Submit your complaints here.

On Monday, I took the kids on our final summer adventure before school started. Here's the short version.

Train Parking: $3
Train ride to the city: $18
Metro ride in the city: $5
Historic Streetcar ride: $5
Peet's Coffee: $4.30
World Famous Cable Car ride: $14
Three toy cable cars and two postcards from the Cable Car Museum: $27
Two pressed pennies: $1.02
Steps taken carting around three children on a train adventure: 9,668

Arriving home and having your kid complain, "BUT WE DIDN'T GET ANY PLAY TIME THIS MORNING."

Priceless.

Our Family Motto

I really, really, really wanted our family motto to be "Don't be a Dick." It really just encompasses everything I want from my children and it applies in just about every possible annoying situation that you might encounter in life.

• Running around the grocery store while mom is trying to buy things to feed you with? Don't be a dick.
• Left your dirty underwear on the floor? Don't be a dick.
• Fighting with your brother while mom is cooking dinner? Don't. Be. A. Dick.

It's perfect. Pretty much all the time.

Except, I really didn't want my children walking around saying the word dick all the time because you know they are going to whip that out in front of grandma or during church. (C'mon guys. Cursing in church? Don't be a dick.)

So we ended up with a slightly more positive, family-friendly motto, which is "Make someone else's job easier." It's growing on me.

It's not as versatile as my first motto, but I suppose it conveys a slightly better message. Instead of teaching my kids what not to do, it encourages them to do something, mainly show kindness to another human being. And boy, is this world in short supply of kindness, or what?

A few months ago we were on a parenting reform binge. (You know, when one of your children does something that makes you wonder where you went wrong with them and you vow get those unruly monsters turned around like little Von Trapps who respond to whistle commands?) Well, we were particularly focused on "make someone else's job easier" and something beautiful happened. My three year old son stopped in the grocery store to pick up some items that had fallen off a display and put them back where they belonged. He looked at me excitedly and said "We're making someone else's job easier!" I was so proud. At three, they don't often do the right thing without a little encouragement. It was beautiful to see him do something, even if it was small, to make the world a better place.

This week I finally got around to framing it and putting it up on the wall in our kitchen. I made two versions, but hubby and I both agreed we liked the original best. Our kitchen is yellow and there was a perfect spot to put it below the kitchen clock.

Like our motto? Download the Lemon version or the Wreath version free!

Cleaning Confessions from a Mom of Three

Buttercup is turning one next week and we are having a little party for her this weekend. We only invited people we pretty much consider family so there's not a whole lot of pressure on me to throw the most Pinterest perfect party. However after the great sickness of November through January I've gotten pretty behind on my housekeeping. And considering I have three kids, my standards are pretty low to begin with. How low, you ask? Let me explain...

I vacuum the couch. We have a dog so with the whole shedding thing the couch has to vacuumed pretty regularly. I know you're thinking, Everyone vacuums the couch. What's so special about that? I don't have time to use that tiny two inch hose attachment to vacuum my whole couch. No no. When I say I vacuum my couch, I mean I lift that whole vacuum on to the cushions and GO. TO. TOWN. Voila! The whole couch is vacuumed in under three minutes.

I vacuum everything. Since I have the mini Dyson ball, it lifts up to the couch easily, but it won't suck up whole Cheerios. Before I acquired the best vacuum ever (the dog) I crushed the cheerios with my toes so I could vacuum them up.

I make the kids help. They don't do a fantastic job, but they make most of this mess and one person cannot clean up after five people efficiently. This week they used baby wipes to wipe down all the kitchen cabinets. They can also unload the dishwasher, clean mirrors and windows, put away their clean laundry, dust with a swiffer, wipe tables, vacuum and  mop. Not bad for 3 and 5, right? But don't come in my house with your white glove. It's not perfect.

I let the dog help too. There's rarely anything but crumbs under my kitchen table because the whole point of having a dog is so someone else can climb under there and clean up. Seriously, we all have to pull our own weight around here.

I vacuum around my kid's crap. Often, there's only enough time to pick up their crap OR vacuum before they make such a big mess wherever they are occupying themselves that my efforts are futile. So I do a cursory pick up but I vacuum around the tubs of legos and the easel or even better I push them out of the way with the vacuum.

I don't mop. Like ever. By the time I vacuum, I'm out of time to mop. Plus, it is one of the most futile jobs ever. I mopped the living room and dining room yesterday and by last night I could see little paw prints everywhere. This morning, the three year old crushed a piece of chalk all over the already not so freshly mopped floor. In addition to that, we still haven't gotten around to refinishing our hardwood floors so even when I do mop, you literally cannot tell the difference.

Super Scrubber 5000

I have special tools. My husband built me this Super Scrubber 5000 out of a drill and a scrub brush. It works wonders on sinks and tubs. Miracles, actually.

It's not that I don't want a clean house. I do. Desperately. But my house is not a museum. Frankly, my kids and I are just too busy living here to keep it immaculate. And my sanity is far more important than a spotless home. I try, but I've got to be realistic, right?

What's your cleaning confession? Do you have a secret to getting the house guest ready?

He Said, I Heard: Sale

Occasionally, we have miscommunications in our house. Often this happens when my husband says something and I interpret it as something slightly different.

This afternoon Mr. Sir emailed me a link to a sale happening at Old Navy. Not only are they doing free shipping, but you get an additional 30% off clearance items. 

He said: Old Navy cuts an extra 30% off clearance.

