Motherhood - Part 2

Having a Bad Parenting Day? Well, it Could Always be Worse

August 20, 2013 by Robin

Yesterday, one of my best friends in the world sent me a series of text messages that brought me to my knees. I was doubled over in my kitchen, with tears streaming down my face from laughter. I’m pretty sure she was crying too, only she wasn’t laughing.

You know how sometimes you think you are having a bad day, then you talk to somebody else who is having a REALLY bad day and you are all, “Thank you JESUS for my life just like it is!!”

That.

Not for the weak of stomach.

Here’s Lori’s story as it unfolded via text…

Lori: Um hypothetical possible emergency… Have any of your girls ever eaten their own S***? Not a lot, just a little? Did u call poison control? Asking for a friend…

Me: LOL. No and No.

Lori:

Me: You are welcome and wth?

Lori: I’m overstimulated with motherhood right now. L (her 4yo son) called me into the bathroom to tell me, “You know how I always wanted to know what poopoo tastes wike?”

I said, “No.”

He said, “Well I ate just a wittle one.”

I was trying not to hyperventilate in front of him.

I said, “Well I bet it tasted pretty bad so don’t ever do that again. You could get really sick.”

He said, “It was pretty NOT bad.”

I started texting B (her husband who is a pharmacist.) and while I did that L started putting on my makeup. B says if it was someone else’s S*** it would be a bigger deal. I just keep hearing the saying, “Eat S*** and die,” in my head but he looks ok so far. Now we have to leave for his hip hop class. I need a xanax.

Me: OMG. I’m forwarding all of this to Blair. (My sister. Strictly for entertainment purposes. I’m a really good friend.)

Lori: Somehow I knew you would. I thought for sure Emma would have eaten a turd.

Me: Lol!

Lori: Beeteedubs that little monster won’t eat my spaghetti but his S*** is “pretty not bad”?!?!

Me: CRYING!

Lori: Ditto. For different reasons.

Me: Perchance, did you have relations with Bear Grylls roughly 5 years ago?

Lori: WTH? I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

Me: Cuz he’s the only person on the planet I can think of who drinks his own pee and eats elephant turds.

Lori: Well… He seems successful.

Me: I think I just herniated an ovary.

Lori: Now he’s in his hip hop dance class. I’m in the lobby watching them practice on the TV. If they had a show called, “So You Think Your Ginger Can Dance,” no one would win.

Me: Lol. You should hit an open mic night on your way home.

Lori blogs over at Loripalooza and I’ve posted this story with her blessing. I’ve left out her son’s name in the hopes that one day, when he gets his first computer and Googles himself, this won’t pop up.

Got any good “It Could Be Worse” stories??

A Few of My Favorite Things… to Make Your Life Easier

August 19, 2013 by Robin

Remember this summer when I said I was going to start doing this?? Well, the kids are back in school (if you haven’t read my Back to School Prayer yet? You are missing out.) and I have SO MUCH TIME to do the things and to think the thoughts and ~~to watch the Netflix~~ and um, do laundry and stuff. I ALSO have more time to blog so I’ll be all up in this joint!

I love hearing about products, books, apps and websites from my friends. You know when your bestie is all, “OMG I have to tell you about this site I found!”? And then OF COURSE you love it because, duh– she knows you.

That.

That is the point of this.

First things first: SKINNYTASTE–Skinnytaste is a website devoted to recipes that are delicious and good for you. Gina breaks down the nutritional info for each one, including Weight Watchers’ points (I’ve never been smart enough to do that, but if you are, it’s already there for you.) But if I’m gonna be real honest, I also love her site because I KNOW that if I’m cooking from her site I AM eating healthy and I don’t really even look at the nutritional info, I just eat the portion size she recommends– it’s like an internet trust fall.

Skinnytaste is possibly (probably) my #1 website for recipes and I almost hate saying that because, I love me some food bloggers. I love so many sites but I have a special place in my heart for Gina.

I have NEVER, not ever, made a single one of her recipes and not liked it. Likewise, I’ve never made a single one of her recipes only once– four, five, twelve times? Abso-freaking-lutely. I pick a recipe, make it once and it gets added to the regular rotation.

My besties (The Lolers) and I spend hours a week stalking Skinnytaste looking for recipes and discussing what we have cooked/ are going to cook.

Here are a few LOL Faves:

Asian Peanut Noodles with Chicken– Lightened Up

Mushroom Kale Lasagna Rolls (All of my kids ate these. Even the picky one who REALLY does think ketchup is a vegetable.)

