Mother’s Day Melee

I’m not gonna lie.

I’m not really feeling the love.

My darling boys almost forgot that Mother’s Day is tomorrow.

Until I reminded them yesterday.

But alas, motherhood is a thankless job.

Fortunately, it’s not without its humorous moments.

So why don’t we take a moment to celebrate the awesomeness of moms?

Because, let’s face it, moms are awesome.

(Yeah. A crazy, multitasking masochist sounds about right.)

(Does going out of my mind count as a vacation?)

(Hellooo!?! Do you think I enjoy talking to myself? I’ll have you know that I do not, in fact, enjoy talking to myself. Are you even listening?!?)

(Because, evidently, nobody else besides mom can see the invisible, overflowing basket of laundry that keeps mysteriously multiplying.)

(Oops, too late. I guess 364 days was too long for my sanity to stick around.)

(Move over, Iron Man! You probably know me as my alter ego, Wonder Woman. Yeah. Take that!)

(Wearing the cape is typically too much of a hassle. And it blows our cover. We’re supposed to be human, after all.)

(Dogs love unconditionally and never back talk. And they’re always so grateful. Unlike some people I know…)

(Oh crap. Who let the cat out of the bag? Was it those darned kids? They’re lying to you! I swear!)

(Mom? Mom who? Okay, so sometimes moms find ourselves in situations where we’re forced to pretend we’ve never seen those angelic creatures before in our lives. It happens.)

(Amen to that! Now where’s my margarita?)

(Quite possibly the most heartfelt way to thank your mom for all that she has ever done for you.)

~Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! Hope you get to enjoy a nice margarita and a day off from laundry and all that other domestic nonsense.~

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The Madness of Momming

Oh, the memories.

The marvelous, glorious, wonderous memories.

With my oldest son’s recent birthday, it’s fair to say I’ve been reminiscing a tiny bit.

Especially after rummaging through both of my boys’ baby boxes yesterday afternoon.

Sure, it’s been 15 years since I first became a mom.

But one question still lingers:

How the hell was I ever allowed to leave the hospital with a small, helpless, living human being in the first place?

Did I look like I had any clue as to what I was doing?

If I did, it must’ve explicitly been the pain medication talking.

Would you believe I’d actually packed an Eeyore rattle toy in my hospital bag?

In case my newborn child wanted to play, I reasoned.

Oh, and I’d also brought along a book.

You know, for the downtime following that whole childbirth drama.

Clearly, I was delusional from the very start.

Sure, I’d skimmed through the suggested reading material on pregnancy and babies and all that fun stuff.

But really, how hard could it be?

Right?

Did I mention I had zero experience?

Seriously, not an ounce.

I had no younger siblings.

No younger cousins.

No babysitting experience.

I mean, I worked in a toy store for a brief stint when I was in high school.

But that only served to reinforce the fact that I surely wasn’t a fan of screeching, demanding, whining little monsters.

And so my baby was the first baby I’d ever held.

What was I doing?

How was I expected to be responsible for such a tiny little human being when my ability to take care of myself was likely questionable?

My husband and I were practically kids with a kid, really.

The baby is awake?

Why is he awake?

What am I supposed to do?

Didn’t he just eat?

How much is he supposed to eat?

Is he eating enough?

Is he ever going to stop eating?

Why won’t he sleep?

Why is he still asleep?

Why won’t he go back to sleep?

Is he teething?

Is he hungry?

Why won’t he stop crying?

Does he hate me?

Oh my God. 

My baby hates me.

I’m the worst mommy in the world!

Sniffle, sniffle…sniff.

Oh.

Ewwww!

Oh, I’d read What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

And then I read What to Expect the First Year.

No other book series can make a person feel like such an epic failure so quickly.

Even if the baby was only a mere twelve days old.

If anything, those books made me a nervous wreck.

I was convinced I’d be going through my child’s life as a sleep deprived, anxiety-ridden zombie.

A zombie who’d inevitably make all the worst choices, and ultimately screw up her child’s entire life because of said sleep deprivation.

So I stopped reading.

So what if my baby preferred sleeping in his car seat over using the nice bassinet we’d bought him?

So what if I wasn’t dragging him out on stimulating play dates at three months old?

So what if he liked to shove Mega Blocks in his mouth when nobody was looking?

So what if I secretly hoped he wouldn’t eat all of his of delicious banana baby food so that I could finish it off?

