Release Me, Opihi.

Kids come in all shapes, sizes and personalities. People with multiple kids may also experience a vast difference between their children in terms of personality traits and temperaments (say vast difference too fast and it sounds like vas deferens, which is a totally different subject. Ok. Ok. I'm getting totally off track here!)

I happen to be a parent with two kids that has one of each. One with a more calm nature and the other is...well...just not as calm. Don't get me wrong, I love them both to bits and smithereens. One just makes me question my sanity a little more than the other at this current stage in parenting game. Never a dull moment type of thing.

We've experienced some major life transitions in the last year. Their Dad and I went through a divorce. Correction- still going through one. We moved away from the only home they've ever known, and while we LOVE our new digs at the Blu Berry Bungalow, moving is still a major adjustment for little people. Well during all this chaos my little Gremmy Gremlin Leah decided to take a turn for the stage 5 clinger status and become absolutely obsessed with me. I'm not talking the oh I love my Mommy phase. It's more like when she looks at me I can hear her say IF YOU LEAVE ME I WILL FIND YOU! Quick! Name that movie!?

Well find me is just what she does. I can't move an inch without her noticing. It's like parental prison, the Pingul State Penitentiary. We started calling her Opihi. Opihi's are little mollusks that cling to sea rocks. I'm her sea rock in this scenario in case you were wondering. She's there when I pee. When I change. When I move into another room. When I breathe... It's not like she's just there lingering either, most of the time she is crying/screaming if some sort of me isn't physically attached to her. She screams like shes injured if im not in her sight. We even have to snuggle a certain way so that she can have as much of me intertwined with her as possible.

She is the Alcatraz of snuggles. There is no way out.

I've recently started looking at daycare options for her and went to tour one today. I had a feeling she wasn't going to be thrilled, but I didn't expect what went down this afternoon.

We walk into a room full of kids perfectly quiet and sitting still eating a snack of sauteed cabbage. It was like viewing a still painting of something you don't see often, or seeing pictures on Facebook of your friends kids being absolute angels while yours are off rubbing feces on the walls. (That doesn't actually happen in my house, but you catch my drift.) She seemed ok. My anxiety for how she will react fades somewhat and I start to wonder why I was so worried. The woman asks that I see how she will do with me leaving the room.

Leah's world pretty much ended at that moment. Screams. Stomps. Fake cries. HOLD ME MOM! NO PUT ME DOWN! COME OUTSIDE! COME INSIDE! THIS IS BORING HERE! LEEEEETTTTS GOOO! Then she randomly started screaming MY BUTT, MY BUTT!

I'm starting to sweat and we continue to tour anyways. I chew her out in my head while begging her to be good at the same time. Don't ruin this for Mommy sweetie, I need to work a little more and you REALLY need some friends. Please be good and then meltdown in the car later. Nothing seems to work so we finish our chat and head out. The kind woman says goodbye to Leah and Leah decides to roll her eyes and give her a very nice scowl.

As a parent, you can sometimes help explain a kids behavior. Oh, she had 18 fruit snacks today or she didn't nap. I was at a loss. Leah is a very smart little tyke and I know she needs some friends and a good structured setting, outside of the home. But hot damn! She got me today.

We get into the car and the tears instantly fade. She says "That was fun Mom, but I don't want friends." Then passed out within 30 seconds.

Fun?! For who kiddo?! I maybe cried, just for a second, because I got played. BIGTIME.

I got 18 new wrinkles today, I pitted out in my shirt and I thoroughly enjoyed a strawberry smash after the kids went to bed tonight. What is a strawberry smash you ask? It's really not that important, just know contains vodka. 

While I'm well aware that Leah will probably adjust fine once she gets comfortable, it doesn't make the process of getting there any easier. The only alternative is to wear one of those velcro bodysuits and have her hang on me all day while I pretend to work and be an average adult.

