Tag: mommy lessons

Oh Miley

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Miley, Miley, Miley.

Sigh.

If you have been hidden under a rock for the last 24 hours, you may have missed the VMAs (that is Video Music Awards) on MTV (that is Music Television I believe). I missed it for sure, because I haven’t watched that channel since about Real World Season 6 and I think they are on Real World Season 55. However, what I COULDN’T miss was when the Titterverse had a giant and simultaneous brain explosion when Miss Cyrus took the stage to perform.

So I did what any mature adult would do. I rose above and ignored the gossip. Ha, no way, I rushed to YouTube to see what all the fuss was about.

And, duuuuuuuude.

Okay, I get it. From the dawn of time, “artists” have been pushing the envelope. Hoping to make an impression. When I got online to make my own Facebook statement of indignation, a dear friend reminded me of the influences we had growing up. For heaven’s sake, Madonna released an album called Erotica with a companion photo book entitled SEX. And yes, lest you be confused about what the photos actually were of… it is what you think. Britney made school girls naughty(er?), wore skimpy clothing and I believe, during one certain tour, pretended to pleasure herself in a bathtub.

Right-O.

So yes, my friend is correct. Miley Cyrus’ decision to use a foam finger as an, ah, um, ahem, sorry, can’t go there. Whatever she was doing with that finger, is not a new phenomenon.

But thanks to the great double-edged sword of technological advancements, I think it IS more problematic to our children than what we saw growing up.

I was free to make all kinds of mistakes when I was growing up. Say, for example, I decided to “be like Madonna” and recreate a scene from SEX (this did not happen by the way.) The only people who would have known were the participants. Sure, maybe someone blabs, there is some gossip for awhile and then things move on to the next teenage scandal.

Let’s say that same thing happens today. First, someone takes a cellphone pic, obviously. That gets posted to SnapChat because kids are dumb. No, that isn’t fair. Kids are not dumb, but it is PROVEN that the part of the brain that controls reasoning isn’t developed until a person is well into adulthood. Children sometimes make bad choices  – it is actually NOT 100% THEIR FAULT. So anyhoo, someone posts this pic to SnapChat and they think that is the end of it. But a “friend” of theirs gets a screen grab of the pic. They post it to Facebook and Twitter. Hashtag “time to ruin a few lives.” Maybe someone took a cellphone video, posted it to all the above, maybe Vine. Now, not that teenagers need it, but all those bullies out there have new ammunition to use online and in person. Maybe these poor kids change schools to get away from the harassment. That doesn’t matter, because the kids at their new school know how to use GOOGLE for God’s sake, and they found the photos, the videos and now have both a new target and new fun fodder. So THEN what? Homeschool? Suicide? Let’s talk about the future. THESE PHOTOS AND VIDEOS COULD BE AVAILABLE WHEN YOU ARE LOOKING FOR YOUR FIRST JOB. It is the Internet people. It is not kind.

As an adult, you may be reading this and thinking I’m going overboard. NO I’M NOT. This kind of activity and bullying is happening every day. It is terrifying.

And that is why we can’t just laugh off these types of “performances” and roll our eyes and say, “OH MILEY.” Chuckle and think how ridiculous we all thought she looked. Because for everyone of us who are unimpressed, there is someone with an undeveloped frontal cortex who is seeing a role model, and who has the tools and access to emulate the things they are seeing and share it with a very, very wide audience.

Look, I made a ton of mistakes growing up, and I am not foolish enough to think my kids won’t make them too. Normal, natural, growing up and learning from them mistakes.

But now, more than ever, I believe that we have to be vigilant about what our kids are seeing and TALKING to them about it. About the dangers of social media, about privacy and how to protect yourself. We can’t immediately change the world, but man, we have got to find a way to help them navigate it.

And pray there isn’t a cell phone around when the worst mistakes happen.

Conversations of a mad woman

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A sane person should never have these conversations. And I’ve had them all. GO FIGURE.

“Don’t wipe your boogers on your car seat. Well, I can’t REACH a tissue, I’m driving. Okay, fine then, wipe them on the car seat. Just don’t eat them.”

“Do not let the dog lick your food before you eat it. I don’t care that you are sharing, don’t share. Yes, you SHOULD share with your friends. But do not share with the dog. Yes, unless he is starving, then you can share. No. Jackson is not starving right now.”

“I don’t know what lady bugs eat, but I’m fairly certain peanut butter isn’t it. I’m also fairly certain that petting her like that is going to kill her.”

“Sure you can clean all the bathroom floors, what a fun game. Here is a wipe. Yes. Yes that IS gross. Here are some plastic gloves to wear. Now get to cleaning.”

