peskypippi.comBecause I have a lot to say…

My son doesn’t really want to learn how to tie his shoes. He has put it off. I blame Velcro.

We practiced the bunny ears. We even did the one where you have one bunny ear and then you strangle the bunny with the other loop. I thought violence and a little humor might help.

I promised him a new pair of shoes (any color!) when he decides to learn to tie. But he seems to prefer simply slipping on his shoes. Even better with no socks!

He can totally do it. Dude! He just finished building the Lego Millennium Falcon in like three days. That’s 1,254 Lego pieces! If he can put together 1,254 pieces, he can put together two laces.

But, whatever. It’s a good thing that Velco shoes come in all sizes. Or, maybe there are Lego shoes?

Clean up on aisle three!

Actually it was the middle lane of the freeway, as we were cruising en route to the tulip fields.

Then, I heard the five words you don’t really want to hear when you’re cruising en route to the tulip fields.

Mom. I. Just. Threw. Up.

Quick. Time to use my Mom instincts. Otherwise known as vomit ninja instincts. I think my eight-year-old son was a little shocked at my lightning-fast skills. Especially, as I only had one baby wipe left and no “just-in-case outfit” packed. I was kinda done hauling around back-up clothes for my kids. Oops.

Here’s what transpired, in like 4 seconds:

1. We pulled off at the next exit and came to a screeching stop. Well, whaddya know. The next exit happened to be a rest stop.
2. I rolled down the windows before the warm stench filled the air, causing everyone to gag.
3. I lept out of the car and undid my son’s seatbelt–carefully and swiftly–so as not to propel bits of whatnot everywhere.
4. I used the one baby wipe to scoop off the excess and lifted him out of the car to remove his t-shirt (and promptly threw it in the trash).
5. We went to the bathroom to wash off with cold water, paper towels, and no soap.
6. Bought him a Sprite at the vending machine.
7. And bam. We were back on the freeway, with a stopover at Walmart, where we bought him a new t-shirt and shorts, hand sanitizer, and wipes.

With his tummy feeling better, we made it to the tulip field and ended up having a lovely afternoon.

My son scored a new outfit. And I scored a new title, Vomit Ninja, as he took this photo of me (looking a little bit powerful, I must say).

Mission accomplished.

My Dad, my two kids, and me. At an all-you-can-eat buffet-style restaurant for lunch. Salad? Soup? Muffins? Macaroni and cheese? Jello? Yeah, all that is included.

Manners? Not included.

My Dad didn’t know that he was in for a surprise. I mean, these things aren’t planned. They just happen.

Like how my daughter’s loaded baked potato rolled onto the floor. Splat. And how my son announced that he ate something that “sucked balls.” And how he proceeded to eat his bowl of soft-serve ice cream with his face. No spoon. And described how he saw a picture in the Guinness Book of World Records of a woman with boobies the size of watermelons. Yeah that.

Did Grandpa just cringe?

Who’s hooligans were these children? Who taught these hooligans manners?

I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean, it was like a scene from Parenthood. I love when Grandma describes the roller coaster as a metaphor for life. Thus, I proudly claim these hooligans as my hooligans.

With their zest. Giggles. Naughtiness. Looseness. Their (sometimes) lack of manners.

For some reason, I didn’t need to seek my Dad’s approval of my parenting skills (or lack of parenting skills). Because sometimes while on this roller coaster, you forget to parent. Or you just don’t want to.

At the table, my Dad averted his eyes, choosing not to claim this group (mother included).

Check please.

I’m hanging out at YeahWrite. Come back on Thursday to pick your five favorite posts!

I love kids and their gazillion questions.

My son asks while running down a hill, “Is a horse faster than a car?”

“Uh yeah, horses are fast,” I blurted out. Magic answer. Quick answer. That’s all he wanted to hear. Hell if I know.

Then I went home and looked it up. Dang, I was wrong. According to Wikipedia:

Any car in good working order is faster than a horse on a good road. The top speed of a race horse is around 40 mph and that is only for a few miles. Horses can go where cars can not and so would be faster if crossing streams and jumping gullies and hedges is needed.

But sometimes kids need magical answers. My child was running like a horse. In that moment in time, he was a horse.

Wikipedia and your boring facts: you can suck it.

How can you not have a sense of humor raising children? I laugh every day. I am grossed out every day. I am (a teensy bit) inappropriate every day.

Latest questions, comments, and other utterings in our house:

• “Mom, I think there’s a piece of sausage in my milk.”
• “No farting on the sofa. Take it outside.”
• “Are hot dogs made out of penises?” Google it.

Oh, and this one was from me. Just the other day:

• Where are my pants?!”

We taught our youngest the word I-N-A-P-P-R-O-P-R-I-A-T-E and explained what it means. How some behavior is inappropriate at school. Or how some words are inappropriate to say to others.

But if a tight family cannot be a little inappropriate in its own home, then where’s the fun in that?

Moms are the heart and soul of the family. Remember that.

No pressure! In our perfectionist, over-achieving attempt to be Super Moms, something’s gotta give. I am learning this.

Like many mothers, I care (maybe too much) about my family. I strive to parent and raise my children properly. I work outside of the home and give my 100% brain power to be successful in my job. I am a good enough wife who really can make incredible gravy. Oh, and I’ve been told that my banana bread could be served to angels. I am the organizer and planner of family activities and celebrations.

Just yesterday, I had three conversations with three different friends. Here is how the conversations went:

1. One dear friend has a newborn and is returning to work. She has four other children. We talked about the pressures we put on ourselves to do the right things and how we put family first, before ourselves. Always.
2. Another friend was telling me about the amazing birthday party she is throwing for her daughter. She says she is not a half-assed mother. I know this because I do the same thing. And to use the same metaphor, my mothering is an ass the size of a truck. Kids are only young once, so why not make a memorable birthday party?
3. Finally, a third friend, who is a new mother, and I were talking about over caring and how sometimes, maybe, we need to care a little less. Or maybe, it’s really that we need to care a little bit more about ourselves.

So, what is the something’s-gotta-give I’m referring to in my life? Housework. When you visit my house and take your shoes off, I cannot promise that you will leave with your socks clean. Hey, I have a dog that sheds and kids that eat like dogs.

Instead, I focus my time and energy and doing the little things–and the big things–to make happy, nurturing, and enriched lives for my children. My youngest son’s picture he drew of his favorite things is proof of this: family picnics and baking cookies with Mom.

We, Moms, are helping to guide, support, and make positive memories for our children. No pressure.