10 Things I Want My Daughter To Know On Her Birthday

My youngest daughter is turning two. She is our 4th and final baby. My oldest daughter is going on 11 and entering a whole new (sometimes #complicated) stage of development, so I've had a little time to reflect on what it means to be a mother to girls. I'm not an expert at raising girls by any means, but with my experience thus far, here are 10 things I want my daughter to know on her 2nd birthday (this also goes out to my Sassy oldest daughter): 

1. You are beautiful, but much more than that you are clever, and spirited, and determined as all heck. These intangible qualities are the ones that will truly serve you well in life. Don't ever let anyone reduce you to a 5 minute sound bite, when you're really a novel with so many pages yet to be written. 

2. Being a girl is tough. If we work outside our homes, we aren't paid as much as our brothers for the same work. We struggle with being torn between our families and our careers. We are more likely to live below the poverty line and are often the victims of physical and/or sexual violence. And that's just here in the U.S. Many of our sisters around the globe fair much worse. But....

3. Being a girl is also amazing. You can be soft, but also incredibly strong. Teflon strong. When you think about it, you are magic! You have within you the capability to grow and nurture life. And even if you decide to never have children or if for some reason you can't, know that you are magic just by being born a woman. Welcome to the sisterhood. Seek out the advice of other strong women. Emulate the qualities that you admire and learn from the mistakes of those who've gone before you. 

4. Don't be afraid to do you. Don't want to wear dresses or frilly bows? That's ok. Prefer to climb trees instead of social ladders? That's ok too. Want to be the girliest princess who ever lived? I support you. You. Do. You. My job is to keep you safe and loved and educated and a good human. The rest is up to you. 

5. Count your blessings. I hope one day you are able to appreciate just how lucky you are. You have opportunities that generations prior have fought and died for. You have the support of parents who have worked hard, so that you don't have to feel what it's like to struggle. But make no mistake, there is very little that separates us from the homeless person you see on the street. Do not squander the gifts you've been given. Work hard and remember to pay it forward. 

6. Marry (or don't!) but make sure any partner you have respects you first and foremost. Without respect, there is no way that a relationship can thrive. The person you choose to link your life with should treat you as the equal that you are. A good partner will always want what's best for you and never try to pull you down. You should provide all of the same to your partner. 

7. Be kind to yourself. In a world where you are bombarded with images that suggest that your worth as a woman is tied strictly to your body, it might be hard some days to love what you see in the mirror. Love yourself anyway. Value yourself anyway. Drown out that voice in your head that tells you that you're not good enough or pretty enough or thin enough or curvy enough. You are worthy. You are enough. 

8. Karma is a thing. Put out as much positive energy in the universe as you can. I've learned that doing good for the sake of good is always its own reward. Never do something with the expectation of receiving something in return. If you give, give with an open heart. Treat the person who cleans the floors with the same respect you'd give to a visiting dignitary. We are all deserving of the same love and respect. The universe will thank you for it. 

9. Believe in ... something. I believe in God. I pray you always will too, but, if not, I hope you'll choose to believe in something. Believe in the greater good. Believe in the kindness of people. Believe in forgiveness. The world is a good place. Of course bad things can and do happen, but when they do, your faith (however you choose to express it) will pull you through. 

10. Don't be afraid to ask for help. If you are ever suffering, please don't do it in silence. You are surrounded by a large network of people who love you and would do anything for you. Did you know that women are more likely than men to suffer depression, and that 1 in 8 women will experience depression in her lifetime? I've been there myself and if you ever end up there too, I promise to listen to you and validate you and sit with you until the clouds finally lift. I promise that the clouds do eventually lift.  

Bonus #11 (because it almost goes without saying)

I will always be your number 1 fan. In case you don't already know this, you and your siblings are my reason for living. You've given me more purpose in life than anything or anyone else. I may be a bit tough on you when you get older. And there may be some (a lot) of times where we won't necessarily see eye to eye, but I will never stop rooting for you. Will I sometimes embarrass you? Absolutely. It is my God given right as your mother to be a little mortifying. But when all is said and done, know that I will always be there, a few feet behind, until the day you're ready to step out into the world, the strong and confident woman that you were always meant to be. 

