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Good morning, room cleaning fans! It’s a beautiful day for match today. And what a match it is! It’s the battle between brothers for room supremacy. It’s an old rivalry, folks, so today’s match promises to be good.

We have Big Brother. He may seem to have a clear advantage here. His room is somewhat cleaner and he’s got two extra years of experience over Little Brother. But don’t be fooled, folks. He has the larger room and his little brother is fast.

Little Brother has speed on his side. He’s lower to the ground and has the smaller room. The teams are battling for the coveted prize of a sweet treat as well as the opportunity for all racers who finish to go to the coveted Cottonwood Beach. This could get interesting.

Looks like the racers are ready to begin. Ready…. Set… Go!

Big Brother is off to a significant lead. He’s moving fast. Looks like he’s got a strategy. He seems to be picking up only Legos right now. Yes… yes, he’s focusing on just one thing at a time! Great strategy.

Uh oh. I hear whining from the opposition. Let’s go check in on the Little Brother team.

Oh dear, yes, we have confirmation that it IS whining. There will be a stiff penalty for that. What a shame. It also appears that the Little Bro team is still sitting in the starting gate. We’re not quite sure what the strategy is there, folks, but it’s not a good start for the Little Bro team.

Let’s check back in with the Big Bro team. Looks like the pace is still fast and furious in this camp, folks. The Legos are picked up and he’s now working on Matchbox cars! He’s got a strategy here. He’s picking up multiple cars in each hand and tossing them at the bucket. Ooops! He overshot. This could cost him some time.

No! He’s recovered! He’s really on the ball today.

Back on the Little Bro side it appears that the team is still stalled out in a pout. We’re hearing from the ground crew that the Little Bro team no longer wants to participate in the race. Could this be a withdrawal? That would be a bummer for the spectators today. Uh oh. It looks like Mom has stepped in. What’s she doing? Oh no! She’s calling a baby sitter! Does this mean there will be no beach for Little Bro today? Looks like there’s some discussion taking place. An ultimatum perhaps? We’ll find out soon.

Checking back in on the Big Bro side. Wow! We’re actually able to see the floor in some areas of this room! There has been some real progress made here. While we were gone he picked up laundry, which has all made it to the laundry basket. And track pieces and action figures have all been put away. Amazing! Will Little Bro stand a chance? Let’s find out.

Oh! It looks like the scare tactic worked! Little Bro has finally started cleaning up! Look out Big Bro, he’s picking up laundry. Starting with the big stuff, a very good plan. Looks like he’s already on to books! Wow. A late start, but clearly he’s not affected. A strong strategy could put him back in the game.

Back in the Big Bro room now. Oh man! He’s going for bonus points! He has crawled under the bed and is clearing everything out. This will cost him some time. Will the points be worth it?

Little Bro has made some significant progress. This match is getting really interesting, folks. Even with the late start Little Bro has caught up to Big Bro. He’s picking up monster trucks now. He’s working at a furious pace. This is getting really exciting.

Wait! A flag has been thrown. Uh oh. It’s a penalty to Big Bro for throwing toys into Little Bro’s room. That’ll cost him. Oh, but he’s recovered nicely. He picked up the offending toy and put it away where it belongs. Nicely done. What’s that? Oh, a “thank you” from Little Bro. That’s nice to hear. We love good sportsmanship, especially from these close rivals.

The race is about over now. The judge is making the final pass to clear the racers. It’s a close finish, folks. It appears… Could it be? Yes it is! A tie! It’s a tie! Unbelievable. Well, we couldn’t have asked for a better result, match fans. BOTH competitors will be going to Cottonwood Beach today!

It appears the competitors are happy as well. High fives and hugs all around. It’s so great to see such a great match from two such solid competitors. It was touch and go there at the start, but everyone finished strong. Well done, teams!

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I actually narrated my boys cleaning their rooms exactly like this today. It was so much more fun for me, and I think it was fun for them, too. After the initial whining, that is.

Hey, I’ve got to keep things interesting. For my own sanity.

 

 

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When all else fails and you can’t manage to write a blog post, share a recipe.

Today’s recipe is brought to you by the letter Mmmmm. I wanted to bake a cookie with my husband’s name on it for Father’s Day. He likes a “meatier” cookie with more substance to it, like the traditional oatmeal. I created what could possibly be my new favorite cookies. I started with my grandmother’s tried and true chocolate chip cookie recipe, and built on that.