Chicken Rollatini with Spinach alla Parmigiana

Broccoli and Cheese Stuffed Chicken

Fiesta Lime Rice

I had to make myself stop. Seriously. They are all amazing and it’s really easy to flip through categories to find exactly what you need– which makes us love Gina even more.

My friend Jenn told me about Lickety Split and it is my secret weapon. I don’t use it every day because I NEED it to work when I whip it out in a pinch.

When I ask my four-year-old to do anything, her strategy is to move so slowly that I will eventually get tired of waiting for her to do it on her own and do it for her.

Lickety Split is a timer app (I have an iPhone so I don’t know about you Android peeps.) It plays music and says in a really sassy British accent, “Beat the timah!” I wish I had a video. I can say, “Sadie pick up your toys.” Without the timer? She rolls on the floor, gets out more toys. Whines.

I can say, “Sadie pick up your toys,” and push start on the app and she literally jumps to her feet and cleans up so quickly that she looks like a blonde blur racing around the room.

It has 6 preset timers: Clean Your Room, Put on PJs, Get Dressed, Make Bed, Ready to Go and Mealtime (wash your hands & sit at the table.) The point of these is to beat the timer. When she does beat the timer, Sadie pushes the “I Did It!” button and the app erupts into applause and cheers– that chit right there will straight motivate a four-year-old.

Then there is a Count Down setting, where the point isn’t to BEAT the timer but to WAIT for the timer. (Who loves me?? Let me know if you need my mailing address for chocolate and/or champagne.) For example: Brush Teeth, Read Quietly, Take Turns, Study Time. It’s like Super Nanny is IN YOUR PHONE. (You also have the option of setting custom timers.)

So there you go–two of my very favorite things!

What’s your favorite site for recipes? Got any apps for your kids you love?

SHARE WITH THE GROUP!

A Mother’s Back to School Prayer

August 8, 2013 by Robin

Sweet Baby Jesus.

It never fails. Two days before school starts back, my kids start busting out random profanities and vulgar sounding words that aren’t technically bad, but sound like something Ralphie’s dad might yell at a rusty old furnace.

Take for example, Aubrey’s question before her last day of preschool, “Momma,” she said innocently, five minutes before we walked out the door to say good-bye to pre-K, “I hope Spongebob doesn’t have a penis.”

I had a moment of panic, which is now very familiar, wondering if this would come up in conversation during her last day of school.

Last week, Sadie sat on the floor playing with Zeb’s iPad while he read a magazine nearby.

“Dammit!” His four-year-old yelled.

Zeb: What did you say?

Sadie looked him straight in the eye, “Dammit.”

Zeb: WHY did you say that?

Sadie gestured to the iPad game she was playing, “I missed dat fing.” (What the what y’all!?)

Her other favorite word these days is “Hootananny.” She likes to run around the house, preferably pantsless, yelling, “Hootananny, hootananny! Hoot, hoot, hoot!” I don’t know what she thinks it means, but I feel sure she thinks it’s profane– she enjoys it a little too much.

Last week we were driving around in our *Patty Peck Honda Odyssey, we had just left the grocery store and I was going somewhere in the same parking lot so I hadn’t buckled my seatbelt. Judy (that’s my van’s name, obviously) said, “Please fasten driver’s seat belt.”

*Click the link to like Patty Peck’s FB page. I’m going to be hosting a chat on 8.8.13 at 8pm cst about everything road trips!

Aubrey, my nine-year-old, groaned, “UGH! Judy. CALM DOWN! She’s gonna get out in a second.”

I fastened my seat belt to stop the dinging.

Aubrey: It’s like you have to FEED her to get her to be quiet. Like you have to put gas in her and put the seat belt in the seat belt thing so she will shut her… her… GASHOLE.

I choked a little, “Her WHAAA?”

“Her gashole.” Aubrey said with a straight face.

Aubrey: Ding-ding-ding. Shut your gashole Judy. ‘Fasten your seatbelt.’ Shut your gashole… you know?

The more times Aubrey said, “gashole,” I could see the wheels turning in her brain. She loves words like I do– loves to turn them over in her head and test them out loud to see how they feel on her tongue. She comes up with puns all the time that make us both laugh out loud and I could tell she had stumbled across a word that intrigued her, she just wasn’t sure why, yet.

“Gashole. Do we need to put some gas in Judy’s gashole, Momma??” She asked, looking for a reason to use the word.

I sighed. (I do that a lot.)

Me: Aubrey, you need to stop saying that. It sounds like a really bad word.

She looked at me, puzzled, “It does?”

Her almost white eyebrows scrunched together in thought. I could see her mentally ticking off every obscenity she knows– then it clicked. Her eyes widened and she gasped, “OH! I’m sorry, Momma!”

