There's a greatness to her lateness.

As hard as I try, I can never manage to be the last parent in line for preschool drop-off or pick-up. What gives?

Frankly, I didn't even think I needed to try: genetics should be against me. 

I was always the last kid waiting to get picked up and chauffeured to her next event. One by one cars would arrive and friends would leave until I was the last man standing. It. Totally. Sucked. I assumed my kids were in for the same fate.

One time -- I repeat, one time -- I was not the last to get picked up. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief as our "poop-brown 2-door AM-only rear-wheel drive 1979 Buick Regal" jumped over a curb and screeched to a halt in front of me and my friends. I was beyond ecstatic: like those people jumping up and down when they win that Publisher's Clearing House (am I dating myself here?).  I yelled out -  "Goodbye! I'm leaving! So long suckers!" Yep. Only happened once. 

The car that got us everywhere

 Amazingly, I'm not that crazy-late chicken-with-her-head-cut-off mom! It must skip a generation (sorry, daughter). I usually find myself hovering in the middle of the pack -- unless it's work-out day and I have to haul buns to the Gym to make my class. Then I'm usually MOM #3 in line. (Oh I have priorities).

Although we all have those mornings when nothing goes right: the kids don't want to wash/brush/dress/eat (fill in the blank here), my toddler has a blow out just as we're walking out the door, or... I start doing laundry and time just melts away as I'm engrossed in this glorious of all domestic tasks. Whatever it is, there's that morning (and I've had plenty) where I say, "This is it. This is the morning where I get crowned Queen of the Late!"

Nope. 

Even on those tantrum-filled, poopy-butt, laundry-lovin' mornings, there's always some car that pulls up behind me --- some mom whose morning was just a little more crazy. God bless her!

Kid tested, mother not approved

Keeping in the spirit of entertaining the kids at home with a fun hands-on activity for lazy moms (which translates to something that involves the least bit of prep time and as few ingredients as possible), I move on to CloudFluff.

CloudFluff is equal parts cornstarch & shaving cream. 

You mix it together and it's supposed to be a soft dough you can shape & form (see website where I found it). 

I'm doing something wrong -- apparently the last 3 years engulfed in babydom has left me unable to follow directions let alone mix 2 ingredients together -- because my concoction ends up being very fluffy and creates a mess all over the entire kitchen.

Need less to say the kids LOVE this 

I throw it all in a bowl and let the kids have fun with whatever toys I don't mind cleaning afterwards. My son loves to drive his trucks through it and my daughter just likes to smear it all over the table and on herself.

I do it when the floors need a good cleaning to begin with (everyday) because that's what you'll be doing once the fun is done -- CLEAN.

Have fun!

Not one of my finer MOM moments

They say that with your second child things get easier because you've BTDT -- "been there done that." I agree in the case of, I know how to change a cloth diaper in record speed and sling a Moby around my body like I'm tying a shoe. But I'm still stumbling here because my daughter is an entirely different beast baby.

Tops on my "What is up with this kid?" list is the oral fixation. She puts everything in her mouth from crayons to cat food to books to a piece of spaghetti stuck on her foot from lunch an hour ago.

Blue Mouth - probably paint.

 I didn't have this problem with my son -- the only thing he ate was what was on the end of a fork. We gave him crayons at 18 months and a dirt box at 2 years old and I never looked to see if he would put it in his mouth. 

My daughter ... everything is fair game. Not only would she eat the dirt, but she'd come up to me, open wide and show me that she prefers northern Illinois clay soil over my tuna casserole she gagged on the night before. As I write this post she has just turned 21 months old. Aren't we done with this BS yet?

Eating paint is fun.

So this leads me to my story 

One morning before leaving for preschool -- during the segment I call "Playtime" which is really a pseudonym for "Mommy-Time"-- I hear my son calling "She's eating the litterbox!"

Yep. My precious youngin' was eating the cats finest -- and we have 2 cats so there was extra yummy goodness to be had.

It totally beats that beef stew you made last night, Mom.

 After throwing a massive Knip-shit, I cleaned out her mouth, tried to impart on her any words of wisdom knowing it was useless, and then promptly called the doctor in what felt like the walk of shame: the terrible mother who let's her daughter eat cat poop because she wants to sling on some yoga pants and maybe check Facebook.

I was put on hold after I told the operator what happened -- apparently she felt like this warrented immediate attention -- then the nurse got on the line and her first words to me were, "So, you're having a great morning aren't you?"

"Well, it beats the four tantrums my son had yesterday morning over his socks. So is my daughter going to get lockjaw or what?"

So this post may end up being rather informational in case you find yourself or a loved one has fallen face-first mouth-open into a litterbox. It's gross and nasty, but unless you start: vomiting, crapping your brains out, or developing mouth sores, you should be fine.

And she is. Although I'm trying not to take it personal when she spits out my food at dinner. 

Leaning In, Leaning Out, Leaning Over

When I had five minutes to myself (read: I was going to the bathroom), I spent it reading an article in Parents magazine about "Leaning Out" -- that is, "Out" of our kids lives.

Supposedly we're too focused on these kids who
1) we had grew inside of us where we gagged at the sight of ranch dressing and threw up everything we ate (side note: throwing up peppermint patties is surprisingly refreshing, bile on the other hand is not),
2) we birthed for 18+ hours without meds, and
3) who were then thrust into our arms without any manual or inkling that we will no longer sleep past 6:01 a.m. on Sunday ...

January 2011 - First swim class

After all that, naturally we're signing up for Mommy & Me classes when our babies can barely hold up their heads and traveling out of state for little league games when we don't even want to drive 10 miles to visit our parents.