These are rich and buttery with the crunch of the granola, a nuttiness from the wheat germ, and a little chewiness from the raisins. The chocolate chips and M&Ms add the sweetness you want from a good cookie. All combined you have a cookie that you can eat dozens of. (I may have already done that today. Don’t tell.) And even though I had a Mommy Moment and forgot one batch in the oven, the kids still ate the overdone ones. Win win.

Trail Mix Cookies bake 375 10-12 mins (or until golden brown)
1/2 C butter
2/3 C shortening
1 C ea sugar and brown sugar
> cream together
2 eggs
2 t vanilla
> combine until smooth
2 1/2 C flour
1 t each salt and baking soda
> mix well. now the fun begins.
1/2 C each: wheat germ, oats, granola, choc chips, M&Ms, raisins (or other chopped dried fruit)
> mix well. scoop onto baking sheet

If you want them less gooey add a bit more flour. I like mine gooey. I’m claiming these are healthy because they have wheat germ and granola in them. I plan to eat several (dozen) of them. Enjoy!

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Dear Children, I am writing to inform you that I have but one nerve left, and you are standing directly on it. I write in hopes that we can address some current issues and move on with life while I can still maintain a modicum of sanity. Here is a list of things I would like for you to get through your thick skulls remember so we can move forward more amicably.

1. I swear to you that the color of plastic used to manufacture your drinking cup has NO bearing or impact on the flavor of whatever it is that you’re drinking. So please STOP fighting over the orange cup.

2. I swear that nobody has EVER died from doing homework. In fact, I think I can safely say that, aside from a case of writer’s cramp, nobody has ever sustained any injury from it either. So can we please just do the homework without the drama? I’m never going to let you get out of it. EVER.

3. The Nerf guns you got in your Easter baskets are EXACTLY THE SAME. I promise you no one works better than the other, no matter what your brother says. So no more fighting over which one you get to use. They. Are. The. Same.

4. PLEASE do not correct your little brother when he says “Ho Ho Claus”. It is precious. I want him to say it. There are precious few things this adorable in life and I want to hang on to them as long as I possibly can. Stop correcting him. He could say it until he’s 20 and it would make me exceedingly happy.

5. It does not matter one whit who sits in the front of the tub. I know the water comes out there. I get that. It still doesn’t matter. I still don’t want to hear the fights. Stop.

6. While we are on the subject of baths, let’s talk about water. It does not hurt you. I know you enjoy the crusty protective layer you’ve built up, but I can smell you coming. It’s time to get clean. Yes, even your face. I know. I’m a horrible mean mom. I work very hard at it. Get used to it.

7. All swings are created equal. I promise when we built the swing set we purposely set the swings at the EXACT SAME HEIGHT. They are the same. It doesn’t matter which one you get. It is not physically possible for one to go higher or faster than the other. The screaming crying tantrums can stop NOW. PS – please learn to pump.

8. It doesn’t matter which parent reads to you each night. Daddy and I devised a plan to switch every night to make it fair. Mommy cannot possibly read to both of you every night. Seriously. You spend ALL day with Mommy. Aren’t you sick of me? Stop. STOP. stop. The system works. Don’t mess with it.

9. I swear to you that my answer will not change, no matter how many times you ask me. Bothering me about it just makes me angry. So stop asking.

10. Go outside. For the love of God. The outside is wonderful and exciting and always changing. Go. Seriously. GO. Before I lock the doors and close all the drapes and hide in the closet with a bottle of wine.

Sincerely,

Your Loving Mother and her Last Nerve

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My littlest man goes to preschool. The preschool has a new pick-up line procedure. Parents have caught on to this pick-up line deal and most of the parents are doing it now, instead of picking the little people up inside the building like we used to. Which means that the pick-up line has gotten longer and longer and more messed up with each passing week.

Here’s how it works. The teachers bring the kids outside and have them wait in lines. The teachers then search the long line of cars for a name sign matching the name of one of their students. They will NOT walk the child more than four cars down the line. So if the first four cars are waiting for kids whose class is not outside yet, EVERYONE is screwed. The teachers deliver the child to the correct car, help them into the car, help them get buckled, chat up the parent in the car.

OH. MY. GOD.

It takes FOR.EV.ER. So me being the punctual person I am, and the impatient person I am, I got in the habit of showing up early so I could be first in line. That way, I didn’t have to wait for slow people and their children. This significantly decreases my anxiety and anger. So, I save everyone the headache (OK, mostly me) and come early.

