tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65448050415230686592024-03-12T17:10:41.010-07:00Misadventures in MotherhoodAnnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.comBlogger524125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-86893272196977147832016-08-25T15:29:00.001-07:002016-08-25T15:29:10.382-07:00Summer Break<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D6OTGUcCd_g/V79v2Ae_68I/AAAAAAAAEoo/OzDmvJzKG98QGRr4YxT3CjlAlHAbgc81gCLcB/s1600/family%2Bphoto%2B2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="510" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-D6OTGUcCd_g/V79v2Ae_68I/AAAAAAAAEoo/OzDmvJzKG98QGRr4YxT3CjlAlHAbgc81gCLcB/s640/family%2Bphoto%2B2016.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've come a long way, babies. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have a confession: I'm not feeling very funny and inspired these days. <br />
<br />
When I first started blogging, I loved sitting down every day and sharing the funny and/or embarrassing stories of my assorted parenting failures. At the time, I felt very isolated, and connecting with people through this little space on the interwebs helped me feel as though I hadn't ceased to exist simply because I'd pushed a child out of my lady parts.<br />
<br />
The years have gone by quickly and have seen significant changes in my life - <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/03/deja-oops.html">my surprise second kid</a>, my Husband's <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/11/One-Potato.html">new business</a>, a flourishing freelance career - and I'm incredibly grateful to every single person who has found my blog and laughed at my parenting neuroses. This past year, as my kids (especially Noah) have gotten older, I've started to rethink what I'm sharing here and how it impacts my children. <br />
<br />
This is essentially just a long-winded way of telling you that I'm taking a break from this space for a few months while I figure out what the f*ck I'm doing with my life. I realize that I probably should have figured this out by now, (after all, I'm almost 80 by <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/03/lets-get-real.html">Hollywood standards</a>) but I haven't. I'm still blindly stumbling around cyberspace trying to come to grips with the fact that what I thought I wanted - to skyrocket my Mommy blog - no longer interests me, and it's not fair to all of you loyal readers to put out sub par content. Believe me, I've tried lately. I've got about 25 half finished posts sitting in my drafts folder that are so boring not even my Mother would want to read them (and that woman will read anything as long as it's about her grandbabies).<br />
<br />
So, I'm stepping away from the blogosphere for a while until I get my funny back. I don't want to just be another mediocre blogger boring readers with boring details of my boring life. I'm sure I'll be back - I've had these crises of humor before and they go away eventually - but until then you can still keep up with my questionable parenting on <a href="http://www.instagram.com/theannalane" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MotherhoodMisadventures/" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, and <a href="https://twitter.com/theannalane" target="_blank">Twitter</a>. Follow me on <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/theannalane/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> too, if you really have time on your hands. <br />
<br />
Thank you, dear readers, for saving me when I was drowning, and for giving me a (mostly) criticism free space in which to share my parenting missteps and occasional triumphs. I love you almost as much as I love an ice cold glass of rosé after a long day with my offspring.<br />
<br />
xoxo<br />
AnnaAnnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-4309073205861724272016-08-18T14:30:00.002-07:002016-08-18T14:53:01.439-07:00Back-to-School the LA Way (and a Babyganics giveaway!)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M3O3BkX5Fos/V7YnWNKY3mI/AAAAAAAAEoU/FIrPimIRAWU-TfotkcW2q_6yUOtIjMKEwCLcB/s1600/babyganics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Babyganics giveaway" border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M3O3BkX5Fos/V7YnWNKY3mI/AAAAAAAAEoU/FIrPimIRAWU-TfotkcW2q_6yUOtIjMKEwCLcB/s640/babyganics.jpg" title="" width="620" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He loves the kid-friendly ingredients in his Babyganics!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My <a href="http://www.instagram.com/theannalane" target="_blank">Instagram</a> feed has been chock full of first day of school photos this week, which means that for a lot of kids summer is officially o-v-e-r. The Muffin Man doesn't start <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/06/what-to-look-for-in-a-preschool.html">his new preschool</a> until after Labor Day, so we've been busy trying to squeeze in the last few summer-fun activities before we get down to serious business in September. Or as serious as it gets when your kid is learning how to tie his shoes and go to the bathroom alone.<br />
<br />
Since we've been through a year of preschool already, I haven't had to buy <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/07/preschool-gear-then-now.html">as much stuff</a> as I did last year, but there are still a few things I need to stock up
on before Noah heads back to his institute of lower learning. You know about the bigger items you need - the backpack, lunchbox, and new shoes - but what about the things you don't think about until you kid comes home with a wicked sunburn, a weird disease, or a mystery substance smeared all over his new clothes? You need <a href="http://babyganics.com/" target="_blank"><b>Babyganics</b></a>! No weird chemical ingredients, eco-friendly, and baby-safe; perfect for the <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/10/pregnancy-has-brought-out-my-latent.html">dirty hippie that's hidden inside all of us</a>. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://babyganics.com/products/mineral-based-sunscreen-spray-50spf-2/" target="_blank"><b>Sunscreen</b></a>. The seasons never really change here in the city of concrete and broken dreams - it's often hotter during the month of October than in June - so much of my back to school shopping involves stocking up on things you're more likely to find on a summer camp packing list. Life is lived primarily outside here in Los Angeles and unless it's one of the rare days when water falls from the sky, your child is most likely going to spend the balance of his or her time at preschool running around outside. Setting aside the fact that my child can do this for free at the park, this does bring to light how important it is to stock up on sunscreen before the seasonal aisle turns into Santa's workshop. I'm just going to point out here that you can still get a sunburn in the North Pole if the sun is out and you should wear sunscreen every day no matter where you live, but it's especially important here in la la land where the sun never stops shining and Dermatologists are paid better than rock stars.<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://babyganics.com/products/foaming-hand-sanitizer/" target="_blank">Foaming Hand Sanitizer</a> and <a href="http://babyganics.com/products/foaming-hand-soap-fragrance-free/" target="_blank">Foaming soap</a></b>. Children are adorable little germ factories who prefer to wipe their noses on their sleeves and do not excel at washing their hands. Preschoolers especially are still building up their immunity to common colds and flus, which means that if your kid is headed to his first year of preschool, you need to be prepared for him to come home with a lot of bugs. There's only so much you can do, but washing everyone's hands as often as possible, and carrying sanitizer on your person at all times helps combat some of the nastiness your kid is sure to bring home.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://babyganics.com/products/stain-eraser-marker/" target="_blank"><b>Stain remover</b></a>. Preschoolers get dirty. While I 100% support this from a developmental perspective, I do find it rather frustrating when I discover that my kid has used his newest t-shirt as a canvas on which to paint abstract art. You may want to think about just buying a whole dozen of these right now, as that should last you the first few weeks. Also, don't buy your kid expensive clothes because preschoolers do no discriminate between a $100 shirt and one that costs $1.00<br />
<br />
<a href="http://babyganics.com/products/night-time-bubble-bath-orange-blossom/" target="_blank"><b>Bubble bath</b></a>. For you (but you can share it with your kids, too). Pour yourself a glass of wine, fire up your e-reader, and toast the fact that you've survived the first week of preschool. <br />
<br />
<u><b>I'm giving away a $50 Babyganics Back-to-School Bundle full of my
favorite products</b></u>, which means one lucky <i>Misadventures in Motherhood</i>
reader will be able to get ready for the school year without having to
leave her couch. Definitely a #momwin in my book.
<a class="rcptr" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/e43e493c6/" rel="nofollow" data-raflid="e43e493c6" data-theme="classic" data-template="" id="rcwidget_xx8jom5v">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-67046942652892059772016-08-09T15:14:00.000-07:002016-08-09T15:14:03.360-07:00It's Just a Phase<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EPPoB52mc84/V6pOyauRbCI/AAAAAAAAEn4/EOoF2lYcb8kM-qnS43W6TCeCrTvSvOgBACLcB/s1600/night%2Bcreeper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EPPoB52mc84/V6pOyauRbCI/AAAAAAAAEn4/EOoF2lYcb8kM-qnS43W6TCeCrTvSvOgBACLcB/s640/night%2Bcreeper.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not creepy at all. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Do you ever have nightmares where your child has climbed out of her crib and is wandering the house in the middle of the night terrorizing all of the sleeping occupants?<br />
<br />
Yeah, well, I'm currently living your nightmare.<br />
<br />
This two year old sleep regression can SUCK IT.<br />
<br />
I am exhausted and grouchy and just so freaking done with not sleeping. But there's the rub (as my old friend Will Shakespeare would say) because the cold, hard truth about parenting is that kids don't f*cking sleep. Everyone <i>tells </i>you that they do "eventually" which, I'm beginning to suspect isn't until somewhere around age 15. But see, this is what keeps you going once you have kids, this idea that if you can just make it past this particular sleepless stage, things will get better. That you simply have to stop night feedings, or <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/04/lets-sleep-train-this-baby.html">sleep train the baby</a>, or whatever, but that someday your child really and truly will sleep through the night most of the time. Of course by then it's entirely too late, because your sleep cycle is permanently f*cked for life and you're so used to waking up before sunrise that you're physically incapable of sleeping until a decent hour of say, eight or nine and you've turned into one of those annoying old people who can't drive after 4pm for fear of falling asleep behind the wheel. This is what you have doomed yourself to simply by having children. <br />
<br />
In the meantime, you wander the streets in a perpetually exhausted state, guzzling lukewarm coffee and repeating to yourself over and over "my children will sleep through the night eventually" or, "it's just a stage. I just have to make it through this stage." Everything with parenthood is <i>just a stage</i> and in between each of these stops on the sleepless express you're issued a reprieve of a day or two or, if you're lucky, a few months of uninterrupted slumber, after which you wake somewhat refreshed and completely convinced that your kid is done being a human night terror and that you've made it through the worst. These short-lived stretches are what keep parents going, during which they are lulled into complacency and refreshed just enough to look at their children as miraculous little beings instead of the devious sleep thieves they really are <br />
<br />
So tonight, while my tiny sleep terrorist once again robs me of any slumber between the hours of 11pm and 4:30am, I will do some deep breathing and mutter my "it's just a phase" mantra. It's a lie - the phase of sleeplessness never seems to end with these small humans - but it's the only thing that's getting me through right now. Well that, and coffee (so much coffee). Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-89693205661603781652016-08-02T14:26:00.000-07:002016-08-02T14:26:57.384-07:00Vacation Photos I Should Have Shared<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mtOHME05Yqw/V6EPK09tmUI/AAAAAAAAEnQ/A_wvpzmGReoP87a2neRPWJVSa2WdTwOaACLcB/s1600/vacation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mtOHME05Yqw/V6EPK09tmUI/AAAAAAAAEnQ/A_wvpzmGReoP87a2neRPWJVSa2WdTwOaACLcB/s640/vacation.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was an epic tantrum not two minutes after this photo was taken.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It turns out that I'm not the only woman who finds <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/07/summer-no-cation.html">traveling with her children unpleasant.</a><br />
<br />
Based on my very scientific research of having spent two days in a large, family-friendly hotel, vacations with kids are not universally adored. I would like to thank the Mother who repeatedly yelled at her kid to stop trying to jump off the balcony, and the lady who told her husband she "just wanted to go home because the kids were being such a**holes", for making me feel that I am not the worst Mom in the world.<br />
<br />
Every time I open up <a href="http://www.instagram.com/theannalane" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, I'm assaulted with beautiful photographs of other families' travels, and they all look so perfect and happy. I always embark on any family outing with the best of intentions, and hoping that this time will be different/better, but I inevitably return from these sabbaticals needing a vacation from my "vacation". Sure, I feel shitty for not enjoying every second of every day spent with my
kids when we're away, but the reality is that traveling with
children is often far from picture-perfect. So, in the essence of full
vacation disclosure, I present to you the four photos I <i>should</i> have
posted to Instagram (instead of the cute ones I did). <br />
<br /><b>Me, putting Rose to sleep by pushing her in the stroller. For an hour. </b><br />
Attempting to get an overtired kid to fall asleep in an unfamiliar place is quite possibly one of the most unpleasant experiences of parenthood. I tried everything - singing to her, rocking her, offering to let her sleep in our bed - but nothing worked until I finally put her in the stroller and walked the perimeter of our hotel room 400 times. On the plus side, at least I got in a workout while out of town. <br />
<br />
<b>The 5:30am wake-up call</b>.<br />
Being trapped in a hotel room with two rambunctious toddlers who enjoy waking up before dawn should be employed by the government as a torture tactic. Sure, you can try to sleep while they jump on your head and demand cereal - and even be willing to pay $5 for one episode of <i>Daniel Tiger</i> in an effort to pacify them - but to no avail. Kids: making sure we're the first people in line for the breakfast buffet since 2013. <br />
<br />
<b>The carpet picnic dinner </b><br />
<b></b>I have eaten more room service meals since I had children than I did in all of my child free years. It's not that I think room service is so amazing (it's usually not), it's simply that taking my kids to a restaurant that is not our local pizza place stresses me out. It's just so much easier to let my kids scream, "I DON'T WANT THAT" in the privacy of our hotel room, thereby avoiding the judgement of other diners. I'll have a chance to try great restaurants in about 18 years, when I can once again travel without my children.<br />
<br />
<b>Noah standing in the kiddie pool sobbing "I want to go home!"</b><br />
Perhaps one of the lowest moments of my recent parenting life was watching my son throw a tantrum in the middle of the kiddie pool while other children frolicked around him in vacation bliss. I'm not even sure why he had an epic public tantrum - some kid probably stole his shovel - but I can tell you that I had numerous other hotel guests come up to me to offer their "helpful" parenting advice/judgement. It blew over, of course, and my humiliation was somewhat comforted by a very strong Bloody Mary... at least until he threw a tantrum in the parking lot about <u>not</u> wanting to go home. I just can't win.<br />
<br />
