Spiderman and His Amazing Friends!!

Sometimes we have to just let kids be kids.  We have to allow them to experiment and discovery on their own.  If we are always there hovering over their every move how will they ever learn to do anything for themselves?  How will they learn to make decisions and choices?  I am all for this kind of hands off philosophy a majority of the time... But running ten minutes late on a Sundays is not one of those times.

All I can say is thank you Jesus for worship since this is basically the church version of previews at the movie theater.  (I know someone is going to freak out by that statement.  In fact the worship loving part of my soul is already berating me for even making this comparison.)

Anyhow,  back to letting my kids be children especially when it comes to their clothes.  If they want to wear their pants on backward the whole day because that's the way they put them on and they did it "all by myself!" then more power to them.  If they want to dress like Superman at the grocery store, why not!  If they want to wear those plastic princess shoes to playgroup, have fun!  (But don't expect me to carry you when those little buggers start pinching your toes.)

Like I said before there are times when I have to put my OCD in check and just let them be kids...  But not at church!  Please God, not at church!  I know we have a really hip, fun loving church that wouldn't think twice about a little girl dressed in her belle outfit because, lets face it, that's adorable.  What they might frown upon is the neon yellow prostitute that just came through there childcare doors....

Let me explain...

It's Sunday, we're running late so I get my C&C in the parent huddle and tell him to take the princess, I'll dress the boy and we'll meet downstairs in five.  Break!  Things are going swimmingly,  get the boy in clothes that fit him without any stains and we are heading down the stairs when I catch a glimpse of the mayhem going on in the princess's room.  What the...?

I walk into the princess's room and I'm greeted with a resounding cry of "Mommy, I Fire-star!"  I bet you don't know who Fire-star is.  Of course you don't, that's because it's a terrible nineteen seventies spiderman cartoon that's not even called Spiderman but called Spiderman and his Amazing Friends!  (look it up on Netflix so you can get an idea of what my family dynamics look like.)  Fire-star has become an obsession to my daughter.  She wants to fly like Fire-star and stop crime like Fire-star.  Fire-star is the women in my household!  The only problem is that Fire-star dresses in nothing but a neon yellow unitard with fire engine red gloves, boots and mask.

super appropriate for church

Fortunately, or unfortunately we don't have a Fire-star costume.  I'm sure this has to do with the fact that nobody knows who she is.  So my daughter takes it upon herself to dress in her banana yellow leggings with a matching neon yellow Tinkerbell shirt and proceeds to "transform" as she lifts her arms and shows her mid drift... Um, no.  You can not go to church like that.  This is about the time my husband decides to chime in and tell me that "Somedays it's got to be ok to let our little princess express herself."  Turns out my husband dressed her!!  Yes, he sure did.  Of course he did.  For some reason he thought that her desire to be her favorite super hero trumped the fact that she looked like a rubber banana.

Mommy, I Fire-Star!

You should see her Fly

Now, I'm really stuck.  I can't contradict my husband.  He has already said she could dress like a prostitute, I mean Fire-star, but I can not and will not let her leave this house looking like that.  (I didn't think I'd have to worry about these kind of fights until she was much older.)  My mommy brain is seething at my husband while simultaneously searching for a solution.  I fortunately remember a yellowish dress with a disney princess on it that has been sitting in her drawer for a while since it has a bit of a stain but is to cute to throw out or giveaway and I start debating if it's too stained or if it even matters at this point, must. get. her. out. of. yellow. clothing!!!  My brain is on overload and I calmly say to my daughter, "hey, you're missing red, Fire-star has red in her outfit.  Oh look!  This dress has pink I mean red in it.  This will look much more like Fire-star."

She takes the bait and is joyous to change into something that doesn't make me want to sink into the floor with embarrassment.  Thank you Jesus for small miracles.

2pts- mommy, daddy-0.

Antenella

Do Hard Things

Editors note:  If you are easily offended by the mention of God feel free to not read this post and please tune in next wednesday where I will undoubtably be talking about how obnoxious my children are.  (And I mean that in the most loving sense of the word.)

