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Month: October, 2016

I’m Pretty Sure I Invented Mom Guilt, But You Can Share

A good friend of mine posted a little video about mom guilt on Facebook this morning. A bunch of mom’s talking about the things they could take back from the day, lies they told their kids, things they wish they hadn’t said.

And here I thought I invented Mom Guilt.  Turns out that deep down, a lot of you Bitches feel like you suck balls at this gig too.

I suffer from this guilt thing a lot.  Husband works long days, and by the end of his rotation I usually feel ready to either sell my children to anyone who likes repeating themselves over and over again with no results, or literally filling the bathtub up with tequila in hopes that is a pleasant way for me to drown.

In this stupid day and age of being hopelessly busy and being pulled in 5000 directions at once, I simply cannot deal with the amount of time it takes my children to accomplish one task. Why is it SO HARD to put your fucking shoes on?   Why is that always the wrong hat?  Why can they not pay attention for long enough to put on their jacket and for GOD”S SAKE how come nobody can stand straight and face me when I try to zip it up?

Sometimes I cannot handle the random crying and drama that occurs seemingly every second without justification.  The fights about nothing.  The tattle-taling.  The whining.  The constant needing.  The mess making.

The pants shitting.

And so I do what every mother out there has done for generations.

I yell.  I threaten.  I punish.


Besides feeling horrible and making them feel horrible, that is.  I also get one step closer to needing therapy and detox and a new liver.  But that’s a whole other post.

And then I put them to bed and think “Tomorrow is a new day.  A better day.  I will be more patient and try to spend more time just hanging out with them.  All they really want is more attention.  I can do this.”

And then, the next day happens and I am so busy feeding them and cleaning up after them and doing laundry and working that time runs out again and I left with the mom guilt for another day. I never, ever, ever, feel like it’s enough.  Like I’m enough.

Thankfully, every now and again, we have a day where everything goes just right.  I put all my bullshit aside and focus just on them.  I say “yes” more often.  I let the schedule go.  I let the dishes sit.  I make all the things that are usually such a big ass deal no big deal, and just fucking let it stay where it is. We stay up past bedtime.  We get dirty and eat junk food and just never mind about all the things that really aren’t that important after all.

And it’s all ok.  Everybody is still alive the next day.

So far.

And then I feel guilty that I don’t do all that more often.

But you see Bitches.  Mom guilt is just this thing that happens when you love something so much that you set up this impossible standard for yourself.  It’s when you love something so much you can’t possibly ever do enough because there is no action that could ever possibly declare just how much you actually love it.

We will always have mom guilt because we won’t ever be done trying to give our children every single thing they need to be nice humans and smart humans and happy humans.  We have the mom guilt because even though children need to be corrected, and moms are allowed to get frustrated, we don’t want our kids to ever for one second think we aren’t on their side.

We feel guilt because we want more for them than is possible to give.  So we never feel like it’s enough.

So, chin up Bitches.  Tell a few lies that helps to avoid a temper tantrum.  Yell at them when they are assholes, because sometimes love involves teaching them that being an asshole is not a desirable endeavour. Drink the wine and vow to love them JUST AS MUCH TOMOROW  as you do today.  Not more, because that’s hardly possible.

And have a “free day” sometimes where you just lower your expectations and give yourselves a goddamn break.






In The Old Days….Kids Still Shit Their Pants At 3 Too.

In the Old Days, and by that I mean before there was such a thing as social media, how did you do it, Bitches?

And by IT I mean, how did you raise your children without:

  • having a heart attack
  • feeling judged
  • getting SOME decent advice
  • complaining to the universe
  • venting
  • hating better moms than you
  • being told how you’re doing it wrong

Because honestly, I love social media.  Sometimes I hate it when women are being total cunts about all the things I am doing to raise my kids, but usually it’s pretty helpful.

I was just having a free for all rant/advice thread on my Facebook page about the frustrations of potty training, and really, everyone kept it helpful and nice and nobody made me feel like an asshole at all.  Which was kinda cool because I already feel like that anyway.

But THEN, I had a lovely private conversation with an awesome girl about her struggles, and she made a comment about how she wonders if all the people with late pottiers ( is that a word?) are just not saying anything because they feel embarrassed.


For sure they are.

Whenever I go out to some thing with kids, there is always some woman talking about how they started potty training at 8 months and how wonderfully easy it was.  It’s like some sort of sign of brilliant parenting.

But what if it isn’t?  What if you read all the books and go to all the playgroups and learn from these great moms and try so hard with stickers and candy and praise and dedication?

And the truth is that you kid just really still is more comfortable shitting their pants than going on the toilet?  What if the truth is that the age your kid learns to piss on the pot is NOT indicative of your ability as a parent or the future career path of your little genius?

I wonder if you took a class of Harvard graduates and asked them each what age they stopped shitting their pants if their answers would vary?

I don’t know.  I know that potty training is annoying and frustrating and that I appreciate all the things that people offered in order to help me.  But honestly, the thing that helped me the most were the moms and dads who were just honest about how it really is, and shared things with me openly.  It’s nice to know that if you suck at something, there are others in your village who suck just as bad.

And lived to tell about it.




Thankful For What?

I’m not going to lie, Bitches.
I had a really rough weekend with the kids where they pushed me to the very edge of my limitations of patience and grace. I had more than one of those “I’m done” moments and quite frankly found it really hard to feel grateful or thankful for anything.
I wanted to sit in my room and cry about the shitty job I was doing as a parent.I wanted to be anywhere but with them.  I was overwhelmed.  I felt bad about how much resentment I was feeling towards my own children, the loves of my life.
Our lives have become so busy with Destroyer in school and ferrying them to activities and irregular work hours.   One of us, it seems is ALWAYS alone with the kids while the other works or tries to steal a couple hours of peace out of the house.
I had some extra days off and so decided to buckle in and actually try to get somewhere with potty training Buddy, which is why we stayed in for three days.  That was probably the only semi-successful thing that occurred.
Parenting doesn’t come with a handbook, and it doesn’t have scheduled breaks.  There are no rules the kids have to follow and even if there were nobody would give a shit.
So yeah.  This weekend was one of the worst.  I have never felt so bad at something nor cared so much that I sucked so bad.
What was I supposed to be thankful for?  For working my ass off and nobody caring or appreciating it? For being perpetually exhausted with very few opportunities for emotional outlets?  Music, my one go to, is also my job.  So even that doesn’t feel like a sanctuary anymore.
And then I went over to my parents place for dinner and complained loudly and immaturely about everything that was bugging me.  And you know what?

They just listened, and noticed, and empathized.  And it was all I needed.  The kids spent some really great moments with my parents today, and created this rare little magic that can only happen between a grandparent and grandchild.  And it made me feel so much better.

And it made me remember that life is made up only of moments. Which ones I choose to define my life by is really all up to me.  One moment of happiness can really cancel out a day’s worth of shit.
So I am thankful after all.
I’m thankful that I still have my parents to go to.
I’m thankful that I still have both my children with me to drive me nuts and humble me.
I’m thankful I have a Mother In Law who listened to me complain about everything in the universe and still thinks I’m doing a good job.
I’m thankful I have a husband who never complains when i tell him I need a break and thinks I’m beautiful even on the days I feel like an ogre.
I’m thankful for a Bestie who always puts things in perspective for me.
I’m thankful for the family next door that I’ve somehow earned but likely don’t deserve.
And wine.  I’m thankful for wine.  Happy Thanksgiving, Bitches. Cheers.
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