Happy birthday. Love, Mama

Life After Kids Part II: Eating at a Restaurant

There is a huge debate going on right now as to whether children under a certain age (typically 5) should be allowed in certain restaurants. I really try not to be a judgy mcjudgerson when it comes to parenting, because lord knows I'm not a perfect parent, but I personally shudder at the thought of taking a bunch of children anywhere - much less a restaurant. Now, I know that some people (usually people who don't have kids or people who don't accurately remember what it was like to have small children or who currently only have blobby infants) will say, "Maybe its so miserable for you guys to eat out, because you can't control your kids. My kids (didn't/won't) act up in a restaurant!"

via GIPHY

Oookay. I just know that there is no surer way to be brought low and humbled, than to take a bunch of kids to a restaurant - any restaurant. Now, I'm not saying that you shouldn't take your kids out to eat! By all means, get out there and give 'em hell. Maybe you want to skip the fancy French restaurant for now, but there are a ton of places that you can take your family to eat. What I am saying is, going out to eat with kids, particularly toddler age kids is #complicated. You need to go into it prepared for anything.

Let's talk about some of the ways dining out B.C. (Before Children) differs from dining out A.C. (After Children). 

1. Sitting down at the table:

B.C. - "Muffy, I think I shall sit down now!"

A.C. - "O.K., this is the plan: you sit here between the older kids because Lord knows they will start fighting if they are next to each other. I will sit between the toddler and the baby BUT we need a high chair for the baby, so let's put it at the end of table. Wait, wait, you gotta move all the knives away from the baby cause she likes pointy things. Also, move the plates away from her. And the glasses. Shit, just clear the table in front of her. Did they forget to give us the coloring books and crayons? Just give her your phone."

2. Ordering food:

B.C. - "Good day, fine waiter! I shall order the filet - medium rare with a side of asparagus."

A.C. - "Babe, pass me the kid's menu. Kids, here are the options: chicken fingers, pasta with red sauce, cheeseburger, and hot dog.  What do you want? Really?? You guys just had dinosaur chicken nuggets for lunch. Why don't we try something different? Fine, pasta it is.  What do you mean no red sauce? I swear that if I hadn't given birth to you guys myself, I would question whether you were really my children. Are you sure you have to go to the bathroom? We just sat down two seconds ago."

3. Eating:

B.C. - ::chewing sounds::

A.C. - "O.K., here's the plan: You eat quick while I feed the baby and then we'll switch. If things start to go south, we'll just wrap it up and go home. Deal? Great. Please use your fork, son. I know it's tough to get the spagehtti on the fork, but...ugh, just give me the plate so I can cut them into tiny bits. Please sit down. What do you mean you're done? You've barely touched anything! If you kids don't eat, there will be no dessert for any of you. Sit, I said sit! You just went to the bathroom. It's like physically impossible for you to have to go again... Waiter, check please!"

I hate to say it, but when all else has failed, we have been known to resort to letting them use an iPad or phone to play games while they wait to eat. I know what you might be thinking: isn't a family dinner about staring into each other's eyes and connecting and talking about crap? Yes - when we're in our own damn house. When we're out to dinner, it's all about survival man. If that electronic device buys me two seconds to scarf down my cold entree - so screw me.  

I will say, we are big believers in removing a tantruming kid from the table and going outside or to the car until they're ready to stop acting the fool. It's just good manners and makes other people hate you less #themoreyouknow

It's fair to say that going to a restaurant with kids is...a different experience. But, I do think any time spent with the people you love (even if you kinda wanna choke 'em out*) is worth it in the end.

*totally kidding about the choking! My kids much prefer the time out cage in our basement ;)

Life After Kids Part I: Leaving The House

Do you remember what it was like to go places B.C. (that's Before Children)?

Ladies, do you recall the bliss of getting out of bed, taking a leisurely shower, getting dressed in a super cute outfit, applying your makeup (eyebrows on FLEEK!), blow drying your hair, grabbing your cute bag, opening the door, and just GOING.