Respect Yo Motha'..... Or Your Baby Mama

So Mother's Day was this past weekend and I'm a Mom. GO ME!!!! I was told Happy Mother's Day by so many. Not just in slightly annoying group texts either, but personal messages and phone calls just to me from people I like having in my life. I was also well loved by my littles.

That was awesome.

I was able to spend the day with my Mom, Kids, and Sister as well.

That was awesome.

However for some reason the one person I wanted to hear from the most, said nothing. I'm actually really shocked that not hearing from my ex (but not ex yet) husband bothered me the way it did. Most of the time I don't want to hear from him, so maybe he knew that and was granting my wish? On second thought, probably not.

Can't lie....That wasn't all that awesome.

I don't really know why my feelings were hurt by his failure to say 3 simple words to the mother of his kids, but they were. Since we aren't exactly the best of friends these days I would've settled for a "I really wish you'd go kick rocks and I want to stomp on your hobbit feet with my cleats, but hey, Happy Mother's Day. Thanks for giving me our girls." Shoot maybe he was super busy with all his other commitments today and didn't have time? Which could be true, but we face-timed with our girls Sunday night and there wasn't even the SLIGHTEST mention, half smile, or nod tossed my way on this day set aside for us Moms. I know how thoughtful you can be, I used to be your wife. I don't expect any of that grade A thoughtfulness now, seeing we aren't a couple any longer. Just a simple thanks. I mean, it was me that pushed those precious girls out of my hoo-ha last time I checked. Last year I saw the nice things you did for the new person in your life and I'm sure it was a huge hit. You know what? That's great, keep being thoughtful. Don't worry, I did keep the card you had the kids write me on scrap paper. 

Throw me a friggin bone here dude.

I may not like you all that much but I wouldn't be able to celebrate this day as a parent, nor would you on yours, if we weren't in this together as a Mother and Father. I'm not asking you to dig back into your mind to happier times and get all sappy, telling me about all the wonderful things I do as a Mother. I'm not asking for diamonds, I have them. I'm not even asking for flowers, I can buy my own. I just wanted to hold onto the last shred of anything positive we could have together as we continue to raise our girls and that's respect for each other as parents, not as people. I promise I won't get the wrong idea if you were to tell me Happy Mother's Day or something of the like. You know what I would do? Say thank you. It will always mean the most coming from you because WE created life, twice. That connection between us and our girls can never go away, even if we wish the other person would.

I may be short, like really really short, but today I found that I stood tall. I stood tall because I have it in me to thank you for being a Dad to our girls. We don't get along, but I can set that aside to give ya a simple shout out. It's called separating. Grown ups have to do it often in life.

So I would like to take a minute and thank myself for being an awesome Mom! I would like to thank myself for being brave enough to step out on my own into the unknown in hopes for a better future for the girls and I. For not staying out of fear or uncertainty even though I knew it wasn't right. For making a change before I lost who I was as an individual and a parent. For finding 80 million reasons to love my kids everyday, even when I feel it's literally raining bird shit on my ginger locks. For being able to love my kids and be annoyed with them at the same time. For being able to admit my shortcomings and celebrate my parental wins. For having the strength to wipe my children's asses all the live long day. (Longest phase in parenting so far seems to be the wiping of the ass.) Most of all, for slowly realizing that even though I'm grateful for all the constant love and support I have from family and friends, I have to remember to give myself a pat on the back sometimes.

I know that as time goes on it will sting a little less if you never thank me on Mother's Day, or any day for that matter. I just hope that in time we go onward and upward with each other as parents vs down and out. I hope that even if we never find a way to get along (which I hope isn't the case) that we BOTH can show appreciation for each other as parents. Because at the end of the day, it shows our girls that even if we aren't together, together we love them.

So respect yo Motha'. Or in this case, your baby Mama.

The Grapes of Wrath...No Skins Edition.

Kids are the greatest. Being a parent is the truly the most rewarding thing on the planet. Each day I'm amazed by my daughters. To be able watch them learn, grow and adapt to life is really just flippin awesome. But then.....