“No worries,” I said.

Then after the first full day of school, my kids had a water balloon party at church to celebrate the end of summer. They wore their swimsuits and I packed a bag of dry clothes for each of them to wear when they finished. I dropped them off for the water party and went back afterwards as they ate dinner. They were then supposed to report to their classrooms for Wednesday night Bible study. All of the classes are divided by grade and since school had just started back, everyone had moved up a class.

Sadie, now at “Big School” (4K), had finally moved out of the nursery and into a real classroom with her sisters. But she was so tired from her first day of school and playing outside for two hours afterwards that she was roaming aimlessly around the fellowship hall trying to figure out where she should go.

Me: Sadie, go in the classroom with your sisters.

Sadie: I don’t bewong in dere.

Her face was red from the heat and her eyes looked sleepy.

Me: Yes you do! Go in there with your sisters.

Sadie: I DID GO IN DERE AND DEY SAID I DON’T BEWONG AND I’M NOT WEARING ANY PANTIES!

She burst into tears as I picked her up and confirmed the latter part of her statement. Apparently she had found her dress but her underwear had been more elusive.

I helped her calm down, step into her underpants and took her to the big classroom with her friends. She cheered up quickly, sang along with her teacher and listened attentively for over 30 minutes. As the class dismissed to the playground to wait for everyone’s parents to pick them up, my seven-year-old, Emma, made her way to me in the back of the room.

She leaned forward, cupped her hands around my ear and whispered, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

Sweet. Baby. Jesus.

Which leads me back to the fear, paranoia and general sense of doom I experience this time of year as my children are unleashed upon people who are not related to them. So this morning, as I dropped my kids off at school, I said a little prayer:

Dear God,

Please let my kids behave, I don’t want their teachers to have a hootananny on their hands. Please help my kids to remain fully clothed at school or to at least not tell everyone if they’re going commando– otherwise I’m gonna look like a total gashole.

Amen

I Left My Kid With Strangers Near a Large Body of Water

July 8, 2013 by Robin

A few weeks ago I did something that went against every parenting instinct I’ve had for almost nine years— I took my oldest daughter to a group of strangers in the woods and left her there. No electricity in her bedroom, running water several feet away, a large body of water close by and I left her there. It’s called “camp.”

It’s supposed to be a lot of fun, and she was excited to go, but as we got checked in, lugged her trunk to her cabin, met her counselors and scored a top bunk, I couldn’t believe that I was about to leave my baby in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of people I had never met. I could see the lake out of the corner of my eye and was bewildered at the number of years I’ve spent teaching her to swim, never letting her get in a body of water alone, and I was leaving her. With strangers— qualified, certified and kind strangers for sure— but people I do not know. It simply boggled my mind that Aubrey was old enough to be allowed to go to sleepaway camp for a week.

We walked around getting everything done for her registration and ate a popsicle as we walked. She was ready to get back to her cabin and meet her new friends and was ready for me to leave. (I picked up on her subtle cues when she said, “Are y’all gonna go now?”) I suggested a quick trip to the bathroom to remove her Popsicle mustache and walked with her. I wet a paper towel and started to wipe. She giggled, “MOMMA! I can do this by myself!”

“I know you can, I’m sorry! I’m so excited for you, Aubs. You are going to have the time of your life!” I said.

“Will you fix this braid?” She asked as she scrubbed her chin.

I rebraided her hair and noticed for the hundreth time in a week that the top of her head reaches my shoulder now.

“Thanks, Mom!”

We left the bathhouse on the way back to her cabin. She gave her Daddy a hug and a highfive, kissed both of her sisters, and quickly gave me a one armed squeeze around my waist.

“Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and smiled a little, “If YOU need to…”

“I do.” I said as we turned for her cabin. On the short walk there, she leaned her head against my arm, curls damp from the humidity of the day and brushed a cheek against my arm, reassuring me that she would be fine. I teared up a little, thinking about her first day of preschool, first day of kindergarten, last day of kindergarten and all the other milestones that have whizzed past us at the speed of light and mentally checked another one off the list.

I took a deep breath and had a terrifying vision of the future:

Tomorrow she’ll go to college.

Next week she’ll get married.

Next month I’ll be a grandmother.

I need to go lie down.

