Last Chance.

Dear Diary, 


     Last Saturday, we decided to brave the crowd at Last Chance. Last chance is Nordstrom for poor people people that like to find bargains, like myself. Ergo Baby Carriers for EIGHT DOLLARS, UGG Boots for $59. Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bags for like 25 bucks. Toms shoes for fifteen. Ridiculous prices, people. So you can only imagine the crowd. On a Saturday. In Phoenix. I'm sweating just thinking about it. It was as bad as Black Friday. 


     But. I found a loophole. A way to truly shop like a boss. Bring your two kids under 3 years old and stuff them in a cart and make sure your two year old is wild and crazy while shopping. And when I say wild and crazy, I don't mean bratty. Bratty kids don't get to go shopping. At least not at our house. I mean sitting at the end of the cart, facing outward, arms straight out to his sides making airplane noises as mom rips the basket around the aisles like it ain't a thang. It's a sure fire way to get people to move outta the way! Worked like a charm. Now I just have to try this out at Walmart and we'll be good. I avoid that place like the plague. However, if you're looking to go on a diet, just buy their meat. Any kind. It's bound to be 3 weeks old, brown instead of pink, and will charge through your intestines like a bull, sending you on a fun toilet-centered vacation. 


Sincerely, 


Me. 

                     Keep on shoppin like a boss. 

In Case You Didn't Know...

Dear Diary, 

     I came across this the other day and just could not help myself. I laughed. And then I realized...some people do not know there is a right and wrong way to do some of the things shown below. Heaven help us. 

Sincerely, 

Me.

Weird? Or Flattering.

Dear Diary, 


     Lately I've been thinking about just how strange it is that I get the exact same excited, eyebrow-lifting, gigantic smiling, hey-hey-hey reaction from both my 6 month old breastfeeder...and my husband. Nice. Very nice. Or is it?


Sincerely, 


Me. 


Aaaaaand, I am pretty sure I've heard my husband say something like this to me before. 

Curse you, Nap.

Dear Diary, 


     Really. The odds seem like they should be one in a quadrillion, (or at least one in a hundred)that the very second I close my eyes, a chaotic orchestra of sleep-preventing noise begins. Let me be specific. I shut my eyes. Cue the helium filled Toy Story balloon tied to the doorknob to beat against the door because the fan is running. *Sigh* I can tune that out, no big deal- I tell myself. Well now go ahead and throw in that stupid car alarm that goes off every other day because a leaf brushed the side of it or a cat walked by. Really, people? That's just insane. Disable that nonsense. *Now I'm getting grouchy and contemplating skipping the much needed nap.* But laziness trumps everything else and I stay put. Splattered across my bed face down with all four limbs as spread out as much as possible, lying diagonally. Just when I begin to drift off, my baby decides she needs assistance passing gas and I must go in the room, pick her up, get belched on, lay her back down and resume my splattered position. By this time, I'm thinking that fartin around on Pinterest is a better use of my time than this, and that's saying something. Needless to say, a mother's nap is close to non-existent. The nap-preventing noises change, of course. Throw in the trash man, the recycle man, barking dogs and yelling neighbors and that's it. You can just take that nap, wad it up into a big fat ball and flush it down the toilet. If I end up living in a town whose population is 2,000 or less and my closest neighbor is 7 miles away, you will look back on this post and know why. 


Sincerely, 


Me. The Mad Napper. 

Hospital Goodies 101

Dear Diary, 


     The other day, my husband was looking all over for his nose trimmer. (Yes, we are finally of age to be using such instruments.) I helped him search but couldn't find it anywhere in the cupboards under our bathroom sink. When I stood up, I saw a massive menstrual pad on the counter top. Puzzled, I asked, "Um, did you need this?" and we both burst out laughing. This is when I realized how funny all the post-partum hospital items are. Let's have a lookie, shall we? 

1. The overly massive pad I just spoke of. Based on size alone, I'm pretty sure this bad boy could hold an entire gallon of milk.

