THE BOOK COMES OUT TOMORROW.
I’m going puke or cry or jump up and down. I really don’t know which one, or in which order it will happen, but I’m kind of beside myself right now … and my anxiety is manifesting in aggressive behavior towards my husband.
Please buy the book (you can get it here!) and give it a glowing review on Amazon!
In honor of Throwback Thursday.
Maverick, 2012, in our old ghetto house.
I have a lot of new readers!
HELLO. I LOVE YOU. YES, ALREADY. I’m sorry if that scares you, but I really believe that when you know, you know.
I just have to share a few things with you today, and I numbered them so it’s easier for you to skim over because I know you have a lot of other things you probably “should” be doing right now. But you aren’t. You’re with me instead. See? Don’t fight it … we’re meant for each other.
1. Last night, Robbie happened to mention during a conversation that he “puts banana peels down the garbage disposal sometimes.” Is this normal? Have any of you done this? I was flabbergasted.
2. My aunt gave me this sign, and I can’t decide where to hang it. I stand in my kitchen wishing for this EXACT CONCOCTION on a daily basis, but if I put it up in a visible location, will people who happen to see it (i.e. my neighbors, the pest control man, random play date moms who I haven’t decided for certain if I like or not) think I’m an unfit mother?
3. Do I care if anyone thinks I’m an unfit mother?
4. Pepper (17 months) now hits and bites, which started this week. She sidled up behind me when I was standing in the kitchen wishing for a mocha-vodka-xanax-latte, and chomped down on the back of my thigh. The backs of my legs appear to be the most abused part of my body, because between bruises and varicose veins they are straight up blue.
Yes. I admit it. I took a selfie of my child smacking me in the face.
5. I’m boarding an airplane in the morning ALONE to go see one of my dearest friends and I absolutely can’t wait. But also, flying makes me so nervous since I had kids. The last time I flew, I had like 3 glasses of wine. My flight leaves at 8:30 a.m. so I’m considering mimosas. That’s classy, right?
6. Do I care about being classy?
P.S. Make sure to “like” my Facebook page, follow me on Twitter, blah blah blah.
Wow. Just … wow.
This morning I was awakened at 4:55 by Asher, who said his legs were itchy. I rubbed lotion on and got him all tucked back in, I climbed back into bed … and decided to check Facebook.
This is when I learned that WE DID IT.
Not just you and I, but all the other “Scary Mommies” and not-so-scary mommies and businesses and kind-hearted people.
We did it. We made sure 2,152 deserving families will have food on their table on Thanksgiving Day.
TWO THOUSAND, ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-TWO.
That’s a lot.
Well done, you.
“The baby,” who isn’t actually a baby anymore and I guess I need to stop calling her that, crawled at 10 months.
Exactly 7 months later, she started walking. It also turns out that she’s quite the climber.
I am so relieved to have use of my arms again. So, so relieved. Picking her up and hauling her all over the place — because when you’re trying to walk into a store with an unpredictable three-year-old, you have to have the other one either strapped in a cart or on your hip — has given me unprecedented upper-body strength. I can do man push-ups. Okay, only like three. But STILL.
And while I am so excited to finally close the door on all things baby in this house, I admit that I’m also so sad about it. My last child has truly turned into a toddler overnight who drunkenly wanders the house saying “Bye-bye! Cracker?”
She sings, she laughs, and she is a complete and utter joy. Except when she’s trying to eat Cascade gel packs, or when she watches me lace up my shoes and unties one while I tie the other one, and then when I re-tie that one she unties the other one. I mean, it’s cute now that it’s over and I’m telling you about it, but when I’m in a hurry and I can’t get my damn shoes tied and Asher is standing by the door screaming “I DON’T WANT MY CLOTHESES TO TOUCH ME!” it’s not cute.
At all.
I’ll never have another baby-turned-toddler again. This is it, and I’m glad … but also there is a part of me that wishes I could make it stop. Just for a moment.
I’ll never again have the joy of seeing one of my children take their first steps. Now there will be new firsts, each one taking them farther away from babyhood. And to be honest, I’m relieved because this has been incredibly hard. But also, I need to have a good cry about it.
This is the beginning of goodbyes, and everything about it is bittersweet.
