You're not the f$&@-& babysitter.

(Said all in fun folks...)

There were about 10 women, from all different directions, in all different places in in life: single, married, divorced, kids, no kids, one kid, grown kids.

In conversation, we discovered the one common factor was that most men seem to consider taking care of their children as "babysitting."

It's 2013 and the household "duties" have been blurred since the days of "Mad Men."
There are no set "roles" anymore. But one thing that hasn't changed is, men still think that watching their own kids is doing us a favor.

Well guess what... I work, I get my own oil changed, I wash your clothes and I still cook you dinner, so you you bet your ass, I expect you to change a dirty diaper or two without a complaint. If I want to have a glass of wine with a few girlfriends and only ask you to take care of 1 of our 2 children, you better do it and not ask for a hand out afterward. You're not the fucking babysitter.

Sorry guys, I'm taken.





Quinn's first concert.


Hunter and Q.



Vw envy.

Perspiration and inspiration.

Good news! I figured out what is worse than having the flu while breastfeeding and entertaining a 5 year old at home. Ready....
Having the flu (both ends) while at work, standing for over 30 min waiting to talk to people, sweating....then puking in a hot car, in a bucket on my lap, while pumping.

Yep.

Some less shitty news.....

(Something I found on another blog)
Dear new mother,
I know it doesn’t feel like it now…but you will sleep again.
You will eat in a nice restaurant again.
You will listen to adult music again.
You will wear red lipstick again.
You will drink wine with your girlfriends again.
You will talk – really talk – to your husband again.
You will vacation again.
You will feel less than utterly exhausted again.
You will find time to waste again.
You will read a book again.
You will wear skinny jeans again.
You will look at your body with pride again.
You will stay up past 10pm again.
You will take pictures of things not related to you again.
You will find time for you again.
But you will never love anything more than this again.





(Really? Because I don't think I ever need to go to work having to worry about shitting my pants but I'll go with it.)




Family portrait by Hudson. I'm the one in black. All black.




He's a man.




She's my favorite daughter.




One of my all time favorite pictures.




One of my all time favorite words. Pretty.

Raising kids is like backpacking in Europe.

Tonight I was going through some old photos to make into wall hangings. As I looked I couldn't help but reminisce about all of the memories that the photos represented, I realized that raising kids is a lot like backpacking in Europe.

Europe (in my 20's) was filled with the making of lifelong friendships, late nights, great unknowns, independence, pictures taken, new cultures explored, memories made....
However, in between all of those fantastic experiences, was sleeping on overnight trains, language barriers, money conversions, stresses of traveling with people, shitting in public, eating odd food, compromise, time changes, bad milk, etc.

Yet, I still came back and found myself saying things like "it was the best experience of my life" and "you should go."

Same thing with raising kids. Most days are not filled with champagne and exotic art but based on my experience thus far, I know, that after a few hard days (or years) I will look back on it and think fondly about our journey. Night trains, sour milk, language barriers and all.
I mean, just look at how far we've already come. Choo choo.





Hudson in 2008.




Almost 1 year ago.





Present day.

Today, I'm pissed.

I've been so fine and mentally prepared for going back to work....until today. So, I write.

I return to work from my maternity leave on Monday. Yesterday, I was prepared, organized and even a little excited. Today, I am anxious, overwhelmed and a little pissed. I'm pissed because I HAVE to go back to work even though I want to work. I am pissed that people ask me if I have to go back to work, as though its a bad thing. I'm pissed that I've been sick all week and I'm pissed that my work pants do not yet fit me.

For me, as a working mom, it's not the "work" that is the hardest. It's not even the "leaving my baby part" that is the hardest. It's the balancing act that comes with working all day yet still being expected to have toilet paper in every bathroom, a decent meal prepared each night, tummy time, books read, people fed, floors cleaned, clothes washed, time for girlfriends, date nights, bills paid, a good run, etc.

Lets face it, "me" time at this point involves and magazine and a toilet. But, it's what I signed up for and perfection is impossible, so I can only do my best......But for today, I'm pissed about it.