Sometimes God will ask me to do hard things.  Like really hard things.  A lot of the time it involved me swallowing my pride and doing something super embarrassing.  Fortunately since having kids, very little is embarrassing but I do still have pride issues. (Though I will totally deny it if you ask me in front of my kids)

Recently God asked me to do something hard.  It involved contacting someone I didn't really have any plans to talk to ever again.  But God didn't just stop there.  Oh no, not my God!  He believes in going above and beyond.  Whore-ray!  Not only did I have to get a hold of them, I then had to encourage them.  And tell them a whole bunch of nice things about themselves and although all of the statements were completely true, it just hurt a little to have to be the one to say them.  Seriously? There wasn't anyone else that could deliver this message?  Maybe God asks the most unlikely person to do the encouraging so that the person receiving it will know without a doubt that it was meant to be a message from God.  Because, honestly, I was the last person on the planet that ever needed to blow smoke up their ass.

If I can be honest.  I fought this for a long time.  I'm embarrassed to admit, but like, years long time.  But finally the day came where He would be ignored no longer.  So I listened and obeyed.  And I was skeptical.  And I was nervous. And I was ignorant. What if it was the wrong timing?  What if they never wanted to hear from me ever again?  What if they were still mad or hurt or even worse, indifferent.  But I tried not to think too much about it and sent a fairly simple if not awkward note of encouragement.  Besides who doesn't like a few words of encouragement every once and a while, right?

And that was it...

I'd love to say that I didn't think about it again after I hit send but I'd be lying.  So imagine my shock when I got a pretty speedy reply for my address.  Um...ok.  I figured if I was doing this God's way I was going to see it to the end.  I'd either get a scathing letter or a restraining order.  Either way I'd know the end of the story.

So three days later (strange how that works) I receive not only a heart felt letter of thanks but an apology.  And I would love to say that those words meant nothing to me.  That I could say, "that was so in the past"  or even better, "I don't remember what you are talking about but thanks" But I'm not that great of a person and I knew exactly why those words where scribbled on to that piece of paper.  As soon as I read those two words, "I'm sorry" I broke.  At least, that's what it felt like.  I sobbed...for a while.

I was totally taken by surprise by my reaction.  And for a split second, even angry.  I was so ashamed with myself for hanging on to past hurts for so long.  How much was I still seeing myself in the past?  I had distorted the truth about it for so long that I couldn't even remember what was true or not.  But here it was in black and white.  A true acknowledgment.  A validation that what I felt so many years ago was real.  Sure, it was probably a little blown out of proportion with the surge of teenage hormones but for the most part, it really happened.  I didn't just do this to myself or purposely cause drama or any other scenario that I made up to explain it away.  This was a sincere and heartfelt apology.  So naturally, I balled like a baby.

This whole experience made me realize again how God is great.  When he calls us to be part of his will and we obey, there is no other feeling of fulfillment.  The unfortunate thing is that I very rarely agree to be part of his work.  I'm always too busy, too prideful or too frightened to make a fool of myself.  I always forget that when God calls me to do something it's not for Him,  (God does whatever He wants with or without me.)  it's for me!  He wants to bestow His blessings and restoration for my soul!  I need only to listen and obey.

How humbling.  That the God of the universe wants to not only let me be part of his great world but wants to also be small enough to be part of mine.


Antenella

Mother of the Year

Let me start off by saying that it takes a lot to embarrass me.  I mean a real lot.  Well, at least it used to.  Then I had kids and now all I feel is just varying degrees of humiliation.  Today had to seriously top the scale.  At least so far.  (Who knows what kind of joys are in my future tomorrow!)  It started off pretty normal.  Scrambling to get out of the house.  Trying to find socks, put on shoes, brush hair, take a 30 second shower because by precious children are screaming bloody murder from the other side of the glass and I'm pretty sure everyone in my neighborhood can hear them from my bathroom.  Good times.