Yes, traveling with kids sucks. It's exhausting, infuriating, and I often spend a large part of the time wondering what in God's name made me think going away was a good idea, but there's nothing like hearing your kids say, "I had fun swimming with you Mommy" to make you reconsider your vow to never leave the house again. <br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-56485065138334274132016-07-28T13:00:00.000-07:002017-01-09T11:29:33.298-08:00Your Anniversary: Before & After Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kozC0pXhDG8/V5pjV52-t3I/AAAAAAAAEm8/BAlY9BYc81ok805zXb8uAOcxZFDS2b6QQCLcB/s1600/Driving%2BAway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kozC0pXhDG8/V5pjV52-t3I/AAAAAAAAEm8/BAlY9BYc81ok805zXb8uAOcxZFDS2b6QQCLcB/s640/Driving%2BAway.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Next Saturday is our tenth <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2013/08/happy-anniversary-to-us.html" target="_blank">wedding anniversary</a>. Considering we live in LA,
where people trade spouses like baseball cards, that's a pretty
impressive number. This kind of longevity calls for some serious
celebration, so naturally, we have not planned a thing.<br />
<br />
I've put together a handy little chart so we can compare and contrast the stark difference in celebrating your wedding anniversary before, and after, kids. <br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-left: 0pt;">
<table style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none; width: 624px;"><colgroup><col width="*"></col><col width="*"></col></colgroup><tbody>
<tr style="height: 0px;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: magenta;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Before Children</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">:</span></span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: magenta;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">After Children</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">:</span></span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 0px;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In the weeks leading up to your anniversary you talk about what you should do to properly celebrate your marriage.</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You have no idea what day or month it is, and so neither of you realize that your anniversary is coming up within the next week. The day before your anniversary, one of you opens iCal in order to record a dentist appointment for your offspring, only to realize that your wedding anniversary is tomorrow. </span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 0px;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You look at your wedding album together, and talk about how amazing your special day was and you relive all the moments that made you laugh or cry.</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You don't know where your wedding album is, because you haven't seen it since you had to turn your home office into a <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/07/a-room-fit-for-little-lady.html" target="_blank">nursery</a> for your <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/03/deja-oops.html" target="_blank">surprise second child</a>. It's entirely possible that you inadvertently donated your wedding album to the Goodwill and that some stranger purchased it for 50 cents. If you could find your wedding album, and did try to look at it together, that would last about 20 seconds before one of your offspring spilled an applesauce crusher on the photo of your first kiss as Husband and Wife. </span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 0px;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You plan a romantic night out, probably involving cocktails and expensive wine and a fancy nine course tasting menu at the hottest restaurant in town. You make a reservation several weeks in advance, and request the most romantic table in the restaurant.</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Since you realized only 24 hours ago that your anniversary is, in fact, tomorrow, you madly scramble to book a babysitter for your offspring. After six tries, you find someone who is available, but only until 9pm. You have no idea what the hottest restaurant in town is these days because you haven't been out without a child for going on three years, so you just try to find any restaurant that looks halfway decent, serves alcohol, and has space for you and your spouse during the time you will be paroled. Screw the most romantic table, you'll take <u>any</u> table.</span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 0px;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You take pains getting ready. You buy a new dress, have your nails done, get your hair blown out, and book your bikini wax appointment a week in advance to ensure there won't be any chafing.</span></div>
</td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">If you're lucky, your kids will nap at the same time and you'll get a chance to shower. Hopefully, they'll sleep long enough for you to shave your legs, but that's a long shot. You haven't had a pedicure in several months, and your hands look like they belong to the witch from <i>Hansel and Gretel</i> You haven't gone shopping since before you had a kid, so you'll be sporting something (anything) that looks halfway decent on your postpartum figure and that is marginally clean. Forget about that bikini wax. If your spouse can still get it up after watching you push a baby out of your lady parts then he can certainly navigate the rainforest you've got happening down there.</span></div>
</td></tr>
<tr style="height: 0px;"><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You have a four hour meal, with wine pairings, and get just tipsy enough that you go home and have mind-blowing sex with your spouse. You might even decide it would be "fun" to have kids and go really wild. You have sex more than once, and stay up late talking about how amazing your life is, how happy you are together, and how wonderful it would be to welcome a child into your family.</span></div>
<br /></td><td style="border-bottom: solid #000000 1px; border-left: solid #000000 1px; border-right: solid #000000 1px; border-top: solid #000000 1px; padding: 7px 7px 7px 7px; vertical-align: top;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You scarf down some mediocre food so that you can get home in time for the babysitter to get to her bartending job. You have two glasses of wine and get so hammered that you actually think you might pass out on the Uber ride home. You stumble into the house, try to figure out how much you owe the babysitter (a lot, it's <i>always</i> a lot), and then try to sneak into your bedroom without waking up the kids. You have some quick sex, during which you hope neither of you falls asleep from sheer exhaustion, and then you play rock paper scissors to see who has the "pleasure" of getting up with the kids in the morning. You fall asleep midway through telling your spouse you love him, and without taking off your makeup or brushing your teeth.</span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-48708801285178026702016-07-26T14:58:00.002-07:002016-07-26T14:58:06.750-07:00Your Birth Story, in Cocktail Form<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lRe0SdeREoo/V5fcXM2WK5I/AAAAAAAAEmk/QTQ0NGBzyS0v-taHdvmZaJO9rqxYL77HwCLcB/s1600/momma%2Band%2Brose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lRe0SdeREoo/V5fcXM2WK5I/AAAAAAAAEmk/QTQ0NGBzyS0v-taHdvmZaJO9rqxYL77HwCLcB/s640/momma%2Band%2Brose.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Given birth? Have a cocktail!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If you give a Mom a cocktail, she'll probably tell you her birth story.<br />
<br />
No matter what kind of gathering one attends - book club, dinner party, Soulcycle class - if a group of Mothers are involved, the conversation will inevitably lead to graphic stories about labor and delivery. Once you have given birth to a human, it is practically impossible to not discuss all the gory details of just how, exactly, your children made their exits from your body. <br />
<br />
Personally, I love hearing other women's birth stories. Mainly because it's nice to know that I'm not the only woman who has pooped on the delivery room table. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The Natural Birther</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Organic, small-batch vodka with pure cranberry juice and a splash of artisanal unfiltered honey </i></div>
<a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/10/pregnancy-has-brought-out-my-latent.html">You had a natural birth using self-hypnosis</a>. You enjoy telling people that it was a truly transformative experience. You think that everyone should have the birth they want and you claim to be totally supportive of other birth choices, but you carry around DVD copies of <i>The Business of Being Born</i> and hand them out to unsuspecting pregnant women. You may have given birth at home in your backyard under a lemon tree while flower petals rained down on you in your blow-up birthing tub. The soundtrack to your birth featured a Buddhist monk that your partner recorded in Tibet. You are thinking of possibly becoming a doula, but not until you wean your child at around age five. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The Epidural Encourager</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Double Knob Creek, with one (very small) ice cube</i></div>
You were all about the drugs. In fact, you asked your OB to give you an epidural when your child was still technically a zygote. You think it is some bullshit to want to feel the pain of childbirth and that only some crazy person who eats bark and doesn't shave would opt for a natural birth. You drove straight to the hospital the minute you felt even a twinge of pain and you refused to leave until they gave you some mother f*cking drugs and sent you home with a baby. You didn't want to feel anything until at least a month after giving birth and you tell every woman you know to get the drugs. Also, you brought some drugs tonight if anyone is interested in really getting this <strike>party</strike> book club started. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The C-section Pusher</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A crisp Pinot Grigio with a smooth finish</i></div>
You've had three cesareans and you can't fathom why anyone would want to push a child out of her vagina. You don't pee yourself when you laugh/cough/sneeze and you remind your friends who had vaginal births of this fact. You don't understand why someone would wait for their child to decide when she arrives when you can schedule a c-section so that it doesn't interfere with your busy social life. You get slightly hysterical after two rounds and start screaming "cesarean birth is real birth!" despite the fact that no one claimed otherwise. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The Double Dipper</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A rum and coke followed by a glass of sulfate free red wine</i></div>
You've done it both ways and you don't understand what the big deal is. Natural, epidural, c-section, the point is to just get the kid out so that you can go back to living your best life. You're chill and you're up for anything and think that everyone should just do what's best for them. You'd be fine squatting down and giving birth in a field, but you also really enjoyed the drugs they gave you at the hospital. You step in to referee the crazy natural birth lady who is currently trying to strangle the epidural lady with some sort of hemp rope, because you came to this book club to actually talk about the book. <br />
<br />
Cheers to however your birth story ends. I can't wait to hear all about it the next time we run into each other at the dry cleaners. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-30047007674049250792016-07-21T15:21:00.000-07:002016-08-11T13:28:57.213-07:00Toddler Fashion, Delivered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iqvqX8TrFx0/V5FGR7Y_esI/AAAAAAAAEmQ/yeImGxdZKlQ4d9DBhZQwbBHKxq0bHZFDwCLcB/s1600/prize%2Binside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="We tried Kidbox" border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iqvqX8TrFx0/V5FGR7Y_esI/AAAAAAAAEmQ/yeImGxdZKlQ4d9DBhZQwbBHKxq0bHZFDwCLcB/s640/prize%2Binside.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kidbox: the fashion subscription service for your kiddos.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I think it's pretty well established that I have almost everything delivered to my house. Dinner? <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/11/One-Potato.html" target="_blank">One Potato Box</a>. Clothes? <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/09/stitch-fix-august.html" target="_blank">Stitch Fix</a> or <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/03/Bungalow-clothing-review.html" target="_blank">Bungalow</a>. Everything else? <a href="http://amzn.to/2ayRliM" target="_blank">Amazon</a>. The one thing that I haven't outsourced to the interwebs and my UPS man has been my children's wardrobes. Part of the reason for this is that I am insanely cheap when it comes to well, everything, but I also really enjoy shopping for clothes for my littles. This mainly has to do with the fact that I live within walking distance to <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2013/03/fashionably-attired.html" target="_blank">the best children's resale shop</a> in town which means that it's easy to keep my children dressed in designer duds without a whole lot of effort or expense.<br />
<br />
There's only one problem with the 100% resale approach, and it's that you often end up with a lot of random pieces, none of which match or even blend. A few weeks ago, after my Mother complained for the four millionth time about how my children are constantly dressed in clashing clothing, I decided that it was time to find an alternate source for duds for my offspring. Naturally, I turned to my old friend, the interwebs. Thanks to Facebook's targeted marketing wherein I'm only shown ads for companies who deliver to my home, I learned about <a href="http://refer.kidbox.com/ebbMx" target="_blank">Kidbox</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://refer.kidbox.com/ebbMx" target="_blank">Kidbox</a> is basically just like all the other clothing subscription services I loved, but this one is just for kids! Here's how it works: you set up an account online, fill out a size
profile for your kiddos, and then they put together a curated box of clothes for your kid to try on. Your kid has seven days to try on the clothes and then you keep what your tiny fashion plate likes and send back whatever doesn't work. What I love the most about Kidbox is that if you keep all of the pieces in the box, the total cost is $100 or less. That sounds like a lot, but you'd be surprised how much kids clothing costs these days. In case you're thinking that the stuff is junk because it's reasonably priced, I assure you that it's not; it's nice quality brands that are normally out of my price range (hence the reason I almost always purchase things second hand).<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLj3WqS_P8M/V5E8xIMfDTI/AAAAAAAAEkQ/vdidcyKLXYg8Ld8fXyUceCJdOpP63GPFQCLcB/s1600/box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="kidbox kids clothing service" border="0" height="428" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NLj3WqS_P8M/V5E8xIMfDTI/AAAAAAAAEkQ/vdidcyKLXYg8Ld8fXyUceCJdOpP63GPFQCLcB/s640/box.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The box came addressed to the Muffin Man, which is always fun for kids.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="kidbox review" border="0" height="586" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tNR2yFpZhg8/V5FBcJRsEXI/AAAAAAAAElA/gkPa3hXhcJg1IqbfF7OqSMkeY6PERoAjACLcB/s640/mustache.jpg" title="" width="640" /></div>
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There are cute little toys and activities included in each box. This one had a prize ball thingy - where you keep unwrapping different ribbons until you get to the stuff inside - that contained a teeny tiny pack of playing cards, one of those parachute jumper toys, and a stick-on mustache. The kids loved this part.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zdOSeAoxuFs/V5FBuEMWdrI/AAAAAAAAElM/FsDy-Gkqbu8y8ir34Z8Y9I4Xuce8dbicwCLcB/s1600/info.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="kidbox review" border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zdOSeAoxuFs/V5FBuEMWdrI/AAAAAAAAElM/FsDy-Gkqbu8y8ir34Z8Y9I4Xuce8dbicwCLcB/s640/info.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
The pricing and info about the clothing comes inside a nice plastic pouch that also includes crayons, a coloring/activity book, and several sheets of stickers.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Here's what came in the box:</u></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6gbCH2l8VfU/V5FBuxGzhwI/AAAAAAAAElU/1IUz-eNNIFMfgVwjlKvO5u03qrewQppLgCLcB/s1600/polo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="kidbox review" border="0" height="612" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6gbCH2l8VfU/V5FBuxGzhwI/AAAAAAAAElU/1IUz-eNNIFMfgVwjlKvO5u03qrewQppLgCLcB/s640/polo.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>U.S. Polo Assn. Stripe Polo, $16</u></b></div>
