Real Talk

I’ve been told countless times, “You make your life look so easy. You seem to have everything under control. How do you do it?” Newsflash ... I have NOTHING under control. Who really does, anyway? Aren’t we all just faking it until we make it? Aren’t we all stepping out the house with a smile on our face and a determined sense of confidence that ensures that we, IN FACT, have everything under control? Meanwhile, our cars look like the dump, laundry piled for days, dirty dishes hidden in bathtubs when company comes over, our kids eating cereal for dinner,  and us going to bed forgetting to shower. I mean really, I could go on for days.  But let’s be...

I’m a full-time mom. A full-time wife. A full-time friend. Sister. Sister-in-law. Cousin. Daughter. Daughter-in-law. Co-worker. The list goes on. It’s a lot of hats to wear, especially when you aren’t able to take one off. I don’t always feel the weight of everything I do, but sometimes, it hits me like a ton of bricks. And usually, it’s in the form of guilt. How did I miss a good friend’s birthday? Am I absent in my sibling’s lives and is it my fault? Did I really need to yell when my daughter spilled her milk?  Guilt. It creeps in every day and in every form. Sometimes small and sometimes big, but it’s always there in some form or fashion. It’s something that...

“Don’t worry – no one goes to college in diapers,” my mom kept reassuring me as I moaned to her for the millionth time about the fact that my kid seemed totally uninterested in being potty-trained. Every parent knows this, but sometimes it can feel like it’s never going to happen. Whenever the subject comes up with another mom, either one who currently has little children or a seasoned mom of older kids who has seen it all, I almost always hear the same thing: “That was one of the hardest things we had to do as parents.” I’m currently potty-training my second child, so you’d think I’d know what I was doing, since I’ve done this before. But it’s hard,...

I recently sat down to watch some not-so-kid-friendly TV. My boys were playing in their room, and I was pleasantly surprised at their contentment for about 30 minutes until I heard a scuffle going down. Wanting to see how or if they would handle it themselves, I awaited the inevitable. Sure enough, as one ran into the living room with the classic "MO-om!," the other followed hot on his heels with a quick "Sorrysorrysorry! I said sorry!" After giving each of my boys (ages 9 and 7) a chance to tell his side of the story, here's what I discovered: one wanted the hot wheels positioned on the castle this way, while the other wanted it that way; they took turns jerking it back...

I am not a boy mom by the pure definition that the reliable source of Urban Dictionary gives me, “mother to only boys,” but when used in their example sentence, “Boy mom is an experience, not a description,” I think I am living the boy mom life. My toddler, on any given day, prefers princess dresses and will fight 'til death (unless it's tumble tots day) to wear one. Birdie is my little girl and definitely has her girly streak, but I think I am living the boy mom life. Come with me for a moment to defend my theory and present the evidence. Flatulence Obsession God Bless America, my child carries her toots as a badge of honor. I hear about...