Sometimes, life is like a box chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get. And sometimes, it isn't and you know it is going be hard as shit but then....it will be ok. (Hallmark are you listening??)

You had me at Merlot.

I'm baaaack.
Happy Valentines day. Blahblahblah. I've never been a big fan of this Hallmark holiday, until today.....

I spent the morning running around getting food (cupcakes) for tonight's dinner with friends. In the meantime, I had called our Pediatrician about Quinn's "abnormal bowel movements" shall we say?

The next thing I know, I'm digging through the trash, looking for yesterday's crappy diapers, to bring in to the doctor to examine. As I was opening soiled diapers one by one and deciding which shitty diaper was shitty enough to bring in, I thought to myself, now This is Love. (For your info, she's fine and like her brother and I, doesn't tolerate lactose.)

From the doctor I drove directly to Hudson's school for the Grandparents Day celebration (which Grandma Dodie just happened to be in town) to watch him perform. I stood in the back of the auditorium filled with grey hairs and watched the entire kindergarten class perform the song "Tony Chestnut" otherwise known as "Toe, Knee, Chest, Nut" where they touch their toes, knees, chest and Head....I found myself praying that when they got to the "nut" part of the song, that Hudson wouldn't grab his own nuts rather then touch his head. He stayed on task but I broke a sweat anyway. Again, I thought to myself, This is Love.

As far as the hubs goes, E made me coffee and delivered it to me in bed, as he does for me every morning (Quinn and I "sleep in" until 7 am.) What's not to love about that?

So folks, I wouldn't say Valentines is my new favorite holiday, but hey sometimes you find love in shitty diapers, inappropriate nut jokes, or just a plain old cup of coffee. Take note Hallmark.

A new year.

What can I say, I love the holidays. I'm always sad to see them go but reality does not leave much time to dwell over dried up pine needles and stale Christmas cookies in the pantry. This year was extra special as we added Quinn to the mix. Really, whats better than waking up (3-4 times) Christmas morning to a newborn? Pics below are from our trip to San Francisco area to visit The Arterburns' over the New Year.

This year, I have two resolutions.
1. Go with my gut. (Always)
2. Get rid of my gut. (A.S.A.P.)

Seriously.




Family photo.




Cable cars.




This face.




Fisherman's wharf.




Should've worn Velcro.




And her.....




We ALL had room in our hearts for her.

Melancholy

I've been haunted and distraught over the Connecticut shootings that happened on Friday, along with every other parent in America. Once I became a parent, there is a certain chord in my body that is struck, whenever I hear about kids who have been done wrong. Tragedy strikes me differently and its as unexplainable. I think anyone who is a parent would agree.

The end of the school day on Friday couldn't come soon enough for me. I went a bit early just to watch the kids play their final few minutes outside before the bell. I realized, I was not alone. It was a fence lined with moms wearing sunglasses in the rain, probably to hide their tears as I was. So grateful to see my son yet mournful and a bit guilty, for those parents that day, who didn't. And won't.

The following night, my girlfriend and I sat on my couch, talked and cried about it as our kids happily played in the room next to us. Just devastating.

I haven't said anything about this tragedy to Hudson because I'm not sure it's comprehendible to a 5 year old, or that he would get out of the conversation, what I was trying to convey. When E was first injured with the brain injury, I asked our psychologist "What do I tell our son?" She said something that has stuck with me "At this age, it is not about what you SAY to them, it's how you make them FEEL."

So ever since that moment, I've tried to make my son (and now our daughter) FEEL safe, loved, heard, protected, admired, hopeful.....
Because the reality is, there are no guarantees in this life. We cannot ensure that nothing bad will ever happen to our kids. Even when our kids are adults, they will still be our kids.

As Christmas is upon us, something horrible like this puts all of the "hustle and bustle" in perspective and makes me want to say fuck the presents and wish lists.
Because by next year, your kids won't remember what you gave them, but they will remember how you made them feel.