2. The sexy panties. Netted (so obviously see through), stretchy, light, and comfortable. What else could you ask for? Oh, but you do need to somehow find room in these little panties for the pad pictured above. And I should also probably mention that the sexy factor really doesn't matter. Nothing will be entering that part of you any time soon. But there will be plenty of exits.

3. Um... Hmmm... Well? This is the cootchie cleanser. You better believe no actual wiping occurs when you've birthed a bowling ball. This little bottle becomes your personal bidet. 

Truth is, these items are only ridiculous and funny after you no longer need them. They are your best friends when you've just given birth. And if anyone happens to need extra, you know where to go. My house!

Sincerely, 

Me. 

Hold the Cart!

Dear Diary,


     I used to feel guilty. All those times I just could not get myself to trek across the long parking lot to return the cart. And yet, I was ecstatic to find an "up-fronter" only to be utterly disappointed and cursing all lazy moms for not just walking a few feet to the cart stall to put the dang cart back. Come on, people! Geez! But now, I am proud to say things have changed. 


     For some reason, this past week I've had to make lots of trips to random stores. Every time I'd approach the parking lot, I found myself circling around like a shark waiting for prey. But my prey was a stray cart that some lazy mother-shopper left behind. I didn't even care how far away from the entrance my car was. I just needed a random cart that I could plop my 25 pound kid/car seat combo and my equally heavy toddler into so I could just wheel everyone to the door. (Sometimes, on the way out of the store, I hop on the cart myself and we all roll like a bunch of crazies to our car.)


     Anyways, I've been stripped of my guilt. Now, when I go places like TJ Maxx or Goodwill...places that don't have cart stalls...I don't feel bad beaching the cart up onto a median full of rocks. I just tell myself that another desperate mother will be glad I left it there. You're welcome. 


Sincerely, 


Me. 

Happy to say this is a guilt-free face, right here.

We're Kinda Awesome.

Dear Diary, 


     After having a second child, I have become really good at doing my domestic duties one handed. And I mean really good. One day I even blew my own mind by ironing an entire dress shirt (sleeves, collar and all) with my baby in the other arm. Other things I've done with one arm include:


*Eating
*Washing my toddler off in the bath while I balance the previously wobbly almost-sitting-up-by-herself-but-not-quite-yet baby with my other hand
*Pushing a shopping cart and a stroller that isn't aligned right (that is way harder than it seems btw). Curse those non-swiveling wheels.
*Doing laundry
*Putting away laundry
*Cooking meals
*Making the bed
*Wrangling up the remotes so I can turn on Netflix, only to switch the show 100 times within a half-hour period
*Going to the bathroom
*Wiping (that kinda went without saying...)




     Basically, us moms are just kinda awesome. Some people can't even walk and chew gum. I think all the people that text & drive aren't moms. Although this isn't my personal it's-okay-to-text-and-drive statement. Be awesome without causing car accidents. Us minivan driving soccer moms already have bad reps on the road. 


Sincerely, 


Me. And all other one-handed moms who think they're awesome, too. 

Booby Shower.

Dear Diary, 


     The "let down" reflex is an interesting thing. Starting just below your collar bone begins a surge of an electricity-like sensation, continuing on down to the rest of your boob. It's just weird every. time. There have been many occasions where I've looked down and seen a literal nipple shower head spewing pressurized milk onto my baby's face as if she is getting attacked by a wild hose or broken sprinkler head. Poor girl. As if it isn't enough that she gets attacked by her own fists. If she fears my average sized chi-chi's, I can only imagine the amount of horror she experiences when she sees anyone with boobs larger than a full size B. She would probably look something like this. 

Life's tough kid. And it only gets tougher. 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

Cardboard or Mac n Cheese?

Dear Diary, 


     This is what happens when you have a teething child in your house. Look really closely. Of course, naturally, the cardboard box tastes better than the macaroni itself. Why wouldn't it? Too bad it doesn't have the same nutritional value. *Sigh*


Sincerely, 


Me. 

Why Moms Shouldn't Be Fat.

Dear Diary,


Earlier this year, I wrote a little poem describing life as a mother. I want every mother in the world to read it. Now someone just tell me this isn't true. (Sorry if it's a repeat to some of you!)