“I am NOT calling you names. Hellion is a term of endearment.”

“Everything that is covered by your swimsuit is private. Do you know what that means? Good, so what are your private areas? Yes, and yes. And no. That is your armpit, it’s not private. Okay, fine, sure, it’s private. Don’t let anyone touch your armpit.”

“If you sit still, I will give you a cookie. No, you know what, if you sit still for just five more minutes, I will give you 10 million dollars. Fine. I’ll keep the dollars, here is your cookie. Sucker.”

“Be a giant! Come on, be a giant and eat your trees. Yummy. See? Mommy is a giant, YUM! Ew, yuck, yeah, don’t eat those. Let me put some butter and seasoning on those trees, plain broccoli is super gross.”

“Go play. Mommy just needs a few minutes of privacy. Don’t bang on the door with a toy Beckett. Kate, I can hear you telling him to bang on the door. Stop it. Guys, seriously. Just a minute. Go away. GUYS! THE NEXT SET OF FINGERS THAT REACH UNDER THAT DOOR ARE GOING TO BE CHOPPED OFF SO HELP ME GOD.”

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Awesome sauce

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Things at the EdelSpot are generally pretty awesome.

I realize that if you just glance through my posts, you may see a disgruntled woman complaining about life, her children, her life with her children. That couldn’t be further from the truth and if I don’t say it, I am doing you all a disservice.

I love my life. I love everything about it. From the messiness, to the lack of sleep, to the days I want to tear out my hair or run away to Argentina, I love it all. Because it is perfect in it’s lack of perfection, and it is MINE.

I once met up with an old friend that I hadn’t spent much time with since my children were born. She reads (or used to read) The EdelSpot. And at some point in our conversation, she made an offhand comment about how I don’t even like my own daughter.

Pause for righteous indignation.

Actually, pause for an internal brain explosion. HOW COULD YOU THINK I DON’T LIKE MY OWN DAUGHTER? Clearly, we are not close friends any more.

But the truth is, she had a point. I probably spend most of my time sharing about the latest shit storm or parenting fail over here. But that is because NOT EVERYONE NEEDS A RAINBOW. Seriously, when you are having a hard day, and you feel overwhelmed and you haven’t showered in a few days and you have to yell at  your daughter that if she wipes another booger on the furniture SHE IS GOING TO TIME OUT UNTIL SHE IS 20, the last thing you want to do is see how FUCKING AWESOME another mom is doing. Because then the shame spiral kicks in and  you are forced to pour cereal into a bowl for the kids and turn on some Dora so you can go lie in the bottom of the shower in the fetal position and cry because WHHHHYYYYY????? WHYYYY is it SO EASY FOR THEM AND NOT ME?!?!?!?!

Or maybe that is just how I handle a hard day.

The point is, I actually LOVE my daughter beyond all words. I love my son. I am madly in love with my husband and we have been given riches beyond my wildest hopes and dreams. Are we perfect? Nope, not a single damn one of us. But we have our good days and our bad days. Our good moments and our bad moments. And we support and love each other through this life.

One of the things people say to me is “Thank you,” for being real about the challenges of being a parent. But I’ve realized that maybe I give a really one-sided version of the story. With B’s birthday this week, I have spent a lot of time reflecting on how lucky we are. And I decided I need to sprinkle more of the good in with the bad. Even if the good is a little less entertaining, at least it is 100% real.

So get ready. It’s time The EdelSpot blows a little sunshine and roses up your behinds my friends.

Because life is good.

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Potty Mouth

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Happy Throwback Thursday friends! Todays #tbt comes to us from October 11, 2011. To set the stage, B was just two months old and I was, um, er, coping. Sort of. Enjoy!

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It came to my attention a few weeks ago that when I am sleep deprived, I have the humor and vocabulary of an adolescent boy.

It all started when I was reading a new book to Kate. It is about a princess who outsmarts a dragon, and at the dragon’s door she uses the knocker to announce her arrival. And for some unfathomable reason, when I got to the word “knocker” I laughed my ass off. Which then sent me into a shame spiral because, I mean, SERIOUSLY?

I can only think it had something to do with how tired I was (and am). Also, since I’m still nursing, the word knockers seems pretty accurate for how heavy and awkward and just plain unsexy my boobs feel. KNOCKERS aren’t something you dress up in lace and shimmy at your husband. KNOCKERS are stout things that you stuff in thick cotton bras and hide in a t-shirt that has baby drool and last night’s dinner smeared across it.