Gentlemen, do you recall the ease of waking up in the morning and...going outside?

Yeah, me neither.

Let me paint you a picture of what things look like in my house every time we need to be somewhere at a particular time.

It is Saturday morning. We've known for about 2 months that we need to attend a party. For the purposes of this story, let's say it's a relative's birthday party. Because I know that things have a tendency to go off the rails really quick in my house, I tell my husband that we should probably start getting ready to go 2 hours in advance. The party starts at 3:00, it's a half hour drive, so we should start getting ready by 12:30. Sounds really responsible of us, doesn't it?  2 hours should be more than enough time to get our poop in a group and get to a party on time...for once.

Here's what actually happens in my house with four kids...

The baby goes down for a nap around 11:00. Fine, we'll let her sleep because she'll be cranky otherwise and really how hard is it to get her ready? We can save her for last. In the meantime, I start pissing away my time researching nonsensical things on the computer, while my husband falls into a coma on the couch.  The older kids are playing on the computer and my toddler son is running around the house with underwear on his head. He is Captain Underpants, of course. Everyone is still in their pajamas. Except me, you can't rightly call what I'm wearing pajamas. I have on old sweat pants with a hole in the butt area and a ratty t-shirt.

Before I know it, I look up and realize that its 2:00 o'clock and no one is ready!! I immediately panic. I shove my husband awake and yell, "We're screwed. We need to get ready now. Take a quick shower so you can get done first and help me with the kids." He stumbles off like a zombie toward the bathroom. I start yelling for the children, except I might as well be screaming into a black hole because no is paying me any mind.

Me: "Come on kids. We're late! Get upstairs to get dressed!"

Kid 1: "But Mommmmm (eye roll, foot stamp, eye roll). Why do we have to go anyway?

Kid 2: "Yeah, my legs are tired. Can I stay home?"

Me: "We are all going! No one is staying home. This is going to be fun, dammit."

Toddler: "I have to go caca."

Me: "So go caca! Why do you have to announce it like that?"

Toddler runs off to caca. I drag the older two upstairs and immediately begin rummaging through their dressers trying to find outfits that will be comfortable enough to play in but also cute because GOD FORBID my children's attire reflect the hot sticky messes that I know we are. Need to look sharp for the inevitable Facebook pics! Right?! Ugh. 

It's about this time that I feel IT starting to happen. What is IT you ask? IT is when the rage of having to rush around last minute because my family is incapable of managing time turns me into a screaming Puerto Rican version of the hulk. I am barking orders, I'm running up and down the stairs aimlessly, I'm tossing smoking hot ironed clothes at naked children. I got one shoe on and lipstick smeared across my forehead. It's freaking lord of the flies! Every man, woman, and child for themselves! 

My dear husband chooses this time to conveniently make his appearance. He is freshly bathed. There is smoke billowing out of the bathroom from his nice hot shower. I want to kill him so bad. Instead, I say, "get dressed quick and get the baby up!" Seeing murder in my eyes he quickly turns around to get the baby. It's about this time that I start to notice a tiny voice screaming from the downstairs bathroom. 

Crap! I forgot all about the toddler! He's screaming, "I'm doneeeee!!!" which is his way of telling me that he's ready for me to wipe his butt. 

Let's pause for a second. If someone stopped you in the club one night while you were in your swinging twenties and told you that one day you'd be another human being's personal ass wiper - at their beck and call for every bowel movement - would you believe them?  Drink up young readers!! I bring you tidings from the future. And that future looks like a parade of tiny butts attached to tiny people screaming "I'm doneeeee!!!" 

I have finally managed to get the 3 older kids dressed. I check on my husband and he's about done dressing the baby. I decide that there's no time for me to shower. I estimate that if we leave in the next 15 minutes we will only be about 20 minutes late for the party...FML. 

Once we are all downstairs, I realize that there is a fatal error in my timeline. It turns out that actually getting out of the front door with all four children is just as bad as trying to dress all four children. It is cold out so that means coats. It is a scientific fact that kids hate coats, also shoes, and long car rides. Every time I think I have one kid all suited up and ready to leave, I turn around to find the baby running around with one shoe on her foot and the other on her hand. Screw it. I grab the toddler and the baby and throw them into the car shoeless (we'll fix that later). The older ones shuffle into the car whining about how we're ruining their lives - the usual. 