Anyway, I get everyone washed and presentable and I'm trying to dress my beauties.  The boy, not a problem.  Shorts and T-shirt, socks and shoes.  Simple.  My daughter... not so much.  I get her clothes picked out.  No problems there.  Plaid shorts with pink shirt with ballet slippers on them.  Too cute!  But I'm missing something.  Underwear.  I know she has a bahjillion pairs of underwear, (why are they called pairs?  They're just one) so were the hell are they? 

Side note:  I'm kinda on a time frame with my kids as I'm sure you understand.  I only have about 20 minutes from the time I get them up till the time I get them downstairs and eating or they seriously go from being Gizmo to Gremlin in about 5 seconds flat.  Then I only have about 30 minutes from the time they begin eating till the time I get them out the door or they decide they are going to make my departure from the house the most excruciating event ever.  Basically Gizmo to Gremlin.  Then I have about 20 minutes to get where I need to go or they need to be feed again.  Otherwise... You got it Gizmo to Gremlin.  Are you catching my urgency to get out of the house in a timely manner?

From This

To This

So I've already wasted about 15 minutes on their bath and getting the boy dressed and now I'm staring at my daughter half dressed praying that I have clean laundry in the dryer.  That has got to be it.  Where does 1 bahjillion pairs of underwear get to anyway?  So I rush everyone down stairs, get breakfast going and everyone is eating before you can say apocalypse.  As their eating I am scrambling to get my life line, I mean diaper bag packed and ready to go.  Diapers? Check. Wipes? Check. Waters? Check. Snakes? Check. Varying amounts of entertainment? Check.  Where am I going you ask?  Disney world? Alaska? The Himalayas?  Nope, just the gym.*  Which is literally 3 minutes from my house.  I could walk there.  But I'm not going to.

Now there is still that pesky issue of underwear and I'm running out of time.  Dryer.  No. Underwear!  Relax, so what if you have not a single pair of clean underwear to dress your child in, does that make you a bad mom?  Only if someone else finds out!  So I take the risk and let my little precious princess free ball it this one time.  (ok, maybe it was the second time)  No one will know our dirty little secret unless she pees her pants, which of course, isn't going to happen...

So wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.  I make it out the door with only one minor melt down and I'm thinking this is going to work.  We make it to the gym, drop the kids off and by the power of God both my kids are happy and quiet and they don't have to come get me to let me know that my child is screaming like a banshee and I'm a terrible parent for leaving him.  So I actually get a good work out in and I'm feeling pretty good and about an hour later I figure it's about time to get those kids and get them lunch or something that involves parenting.

If I Were A Rich Man

Well, I walk into the kid care and thank the Lord my kids are the only ones in there.  The boy is passed out cold while my princess is sporting new shorts.  Those are cute.  What a minute...

The ladies inform me that my princess was too excited to let them know when she had to use the little girls room.  So not only did she pee all over herself but they had to change her clothes... and in order to change her clothes they would unwittingly have to unveil my dirty secret!

This Doesn't Even Begin To Describe It

OH MY LORD.  Humiliation at it's finest.  A couple of things went through my mind.  1.  Do I even mention she's not wearing underwear or do I just leave it up to them to fill in the blanks?  Maybe they'll think she dressed herself.  2.  The warnings of my mother telling me to never leave the house without clean underwear in case I get into a terrible accident and the EMT's have to cut off my clothes and find I'm not wearing clean undies.   What are the chances?  

I'm pretty sure those where my last thoughts before racing out the door.  What are the chances?  Apparently, pretty good.  So make sure the next time you leave the house, you're wearing clean underwear.  Well... at least your kids are.

Antenella

*I just want to clarify that the gym can be a God send and my worse fear at the same time.  The boy decides sometimes that he loves it then other times he hates it.  So I spend most of my workout looking over my shoulder like a cracked out drug fiend looking for the cops because I keep waiting for the ladies who work child care to come looking for me and remind me what a horrible person I am to leave my screaming child in their care for 20 minutes at a time.  As I've mentioned before, the boy is a crier.  Shout out to all my moms dealing with criers!!  I hear ya.   

