A Sanctuary Bought for a Song

When my husband and I first moved in together we had absolutely no furniture. Not even a bed. After we moved into our apartment, we took our U-Haul over to Ikea and picked up the cheapest bed and couch we possibly could. That night, we came home and assembled Ikea furniture until midnight just so we’d have a place to rest our weary bones after moving all day. Almost eight years, another apartment, two babies and a fixer upper house later, we were still sleeping on our full size Ikea bed. That’s right people. I said FULL SIZE bed. We’ve wanted to upgrade for a while, but that costs money and I can think of a hundred things I’d like to drop a wad of cash on other than a bed. (Do you know how many bottles of wine you can get for that kind of money? I digress…)

As fate would have it, my parents decided to upgrade their bed and offered to give us (and deliver!) their old Tempur-Pedic California King. How could I refuse an offer to have my bed and drink my wine too? In anticipation of our exciting new bed (and by new, I mean 10 year old hand-me-down, but those Tempur-Pedics are good for a lifetime, right?) I started shopping for bedding. Though I might not want to spend a truckload of money on actual bed, I love buying linens. I love a reason to browse the Pottery Barn website even if I’ll never buy anything because their prices make me cry. I could wander through Target looking at home goods for hours because it’s my happy place. I browsed to my little heart’s content until found a duvet from Overstock that made me swoon.

I wanted something that was bright and colorful. (Read, hides stains well.)

I wanted something that incorporated the crazy green dresser we bought off craigslist and painted when we still had time for labors of love that weren’t our children.

And I wanted some new colors, because as much as I love that green dresser, I’m ready for something new and I needed a palette that would match the old me AND inspire the new me.

This set was everything I wanted until I saw the price. $99.00 for a duvet, shams (that will never get used because we hate taking them on and off) and three throw pillows. Don’t get me wrong, I like pretty pillows, but I’m a practical girl. I don’t even make my bed half of the time because I’m just going to get right back in it. Preferably sooner rather than later. The bottom line was that I wasn’t willing to cough up almost $100 for just a duvet, even if it made me swoon.

So I shopped on. I shopped all of my favorite places online and in store, dragging my boys through every linen shop in town. Even my beloved Target didn’t have anything that satisfied both the dreamer and the penny pincher. Becoming desperate, I started looking into sewing my own duvet, but when all was said and done it was still going to cost me around $60. At one point, I seriously considered turning a shower curtain into a duvet because I thought it might be more cost efficient!

And then I stumbled on this at Wal-Mart.

Yep. That is EXACTLY the same duvet set I found on Overstock for almost $40 less. It’s a good thing I took a screenshot of this price, because Wal-Mart has recently increased the price to $109! Since I could barely make a duvet for that price, I ordered it. And then I promptly spent all my savings on some king size pillows.

Did you notice the absurd number of pillows on my bed after I mentioned how unnecessary decorative pillows are? I may have purchased NINE pillows this week. And by may I mean I totally did. Don’t judge. In the end I was pretty satisfied with the overall cost of my makeover, including the pillow binge. Here’s the breakdown:

Duvet Set: $66 (One duvet, two king shams and three throw pillows)

Pillows: $52 (Four king size and two standard)

Sheets: $57 (I picked up two sets of 300 thread count sheets, one from Anna’s Linens ($32) and another from Bed, Bath and Beyond ($25)on super clearance with a 20% off coupon. )

Total cost for my bedding makeover: $175

Could I have gotten a better deal? Probably. Could I be happier? Nope. I read once that your master bedroom should be a sanctuary, an oasis if you will. A place where you can escape your children and pretend like you still have an adult life. Though I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it feels like an oasis in here, I can say that it feels as if grown-ups live here and not just a bunch of monkeys who like to jump on the bed.

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

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.

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.