I Heard: LICENCE TO SHOP.

At least I had the decency to buy a few things for him during my shopping spree...

For anyone who is interested the coupon codes are:
JACKPOT (For 30% off clearance)
FREESHIP (For, you guessed it, free shipping)

Happy shopping!

How do you do it?

Last week, Dash's new teacher asked me a question I hear all the time: How do you do it?

I never quite know how to answer because, well it's complicated. Usually, in these scenarios someone is looking at me like I've got motherhood all figured out. As if my life is a smooth running, well-oiled machine. Sometimes I want to bask in all my supposed put-togetherness, but that couldn't be further from the truth. And frankly, I'm in the business of being honest with myself and others. The truth? I'm a mother -- a human being with strengths and flaws.

We've become a society that has difficulty embracing our emotions and imperfections. I don't think people expect a real, honest and raw answer. And yet, I feel compelled to give them one that reflects the many facets of motherhood. The good, the bad and the ugly. I never want someone to feel insecure in the face of my seemingly Pinterest-perfect brilliance. At the same time, I don't want want to sound like a walking train-wreck. I'm neither and yet I'm both. What I want to say is:

• I'm doing the best that I can and some days that's still not good enough. 
• I'm so proud of myself for making it out the door on time without yelling. 
• My house is in complete shambles, but the kids are clean, dressed and we had time to take first day pictures. Lord knows if I'll ever have time to share them in the next 10 years, but we took them! 
• I'm exhausted. I cannot consume enough coffee to lift the fog because I'm breastfeeding and I'm only supposed to have two cups of coffee a day. I make the coffee twice as strong so I get more bang for my buck (even though I know that defeats the purpose, but it soothes my conscience because in theory I'm still only having two cups) and yet I'm still tired. 
• I don't have it all together. Some days we stay in our pajamas until noon.
• I bribe my children with stickers and ice cream to do tasks basic to their survival. Like eating. Preferably in a manner which does not resemble hogs at the feed trough. 
• I take it one day, one coffee, one peanut butter and jelly sandwich at a time. 
• It's like a roller coaster: there's fear and excitement, ups and downs, and sometimes barf. 
• I can go from champion and hero to utter failure in under 30 seconds.
• I have marvelous people in my life who love and support me.
• I feel like I have to do a lot of this on my own. 
• I am pretty kick-ass, aren't I?
• In the words of Woody Harrelson you've got to "nut up or shut up." I'm not entirely sure what this means, but I usually mutter it to myself right before I have to clean something up that should involve wearing a hazmat suit. 

So in answer to your question of how do I do it? I don't know. It's complicated. But mostly, I get out of bed and put one foot in front of the other, just like everyone else.

Self Checkout: It's over.

Dear Self Checkout,

I have so many things I want to say to you. Let's start with, it's not me, it's you. You, with your ever so tempting short lines and false promises of a quick and easy checkout. Each time you lure me in with your flashing green light, I swoop in and am utterly disappointed.

You have baggage issues.
You tell me to place my items in the bagging area, then immediately start shouting unauthorized item in the bagging area. I panic and scan for this unauthorized item that you speak of only to find my monstrous diaper bag has brushed against you. Before I can even scan another item, you start nagging again. This time my son's pinky finger grazed the bag stand.You could clearly see I had three kids when you invited me over, beckoning with your flashing light, so don't try to pretend my kids aren't welcome.

You're rigid and jealous.
I reach for my grapes and realize they don't have a bar code or a sticker to properly identify them; I know this will anger you because you are such a stickler for the rules. Loosen up. Have a little fun once in a while. Grapes are delicious and you make it so hard to buy them. Are you jealous? Because I have been hanging out with those grapes since before you even moved to this neighborhood?
I search in vain for the correct classification (green, non-organic, seedless) until I finally call for assistance. Your attendant rolls her eyes at me as she swipes her card and manually enters my item. I knew this was a mistake. The regret fills my empty shopping bags.

You're needy.
I struggle through the next few items as the chaos of the three children left unattended behind me begins to bubble over. You demand my total and undivided attention during the entire rendezvous. You ask for so much commitment and give so little in return.

You whine; I wine.
As I near the bottom of my bottom of my shopping basket, I pick up the cheap wine I have selected to pair with my mac and cheese and I know that it's over. Your "no alcohol" sign was obscured by the cheerful Happy Birthday balloons that the kids are now pleading for. The sassy attendant returns, this time with double eye rolls, but has mercy on me when the baby coos at her. I'm near tears as I clutch my shopping bags and retreat from the store.

I swear this time it's really over. I'm never coming back. I won't suffer your injustices anymore. Next time, I'll wait as long as necessary for the checker. His smile is nicer anyway and he always offers to help me to my car like a true gentleman.

Ciao,
Alisa

25 Reasons My Scale is a Liar

On my 29^th birthday I went to Old Navy to buy myself a pair of fat jeans. I cried in the fitting room and vowed that I would make some healthy changes before I hit the big 3-0. Granted, I had a five month old baby and a two-year old at home, leaving me with pregnancy weight and little time on my hands for exercising. And though I had plenty of reasons to wait to lose those extra pounds, I knew it was all those excuses reasons that landed me crying in a fitting room at Old Navy in the first place. 

And so I kicked all those reasons to the curb and just did it.