This is totally not my style or Noah's style, and it totally reminded my Hubs of his traumatic childhood years spent in Connecticut, so this was a definite "no" for us. RETURNED<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5OPRakFcbFw/V5FBvR9mw3I/AAAAAAAAElg/aQo4ZHdji-UsRDM7Yff8mcd4N18xQTUMQCLcB/s1600/raglan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="kidbox review" border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5OPRakFcbFw/V5FBvR9mw3I/AAAAAAAAElg/aQo4ZHdji-UsRDM7Yff8mcd4N18xQTUMQCLcB/s640/raglan.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>7 For All Mankind raglan tee, $18</u></b></div>
This was just okay, and the fabric was really thick, which is not ideal considering that the heat wave in Los Angeles probably won't be over until sometime in December. RETURNED<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZuwLTXvkpeQ/V5FC2yp24bI/AAAAAAAAEl4/4cezKdfmZf8F5vkTbNYNZJ93xXzrC_-qACLcB/s1600/henley%2Band%2Bshorts.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img alt="kidbox review" border="0" height="634" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZuwLTXvkpeQ/V5FC2yp24bI/AAAAAAAAEl4/4cezKdfmZf8F5vkTbNYNZJ93xXzrC_-qACLcB/s640/henley%2Band%2Bshorts.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Weatherproof vintage henley tee, $9 and Penguin oxford shorts, $24</b></u></div>
The t-shirt was really soft and I thought it was cute, but Noah was not a fan. The shorts were adorable, but ginormous; they literally fell off of Noah. I was actually kind of annoyed that they sent size 4T bottoms when I specifically told them that Noah is tall and slender and usually wears a 2T pants. I could have asked for a smaller size, but I thought the shorts were kind of expensive, so these were both RETURNED.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9FZ1a6-liYQ/V5FC2iicDoI/AAAAAAAAEl0/PtjZJj7XE24AGEnuP3ZTb_AXgWR4eo-HwCLcB/s1600/red%2Bt%2Bshirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="kidbox review" border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9FZ1a6-liYQ/V5FC2iicDoI/AAAAAAAAEl0/PtjZJj7XE24AGEnuP3ZTb_AXgWR4eo-HwCLcB/s640/red%2Bt%2Bshirt.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>7 For All Mankind V-neck mineral wash tee, $14 </b></u></div>
Red is Noah's favorite color, and this t-shirt is soft and fits really well, so this was a definite yes. He's literally worn this shirt everyday since it arrived in his box, so even though it's more than I usually spend on a shirt, I think I'll get my money worth. Plus I'll be able to re-sell it to my local consignment store when he grows out of it, so it's a double win. KEPT.<br />
<br />
The other item in our box was a pair of these beige twill shorts that were so hideous I didn't even have Noah try them on. I was almost offended that Kidbox thought I would dress my kid in something that looked more appropriate for an 87 year old man, but there's no accounting for taste.<br />
<br />
Overall, I like what <a href="https://www.kidbox.com/" target="_blank">Kidbox</a> is doing. It's convenient, and the way it's executed is really cute. I'm going to see if what we get in our next box better suits Noah's style now that they've received my feedback on these pieces, and I'm going to order up a box for Rose to see what they send for their more feminine customers.<br />
<br />
It's pretty amazing what you can have delivered these days. Now I just have to try out one of those wine delivery services and I'll really never have a reason to leave my house. <br />
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Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-17604229199067101722016-07-20T09:45:00.004-07:002016-07-20T09:45:45.719-07:00The Lazy Mom's Guide to Traveling with Kids<span style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">by <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/05/welcome-allyson.html">Allyson Haas</a></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MsMpojnwG7E/V4-qetqCpNI/AAAAAAAAEj8/N4M0wL6yGH84K-I0ayXtOxFuxPbbdo1EACLcB/s1600/travel%2Btoddler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="traveling with toddlers" border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MsMpojnwG7E/V4-qetqCpNI/AAAAAAAAEj8/N4M0wL6yGH84K-I0ayXtOxFuxPbbdo1EACLcB/s640/travel%2Btoddler.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">World traveler, right here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you've read this blog before you
know two things:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">1. <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/12/traveling-with-toddlers.html">Traveling with toddlers can oft times be a nightmare</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">2. Having no family within a 2000 mile radius makes that nightmare a reality at least four
times a year if you want said toddler to recognize their kin. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">What I've finally figured out, now that I'm almost four years into this whole parenting thing, is
that you can use the latter fact to make the former less of an
arduous task. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ladies (and possibly one gent) I present to you <u><b>The Lazy
Mom's Guide to Traveling</b>:</u></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Step 1. Tell your family that you plan to brave being stuck in a flying tin can for more than five hours in order
to see them. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Step 2. Let them do the rest.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I realize at first blush this may seem like a
rather bitchy and presumptuous way to make a trip take form, but here is why
it's not: if your family is more than 2000 miles away, they escape
from any last minute calls to babysit, run to the store, pick someone up from
school, help with the laundry, feed children, or do anything else that
might require a reorganization of their day/week/life. Essentially, they get to enjoy the cuteness of your little (via Facetime) and they get to hang up when the whining starts, leaving you to deal with the fall out. So, since you don't call in the small favors on the
daily, this allows you to call in a big one a couple of times a year, guilt free. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">To make
this as easy as possible on yourself (and on the hosting family member), I send
a list:</span></div>
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<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">What needs to be installed (a car
seat)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Where that can be done (the local
fire station or CHP usually help out here)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'times new roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">What your little one might actually
eat (basically <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/08/feeding-picky-toddlers.html">any food that's white</a>)</span></li>
</ul>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then simply pack your bags, toss in
your trusty <a href="http://amzn.to/2a8YXMU" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">CARES restraint system</a> and pretend like you're once again footloose and child free. Granted, you'll still have to entertain your child, which means you won't have uninterrupted reading or movie viewing time, but beggars can't be choosers. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It actually makes traveling (somewhat)
enjoyable again and you feel as if you've taken a break from your usual
routine. </span>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I did this for our last minute
spring break jaunt to see the in-laws, wherein I braved the not-so-friendly skies alone with my kiddo. Without a stroller to push, a giant bag to lug, or toys to carry, the trip was
a dream. C and I watched airplanes take off, we talked about the geography of
the United States, and we laughed. I genuinely enjoyed my son's company, which
almost made me think we didn't need the vacation in the first place. Of course, only a fool would turn down free grandparent childcare and the chance to take a yoga class with actual adults. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Happy travels!</span></div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-58383748241396709692016-07-19T11:31:00.001-07:002016-07-19T11:31:31.582-07:00I Don't Want to Go to There (with my kids)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V9DlLN0Wz1M/V45vWYfwxOI/AAAAAAAAEjs/w85yQWj6PEYESFnyPwUDVlr28NXFj1tEQCLcB/s1600/grocery%2Bkids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="shopping with kids" border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V9DlLN0Wz1M/V45vWYfwxOI/AAAAAAAAEjs/w85yQWj6PEYESFnyPwUDVlr28NXFj1tEQCLcB/s640/grocery%2Bkids.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks fun...for them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've learned a lot over the past three and a half years of motherhood, such as not to take life too seriously, that <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/05/no-primates-on-my-avenue.html">having a Mom tribe matters</a>, and that there are certain places I just will not go with my kids. <br />
<br />
<b>The DMV</b>. This bastion of bureaucratic waste is bad enough when you're an adult, but add two kids into the mix and the experience of renewing your drivers license might be more painful than natural birth. As if the hours-long wait times weren't bad enough, add in the people talking to themselves, the guy with the TB cough, and the questionable brown stain on the floor, and you've got a recipe for some real heart-to-heart talks with your toddlers about why you've <strike>failed at life</strike> chosen to live in a diverse urban environment. Be sure to bring the iPad, coloring books, and a pantry full of snacks, because it's possible you'll be there until your kid's next birthday. Plan to take a bath in sanitizer once you get home, because that place is a petri dish of nasty.<br />
<br />
<b>The Grocery</b>. I've reached the point in my life where I consider a trip to the grocery alone to be a pleasurable experience. Until you have children you will not understand what a luxury it is to leisurely stroll the aisles reading ingredient labels and comparing prices. I've never run an actual marathon, but I suspect that it's not much different than taking a trip to the local supermarket with my children. First of all, you're pushing a cart filled with 50 pounds of toddler and groceries, but you're also running as fast as possible up and down the aisles throwing anything resembling a health food into your cart. It's very possible your toddler might lose an eye from a badly aimed box of Cheddar Bunnies, but the only thing that matters is getting your groceries before your kids launch into their simultaneous tantrums. You'd love to read labels and plan gourmet meals but the only thing you've got time for is buying the same 20 things you buy every week and that you know your kids will eat: <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/08/feeding-picky-toddlers.html">white food</a>, cucumbers, and wine, lots of wine (for Mom, obvs.)<br />
<br />
<b>Target</b>. I love Target. What I don't love is taking my children with me to Target. If you think it's hard to spend less than $100 when shopping alone at the mecca of affordable lifestyle brands, then you better make sure you have plenty of room on your credit cards if you're planning to shop with your offspring in tow. You know why? Because your kid will find something he wants down <i>every single aisle</i> of that store. From pj's to pompoms, Target carries it all and I guarantee that your child will want a piece of the action. Clothes, toys, shoes, home decor, candy... it's just a massive tantrum waiting to happen, and you have two choices: risk the ire of all the other Target shoppers while your kid writhes in anger on the floor of the Barbie aisle, or go against all of your parenting instincts and give in to their demands, thereby setting you back in the neighborhood of $400 dollars. You have to ask yourself, what's more important to me in this moment: my sanity or being able to afford my rent?<br />
<br />
<b>The mall</b>. I hate clothing shopping under the best of circumstances, but I especially hate taking my children with me for this most loathsome of outings. I find it impossible to decide whether a piece of clothing looks good on me when one of my children is pulling on me and I'm attempting to dodge the other one's sticky fingers. The attention span of a toddler - somewhere in the neighborhood of 2.5 minutes - is not exactly conducive to making well thought out decisions about which apparel pieces best round out your wardrobe. Save yourself the hassle and just order a <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/03/Bungalow-clothing-review.html" target="_blank">Bungalow</a> or <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/10/fix-my-wardrobe.html" target="_blank">Stitch Fix</a> box.<br />
<br />
<b>Work</b>. If you're a working parent you've had it happen: your babysitter cancels or your kid is too sick to go to school on the day that you have a work thing you cannot miss. I'm lucky in that my work revolves around kids and Moms, but that doesn't mean that every work event is kid friendly. I've had to take my kids to stuff that was decidedly <u>not</u> for kids, and it sucked. It's hard to feel professional when you're trying to carry on a serious conversation with a colleague and your kid runs up and screams "I need to poop!" or when you're following your children around trying to keep them from breaking anything. I've never felt a bigger sense of relief than when I've managed to survive a work event with my kids without leaving a wave of destruction in our wake. <br />
<br />
Basically, I never leave my house and my children are probably going to have lingering psychological issues about the fact that I never take them anywhere. I figure that a lifetime of therapy for them is far better than my ending up in the psych ward from too many Target trips gone wrong. Anyway, I like to think that the reason that Al Gore invented the internet was so that Moms could shop online.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-5090600960203499162016-07-14T15:08:00.003-07:002016-07-14T15:14:49.046-07:00A Party Fit for a Princess<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7_xVPHqdzg8/V4gBuiX-lII/AAAAAAAAEig/LzrcVMEKVjgYnQ3vwOX1hweFN9RyG1z4ACEw/s1600/rose%2Bwith%2Bcrown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sofia the first party" border="0" height="630" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7_xVPHqdzg8/V4gBuiX-lII/AAAAAAAAEig/LzrcVMEKVjgYnQ3vwOX1hweFN9RyG1z4ACEw/s640/rose%2Bwith%2Bcrown.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess Rose</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once your kid starts preschool, much of your weekend social life revolves around attending children's birthday parties. While this may initially sound fun, I can tell you from experience that all of the parties are pretty much the same, and mostly involve sugared-up children running around and screaming at the top of their lungs. This is bad enough under the best of circumstances, but add to that a 9:30am start time and the requisite hangover, and you've got the recipe for every parent's worst nightmare. I'm beginning to wish that parents would offer ibuprofen as party favors.<br />
<br />
In an effort to spare my friends from having to give up yet another Saturday morning, I had planned to forgo throwing the Little Lady a birthday party. I'm still recovering from that <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/02/bubble-theme-birthday-party.html">bubble shindig</a> I threw for Noah back in January and I figured that Rose wouldn't really care if we hosted a party. Then I got an email from <a href="http://www.princessandmeparties.com/" rel="" target="_blank">Princess and Me Parties</a> offering to give me a free party. I'm sold on anything with the word "free" in the title, but it also happened that the timing was perfect, so I decided to throw caution (and my friends' social calendars) to the wind, and throw a Princess Sofia themed bash.<br />
<br />
Rose is obsessed with Sofia the First. Go ahead and judge me on the whole <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/02/lower-your-parenting-standards.html">"no screen time before age two"</a> issue, because plucky <i>Sofia the First</i> is the best thing that's happened to my life since Rose started waking up before 6am. Anything that occupies my child so that I can doze on the couch has my vote. When I found out that Sofia was one of the many princess choices offered by <a href="http://www.princessandmeparties.com/">Princess and Me Parties</a>, I was thrilled. I booked the date, whipped up an evite, and set about madly pinning party ideas to my <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/theannalane/princess-party/" target="_blank">Princess Party Pinterest Board</a>.<br />
<br />
I'm not one of those <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/06/JustStop.html">crafty moms</a>, and I like to stick with a formula
that works, so we did the usual bagels, lox and mimosas menu again.