I could slap you with hundreds of heart-felt stories of those who have been helped by the nonprofit Scary Mommy Nation.
But I won’t.
Not that you aren’t good people, but most of you would skip over it or go to the next page. And I don’t blame you, because I would normally do the exact same thing. I get it. We don’t have extra money. We need our money. Why should we just hand it out to random nonprofits who want to feed total strangers?
I have a dog in this particular fight because I donated my time to write an essay that I didn’t think anyone would ever read. And now it’s going to be published, in a book, that will be released on Monday, November 17. (If you want to buy the book, there is a picture of it on the right side of the screen under the heading “PRE-ORDER THE BOOK!” If you click there, you can buy it. Excuse me while I hyperventilate.)
ANYWAY … whatever royalty money that the authors would have received from sales is going directly to Scary Mommy Nation, and that will translate into families who can’t afford food getting fed. I am incredibly proud to be a very small part of making someone’s holiday better. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know them. It doesn’t matter that we will likely never meet. I HELPED SOMEONE BECAUSE I CAN. Period.
We now have 24 hours left to raise the money needed to feed the remaining families on the waiting list, and I intend to guilt you into donating. Let’s begin!
First, let’s discuss what $50 can buy. I’ll start with this “Figural Turkey Bowl Stand” from Pottery Barn, which costs roughly $50.
Of course, you could get the “Figural Fox Bowl Stand” instead, shown below. It’s regularly $49.50, which is just fifty cents shy of being enough to FEED A FAMILY IN NEED.
I’ll let that sink in for a moment.
Are you ready for more? The next one involves this little guy below. Prepare yourselves.
The “Figural Squirrel Serve Bowl and Stand Set” IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE from Pottery Barn. It looks just like the turkey and the fox, as you can see. But it’s more popular because the squirrel bowl can hold nuts! Apparently so many people with money to spend wanted a squirrel with a bowl for an abdomen that they bought them all up. They’re gone, off to hold appetizers for people whose lives are so bountiful that they serve nuts in bowls held by woodland creatures just because it’s CUTE and THEY CAN.
So, what else can $50 buy? Let’s see …
– This Ninja hoodie.
– A “Personalized Wood Watch Case,” like this one from overstock.com.
– Or … a Snuggie.
If you love me, and I feel like you do, I am begging you to please take your extra $10 or $20 or $100 and use it to feed a deserving family. Don’t take that money that could be used for good and buy a bunch of crap that takes up space in your home that is already full of beautiful things. Just … don’t.
To donate to the 2014 Thanksgiving Project, click here.
Did my guilt trip work?!?!? Be sure to let me know!
Disclaimer: I really do love Pottery Barn, just not right now, and if you own anything shown here, I have no judgment. Just remember all the people in need when you enjoy them, is all I’m saying.
My cousin Jackie came over the other day with her son, who is Maverick’s age. We tried unsuccessfully to hide from our children so we could have adult conversation while they beat the hell out of each other with action figures. I lost track of how many times I shouted “JUST GO PLAY!!!”
What is it that makes them want to crowd around the grownups? We have no candy. We’re talking about pulled chest muscles. Nothing fun is happening over here, and I’m sick of spelling out s-e-x.
Just. Go. Play.
Jackie — and I’m not just saying this because she’s my cousin — truly inspires me. With what she has been through in her life, she should have been a statistic. But she’s not. She’s amazing, and I AM SO STINKIN’ PROUD OF HER.
The fact that she is extremely successful in her business has nothing to do with luck; she has a deep, unstoppable drive to succeed. When the zombie apocalypse hits, I’m going to Jackie’s house. I don’t know how or why, but she could talk the zombies into leaving us alone … and I fear I do not possess that skill. Robbie does, but what if they got him first? I feel better knowing that she’s my backup plan.
I confessed to her that sometimes I wonder if I am doing the right thing by writing so honestly and putting everything out there. Will my kids one day grow up to read that they drove me batshit fucking crazy and get irrevocably screwed up, even though I also write about how much I love them? Because … I really do love them. But also … I really do feel batshit crazy.
The other morning I was talking to Robbie about a post I’m working on for Scary Mommy, and Maverick looked up from his breakfast — I didn’t even think he was paying attention — and very seriously said to me “Mommy, I believe in you and I think that you’re the best.” GAH. Will that same kid one day read my words and be warped by them?! These are all the questions I posed to Jackie.