Why Moms Shouldn't Be Fat.



The bending the lifting, the ups and the downs.
The rocking and shh-ing, the fixing of frowns.
Of all of the things that I do with this bod,
I should look nothing less than a chiseled Greek god.

Bringing in all of the groceries alone,
Up the stairs, down the stairs- where is my phone???
How many times do I take this from you?
The plunger's off limits, the TP is too!

Why did I put my mixing bowl there?
Better climb up the counter, or pull up a chair.
Using the muscles I didn't know of,
To reach Lightning McQueen, by that old piece of grub.

You ate a hot Cheeto? Oh great, here it comes.
Wait for the diaper that will be "the runs".
Hauling out trash bags that reek of old poop.
Hoisting it into the dump full of goop.

Pulling you in your red wagon each day,
And just as I stop you yell, "Mom! Go that way!"
Coming home tired and wanting to rest,
Is just such a joke because now there's a test.

How patient are you by 7 pm.
Dinner, then bath time, and cleaning the den.
The kids are in bed, you plop down and sigh.
When all of the sudden, one starts to cry.

You dash up the stairs and you don't make a peep,
In fear that you might wake the one that's asleep.
The problem is fixed, and tip toed you go.
When right out of nowhere you get quite the blow.

You hop and you jump and turn right around,
To see what you stepped on. Oh look what you found!
That green dinosaur with its big pointy tail
All up in the air- that's what made you wail!

Just when you feel the day couldn't get worse,
Your muscles are sore and you just want to curse,
Your back's out of whack and you begin to think-
P90X doesn't do this to me!

My kids kicked my butt by the end of the day.
And I got quite the workout, I just have to say.
Changing into my jammies, I take off my top,
My trusty old belly pops out with a flop.

Bewildered I'm wondering, "How can this be?"
Did you see all the things my kids did to me?!
But talking to fat never did anyone good,
If I could get rid of it, surely I would!

Men age so graciously, handsome and grey.
Women's boobs droop and their fannies? They hang.
One thing's for certain though, I'll tell you that-
It isn't fair moms are the ones that get fat.



Sincerely, 


Me. And every other mother in the universe.

It's Business Time.

Dear Diary, 


     One thing I have found to be especially frustrating interesting since becoming a mother is that sexy time is delayed when babies are crying. For some reason, I just cannot push past the noise and continue on. So there we wait. In my mind, I imagine us similar to this picture**. Except on the edge of the bed, staring blankly, counting down the minutes until the crying/chit-chatting/fussing comes to a stop. 


                 **

     It isn't ideal, especially since my husband does not have this problem. My husband is also not nearly as sensitive to the whining that children do on a regular basis. It's like men are immune to it. But, how? I mean, if a man doesn't mind the crying, the whining, the spit-up, the poop, the messiness of feeding an infant rice cereal, doesn't care about nap schedules, if a kid eats enough for lunch, and has no qualms about hitting up a park and letting the kids roam around all afternoon, then why in the heck are women the ones that stress over all that?! My vote? Men should have kids. 

Sincerely, 

Me.

P.S. If you've been a Diaries of a Wimpy Mom reader for a while, then you already know that my husband thinks he could easily have kids. Check it out here. You won't be disappointed. 

You Need Life Insurance.

Dear Diary, 


     Since having children, I bet I could sell life insurance better than anyone. All the times I've almost fallen to my death on the magnetic letter "Y", sitting there in its innocence in the center of my kitchen floor. Who knows how many times I've tripped over a string of railroad track pieces, or got that skinny metal rail on the baby bouncer stuck between my toes as I'm trying to walk, sending my mind into expletive heaven (one of these days I'm going to slip and say the bad word that my mind screams so loudly). Let's not forget the avalanche of Tupperware containers that plummet towards my forehead as I open the cupboards. (I wonder who stacked them so neatly?) Spilled liquids (including, but not limited to: spit up, milk, orange juice, bacon grease, water, Otter Pop drippings and ice cream). Big, empty cardboard boxes strung across the floor from a previous trip to Costco. DVD's and DVD boxes, strategically placed on the tile floor in your exact walking path. Buzz Lightyear. A dinosaur. Unrolled toilet paper. Baby walkers. A tricycle. Weeble Wobbles. I think my blood pressure is rising, I better stop. Moral of the story: If you have children, you need life insurance. 