Just as I'm lost in thought about how lovely being a parent is, (and it is) my 2.75 year old sashays out of the kitchen, turns around, puts her hand up signaling stop and asks for a bowl of grapes.... NO SKINS PLEASE. I like my grapes Mom, just get ridda da skins. EXIT. STAGE. LEFT.

What the EFFFFFF?!? I don't even know whats worse about this. The fact that she requests skinless grapes or the fact that I was on Mompilot, which is similar to autopilot, and almost skinned those lovely winemakers for her. The common sense stick suddenly slapped me and I just give her regular grapes because, well, it's a grape. She asks me why she can't have them skinned? I explain to her in my perfectly pitched parent voice that Mommy just doesn't have time to do that and she should just eat them.The skins are good for you and have magic in them that will make you a unicorn. While in my head I'm thinking- Where did this little diva come from? Skin my grapes. Kid please. Try wiping your own rear end, huh? I would actually love it if you could do that but we all know that won't happen. Mommy doesn't have time because she's knee deep in other ridiculousness like, well, pretty much anything besides that.

She then asks the oh so expected....."But why?"

Why?!? I just told you why tater tot. There will be no skinning of the grapes here. Ask me again and I will steal the title The Grapes of Wrath and write and entirely different book. One about a Mom that goes wackadoo after a lifetime of silly demands from her kids. (To be honest, I can't even recall what the original one was about, but I know  it wasn't about skinning grapes. I'd be in the clear regarding subject matter.)

I leave the diva to her bowl of grapes, skins on of course, and go about my chores. I come back into the room and few minutes later only to discover some sort of mass fruit murder. She had smashed all her grapes in an effort to remove the skins herself and completely mutilated them. So not only did she not have skinless grapes, she now had no grapes at all because she ravaged them to a pulp with her baby fingers. Maybe she was trying to make me some wine all along? I mean Mother's Day is right around the corner and it takes awhile to make wine.

What is it with kids and skins anyways? Well pretty much the outer layer of anything. Skins. Crusts. Their own clothing. They seem to be totally against it. Just as I catch myself zoning out and drifting off into random thoughts for a few minutes, which lets face it parents, sometimes a 5 minute space out is the equivalent to a nap for us, I decide it's probably best to clean up this mushy mess before it starts getting smeared everywhere. I'm sure she felt like she won and staged some sort of toddler takeover on the grape front. However, don't get it twisted kid, I won't be skinning grapes for you. Apple peels and bread crusts are the extent of my accommodations.

The next day while in the produce section at the store she says, "Oh look Mom, grapes!" I ever so casually breeze past them and in my head think.....

Thanks for reminding me to grab some wine.

50 SHADES OF A MAN

So now that I'm a free bird I get to pay way more attention the mens.....

Lets just say I'm slightly perplexed.

Slightly. Majorly. Ok, totally perplexed. A woman has a checklist, albeit mine is a mental one, I still run through those checkpoints when noticing the opposing gender.

Human.

Breathing.

End of list.

Kidding. I won't share my list of musts. I'm actually rather basic- (not to be confused with the term "basic bitch") and the normal qualities I look for in someone are slowly shifting now that I'm a single divorced mother of 2 in my 30's. Now this isn't a dig on men compared to women. I know we are 100 shades of bat chit ourselves. These are purely observations. I noticed a group of guys today and it really got me thinking about the types of men I've noticed now that my radar is allowing me to imagine people nekkid.

THE TAN MAN-
 This type of man is usually some variety of orange (thinking he is tan) with shocking slap yo mama white teeth. Let me speak for the majority when I say- dial down on the spray tans buddy! Jersey Shore was maybe popular for a hot second, but this shouldn't be a way of life. Orange will never be a shade of tan. Furthermore, neon colors, especially cut off shirts or tanks along with the tan won't make anything better. Your collection of Affliction shirts and name brand jeans cost more than my 2011 Kia Rio. Males in this group often spend a long time on their hair as well. If you can use your hair to cause any sort of blunt force trauma or you spend longer than I do on it, and mine is nearly to my waist, we have a serious problem. I would like to greet this group with a bucket of warm soapy water. To soften the hair and scrub off the orange....I mean tan.....I will also take the bedazzlement's off your Affliction gear and fancy jeans because my kids and I like to craft.