Now I’m walking the fine line between managing my weight and obsessing over it. I realize that my weight fluctuates daily for a variety of reasons so instead of aiming for a special number, I have a five pound window and as long as I’m in the zone, I try not to let the scale bother me.  But it does. So every time I get on my scale and see a number I’m not in love with, I remind myself of all the good reasons the scale is a liar. And then I laugh because I think I’m funny and it burns calories.

1. These jeans are heavy
2. My hair is wet. Must weigh at least 5lbs.
3. It’s a new moon. Gravitational pull is off.
4. My yoga pants are heavy.
5. I’m holding a 25lb toddler. Naw, he must 30lbs…
6. I exercised a lot this week. It must be muscle weight.
7. My socks are heavy
8. I’m going to start my period
9. I’m retaining water
10. I just had a baby. (20 months ago…)
11. I’m breastfeeding. At least 2 lbs of that is milk. (Ok, I can’t use this one anymore, but I have!)
12. I’ve been sick
13. It’s Girl Scout cookie season
14. Batteries are low in the scale.
15. It’s humid. (The air is heavy, not me.)
16. I had dental work this week and I could only eat ice cream. Totally not my fault.
17. I’m on my period
18. I’m dehydrated
19. I haven’t pooped yet
20. I ate a big breakfast
21. I went out to dinner last night
22. I drank too much water
23. Steak was on sale at the grocery store
24. My floor is uneven and it throws off the scale.
25. It’s April 1st and even my scale’s in on the jokes

This post originally appeared at Mom of the Year. For a less serious look at the world of parenting meet Meredith.

22 Lies My Kids Tell

Did you see this gem last week from HuffPost Parents on white lies we tell our kids? Guilty as charged. Primarily we say them with good intentions -- to avoid a meltdown or maybe to have a moment of parental peace. But while I'm guilty of a fib here and there for my own sanity, my lies pale in comparison to the whoppers that come out of my children. Here are some of my favorites.

1. I washed my hands. With soap.
2. It was an accident.
3. He hit me ON PURPOSE.
4. I saw my brother drop my car behind the 150 lb bunk beds. *Cue 20 minute search and vacuuming underneath the bed.*
5. It was a joke. *Obviously*
6. I went to the bathroom. *Does potty dance*
7. I was being VERY gentle.
8. I cleaned everything up.
9. I brushed every tooth and I used toothpaste!
10. I don't know what happened.
11. I'm not whining. *Said in whiniest voice ever.*
12. I don't like pasta.
13. I'm not hungry! *Cue hangry meltdown in 3, 2, 1*
14. I didn't have a cupcake. *Licks frosting off face*
15. This is what I want to eat. No, seriously. THIS is what I want to eat. *Takes one bite*
16. I want to go on the giant Ferris wheel! I won't be scared. I promise.
17. It wasn't me.
18. I'd rather watch TV before bed than read books.
19. I do not have poop in my pants. *Entire room drops dead from smell wafting from diaper*
20. I napped.
21. I AM getting dressed. *Fast forward 20 minutes. Still wearing pajamas*
22. I'll be good. *Crosses fingers behind back*

Tell me I'm not the only one with little fibbers on my hands. Post your favorite #liesmykidstell to Twitter!

The Suburban Dictionary

I cannot tell you how often I am left without words to describe the chaos that occurs in my house. Sometimes it feels like the world is moving in slow motion around me and I think "This is so outrageous, I COULD NOT make this up!" And so, I've carefully created an arsenal of words that help me articulate the indescribable moments of parenthood.

Baubleholic - a kid with an affinity for cheap toys commonly found in party favor bags, the treasure box at the doctor's office, Happy Meals, etc. Can also apply to pieces of broken toys. (Why do they want to keep broken shards of toys???? WHY?)

Booty Call - The holler from the bathroom that informs you someone needs to be wiped.

Buellered - When your kid fakes illness. Named after the king of invented ailments, Mr. Ferris Bueller.

Buzz - A handy code word for fart. Kids have an addiction to bodily functions and sometimes you need a slightly more discrete way to discuss them. For example, Is someone buzzing in here or does someone need a change? 

Circle of Turdom - when your children alternate their foul behavior, never giving you a break from their incivility.

Coffee - Liquid happiness providing parents the strength, patience and will to carry on.

Cryfecta - When everyone is crying but you. Coined by the classy Doyin at Daddy Doin' Work after surviving one.

Elbow Missiles - The secret game children play where they elbow you wherever it will hurt the most. Neither children, nor adults are aware of their active participation in the game until someone takes an elbow to the eyeball, nose, rib cage or the family jewels.

Hangry - A combination of hunger and anger that is a powerful force to be reckoned with, especially in children.

Hot Dog Party – When your child wakes up in the middle of the night and starts bouncing around like they are supposed to be awake at that ungodly hour. Or when you attempt to put them to bed and they suffer from a sudden surge in energy. Coined by the Pigeon from Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late, who'd rather have a hot dog party than go to sleep.

Legoed - When the kids leave out their toys (with Legos being the worst offender) for painful late night encounters.

Meltdown-ageddon - The mother of all meltdowns. Usually occurs in children and is closely related to hanger. Can also rear it's ugly head in parents when denied coffee or sleep.

Mama-shed-a-saurus - That unfortunate period of time about 3 months after your baby is born when your hair starts falling out in clumps and you become a walking, hairy dinosaur.

Mortifend - Your kid's ability to both mortify you and offend others with a single comment. Like shouting "Are you peeing out your butt?!" in a crowded bathroom. On the bright side, this effect happens in reverse when they are teenagers.