My husband is a firefighter, so he basically drives every car like it's an emergency vehicle. We make it to the party only a half hour late. Sadly, I consider that on-time for our family. 

Invariably, someone at the party will say, "Four kids! I don't know how you guys do it!" The truth is, I don't know how we do it either.  I think we all just do what we need to do to get everyone to the next day in one piece.  Whether you have a menagerie of children like me, or you're a "one and done", parenting is hard. Don't forget to keep a sense of humor. And if your friends with a lot of kids are ever late to your party, just know that we really wish we could have left the kids at home too. 

No body likes to get dressed up :(

Of Lice and (Wo)men

It's a subject that no one wants to talk about or frankly, admit to. In fact, I never even contemplated the possibility of having to deal with something like this before having kids. I am talking about head lice. It's one of those things that you hope you never have to deal with, but once it happens you are forced to confront places in your soul that you never knew existed. Dark, scary, places people. 

Let me begin with some "fun" facts about lice. 1. Lice outbreaks are very common in elementary schools on account of kids always being up in each other's personal space at this age; 2. Lice don't discriminate and actually prefer clean hair (they are repelled by hair products and have a hard time sticking to greasy hair); 3. Lice don't fly or jump! They slowly crawl from one head to another or from, say, a hat that is infested to a head (don't let kids share hats!); 4. Lice don't live long off a head. They need a host ::shudders:: to survive; 5. Lice are the bugs, but nits are the tiny little eggs that stick to the hair shaft. You have to get rid of both the lice and its nits in order to be infestation free. Nits don't come out with traditional products like RID or NIX. They have to be combed or picked out! This is where the phrase "nit picking" comes from. The more you know, right? 

Why am I a freaking lice expert, you ask? Well, it's because a number of years back, my sassy oldest daughter came home with a crazy case of head lice. Not only that, but I ended up getting lice too! Excuse me while I drop dead and die from this awful memory. 

It all began on a Tuesday, because nothing good ever happens on a Tuesday. I get a call from the school nurse. She says, "Everything is ok, but I need you to come pick your daughter up. I suspect she has lice...Hello?" After regaining consciousness, I told the nurse I'd be right there. When I get there, the nurse actually walks me over to Sassy Girl's head and shows me the tiny little nits that have taken up residence on her curly, long hair. She then gives me a strange look and says, "Do you want me to check your head too?" I am taken aback! Is this woman actually suggesting that I might have lice too? No freaking way, man. I've gotten through 32 years of my life without getting lice, no way would I have it. Right? RIGHT? I guess it wouldn't hurt to confirm what I already know, though. I allow her to check. The nurse takes one look at my head and says, "Yup. You got it too" in a matter of fact tone. It dawns on me: of course I'd have it too. We share a hair brush! After I briefly die and am resurrected, I race with my bug infested daughter to the pharmacy to buy out their lice killing section. I also buy a candy bar to throw off the cashier, of course. I call my husband and tell him that we need to strip all the beds and burn everything. Put everything in the dryer! Hose everyone off on the front lawn! We are Code Red, man. It is Defcon 5 up in this mother and we need all hands on deck! 

When I get home, I calmly escort my daughter to the bathroom and proceed to douse her head with enough chemicals to kill a small animal. The instructions on the box of RID say to apply the shampoo, rinse it out after a set time and then comb through the hair with a flimsy plastic comb that came with the kit. A frantic google search tells me that you need to get the eggs too otherwise they hatch and the cycle starts again ::retching::.

I calmly try to follow the instructions on the box. Now that I'm aware of the problem, I can clearly see the little buggers on her head. How did I not notice this? I do this child's hair everyday. I am kicking myself now. Don't panic, I tell my daughter. It's no big deal. We will handle this. They are harmless bugs (they really are actually, but there was no telling me that in the moment). I'm trying to put on a brave face for her. She has to see that I am cool, calm and collected. I'm a grown woman, I can deal with this. Except I'm sweating profusely and this kid seems totally unconcerned about the whole thing! She's sitting there on the edge of the tub chewing gum like this is the most normal thing ever. My husband has disappeared at this point. I assume he's tearing the house to shreds and putting everything in the wash.