THE FALSE RUGGED-
From afar you capture us ladies, especially those of us bred here in the PNW. You sport some sort of facial hair and lets be honest here, facial hair is DEAD SEXY. Flannel is your friend and you wear it well. You aren't against canned beers and you love camping. You could be handy, tech savvy and outdoorsy. Discount double check folks! Ahhhh but as we take a look closer we find out you are deathly afraid of spiders, you only drink IPA's, your REI collection of camping gear has never seen a raindrop and your flannels all cost over $75 at Urban Outfitters or wherever the false rugged male would shop. I have no clue where one would actually spend that much on a flannel since I generally shop for clothes at places that also have grocery carts. Yes, I prefer to get my steaks and shirts at the same place. I'm limited on time these days and care more about the steak anyways.

THE REAL RUGGED-
 This is the dialed down version of the False Rugged. Your flannel shirts aren't $75 which is good, but you also seem to be anti bathing, which isn't good. I wish Real Rugged and False Rugged could get together for a chai and find a way to meet in the middle. And while you're at it teach False Rugged how to do man shit like fix stuff and not cry when seeing a spider, and False Rugged can show you proper bathing techniques that won't mess up your look.

GYM GUY-
 Not to be confused with athlete. 

Now, maybe I don't understand this type of man since I don't work out. For me its really simple, your skin shouldn't look like it's going to crack if you bend in any way whatsoever. It reminds me of the German sausages I always ate as a kid in the casing that would snap on the first bite. A mans upper half should never be compared to a sausage. Ever. This group usually, but not always, falls victim to the orange tan look as well. Scale it back just a little. I'm all for being healthy but I shouldn't bounce off you when I reach in for a hug because you're that ripped. Oh what do they say-yoked? I'm a human, not a ping pong ball.

While there are many groupings of the male species hanging around, these few are the ones I keep seeing the most of. Again, I'm not trying to be some pro female man hater here. I know we can easily be categorized into our own pods of crazy. Shoot, I'm sitting here writing this with my comfortably unshaven legs in a goodwill sweater, with no makeup on and slight heartburn from pigging out on Domino's. The most expensive thing on me tonight is the wine that's currently in my stomach. But for the love.....Put down the spray tan gun and pick up a hammer or chop some wood. Who cares how much your shirt costs that makes you look a certain way. Tell me a joke and make me laugh my ass off. Be kind. Not just to me but to the waiter, the bartender or even the random stranger. Open the damn door! I have tiny arms and doors are heavy. Care about what you do in your life and care genuinely for others. I assure you it's far more attractive. A nice smile doesn't hurt either though. Stop trying to be 50 shades of tan (orange) and be 50 shades of a man.

Sleep Siphons And The Zombie Mom

Sleep, or rather the lack of, can make us parents a little coo-coo for the Cocoa Puffs if you know what I mean. I haven't had a decent sleep pattern since 2009. That's 6 years of being a partial zombie. I'm shocked I can even do the math on that.

The cause of my current zombie state? Those little sleep suckers. I won't call them soul suckers because they are my children and I love them dearly. Actually I think I prefer the name sleep siphons. Yup. My littles are total sleep siphons. Those of you that have kids that just LOVE sleeping, spare me the deets on how all you have to do is have a routine. You just rub their backs 13 times clockwise, reading Goodnight Moon while you still manage to fold laundry or something asinine at the same time. I've tried it all in this house and IT AIN'T HAPPENING Y'ALL. No way, no how. I've tried the back rubbing and the Goodnight Moon reading. Shoot, I've tried the Go The F*ck To Sleep reading. My kids, especially the little Gremster just wants nothing to do with it. I would love to let her just cry it out, but then she wakes her sister and it's a downhill battle for one parent to tackle after that. I know I may sound bitter towards those of you that have good sleepers, and you're right, I am! I am also tired as all get out!