I have knockers. And I found that to be freaking hilarious (because lets be honest, if you don’t laugh, you might just have to cry about something like that).

A few days later I experienced another “I’m a ten year-old boy” vocabulary melt-down. This one came about thanks to a “I’m new to being the mom of a boy” moment. When something new, er, popped up, I decided to turn to my trusty friend, Google, for answers. I sat down with my computer and typed in “Why do baby boys…”

I couldn’t finish the question. My brain was so tired, it had shorted. My entire vocabulary had just up and vanished. I just stared at the screen for a short while and then the only, and I mean ONLY word I could think of to describe what I was trying to research was this:

“Why do baby boys get BONERS”

(head slap)

WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? I may be irreverent, and silly and sometimes crude, but ladies (and any gentlemen who actually kept reading past the section about my hooters) if my brain were firing on all cylinders I would NEVER be stupid enough to do a Google search about BONERS. Let alone baby boners. I’m nearly positive that I’ve now been flagged on some FBI database, but what shocked me was that GOOGLE KNEW WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT. Without blinking an eye, Google provided me with results from various parenting forums about the medical reasons a baby gets an ERECTION (OHHHHH riiiiiiight. Erection. THAT is the word I was trying to think of.)

But more shocking to me than Google’s understanding of the terminology is the fact that of all the words in the world to describe what I was searching for, I chose to use the word boner. Which, I have to be honest, I think I’ve used, like, um, NEVER IN MY LIFE. Its just not in my vernacular. Honestly. But when existing on only a few hours sleep, apparently its the only word to surface through the haze.

I’m so proud.

And THAT, my friends, is why you might not be seeing me in public for awhile. My knockers and I have to get some rest before I’m allowed in polite company again.

It is enough

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You know what really hacks me off?

Well-intentioned people who write meaningful articles/posts about parenting that are supposed to inspire you, but really just make you feel like you still aren’t doing it right. Like, you just need to TRY HARDER. So maybe, just maybe, if I do EXACTLY what the parent in this post did, I MIGHT be able to NOT SUCK. It will be, like, SUPER easy to be the best parent on the planet, if I just follow these FIVE SIMPLE STEPS. WINNING!

SCREW THAT. I am trying my ASS off with this parenting thing, and sometimes, it feels like a big fat pile of steaming failure. AND THEN! Then someone posts or reposts something about how you shouldn’t check your email when your kid is on the swing set because you are teaching them they are unimportant, or maybe you shouldn’t tell your kid to hurry, because you are RUINING their little lives with the request for some hustle. Or maybe you just read a post about how you need to nurture your children and not force them to grow up so quickly, but then there is that OTHER post that condemns the way you help your kids climb the monkey bars, because, COME ON! Kids are CAPABLE and if you help them you are actually STIFLING THEIR GROWTH AND (again) RUINING THEIR LIVES.

Listen.

I just got home. Where was I? Let’s call it HELL. Because, when it is more than an hour past your youngest child’s nap time, and both kids are hyped up on sugar and you are in a busy mall because you thought taking them to a movie would be a fun outing, it could be the closest thing to Hell that is on this Earth. So lets say you are trying to get both to the car without a) losing one, b) losing your mind, c) accidentally stealing something from the Disney store that is located STRATEGICALLY next to the elevator by the food court by the HOLY GOD THE CAROUSEL, WE MUST RIDE THE CAROUSEL, yet Beckett, he is melting, he is MELTING INTO A GIANT TODDLER-SIZED PUDDLE of GET ME THE FUCK TO SLEEP. But a preschooler doesn’t give a wit that her brother is now burrowing into the tile floor of the food court and that I can’t chase her down because he is officially limp noodle on the floor, incapable of standing on his FEEEEEEET, because he is TIIIIIIIIREEEEEEEDDDDDDD.

You know what? I get that there is probably a great and delicate way to handle this situation. Someone, somewhere has probably even written a post about how to gracefully wrangle your hellion children at a mall. But you know what? I DIDN’T handle it gracefully. I handled it with some harsh words, some threats, some tears, some pleading, some forcefully dumping into a stroller, some hissed words under my breath and maybe a stare that would have frozen my husband in his tracks. THAT is how I handled it. And all those bloggers and writers with all those good intentions and ideas and ways to be a GOOD PARENT can bite me.

Because parenting is HARD. It isn’t always graceful, and it isn’t always well done. Sometimes, it is done very, very poorly. But I am TRYING.

As parents, I think we should all stick together. And continue to just TRY.

It is the best we can do. And whatever anyone says, or however inferior they make you feel, trust me. Our best… it IS enough.

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Photo by Flight Path Photography