With Sassy Girl done, I look at myself in the mirror and begin to work on my own long hair. I first apply the toxic solution. Here is where all the wheels begin to fall off the wagon. I grab the little plastic comb and decide to drag it through my hair. Out of curiosity, of course. Did I really have lice? I do this and when I look at the comb I see the biggest freaking bug staring back at me. Immediately, the world loses all its color. I shove my daughter off the edge of the tub and dunk my head in the bathtub just screaming my head off. I am screaming at the top of my lungs. I am screaming for help! I don't know who I'm expecting to help me or how, but I'm screaming anyway, by God. My daughter is staring at me like I've done lost my mind - because I guess I technically have. My husband comes running into the bathroom because I'm screaming and he's trying to figure out what happened. Between sobs I tell him, "Gotta...do something! Bugs...in my....HAIRRRRR!!!" He takes down the shower head and shoots me in the face with the water. "We'll just wash this stuff out. Stop screaming. Shhhhhhhh!!!" "Do you understand that I have bugs in my f@*king hair?!" I yell back as he aims the nozzle at my head like a dog owner trying to spray stuck on poop off a driveway. Needless to say, this was not my finest hour. 

I learned quickly, though, that these over the counter treatments are not that effective at getting the nits out. I could see them still hanging on after we did the shampoo. This was unacceptable to me. We are talking about my - I mean my daughter's precious head here. Did you know that there are companies in NJ that will remove all the lice and eggs from your head guaranteed? Well, now you know. I walked into the place with Sassy Girl and told the proprietor to hook us up. How much does this cost? A lot. But I honestly would have paid ONE MILLION DOLLARS (doctor evil voice) to not have to deal with this situation. They ran our heads through their treatment and after a few hours, we were lice free. Hallelujah!  Thank God none of the boys in the family got lice. Those little buggers really love that long hair apparently. I cut my hair short after this incident. We have been happily lice free ever since.

What did I learn from this? I learned that I am much better at putting on a brave face and dealing with my kids' problems than I am when it comes to myself. In addition to finding out about professional lice removers, I also found non toxic solutions that work better than the harsh RID and NIX products. Fairytales is one such brand of products. There are also a ton of homemade recipes for removing lice. I did not try those because I am the type of person who needs immediate resolution! I also learned everything there is to learn about lice. So, if any of you parents ever experience this (and chances are good that you will), I'm your go-to girl.

And now that you are all scratching your heads, my work here is done!

As a special treat, readers, I've asked Sassy Girl to participate in a little Q&A on the blog! Read on to hear her thoughts...

Me: "So, what were you thinking when you found out you had lice?" 

Sassy: "Well, I didn't really know what lice was, so I was ok about it. Even when I knew what it was, though, I still didn't really care." 

Me: "Really!?" 

Sassy: "Yup. Mom on the other hand was just screaming. It was like an earthquake of screams in the bathroom." 

Me: "OK, shut up. Interview over."

Life's Like a Box of Chocolates

If you have spent any time around kids, then you know that kids have a tendency to get sick. A lot. Usually, kid illnesses fall into one of three categories: (1) the cold/flu; (2) some crazy contagious thingy (see pink eye, hand foot mouth disease, impetigo, etc.); or (3) a stomach bug. Anytime your kid is sick, it sucks, but there's something extra sucky about a stomach virus. When a very young kid has a stomach virus, things are bound to become a shit show - and I mean that in the most literal way possible. It's not the kid's fault of course. They can't help it and I'm sure the sudden urge to yak takes them by surprise too. 

What I'm trying to say is that when you got kids, there will come a day when you will find yourself knee deep in yesterday's dinosaur chicken nuggets and there's nothing you can do about it! Short of putting a diaper around your kid's head, you will one day find yourself on your knees scrubbing an unidentifiable substance out of your carpet as you wonder how you went so wrong in your life that you ended up here. If you are lucky, these episodes will happen in your home where you can deal with things pretty efficiently. If you aren't so lucky, you will find yourself in the center ring of your very own freak show where everyone will get to experience the scary sights and smells. 