However, I am not the only one who has figured this out. It used to be that I’d show up five minutes early and be the first or maybe the second in line waiting. Now? Now I find myself leaving the house a whole 15 minutes earlier just to get there and HOPE that I’m at least in the top FIVE! What?!?

Who ARE these people? Don’t they work? Don’t they have lives? WHAT are they doing sitting in the pick-up line ten, fifteen, even twenty minutes early???

It has come to feel much like jockeying for pole position in the pick-up line. Timing is everything. Some days – good days – I place first. That is my favorite. Those are the days I feel like doing a victory lap. But I don’t, because then I might loose my esteemed place in line. Other days I find myself only in the top five. “What? How is that lady here this early? What the heck?” And that is exactly where I like to place. Top five.

So last week I had the pleasure of having morning coffee with the girls while both my kids were in school. Ahhh. Girl time. I love it. I cherish those times with my friends. So, I was thoroughly shocked when I looked down at my phone and noticed… HOLY CRAP! It’s 11:36! I have to be sitting in line RIGHT NOW.

I grab my purse and say a quick goodbye over my shoulder as I sprint to my car. (OK, “sprint” at this phase of my foot healing process is only an expression. Think “three legged brown bear after a heavy meal half-heartedly chasing a hiker”.) I buckle in and squeal the tires as I pull out of the Starbucks parking lot. I worm my way through town until I hit the back country roads, where I begin to break land speed records. Mario Andretti would be proud.

I turn into the parking lot at breakneck speed. The tires scream in protest. I pull around the corner to see the pick-up line. NOOOOOO!!!! One, two, three, four….. I’m the sixteenth car in line. The SIXTEENTH. I am completely defeated. Surely the race sponsors will pull my funding now.

Me when I find out how far back in line I am.

And I can’t handle being further back than fifth. My patience meter tops out and my hand gets itchy for the horn.I begin talking out loud to myself, and anyone who will listen.

“What’s the hold up here, people?” My fingers are drumming on the steering wheel. “What is going ON up there?” I move forward one car length. This is like being stuck in the worst traffic ever. I begin talking to the people holding up the line in front of me.

“Hey there, guy, why are you not moving? The car in front of you has moved. What’s your deal? Are you waiting for an invitation?”

I consider passing this idiot. Can I do that? Pass in the pick-up line? Probably not. We move up another car length. “FINALLY! Thanks for cluing in, sport.” This makes me want to yank my teeth one by one without Novocaine.

“Seriously, Ms. Chatty? What could possibly be so important that you have to chat up this parent for the past three minutes? Can’t you see that ALL the cars in front of her have pulled away? MOVE! Ohmygawd MOVE.”

Finally I get close enough to the action that I can see what the real hold up is. The teachers have flyers! NOOOO! I hate when they have flyers. They have to hand a flyer to each parent, THEN, as if they believe we all can’t read, they have to EXPLAIN the flyer to each of us. Doesn’t that defeat the intended purpose of the flyer? OHMYGAWD. OHMYGAWD. I am never going to get out of this line.

By the time I make it to the finish line, I am completely crushed. I have no more energy for the fight. The teacher opens the car door and my son gets in. She hands me the flyer and begins to explain the flyer. I try to make nice. Am I smiling? It’s just not in me. Then my little man says…

“Mom, you were really late today,” and I want to beat my head on the steering wheel.

“I know, dude. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

Me when I finally get to pick up my child.

Pretty soon I’ll just be dropping my kid off to school and staying there so I can be first in the pick-up line. I can’t wait for next year when he rides the bus with big brother.

 

 

*Please do not send me emails shaming me for my driving. This is meant to be funny. I do not actually drive like Mario Andretti. … Usually.

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Some folks have asked me where I disappeared to for oh…. seven months of last year. Let me explain.

Our year started out great. Baseball season, springtime, birthday parties, life in general was good. Until it wasn’t. Our year kind of took a bad turn in early June. Not to say our year was ruined, but more that life threw a bunch of garbage at us and I found myself with a HazMat suit and a shovel just trying to keep our heads above it all.

So, in trying not to be a Debbie Downer, I stepped away from the blog for a while to… well… keep shoveling.

Here’s a brief timeline summary of what those missing seven months looked like;

June –

• Hubby went in for emergency appendectomy the day before my oldest son’s 6th birthday. Didn’t rupture, surgery went well. Phew!
• My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Shit.
• Took a trip to California to visit my sister and her family. A much needed reprieve from medical ickyness.

