Month: January 2017

I believe there are three types of preschoolers in the world.

Type One-

Wakes up randomly in the middle of the night, yells like a banshee till a parent or perhaps some sort of first responder shows up to their bed. When the adult gets there they are either sleeping again, having a night terror (dear heavens don’t try to wake them), or wanted to tell you about the grand galloping gala tomorrow for Polly Neigh Hay and the My Little Pony crew… in extreme detail. Oh yeah, and then they have to go to the bathroom. 

Type Two-

Wakes up randomly, quietly collects all belongings of importance and slithers down the hall to parents room. Stands next to bed with face 3 inches from parent SILENTLY till their warm breath on your face awakens you to see creepy silent horror film style kid triggering a rush of fear and endorphins strong enough to lift an adult rhino, and therefore rendering further sleep humorous. You then realize they are mostly naked and they hand you wet pajamas and inform you they had an accident. 

Type Three-

Wakes up, sprints at a pace that would qualify them for some countries Olympic track teams to parents room, hurdles parent one (again, Olympic quality movements) and lands in the middle of the bed. Possibly even already back asleep and cuddling with one parent. (“Let’s nuggle”) while the other parent endures ninja style surprise chops to the face and/or groinular region for the rest of the night. 

Maybe there are more types but this is what we are dealing with. They like to switch it up who is which type kid. BOLO. Don’t get comfy or dare settle in to R.E.M. sleep, they have sensors and are prepared and waiting for this. You do this and you are going to wake up to hear the water running and smell the distinct smell of a permanent marker in the air. Is it on the newly painted walls, is it on the dog, their sibling, your own face? Don’t be that guy. 

In other news, while driving recently E asked me where the eyes in the back of my head are. I’m not even sure where she heard that. But I’m glad that she knows. Maybe Polly Neigh Hay told her about it. 

They aren’t sleeping, they are reloading. Look alive parents. 

Yesterday was our 7th anniversary (Steve and I of course). As I was getting ready to go to dinner E came upstairs to “help me.” She offered to help me find a dress. She then started asking about my wedding dress. She has seen it before and understands I wore it for our wedding but the idea of a wedding is still a strange concept.  Last week I blew her mind when she pointed out that Steve and I have different mommies. I told her that yes, you marry someone that has a different mommy. She looked perpelexed and then stated she would probably marry one of our friends two sons then. 

So back to yesterday I unzipped the bag so she could see my wedding dress.

E- “WOW! That’s so pretty! Are you going to wear it tonight?!”

Me- No honey, I don’t think I would fit in it right now. 

E-Yeah your belly is a little big, maybe you can wear it at your next wedding. 

Well ok then. I was just planning on the one. 

Let’s step back for a second to a TRUE story about young Lauren. 

One lovely day I was at a large full Catholic Church service (from the many versions I have heard of this you would think it was like Easter Sunday but I think it was just a regular Sunday). Anywho, I must have been less than cooperative and a little chatty. My mom said, “Lauren, do you want to go to the little girls room?” :::READ- Get it together kid, do you want to go to the bathroom for a spanking, you are embarrassing me:::

Young Lauren then responded in a louder tone (and possibly with a smile, but that may have been added in for dramatic effect when it was retold)- 

“Mommy, don’t beat me till I bleed again!”***

***I was never beaten. Maybe a light spanking at most. No idea where that came from. Various family members can vouch that they heard the story from my mom. 

But my mortified mom couldn’t touch me and made sure she was seen holding me (neither screaming or bleeding) while people exited the service.

So let’s just say I have it coming and I know it. 

Today we were in a hurry before preschool and Bible study. I had to run in to the grocery store to pick up some cream cheese. We had started the get ready/breakfast routine earlier to allow for a stop to pick-up bagels (and any unexpected nausea, ha). Things were timing out well till I realized I didn’t have cream cheese. Mother of pearl! (One of the many mommed up bad words I say in my head). 

I could bail on the cream cheese and feel like a jerk at Bible Study or we could do an Usain Bolt style sprint through the grocery store and hopefully only be a few minutes late to preschool. Sorry preschool, maybe one day I will get it together. Not today. 

Picture the 5 months pregnant lady nearly dragging the 4 and 2.5 year old to the back of the store where the cream cheese is. S wanted to walk but as any mother can tell you, when you are in a hurry it’s like they suddenly are stuck  in quick sand in slow motion. Why?!? They literally run everywhere else? Anyway… as I am carrying him he YELLS to the whole store. 
“My butt hurts, mommy you hurt my BUTT!” 

What? I don’t even know what that means. I never touched his butt. I apologize good people at the Harris Teeter. Thank you for not calling anyone on us. My mom probably had a hearty giggle from that one. I’m sure I will have far worse embarrassments to come too. 

Sam then informed me he was excited to go to church “to see his boys.”  This kid. 

There has been a lot of Monday in my Tuesday. 

Let’s talk about something that strikes FEAR in roughly 90% (totally made up) of people…

That moment when you go to take a photo but the camera is on “selfie” mode and you are met with whatever amazingly awkward face you make when trying to take a photo. And if the intended object of the photo is your child (two or four legged), multiply the look of frustration and anxiety and add in extra gray hair for toddlers and teenagers. “One second kids, hold still while I open the camera app, AHHHH, who let Sloth from the Goonies in here?!” 
I think that this is a trick that “unnamed major phone manufacturers” use and secretly monitor. There is probably a wall or a website for employees only of “unnamed major phone manufacturer” where they auto post to. Oh the LOL’s they must have at the expense of us normal folks. Perhaps I need to up my anxiety meds and consult my doctor about paranoia? 
Really though, want to really see that double chin you have? This is the way. Think those hours at the gym and all those salads are paying off, nope. Nopity nope nope. Perhaps you are a pregnant stay at home mom and you showered and have on makeup and are feeling pretty okay about things. BAM, hello wrinkles and adult acne, wow so pale too! Maybe that’s just me.
Let’s also talk about the other 20% (again, statistic is totally made up and I can’t remember what I said before). These are the people that see this unexpected selfie view and think, “Hey there hot stuff, lookin good.” I envision them doing the finger gun Shooter McGavin thing too. You know this person. We all know them. We love hate them. Bless their hearts. :::eye roll::: You might be pretty on the outside but ugly in your heart and ugly is forever people. I kid, Jesus can help with the ugly inside. 
If you have never experienced this fear I speak of I know how you can re-create the look. Set your phone on selfie mode and then try to open a pickle jar. Or any jar, but if it’s pickles I will help you eat them (unless it’s bread and butter style, gross, have you no taste?!?) I digress… 

It’s not pretty. If you don’t laugh till you cry at the pure ridiculousness of your expression we probably can’t be friends. Especially if you eat bread and butter pickles, ew.