Kaelyn is almost out of this phase and I am pretty much on my knees worshiping her every night before bed. It wasn't an easy road to get there with her, she hated sleep when she was her sister's age too. But Leah, she's the real sleeping peach. NOT! This kid is in a toddler bed. Well she should be, but sometimes she only ends up with certain limbs in the bed and the rest of her is haphazardly on the floor. Toddler beds aren't large and she demands a few things to go along with her every night which is normal. A dog, her 2 noni's (Binky) and a blanket. Now these noni's are specific, One is called kitty noni and the other is 2nd noni, she has a routine with each of them and I can't make sense of it. As of lately, she expects a new dog addition "Big Dog" to join the bed. Big Dog is actually the size of a smaller regular dog. That's a lot to cram into a bed. Oh, but she also requests my presence. Good thing I am kid sized myself. Leah, Big Dog and I are usually intertwined like some pretzel concoction and all I can do is plot my escape. I usually mess this up and wake her up somehow, and if I actually manage to break out of the toddler bed prison, I have about 3 hours before she wakes up and stumbles into my bed. She started to get smart and now has to hold my hand, reducing my chance for a successful escape drastically.

Last night I get her to bed and it went pretty easy because she was tired. My reward in that moment usually just means punishment later, but I'll take it. I crawl into bed with my gummy bears and tea so I can start my movie. Midnight rolls around and my door flies open. I see the dark shadow of some crazy haired, Chucky like little sleep siphon coming for her juice- me. Here we go again. I could easily let her crawl in with me, but that would be a harder habit to break later on, so back to her toddler bed prison it is. I get us all set up with the must haves, including the iPhone for me so I can at least read pointless Elite Daily articles or something while I serve out my term. Her eyes start to close, I hear a snore, and just as I'm starting to think YES! YES! Her death grip on two of my fingers release! Her grip is somewhat loose now so I try my escape, I only had 24 minutes left on my movie and I was determined to finish it. I sneak out my other two fingers and BAM! She's awake. She quickly yanks me back down into her control and wraps every limb around me. My phone also dies so I am just staring at the wall since I refuse to sleep the entire night in the teeny tiny bed. I was going to finish that movie! I mean, Leonardo DiFREAKINCaprio was in it! Need I say more!?

In 2 minutes time I think my thoughts went from liking how my hair smelled, to trying to meal plan for a month, to wondering what kind of Summer we will have, to making a mental note that I needed to bleach the bathtub and clean the kids ears. I look around her room and see that her toys even look passed out, sleeping soundly. Cinderella is on the floor, arms up, looking like she drank too much glitter juice and passed out at midnight. Big Dog had fallen off the bed, but looked peaceful. "Windacorn" her unicorn, was hanging from the string on her curtains. Even though Windacorn was clearly hung, she looked well rested. That's when I realized I was in full on zombie mode. I was envious of her toys, plastic and stuffed! Her limbs start to fall off me and once again her grip loosens. As I attempt at an early release once more, she clings onto my fingernail, YES MY FINGERNAIL people, with all her might and keeps me there. I wait it out just a tad longer and I escape from the bed by doing the duck and roll method onto the floor. People without kids, you just don't understand the set of skills required to sneak out of your kids room sometimes. Just as I'm almost home free I stop because I notice a booger on her wall. It was dark but after nearly 6 years of being a Mom, I know crusted substances when I see them. I take a moment to laugh because boogers on the walls was something my sister used to do as a kid, I somehow triggered Leah's motion activated baby doll that blows you a kiss when you get close to it. It also says "MUAH" really loud. Game over, shes awake. All because I laughed at a flipping crusted booger on the wall. Mom fail #3367- Never laugh at crusted substances during a prison break.