Today...in a Nutshell.

It has been quite a day today.  It's been one of those days that started out 10 minutes late.  Then I spent the rest of the day trying to make up for those 10 minutes that turned into 20 minutes, then 30 minutes...and, well you get the idea.  It's been one of those days that makes you stop and say,"Oh my Lord!  I'm a mom!"  And not a t.v. type mom that gets to have her cafe mocha between commercial breaks but I full fledged mother!

You know what?  That bitch
had a nanny/ houskeeper!

Today has been a day that has made me think that I am both thriving and failing as a parent.  I am always amazing by my ingenuity as a parent.  How I can always seem to make anything work.  But then I start wondering if I shouldn't just call it quits and head home.  Like the times when the princess gets to excited to make it to the potty on time and I spend 10 minutes fashioning her brothers jacket into a skirt.  

But some days it just really hits me.  This is it.  This is my life.  And it's not really all that bad.  Different!  But definitely not terrible.  Sure, I can't go to the bathroom by myself anymore and for get those late nights with the ladies.  (Actually... It's called "mommies night out"* now)  But it's so worth it!... at least thats what they keep telling me.  What makes me say these things might you ask?  Well, I have a list.  Granted this is not an exhausted list but a list of all the thoughts I had just in the past 10 hours:

Top 10 Things That Make You A Mom:

10.  You have something green smeared on your shoulder and you can't for the life of you remember what you fed your kid that would resemble that color.

9.  You've torn your house apart looking for dance shoes for the dance class that starts in 10 minutes but your 15 minutes away and they end up being in your bag the whole time.

8.  You get unnaturally excited when you see a firetruck drive by with the lights on.

Holy Crap!  This one has a crane!

7.  You have said, "If you don't stop, I will give you something to cry about!"

5.  You have the same thought at 5:00pm.  "What the H E double hockey sticks am I going to make for dinner!?"

4.  You sing the "backpack" song to yourself in the shower. 

3.  The man in the yellow hat starts looking like he's been working out because honestly, he's the only other adult male you have seen in a while.

Sexy! 

2.  You are frustrated that the post office doesn't have a drive through.  You dread having to go to the post office.

1.  You can make a meal out of Cheetos, granola bars, bananas and a juice box.

Ah, the joys of motherhood.  They said "it wouldn't be easy, but it would be worth it"...  How about  "it wouldn't be easy, but you can take a nap later."

Antenella

*Check out last weeks blog, "what transpired at mommy night out"... good times.

What Transpired at Mommies Night Out

This week I was fortunate enough to get a mommies night out.  It also happened to be one of my friends very first mommy night out.  So, of course we celebrated by eating too much, drinking too much and staying out far to late for a lactating mommy.   (Btw, a dirty martini is 10 points.  I come to find out after the fact, ugh.  Oh, but it was so worth it)  Anywho, while we were chatting it up and driving our waitress crazy we started to talk about mommy things (Of course) even though we said we wouldn't (Of course).  And Volia!  The next blog was written!

Five lies about being a new mom:

1. Crying- and I'm not talking about the baby.  I don't know about you but it seems to be a pretty common theme that mom's, after giving birth, lose there friggen minds!  I get that we are dumping hormones faster then Dane Cook drops F bombs, but I swear all of our hormones come out our eyeballs!  It was pretty terrible with my daughter.  (I think your first is always the hardest.) Every day at around 5pm I would just spontaneously break into sobs.  It didn't matter if I was reading, watching tv, nursing or in the middle of a sentence, I would just leak like a faucet.  It was so persistent that my husband would keep time with my cry-fest's.

Like this Crazy Crying

2. Fear of Everything- Again, I'm sure this has to do with the dumping hormones but really?  I worried about everything and anything.  I worried about getting in a car accident.  What if someone broke into my house? How would I protect my baby?  And if real life scenarios wasn't good enough I would make up ones that were impossible.  What if I was on the titanic?  What if earth collided with an astroid?  What if my mother-in-law stayed for a week?  Terrible.