New Mom (or Dad) Smell - A nice way of saying you smell like sour milk, formula and as if you haven't showered in days.

Peek-a-boob - whether you are breastfeeding or not, kids have an incredible ability to grab your shirt in just the right place offering anyone around you an impromptu peep show.

Poonami - A wave of poop, usually overflowing from the back of a diaper.

Scurf - the sticky, food encrusted, booger infested grime small hands leave on every surface

Scrump - The crumbs or remnants of food left in the bottom of the bag. Originally used to describe the fried chunks of batter from the bottom of the KFC bucket, but expanded to include the last remaining nibbles of any food. Commonly used to describe the crushed goldfish and other sketchy items from the bottom of your purse.

Shuzz - More than just a fart. (Shuzz happens people. I know. I do the laundry around here.)

Threenager - There's all this talk about the terrible two's but three is really when the attitude starts. This is when they develop a serious affinity for looking you right in the eye and doing exactly what you told them not to.

ToyNado - a whirlwind of toys covering every imaginable surface that makes you want to get out a couple of trash bags and purge.

Whammer -When it's not just whining, it's non-stop whining, crying and yelling. Loud and sustained high pitched complaining. Can be used both as a verb and a noun. Examples: The kids have been whammering about going to the beach ALL DAY. Also,  I do not want to hear another whammer escape your lips.  

I know you all must have some words you've invented too. Share them in the comments and I'll post a version 2.0!

Occam's Razor: The Rule of Husbands

If I had a nickel for every time I got in an argument over something ridiculous with my husband we'd be filthy, stinking rich. But since they don't hand out nickels for bickering, I've been trying to find a more harmonious way to coexist with my husband. It's taken me years to develop this little gem of marital wisdom, so try not to laugh at its simplicity. We'll start with a little example:

I'm counting down the minutes until my husband gets home because it has been a long day with all these monkeys hanging off me and I can't wait for a break. The hour in which my husband usually arrives comes and goes with no husband in sight. So I make a mental list of reasons he's not home yet.

1. He stopped by the store to buy me flowers on the way home because he knows that I've had an exceptionally difficult day. 

2. He stopped for take out so I don't have to cook tonight.

3. He got caught up in a few final things at work or his train was delayed and he's running late.

4. He's bringing home a surprise house guest! Maybe my sister or my bestie who both live in the city where he works.

The most expensive flowers my husband has ever purchased.
They are from the bush in our front yard. 

Tell me I'm not the only one who comes up with romantic reasons my husband is not home yet. Anyone? I mean don't get me wrong, he can be a very romantic guy, but with three kids, a dog and a fixer upper house, our idea of a romantic evening these days is putting Business Time on the calendar and then going to bed at 9:00 pm. Sure, it's possible that he's got some sort of elaborate plan in the works, but is it likely? Nope. Am I smart enough to know this after 8 years of marriage? You'd think so. To make matters worse, once I've concocted all these romantic plans only to have my bubble burst, I am actually disappointed. I set unrealistic expectations for my husband, and then when he failed to meet them, I was crushed. So when my husband finally walks through the door instead of being happy he's home, I'm disappointed.

Now in the heat of the moment, all this makes perfect sense, but as I type this out it seems so absurd. And believe it or not scenarios like this have resulted in arguments or just general dissatisfaction with my life. Why? Because my husband did not read my mind and bring me flowers?  And so after binge watching the geeky Sci-Fi show Eureka a few years ago where the concept of Occam's Razor comes up repeatedly, I developed the Rule of Husbands.  

The principle of Occam's Razor is "when you have two or more competing theories that make exactly the same predictions, the simpler one is the better." When applied to husbands it's just "the simplest or most obvious explanation for your husband's behavior is usually the right one." Back to my earlier scenario about "why is my husband late?" He's not buying me flowers. He's not picking up take out. He's just running late. It's the simplest, most obvious answer.

This rule comes in so handy when you are sleep deprived, upset, perhaps a little hormonal or when a sensitive subject comes up.

Did he leave the minivan on empty because he's mad at me? Or did he just forget?
Did he leave these dirty socks next to the bed to annoy me? Or was he just in a rush to get out the door this morning?
Did he forget that it's his turn to get up with the baby or is he just so sound asleep he can't hear her?

Maybe I'm the only crazy lady who thinks like this. If I am, feel free to let me know in the comments and I'll go crawl in in a hole of embarrassment. But the next time your husband does something that leaves you wondering "What was he thinking?" let the Rule of Husbands be your guide. 

Eating Humble Pie

Parenting is a tricky beast. I've only been at this gig for five years, but every time I think I have a handle on it, something unexpected happens and completely knocks me off my parenting pedestal. It’s rather humbling. My sister-in-law calls this the “I've got this” moment. That moment when you think you've mastered a parenting skill or successfully taught your child something useful. Without fail, immediately after you have claimed yourself victorious, the world will come crumbling down around you. It has happened to me enough times that I have become wary of calling any parenting endeavor a success, but when I‘m stupid enough to ever think “I've got this,” I’m always surprised to find myself flat on my back at square one wondering what happened. I've found that the only way to survive this vicious cycle of successes and failures we call parenting is to find the humor in it. To ensure I never get too caught up in my parenting victory dance, I present to you my favorite moments where I had the pleasure of eating humble (parenting) pie.