Sincerely, 


Me. 

Wake Up Call.

Dear Diary, 


     I've often thought of how awful it must be for my little ones to have their diapers changed first thing in the morning. That wet, cold wipe can not be very comfortable. Waking up and having a cold rag swipe across my lady parts is not my idea of a wake up call. Although it would definitely do its job. It may be a good substitute for the less healthy things in life...like coffee. Or Red Bulls. 


     I guess I could always warm up the wipe first. Heaven knows I could just place it outside my house (I live in Arizona, remember) and it would definitely get warm. Although I also do realize that if I left it outside for longer than 7 seconds, it would most likely dehydrate, shrivel up, then set itself on fire and disintegrate immediately after. Even your ethnicity changes daily while living in the ole A-Z. You either turn brown or red from being in the sun too long* (*one hour) or you squint your eyes everywhere you go because the sun is just too bright. 


     Ah, but to be young again and have the worst part of your day be a cold wipe graze against your tenders. Life is so tough. 


Sincerely, 


Me. 

Arizona: The Grand Canyon State and The Only State that will Melt You. 

Oh, poop.

Dear Diary, 


     This morning, I was folding laundry. My little guy had just gotten out of the bathtub and was in the nude. He was making his rounds in my bedroom, putting his Woody and Buzz Lightyear action figures under the covers and hiding inside the empty laundry basket. Then he started picking apart the laundry, naming the colors of all the clothes strewn across my bed. All of the sudden, his eyes fix on mine and he is real still. One push later and I hear a THUD. Both of his hands were visible so I know he didn't drop a toy. Was it a turd? Indeed, it was. I crept around the side of the bed to see a little big, fat tootsie roll of a poop lying on the carpet. I rushed him to the to-to (toilet, of course) and he pushed out a couple more. I made sure he got some extra high-fives and hugs for those last two since they made it INTO the goal. (We don't love those foul ball, out-of-bounds poops.)So yes...we had a "crappy" morning, but on the bright side, we can now say this little dude has successfully relieved his bowels on the toilet. 


Sincerely, 


Me. And all other moms who think potty training is a B. 

**And because I don't have a never ending supply of diapers, nor do I want to spend $40/box every time I hit up Costco (yeah, I don't do cloth diapers...), I've gotta get this kiddo in the habit of doing business on the pot. Stat.                    

Summertime!

Dear Diary, 


     Today, we went to the pool. Aaaand, I saw a whole lot of this. 
                       

     Frumpy mom skirts. In fact, while clicking on the image above, after finding it on Google Image, the picture was labeled: momskirt1.gif. The picture was actually linked to an awesome short paragraph on how skirts don't truly hide mom flaws. Check it out here. 


     During my time at the public pool, I saw the following: (Besides the mom skirts...)


1. Lifeguard with major front wedgie. Akin to the 80's aerobics instructor below. (Minus the boobs.)

2. A trio of women discussing a particularly juicy part of "50 Shades of Grey" while giggling and helping their toddlers down the water slide. Very classy. 

           

3. A (different than the above stated) lifeguard that had a rough go at shaving and left more hairs than she probably wanted on her upper thigh/crotchal region. Lovely.   

                                   

4. And last, but not least, a handful of chubbawubb kiddos who, if they were the size of normal 8-10 year olds, would have been able to go down the kid slides. But instead, they got kicked off. Sad day. Eat your veggies, little ones. 

Also, just a little fun piece of free advice: If you're looking to get a tattoo, hit up a public pool and you'll find a hefty amount of body ink images that you would be wise to avoid. 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

Bite Me.

