Sometimes My Kids Eat Cookies for Breakfast

I have a lot of problems getting out of the house on time in the morning. No matter how early I start, we manage to be late.  There’s always some sort of drama in our house. It usually centers around Katie’s clothes, hair or socks.  We’re down to one rule regarding Katie’s wardrobe: it has to be weather appropriate. If she wants to mix patterns and wear clashing colors, fine by me.  Once the clothes are on, the sock drama starts. I dread the end of summer and the start of shoe and sock season. My life is so much easier when Katie can wear flip-flops to school. Now, we waste precious minutes every morning while Katie wails, “My socks are twisted again!!!!!”

Because we are never on time, we typically eat breakfast in the car. Katie is a Pop-Tart kind of girl.  Since Elizabeth eats breakfast at daycare, she usually does not eat in the car. The other morning we were running even later than usual when Elizabeth spotted the tin of Christmas cookies on the counter. She pointed and yelled, “Coo-coo!”  “No cookies for breakfast”, I told her, like a good mother would. “Coo-coo, coo-coo, coo-coo!!!!!” she screamed, making  her whole body rigid in the way only a toddler can. After five minutes of struggling to put her coat on, I lost it.

“Okay, okay! Have a coo-coo, ” I finally cried in desperation, because Sweet Baby Jesus, I just needed to get the f*ck to work already. Then Katie started, “That’s not fair! If Elizabeth can have a cookie for breakfast than I want a cookie, too.”  Since, “no fair” is the best and truest argument a six-year-old can make, I had to acquiesce. Besides, I reassured myself,  is there really any difference in the nutritional value of a Pop-Tart or a  sugar cookie?


Friday Night

Tonight, I went to Panini’s to pick up dinner. It’s Friday night.  The bar was packed. People were drinking and talking and laughing.  I walked past two smokers outside on my way in. The were engaged in the kind of animated conversation that only people who have had a few beers can understand.  It was rockin and I was overcome with the greatest sense of longing I have experienced since having children.  For a minute (a long, hard minute) I thought about saying screw Steve’s wings and Katie’s chicken fingers, grabbing a bar stool, ordering an Amstel Light and asking the middle-aged lady with the craggy voice if I could bum a smoke.

But something stopped me. It wasn’t the higher calling of motherhood. It wasn’t worry over letting my family starve. What stopped me, in fact, was my appearance. I had spent the whole day at home cleaning and doing laundry.  My hair was in a ponytail, I hadn’t showered and I wasn’t wearing any makeup.  Even for Panini’s, I was in no condition to pull up a stool and drink.  I might have been ok for a Wednesday, but since it was Friday, everyone else was wearing their best hoodies and Cav’s jerseys.  I was completely out of place in my yoga pants (now, had I been wearing parachute track pants, I would have been ok).

Not so long ago, I would have been one of the people enjoying a beer and a smoke at the bar (the last time I regularly frequented a bar on Friday night, you could actually still smoke inside). My Friday nights are now typically spent at home with the hubby and kids, and no longer include smoking (damn lung cancer).

After a few minutes, I pulled myself out of my reverie, paid for my takeout order and came home to my family.  I cracked a beer, put on Little Einsteins for Katie, and took comfort in knowing that drinking at home meant I wouldn’t have to fork over $25 for cab fare tonight.

A Complete and Total Barf-O-Rama

Last Friday, when my husband picked Elizabeth up from daycare, her teacher warned him that seven of the twelve children in her room had the stomach flu.  That evening,  just after I had finished saying a silent prayer thanking God for sparing us this misery, Elizabeth puked down my back. Now, in case you are wondering how […]

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Let’s Hear It for the Boy

I know that many of my blog posts feature my husband in the role of lovable goof.  People have asked me what Steve thinks of my blog.  The answer is, he thinks it is hilarious.  Lovable goof is a role he is happy to play. He even suggests topics for me now when he does […]

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My Two Daughters

For some people, the thought of having only two children of the same gender is unimaginable. If I had a dollar for ever time someone has asked me, “Are you going to try again for a boy?”  I’d have enough money to keep myself in Starbucks peppermint mochas for the rest of the season. Am […]

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Boy Crazy

Every night during dinner, Steve, Katie and I each share the best part of our day and the worst part of our day. Katie’s usually revolve around food, as in, “The best part of my day was when we had chocolate chip cookies for snack,” or “The worst part of my day was when we […]

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Lady Business

On Thursday, my husband called off work to stay home with our sick five year old daughter. She was up all night coughing and complaining of a sore throat and had a few other symptoms as well.  Since I have almost no time off left this year due to my maternity leave, Steve took Katie […]

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Out of the Mouths of Babes

My kiddo cracks me up.  So much so that I had to start keeping a list of the things she says.  Some fall into the drama queen category and some into the “kids say the darndest things” category.  Either way, Katie says some funny sh*t.   Before going on, I should mention that Katie is five.  So picture […]

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The Cure for All That Ails You

No matter what physical ailment you might have, my husband believes it can be diagnosed (and cured) in one of two ways. You either 1) need to poop or 2) need to stretch. Sometimes it makes sense. Katie complains that her tummy hurts and Daddy says, “You probably have to poop.”  I tell Steve that […]

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Let Daddy Watch His Show

I hate football season.  Like really hate, A LOT.  I hate being tied to the tv every Sunday afternoon, especially on beautiful fall days. I hate that the team my husband loves the most is awful and that he spends most of the day screaming at the tv while I watch the kids and remind […]

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