July –

• Mom gets surgery. All goes very well. Recovery time begins.
• Camping, boating.
• Battle with City Hall begins. <–This one is a VERY long story, that I will not bother with here
• Bills from Hubby’s surgery arrive. YIKES! This was NOT the year to switch insurance plans to the “oh, nothing ever happens to us” plan.

August –

• More schmoozing, begging, pleading, fighting with City Hall. *sigh*
• Family reunions. Yay!

September –

• Kids BOTH go to school for the first time! I. Am. Ecstatic.
• Still fighting City Hall.
• Mom starts radiation.

October –

• I fall down the stairs and tear up my ankle and have to wear a boot for 2 months. Really not the year to have changed insurance. *facepalm*
• We realize that the saying “You can’t fight City Hall” is actually true.
• Mom kicks cancer’s ass! WAHOO!

November –

• Hubby went hunting. No luck.
• Something about a turkey. I don’t know at this point.

December –

• I recovered enough from the ankle injury to go in for surgery. (whee) I am to remain in bed, completely off my feet, for a minimum of 6 weeks. Not to put any weight on my foot for at least 10. Ugh.
• Hubby decided to go for broke and get hand surgery. Apparently we were on the buy two, get one free program. Fantastic.
• Fat guy in a red suit came down a chimney? I don’t know. I’m completely drugged out of my gourd at this point.
• New Year’s Eve, I go to bed early and give the big finger to 2014 and toast to 2015 being a better year. (and having switched back to the “good” insurance.)

So, those were some of the major players that took me away from the computer and the joy of writing. But, I’m back now, so be prepared for more goofy boy-related blog posts. Lucky you! 😉

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Some of the cutest conversations my boys have happen in the back seat of our car. Here is one from a while back.

Boy2: I want macky cheese for lunch!
Boy1: No, we should have peanut butter sandwiches.
Boy2: No! Macky cheese!
Boy1: Listen, I really need to have a peanut butter sandwich.
Boy2: Why?
Boy1: I need the crusts so I can work on my whistle. (You should know that my mother, who he thinks hung the moon, told him that eating his crusts will help him whistle.) Can we please have peanut butter sandwiches?
Boy2: Okay. Maybe I can whistle too!

I love the rationale. Thanks, Mom for the help getting them to eat their crusts.

Another good one:

Boy1: I’m about to blow your mind.

Boy2: What?

Boy1: Did you know that when you get big you can sleep all night in just your underpants?! No jammies or anything!

Boy2: No. Way.

Boy1: Yes. Way. Did I blow your mind?

Boy2: Yep.

I didn’t interject and tell them that some people sleep with even less than that. Did I just blow your mind?

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I love coffee. It is the nectar of the Gods. Manna from Heaven. It makes me human. It makes me bearable. It makes me a better mom.

I love Starbucks. Mostly because they have drivethrough. Also because they have coffee. Fancy coffee. Coffee I can’t seem to figure out. Seriously. I never knew you could do so much to coffee. Mind. Blown.

Anyway, it was just this morning that I realized I don’t speak Starbucks.

I like to hit Starbucks on my way to bible study after dropping off my kids at school. It’s my once-a-week special me-time treat. I love this ritual. However, I always get the same thing. Because I don’t speak the language. I have forever ordered a grande, 1 shot (cuz let’s face it, me on TOO much coffee is just as scary as me on NO coffee.), vanilla latte.

Boring.

I know, but I have that order down pat. I can rattle it off like I know what I’m doing every time. Because, let’s face it, nobody wants to be the guy in line who has no idea how to order a coffee, and holds up a very impatient line of hipsters waiting for their venti, half-caff, 1 sweet-n-low, light cinnamon powder, 6 pump white chocolate mocha. While the barristas are all rolling their eyes at the poor sucker who dared to enter a Starbucks without knowing at least the most rudimentary language.

“Uhhh… can I get a large coffee with cream?” We all know that guy. We all roll our eyes at that guy. We all WERE that guy at some point, but pretend like we know what we’re doing now.

I don’t know what I’m doing. Someone had to tell me what to order once, and I’ve been ordering the same thing ever since.

Today, on the way to Starbucks, I started thinking I wanted to change up my order and get something fancier. I actually almost had a panic attack over it. I had no idea what I would say to change my standard order. I started thinking I wanted something with caramel. Is that a thing? I wondered. I’ve heard people say fancy sounding things like caramel macchiato. It sounded well enough, but what the heck is a “macchiato”, and would I like it? I felt like I was about to walk into a test without having read the chapter.