Dear Diary, 


     I think my toddler has slowly evolved into a piranha. My husband likes to play bite/play nibble on the kids' chunky legs or their toes. But my little guy doesn't realize that there is a soft bite and a hard bite when he goes to attack your body. I was spending some time at my friend Becca's house and CHOMP! Like a starving piranha trying to rip the delicious flesh off of my foot, he bit two of my toes until they almost fell off. The bite marks were so deep that I felt like if I bent them back and forth like a tab on a soda can, they would just snap clean off. 


     He's a toe-biting sniper too, if I've ever seen one. I'll be nursing the baby when he comes up to me and sweetly says, "Sock!" and proceeds to remove it from my foot. Then I realize what he's after and I flail my leg all over the place, trying to avoid the toddler teeth of death. Naturally, he thinks this is a hilarious game I'm playing, all while having a child attached to my nipple. The situation, although funny to the flies on the wall, is not optimal for me. Finally, I "put my foot down" (no pun intended) and say, "Hey! No biting my foot." Looking rather put out, he whines to me, "Pleeeeeeasssseeee, biiiiiiiite?". I burst into laughter thinking about this sweet boy and how polite he is. He's so polite that he is nicely asking if he can chomp my toes off. Sorry buddy, but the answer is still a big fat no. Love ya. 


Sincerely, 


Me. 

Evicted.

Dear Diary, 


     As if it isn't enough to get evicted from the womb...the only cozy, warm place you've ever known...only to be kicked out of your (out-of-the-womb) room like a person who doesn't pay rent. This happened to my two year old when he was 14 days old. 


     The kid was the dang noisiest bugger I have ever heard in my life. Having a panting dog at the end of the bed would have been easier to sleep through than the sniffs and grunts and little tiny hands scratching the pack n play mattress in the middle of the night. All while he is dead asleep. We had a one bedroom apartment the size of the back of a pick up truck, so naturally we had no room for a real crib. We had our sweet new bundle of joy in our room until daddy snapped. He had enough of the scratchy/sniffy/grunty noises I spoke of a second ago. All of the sudden I see his side of the bed's covers fly up into the air and flop onto my side of the bed. My husband's large silhouette crosses the room and WOOP! Lifts up the entire Pack n Play with baby and all, walks it across the room, turns sideways, shuffles through the doorway (anyone else notice how those stupid things don't fit through a normal doorway? I'm not sure how he did it so easily. He was determined, I guess...) and plops the baby's entire house in the living room. Just left him there in the dark, no biggie. My nurturing momma side felt bad for all of .2 seconds and then I rolled over and we all got some sleep for the first time in 2 weeks. Ever since that day, our kids have never slept in our bedroom. The end. 


Sincerely, 


Me. 

The Plague.

Dear Diary, 


     We are down. We've been hit! (Again.) Why us? I'm not so sure. It could be due to the fact that my 2 year old mostly eats frozen pizza, oatmeal, and Gogurts on a regular basis. Those three things aren't necessarily a recipe for a good immune system. But they aren't bad for you, either! My child eats so many Gogurts that I can hardly keep up. I had an entire Costco-size box once. Thinking that they were going to take forever to eat, I froze about half. I found myself pulling handfuls out of the freezer every day because the thawed ones kept disappearing from the fridge. I'd say he eats at least 3 a day. So, by the time he's 5 I bet he'll have a stomach of steel. 


     Anyway, one trip to the doctor and I find that my little girl has hand-foot-mouth disease, a nasty sore in the back of her throat, and a severely bruised arm from getting it wedged between the bars of her crib. My little boy just had the beginning stages of walking pneumonia and needs albuterol during the days. *Sigh* So don't come over. We have the plague. And my kids are gimps at the moment. (This is why the posts have been lacking. My apologies!)


Sincerely, 


Me.

                               

All Tuckered Out.