The Best Things in Life Never Change

June 12, 2013 by Robin

Hidey ho there neighbor! If you’ve been missing me, like I’ve been missing you for the last few months, make sure you are keeping up with me via social media! Even when I’m traveling and not getting a chance to blog as often as I’d like, I’m still Tweeting, Facebooking and Instagramming til my little heart’s content! I’ve been away from home for so long that I actually needed a map to get back to my house. Who am I kidding? Y’all know I need a map to get anywhere I’m going— and by “map’, I mean a GPS with an actual voice who speaks very slowly. After a weekend in North Carolina and two weeks in Alabama, I had a chance to spend a lot of time with my brothers, sister and all of our kids. I pushed my nephew, Bo, on a Big Wheel down the grassy hill behind the house where my mother grew up. I remember doing the same thing with my grandfather thirty years ago, only then, I was riding a wooden, wheeled giraffe and that hill was more like a mountain. I remember the “whoosh” of my stomach dropping as I slid down the incline with my hair flapping around my face. Back then there was a huge oak tree right in the middle of the yard. My Grandaddy tied ropes way up high in that tree and fixed a wooden plank swing from the ends of it. Me and my sister took turns in the swing, the ropes were so long we soared over his head. He’d push us until we were breathless then we had to, “Let the cat die.” I’m not sure where he got the expression but that meant you got one last push then as soon as the swing stopped moving your turn was over. Thirty years ago, the yard at the house was so shaded you couldn’t see the neighbors house behind you. The tornadoes of 2011 changed that, and now you can see clear across Cahaba Heights to Red Mountain. The landscape has changed, the tree along with the swing is gone, but some things remain the same. The stairs still squeak when you walk up from the basement, a treasure trove of junk, spare hammers and a mini-trampoline that will comfortably seat four of my nieces and nephews at a time. The house still smells like my grandparents even though they have been gone for years. The laundry shoot from the bathroom closet to the basement is still a main attraction for children under eight-years-old, mainly boys. The grass is still as thick and plush as a brand new carpet, cushioning bare little feet as they chase each other squealing through the yard.

Where the huge oak used to be

And the things that really matter? The whoosh of a tiny tummy as it’s owner squeals down the not-quite-as-steep-as-I-remembered grassy knoll. The thrill of a water gun fight with cousins who will let you squirt them directly in the face. The satisfaction of scarfing down a meal after spending all day in the sun, followed by strawberry shortcake and a squirt of whipped cream directly into each child’s mouth. Passing out on a palette of quilts surrounded their cousins… well, those are memories that my kids, my nieces, and my nephews will hold tight to for the rest of their lives. And those are the things that will never change.

Cousin Camp

June 3, 2013 by Robin

Last week all three of my girls spent the entire week on my in-laws farm in Alabama for “Cousin Camp.” My in-laws had requested the presence of all ten of their granddaughters and no parents, for a week of country fun. I was glad to comply but a little worried that my two youngest might get homesick.

All week I fought the urge to call the farm to check on my kids. I missed them, but I realized that calling would only remind them that I wasn’t there and I didn’t want them to waste one second missing me. I followed along with their adventures on Facebook as my in-laws documented their fun: they went to visit a beekeeper and after listening to him explain how honey was made, tasted some straight from the hive. They went fishing with homemade cane poles, went on countless mule drawn wagon rides, camped out in their grandparents front yard surrounded by their cousins and learned about constellations. They went swimming in Smith Lake and squealed with excitement when their Pop Pete traded his overalls for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then climbed to the top of the water slide and went swimming in the lake with them.

At the end of the week Zeb’s mom and two of his sisters helped the girls to make scrapbooks of their week. Aunt Tina sat down to help Sadie, my four-year-old, to narrarate her book and on every single picture, Tina asked, “What do you want to say about the beekeeper?”

“It was FUN!” Sadie said.

“Alright, what do you want to say about fishing?” Tina asked as they flipped to the next page.

“It was fun!” Sadie screamed.

Every page of Sadie’s scrapbook says the same thing… “It was fun.”

The following weekend I’ve had the great opportunity of having one on one time with my nieces and nephews on my side of the family— a whole different set of ten kids under eight-years-old. What I’ve relished the most is the time I’ve gotten to spend with my siblings kids, without their parents around. I’m laughing as I type because that sounds sort of mean, but it’s simply true. When kids are young they cling to their parents, especially if they are unfamiliar with the other people around. My siblings and I live all over the Southeast so while we talk to each other often, we aren’t all together as often as any of us would like.

The stolen moments I’ve had with my nieces and nephews have been priceless. I made up a bedtime story for my older brother’s two daughters and halfway through the story, his seven-year-old, Ella Grace interrupted me and said, “Hey you’re purdy good at this story tell business! Tell me another one!”