Hey, if it's not broke (and it tastes good), don't fix it.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KXZjHWeEB38/V4gBuddMprI/AAAAAAAAEi0/CGhan1rEcbITO06gh5sa0Xlo_S_zKb7agCEw/s1600/noah%2B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="sofia the first party" border="0" height="520" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KXZjHWeEB38/V4gBuddMprI/AAAAAAAAEi0/CGhan1rEcbITO06gh5sa0Xlo_S_zKb7agCEw/s640/noah%2B.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
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Of course, we had to have lilac colored tableware because, Sofia. </div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zo3sG2FQS2U/V4gK-9OXSqI/AAAAAAAAEjI/eKlG2oCwDtcJGuy8eU0oyWS3A6LVr_phQCLcB/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="sofia the first party" border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zo3sG2FQS2U/V4gK-9OXSqI/AAAAAAAAEjI/eKlG2oCwDtcJGuy8eU0oyWS3A6LVr_phQCLcB/s640/flowers.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I found a great batch of free <a href="http://homeketeers.com/sofia-the-first-free-printable-party-set/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Sofia the First printables</a> on <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/theannalane/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>, and used the cupcake toppers in my flower arrangements. </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VtkDRtaBpU4/V4gBs-b506I/AAAAAAAAEis/P4aQIqlIsnkoPkDvP_kipDMJvsKmBM6JQCEw/s1600/crown%2Btable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="sofia the first party" border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VtkDRtaBpU4/V4gBs-b506I/AAAAAAAAEis/P4aQIqlIsnkoPkDvP_kipDMJvsKmBM6JQCEw/s640/crown%2Btable.jpg" title="" width="425" /></a></div>
I hate party favors, so instead of wasting money on more crap that's just going to end up in a landfill, I put together a <b>Decorate Your Own Crown</b> table. I bought packages of cardboard crowns at the craft store and put out buckets full of crayons, paints, stickers and pompoms. It was inexpensive, fun, and made for a great thing for the kids to take home.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="sofia the first party" border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j9_OXBeKXKE/V4gBtHz3YTI/AAAAAAAAEis/_v-oEHODh1sbjSkYnc5SJo9HqEtJ1n9jQCEw/s640/crowns.jpg" title="" width="640" /></div>
Bonus points for the fact that our friends have been cruising around the neighborhood for the past week wearing their crowns!<br />
<br />
I scheduled Princess Sofia's arrival for half an hour after the party started. I figured that would give people a chance to settle in and grab a nosh, and would allow for any latecomers who might otherwise miss the entertainment.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yj-PY6mdYt0/V4gH3kfopTI/AAAAAAAAEi8/Qj8Luguxab49c6JjvCVof2sy5_MVXSQbgCLcB/s1600/me%2Bwith%2Bsofia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="sofia the first party" border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yj-PY6mdYt0/V4gH3kfopTI/AAAAAAAAEi8/Qj8Luguxab49c6JjvCVof2sy5_MVXSQbgCLcB/s640/me%2Bwith%2Bsofia.jpg" title="" width="426" /></a></div>
Princess Sofia was incredible. Not only did she look and sound exactly like the cartoon, she stayed in character the whole time. She was so sweet and beautiful and really gentle with the little kids. Rose was a little bit scared at first, but she quickly warmed up and by the end of the party they were walking around holding hands. It was the cutest thing ever.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
We got the princess party package, which was a full hour of Princess Sofia.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TOrWUTgKUi8/V4gBu3MB8WI/AAAAAAAAEi0/k4KhXToCnmoem6l-DrdZ-mqzG7_Ki2Q9ACEw/s1600/story%2Btime%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="princess sofia party" border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TOrWUTgKUi8/V4gBu3MB8WI/AAAAAAAAEi0/k4KhXToCnmoem6l-DrdZ-mqzG7_Ki2Q9ACEw/s640/story%2Btime%2B2.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She read a story with the kids,</div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7MYsMuzYgbo/V4gBtUG7GCI/AAAAAAAAEis/y3s5fCCMqJAtaX23jtwHhOFUYcpVst3fgCEw/s1600/dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="princess sofia party" border="0" height="428" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7MYsMuzYgbo/V4gBtUG7GCI/AAAAAAAAEis/y3s5fCCMqJAtaX23jtwHhOFUYcpVst3fgCEw/s640/dancing.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
led a Princess dance party, </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jFcJDPtH7Hc/V4gBtv4uPXI/AAAAAAAAEis/PC7-G4rXo2055YJcge_8R9WYWR_viH56ACEw/s1600/face%2Bpaint%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="princess sofia party" border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jFcJDPtH7Hc/V4gBtv4uPXI/AAAAAAAAEis/PC7-G4rXo2055YJcge_8R9WYWR_viH56ACEw/s640/face%2Bpaint%2B1.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
did some awesome face (or arm) painting</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m0mFwMzQ6QU/V4gBsGRIPgI/AAAAAAAAEis/ObP4YzKR_8MW-sR4y4cedzv0KROf94ApACEw/s1600/cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="princess sofia party" border="0" height="426" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m0mFwMzQ6QU/V4gBsGRIPgI/AAAAAAAAEis/ObP4YzKR_8MW-sR4y4cedzv0KROf94ApACEw/s640/cake.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and helped Rose blow out her birthday candles. </div>
It kept all the kids occupied (yes, even the boys who like Batman and tools) and involved minimal parental involvement, thereby freeing up parents to drink mimosas or mainline coffee. Overall, having Princess Sofia made for a really easy party, and I think that even the adults had fun.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dLALxpIgbBc/V4gBuYvRhcI/AAAAAAAAEi0/ehmN4Cbh1o8GDcXp5JPoVfSRQ-lYci-yQCEw/s1600/rose%2Band%2Bsofia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="a princess sofia party" border="0" height="432" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dLALxpIgbBc/V4gBuYvRhcI/AAAAAAAAEi0/ehmN4Cbh1o8GDcXp5JPoVfSRQ-lYci-yQCEw/s640/rose%2Band%2Bsofia.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
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Rose had such a good time that she didn't want Princess Sofia to leave!</div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t5f-9BzYvC8/V4gBuCF5ppI/AAAAAAAAEi0/GGgL1eVxD3Ar7TrHWPm_k6eUp28LBoY0gCEw/s1600/family%2Bphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="princess sofia party" border="0" height="486" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t5f-9BzYvC8/V4gBuCF5ppI/AAAAAAAAEi0/GGgL1eVxD3Ar7TrHWPm_k6eUp28LBoY0gCEw/s640/family%2Bphoto.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We even got a decent family photo, so I would say it was a VERY successful party. </div>
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The only problem I can foresee is that I've now set the bar <i>way</i> too high for future parties; Noah is already requesting Batman, Super Man <u>and</u> Spider Man for his fourth birthday. I better start planning (and saving up) for January now. <br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This post was sponsored by <a href="http://www.princessandmeparties.com/" target="_blank">Princess and Me Parties</a> but all opinions about how amazing Princess Sofia was are completely my own.</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Thank you, also, to <a href="http://www.ameliaborella.com/" target="_blank">Amelia Borella</a> for photographing all of the fun! </span></i><br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-42322673170129269582016-07-12T15:54:00.002-07:002016-07-12T15:54:32.409-07:00Second Time's the Charm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SvtTkCDpAwM/V4VzDWFFfCI/AAAAAAAAEhY/-0cFlA2UNlcQ3k0GvTb4jysTyFJbl4zIACLcB/s1600/second%2Btime%2B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SvtTkCDpAwM/V4VzDWFFfCI/AAAAAAAAEhY/-0cFlA2UNlcQ3k0GvTb4jysTyFJbl4zIACLcB/s640/second%2Btime%2B.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
Remember how <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/03/deja-oops.html">I wasn't sure I wanted to have another child</a>? The thing no one told me was <i>how much easier</i> <i>it is the second time around</i>. It's harder in some ways, especially in the beginning when you're so exhausted, but mostly it's just so. much. easier. <br />
<br />
The beauty of having a second child is that you're just too damn overwhelmed to give a crap. I don't mean emotionally - your love is just as intense, though different, the second time around - but I'm referring rather to all those <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/02/lower-your-parenting-standards.html">parenting standards</a> you set for yourself. When you've been there, done that, and you're completely and utterly exhausted, your threshold for caring about things that aren't really important is lowered significantly. <br />
<br />
Therein lies the charm of second time parenthood. <br />
<br />
<b>Birth</b>. You've done it once, and whether it worked out the way you planned (or not), you basically know what you're getting yourself into. Sure, you could do a bunch of reading and studying and self-hypnosis, but when you're nine months pregnant and chasing a toddler around, the only thing you want to do with your free time is sleep. You know that your baby is coming out one way or another, and the how and the why don't matter as much. Besides, those drugs they have at the hospital that keep you from feeling anything sound a-mazing. Any chance you could take some right now to dull the pain of parenting?<br />
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<b>Nursing</b>. Look, we all know that breast is best, but having a kid attached to your boob for 12-14 months pretty much sucks (pun intended). Once you've exclusively breastfed your first child you understand the unique Hell that is never being able to leave your kid alone for more than an hour at a time or, worse, having to pump every two hours. There's a freedom to repeat motherhood in that one understands that feeding your child however you choose to is what's important. Breast milk? You go girl! Formula? Sounds delicious! You also lose any modesty you may have experienced while nursing the first time around - heck I whipped a boob out at the DMV - because no one can keep one of those stupid nursing capes in place while trying to discipline a biting two year old.<br />
<br />
<b>Classes</b>. There are any number of classes aimed at guilting new Mothers into wasting time and money supposedly stimulating their infant's brains. If you've done one <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/05/five-parenting-classes-for-new-parents.html">Mommy and Me class</a>, you've done them all, and exhausted second time Mommas can't be bothered. Second children get plenty of stimulation watching their older siblings run around the house screaming and terrorizing people. Need some adult interaction? Take your kids to the local park and befriend another sleep deprived momma; it's free and requires a lot less parental participation than that Mommy and Baby painting class.<br />
<br />
<b>Judgement</b>. No matter what you do, people are going to <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/05/everyone-thinks-they-will-be-better-parents.html">judge your parenting</a>. Standing too close to your kid on the playground? You're a helicopter mom! Texting while your kid does a head dive off the swing set? You're an inattentive parent! Perhaps the best thing to arise from my journey into second time motherhood is that I simply don't care what other people think about my parenting anymore. I'm doing the best I can - my kids are fed and loved and somewhat clean - and they are happy. That's enough for me, and I won't be taking any "suggestions" about my parenting from anyone other than my kid's therapist.<br />
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Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make myself a happy hour cocktail; because the other thing that second time parenting has taught me is the value of a strong drink. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-84500536998480227902016-07-07T14:00:00.000-07:002016-07-07T14:13:30.892-07:00So Much Stuff. For Preschool?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n6GrllN6hvM/V36ozbnShWI/AAAAAAAAEgw/FZse-rDhPTY_EB65XASG29SH6_xLbCxrACLcB/s1600/preschool%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="what you need for preschool" border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n6GrllN6hvM/V36ozbnShWI/AAAAAAAAEgw/FZse-rDhPTY_EB65XASG29SH6_xLbCxrACLcB/s640/preschool%2B2.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's been labeled (with personalized stickers, natch)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Muffin Man started preschool (<a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/06/what-to-look-for-in-a-preschool.html">again</a>) on Tuesday.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I know, I can't believe it either. Excuse me while I take a moment to cry a little. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">After <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/03/five-things-not-to-say-to-preschool.html">all the time and stress</a> that's gone into finding the right school for him, you'd think I would be more prepared for this day, but, true to form, here we are with the first day of school behind us and I'm <i>still</i> scrambling to get everything organized.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Remember back in the 70's, when the only thing you had to bring with you for the first day of school was a box of Kleenex and some powdered TANG? </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, how the times have changed, my friends.</span></span></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>THEN</u></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>NOW</u></b></div>
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Every kid got a name tag – nothing fancy, just one of those cheap
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with their children” which ultimately means attempting to get your
hyperactive toddler to decorate his "about me" page, while your spouse yells at
the kid to pay attention, and which will culminate in an exhausted, over
worked mommy filling in the rest of the thing late at night after
everyone has gone to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 2;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Parents in the 1970’s didn’t label anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s just crazy talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were too busy waiting in gas lines,
smoking a Virginia Slim, and drinking TAB to label their child’s stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, isn’t preschool about learning to
share?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Every single item that your kid brings to school must be
labeled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re not talking about just
writing your child’s name on stuff with a sharpie and calling it a day; that
would never do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Custom labels, in
varying colors and designs are a necessity, and include iron-on labels for
clothing, and dishwasher safe ones for your child’s lunch supplies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cost of the labels alone is more than
the yearly tuition of the neighborhood nursery school you attended back in
the 1970’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 3;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nobody kept extra clothes at school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If you peed on yourself because you were too busy to use the toilet,
then you were stuck having to wear urine-soaked clothes for the rest of
the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course none of your
classmates wanted to sit next to you at snack – you smelled like pee!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bet that was the last time you didn’t
stop playing to use the potty, amiright?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A bag full of extra clothes is to be kept in your child’s cubby at
all times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the parent’s
responsibility to ensure that the bag of clothing remains fully stocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each item must be labeled with your child’s
name, and the selection of clothing should include appropriate attire for
every single season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the fact
that it only rains in Los Angeles two days a year, it is imperative that your
offspring have a waterproof jacket and rain boots in his bag of extra clothing,
because children are highly sensitive and it could be damaging to their
psyche to be wet for half of a day.</div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 4;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There were no special nap mats or cushy pillows stored at
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was rest time, your
kid simply picked out a spot on the dirty rug, lay down, and went to
sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you needed a soft mattress
and a sound machine and any other special gear in order to sleep, you were
not ready for preschool and you needed to stay home with Mommy because you were
a BABY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nap gear is required.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
don’t bother sending some old, ratty sheet and an extra pillow from your
sofa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your kid needs a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003F1FETS/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B003F1FETS&linkCode=as2&tag=misadvinmothe-20&linkId=HV76OOIZQVMY3VUQ" target="_blank">nap mat</a>, which is
basically a piece of fleece with some cute designs on it, for which you will
end up paying more than you spent on your child’s crib.</div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 5;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Your lunchbox (if you had one) was a rickety metal thing with a
picture of <i>Charlie’s Angels</i> or <i>ET</i> or <i>Star Wars</i> on the front.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It came with a thermos, that was supposed
to keep your milk cold or your soup hot but which mostly “kept” any food