1. If you haven’t heard about it yet, the rumors are true. Eventually, your child will sleep through the night. Really. When my oldest turned one, it happened to me. It happened again when my youngest was about 11 months old. From time to time, they catch a cold or get some new teeth and I have to get up again. These things happen. But at some point, sleeping through the night became the rule, not the exception. Slowly the zombie looking back in the mirror every morning faded into a girl I once knew. For just a moment I took my sleeping for granted. And that night, at exactly midnight, we woke up to the sound of the stereo blaring in the living room. We were panicked that there was an intruder and rushed out to make sure everything was ok. Apparently, my son had accidentally set the alarm on the stereo. Naturally, he slept through the entire thing.

2. Coffee. It makes my world go ‘round. I was preparing to return to reality after a long stay-cation over the holidays. I knew my husband’s first day back to work would be rough for everyone so I prepped the coffee the night before so all I had to do was (bribe one of the children to) push the button. The next morning I poured my first glorious cup, effortlessly. I turned around to tend to something (I have no idea what could have been more important than coffee) and my 18 month old reached up to the kitchen counter and exploded my coffee everywhere. I didn’t even know he could reach that high! So much for being prepared.

3. It was liberating when my son started feeding himself. I could do the dishes, or make myself a cup of coffee while he happily shoveled oatmeal into his own mouth. Ah, the taste of freedom. One morning I caught him eating his breakfast with his hands, practically bathing himself in oatmeal. I scolded him and told him he needed to eat with his spoon. He scooped up a big spoonful, plopped the oatmeal into his palm and licked it off. I guess technically he used his spoon.

4. Those of you who have a boy know that diaper changes can be touch and go. You have to be lightning fast because you never know when your son’s going to go “old faithful” on you and treat you to your first shower in days. When my oldest was just a few months old, he got me TWICE in one morning. Being the amateur that I was, I assumed that there was a one in a million chance that lightning would strike more than TWICE in one day. I foolishly headed out for a little shopping with my bestie and when I was changing him in the car he got me a THIRD time. I wept a little for my car upholstery and then soldiered on.  The real pièce de résistance was when we returned home and he peed into a basket of clean, folded laundry, three feet from the changing table. You’ve got to admit, the kid has style.

5. After 2 ½ weeks of bribing my son to do the deed on the potty, he got down from his seat at the breakfast table and completed his business without any prompting from me. I was jazzed. I thought I could officially call my son potty trained. I knew there would be accidents from time to time going forward, but I thought it had finally clicked for him. I awarded him his prize for using the potty and got him ready for preschool. Once both boys were ready, I took a few minutes to put myself together and gulp down my coffee as I basked in my potty training success. And then it happened. Five minutes before we needed to walk out the door number two #2 arrived. In his pants.

In the end, I’m a little wiser and a little more cautious. I know that the moment I start to strut towards the parenting pedestal, I’ll find my humble pie waiting for me.  

Parenting Truths

Over the last few years of raising my boys I've learned that Murphy’s Law rings particularly true for parents. In fact, parenting has turned me into a borderline lunatic who irrationally fears that flushing a toilet on the other side of the house will wake my sleeping children. I swear that you could run a jackhammer outside the kids’ window and they won’t even bat an eye, but if you sneeze on the opposite side of the house, they will most certainly wake up. Children DEFY ALL LOGIC. And with this in mind I decided that Murphy’s Law needed an addendum for parenting.

Some parenting truths based on Murphy’s Law of Parenting.

• If you absolutely cannot be late, a child will urgently need to poop the minute everyone is buckled in the car.
• If you skip any portion of the bedtime routine or attempt to rush it in any way, the process will take 3x longer than usual.
• If you score an uninterrupted shower, whatever kept the children from harassing you will be extremely messy and you will emerge from the cleanup as if you hadn’t showered in days.
• If you attempt to take a nap when the children are napping, some idiot will ring the doorbell and they won’t even be selling Girl Scout Cookies. If you’re lucky, the dog will bark and wake up the whole house.
• If you put up a gigantic neon NO SOLICITING sign that’s visible from space, someone will knock on your door anyway. They won’t be selling Girl Scout Cookies either.
• If you are out of milk, toilet paper and bread, a child will wake up vomiting at 3am and thwart any attempts to go to the grocery store.
• If someone compliments you on your well-behaved children, they will act like turds until they wipe the smug off your face.
• If you schedule a date night two weeks in advance, one child will have a fever of 101.4 and the other will decide that bedtime no longer applies to him.
• The phrase “getting lucky” will mean that bedtime took less than two hours and you can go to bed early.
• If you have 4 hours before you need to leave for the zoo, three hours will be spent drinking coffee and lollygagging on the internet, and the last hour will be spent as a crazed headless chicken searching for a left shoe.

Am I alone in this? Or do the most ridiculous things happen to other parents too? Share your parenting truths in the comments!

My Life by the Numbers

9 the number of times we listened to Life's a Happy Song.

1 the number of bad dreams that woke us up last night.
2 the number of cups of coffee I've had today.
1 the number of cats the dog chased through the neighborhood.
11 number of times I hollered for her as I chased her around.

57 number of pushes I gave my son on the swing 

81 the temperature at my house this afternoon.
13 the number of pounds I've lost since my daughter was born.
16 the number of pounds I have to go.
15 the number of adorable, chubby little baby rolls my daughter has.
0 number of my chubby little rolls that are adorable.

