Adulting So Hard

I heard the toilet seat crash.  I heard the baby laugh.  I ran to the bathroom but I was too late.  The sippy cup was in the unflushed toilet. 

"And why do we flush the toilet AND close the bathroom door?"

...."So Atlas doesn't throw his cup in my pee?"  

"Exactly".

Today I got pummeled in the head with a granola bar.  Honestly, Titan threw it so hard I'm quite surprised that I don't have a concussion.

Last week I was working with some male college students, helping them with their housing paperwork.  One of them handed me a check and while looking at his future roommate, he laughed and said, "I adulted so hard today".

Of course I responded, "Oh yeah, adulting is the worst.  I've had to adult for like, 11 years".  And they just kinda looked at me like I was a crazy, old lady.  Which I gusss I am?  I don't know.  

Some crazy old lady in patterned yoga pants, just trying not to adult for one day. Trying to make it through the weekend without getting pink eye from my 3 yr old and without any of us getting a serious injury.  Who goes to Costco and Target just to pass the time.  (And by the way, if I were a SAHM, I'd be so broke.  I could find a million reasons why I need to run to Target and we all know you can't leave  the store without spending at least $100.00.)

On Friday night I cleaned the 1st floor of the house for almost 2 hours, just so the boys would have a fresh pallet to cover with food and dinosaurs in the morning.  Because thats what parents do for their children.  They adult so hard.

And after being nearly knocked out by a granola bar, I adulted by folding AND putting away the laundry.  And I did a lot of sanitizing.  A LOT OF SANITIZING.

Anyone else ever have to fish a sippy cup out of toilet full pee?  That, my friends, is hardcore legit adulting right there.

Cheers!

Souls: It's What's For Dinner

My 3 yr old, whom I affectionately call The Kraken, he does not eat food.  He eats souls.

List of food my 3 yr old wants for dinner:

No, there isn't a typo.  The list of food he likes consists of nothing.  Zero.  He doesn't want anything for dinner because he doesn't like chicken, tacos, broccoli, noodles, chili, BBQ, ham and cheese subs, chicken nuggets, pizza, salad or a pasta dish.  

He'd like some "macaroni and stinky cheese" for snack though.  So we have that going for us.

Except for the fact that when I made macaroni and cheese for lunch this past weekend, he didn't like it.  Which is awesome since I have 8 more boxes of it because I shop at Costco with my 3 kids in my minivan.  

I was telling a friend that this is how dinner would play out tonight:  Titan and I will eat all of our food.  Ronan will cry.  Atlas will throw most of it on the floor.  Which is exactly what happened.  But what really threw me for a loop is when The Kraken asked if he could lick Atlas's dinner off of the floor.  I said no.  But maybe from now on I'll just let him sit under the kitchen table and I'll throw food into his mouth when he comes up for air.

The end.

#wheresthewine?

Gray, that's okay.

I left the house and the sky was gray.  I looked up and it seemed like the sun couldn't even catch a break, trying to get through the gloomy clouds.  The wind was blowing my hair into my eyes, I felt so numb already that it didn't even bother me.  No gloves, no hat, coat barely zipped up.  If I were a child, I would have been scolded.  

Broken.  It is amazing how someone elses words can so easily break you.  Break your everything, your heart.  And then you're there, sort of.  Nothing left but a shell.  

And who's heart is most important?  Yours?  Your partners?  Your childrens?  A strangers? 

All of these decisions that we make on a daily basis that impact everyone around us.  Are we really only responsible for our own attitudes and actions?  

When you upset a 3 year old they behave  what we preceive to be as "irrational" but really, are they that far off?  I mean, when I can't have a cookie but I really want a cookie, sometimes I do feel like stomping my feet and yelling.  They have the purest and most honest reactions to life, way more than any of the rest of us.  

Instead we adults say things like, "No, I'm fine.  Really, it's not that big of a deal"  or "Tomorrow will be better" or "Thanks for thinking of me, but I have it under control".  In reality?  We're all just over here trying to push our demons under the rug before opening the front door.  

So I think we're all just a bunch of secret keepers.  Big, dark scary secrets.  We should be more like 3 year olds and just put it all out there in all of its ugliness.  

When the sky is gray, let it be gray?  Let the day be shitty.  Let yourself be vulnerable.  Let the world know that today is not okay, and THAT is okay. 

The Poop Bandit

The Poop Bandit

For over a year, the Poop Bandit had been making an appearance in our office bathroom.  Almost every Monday morning and occasionally during the work week "the office girls" would make our way to the back bathroom only to find a smidge of poop on the back end of the toilet seat.  But let me paint this picture for you; we are not talking about some fancy bathroom here. The bathroom that we were using was out dated with yellow and white tiles on the floor, some missing around the toilet. The grout was beyond cleaning, even though the owner had once instructed one of the employees to clean it on his hands and knees with a toothbrush. The sink was old and tiny with crusty faucet handles and the hot water dripped if not turned to the left just so. The sink also doubled as a place where we washed our lunch dishes, seeing as that no other options were available. It also had a bathtub which I longed to bathe in. Just kidding. That shit was nasty.