It’s like trying to remember phrases of the French I studied in high school. Useless phrases that only made you sound like an idiot American when you actually met someone French. “Où est la bibliothèque?” Where is the library? Seriously? How often did they think we would use this phrase? Teach me something valuable that I’ll use regularly. Like how to order at Starbucks. Anyway…

Have you noticed that the drive-up menus no longer have ANY information on them?!? They have pictures of the food, and a listing of a few of the standard drinks, but nothing more. I need a decoder. A chart, of sorts, that walks me through the process.

Step 1: Pick a size. Your choices are tall, grande, or venti. We will not tell you which one is the “large”.

Step 2: Hot or cold? This step is designed to give you confidence.

Step 3: Pick a type of drink. This choice will lead you to any number of new menus having to do with types of milk. Good luck sucker!

Step 4: Enhance your drink. Change the heck out of it, we don’t care. We’re used to it. Choose the number of shots of espresso, syrup, sweeteners. Want foam? Want whipped cream? How about a sprinkle of something? Half-caff? Decaf? The possibilities here are endless. It’s like Willy Wonka up in there.

Step 5: Panic and order a vanilla latte. Cry in your car as you leave.

Seriously. I pulled up to the menu thinking I’d quickly find the caramel thingy and just order that. Alas, I did not. I saw the macchiato thing I’d heard about, but I honestly don’t know what that is and if I’d like it. See… I need my coffee to not taste much like coffee. I need it to be sweet and milky and just enough coffee to get me going. So I panicked. I asked for a caramel latte.

Wow. I really mixed it up.

Maybe I’ll get a translator and figure out how to order something I really like next time.

 

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Find Part 1 of Baby Blues here.

It was at the hotel with my mom that sleeping first became a major issue. I had a handy travel bed for my son that would keep him contained in the space next to me while I slept. I loved that idea. He did not. It had been about a week and we had already tackled some severe nursing issues, but he was also crying all the time. Until he was purple sometimes. And the boy wouldn’t sleep on his own. The only time he would sleep was attached to me.

So the horrible bedtime routine started. I would gather every pillow known to man and create a huge wedge-like armchair thing in my bed. I would then crawl in bed with a sleeping baby and prop myself in an slightly upright position with pillows all around to keep me from dropping my arms (and the baby), say a prayer that we would both sleep, and then attempt to sleep.

The books and doctors all say to put the baby to sleep in the cradle on his back. To hell with the doctors. That kid never slept. If I put him in a crib or bassinet, he’d scream. It was a miracle when he’d fall asleep and there was no way on Earth that I was going to destroy that miracle by disturbing him. We tried everything anyone suggested. Put a blanket in the dryer so it’s warm, then lay him on top of it so he doesn’t feel that you’re gone. He knew. Swaddle him tight (we took lessons in swaddling) and lay him in the crib. He just screamed. Have you ever heard of “purple baby”? That was him.

It was colic, they told me. “What does that mean?” I desperately hoped for a cure. They didn’t have any answers for me. They couldn’t tell me what to do. At this point, I felt like a crazy person about to snap. I hadn’t slept in months and this baby Would. Not. Let. Me. Put. Him. Down. Then, in the evening, even when I held him he would scream. Just scream. And I would cry. Sob. Until we were both soaked.

I was so sleep deprived that I don’t know how I operated a vehicle. That boy woke up every two hours, all day, all night, for nine months straight. I have a hard time falling to sleep anyway, so by the time I fell asleep, I’d get maybe half an hour to an hour before he’d wake me up again to nurse.

Looking back, I know what I was doing wrong. Because I didn’t screw it up with the second one. And I wish the idiot doctors would have told me this. Put. Him. Down. Screaming or not, as hard as it was, I needed to just put him down*. He never slept through the night until I got tough with him. By the time I decided to do it, he was too old and it made it all that much harder. He needed to “self soothe” and know that he could be on his own and still safe. I needed to recruit my husband to help because if that boy saw me, all bets were off.

It was a mistake that I know many first time moms make. We hate to hear our babies cry. It’s instinct that takes us over. Guilt even. But for me, it was my mental and physical health that was suffering. And without a mommy in good physical and mental health, that baby didn’t have much chance of being healthy. Sometimes, as hard as it might be, we have to put our needs first.

The good news is, the bedtime battle didn’t last forever. The first night was the hardest. It got better from there. It took a while before he was sleeping more than two hours at a time, but being able to lay him in how own bed at night was a major accomplishment. I could sleep in my own bed…. alone. Well… with my husband, but without a baby on me. For the first time in 18 months, I was sleeping without a baby. Hallelujah.