inside of it at the perfect temperature to encourage bacteria growth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your sparkly lunchbox was purchased for a
few bucks at the local drugstore, and usually looked like it had been run
over by a car after a week of use.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The lunch contained within usually included such culinary delights as
bologna on Wonder Bread, some cheese doodles, and a bruised apple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each of these items were placed inside a
plastic sandwich bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anything that
wasn’t consumed was tossed in the garbage can along with those plastic
baggies that are probably still taking up space in your old neighborhood’s
local landfill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
The lunchbox of 2015 is a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00LJ2EKHC/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00LJ2EKHC&linkCode=as2&tag=misadvinmothe-20&linkId=XOUM2NMK2AYKVOX3" target="_blank">fancy bento box type affair</a>, that costs
approximately ten times as much as your <i>Barbie</i> lunchbox of yore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are carefully portioned compartments
for various healthy foodstuffs, none of which is labeled “cheese
doodles”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parents are expected to
prepare lunchtime meals that are healthy, appealing to a three year old, and
pretty enough to post on <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/theannalane" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
This fancy lunchbox needs to be placed inside a temperature
controlled <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00CFLFAA2/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00CFLFAA2&linkCode=as2&tag=misadvinmothe-20&linkId=OUYHNEO3OP2KBRBS" target="_blank">lunch bag</a>, which is a separate item also costing ten times more
than your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Transformers</i>
lunchbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lunch bag has handles to
make it easy to carry, but it also has a compartment inside to hold an
ice pack so that your child’s lunch never reaches a dangerous temperature which
could lead to a food-borne illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is especially important since your child’s lunch often contains
artisanal raw cheese or yogurt, sushi, and sprouted organic grains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 6; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nobody had food allergies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s just crazy talk ginned up by some wacko hippies in
Berkeley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peanuts are delicious, no
one even knew what gluten was, and any kid who didn’t drink milk was an
under-nourished freak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; mso-border-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="319"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don’t even think about sending your kid to school with a nut
product.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peanuts are practically
weapons of mass toddler destruction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You better not put good ol’
wheat bread in your child’s lunch, or everyone will accuse you of pumping your child full of poisonous gluten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Also, you may want to rethink sending your son to school with milk, because cow's milk is terrible and it is entirely possible Junior will be a social pariah since </span>no one wants to be friends with THE MILK DRINKER.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Honestly, I'm thinking of sending some cheese doodles for snack just to f*ck with them.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get my Xanax prescription refilled. </span></span>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-83440036576017247392016-07-05T11:08:00.000-07:002016-07-05T11:08:02.187-07:00Motherhood FAIL: Second Birthday Edition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O-5PdRS7qqI/V3vzPo1WuvI/AAAAAAAAEgc/A-6odVlGNg0OKWPIcMxzs3Gur4FFmgrEwCLcB/s1600/birthday%2Bgirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O-5PdRS7qqI/V3vzPo1WuvI/AAAAAAAAEgc/A-6odVlGNg0OKWPIcMxzs3Gur4FFmgrEwCLcB/s640/birthday%2Bgirl.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday baby.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Confession: I almost forgot my daughter's birthday.<br />
<br />I know Rose's birthdate - like any woman could possibly forget <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/07/and-now-we-are-four.html">the day she pushed a child out of her vag without pain medication</a> - but for some reason I didn't compute that her birthday was <i>today</i>. I kept thinking that I had plenty of time to buy her some birthday gifts, but all of the sudden it was July 3rd at 5:45pm and I realized that every store would be closed on July 4th and that I had nothing to give Rose.<br />
<br />
In my defense, I've been talked into throwing her a princess party (Lord help me) and I've been focusing on getting ready for that this past week, so shopping for presents for her to open on the actual <u>day</u> of her birth sort of slipped my mind. <br />
<br />
Epic #momfail moment right there. <br />
<br />
The good news is that there's a really great CVS in our neighborhood. The bad news is that nothing says "you're a second child" like
having all of your birthday gifts come from the 24 hour drug store. <br />
<br />
Here's the funny thing: I'm pretty sure that Rose loves all of the last minute gifts I bought for her at CVS even more than she would have loved a bunch of expensive toys purchased in advance with plenty of forethought. Toddlers may be a pain the ass overall, but when it comes to gifts they're usually happy with the simplest things. <br />
<br />
<b>Bandaids</b>. Giving an adult a box of bandaids for a birthday gift will surely result in your being removed from the guest list the following year, but kids love a new box of bandaids almost as much as I love my wine. I guarantee that your child will be filled with glee when she rips the wrapping off of a box of her favorite Princess or Super Hero bandaids. Chances are she'll use an entire box of them on the first day despite having no actual owies, but bandaids are considered accessories when one is under the age of five.<br />
<br />
<b>Bubbles</b>. I have yet to meet a kid who doesn't love bubbles, and my daughter is no exception. A giant jug of bubble solution, a few different bubble guns and bubble wands, and you've got the makings for at least 10 minutes of fun. Throw in a package of pipe cleaners and help the birthday girl (or boy) craft her own bubble wand shapes for extra creative mom cred.<br />
<br />
<b>Sand toys</b>. If your forgotten birthday child happens to have been born in the summertime, you'll be fortunate enough to find a great selection of sand toys in the "seasonal" aisle. Even if you don't live near a beach or even <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/06/LA-beaches-with-kids.html">have plans to go to the beach</a>, buckets and shovels are great for the park or for playing in the water at home. I scored a bright purple plastic bucket and some giant shovels at my local Rite Aide, which are sure to be the subject of some epic arguments between my two kids.<br />
<br />
<b>Cleaning supplies</b>. I have yet to meet a child who doesn't love to clean; if only they were a bit more thorough I could save a lot of money on my housekeeper. I cruised the cleaning supplies aisle and picked up a giant cleaning bucket, a broom and pan combo, and a few packages of sponges which, at first glance sounds like a shopping list from my housekeeper but happens to be an incredible gift in my kid's eyes. Forget all those kid-sized pretend mops and brooms marketed to unsuspecting first time parents, your kid wants the real thing. Lucky for you the real stuff happens to be about half the price!<br />
<br />
<b>Barbie</b>. Thankfully, my kids are too young to care how much something cost, they just care that it's fun to play with and something they want. The toy aisle of my local drugstore has a pretty decent selection, including Rose's favorite item: Barbie. Yes, I know Barbie is bad for girls self esteem or whatever, but tell that to my daughter who screams "I want that!!!" every time we pass by one of these plastic ode to the (impossible) female form. I did try to subtly push my <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/10/pregnancy-has-brought-out-my-latent.html">feminist hippie agenda</a> by purchasing the Doctor Barbie, but she'll most likely take off her scrubs and try to put her in a <a href="http://thestir.cafemom.com/toddlers_preschoolers/199007/playing_princess_isnt_dooming_our" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">princess dress</a>. You have to pick your battles when it comes to parenting. <br />
<br />
<b>Chapstick and nail polish</b>. Girls will be girls, and despite my
best efforts to keep her sheltered from our "beauty culture", Rose wants
to put on makeup and have her nails done. I've caved to her pressure
and purchased a bunch of different chapstick flavors as well as some
non-toxic nail polish to use when I take her to have her nails done.
Hey, I enjoy a good birthday mani/pedi as much as the next lady, and who
am I to deny my daughter a little pampering on her special day? <br />
<br />
Besides, it will help assuage my guilt about having forgotten to order some gifts in time for her birthday, and I could really use a pedicure; my feet are starting to resemble hooves. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-92089127225150693902016-06-30T14:56:00.000-07:002016-06-30T14:56:40.181-07:00Pool Party<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f-8jAKTeSp4/V3WSB_9fhsI/AAAAAAAAEf8/K9cqiLdtNH8b5KezJQ_HMC_hbXzVf7zVACLcB/s1600/pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="best inflatable pool with pump" border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f-8jAKTeSp4/V3WSB_9fhsI/AAAAAAAAEf8/K9cqiLdtNH8b5KezJQ_HMC_hbXzVf7zVACLcB/s640/pool.jpg" title="" width="572" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keepin' the neighborhood classy this summer with our giant inflatable pool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's officially summer here in the land of concrete and broken dreams, which means it's too hot to go outside and the air conditioning is set to "liable to bankrupt you". Sure, it's a dry heat, but unless you enjoy walking around on the surface of the sun, it's way too hot to do anything other than lie under an air conditioning vent bemoaning your lack of full time childcare.<br />
<br />
I'm a pretty adventurous parent - I take my kids to <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/06/LACMA.html">museums</a>, <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/06/LA-beaches-with-kids.html">beaches</a>, and activities - but once the temperature hits 90 degrees the last thing I want to do is push my kids in a stroller or load them into a hot car. Unfortunately, I also get super bored being stuck inside my air conditioned duplex for months on end - there are only so many games of hide and seek and Candy Land one can play before going batsh*t crazy - so I needed to figure out a solution for how to play outside during the long, hot, never ending So Cal summer.<br />
<br />
I present to you the best thing I have ever purchased on Amazon: a <a href="http://amzn.to/29uK971" target="_blank">12 foot inflatable pool with an actual pump</a>. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4korFFUAL4Q/V3WU8lsaXYI/AAAAAAAAEgI/XMYyVz51pWALcKlw56slLmGZ6b8lRulMgCLcB/s1600/pool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="intex inflatable pool" border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4korFFUAL4Q/V3WU8lsaXYI/AAAAAAAAEgI/XMYyVz51pWALcKlw56slLmGZ6b8lRulMgCLcB/s400/pool.jpg" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
I've always dreamed of living in a house with a pool. Granted, I dreamed that I owned the house, that the pool wasn't inflatable, and that <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2013/08/successful-at-failure.html">I was hugely successful</a>, but beggars can't be choosers. I am now the proud owner of an above ground pool that my white trash relatives would love. I've even got some AstroTurf around it to really class up the place.<br />
<br />
Here's the beautiful thing: my kids love the pool. They don't care that it's inflatable and makes our backyard look tacky; they just want to spend every waking moment splashing in it. The best part is that thanks to our new fancy pool, I get to spend hours on end doing nothing except sitting on my butt making sure the kids don't drown. I call that a major #lazyparentingwin.Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-33336393140594882192016-06-28T15:34:00.001-07:002016-06-28T15:34:10.882-07:00Preschool Panic: Changing Schools Edition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jEE9Qr08fjg/V3L6Tm4cicI/AAAAAAAAEfo/zACmkQSRducxSfcTSFfJV1uk3CBFT6_fQCLcB/s1600/preschool%2Bswitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jEE9Qr08fjg/V3L6Tm4cicI/AAAAAAAAEfo/zACmkQSRducxSfcTSFfJV1uk3CBFT6_fQCLcB/s640/preschool%2Bswitch.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"You can study gardening?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So...we're moving the Muffin Man to a different preschool.<br />
<br />
I'm going to assume that your initial thought is "hasn't your kid already been to every nursery school in Los Angeles?" and while it may <i>seem</i> that way from how much I've written about this whole ridiculous preschool journey, the truth of the matter is that <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/11/preschool-panic-apply-here.html">we've applied to almost every school on the East side of Los Angeles</a> at least once (some, twice) but he's only actually <i>attended</i> one school. <br />
<br />
When we started the whole preschool process, I didn't really think it mattered that much where Noah ended up going to school. I had my favorites, and a few places that I didn't much like, but overall I considered preschool as a way to give my kid some basic socialization while simultaneously allowing me to have some time alone.<br />
<br />
Well, it turns out that preschool actually <u>is</u> about more than just giving Mommy the opportunity to shower alone.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Four things that really matter when it comes to preschools</u>:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>Community</b>. The main reason we decided to switch schools is because Noah's old school lacked a strong community. On the one hand I really appreciated that we weren't constantly pestered to volunteer or spend time in the classroom, but I do want to get to know the other parents. I really liked the few parents I did meet, but there was no back to school night, no roster of contact information for the other families, and unless you were able to forge friendships during the five minutes you were at school for drop-off or pick-up, you were SOL. If our kids are interacting on a daily basis, I'd like to get to know you myself and to suss out whether you're the type of woman who takes a flask to the park and therefore destined to be my new BFF. <br />
<br />
<b>Boys will be boys</b>. <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2013/09/preschool-panic.html">When I started looking at preschools, Noah was only seven months old</a>. At that point the most interaction my kid had with his peers was swapping spit on a teether at Mommy and Me class. The gender of your kid's friends doesn't really matter at that point, and to be honest, the friends you foist on your kid have more to do with whether you like their mom rather than whether or not your kids are well-suited. Once your kid is old enough to attend school, however, it turns out that having enough kids of the same gender to play with matters. <a href="http://thestir.cafemom.com/toddlers_preschoolers/199007/playing_princess_isnt_dooming_our" target="_blank">Boys and girls really are different</a> for the most part, and my tool and car-loving kiddo needed more boys in his class who shared his interest in swords and standing up to pee. <br />
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<b>Schedule</b>. Little kids thrive on routine. If you've ever <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/12/traveling-with-toddlers.html">traveled with your kids</a>, you know how much a change in schedule can screw up their sleep, digestion, and temperament. Noah's old school had a flexible schedule, which meant that kids could attend anywhere from 1-5 days per week, for half or full days. I think this is incredibly convenient for the parents, but my kid was so confused about who would be in his class with him every day that he had a hard time forging friendships. Between his confusion about who was actually in his class, and my not knowing who any of the kids or parents were, trying to identify his classmates was like some sort of "Who's on First" preschool routine.<br />
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<b>Enrichment</b>. This is just a fancy word for things like music and gardening, two classes that didn't exist at the old school. If I'm working my bony a** off to pay for this place, it better have the same level of enrichment courses all my friend's kids are getting at their school. Sure, I'm going to throw the noodle and glue collage away while my son is sleeping, but gosh darn it I want to at least have a chance to fake some enthusiasm for my kid's hideous artwork. <br />