10 the number of pounds both my sons were at birth.
3 number of times my son touched my couch with his greasy hands. Also the number of times I asked him to wash them. 
5 the number of minutes he spent in timeout.
6 the number of kisses he had to give me to make it better.
12 the number of my son's favorite episode of Tumble Leaf.
19 the page that his favorite story starts on in his favorite book.
0 the number of date nights my husband and I have been on in the last 5 months.
4 number of unauthorized purchases my hubby made on amazon including an infrared temperature gun that he needed to "see how hot my ass is."
11 number of chuckles I got over my husband's jokes about my butt.
16 the number of dollars for said infrared gun.
157 number of minutes until my hubby comes home.

129 the number of times I'll check to see if he's home between now and then.

17 the number of reasons I'm ready for the weekend.

Mom and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

We are big fans of the classic Alexander books by Judith Viorst so whenever we have a have bad day, we frequently threaten to move to Australia. But last Monday was the bad day to beat all bad days. I mean, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. It was truly a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. And the only way to come out on top after a day like that is to laugh it off. Hope you get a little chuckle too.

Mom and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

The toddler woke up at 4:40am because his molars were hurting him and while I was trying to get him to go back to sleep, the preschooler woke up, pooped and “wiped” himself. We were down to the last roll of toilet paper and the last pair of clean underwear and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast, the toddler threw his plate on the floor because he was still hungry. The preschooler screamed at the toddler at the top of his lungs because “WE DON”T THROW THINGS IN THIS HOUSE” and by the time I came back from the freezing cold where I was cleaning up the dog’s business everyone was screaming, even the dog.

I think I’ll move to Australia.

We were late for preschool because everyone forgot how to get dressed, the dog had separation anxiety and there was no food in the house to pack in the preschooler’s lunch. I didn’t even have time for coffee. Who needs coffee?

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At the grocery store, the toddler attempted to dive from the cart repeatedly. All the lines were long and we had to go through the self-checkout. While I was yelling at the register over an alleged “unauthorized item in the bagging area,” the toddler ate the cardboard macaroni and cheese box. After we left, I realized I forgot to buy bread. And toilet paper.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I could tell because the toddler took a ten minute car nap on the way home from the store and the dog was ON the dining room table when we got back.

The preschooler refused to eat half his lunch and then insisted that he was starving when it was time for naps. The toddler would only eat MY lunch.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

That’s what it was because when I went to the dentist, he said my incision was healing nicely, but when I got home it opened up and started spraying blood all over the kitchen. After the third time it opened up, I rushed back to the office only to find it was closed. I called the dentist at home and he told me to come in tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I’m going to Australia.

At bedtime, the toddler’s pajamas were two sizes too small and he stood in his bed alternating between singing and yelling for almost an hour. The preschooler made his father ask him seven times to pick up the cars when it was time to read books. By the time they were both asleep, the dog had fumigated my bedroom with her macaroni and cheese farts.

The dinner dishes are still piled up in the sink because my brain is melted like double-decker strawberry ice cream cone on a hot day.  It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. My husband says some days are like that. Even in Australia.

Inspired by the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Judith Viorst. If you’ve never read her Alexander series, check them out at your local library!

This post originally appeared at Mom of the Year. For a less serious look at the world of parenting, meet Meredith.

He Said, I Heard: Hangers

Occasionally, we have miscommunications in our house. Often this happens when my husband says something and I interpret it as something slightly different.

He said: Since you are using 90% of the dresser, MY clothes get priority in the closet. If we are low on hangers, MY clothes need to get hung up first because I don't have anywhere else to put them.

I heard: You should go to Target and pick up some new hangers. While you are at it, you should buy yourself some new makeup, splurge on some home décor, and maybe a new dress or two. If you are getting more hangers, might as well get some new clothes to put on them!

Practically the same thing, right?

Shut the Front Door! The Helpful Guide to Cursing like a Mother

My parents were quite the parenting duo.  In the BC days (before children), they worked hard and played harder.  Their friends dubbed them “Wild Man” and “Crazy Lady” (clearly a match made in heaven).  My childhood was full of stories about camping trips to the river and late night fire dances.

They married young and started a family long before most of their friends, so I imagine moving into the parenting world was a big transition, but they turned out to be the most amazing, wonderful and supportive parents a girl could ask for (meeting them, you’d never guess their sordid past).  Yet, like any new parents they had a few bumps along the way…

My mother has told me this story a thousand times.  Probably because the story is about how she was right, and women in my family like to be right.  My father, who stayed at home with me for the first year of my life, liked to describe my dirty diapers with a four letter word that was not poop, turd, or crap.  As he changed me, he would exclaim in a sing-songy voice, “Oh! You spit! Spit, spit, spit, spit!!” My mother warned him time and time again that I was absorbing every word he said and that soon I’d be repeating those words.

She was right.  We were in the car on the way to get some new shoes with my grandmother.  And there I was kicking my little feet in the backseat singing “Spit, spit, spit, spit!”  My mother, mortified by the words coming out of my mouth in front of her MIL, said, “That’s right, Alisa! We are going to get shoes! Shoes, shoes, shoes!” Fortunately, my mother is a very wily woman and my grandmother was none-the-wiser. (A few years ago, my mother confessed and we all had a good laugh about it, especially my grandmother.)

I gave up my share of bad habits since having children, but cursing is one I’ve had more difficulty kicking to the curb.  I’ve learned that this is an important time in motherhood for creativity to come into play.  For those of you who share this vice with me, here is a list of some “alternates” that I’ve come up with…use them, and hopefully, you won’t get into too much trouble when you mother-in-law hears your kiddos repeating them??

