Men Are Not Stupid.

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I feel it is my duty to share important discoveries, big and small, with you when I come upon them. Things that may make your life a tiny bit easier or happier. That’s what girlfriends do for each other, right? 

Today I need to tell you something of VITAL importance. I feel like I’m spreading the gospel, and I hope I’m not pontificating, but I am passionate about women learning how to speak up for themselves. I know there are men out there who read this blog (including my own Husband) and to those men I say, PAY ATTENTION TO THIS. You can learn a lot from me.

I got involved in a discussion this week with another mom who shared a complaint I am very familiar with — her husband always sleeps through the baby waking, so she gets up, feeds the baby, and cares for their 3-year-old. When he finally gets up, he seems confused as to why she is so tired. And of course, she wants to punch him in the face.

My thoughts on the matter were that it was simply time for a little role reversal. Role reversal has done wonderful things for my partnership with Husband. One day a week he has the kids for 12+ hours by himself, and boy … that has been an eye-opener. Overall it has helped us develop an appreciation for each other and a thankfulness for what we get to do each day. After a whole day away from the kids, I am grateful that I get to care for them most of the time. And Husband, after a full day with them, is so very glad he gets to leave the house and go to work with other adults. And poop alone.

Anyway, another woman in the conversation shared that her husband never changed one diaper, cleaned, cooked, or did anything to help her around the house — and they had FIVE children. Her assumption seemed to be that he refused to help because men are stupid. Now … who is the stupid one in that situation? I would say definitely the woman who allowed her husband to sit his ass on the couch while she tended to five children by herself. He must be pretty smart to have figured out a way to avoid doing jack shit and still being allowed to share the bed with her, right? He may be careless or oblivious, yes — but not stupid.

I am tired of hearing people say that men are bumbling Neanderthals. I know I’m not married to a stupid man. He just needs me to tell him what I need from him. Because he loves me, he tries his best to do what I ask. And because I love him, I would never ask something of him that was unfair.

I have taken on some extra projects lately that have me BUSY, and so he has agreed to take on some of the household responsibilities. Our mornings were super chaotic and he pissed me off every single day because it seemed like while he was willing to help, he honestly didn’t know what to do. And so he did nothing. He sat down with his coffee, and watched me do it all. I was frustrated that he couldn’t just see what needed to be done. HE IS A GROWN MAN! CAN’T HE SEE??!?!?!?

Well … no. He couldn’t. And not because he is dumb, it’s because his brain is wired in a way I will never understand. He is wired to see other things, like how the internet connection is spotty so he needs to rework the wiring to make it faster. That is the kind of stuff he sees, while looking over the screaming baby’s head.

So, I helped him help me. I made a chore list for ONE, which is silly because he can’t read yet, and a chore list for Husband. Part of Husband’s job is to make sure ONE does his list. 

  


I know my lists are ghetto — most moms copy fancy charts from Pinterest and laminate them, and that must mean they love their families more than I do — but I don’t have time for that crap. So permanent marker on the back side of a tablet is what we’ve got.

It’s a small change, but it made a BIG difference. Once everyone knew what was expected of them, and had a list to reference, our mornings became … dare I say … easy. And enjoyable. We laugh and have breakfast together and I actually remember to eat.

I feel like women in general have a hard time telling their men what they need from them. No, ladies, they honestly DON’T KNOW. They want to know, but they don’t know how to ask. Sometimes I think men are kind of like the blind and deaf in that they need help communicating, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. You have to tell them what you need from them, even if it’s in list form. If they love you — and I know that they do — they will try.  

It has made such a difference in my household. With Husband’s help, I can face things like this enormous laundry pile without feeling like I need to curl into a ball and cry.

 
 

Tears, Crumbs, And Constant Interruptions.

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I have several friends in their 30’s who are at a crossroads regarding whether or not to have children. While I am pregnant with my third child and am slowly being buried under snot and poop, they are leading very respectable lives with their mates. Good jobs, nice, clean residences, two dependable cars, nights out, or quiet nights in with no disturbances.

I can understand the hesitation. Having reached adulthood, finally doing whatever it is they were aiming to do with their lives … why would they mess it all up with a life-sucking baby?! Children are so very unpredictable. There is no way to map out the scars your body might bear, or your relationships for that matter. It’s a scary thing, childbearing. All of it is scary. I STILL don’t like to dwell on the fact that somehow THREE will have to get out of me in a few months. There are some things best put out of your head until the time comes.

Plainly speaking, children are terrifying. They don’t care what kind of grades you got or where your degree is from. They don’t give a shit if you’re having a bad day or if you are tired. Parenthood is a level playing field. You can read books and take classes and try and try to prepare yourself, but when it comes down to it, nothing is going to prepare you. It’s just a thing, like marriage, that you have to jump into and kind of hope it all turns out okay.

So what do I say to my girlfriends? Just because I love being a mom, doesn‘t mean this life is right for everyone. A friend sent me this article today entitled “That Baby Wants To Break You Up,” and everything the author says is so true, OMG. Every word. I highly recommend you take a gander. Husband and I often feel like our children are trying to demolish our marriage — but there is something to be said for learning how to work as one and protect your relationship from your own children.

So yes, it’s hard. By far the hardest thing I have ever done. So why do I encourage my friends, who I think would have super-cute babies and be wonderful mothers, to procreate? Because of this: 

I just had to stop typing twice during this blog entry to go check on TWO, who was fussing in his crib. I was annoyed that my train of thought was interrupted. Doesn’t he know I’m busy?! I just sat down! Hellooo …

But when I walked into his room and his face lit up with that dimpled grin, my annoyance vanished. I picked him up and he laid his head on my shoulder, wrapped his arms around me, and happily kicked his legs. You can’t know what it’s like until you experience it yourself, but I would trade my former, childless life a million times over for this one: the one filled with tears, crumbs, and constant interruptions.