That's what kids make us do -- go insane do things that are unreasonable to the normal outsider but perfectly normal among other sleep deprived, wide-eyed, toilet-paper-stuck-to-the-shoe new parent.

Competition
Are we signing up for classes and sports leagues because we're competing with other parents? That's what the article leans toward; I can't speak for all parents but at this stage -- my kids are very young -- I can care less what other moms are doing. However,  I have no idea what mayhem lies ahead of me once they hit elementary school and what parent wants to say, "We're too poor to have you do travel hockey, and yes these are new shoes I'm wearing, thank you for noticing."

January 2012 - Music class

I signed my son up for swim & music classes at 6 months old because I was bored staying at home with him and I needed to get out of the house. There I said it! Now I do activities with my kids because this is my new job and I don't want to suck at it.

Before I had kids, I worked, I traveled, I drank liquid dinners with friends and had flings with co-workers, I took showers everyday and only wore yoga pants to Yoga class. I had a closet full of shoes that made "clack-clack" noises when I walked the pavement and I slept in on Sunday morning. Halleluiah sister!

(Now my shoes go "thud thud," my only travel consists of the boring drive back & forth to preschool, and I have stretched my yoga pants from being skinny, fat, skinny,  pregnant, flabby, fat, pregnant again... does this list have to go on?)

April 2013 - Swim class

I traded all that to be a stay-at-home mom and I take this job just as serious as the one that paid me, albeit, terribly. So for now, I'll sign my kids up for classes where we can have fun together and they clean up the mess, where I can get out of the house and no one even notices me in my yoga pants because we are all wearing them. And even if my kids don't remember any of this, I will.

I'm Leaning into my Kids (Sorta, and Not in the Annoying Way)
Why? Because I didn't Lean In at work like Sheryl Sandberg said and I have a twinge of regret about it. This is my new chance; it's my new job and I'm the CEO this time.

Why I currently love my preschooler more

When my daughter was born, and my son was 23 months and running around like a wind-up monkey with the cymbals (the Energizer one that doesn't slow down and eventually stop), I fell in love with my quiet, nursing, swaddled infant. Love just poured over me every time we gazed into each other eyes, blur of 2-year old boy creating mayhem in my peripheral vision. Nevertheless, my newborn and I were in love.

Mommy's little stinker

Fast forward!

My newborn is almost 21 months and I no longer feel that warm glow as she screams "NO!!", rolls away from me as I change her diaper, and screams at the top of her lungs at approximately 2 a.m. because her water cup is an inch away from her hand and she need ME to grab it and place it in her mouth.

I currently love my preschooler more.

1. You ask me in your sweet voice, "Mommy, can you read me 4 stories tonight? No wait, 5 stories!"
2. You're inquisitive and bright - and you love it when mommy explains things to you.
3. You love to help me cook & bake, pulling over your chair to the counter.
4. After lunch you say, "Mommy you make the best ham sandwich ever."
5. You love when I sing songs to you and make requests that change regularly.
6. When you ask where Dusty Crophopper is and I say, "Upstairs?" You answer, "Yeah, I think you're right!" (I've recorded that to use for the future).
7. When I say, "Smile!" You do.
8. When I stepped on Scoop from Bob the Builder and hurled myself across the room, you brought out an ice cube for my toe 
9. When you wake up in the morning, you feed the cats (not eat their food), then go play quietly with your toys until we wake up (instead of vice versa). 
10. When I pull up to pick you up at preschool and you see me, you're face lights up and we smile at each other. I look forward to that part all morning.

    

    At Papa's 80th Birthday Brunch -- "smile!"

    
    

Why I can't go on Houzz anymore

I really like my house. No, I'm not head over heels in love with it; it's not on an ocean or in the mountains, it's not a mid-century modern work of art or an 1890s painted lady, it doesn't have nooks and crannies, a butlers pantry or a winding staircase. It's just a suburban, 1970s split level with 3 bedrooms, 2 baths that is an 8-minute walk to the train station that was in our price range -- therefore, making it perfect.

Over the last 9 years this house has sucked our bank account dry. It's the Money Pit minus the fountain of the boy taking a pee. When the kids head off to college, saddled with loans because we cared more about replacing drafty 40 year old windows than a 529, we'll burn rubber down the street with the For Sale sign out front. Where we'll go is anyone's guess but it won't be a place where -20 windchill is in the nightly forecast, that's for sure.

In the meanwhile, I try to find more ways to liquidate our bank account by getting design ideas from Houzz, pouring through incredible home designs and vistas that seem almost unreal. It's eye candy, escapism for the interior-ally challenged. It's just picture after picture of gorgeousness - people who definitely have more cash flow and talent than the average person (or at least me).

Sigh. So I have to quit dreaming and finding change in the couch to pay for my next home improvement project and love the "Home" I have created with my husband & 2 kids because ...

We will never have a bedroom with an amazing view, unless you count my neighbors shed and kids swimming in a paddling pool a VIEW.

We will never have a shed cleaner than my house, and without bugs, mice & dirt. It is a shed after all.

Our kids don't make hipster cool art. And it isn't going on our backsplash.

Our office space is not this inspiring, feng shui'd, or jaw-dropping. In fact, we don't even have one.

I will never have a laundry chute

Wait! Does this count?

Nor will I have that carefree effortless design cool - "What? That QA? Oh I just found it lying in a garbage on my way home from Pilates. I have a knack for finding cool treasures like this." GAG!

And last but not least, we will never have an outdoor shower (or at least my neighbors hope we won't)

So Houzz, unless you show me a house with dirty socks on the floor, kids toys scattered in every crevice, and a couch with a pillow barricade so the cats don't scratch it at night, I must bid adieu. Farewell fond friend.