I had relatively little idea of what I was doing.

But I had lots of love.

And patience.

And sheer determination.

We’ve managed to survive, so that’s gotta count for something.

In spite of all the sleepless nights.

I’ve never been one who could thrive on broken sleep.

It makes me scary.

But you know you’d reached a whole new level of exhaustion when you watch Plaza Sesamo halfway through at 2 o’clock in the morning before realizing that it isn’t actually Sesame Street.

And that it was entirely in Spanish.

Huh.

No wonder nothing made sense.

But the good news is a person can eventually adapt to existing in a zombie-like trance.

I do sometimes marvel at how we’ve managed to make it this far in life.

And all things considered, I think we’re all turning out A-OK.

From day one, these boys of mine have been teaching me more than I could ever possibly teach them.

And that’s saying a lot.

Motherhood is the biggest, scariest, most rewarding roller coaster ride of my life.

And I am happy and honored to be on this magically maddening adventure.

Even if it makes me crazier than I already was in the first place.

It’s totally worth it.

~Happy last Friday of the month! Hope you guys all have a terrific weekend!~

That Eeyore rattle in the middle? I honestly wasn't joking when I said I'd packed him in my hospital bag. Yeah. Let that sink in for a moment.

That Eeyore rattle in the middle? I honestly wasn’t joking when I said I’d packed him in my hospital bag. Yeah. Let that sink in for a moment.

World’s Okayest Mom

I am the best mom, and I am the worst mom.

I am amazing, and I am far from exceptional.

I am strong, and I am a total wuss.

I am kind, and I am pure evil.

I am funny, and I am without a trace of humor.

I am your best friend, and I am your worst nightmare.

I know everything, and I know absolutely nothing.

I am not perfect. I am perfectly imperfect.

I am the World’s Okayest Mom.

In a world where too many strive for the very perfection that is only perfectly impossible, okay is sometimes, well…okay.

I’m not gonna lie. There are definitely times where my sweet, adorable boys drive me to drinking.

And if they were of legal age to drink, they’d probably be tempted to do the same after a long, hard day.

But since that isn’t an option for them, they demonstrate their frustration by peeing off the top of the staircase.

(Just kidding! I’m not raising a bunch of barn animals. Geez!)

In all seriousness, my boys are happy, compassionate, well-adjusted kids.

And that, my friends, is a fairly accurate indication that I must at least be doing something right.

Which is why I took the liberty of awarding myself the title of The World’s Okayest Mom.

After all, I’ve got the shirt to prove it.

And if the shirt fits…

~Happy Mother’s Day to all the marvelous moms out there! And while we’re on the subject of moms, a big shout out to my own incredible mom. Some of you already know her as Tink the Belle from Playing By My Own Rules. If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting her, please stop by and check out her inspirational blog. She’s simply amazing. ~

Seriously, I've got a shirt to prove I'm The World's Okayest Mom. How cool is that?

Seriously, I’ve got a shirt to prove I’m The World’s Okayest Mom. How cool is that?

(World’s Okayest Mom originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 5/6/16)

World’s Okayest Mom

I am the best mom, and I am the worst mom.

I am amazing, and I am far from exceptional.

I am strong, and I am a total wuss.

I am kind, and I am pure evil.

I am funny, and I am without a trace of humor.

I am your best friend, and I am your worst nightmare.

I know everything, and I know absolutely nothing.

I am not perfect. I am perfectly imperfect.

I am the World’s Okayest Mom.

In a world where too many strive for the very perfection that is only perfectly impossible, okay is sometimes, well…okay.

I’m not gonna lie. There are definitely times where my sweet, adorable boys drive me to drinking.

And if they were of legal age to drink, they’d probably be tempted to do the same after a long, hard day.

But since that isn’t an option for them, they demonstrate their frustration by peeing off the top of the staircase.

(Just kidding! I’m not raising a bunch of barn animals. Geez!)

In all seriousness, my boys are happy, compassionate, well-adjusted kids.

And that, my friends, is a fairly accurate indication that I must at least be doing something right.

Which is why I took the liberty of awarding myself this totally appropriate trophy.

Trust me, I've earned this honor.

Trust me, I’ve earned this honor.

~Happy Mother’s Day to all the marvelous moms out there! Your dedication and loyalty are truly commendable and deserve to be recognized and celebrated, 365 days a year!~