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Noah's new preschool has all of the stuff I want in spades, and it was a miracle that we got a spot. I'm sure in a few months I'll be complaining about all the volunteering I have to do, or the allergy-free snacks I have to provide, but give me a moment to revel in it before I revert back to my usual snarky self.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>I won't be sharing which schools my children attend simply for privacy sake, but if you live in Los Angeles and would like to know specifics (and you're not batshit crazy), feel free to <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/p/about.html">get in touch</a>. </i></span>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-43197142104789097572016-06-23T16:52:00.002-07:002016-06-23T16:52:52.408-07:00I Survived the 90's. My Eyebrows Did Not<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VGlezjn2jQQ/V2x0bGnEzlI/AAAAAAAAEe8/t3_U7hqJptEW40-OyWO41lL-Gw7fA4yngCLcB/s1600/90s%2B%25233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="trends from the 1990's" border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VGlezjn2jQQ/V2x0bGnEzlI/AAAAAAAAEe8/t3_U7hqJptEW40-OyWO41lL-Gw7fA4yngCLcB/s640/90s%2B%25233.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks like someone had a few too many Midori sours. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've been in the process of going through all of the crap that's accumulated around Casa Lane over the last three years. Call it what you will - Marie Kondo-ing or purging - but it's really more that I haven't had a chance to get rid of stuff since I went through the whole nesting stage back when I was pregnant with the Muffin Man. One doesn't exactly get a lot of chances to use the label maker when chasing a baby and a toddler. <br />
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Now that my kids are older and therefore able to entertain themselves while I ignore them, I've been slowly sorting through all of the accumulated junk that's managed to pile up in the closets, cupboards, and garage. Pro tip: you really don't need to hang on to a bunch of spit-up stained bibs if your uterus is closed for business. Also, you really are never going to fit into those pre-pregnancy jeans again, so stop holding on to hope and invest in a pair of pants that don't cut off the blood supply to your lady parts.<br />
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As part of my garage purge, I stumbled upon a giant box filled with old photos from my high school and college years. While I was sorting through the pile of snapshots, two things crossed my mind: one, that my children will never experience having to wait several days or weeks in order to see what the photos from their disposable camera look like, and two, that there were some really hideous trends from the 90's.<br />
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<b>Brown lipstick</b>. I'm sure there are women who look incredible in brown lipstick. I, however, am not one of these women. The fact that brown is not my color did not dissuade me from wearing this trend with pride. I spent a significant portion of my allowance at the local drugstore purchasing tubes of some hideous, slightly shimmery cocoa-brown color. I guess if the look I was going for was "crypt keeper" this would have been an excellent fashion choice, which I will certainly keep in mind come Halloween.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NqG6zlUj4Jk/V2x0aTjrs4I/AAAAAAAAEe4/fLOvqoI2bic40jikoido_JIgpEUB4n9nwCKgB/s1600/90s%2B%25231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Trends from the 1990's" border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NqG6zlUj4Jk/V2x0aTjrs4I/AAAAAAAAEe4/fLOvqoI2bic40jikoido_JIgpEUB4n9nwCKgB/s640/90s%2B%25231.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></div>
<b>Giant clothing</b>. I came of age during the grunge era, which means that I listened to a lot of Nirvana and Pearl Jam while smoking pot, and that all of the clothing I purchased was size Men's XXL. My body type has not changed significantly; I'm still a toothpick, just older and saggier, so I had no business wearing an XXL anything. In hindsight I realize that most of my sartorial choices back then hinged on my wanting to hide my slender figure, but instead of turning me into some sort of voluptuous goddess I just looked like a badly-dressed toothpick. On a side note, if I could go back in time and give my teenage self some advice, it would be to wear midriff tops every single day, because I had amazing abs and it's a shame that I kept those undercover.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-umPocshreTY/V2x0YcLJvOI/AAAAAAAAEes/VTZge_-zwP4-Q7JkJXMNhiRyyPqLii6agCKgB/s1600/90%2527s%2B%25234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-umPocshreTY/V2x0YcLJvOI/AAAAAAAAEes/VTZge_-zwP4-Q7JkJXMNhiRyyPqLii6agCKgB/s640/90%2527s%2B%25234.jpg" width="474" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I graduated from NYU, but it appears my eyebrows did not. </td></tr>
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<b>Over-plucked eyebrows</b>. As a woman who comes from a rather hirsute background, I have spent my life attempting to tame the uni brow. I didn't learn about the magic of waxing until I moved to New York because, <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/10/pregnancy-has-brought-out-my-latent.html">Berkeley</a>, but once I did discover the allure of hot wax and no body hair, I began a years-long obsession with removing all traces of my Russian Jewish ancestry. Unfortunately, I got a little too close to my waxer, and while I'm grateful to her for ridding me of my uni brow, I wish she hadn't taken off quite so much of my gorgeous Ashkenazi dual brows. It turns out that looking permanently surprised is not a great look for most women.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SI7gGLt8Bd4/V2x0aQ0VBqI/AAAAAAAAEe0/DLVaMyUAMfsUn5AF__2DmcALYorp3ALNgCKgB/s1600/90s%2B%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="526" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SI7gGLt8Bd4/V2x0aQ0VBqI/AAAAAAAAEe0/DLVaMyUAMfsUn5AF__2DmcALYorp3ALNgCKgB/s640/90s%2B%25232.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b>The Rachel cut</b>. We all had this, right? I mean, it was the hottest haircut in practically ever and yet it was heinous. Who in the Hell thought that a weird, layered bubble cut would be flattering? I clearly remember thinking I looked so hot when I walked out of the fancy San Francisco salon that specialized in this tragedy of a hairdo. I spent precious amounts of time blow-drying my hairdo every morning - time when I should have been sleeping - in order to make all those layers look halfway decent. I have super thick, wavy hair, which, it turns out, meant that if I didn't spend the time to blow dry my hair would have me looking like some kind of Golden Doodle who'd been to a sub-par groomer. Thankfully, I was saved by a cross country move and an (expensive) New York hairdresser who turned me on to the pixie cut and the joys of doing blow at work.<br />
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<b>Midori sour. </b>Whoever invented this drink and dared to call himself a Mixologist should be drowned in a bin of dirty ice, because this "cocktail" is vile. I sincerely hope that the young girls of 2016 are not still ordering this monstrosity and fancying themselves sophisticated, because this is basically just Otter Pop-flavored alcohol. I threw back my share of this horrendous drink, which may explain why <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/03/model-fcker.html">I slept with as many losers</a> as I did. Any drink that is garnished with a cherry - other than a classic Manhattan - should not be ordered by any woman fancying herself an adult.<br />
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I guess, when all is said and done, I'm happy to be a grown-up. Sure, I would love to have those teenage abs back, and I could really do without the postpartum tummy pooch, stretch marks, and <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/01/where-oh-where-have-my-boobs-gone.html">saggy boobs</a>, but at least I have a great haircut and would never, ever be caught dead drinking any cocktails the color of nuclear waste. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-8122000741580805802016-06-21T14:34:00.004-07:002016-06-21T14:34:36.817-07:00How to Plan the Perfect Family Vacation<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3mcjvIdGmVk/V2mvdtCKhsI/AAAAAAAAEeY/Hjp3kfdaf5MTOefoXcTHnWBV_-HfxaGBgCLcB/s1600/rose%2Bin%2Bpool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3mcjvIdGmVk/V2mvdtCKhsI/AAAAAAAAEeY/Hjp3kfdaf5MTOefoXcTHnWBV_-HfxaGBgCLcB/s640/rose%2Bin%2Bpool.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How about we just stay home and hang out in our blow up pool for free?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've been talked into taking a "<a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/07/summer-no-cation.html">vacation</a>" with my family this summer. I was probably slightly tipsy when the Hubster broached the subject, and in my altered state thought it sounded like a great idea, but now that I'm sober and figuring out all the logistics, I'm beginning to fear for my sanity. I'm still recovering from <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/12/traveling-with-toddlers.html">the last trip I took with my kids</a> over seven months ago. In fact, I haven't even finished unpacking yet.<br />
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On the one hand, I'm incredibly grateful that we have the time and the financial resources to even consider traveling somewhere. But on the other hand this means we have to travel...<b>with our children</b>. Gone are the days of impulsive trips that involved throwing a string bikini and some birth control in a bag and catching the next flight to paradise. Now everything has to be planned in detail, because I can tell you from experience that doing anything impulsively or last minute when children are involved only leads to sleepless nights and tantrums, from both children <u>and</u> parents.<br />
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<b>Destination</b>. When you have little kids who are not yet capable of sitting still for longer than 14.5 seconds, you have to pick vacation destinations that aren't too far from home. Hawaii is beautiful, but it's also 5-6 hours away by airplane, and until my children have the ability to entertain themselves and use the bathroom alone, I'd like to avoid any trips longer than two hours. Sure, you can try drugging your offspring with Benadryl in the hopes that they'll sleep through the flight, but if your kids are like mine, and they get totally wired instead, then you'll get to enjoy five hours of your children using you and your fellow passengers as a jungle gym. I'll just have to wait to take that trip to Italy I've been dreaming about until my children are, well, no longer children.<br />
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<b>Air or land?</b> Traveling by plane is shitty enough these days when one is flying alone, but add two children with all their stuff and who like to make jokes about flying with power tools, and you've got a recipe for the flight from Hell. Road trips <i>sound</i> fun, until you realize that you'll have to entertain your children the entire time. Also, instead of listening to that awesome road trip playlist you made when you were single, you'll have to rock out to <i>Baby Beluga</i> and the <i>Wheels on the Bus</i>. For the entire drive. All while your children repeatedly kick your seat and ask "are we there yet?" every three minutes. <br />
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<b>Accommodations</b>. I love a nice hotel room as much as the next gal, but I do not like having to share that hotel room with my kids. I have a hard enough time getting my kids to sleep through the night at home, but expecting them to snooze peacefully in a roll away crib that I've locked in the closet or the bathroom is just delusional. Not to mention that I have to bring so much crap with us whenever we're not sleeping at home - white noise machines, night lights, blankets, pillows - it takes a whole extra suitcase just for all the accoutrements my children need in order to sleep. If I'm spending $500 a night to stay somewhere, I better be getting the best sleep of my entire freaking life, not jumping out of bed every 30 minutes to reassure my kids that there are no monsters hiding in the toilet. <br />
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<b>Food</b>. Children eat all the freaking time. Once they finish a meal, they want a snack. Then they want another snack, followed by a second meal, followed by another snack. It's a vicious cycle of constantly preparing food and doing dishes. Unless one can afford to spring for a suite (and we can't), hotel rooms do not have kitchens, which means you're constantly ordering room service or running to the snack bar for stuff for your kids. Other than being a complete pain in the ass, this will also set you back practically $4000. I'd rather just rent a house with a kitchen so that I can spend my vacation doing exactly what I do when we're at home: dishes.<br />
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<b>Activities</b>. My ideal vacation involves reading books and eating delicious food, but unfortunately my children don't feel the same way. They want me to play with them and swim with them and take them to places like the aquarium and the zoo. I may dream of a food crawl through Portland, but unless the dishes being served are plain pasta and white cheese, my kids won't be participating.<br />
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Maybe we'll just take a staycation instead. Sure, there won't be as many Instagram-worthy shots as there would be if we went to Cancun, but at least there's a chance my kids might sleep, and it's safe to drink the water. And with all the money I'll be saving by not taking a trip, I can hire a babysitter to watch my kids while I go to the beach alone. Now <b>that's</b> what I call a vacation. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-91221803661556014242016-06-16T10:15:00.000-07:002016-06-16T10:15:09.033-07:00Four Things Your Dad Really Wants<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IAsmKpdsuVk/V2HGvr-eUDI/AAAAAAAAEd8/Gz-t3efq0TYobOl3ui6iBapmcvWebLvxgCLcB/s1600/Father%2527s%2BDay%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="What does the Dad in your life want for Father's Day? " border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IAsmKpdsuVk/V2HGvr-eUDI/AAAAAAAAEd8/Gz-t3efq0TYobOl3ui6iBapmcvWebLvxgCLcB/s640/Father%2527s%2BDay%2B2.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What does the man in your life want for Father's Day? Probably sex.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With Father's Day just around the corner, the Hubs has been sending me subtle hints about what he wants for this father of all holidays. I thought for sure that he would choose something from my fabulous <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/06/Fathers-Day-Gift-Guide.html">Gift Guide</a>, but alas it seems that the only things he wants involves me having to be naked and awake; specifically sex. This got me thinking about how different the wish list is between Mother's Day and Father's Day. In fact, when you compare and contrast, it seems that everything on my <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/04/five-things-your-mom-does-not-want-for.html">DO NOT BUY list</a> are all the things that my spouse actually <i>wants</i>. The only crossover item is sleep because, kids. <br />
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<b>Sleep</b>. The need for a decent night's rest crosses all gender lines when it comes to parenthood, which makes this a universally desired item on every parent's wish list. I suspect that when my Husband wrote "sleep in" on his Father's Day gift list, he actually meant until after 9am, but there's only so long I can hold my savages off from waking him up. He better be happy with a 7:30 wake-up call because there's only so long I can keep my children distracted with the Disney Channel and breakfast popsicles.<br />
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<b>Sex</b>. It seems to me that men want to celebrate anything that passes for a Holiday with a romp in the bedclothes. My husband has actually tried to use Arbor Day as a valid qualifier for obligatory sex. Obviously when it comes to Father's Day - a Holiday all about him - you're basically going to have to put out. The only way I can think of to weasel out of sex would be to remind him what your vagina looked liked when you pushed out your children, or to actually be in labor on Father's Day. Even then, he may have the audacity to ask for a BJ between contractions. <br />
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<b>Gadgets and tools</b>. My spouse is not a tool guy - he's Jewish, after all - but the man loves a new kitchen gadget more than he may have loved his ex-wife. While I don't ever want to be gifted with something I'm expected to cook, clean, or actually use, the Hubs wants nothing more than a new smoker and an immersion blender. Give a non-Jewish father a set of tools and watch his face light up at the prospect of fixing sh*t around the house or building something for his man cave. I'll never understand why men enjoy gifts that come with the implicit requirement that the receiver must do something productive. Now if only the stuff they wanted to fix was what you've had on their "Honey Do" list for the last four years.<br />
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<b>Sports</b>. I don't have a spouse who is in to sports - I suspect it's from too many years of actually playing them - but every man I meet wants to spend his Father's Day either watching sports or participating in sports. I sometimes wonder if sports is what passes for foreplay for men. My Husband may not want to watch any sports, but I know that he would be thrilled to have an hour or two to ride his bicycle, alone, to someplace other than the ice cream store. The closest I want to get to any sports is having a former Olympic Gold Medal wrestler give me a massage. <br />
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Happy Father's Day to all the Dads, Pops, Grandfathers, Step-Dads, and Stepped-up-the-plate Dads. Here's hoping your day is filled with lots of the things you love. Just remember to use birth control for all that Holiday nookie or risk having another offspring to support next June.<br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-61086818589023605292016-06-14T15:43:00.000-07:002016-06-14T16:00:24.794-07:00Who's Your Daddy?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Uhk74qhInw/VYDVQQCTq4I/AAAAAAAADT0/PSH1-hYRedk/s1600/Father%2527s%2BDay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Father's Day humor" border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Uhk74qhInw/VYDVQQCTq4I/AAAAAAAADT0/PSH1-hYRedk/s640/Father%2527s%2BDay.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></div>