Dear Diary, 


     Today my little man woke up at 10:45 am. TEN-FORTY-FIVE!!! I'm lucky if I can get him to sleep past 6:30 am most mornings. We spent the past few days at grandma and grandpa's house and they live out in the country, so we slept with the windows open (I loved it!) and the sun seriously rises out there at 4:30 am. And naturally, when the sun's up, the kids are up. So now that he's back at home where black-out curtains line his window, he just decided he'd sleep until the sun came up! (...But it never did, due to the curtains...) I felt like I was on vacation! Had french toast with my lover, watched some TV, read my book, had some afternoon delight (hahaha) and bummed around in my jammies all morning. That is my kind of 4th of July! But the kids have just gone to bed and ironically enough, when you put kids to bed early they sleep longer...and when you put them to bed late, they wake up at the bum-crack of dawn. I don't care if the clock says 5:59:59...it is still one second away from 6 am and not okay to wake up. Here's to hoping July 5th is as good a day as July 4th was. Happy Independence Day!  


Sincerely, 


Me. 


Generally, this is my life. But I'm so glad today I was able to do what I wanted! Thanks, kids! 

Facing the Front.

Dear Diary, 


     Last week I took the kids to the pediatrician for some check-ups. The nurse was tappin away on her keyboard while trying to ask me some questions. They went like this: 


Nurse: "So...*tap,tap,tap*...you know that bumpers on the crib are no longer recommended. So if you have one, you can just sell it." 


Me: *Silence* (Did that make sense to anyone? If no one is using them, why would someone buy the one that I have?) 


Nurse: *Tap,tap*...Also, walkers are bad for babies. Make sure you don't use those, either. 


Me: *Silence yet again* I like those walkers. I will be using mine. If for no other reason than to keep my baby happy while I whip up dinner or check my Facebook. 


Nurse: "And the new recommendation for car seats has changed since your first baby, so they now suggest your baby stay in a rear-facing car seat until they are two." 


Me: (GEEZ. Has everything changed since 2010?)"...*Chuckle*...I probably won't be following that recommendation..."


Nurse: (Shoots a look at me like...excuse me?)


Me: "Think about it. How comfortable would you be if your kid sat like this? (I used my awesome charades skills to crouch into a ball and demonstrate the absolute discomfort the child would experience if following this said recommendation). Their feet would have nowhere to go." 


Nurse: "Well, if you think about it, we don't sit with our legs straight out. They are bent also." 




(I felt like this guy...)

Me: **This lady is missing the point. It is quite possible she does not have children** "Hmm. I guess it's just crazy then that us moms will trade our children's "safety" for our sanity. A seven hour roadtrip with a rear-facing two year old really can't be too much fun." 


I think she got it by this time. Poor nurse. I'm one of those moms that will take in all the information I get, but spit out all the pieces I really don't need. Which is probably 99% of it. Okay, maybe more like 60%. Here's to moms who let everyone else know that they know what they're doing. After all, no one knows your kids like you do. 

Sincerely, 

Me.

Family Pictures.

Dear Diary, 


     Today we took family pictures. It was the epitome of chaos. Trying to snap the "picture perfect" image of a family with 8 adults, 1 teenager, and 5 kids under the age of 5 was the perfect recipe for a disaster and absolutely fit for a sitcom. About 42 seconds into the shoot, the wind blew everyone's hair in an unnatural direction. So we moved spots. Then a swarm of yellowjackets attacked my brother in law, giving him two gnarly, puffy white circles on his cheek. He and my sister (yes, my sister is married to my husband's brother. Awesome!) took off to the grocery store for some Benadryl. This made our group of 14 go down to 12. Then my father-in-law suddenly disappeared. He had to go to work, but I'm not sure anyone knew that. Well, they probably did, but I had no idea. That, or someone told me and in true mom fashion, the big news left my brain 8 seconds after it entered it. So by that time we had 13 people left. Then the waterworks turn on for the babes. 177 tantrums later, we snapped some decent pictures. Note: These are not the decent pictures I speak of.  

     One of the boys didn't want to sit still, so we had to grab him a prop. Thankfully, it was a red Radio Flyer bike that completely matched our outfit colors. Then, my little nugget ran out of patience and decided she was starved. As the seconds ticked, our group quickly diminished to nothing. I remember walking back into the house thinking, "Well that went well." And yet somehow, in the midst of the tornado, there was a ray of sunshine! We got some good little snapshots, thanks to my sister-in-law's sister. (Was that confusing?) Fun family, fun times! I wouldn't trade these people for anything in the world.

Sincerely, 

Me.