When the Poop Bandit first started coming around, it was kind of funny.  We’d say to each other “The Poop Bandit struck again!”, or “I took one for the team last time, it’s your turn to clean it!’.  But eventually, the Poop Bandit became a VERY regular occurrence to the point where we had had enough!  

The straw that broke the camel's back was that upon arrival one Monday morning, we discovered that the Bandit had pooped on the bathroom floor and had unknowingly and tracked it through the office with the bottom of his right boot.  Each print was less noticeable than the one before but in total covered about six feet in length. THAT'S IT! We're on strike! Picket signs! We will not work in this environment! Action was taken by the powers that be, and the Bandit was instructed to not, under any circumstances, use the office bathroom! The bathroom was sanitary once again and we were all feeling a little less fearful of sitting on the toilet.

...But then one day the mother of all shit-tastic poops happened.  And, of course, it was on a Monday morning. Having a long drive into work after having been struck in traffic, I hurried to the bathroom and sat down to pee.  But I smelled poop.  Even though the Bandit had been MIA for a while, it was still a necessity to always check the toilet before sitting down, so I knew there wasn’t poop on the seat because I had already done a thorough investigation.  Was I pooping?  No, I wasn’t pooping.  I started to glance around, unsure of what I would find and not really wanting to find anything at all.  And there it was.  Poop stuck in the grout and on the tiles of the floor.  Poop covered paper towels in the trash can.  Poop crumbles in the sink. OH DEAR LORD I AM GOING TO GET ECOLI.  *Breathe, just breathe*, don't throw up. Open the bathroom door- poop on the carpet. I still to this day can’t believe that I didn’t see it or smell it on my way to the bathroom.  I immediately called our cleaning company and explained the situation. It was not an easy phone call to make. They came as soon as possible and after sterilizing EVERYTHING, we thanked them for their service and they left.

The next day we put a lock put on that bathroom door.  The Bandit had made us stronger as a threesome and we were united. Never again would we endure such a harsh work environment. The Bandit is now nothing by a horrifying memory of what once was and the bathroom has since been remodeled to current office standards.

#neverforget

I have a dream!

I started this blog in 2012 not having really any idea where I was going with it.  I wrote a few funny stories and then quit.  I then I repeated that pattern several times.  I just kept quitting, over and over again.  I was afraid of what people might think.  I was afraid that I wouldn't be funny enough and already knew that I wasn't the best with grammar.  Plus I swear more than I should, but according to recent studies found on the all mighty Internet (where everything is TRUE!) swearing is actually a sign of intelligence.  So basically I'm an f*ing genius.

I'm about to throw something out into the universe that only a few close friends know.  I started writing again so that when I submit my pilot for the TV show that I'm writing, I'll at least be a little well known in social media (all 4 blog followers!  Yay!) and maybe, just maybe that will help "get me out there".  

Yes!  I am writing a TV pilot about my experience working in student housing at U of M!  I need a TON (seriously, a shit ton!) of dialog and loads of character development.  I have an idea of how I want to roll with it, I just have to DO IT.  So there it is.  That's my dream!

Do you know how hard it is to admit that you have a dream?  It's even harder to tell the ones that you love.  Fear of failure is almost just as bad as fear of success.  And what if my friends laugh at me?  What if they think I can't do it?  What if I say I'm going to do it and then I quit and eveyone thinks I'm a loser?  

I said to one of my best girlfriends, "I know it's silly, but I really want to do it and I think it will be good.  I know it's just a silly dream."  And her response was, "I don't think it's silly!  There'd be no TV shows or ANYTHING if no one ever had a dream!"  She'll never know how encouraging that was to hear!  Thanks, KM, I love you!  

I'm trying to find my niche.  I'm working on my blog and working on the script at the same time.  I might bust out some character development blogs, some sad shit, some funny stuff about the kids.  Just bear with me until I can figure this all out, ok?

And now you know!

Cheers!

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode? 

Langston Hughes

Crappy Mom

Because sometimes I feel like a crappy mom.  And when emotion is written all over my face, even my Titan can feel it and he says, "Mom, why I don't make dinner tonight?  I can get the foot stool out and reach the bowls.  Ronan, what kind of cereal do you want?  I might need a little help with the full milk container, but I can take care of everything else".

And then I feel like an awesome mom because I have the sweetest boys.  They love their momma, even when I am not perfect.

How much do we have to sacrifice of ourselves in order to let our children live and be happy?  I thought I was a person before I had children, so why does having children have to be the factor that defines me?  A friend, a sister, a student, a dreamer?  Funny, ambitious, smart and full of life?  Being a mother is a blessing even when the days are long and the nights are longer.  Full of worry about what is best for them and sacrificing yourself because what you want...well, what you want doesn't really matter anymore.  

Wipe the chewed up cracker off of your pants, take the trash out one more time, be a short order cook, put yourself in your back pocket and hope to God you can crawl out of it someday.