What do you do if this happens?

3. Sex- They told you that you had to wait 6 weeks with a vaginal delivery.  Well, if you had an episiotomy, a rip, a tear or anything that involved stitches expect that to be a lot longer.  I mean, you can try.  Lord knows I did.  But it won't be the same.  Forget it being enjoyable, seriously, you're ahead of the game if it isn't down right painful.  (I'm starting to wonder if I got an extra stitch in the process)  With my daughter I had an episiotomy and a tear.  I don't actually know how bad it was but I imagine it was pretty ugly when the night nurse came in, looked at my chart, made a grimace face and said "oh you poor thing." Shudder*

4. Mothering Coming Naturally- It's moments like this that I wished I had taken up knitting...so I could stab the next person to say this through the eye and swirl their brain around.  (ok, that might be a little graphic)  Wtf?  I mean really?  When I carried my kids for 9 months it was in the womb!  Not in my arms where we had full on conversations on what to expect and their likes and dislikes.  The only thing I was certain of when my kids were born was that I didn't know anything about them.  So don't tell me that I'll know when they cry what they want.  Hell, half the time when I cry I don't know what I want.

5. Sleeping-  I feel like all of the above would be curbed a bit if we could just get 8, (lol) 6, God, I'd be happy with 4 hours of sleep in a row.  Because seriously, isn't sex better when you're not so exhausted that you're just waiting for it to be over*?  I guess this one isn't really a lie since everyone and their mom curses you with the same statement over and over again when your little miracle is causing even your elbows to swell: "Sleep now, because you're not going to get it once the baby is born."  First of all, let me just say, Shut Up!  Look at me?  If I sunbath at the beach, PETA will be called because people will think a whale has beached itself.  Do I look like I'm getting sleep now?  How would you sleep if as soon as you sat down it's the opening night of Cirque Du Soliel in your abdomen? Stupid.  What they fail to tell you is what complete and utter exhaustion really awaits you.  Not as soon as you get home from the hospital, (because you're still so hyped up on adrenaline) but the days and weeks and months of no sleep.  Not sleeping does some really weird things to you.  One of my friends told me that she was afraid to tell her psychiatrist husband about her anxiety of being a new mom (see number 2) not just because she didn't want him to worry about her mothering skills but because he had the power to bake-rake her. (which is hilarious in itself) Then after thinking about it she says, "But then I could get a full nights sleep, have meals made and brought to me.  Plus, I won't have to clean or change a poopy diaper."  Oh yes, I have been there.

what we think of when we hear co-sleeping
Ps: how the heck did they get a blond baby?

Actuality 

The truth is no one can prepare you for mother-hood but at the same time it would be really nice to have a heads up!  I think a lot of new moms would feel a whole lot better if in their "preparing for baby" classes they didn't just tell you how to put a diaper on a doll (because that's really accurate to the real thing) but maybe if they let you know what to expect from your body.  I think we would feel a little less alone when it's the middle of the night, we're crying while nursing because we're afraid that the Mayna calendar is right and the world is going to end and we can't even enjoy it by having frightened-it's-the-end-of-the-world-crazy-sex!  Oh well, at least we'll get to sleep.

Antenella


(Disclaimer:  If my husband is reading this, I never feel that way. I'm always ready for your hot sexy body!  Bring it on baby!  Just not tonight, I'm exhausted)

Am I Pretty?

This past week I've noticed that there has been a lot of conversation about the detrimental effects of telling your daughter she is pretty.  Apparently, there have been a lot of specialists coming to the conclusion that if we tell our daughters or little girls in general, that they are pretty, they will never identify themselves with anything other then their looks.  When approaching a little girl, the first thing out of your mouth should be a greeting and not an immediate commentary on how cute her clothes, hair or shoes are. To express the beauty in a little girl as being more important then say, her reading abilities is a blatant undermining of her intelligence and you should be ashamed of yourself in doing so.  Whatever happened to women's lib?