She listened to everything I had to say, and shook her head before speaking. “You won’t regret any of it,” she said, “Because you’re being YOU. You’re not trying to sound a certain way or act a certain way … this is WHO YOU ARE. How can you ever regret just being yourself?! Your family loves and knows you, just how you are, and the rest of the world will love you too. Just do your thing, girl.”
I seriously almost ugly cried.
Sometimes it’s nice for a person who is close to you, who really knows you, to bring it all back into focus. I am not pretending to be a certain way. I just am. And even though I don’t personally know everyone who will read these words today, I’m still going to tell you this: JUST BE WHO YOU ARE AND DON’T APOLOGIZE FOR IT. It is truly the best way to live.
And also? If you want to wear sunglasses like these when you’re about 15 years too old for them, that’s totally fine. Rock that shit.
This is how women in their 40’s and 50’s end up walking around in sweats with sparkly words emblazoned across the ass, isn’t it? I can see my future very clearly right now.
The amazing and talented Toni Hammer (if you don’t know who she is, you should immediately familiarize yourself) wrote a piece wherein I blabbered on and on and she actually posted it on her website.
You simply must read it. Now! Click here!
Pinch me.
Yesterday, a terrible thing happened.
Let me preface this by saying that I am struggling to adjust to summer break. Struggling. Like … it’s good? But also horrible? Can something be good and horrible all at once? Because I’m pretty sure that is exactly what parenthood is.
Making the transition from having all three kids in school for 6+ hours per day (and working during those hours), to having them home all the time and trying to get my work done in addition to mothering in a loving fashion, is not going great. As I have already established in multiple blog posts from previous years, summer is effing relentless.
Pepper is obsessed with two things: outlets and babies. Here she is showing her baby doll the outlet in her bedroom. #multitasking
Thankfully, this year is somewhat easier than previous years simply because my children are getting older and more independent. Pepper will be 3 next week, so I think we’re finally on the upswing after a very dark time in the Valley of Motherhood.
Yesterday afternoon, we got home from playing at the park. The boys jumped out of the van, heard some kids next door playing, and asked if they could go over to play. I granted them permission and took Pepper inside. Her clothes were filthy — covered in layers of peanut butter and dirt — so I stripped her down to a diaper.
I ran to the bathroom with her trailing behind me, always my little shadow. And then, my mom called. She’s not feeling well and I can barely hear her on the phone. I was straining to understand what she was saying — did she just say she needed to go to the hospital?! — and naturally, my toddler got really loud at exactly that moment. As her shouting drowned out my mother, my stress level started to rise.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door. My daughter cried from the hall, and when she stopped, I was thankful. When I emerged only a few minutes later, the house was quiet. A panicky feeling started to rise in my chest, and then it felt like my heart stopped.
Just.
Stopped.
Beating.
Our back door was standing wide open.
Screaming her name, I ran outside. She was gone. Or hiding. Or missing.
I heard a woman’s voice — our across the street neighbor — yelling at me that she just saw a little girl cut through the fences in the backyard.
“She went that way, sweetheart! I was standing here watching her!”
I was barefoot and it did not matter. I ran. I ran until I found her. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel my body. All I could hear was my own voice screaming her name, and my heartbeat deafening my ears. That is what blind panic feels like.
My 2-year-old was wandering one street over from ours, wearing nothing but her diaper. She was holding a toy pet carrier with a little stuffed dog inside. I will never forget the way her face looked when she saw the horror on mine.
“NEVER AGAIN,” I said to her.
“Not with my dog?” she said.
“NEVER, EVER. Do not ever leave this house without a grown up,” I said, as I wiped away my tears.
I’m sharing this story to demonstrate how quickly children can disappear. How many times have I heard stories of toddlers wandering the streets and thought to myself, WHERE WAS THE MOTHER?
That mother is me. I was right there. It happened anyway.
I’m a damn good mom. I am capable. I am aware. I am not negligent. But children are fast. And sometimes quiet. And things happen. So today I’m hugging my babies tight, grateful for their safety, knowing that sometimes other mamas aren’t so lucky.
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Modern Mommy Madness 