I asked Husband to take a “belly shot” of me and ONE rushed over to help. No, ONE, my actual belly doesn’t need to show … but thank you for your assistance.

 

  

Husband.

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Husband turned 31 on Sunday and I have guilt because I was exhausted from a busy week and we didn’t have enough money to buy him a real present. But I did bake him a cake, and he got cards from all of us. 

ONE helped with the decorations. Obviously.

Last year I gave him an outdoor wireless speaker from Brookstone. This year I gave him love and a whole lot of children.

I don’t feel like I give the man enough credit, so that is why I’m writing this post. He got kind of shafted for his birthday, and the very next day I asked him to stop at the grocery store on his way home. 

Then I sent him the list.

 
I wanted to include the tube of mascara in the picture so he could see what kind to look for, and I gave specific instructions not to get the waterproof kind. He never uttered a word of complaint for having to hunt for mascara in the makeup aisle, and he brought home exactly what I asked for.

That’s a real man. He deserves a high-five the next time you see him.

Pee Tastes Sour.

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My 4-year-old informed me yesterday that pee tastes sour.

I later emailed my friends and said, “I really do wonder sometimes if something is wrong with him.” To which my friend Kelli replied, “The only thing wrong with him is that he’s a BOY.”

Word.

Coffee Bath.

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This morning after breakfast, ONE broke a plate. No one was harmed. About 60 seconds later, TWO reached his giant toddler arm up and grabbed my hot coffee from the dining room table and poured the entire mug of it on himself.

Unbelievably … amazingly … providentially, he wasn’t hurt or burned. It probably seemed like a very, very warm, hazelnut-scented shower to him. I immediately burst into tears. These children … it’s just nonstop. I think they must lie awake at night and think of ways to scare the crap out of their mother.  

I needed wine. I needed to lie down. I needed to take a pill.

But instead, because I am pregnant and responsible, and pregnant and responsible people don’t drink alcohol or take pills, I scooped up my coffee-soaked child and gave him a bath while Husband cleaned up the wreckage in our kitchen. We have to both bring our A-game when the kids are awake. THIS IS WHY I DO NOT NAP.

Happy Tuesday!

TWO’s First Day.

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This day came a lot sooner than I expected, but tomorrow TWO will start “school.” We enrolled him in the same preschool ONE attends, and he will be in a class of other 1 and 2-year-olds. He will attend two days a week, and I can’t decide if I’m thankful for the break or if I need to have a good cry.

I think I need to have a good cry.

We made this decision so I could free up more of my time to do things on the side to bring in extra income. It’s just until May, and it will benefit the whole family, but OMG-IT-JUST-HIT-ME … I am SO not ready for this:

Dual lunchboxes.

 And this:

Dual backpacks.

Yes, these are my problems. I used to be the mom who had her kid in daycare full-time, and now I’m fighting back tears thinking about sending my toddler off for 5 hours.

Who am I?! Am I going to start wearing purple scrunchies in my hair? Sweatshirts with teddy bear appliques on them?! Stop showering?! These were my fears when I first became pregnant with ONE. Like I would somehow morph into a different person overnight. Change into someone I didn’t like or recognize.

Well … I’m here to tell you. I HAVE changed. It’s more of a slow metamorphosis than an overnighter, but I am definitely not the same person I once was. I’m poorer, I’m less kept, I’m more wrinked and I often forget to look in the mirror. I cry over things that didn’t phase me before. But I still recognize myself, and most importantly, I like myself more than I ever have.
 

You Are Awesome.

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Sometimes I mourn my before-kids life and wish I could have it back for just a day or two. There was a time when literally all I had to worry about was what I was going to wear. Or how I was going to lose 15 pounds. Those were my problems. I took them very seriously. 

I wasn’t shallow, I was just young. I didn’t appreciate myself enough, which is a shame. If I could have my 23-year-old self back, I would not look at her critically and wish she was thinner. I would appreciate her, just as she is.

Which brings me to my next point — when I am 43, I will most likely look back on this time in my life and wish I had appreciated my 33-year-old self more … instead of getting hung up on all the spider veins that seemingly multiply with each pregnancy or the cellulite that never ends or the fact that I can’t keep up with anything in my life or get my weight down to a certain point. 

I think my older, wiser self would tell me I’ve done a good job. That I’m doing a good job. She would tell me to relax. She would say http://www.babycenter.com can SUCK IT for their stupid articles that say “Congratulations! You’re 20 weeks into your pregnancy! You likely have gained about 10 pounds by now.“ No, Babycenter. I gained 10 pounds over the holidays alone. I hate you and your articles. 

Today I have decided to embrace life as it is and enjoy it, because most of us don’t appreciate ourselves enough — and we will regret it later down the road. So my message for today is … 

YOU ARE AWESOME, AND SO AM I.
 

 

Washable.

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I just caught ONE washing crayons in his sink. I mean, lathering them up with hand soap and washing them. All the paper was peeling off them and, of course, going down the drain. I took them away and said we don’t do that with crayons … and before I knew what was happening, he was back in there again with more.

So I asked him — WHY are you doing this?! Why would you wash your crayons? And he said, “Because they’re washable! It says so on the box!“

I then had to explain what “washable” means in the context of art supplies. Kind of makes me think I need to ask him questions more often … it might explain a lot.