Category Archives: Motherhood

The Nosefrieda.

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Asher is sick with what appears to be a sinus infection. 

After several very long days spent with him clinging to my leg while the baby screamed at us in anger because she can’t figure out how to crawl and she is pissed off about it, I decided it that today was the day to try out the Nosefrieda. I reached this decision out of desperation and an inability to think clearly.

I’d never heard of the Nosefrieda until I had my third child and my friend Lila mailed it to me. The whole idea of sucking snot out of my child’s nose with a tube that attaches to my mouth makes me shudder. Some people swear by it though, so I thought — what the hell. I’ve done worse, right?

So, I attempted to suck snot out of my son’s nose with a tube THAT ATTACHED TO MY MOUTH, and it was every bit as terrible as I imagined it would be. Every. Bit. I won’t be doing that again ever. He is still snotty and I can never un-see or un-hear what happened today, so I consider this a Very Big Fail.

Did I do it wrong? Has anyone else used this thing more than once? 

Where The Hell Is My Maidservant?!

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Excuse me, I do NOT hold my own beverages … 

Where the hell is my maidservant?!


I’m here. The maidservant is here. I’ve not yet recovered from the harrowing experience of moving with small children … but I’m here, I once again have the internet, and currently no one is screaming.

We live in a much larger house now, which isn’t saying a lot because we used to live in a shoebox. But this house is bigger and quirky with a lot of odd spaces where my children can hide and I truly can’t find them. I have lost one or two of them in here several times already. I consider this a blessing, I don’t question it, and I don’t spend a ton of time looking for them honestly. Their desire to hide quietly from me is a precious gift. So thank you. I’ll take it.

I’m too busy holding Pepper’s drinks to do much else, anyway.
 

A Beautiful Mess.

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Today almost got the best of me. 

I have three snot-nosed children who spent the entire day covering me in sneezes. I didn’t get a break from wiping noses and squashing catastrophes, aside from the hour I spent in Zumba class. If anyone wants to know why I am always grinning from ear-to-ear in Zumba, it’s because I am so happy to be there. No one snots on me and we dance to Michael Jackson. It’s pretty much heaven.

By the time this evening rolled around, I could feel myself LOSING IT. The snot, the slobber, the mess, the screaming … it was too much. Pepper was crying, popcorn was all over the floor, Asher was ripping into our mail and Maverick was refusing to do his homework. The whole situation was an absolute mess. And so I looked around, took a deep breath, decided locking myself in the bathroom was not an option, and dove right in. 

By the time I wrestled the toddler into bed, I was furious at Husband for not being here to help me. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed and exhausted that I don’t know what else to do but to get pissed off. That’s when I start sending angry text messages to him like “THIS IS NOT A ONE-PERSON JOB,” just in case he’s forgotten how hard I’m working.

I envision him sitting in his office with his feet propped up on his desk, enjoying silence and stillness and perhaps an uninterrupted snack, and then I get angrier. Because HE gets to poop in peace. HE gets to listen to normal music without worrying that his 5-year-old will learn the lyrics to Blurred Lines.

It’s so easy for me to fall into the trap of thinking that he has it easier, when in reality, he doesn’t. He has a stressful job too, and while he is stuck there he probably imagines an idyllic scene at home like this one below. Boys playing nicely, sun setting, a perfectly-makeup-ed wife holding a jolly baby as we all eat ice cream sandwiches.

 

Yeah, right.

And then, Asher snapped me out of my anger. I had him on my lap, singing Silent Night which is just what I do no matter the season — because all Mommy wants is a silent night, and I always hope the lyrics sink into his little head and make him sleep well — and he looked up, put his hands on either side of my face and whispered reverently “Gentle. Gentle.” Like he was touching something holy. And all of the sudden I realized I was. 

When it feels like I can’t pour any more of myself into them or I will disappear, one of my three angels reminds me that what I am doing is worth something much more than I can see or imagine right now. Man, my life is such a mess. A beautiful, beautiful mess.

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There’s No Perfection Here.

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Here’s proof that sometimes people only put stuff on Facebook that makes it seem like they lead a perfect life. 

Today I put both kids in the kiddie pool at the same time, for the first time. I posted a picture of them playing together perfectly. Now everyone in Facebook world will think, “Wow, they had a perfect afternoon.”

Now, here’s what really happened.

Playing nicely …
Mommy takes a picture to post on Facebook …
By now I’m texting Husband to tell him how much fun we’re having …
TWO really loves water …
Aaaaand … things go bad.

I was trying to get a good picture of the baby looking over the edge of the pool into the grass and before I knew what was happening he toppled out and landed. On his face. On a pine cone. THANKFULLY, the pine cone was old and soggy … otherwise we’d be at the emergency room right now. I think the camera must have clicked just as I was leaping out of my chair.

No one I know has a perfect life. I originally had a lot more to say about this, really wise things, but the baby just busted his face again — this time on his high chair — and my oldest is now clamoring for food.

My hair is still orange.

There’s no perfection here.

Open Letter Fail.

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I don’t know where to begin. 

I’m writing an open letter to a specific group of people and I am concerned it will come off like I think too highly of myself. I assure you, I do not ride a high horse. I can’t even ride a regular-sized horse. One time I tried to ride one at summer camp and he hated me so much he tried to scrape me off on a fence. So then our hatred became mutual.

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Image found at BluntCard.com

Back to the letter. Weird people, meaning the not fun weird, but truly weird-weird type, bother me. Sometimes after I encounter one, the only thing I can think of to do about it is simply to write them an open letter that they will never, ever read.

I forgot how outgoing the people are down here in the bayou. I quite like it, except when it’s in the form of unwelcome sexual advances and/or attempted pick-ups. Then I dislike it a LOT.  Especially if my children are with me. It’s one thing for a stranger to bother me when I’m alone, but usually one or both of my kids are present and staring with their big saucer eyes. That is what happened today and I am still so furious that I’m starting to sweat a little just typing this. 

Do I want my sons to grow up seeing their mama ignoring strange men who talk to her? That makes me feel like I’m just allowing something uncomfortable to happen to me. Should I scream obscenities at them instead? I don’t know what would be better. They need to know that women are to be respected. Obviously the people I’m writing to never learned that.

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Dear Strange and Unmannerly Man At The Gas Station,

If I gave you the impression that I am looking to take a ride to Slut Town because I’m dressed like a normal person who drives a normal car with two car seats in the back, I am sorry to have misled you.

No, I do not need a baby daddy. I have one already. His name is Husband. I find it strange that someone who is so persistent should be out looking for a girlfriend. Seems you’d have one already.

Now run along before I fucking run you over, you piece of shit.

Thank you,
Harmony