My sentence for trying to break out this time? I caved and brought her into bed with me where we slept, well she slept, peacefully with her hands in mine. She may be the little sleep siphon, but I was clearly the sucker last night.

Dear Prince

 Prince,  

I won't lie, I didn't want you. Life was right where I wanted it to be then. I wasn't interested in caring for an animal, especially one of your size.We had a baby and just bought a home. This home also had white carpet. Key word- HAD.  I remember when Aaron showed me your picture from the shelters website. I thought, pretty dog, but hell to the no. He somehow convinced me to just go look at you. Next thing I know you were laying in the back of my Jeep and we were headed to our newly purchased home with white carpets.

We also had a cat when we adopted you. Again, key word being HAD. One bark out of you and that cat attacked my face, giving me a fat lip. The very next morning you barked again and the cat hid himself in one of the fir trees in the backyard for nearly 24 hours. He was so high up that getting him down required an extension ladder and a pole.

The cat was given a new home.

Upon reading your adoption packet, we were made aware that you may not be fond of other animals. Shocker. It was also brought to our attention that you had been adopted so many times by the age of three, that it was sad. You also didn't know any English commands. Mainly Spanish and some Russian. I didn't want you, but I felt bad for you.

Then one day I was making dinner and you suddenly started going crazy at the front window, barking then running over to me and back to the window. Once I finally went to the window I saw that the neighbor boy had fallen off his bike and nobody else was around him. You were just trying to get my attention. That was when I started getting a soft spot for you.

That was back in the beginning, and now, well now I sit here with tears streaming down my face because I have to start the search for another home for you. Again. I went from not wanting to accept you, to not being able to accept the fact that I can no longer keep you. You have become a huge part of our family. You are somewhat of a local celebrity too, because people just love you! You let the girls torture you. They dress you up, climb on you, chase you, and fight over you. You just lay back and let them run the show. Now that you're the only male in the house you take shifts sleeping in all of our rooms throughout the night. You usually end up settling in the hallway between all our bedroom doors, protecting us.

When I went into labor with Leah, I did the majority of the labor at home so by the time we left for the hospital you were FREAKING OUT. You were so worked up over seeing me in pain that you got sick all over the garage. Bless our neighbors heart for cleaning that up. Or the time that Kaelyn answered the door when a solicitor came. I was on the other end of the house and suddenly heard a grown man shrieking "Uh HELLO! Is there an adult around?" I run down the hall to find Kaelyn standing at the front door with you on the stoop guarding her. That poor college kid was scared shitless! That's also when we realized an upper lock would be beneficial so toddlers can't open doors.

I remember one of the first times Aaron had the girls for the weekend after he moved out. I was alone in the house and it made me sad. Generally I try to keep myself busy when I have free time because being by myself in this house is really hard. Even if it was my choosing, some level of heartache is involved. I closed myself in the bathroom and took a rare moment for a meltdown. You heard me and starting banging your head on the bathroom door until I opened it. You just laid at my feet until I was ready to move. The next morning I woke up and found you not beside my bed, but in it right next to me. You've probably seen me emotional more than any human has, which works for me since you're a dog and can't tell anyone what you see. I mean, you don't even have any animal friends to talk to since you scare anything with fur. People can't know I'm a big baby sometimes, I've got this whole soulless ginger image to keep up.

You have provided us with years of protection, frustration, and love. You made the purchase of a Dyson vacuum so worth it, it's unreal. The amount of dog hair you shed has probably added an extra layer of insulation to the house. Ok, not really, but it sure feels that way. If you had dog friends, I know you'd be the hot dog on the block because of how beautiful you are.