The Holies
Holy Mole!
Holy Guacamole!
Holy smokes!
Holy cow!
Holy Cheese balls!
What in the name of Holy Guacamole are you doing with your brother’s underwear on your head!?

Mother, Brother, Son of a…
Son of a monkey
Son of a gun
Mother of Pearl
Mother fruiter
Mother loving
Oh, brother!
Can I just get a mother fruiting minute to put my pants on?!

Old School
(Many of these are gems I remember my grandfather saying. Even at 80+ years old he can still curse you off his front lawn.)
Criminy!
Crikey
Dagnabbit
Dog-gone-it
Baloney!
Phooey
Jiminy Cricket
Oh, that is just baloney, Mr. Fancy Pants!

The Big Guns
Fluffernutter
Bull Pucky
Flying McFudgepants (Now that is just fun to say!)
Ever loving
Shut the front door!
Oh, For Pete’s Sake!
What on Earth?
You scared the mother loving cheese balls out of me!

Top Five Mashups
Holy flying fudgecicles!
Mother loving McFluffernutter!
Shut the ever loving front door!
Son of a flying Mother Fruiter!
Holy smoking bull pucky!

They key?  In the heat of the moment it can be hard to keep it all kid-friendly, so practice, practice, practice!  Let those “Baloney!”s and “Flying McFudgepants!” roll off your tongue on repeat to get those gems ingrained.

And take a minute to let us know some of your own fav faux curse words.  Never hurts to have a few extra on standby

This post was originally featured at Mom of the Year. For a less serious look at the world of parenting, meet Meredith. 

The Art of the Selfie

The Art of the Selfie

I have never been a popular girl. Not to say I’m not likeable, but I’m not exactly fashionable. (In fact, my little sister has been dressing me since I was in high school and still is.) In addition to my fashion ineptitude, I have very little interest in what (or who) celebrities are doing, what the best reality show is or anything else about popular cultural. College was probably the highlight of my trendy days; I ran with the hipster crowd, danced at underground clubs and listened to obscure bands that most people didn’t even know existed yet. I had an extremely cool boyfriend (who turned out to be gay which probably explains a. why he was so cool and b. why he was dating me.)

Now that I have entered the bubble of motherhood, I have even less time for TV, lollygagging on the internet, figuring out what to wear, or even the news. (Let’s face it, when you are forced to become an expert in sleep training, diaper changing and researching the latest kid shows that aren’t so obnoxious you want to throw up, (Ahem, Yo Gabba Gabba) it is hard enough just to find time to bathe and dress yourself, much less worry about what’s trendy.) Thankfully, my husband keeps me abreast of the popular memes and what’s going on in the news so that I can make conversation with the other moms at the park. But as my children get older, I realize more and more that I have to keep up - at least with what’s trending on the internet. First and foremost, to protect my children from the big, bad evils of the internet world, and second to ensure I am not so utterly embarrassing that my children refuse to associate with me through their adolescence. With that in mind, I’m on Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram and even Snapchat. (Though I really don’t understand the hype about Snapchat. The pictures are poor quality, there are plenty of alternative formats to share pictures on and the only kind of pictures I can think of that you would want to only last for 10 seconds are the kind that get Anthony Wiener in trouble.)

I digress. Now, given my lack of trendy mom credentials, you might think that selfies would not be my forte. (For those new moms who have been stuck in the blur of sleepless nights and poopy diapers, a selfie is usually a camera phone self portrait.) On the contrary, I was born for the selfie. I’ve had a knack for finding the spotlight and hamming it up since birth, which is what earned me the nickname “Hambone” as a kid. So without further ado, The Art of the Selfie:

Do look away from the camera in a thoughtful manner.

Don't do the duck face. Just don't.

Don't try to make a kissy face. It looks like a duck face.

Do send the sultry ones to your hubby.

Don't turn on the flash. If you do, see my friend Meredith over at Mom of the Year to see how long the temporary blindness lasts.

Do use natural light. Don't sit in front of your bay window trying to catch the last of the natural light at dusk. Your neighbors will think you are a weirdo.

Do take your picture from an interesting angle that makes you look more flattering. (I think this one makes me look deceptively skinny. Yes!) 

Do use props. Or just drink beer because it's good.

Do take them after your kids go to bed and you've had a few drinks with your husband. Don't post these ones on the internet.

Do beware of what’s in the background of your picture. I have a couple of little photo bombers in my house. How about you?

 This post was originally featured at Mom of the Year. For a less serious look at the world of parenting, meet Meredith. 

How to take a day off

Being a mother is a tough gig. Especially to very young children who show their appreciation for all your love, affection and hard work by throwing themselves on the floor screaming in the middle of the grocery store or smearing peanut butter and jelly on the one clean thing you had to wear to the pediatrician’s office. Frequently, I work hard to keep them happy all day, clean up after them in the evening, only to worry about them when I try to sleep at night. Do I have anything to pack for lunch tomorrow? It’s 2am and no one has cried for me. Are they still breathing!? (Followed by mini panic attack, checking frantically to ensure that they are indeed breathing, peeing, debating on whether or not flushing will wake someone, tripping over the dirty laundry on the way back to bed, putting that on my mental to do list for tomorrow, then wishing I hadn’t thought about my to do list because it is so, so long.)

