t even done!” I wave him out of the room and say “okay.”

Kidday’s big, beautiful, brown eyes are looking up at me. Waiting expectantly to hear the song. I fear an imminent meltdown if I can’t make this happen soon. “Please don’t make me register. Please don’t make me register,” I chant out loud. The app finishes loading and a prompt to register appears on the screen. “Oh, hamburgers,” I say aloud as I think in my head “I !%*@ing hate you!%*@ers.” I register quickly, the app loads, I press a button and start humming our tune.

There are a few results. Hmm, interesting. I expected only one result as I have perfect pitch. (Ahem.)

“Morgensti… Morgenstimmung by Edvard Grieg. That must be it,” I tell Kidday. I go to YouTube, find it and start the video.

The music begins to play and we both listen intently. I close my eyes to illustrate to Kidday how refined folk like us don’t merely listen to music, no. We experience it, feel it through our bodies. I open my eyes as I hear some lovely strings in the background, then an oboe, now flute. It really is such a lovely song. I look over at Kidday and he looks at me with a huge smile on his face. Flute again, more horns, crescendo… it’s so, so beautiful. It’s — what the hell? My cheeks are suddenly wet. My throat is clenching. Is this happening? As the song nears the end, I’m full on crying, snot salty on my lips. I look over at Kidday’s confused face as he watches mine contorting. “It’s just so beautiful,” I manage to choke out. “Mommy’s crying ‘cuz it’s so beautiful.”

Schmoops opens the door to the room, presumably to remind me yet again that neither of us are dressed, lunch is still not ready and we’re going to be late for school. He takes one look at me, quietly shakes his head and closes the door again without saying a word.

Damn you, Morgenstimmung!!!

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