Pottery Barn Art on the Cheap

I'm embarrassed to admit that we've lived in our house for over two years now and there are still rooms with bare walls. I've been attempting to remedy this for quite a while now, but my lack of skills in this department continues to defeat me. Naturally, I can't avoid those bare walls forever, so I recently started browsing the Pottery Barn website looking for art inspiration. I can't afford anything from the Pottery Barn, but a girl can dream, right? But during my online window shopping I came across the mother load. The secret to 90% off Pottery Barn prices is here!

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. 

Have you met Meredith?

You may have noticed that some of my posts originally appeared at Mom of the Year, and you may be wondering why I'm always hanging out over there. Well, for one, have you met Meredith? I mean, she's charming, witty, sharp as a tack, and surprisingly down to Earth for being a blogging celebrity. She's practically royalty, people. Obviously, I have one hundred reasons to want to hang out at her place.

But in addition to my girl crush on Meredith, she gave me a chance to write for her blog before I decided to create Mondays Are Forever. On a particularly average afternoon when I was in need of a good chuckle, Meredith posted a hilarious selfie on her Facebook page that made me snort. On a whim, I posted an equally ridiculous selfie back and a few email exchanges later, The Art of the Selfie debuted at Mom of the Year. I continued to blog regularly for Meredith until I left the safety of her nest and went into the world as a fledgling blogger. Meredith continues to point me in the right direction and I am forever indebted to her for her endless encouragement and support.

So if you have a moment to jump over to Mom of the Year, for a less serious look at the world of parenting, you won't regret it. Trust me. You guys are going to be great friends.  

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. 

The Soundtrack of Parenthood

Music is the soundtrack of our lives. - Dick Clark.



Source

I love music. It flows through my veins like coffee and rejuvenates my soul. One good song on the radio can turn around my whole day. (Yes, I actually still listen to the radio in the car. After getting everyone locked and loaded in their car seats, it feels like so much effort to queue up Pandora for a 15 minute drive to preschool and I need something to drown out the insanity coming from the back seat.) If I can’t even put forth the effort to turn on Pandora in the car, you can imagine the amount of effort I put into seeking out up and coming bands. (Hint: zero effort.) So I’ve found myself listening to…Classics? Oldies? Anyway you put it I sound like I’m ancient. Let’s just call my music collection vintage. It’s like wine. It gets better with age.

So what might the vintage soundtrack of my life sound like, you ask? Currently, my life revolves around the exhilarating and yet exhausting task of taming my two little dare devils. We get up early, we eat, we play, we laugh, we destroy, we sit in timeout, we cry, we nap, we eat some more, we splash, we sleep and then we do it all over again. Lather, rinse, repeat. I eat sleep and breathe parenting. So naturally, the soundtrack of my life is about the madness, the chaos, the sleeplessness, of parenting. Put on your dancing shoes, ladies!

 I Wanna be Sedated – The Ramones

After surviving the dinner rush, the tsunami that is bath time, and then wrestling them into their jammies, I need a VERY big glass of wine.

Where is my Mind – The Pixies

No seriously. Where is my mind? Maybe with my keys?

Crazy Train – Ozzy Osbourne

All aboard! This one is particularly awesome played at maximum volume on the seventh hour of an eight hour car trip.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want - The Rolling Stones

The seventeenth time my son asks me why he can’t have candy for breakfast I usually just break into this song. One afternoon I caught him singing it to himself in his room. For about 30 seconds, I won at parenting.

It’s the End of the World as We Know it – REM

If you’ve ever had a toddler… you’d know that running out of goldfish is the end of the world as we know it. And pineapple with breakfast (even though you LOVE pineapple.) And watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse when you NEED Thomas the Train.

Don’t Stop Believing – Journey

This is such a feel good power ballad. Your child will eat their vegetables without protest one day. Just don’t stop believing my friend.

We’re not Gonna Take it – Twisted Sister

Sometimes parents just have to make a stand. GO. TO. SLEEP.

No Sleep ‘til Brooklyn – Beastie Boys

Sometimes children make a stand. And there’s no sleep ‘til Brooklyn.

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