Thankfully, I have a husband who is a STELLAR father; he works hard all day crunching numbers as a financial analyst and then plays hard with the kids when he comes home. He notices when my eye starts twitching because I just cannot hear the words “MINE” or “NOOOO!!” one more time and he takes the kids outside so I can cook dinner in peace. He knows that I eat, sleep and breathe children all day and when I don’t get enough of a break MEAN MOMMY comes out. (Imagine the Hulk with PMS. That’s Mean Mommy.) I’m a lucky girl to have a husband who gives me a break as often as he can, and sometimes without me having to ask.

But sometimes, on a Saturday afternoon, my awesome husband goes to fix a seemingly minor leak under the kitchen sink and discovers that a whole wall has to come out of the kitchen because the studs have completely rotted out. This spurs an impromptu DIY kitchen remodel that looks like something out of the movie “The Money Pit” and involves my poor husband spending every evening and weekend working on our kitchen for SIX MONTHS. (I know, I know. He’s smart AND handy. Did I mention he’s handsome too? Ok, I’ll stop now.) As you might imagine, constant kitchen construction + my utter ineptitude at anything involving tools + husband unable to breastfeed our seven month old = Mean Mommy on constant childcare duty.

For someone who was a social worker in a previous life, I suck at self care. My kids’ needs come first, my husband gets sloppy seconds and I get anything that is leftover, which most of the time is nada. But my husband’s sudden inability to give me a break forced me to make time for ME. It was hard. It made me feel selfish; when I felt better after having some alone time, I felt guilty about what I should have been doing and wasn’t. (Like how I should be doing dishes right now and planning dinner instead of writing. Whoops.) But I also realized that taking time for me made me a happier, more patient mom. It meant that the time I spent with my kids was quality time instead of just a countdown until bedtime. It meant that I was better at recognizing when Mean Mommy was about to rear her ugly head and I could do something about it before she snapped at the kids. I had to come to terms with the fact that I was not the super mom I wanted to be, and that even the wonderful and glorious job of raising beautiful human beings is no fun when you do it non-stop.

 So how, you ask, do you take a day off amidst of the chaos of being a stay at home mom to a then seven month old and a two year old with no wall or sink in your kitchen?

Step 1: Take your to do list for the day and stuff it under the couch. Whatever is on there can wait. Accept that you are going to work harder on another day to make up for your lack of productivity today. The good news is you might actually have more stamina tomorrow after having a break!

Step 2: Put your most comfortable pair of yoga pants and a baggy t-shirt. Shower and bra are completely optional. If your ladies hang low and wobble to and fro, you might just want a little extra support. Your choice. When it comes to the shower, personally I like to save mine until the small humans are napping so it is long, luxurious and (hopefully) uninterrupted.

Step 3: Turn on the TV. Break out the iPad. Bring on the video games. I know. I know. You are starting to feel that all too familiar pang of guilt. Maybe you are starting to visualize your child’s brain melting like a crayon in your minivan on a hot summer’s day. Just remember that 364 days a year you rock your mom job. (Ok, maybe 345. Nobody’s perfect.) One day won’t kill ‘em. You may actually be surprised by how quickly they lose interest in the TV. Also try turning on some music. My kids can shake their groove thing for a surprisingly long time.

Step 4: Whip out your industrial sized box of goldfish. Place it on the coffee table and inform the children they can help themselves. For smaller folks, just pour about ½ the box directly onto the coffee table. For lunch, try peanut butter and jelly or cereal.  Whatever you don’t normally let them eat because you are a super mom, bring it on. The point is, feed them something that makes them happy. If you spend most of your days hiding carrots in your kid’s mac n’ cheese (guilty) or cheering your kid through every mother loving bite of vegetables until you open a bottle of wine so you can stop banging your head on the dinner table (ahem, GUILTY) then, take a break today. I’m not saying you should stop fighting the good fight over vegetables or chicken or just refusing to eat anything but cheese. I’m saying WAY TO GO. Way to fight the good fight. You’ve done SO well, that taking the day off today is not going to ruin it.

Step 5: If you build it, they will come. Gather together all of your cardboard boxes. (We constantly have stacks of empty diaper boxes and Amazon boxes hanging around our house.) Build a tower and let them knock it down. Add a sheet and build a fort. This is hours of fun.

Step 6: When the natives get restless, break out something new. Cars, legos, play doh. (Um, are Barbies still cool? I don’t know. I’ve forgotten what it is like to be girly since I live with three boys. Our house is like a mini testosterone fueled fart capsule. If you have girls, I’m sure you know what to do. Break out the glitter if you have to.) Basically, if it makes messes, it’s awesome. Repeat.

Step 7: Once your children are happily engaged, sit down on the couch with a nice (hot!) cup of coffee and enjoy a little bit of time for YOU. Call a friend you haven’t talked to in ages. Read a book. Pop your headphones in and watch your favorite TV show on your laptop.

The bottom line is we spend most of our waking moments doing our absolute best to be great mothers.  IT. IS. EXHAUSTING. We deserve a day off. Give yourself permission to relax. You may even surprise yourself when you find you have a little spring in your step tomorrow morning. Trust me, those dishes in the sink will still be there. (Or of you are really lucky, your husband will do you a solid and load the dishwasher for you. Now that is a win, win!) Besides, if you are doing your very best most of the time, one day of mediocre parenting won’t leave any lasting damage. And if it does, there’s always therapy. 

This post was originally featured at Mom of the Year. For a less serious look at the world of parenting, meet Meredith.