Each year, when Father's Day rolls around, I find myself thinking about the "road not taken" or, as I prefer to call it, "thank goodness I remembered to use birth control when I slept with all those losers." Do you ever think about that, about what your life would be like if you'd ended up with someone different? In my Mother's case, that would've spared me a lifetime of therapy working through my daddy issues, but when it comes to my own choice of Baby Daddy, I'm pretty happy. Nevertheless, I sometimes have one of those "what if" moments. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>What if.... </b></u></div>
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<b>I'd married <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/02/friend-request.html" target="_blank">my first boyfriend</a>?</b> </div>
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When a guy can't remember if you were number 57 or 58 on his conquest list, it's hard to imagine him sticking around for the long haul. Young love may be sweet, but the last thing I'd want in a husband is a guy with a wandering peen and an endless string of ladies willing to oblige. Sure, he was well-endowed and knew what to do with it, but If I'd taken that road I would've been divorced by twenty-two and facing a future of rooming with my Mother. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>I'd moved in with the questionably gay one?</b> </div>
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I'm sure there are straight men who love musical theater and can quote every lyric to every Rodgers & Hammerstein score ever written, I've just never met one. This guy liked attending the Gay Pride Parade and wouldn't let up on wanting to try anal "just once"<b>.</b> He claimed he liked women, which he proved to me by boning my roommate. I'm glad I didn't procreate with him, mainly because it would've been awkward to explain to my kids why Daddy left Mommy for a woman...who he then left for a man.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>I'd gotten hitched to the drug addict?</b> </div>
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Drugs and alcohol are awesome...until you have kids. This guy was the life of the party, and we had a great time together slamming back the shots, hitting the after hours clubs and living the (literal) high life. I probably would've married this guy if he'd ever been sober enough to ask. I could've popped out two kids and had enough material for my own Movie of the Week. But you know what's super <u>not</u> awesome? Watching Daddy do lines in the living room before you leave for soccer practice. I already attend Al-anon meetings; I don't want to see my kids there. </div>
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<a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/03/model-fcker.html">I dated more than my share of losers</a>, but in the end I'm terribly grateful that I didn't end up marrying or (G-d forbid) having a kid with any of them. I thank my lucky stars every day that I met, married, and procreated with a guy who is not only an amazing Father, but also a loving and caring partner. This Sunday, I'm looking forward to celebrating Father's Day with the Hubs in a fitting manner: by letting him sleep past 7am, and possibly even giving in to some pity sex. Oh, and by giving him something from my <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/06/Fathers-Day-Gift-Guide.html">Father's Day gift guide</a>, of course. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-4066591591077721782016-06-09T15:20:00.002-07:002016-06-09T15:20:55.113-07:00Buy Your Daddy Something Fabulous<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hR8IPG7u_QU/V1noblGRFkI/AAAAAAAAEdg/JjwZ124OluU3EXwJxF0613_2108Z502ugCLcB/s1600/Fathers%2BDay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Father's Day gift guide" border="0" height="376" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hR8IPG7u_QU/V1noblGRFkI/AAAAAAAAEdg/JjwZ124OluU3EXwJxF0613_2108Z502ugCLcB/s640/Fathers%2BDay.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do you get for the man who carries it all?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A good man may be hard to find, but it's my personal opinion that a good gift, for the aforementioned man, is even harder to find. <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/06/whos-your-daddy.html">Father's Day</a> is next Sunday, June 19th, which means that it's time to buy the Dad in your life something he actually wants. It may be the thought that counts, but I have a feeling that a guy who doesn't smoke may not be too thrilled to receive a ceramic ashtray.<br />
<br />
The good news is that I've done the hard part for you - researching stuff Dad <i>actually</i> wants - so all you have to do is some online shopping from the comfort of your desk. Just be sure not to use your joint credit card and risk the Mastercard Fraud Department spoiling the surprise.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SAnONJaTMjU/V1ngpAaUNMI/AAAAAAAAEdQ/XD1XPGNHLowJuNIXBsU9x7ZgHej6AwaGwCLcB/s1600/Father%2527s%2BDay%2BGifts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SAnONJaTMjU/V1ngpAaUNMI/AAAAAAAAEdQ/XD1XPGNHLowJuNIXBsU9x7ZgHej6AwaGwCLcB/s640/Father%2527s%2BDay%2BGifts.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
1. You can't beat a <a href="http://www.zappos.com/vans-classic-slip-on-core-classics-navy-canvas?utm_term=SKU-7226411&utm_campaign=product_page_badge&utm_medium=socialearned&utm_source=pinterest" target="_blank">classic pair of Vans</a> kicks for the summer. Hip, comfy, and affordable.<br />
<br />
2. <a href="http://amzn.to/1UEQvPw" target="_blank">The best verbena soap</a> on the market. The scent is subtle (even my scent-averse hubster likes it), and the bar is huge, so it lasts forever.<br />
<br />
3. A <a href="https://www.amazon.com/iDevices-IGR0001P5-iGrill-Mini/dp/B00I25PGZO/ref=lp_3031359011_1_1?srs=3031359011&ie=UTF8&qid=1465509291&sr=8-1" target="_blank">high-tech meat thermometer</a> that lets you keep track of your meat temperature from your phone. No more charred steaks! <br />
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4. <a href="http://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/high-heat-nonstick-steel-grill-griddle/" target="_blank">Non-stick steel griddle</a> so that your Hubs doesn't ruin the stove-top one you use for pancakes (ahem, <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2013/04/the-man-who-would-be-hubby.html">Chris</a>!)<br />
<br />
5. Rescue your popcorn-loving spouse from the toxic microwave popcorn chemicals and get this <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/microwave-popcorn-popper" target="_blank">glass microwave popper</a> instead.<br />
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6. If your Hubs doesn't have a subscription to <a href="http://shaved.by/dYd1S" target="_blank">Dollar Shave Club</a> yet, remedy that immediately. No more overpriced blades and the monthly subscription is delivered to your mailbox. <br />
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7. Spice-loving spouses will dig the limited-edition <a href="http://www.fuegobox.co/shop/product/300770703" target="_blank">Fuego Box</a>. The ghost pepper salt is outrageous.<br />
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8. If your Baby Daddy is a traditionalist in the BBQ department, order up a <a href="http://www.rosleusa.com/Steak-and-Meat-Thermometers-Set-of-4-plu25067.html" target="_blank">set of meat thermometers</a> calibrated for different types of deliciousness (beef, pork, lamb, etc.)<br />
<br />
9. Card shark poppas will get a kick out of <a href="https://www.shutterfly.com/photo-gifts/playing-cards/monogram-circle-playing-cards?skuCode=1086060" target="_blank">custom playing cards</a> with family photos on the back (order immediately for guaranteed Father's Day delivery).<br />
<br />
Happy Father's Day to all the fantastic Dads out there. Enjoy sleeping in, spending the day being badgered by your offspring, and potentially having some mediocre married sex with your wife. <br />
<br />
P.S. - for more gift ideas, be sure and <a href="http://pinterest.com/theannalane" target="_blank">follow me on Pinterest</a>, where I'll post other goodies that strike my fancy. You can also check out <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2014/06/give-good-gift.html" target="">last year's gift guide</a>. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-64834698074974310392016-06-07T14:24:00.002-07:002016-06-07T14:24:28.623-07:00Beach Day with Toddlers<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BUawzVBpnE0/V1c5YyMYTeI/AAAAAAAAEc0/IUFyI7tFLHwJZXTU6Nsyo163DCZG7nD9QCLcB/s1600/beach%2Bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="how to go to the beach with your kids" border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BUawzVBpnE0/V1c5YyMYTeI/AAAAAAAAEc0/IUFyI7tFLHwJZXTU6Nsyo163DCZG7nD9QCLcB/s640/beach%2Bday.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All this stuff for an hour at the beach?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Ah, <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/07/summer-no-cation.html">summer vacation</a>. The perfect time to go to the beach and enjoy some fun in the sun and sand. Unless, of course, you have children.<br />
<br />
While the idea of taking your kids to the beach may initially seem fantastic, the reality of actually going there is an entirely different animal. Unless you live literally <i>on the beach</i>, taking two little kids to the beach in LA looks something like this: <br />
<br />
1. <b>Decide several weeks in advance when you will go to the beach</b>.<b> </b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Two days before:</b></u></div>
2. Locate all the beach gear. This includes beach towels for every member of your family (two for each child because, kids), beach blankets, swimsuits, rash guards, hats, beach chairs, beach umbrella, cooler, and beach toys. This takes about four hours because you constantly get interrupted by your children, and because you cannot find your son's swim trunks anywhere in the house. In desperation, you order your son a new swimsuit on Amazon to be delivered the next day. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>One day before:</b></u></div>
3. Go to Costco. Buy juice boxes, bottled water, snacks, baby wipes and sunscreen. You probably also buy a bunch of other sh*t you don't need because it's Costco and that's how it works. <br />
<br />
4. Pack up the car. This is done under the cover of darkness because trying to do it while your children are awake is nigh on impossible. Of course, on the one night you have something to do other than watch <i>Game of Thrones</i>, your children stay up until 9pm and you are basically a zombie. It takes over an hour to drag all the stuff out of the house and figure out how to fit it in your stupid eco-friendly vehicle. You curse yourself for listening to your spouse who thought it would be a great idea to trade in your SUV for something more environmentally conscious. You actually give your spouse the finger halfway through struggling to shove all the crap into your hatchback.<br />
<br />
5. Prep the food. Make sandwiches, slice fruits and veggies, and put everything in separate baggies because your children are assholes who refuse to share. Yes, plastic bags are terrible for the Earth, but your kids throwing a tantrum about having to share cucumber slices is terrible for your sanity, so screw Mother Earth.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b>Beach Day:</b></u></div>
6. Get up at 5:30am because your kids think this is an acceptable time to get up. You park your children in front of TV while you wait for the caffeine from your first coffee to hit your bloodstream.<br />
<br />
7. Load the cooler. Feed your kids breakfast while you simultaneously load up the cooler with all the sandwiches and snacks you prepared the night before. Your children help with this task by opening all of the snacks and eating sandwiches as their second breakfast. You prepare a second round of sandwiches, and pick up all the pretzels and crunchy dried fruit your children have strewn all over the floor. There's so much stuff in your cooler that you can barely lift it into your car, and you are sweating profusely by the time you get it loaded. <br />
<br />
8. Get dressed. You haven't bought a bathing suit since before you gave birth to your first child, and you can't even remember the name of your waxer let alone the last time you attended to the situation happening at your bikini line. You have to improvise a strap on the top of your swimsuit because you have <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/01/where-oh-where-have-my-boobs-gone.html">no boobs anymore</a>, the top won't stay up, and you don't really feel like flashing all of Malibu with your pancake boobies. Try not to look at yourself in the mirror before you throw on some shorts with an elastic waist band and a t-shirt that's very possibly a maternity top.<br />
<br />
9. <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/03/how-to-get-toddler-dressed-in-21-easy.html">Get kids dressed</a>. Spend another hour convincing your children to get dressed. This mostly involves chasing them around the house begging them to put their clothes on. Bribe, threaten, and cajole them and finally succeed by changing them while they are mesmerized by TV.<br />
<br />
10. Slather everyone with non-toxic sunscreen that probably doesn't even work.<br />
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11. Get kids loaded into the car and actually pull out of your driveway.<br />
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12. Sit in traffic on the way to the highway.<br />
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13. Sit in traffic on the highway while your children ask, "are we there yet?"<br />
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14. Sit in more traffic once you get off the highway while your children scream for snacks and punch each other.<br />
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15. Finally arrive at the beach. Or rather, the parking lot for the beach.<br />
<br />
16. Pay $20 for parking.<br />
<br />
17. Park. Drive around the parking lot at least six times looking for a spot closest to the sand until your son says he needs to go to the bathroom. Screech into the nearest parking spot, unbuckle both your kids as fast as possible, and sprint to the bathroom.<br />
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18. Go potty. Attempt to hold your 35-pound son over the toilet while carrying your 22-pound daughter in the other arm. This results in your pulling a muscle in your neck and no longer being able to turn your head to the right.<br />
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19. Go back to the car and unload all the crap. Try to get your kids to help carry something (anything!) but they refuse. You end up carrying both your children and all the gear, while rolling the cooler behind you.<br />
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20. Find a spot on the sand on which to set-up camp. Spend 30 minutes laying down blankets and towels, unfolding chairs, and setting up the umbrella while your children throw sand at you.<br />
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21. Two minutes after you finally get a chance to sit down, your kids say they are hungry. You dole out sandwiches, snacks, and drinks from the cooler.<br />
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22. As soon as you take a bite of your own food, your kids declare that they are finished and want to go in the water.<br />
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23. You take your kids in the water, which they hate. The older one says it's too cold, and the younger one is scared and won't stop screaming and/or clinging to you. You adjourn to the blankets for more sand play.<br />
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24. You attempt to take a couple of cute photos of your kids playing in the sand, but mostly they just make weird faces or throw sand at you and each other. <br />
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25. You realize that it's time to leave in order to get home for naps.<br />
<br />
26. You rush to pack everything up while your kids scream that they don't want to leave.<br />
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27. You carry everything (and everyone) back to the car. <br />
<br />
28. No matter what you do, you cannot get everything to fit in your trunk. You decide to abandon the cooler because you saw them on sale at Costco yesterday. <br />
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29. You get your kids loaded into their seats. You get into the drivers seat, shut the door, turn on the engine, and smell poop. <br />
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30. You unstrap your youngest kid from her seat and quickly change her diaper on the pavement in the parking lot because your trunk is too full of stuff to use it as a changing table. Your older child screams "let's go" over and over and over at the top of his lungs.<br />
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31. You finally get loaded up again. You make sure your kids have books and snacks and ipads to keep them occupied for the ride home because you do not want them to fall asleep.<br />
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32. Sit in traffic on the way to the highway.<br />
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33. Sit in traffic on the highway while blasting the Toddler Tunes station in an attempt to keep your kids awake.<br />
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34. Sit in more traffic once you get off the highway while you tickle your children in the backseat in order to stop them from nodding off. You very possibly dislocate your arm while doing this.<br />
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35. Finally arrive home.<br />
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36. Race your kids upstairs to put them down for their naps.<br />
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37. Pass out from exhaustion in the hallway outside their room and swear to yourself that you will never, ever take your kids to the beach again.<br />
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At least until next summer. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-52730364225089168342016-06-02T14:47:00.000-07:002016-06-02T14:47:26.614-07:00Mommy Needs 10 Minutes (Headspace giveaway!)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gdFTw5dWV3M/V1CoORnSBHI/AAAAAAAAEcc/_4cVSljqfwoKZZuZmC_a59pq_Fb-Cq8YwCLcB/s1600/overwhelm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Headspace giveaway" border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gdFTw5dWV3M/V1CoORnSBHI/AAAAAAAAEcc/_4cVSljqfwoKZZuZmC_a59pq_Fb-Cq8YwCLcB/s640/overwhelm.jpg" title="" width="588" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling overwhelmed by motherhood?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've started meditating every day.<br />