I say this with a little tongue in cheek because I personally think this is the most moronic thing I have ever heard coming out of the parenting world...so far.  (And they have come up with some doosies)  Let me start off by saying that I do understand, to an extent, what these specialist are trying to say.  They are basically trying to tell us as parents in a very confusing way that we need to instill in our daughters the importance of things other then our looks.  That we shouldn't define ourselves only by the way we style our hair or the clothes that we wear.  What happens if we have get a bad hair cut or can't afford the newest fashions?  Do these things take away from our worth as women?  Of course not, but if that is all we have been taught to think of as important and we can't identify ourselves with say our personality, or hobbies or dare I say, our relationship with God then we may crumble when we get a killer pimple in the middle of our precious visage.  I get that...

But really?

To not tell our daughters they are beautiful would be doing them a much greater disservice.  Let me start with the basics.  Say I'm a women (which I am) and I wanted to have other women friends (which I do)  what would be the best way to ingratiate myself to said women?  To compliment them!  Obviously.  Who doesn't like a person who says something nice about you?  And how many times have you started a conversation with a complete stranger by saying "oh my gosh!  I love your ______ .  Where did you get them?"  Fill in the blank.  Shoes, purse, dress, shirt, hair...the list goes on.  And what is the reaction you get?  I huge smile, a look of gratitude and a freely given location and price of said item.  You not only made her day but you also found a great deal in the process!  Win-win, I say and why?

Because we as women are built to want to be pretty!  And not just pretty, but to be noticed!  I feel that since I've become a mother I want even more to be pretty.  I want to be pretty for my kids, for my husband, for myself.  And not because I have some unhealthy idea of only identifying myself with my looks but because I believe that my family deserves a stunning mother and wife.  They are worth being beautiful for.  And I'm not talking hair and makeup.  Because, lets be honest, who's got time for that crap.  I want to be happy.  Audrey Hepburn has been quoted in saying that:  "The happiest girls are the prettiest girls" and it's the truth!

More of This

Less of This

Maybe I feel so strongly about this because as a child no one ever stopped me to tell me I was pretty.  My younger sister was the beautiful one and she got it all the time.  Imagine going through most of your life where people only noticed you because you paled in comparison to some one else.  Sad right?  Well it would have been except for the fact that both my parents would continually tell me I was beautiful.  They said I had the most beautiful smile, my hair was so long and shinny, my eyes sparkled when I talked.  I don't think there was a day that went by that I wasn't told that I was pretty by either my mom or my dad.  And I am forever grateful to them for it.

There was a long time where I didn't believe I was pretty at all.  I was never someone any one ever wanted to date or even had an interest in.  When it was really bad I was barked at.  (Yeah, like a dog)  But I always came home to a loving family that would replenish me up with words of beauty so that I would be able to make it another day.

We as women want to be pretty!  It's not something we learn, it's something we're born with.  And there is nothing wrong with that!  It is the way we were wired.  It's the way God wanted us to be.  God loves beauty, so he made women and am not going to be guilted into taking that away from my daughter just because some pediatric psychotics specialists decided it was causing teen girls to get nose rings or tattoos. We've become so concerned with making sure that our daughters are something other then beautiful that we've taken it away from them all together.  Instead we should be teaching them what beauty is and how it is defined.

As a parent of a daughter that is my job.  Beauty is not make up, clothes or hair it is the way her skin shimmers in the ocean or the way the sun catches her eyes or the way she looks when she sings to herself.  That is beauty!  When I see the truth of who she really is.  When I get a glimpse of the holiness inside of her.  It is when she is so confident in our acceptance and love for her that she positively glows!  That is what we should be telling our daughters.  Not that their motor skills are impressive, or her athletics are good but that they are the most beautiful things we have ever laid our eyes on!  

More of This

Less of This

And why should we tell them this?  Because that's what they want to hear!  And if we don't tell them, then someone else will and that may lead to even bigger problems. Women will devote themselves to those that feed this simple desire.  Our daughters want to be told they're pretty, noticed, special and I ask you, what's wrong with that?