I am so sorry that our life is going in a different direction. One that makes us unable to keep you as our main man any longer.Sorry isn't even the right word. I am absolutely crushed to my core. I want to cry every time I look at you now, since I know our life with you is almost over. This is the start of many transitions for the girls and I. Moving is right around the corner, so I want to make sure we find you a great home. I wish I could say it would be temporary, but I need to be realistic here too. Thinking about splitting you from them brings on an entire different level of heartache for me. I never knew it would be so darn painful. No offense, but you're a dog!! I didn't think I would ever have such an attachment to an animal. Ever. So thank you for allowing us to love you for all these years. Thank you for making me an animal person and thank you for always protecting my babies. I am so sorry this is happening, I wish things could stay the way they are.

I promise to do all I can to make sure you live a good life. We love you Bubs, more than you know.

Right after we first adopted you!

Helping Sis reach the sink.

Loungin.

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At Chambers.

First trip to the Beach! Ok, only trip to the beach.

Bubs and L

Kisses.

Bringing baby home from hospital.

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The Teeter Totter & The T-Rex Surprise

I recently had 5 days away from the littles. This was THE LONGEST amount of time I have been away from either of them. I was nervous as all get out. I mean, what in the french toast would I do with myself for 5 whole days?!? Work. Sleep. Miss them. Repeat. That was my plan. Well plans changed and while I did work and miss them to the heavens and back, I most definitely did not sleep all that much. In fact, I barely even sat. I was GO GO GO from the minute they were dropped off at their Dads. My only responsibilities were the dog and work. Outside of that I was doing whatever I wanted. Now you folks without children have no idea what 5 days of doing whatever the hell you want does for us parents. It's the FFF effect. It's foreign, it's freaky, but it's also kind of fun. The fun came into play after I convinced myself it was ok to enjoy myself for days on end AND miss my kids at the same time, instead of just staying home and sulking that they weren't with me. This co-parenting thing is a balance, one I am slowly becoming better with. My entire life feels like a teeter totter. All mom mode on one side, then I'm suddenly catapulted into the air with free time every so often... And I was never really a fan of the f*ckin teeter totter to begin with.

When I was younger, pre kid days, I would always see Moms out and wonder why they looked like wackos in Mom jeans that had just been released into the wild. Wide eyed and dancing to Def Leppard "Pour Some Sugar on Me" at 5:30pm in some hole in the wall Pub, hugging everyone. The 9-5 shift workers that would stop in for their daily after work PBR sure get some entertainment on the days those Moms go out for happy hour! You know what, I'll never judge those Mothers again. Shoot, I'd probably hug them. Double shoot, I probably am one of those Moms now. I have this thing for making friends with strangers in random places anyways. It's best that I travel with supervision at all times since I can't be trusted. There was even a time, years ago, that I found a nearly passed out tweaker with one shoe in a booth at El Toro and wanted to give her a  ride home. I figured she was in a fajita coma and wanted to make sure she was safe. Seeeeee...that's why I need supervision. However, I'm getting off track here, that's another story. Point being, free time is like crack to us Moms. We need to let loose once in awhile, however it works for us, so we can stay cool under the daily pressures parenting throws our way.

At the end of the 5 days my teeter totter dropped me back into parent mode and I was instantly happy and whole again. That happiness would briefly vanish for a hot second when I was probed by a plastic T-Rex. I had ran to use the bathroom quickly and didn't turn on the light. I know I'm not the only Mom that does this- You see a moment that you can pee in peace and even if you have to do a double roundhouse kick, a back handspring, and a herkie over a baby gate to get there, you take that moment to pee alone! For 5 days the lid was up so that's what I was used to. Welllll...someone decided to close the lid and place that plastic creature there. For what purpose? I really don't know. Anyways, thank goodness the T-Rex doesn't have large arms, that could have ended very badly for me. Right after, I walk into the living room and see the littlest little naked. Naked and bathing herself in the dogs water bowl, and I thought....

I love my life. There's never a dull moment. I just LOVE being a Mom and while I enjoy my free time too, I'm learning the benefits of what loving both sides of my life does for me. Even if it's filled with random nude dog bathing and the T-Rex surprise.