That's a big lesson I've learned. Try as you might, you can't really plan for every contingency. Kids get sick. Sometimes at really inopportune moments. You just gotta roll with it and hopefully laugh about it later. You never do know how even your best laid plans will turn out and that's life! 

Now, I think we've established that anything that can go wrong for me usually does, so let me tell you about my family's trip on the "Polar Express" or as I call it "The Train Ride To HELL." For those of you not familiar, the Polar Express is an actual train ride that families can book during Christmas. It's billed as festive and fun for the kids. Tickets go on sale months in advance and sell out in minutes. Well, I managed to score tickets for the train by breaking night and ordering them online the minute they went on sale. So far, so good, right?

The day of the ride, the kids were so excited, especially my youngest son Thing 1. I dressed the whole family in matching PJs. By God we were committing to this thing! We were gonna have some holly jolly Christmas fun dammit. We boarded the train and things were going fine for about the first 10 minutes. The train was packed with families. The seating on the train was booth style, so we arranged ourselves in a set of booths at the back of the train.  At that time our youngest daughter was about 6 months old. The hubs was holding the baby while I settled our other three kids in for the 2 hour long train ride - remember that number: 2 hours. 

It was like a freaking Norman Rockwell painting on that train. Children singing carols, dads playing patty cake with giggling infants, the entertainers on the train strolling up and down the aisle playing instruments! Out of nowhere, my youngest son stands up in the booth and announces "I feel sick." Before I even have time to react, he basically erupts like a tiny volcano. He has gone full Linda Blair exorcist style in the middle of a crowded train. We immediately panic, cause that's how our family rolls. I'm trying to catch the puke in whatever I have available. I grab one of the kid's Santa hats and hold it under my son's mouth. He is now shrieking AND puking and the train falls quiet as everyone turns to gawk at the shit show happening in our booth. Did I forget to tell you that the bathroom was extremely tiny and non functioning on this train? I yell to my husband, "get some paper towels and something to clean this up!!" Instead of doing that, though, my dear husband takes off running for his life up the aisle - with our 6 month old baby girl in his arms! Homeboy is just running! The hat is full, so I'm now desperately trying to catch the puke in my pocket book. Where is it all coming from? He's so freaking tiny!

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss at my husband as he runs past me up the aisle for a second time. "I have the baby in my arms! What do you want me to do?" he yells over his shoulder at me as he disappears back down the aisle. "Give the baby to one of them!" I point to my useless older children who have moved seats and are trying to pretend that they don't know the rest of us. "They can't hold her!!" he yells back at me as he continues running up and down the aisle, Santa Clause pajamas flapping in the wind. Mind you, dear readers, my oldest daughter was 9 at the time - totally capable of holding her sister for a few minutes. "Give them the baby and help me" I say, except my voice has dropped several octaves and I sound like a 65 year old biker. By this point, my son's cute little elf pajamas are completely saturated, so I have no choice but to strip him. My son was 2 at the time and potty trained, so I didn't think to pack any spare clothes for him, and we still had about 1:45 minutes left on the train. It occurs to me that he might have to spend the rest of the time on the train buck naked.

Finally, Forrest Gump stops running and hands the baby to our oldest daughter. My sick son is shivering like a chihuahua, naked under his coat, but at least he's no longer yaking! Thank the sweet baby Jesus for that. When my husband returns, he has a roll of paper towels, some disinfectant and a garbage bag. Let me tell you that the clean up operation in that booth was....something that I've been trying to forget for over a year now, but can't. It was that traumatic, people! About the only stroke of luck we had was that the gift shop actually had one set of pajamas in my son's exact size available for sale. By the time we had the booth cleaned up and my son dressed, the damn train ride was nearly over. The kids looked like they'd been through war and my husband's legs no doubt were aching from the mini marathon he had just run. Needless to say, we did not book another train ride this year. Maybe we'll return one day....like with our grandchildren or something.