 

*Now, I’m not saying to lay a newborn down and let them scream. No. Please note, this boy was nine months old (too old) when I started this. I should have started about the 4-6 week mark. I got wiser with the second and he was a beautiful sleeper. If you are experiencing sleep issues with an infant or toddler, please read the book that saved my life: Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Marc Weissbluth.

 

 

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My husband and I are full of good intentions. We like to take our kids to do fun things. We just aren’t very good at the execution part of it.

It started a couple of years ago. We decided to take the kids to a cool community center pool with a water slide. We’re such awesome parents. We told the kids our plan.

The kids were really jazzed. We talked up this place the whole 20 minute car ride over there. Then we walked into the center and told them we wanted to swim. Then the horrible snarky lady behind the desk said this…

and crushed our hopes and dreams of having fun family swim time. Wait. Full? How is that possible? How can the swimming pool be “full”? The public swim started exactly three seconds ago. We were the first in line!

Snarky Lady explained to us that most parents (I don’t like the way she said that. Like she insinuated that we are bad parents because we didn’t do this?) showed up an hour in advance to purchase tickets for the public swim time. Seriously? We have to buy tickets? What do these fabulous parents do with their children while they’re waiting this whole hour – which is, like, three weeks in kid time – to swim? They probably pack them snacks, coloring books, games, and entertain them. Psh. I suck at that kind of stuff.

We tried to break the news gently, but it still resulted in this…

Tears. Lots of tears. “WHY can’t we go swimming? Why? But I WANT to go swimming!” All the while we were trying to explain adult rules and social standards to toddlers. Both of us getting a little peeved at those obnoxious parents who show up an hour ahead and take up all the spots in the swimming pool before it’s even open. The nerve!

But we still didn’t wise up. We attempted to swim several more times with the same result. We eventually gave up on that center in favor of other things. Like car shows.

Boys love cars. My husband and I thought we’d take them to a classic car show. We both love classic cars. There was a classic car show in town. Cool. We’d go to that!

It started much the same way. “Hey kids! Wanna go to a car show? We can see lots of pretty cars, like your Hotwheels, only bigger!” They were pumped. Jackpot. Hubby and I exchanged confident glances. Oh yes. We were the awesome parents we’d always dreamed we’d be.

We drove downtown to where the car show was….. supposed to be. What the heck? Where are all the cars? This can’t be right. I’m sure it was supposed to be downtown. (The “downtown” is only 3 blocks long, so it would be hard to miss a bunch of cars.) We asked a business owner. “The car show was last night.”

Crap.

We did it again. And it resulted in the same level of tears and bewilderment.

Worst part is, we continue to have this kind of luck. It seems to have kept confined to swimming and car shows. So we have been avoiding telling our kids if we think we are going to either of these activities. Even if we think we are going, we may have missed the boat entirely by the time we get there. We still haven’t given up, though. We will continue to try to take them to these fun family activities, we just won’t tell them beforehand.

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When I had my babies I had no idea the sneaky nurses would install a sensor in my butt when I wasn’t looking. They also installed a receiver in each of my children. The sensor in my butt sends a signal to the children’s receivers whenever I do something relaxing or something that requires privacy. (Privacy? I have no idea what that means any more.)

Here’s how it works.

Being a mom is exhausting work, especially when children are still little. So, occasionally I would try to sneak a nap in. Every time my butt would hit the bed and get settled in, my butt sensor would send a silent alarm to the child’s receiver. The child received the signal and immediately responded by either waking up, crying, coming into my room, or all of the above if I was particularly exhausted. It resulted in me being even more tired and frustrated. So I gave up on naps during the day.

Sitting on the toilet sends an alert to all children, and oddly all pets as well (I have no idea when their sensors were installed). Children respond to this alert by screaming, getting hurt, or having another crisis that needs attention. Or, alternately, they would come up with an extremely pressing question or need that just couldn’t wait for one stinking minute while mommy had some “private time”. Pets would respond by prying open the bathroom door so they could sit at my feet and stare. I gave up on anything ever being “private” again and have gotten in the habit of never closing the bathroom door. This has resulted in some very awkward moments in public restrooms.

One of the most annoying features of my butt sensor is that whenever my butt hits a chair, my children have some urgent need that requires me to get back up. Immediately. Resulting in the equivalent of about 2,000 squats per day. So, I never sit, I never sleep, I never have private time, but my butt looks really good.