<br />
I know, I'm so embarrassed to even type that, because it makes me sound like the butt of a joke from <a href="https://www.instagram.com/overheardla/" target="_blank">overheardla</a>, but, yeah, I'm taking 10 minutes every day to breath and still my thoughts. Now before you navigate away from this page and write me off forever as having gone full crunchy granola, give me a chance to defend myself.<br />
<br />
Firstly, <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/10/pregnancy-has-brought-out-my-latent.html">I'm originally from Berkeley</a>, so while I may not look like a dirty hippie on the outside, I can assure you that she's buried deep inside and she only wears natural deodorant.<br />
<br />
Secondly, and more importantly, I started meditating because I found that I was really angry all the time. I was grouchy, snappish, and impatient, and one afternoon I found myself sitting in my car yelling at my kids because they didn't want to go to a birthday party. Actually yelling. At my two little kids.<br />
<br />
Not my finest moment, to say the least.<br />
<br />
I'm the first to admit that kids, especially toddlers, can be infuriating. They totally know how to push your buttons and they do it frequently and derive a lot of pleasure from it. Basically, toddlers can be total assholes. This makes it difficult to remember that they're just being kids and that it's your job as a parent to not act like a child yourself, even when your gut instinct is to yell, "stop calling me names, you're a jerk!" and to hide in a corner with your security blanket.<br />
<br />
I knew that if I didn't get my sh*t together, I'd screw my kids up more than I already have, and that I'd basically end up paying for a lifetime of therapy for my offspring. Also, I admit to not wanting my kids to remember me as mean mommy. No one wants their future son or daughter-in-law to think ill of them, amiright? #Selfish, but whatever works. <br />
<br />
I started using <a href="https://www.headspace.com/" target="_blank">Headspace</a> thanks to a tip from a mommy friend. I hadn't heard of it, but I guess it's one of the most popular apps right now, which just goes to show you that I'm apparently not the only one who has rage issues. Honestly, I thought I was really going to hate meditating. I'd tried to meditate so many times in the past, but always ended up throwing in the towel after a few weeks or a month, but this time it's been different. Headspace is great for beginners, especially the initial 10 days of guided meditation, and I've found that I look forward to taking time out of my day to sit quietly and still my mind. There are all different kinds of meditation packs, and while I personally prefer the ones focused on silence, there's definitely something for everyone.<br />
<br />
So, does it work? Am I less angry and overwhelmed? For the most part, yes. I think that meditating every day has helped rein in my natural craziness and calm my anxiety. I still get frustrated with my kids (who doesn't?) but I'm aware now that my initial instinct is to lash out at them, so I make an effort to take a deep breath before reacting. I'm not a perfect parent by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm a nicer and more patient one, so I'm officially a meditation devotee. But don't worry, I have no intention of giving up shaving and wearing patchouli.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
You look like a person who could use some meditation. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why not enter the giveaway for <b>ONE FREE MONTH</b> of Headspace?</div>
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Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-28585909458093613032016-05-31T15:18:00.000-07:002016-05-31T15:18:16.198-07:00Tell Me Again How You'll Do Parenting Better<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ebCa5t3n70k/V04MW0efydI/AAAAAAAAEcI/Sf_P6CL6fAwtqSLzsTyOtcPiLhnw6f7MwCLcB/s1600/Mom%2Blife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ebCa5t3n70k/V04MW0efydI/AAAAAAAAEcI/Sf_P6CL6fAwtqSLzsTyOtcPiLhnw6f7MwCLcB/s640/Mom%2Blife.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parenting is a piece of cake, amiright?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I used to be a really good Mom... before I had kids. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2016/02/lower-your-parenting-standards.html">I judged everybody's parenting</a>, and I assumed that I would absolutely do it better. Spoiler alert: I am decidedly <u>not</u> doing it better. In fact, I'm pretty sure that in many ways I'm doing it worse. <br />
If you haven't yet had the pleasure and frustration of raising a child (or three), it can be really easy to stand on the outside and pass judgment. Until you're actually in the trenches, battling wills and minds with a small, yet surprisingly willful human, you don't really understand how insanely difficult it is to raise a child. <br />
<br />
If you find yourself saying any of these five statements, stop while you're ahead. Because I promise, you're going to screw it all up, just like the rest of us. <br />
<br />
1. <b>I'll never have kids who scream in restaurants</b>. Then I guess you plan to spend the next five to ten years of your life dining at home for every meal, because unless you've requested that your child have his or her voice box removed after birth, you're basically guaranteed to become that asshole restaurant patron with a screaming child. Pro tip: <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/06/parenthood-lifestyle-changes.html">dine before 5pm</a>, when you're less likely to encounter child-hating singletons/people liable to give you and your offspring dirty looks. <br />
<br />
2. <b>I would never let my kid wander off like that</b>. Newsflash: kids move fast. In the two seconds you glanced down to get your car key out of your pocket, your child probably ran out into oncoming traffic, trampled some plants in the median, walked into the ice cream parlor and ordered himself a vanilla cone with sprinkles. The only way to make it through your entire parenting career without losing sight of your child is to keep him on a leash at all time, which, strangely enough, is only acceptable for actual animals.<br />
<br />
3. <b>My kids will always obey me</b>. Man, I needed that laugh. The only thing your children will obey is their own desires to do stupid shit that's sure to annoy you. Your kids - toddlers, especially - will not obey you in the least. If you tell them to take their pants off, they will scream "no" and run as fast as they can and hide in the closet. Order your daughter to eat her dinner and enjoy her bloodcurdling screams and the face full of food she'll throw at you. Oh, I know, your child will be different. I'll be sure and remind you of that the first time you complain about how your kid never does what you ask. <br />
<br />
4. <b>I'll make sure that my child doesn't wake up before 8am</b>. It's so weird how kids have this thing called a mind of their own and they don't really give two shits that you're not a morning person. Do you know what kids like to do between 5-7am? Wake up and annoy the Hell out of their parents by asking for things like attention and breakfast. Trust me, we've all tried to change our children's habits - we've bought the <a href="http://amzn.to/1r1HaK6" target="_blank">okay to wake clock</a>, purchased blackout shades, begged them to go back to sleep - but the harsh reality is that there is an 89.7% change that your days are going to start before 7am. Yes, it sucks. But Starbucks opens at 5:30am and I'm sure I'll run into you sometime when you're ordering a venti triple almond milk cappuccino at 6:15am.<br />
<br />
5. <b>I'm never going to yell at my kids</b>. Unless you are Buddha, I promise you are going to yell at your children. You know why? Because you are tired, and aggravated, and kids sometimes act like total assholes. I don't care if you meditate for an hour every morning (you should - it helps) and are one of the calmest people on the planet, your kid(s) will eventually drive you to the point of such rage and frustration that you will explode.<br />
<br />
It's easy to point out how parents are screwing up when you have the luxury of lofty ideas, a full night's rest, and no actual children. In the world of imaginary parenting nothing goes wrong. But in the <i>real</i> world, the one where parents are tired and stressed and kids are cranky and difficult, every day something goes wrong. If you are a perfect parent then, by all means, enlighten the rest of us plebeians about your secret to parenting utopia. Until then, let's all agree to shut up, mind our own business, and let parents screw up their kids on their own time. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-33285505182889832992016-05-26T15:13:00.000-07:002016-05-26T15:13:43.834-07:00Here, Read This<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yOFs0Wtv5nM/V0dw4ur6WMI/AAAAAAAAEbw/OryK4GHsiQYFNZLOfu_Zu5tFce9eipJDQCLcB/s1600/books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Five great summer reading books" border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yOFs0Wtv5nM/V0dw4ur6WMI/AAAAAAAAEbw/OryK4GHsiQYFNZLOfu_Zu5tFce9eipJDQCLcB/s640/books.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember when your three day weekends used to look like this?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The impending Memorial Day Weekend means that it's almost officially summer. In the days of my youth - meaning before I had children and began to age prematurely - long weekends would have meant a trip to the beach, an icy cold adult beverage, and hours of uninterrupted reading time. These days, three day weekends mean only one thing: that I have one extra day during which I have to occupy my children. Needless to say, I won't be lounging on a beach reading an engrossing novel, though I can guarantee that I will definitely be enjoying lots of adult beverages.<br />
<br />
Currently, the only uninterrupted reading time that I get happens after my kids have gone to bed. I'm usually so tired by then that I can't keep my eyes open for more than five pages, but I still enjoy escaping into a good book after a long day with my offspring. <br />
<br />
On the off chance that you have <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/07/summer-no-cation.html">a relaxing, child-free holiday vacation</a> planned this weekend, I've compiled a list of some of my favorite, can't-put-it-down titles that you should download immediately. Don't worry, there's not a single parenting book listed. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/22qSoW5" target="_blank"><u><i><b>Re Jane</b></i></u></a><br />
Inspired by <i>Jane Eyre</i> (one of my all time favorites), this is a charming read about a Korean-American girl from Queens and her journey to discover who she is and where she belongs. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1sdxRbb" target="_blank"><u><i><b>Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget</b></i></u></a><br />
I'm not usually one for memoirs, but this one was really engaging. It sounds awful - the Author's account of her spiral into raging alcoholism - but it's not heavy handed and the ending feels hopeful and cathartic. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1sS2VOr" target="_blank"><u><b><i>Circling the Sun</i></b></u></a><br />
This is the story of Beryl Markham, whose book, <i>West with the Sun</i>, you probably had to read for high school English class. It's about her extraordinary life as a champion horsewoman and aviator in Africa, and it also delves into the love triangle between Markham and the duo made famous in the movie <i>Out of Africa</i>. A fascinating look at a little-known woman.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/1WY4pmH" target="_blank"><i><u><b>The Beautiful American</b></u></i></a><br />
If you were intrigued by the photo going around the ol' Facebook recently of the woman bathing in Hitler's bathtub, you definitely need to read this book. A fictionalized account of Lee Miller's life in 1920's Paris, when she was the lover of artist Man Ray and before she became a famous war photographer, it's an intriguing read and brings up questions about the emotional cost of being a survivor. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/25kZnSk" target="_blank"><u><i><b>Everything I Never Told You</b></i></u></a><br />
A heartbreaking look at the secrets families keep from each other and the damage that's wrought as a result. <br />
<br />
Happy Memorial Day! I hope you get at least an hour to yourself to enjoy a good read, and that you're able to stay awake even after a glass (or three) of sparkling rosé. Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544805041523068659.post-7323869168884835402016-05-24T15:00:00.004-07:002016-05-24T15:00:49.282-07:00What Your Teen is REALLY Up To<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XERugUOIh24/V0TMA98A1ZI/AAAAAAAAEbc/l9yUpeGT5d4HXmH7tGIV_7O9VJje0eHFQCLcB/s1600/high%2Bschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="what your teen is really doing when she's studying" border="0" height="426" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XERugUOIh24/V0TMA98A1ZI/AAAAAAAAEbc/l9yUpeGT5d4HXmH7tGIV_7O9VJje0eHFQCLcB/s640/high%2Bschool.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were probably (okay, definitely) stoned. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My 20th high school reunion is next month. Setting aside the fact that I am SO FREAKING OLD, let me just point out that when I was 16, the state-of-the-art technology for teens consisted of a pager. I don't really feel equipped to parent kids in the digital world in which we live. Sure, vinyl may be "back" but in between spinning vintage 45s of Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin, the kids are Snapchatting, sexting, and snorting each other's ADD medication. <br />
<br />
Now that I'm a parent myself, I have a lot more sympathy for all the sh*t that I put my own Mother through. I was a terror, and while my Mother always says, "you weren't that bad", I think that she may simply have selective memory loss from the PTSD she sustained while raising a teen. <br />
<br />
Despite the technological advances, I don't think that teenagers are
that different today than they were 20 years ago. In the end, all
teenagers want is to rebel against the establishment (their parents) and
get some (any) sex.<br />
<br />
Which leads me to ask: <b><u>What the F*ck was my Mother thinking</u></b>? <br />
<br />
<b>The car</b>. I had my own car - a beater Chevy with 110,000 miles on it - that broke down more often than it ran. As far as I'm concerned, no flighty 16 year old has any business piloting a metal cylinder of death down public thoroughfares. While I'm sure that providing me with a car was well intended, I can tell you that I was not up to anything good while behind the wheel of that automobile. When I wasn't hotboxing said Chevy, I was either driving slowly past my recent crush's house or committing minor criminal offenses like stealing traffic signs. Even if I hadn't been up to no good inside my Chevy, I backed into a pillar <i>on my way to my driving test</i>, so I can't imagine
why my parent thought it was advisable to hand me a set of keys and send
me on my way to terrorize the pedestrians of Marin County. <br />
<br />
<b>The clothes</b>. Let's just be blunt: teenage girls like to dress like hookers. Hey, I get it: if I still had <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2015/01/where-oh-where-have-my-boobs-gone.html">perky boobs</a>, a flat stomach, and an ass free of cellulite, I would walk around in as few pieces of clothing as possible without risking being arrested. However, that doesn't mean I think it's appropriate for preteen girls to strut down the street with their ass hanging out of a strip of cloth being marketed as "shorts". My Mother wasn't strict by any stretch of the imagination, so I can count on one hand the number of times she forbade me from wearing some slutty piece of attire, but I also remember that I simply took the offending garment with me and changed into it once I got to school. I mean, come on, we all did it. When the handicapped stall wasn't being used by an actual kid in a wheelchair, it was basically a Wet Seal dressing room.<br />
<br />
<b>The phone</b>. I had my own phone in my room because I was a spoiled only child, but back in the old days, that was pretty normal. How else was your teenager expected to have important conversations about who is the cutest boy at school and whether or not the dumb kid cheated on the math test? In hindsight, I don't think that teenagers should have any privacy, save for the one or two times a day they are taking very long showers. Do you know what happens when teenagers have privacy? Nothing good. I was smokin' dope, talking to weird (older) boys, and sneaking out my bedroom window at all hours of the night. Remove their bedroom door from the hinges, seal the windows closed, and don't give them an iPhone. Teenagers don't need any contact with the outside world - <i>Nell</i> turned out just fine in the end!<br />
<br />
<b>The sex</b>. For much of my high school career I was hideously ugly, so I didn't actually have sex until much later than many of my peers. This certainly wasn't due to lack of trying - I threw myself at any number of dudes who refused me point blank (their loss) - so I would assume that given the opportunity I would have gained a reputation for being "loose". <a href="http://www.misadventuresinmotherhood.net/2012/02/friend-request.html">Once I did get down and dirty</a> with a member of the male species, all bets were off. I wonder, sometimes, what my parents thought I was doing when I stayed out so late studying. I may have gone to private school, but no class was so hard as to warrant six hours of studying, unless you would classify making out as boning up on human anatomy for Biology class.<br />
<br />
At present, I'm considering becoming Amish before my kids are teenagers. Sure, the outfits aren't very flattering, and my Husband looks terrible with a beard, but it has to be better than laying awake at night hoping my kids are remembering to use birth control after they sneak out of the house. <br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00810242403214738932noreply@blogger.com0