I tricked his three-year-old into my lap by continually telling her how much I hate snuggling with little girls and that she stunk so badly that I didn’t think I could be that close to her. She cackled with laughter as she climbed in my lap, wrapped her chubby little arms around my neck and planted kisses all over my face.

During bath time one evening I bathed two nieces, Sadie and my youngest nephew, Bo. Someone tooted in the tub (classic O’Bryant move) and I blamed Sadie.

“It wasn’t me!!” She yelled.

Bo, only eighteen months old, stood up and screamed at the top of his lungs about five times in a row whilst holding his manhood with both hands, “I POO POO!!!!!”

His cousins in the tub shrieked with laughter and I laughed until I had tears streaming down my cheeks. We used ever towel in my mothers house to bathe all the kids but after everyone was asleep I sat in the floor, looking at the row of cousins all snuggled together and sighed.

I am so incredibly thankful for inlaws (and outlaws) who love sneaking time with my kids as much as I love sneaking time with theirs. I love that we are all so interested in knowing each other’s children, seeing their sweet and unique personalities. If I was going to make a scrapbook of the last two weeks, I’d have to agree with Sadie— it was fun.

What are you up to this summer? Talk to me peeps!

Random Rant Regarding Instagram & A Story About My Dog

April 28, 2013 by Robin

I know what you are thinking… you are all, WHAT THE HAIL has happened to my dear, sweet, friend Robin who used to only write about hilarious things her children said and poop?? WHO is this woman who is now writing about yoga and gardening??? When is she going to get BACK in the bed and watch more Netflix so I can feel better about myself?

Well– just so you don’t worry about me too much– I watched an entire season of The Real World on Hulu this week. First I was stuck at home because Sadie was sick. I wasn’t feeling very good on Friday and was trying to show my mother how to use our new thermometer on Sadie, but she wouldn’t stand still. She knew if she was running a fever then she had to take medicine, so I took my own temp just to show Shuggie how it worked and realized I was running fever. #winning

I wasn’t sad about this at all– I got back in the bed and finished up The Real World while Sadie slept curled up next to me.

In other news Aubrey would like for me to announce to the world that she is “getting to that age that she doesn’t want me to talk about her or take her pictures anymore.” This happened after I posted a picture of her (with her permission) on Instagram then she went to school and people said something to her about it. I’d like to know who lets their second grader get on Instagram?? Especially my Instagram, seeing as how my target audience is NOT eight-year-olds.

Regardless, I will respect her requests because she is my daughter and I love her and want her to feel like she has privacy. It would HELP if people didn’t talk to her about what I write but I can’t control that, so– just know that I realize I have three children, but Sadie is the only one wanting to strike a pose these days. AND if I can figure out how to ban anyone under eighteen from my Instagram feed I’m totes going to do it.

In other news, Zebulicious was working on our vegetable garden this weekend as I caught up with The Real World: Virgin Islands. He planted tomatoes and cucumbers, rattlesnake beans, and a bunch of other stuff. As you may or may not know, our dog, Moses (aka the only dog I’ve ever liked) can occasionally be a pain in the ass. I don’t particualarly care when he tears stuff up because no one has broken into our cars since we got him. In fact, the UPS man and pizza delivery peeps won’t even step into our driveway because he goes nuts when he sees them. Which makes me laugh because if they walked up to them he would probably just lay down and roll over for them to scratch his belly but his bark is pretty ferocious and I LOVE it. (I say probably, but MAYHAPS he would rip your head off. I wouldn’t risk it if I were a creepy type person.) Zeb and I both travel a lot and I like having Moses outside to scare the crap out of anyone who might want to step on my property.

At any rate, this morning, Zebulicious went outside and came back in cracking up.

Zeb: Moses tried to plant tomatoes last night.

Me: Whaaa?

Zeb: The dang dog tried to plant tomatoes. Come look.

So I did. Y’all!! Bless his sweet little baby head. That dog dug a big ole hole, drug the tomato plants that Zeb hadn’t planted yet, into the hole, the WRAPPED landscaping fabric around it!! I can just hear his little doggy thoughts:

My Daddy is gonna be so proud of me! Imma do it just like he did then he is gonna be so happy!! He’s gonna pet me and play with me!

Did I just edit a photo to include a thought bubble for my dog? Yes, I did.

Did I just refer to Zebulicious as Moses’ “Daddy”? Yup.

Did I just write actual DIALOG for my dog as if he were speaking????? Again, yes. Yes, I did.

I’d tell you what in the world has happened to me but I caught myself riding my bike with a yoga mat strapped to my back the other day, right before I went to the health food store to buy a case of Kombucha, so I can’t say that I rightly know.

What have you been up to??