You guys have no idea what's about to happen to you...

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting

My youngest child will be turning 2 in April. She isn't just the youngest, though. She is also the LAST baby. Yes, no more children will be passing through this baby chute and I'm ...... OK with that. I'm actually more than OK with that. You see, it's a great thing that we stopped at 4. Anymore kids and I'd be writing to you from a psychiatric ward. Seriously. Don't get me wrong: I love my kids and I'm glad they are all here. I'm pretty sure, though, that each child has taken at least 2 years off the end of my life. I'm not that great at math, but if my calculations are correct, this means that I am slated to die at least 8 years early. But, anything for your kids, right?!! I'm just gonna hang on long enough so that I can experience the joy of one of them having to wipe my butt for a change. I don't care which one of them has to do it, either.  Pay back is a bitch!!

I am very commonly asked (often with a faint look of horror), whether we plan to "go for number 5." After I'm done laughing hysterically, I bluntly inform the asker "Hells no!" Then, with happy tears in my eyes, I tell (sometimes perfect strangers) that we've burnt that bridge to the ground! YOU SHALL NOT PASS little baby makers. To give you an idea, 10 minutes after our last child was born, I was on the phone scheduling my husband's vasectomy. Why a vasectomy vs. a tubal ligation? My reasoning was simple: after 10 years of being pregnant, birthing babies, and breast feeding babies, I felt very strongly that my loving husband should experience the joy of having his genitals smacked around a bit. Fair is fair and the vasectomy procedure is faster and less invasive. He agreed and so the factory is closed. 

Now, here's the million dollar question: how did I know I was done? How do you know that your family is complete? It's such a tough question, but I will say that I knew after my first, second, and third children that I didn't feel like everyone who was meant to be in our family was here. The picture wasn't complete, so we knew that we wanted one more. As soon as my daughter was born, I felt it! She was the last piece of the puzzle and I haven't had any second thoughts since. 

How else do I know? Seeing other babies does not make "my uterus ache with longing" as I've heard others poetically describe it. Newborns are obviously adorable and sweet, but the feeling I get is more so of my uterus trying to detach itself from my body and escape via any orifice it can find! I can picture my uterus galloping away from me like a runaway horse. In fact, if I didn't still need my lady parts, I might be totally OK if I woke up some morning to find them gone! I'm so bad, that it's not safe to sit me next to an expectant mother. God forbid she asks me "what's labor like?" or "what's it like having 4 kids?" My eyes suddenly glaze over and I start saying very unhelpful things like, "have you ever felt like your lady bits were doused in gasoline and lit on fire?" or "I haven't slept in 10 years" or "I have a hemorrhoid for each child, you do the math." And then I laugh and laugh and laugh! Yup. So, I think it's fair to say that we are done. 

Now, if you know me, you know that I adore my children. I would never take them for granted. I know how lucky I am to have 4 healthy kids. But real talk ... kids are hella hard. I think it's OK to admit that too. My kids have a really early bedtime and it's not because I'm a conscientious parent. Once 7 o'clock rolls around I'm in search and destroy mode. Objective: find the children and neutralize the threat. I need them to not be in my line of sight after a certain time at night. It's not them, it's me! I sprout hair, teeth and fangs when the sun goes down and it's just in every one's best interest to go the F the sleep. 

I think sometimes we go into this parenting thing with the expectation that kids will some how make everything better. Study after study shows that kids do not necessarily make life better or marriages stronger. I've learned to approach this parenting adventure from the standpoint of: I'm just trying to raise good human beings. My kids were not put here to fulfill some image of myself. They are unique, individual people whom I have committed to guiding towards adulthood. But boy do I live for the funny moments, the peaceful moments, and the joyful celebrations. Those moments make all the little daily struggles well worth it.

Jingle Hell

When your kids start to out number you, you quickly find that doing stuff you used to take for granted becomes hard. Really hard. Like soul sucking hard. For example, going out into public. I have four kids, so anytime I get to leave the house with just one or two kids, I sometimes get a little cocky. Hey, I've gone lots of places with all four in tow and it was fine ... ish. I mean, no one died, got lost, or got arrested, so that's a success! Right? 