Antenella

Mommy Fail

Some days are just amazing!  Some days I marvel at the fact that every one is getting along.  Both my kids are sleeping through the night, playing well with each other, eating all their veggies and even take simultaneous naps.  Some days are just magical and all I can think is:  "I'm doing it! I'm parenting!  My kids are happy and adjusted and I am just loving life!" Some times this happens for days at a time.  Some times.  This time?  Not so much.

It has been a trying couple of weeks to say the least.  My son, who has the lungs of Siryn, has reached new highs with his persistent screaming.  Throw in the fact that his separation anxiety has hit a fever pitch and couple that with the knowledge that my 3 year old has unwillingly given up her pacifiers, it's safe to say that it has been very loud and emotional in my house.  When it gets like this I start to have a hard time focusing, listening, remembering things.  I think it's because my mind starts to escape inward (I'm assuming it's my bodies natural defense to protect from going insane from the constant screaming.) and it tends to ignore things that once seemed important.  Like play dates or doctors appointments.  I didn't realize how hard it was really hitting me until I had my very first real "mommy fail".

Don't get me wrong, I've had some pretty awesome "mommy fails" before this one.  But this one made me feel like a terrible parent...more so then usual.

The other day my daughter had been whining for what seemed like days and refusing to eat or sleep.  So she had just been a dream.  And when I say dream, I mean the scary kind.  And this one particular morning she asked for milk with her breakfast. (Which she wasn't going to eat anyway)  So I thought, 'well, at least she'll get some milk in her.'  I poured her a glass.  She immediately starts whining "no no, I don't want it."  Ugh!  She said the same thing after she specifically asked for waffles with syrup and before I even laid the plate in front of her.

Anyway, she starts whining and throwing a fit.  So I told her she couldn't have a piece of chocolate until she drank her milk.  The least she could do was drink her milk.  So she stiffens up, picks up her glass and downs most of it.  Then promptly says "yuck!"  Everything is yuck to a 3 year old.

me- "What's yuck, honey?"
princess- "Milk"
me- "Milk isn't yucky! It's good for your bones and helps you play."
princess- "No, yucky."
me- "Stop being silly.  It's not yucky."
princess- "No mommy, milk yucky."
me-"O.k.  Now you're just trying to have an argument with me."

Do you see where we're going with this?  At this point my husband goes over to see if he can defuse the situation because he can see the "hulk smash" creeping up into my face.  Next thing you know he's in an outrage.  "Did you smell this milk?"

You guessed it.  I had given the poor thing sour milk... I don't think the guilt could be any worse.  And why do these things always happen when my husband is home?  I feel like he already thinks my parenting style is not to his liking and then some thing like this happens which just proves him right.  And I hate when he's right...and he's always friggin right!

I ended up giving her grip water and all the chocolate she could handle since I was trying to pacify my very guilty conscious.  One thing I really wanted to be was a mom with no regrets and I feel like the longer I have children the harder it is to be that way.  I feel like every decision I make would be much better informed if I could time travel.  The only time I ever truly feel like I know what I'm doing is when the moment is over and I'm looking back.

Some times I just feel like I'm failing.  Failing my kids, failing myself.  I always thought I would be better.  I shared this terrible incident with my pediatrician and she gave me some very encouraging words:

"Please!  You are not a bad mom.   You are definitely not the first parent to tell me this story.  This may be the first time you feed your kid spoiled milk but it probably won't be the last.  So don't stress over silly mistakes that don't make a lick of difference to your kids.  They won't even remember!  She's not going to hate you or have some deep seeded aversion to dairy products.  She probably didn't even get a tummy ache.  So forget it!"

This made me realize two things.  1)  She was right!  All I can do is love my kids to the best of my ability and pray that God will do the rest.  And Lord knows I love them and I'm pretty sure he's sick of my begging him to take care of them.  Isn't everything else just water under the bridge or spilt milk? (pun totally intended) My kids are well adjusted, well taken care of, and completely confident in the knowledge of my love for them.  And isn't that all that matters?

and 2) Check the expiration date...


Antenella