Well, let's talk about my oldest son's Holiday concert. My husband was working, so I decided to take my two youngest with me to the show. My oldest daughter attends a different school, so it was just me and my two little shadows: Thing 1 who is three years old and Thing 2 who is one. 

The concerts at my oldest son's elementary school are held in the auditorium. It is always packed on concert days, so, a wise woman would do well to get there early. Unfortunately, I am not a wise woman, so after parking 2 miles from the school and carrying one kid and dragging the other, I made it into the building. Ok, feeling a little sweaty, but no big deal. Brush it off. You made it! Now, let's find a place to sit. 

I scanned the crowd and actually found two seats near the front! My luck is changing, I thought, as I sat Thing 1 on a chair and put Thing 2 in my lap. Easy peasy. We'll just sit here and enjoy the show. Alas, it was not to be. 

I don't believe I actually saw any of the show. My eyes were fixed on my one year old who was doing her best imitation of Gollum screaming "MINE" every time I tried to take something dangerous out of her hands. Where was she finding these dangerous objects? In my freaking purse. But here's the kicker, I let her rifle through my purse in the hopes that it would distract her long enough to get us through the concert. But once you open Pandora's purse, there's no turning back. I had created a monster. She must have snatched every pointy thing from my bag: my keys, a pen, a metal credit card case. It quickly turned into a game of tug of war. She, trying to pull the bag and its stabby contents to her chest and me, desperately trying to pull it away from her in the opposite direction. She was enjoying scattering my business cards all over the floor and sucking on my keys and was not about to give up the bag. "Why is she so strong?" I thought to myself desperately as I continued wrestling with her. 

It was about this time, that she reached into my bag and angrily pulled out one of the maxi pads I keep in there for emergencies and tossed it across the aisle. She looked up at me with an expression that said, "Your move, bitch." Of course I let go of the bag and scrambled after the maxi pad. 

By this time I am actively sweating. I am faintly aware that my son's class is singing, so I pop my head up periodically to smile at him. He appears to be mouthing the words to "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas. "It's really lovely, but I'm kind of busy whisper-screaming at my daughter to please shut up and sit on my lap. I find myself frantically offering her various bribes, except that's useless cause she's one and doesn't give a damn about anything and cannot be bought. She laughs and gives me a toothy grin as she tosses a business card for a company called "Pure Romance" (don't ask) over her shoulder. I resemble a gopher, periodically popping my head up to smile encouragingly at my miserably singing son or snap a fuzzy cell phone picture. 

Throughout all of this, my youngest son is actually behaving! He's sitting next to me fairly quietly. Thank God for that, right? Wrong. As soon as the show ends, it's his turn to go rogue. As everyone is filing out, he decides that he's mad as hell and he's not gonna take it anymore. He throws himself onto the floor and begins to wail! I have my daughter on one hip and I'm trying to pull him to his feet, but he's gone boneless. He now weighs at least 100 pounds and I can't seem to pull him up. I decide, "Screw this, I'm just gonna leave him there!" and I start to walk away. He is not following me and I'm starting to get the stink eye from other parents observing the scene. The school principal even goes up to my wailing child in an attempt to console him. He looks at me like "Lady, is this your kid?" I avoid his stare pretending not to know the child who now seems to be speaking in tongues. 

After a few more seconds, I decide that I've finally had enough. Even if I have to drag him out by one foot, I'm getting out of there. I don't care who's watching (or judging). As if he sensed the impending danger, Thing 1 stops crying. I pull him to his feet and hightail it out of there. Needless to say, it was not my most successful kid outing! 

What's the lesson here? Kids can be little assholes sometimes and the degree of assholery will increase in direct proportion to how important it is for them to be quiet. Attending a festive holiday concert? Your little asshole might pull some sanitary napkins out of your purse and toss them at the horrified old lady sitting next to you. These things happen people! And...you will get through it. You might have to enter witness protection for a few years, but it will pass. And when they look at you and smile in the way only they can, you'll remember: they will only be this little once.  Enjoy the ride. It goes super fast.