Not a Political Rant.

Yesterday I found myself watching Dr. Phil. (Go ahead and judge me). I only got the second half of the show so I’m not sure what was going on with the first girl but Phil did set up an inpatient treatment program for her to help with her bulimia and alcoholism so it was pretty intense, I’m sure.

The next story was about a girl (20 something, I think.) who was gay but her mom refused to accept it and thought that playing volleyball (could have been softball – sorry for the lack of details here but I was trying to cook dinner so I wasn’t 100% focused) was the reason for her being gay. The mom was completely convinced her daughter had chosen to be gay and wanted her to get un-gay last week. The daughter has been in a relationship for 10 years with the same woman and the mom is absolutely horrible to the girlfriend – calls her names, sends nasty texts to her, etc. It was pretty difficult to watch and truthfully, I wanted to smack the mom upside the head for being such a bitch to her daughter about something that (I believe) is out of her control.

This story got me thinking to a night we had with friends about three months ago where we got on the subject of our kids and them dating, discovering they are gay, dating outside of their race, etc. It ended with a lot of loud voices and very different views and opinions on what is “acceptable” for our kids. First of all, let me say that I love this group of friends and I totally respect their opinions even when they are different from my own. Second of all, I was raised in a very conservative family and when I would come home from KU my dad would tell me I was getting “too liberal” for him. As I get older I find myself questioning more and more of the opinions/views I was raised with because I am discovering they aren’t in line with my own. Sorry Dad!

The first subject: daughters dating guys with tattoos. Lot’s of N-O’s regarding tatts. My parents were this way – they felt tattoos were some sign that the person rocking them must be a bad person. (Maybe they figured they were in cahoots with the Hells Angels, who knows?). And then they had a daughter who got a tattoo when she was 18 and dated not only one, but two different guys, who had full sleeves. Imagine the horror. But you know what? They were two of the kindest, sweetest, honest, cool guys I ever dated. And guess what? This girl has plans to get two new tattoos in the not so distance future. Sorry Dad, I like tattoos. I think they are sexy as hell on the right guy. If my daughter ends up liking them too, what bearing does it have on me? As long as she is in a happy, healthy relationship I don’t give a shit. The tattoos aren’t going to be the reason it’s a happy or healthy relationship.

The next topic we yelled at each other about calmly discussed was dating outside of our race (not everyone participating was Caucasian, just to be clear). Here are my thoughts: I don’t give a shit if you are white, brown, green, purple, orange (unless it’s from bad self-tanner because I have to draw the line somewhere), black or red. It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t want my kids dating anyone who treats them like crap and their skin color isn’t an indicator of whether or not someone is a good person. All I care about is my kids finding a partner who loves them, respects them and fulfills them. I want them to be happy in their lives. It’s hard enough to find someone who completes you; I’m not going to worry about what color someone is or isn’t as long as my kids are loved and happy.

Our conversation naturally progressed to the topic of finding out one of our kids was gay. Now listen, there are about 15 kids between all of us who were participating in this conversation, so the odds are pretty good that someone in that bunch will be gay, right? This is not an easy topic when opinions are so different and everyone wants you to see their point of view and come to the other side, but it is also so interesting to listen to what people believe and why. I’m pretty sure you can figure out what side I’m on given my opinions on the previous two subject but in case you are no Sherlock Holmes I’ll tell you: I don’t give a shit if any of my kids are gay. Sure, it hurts me to think of the prejudice and discrimination they may face, but I want my kids to know that I will love them, no matter what. I will support and accept them no matter their sexual orientation. I don’t believe that their sexual orientation is “who” they are. It’s who they love. And who am I to tell them who they should or shouldn’t love?

I know everyone has very different views on who they want their children to date and I’m fine with that. I’m not attempting to change anyone’s ideas, values, beliefs or opinions, I’m simply sharing my own - I’m not saying they are right or wrong. I want my kids to find happy and healthy relationships, regardless of what that relationship looks like. Just like I want to be my authentic self, I want that so incredibly bad for my kids. I want them to know that their mom is always going to love them and support them and want the best for them. That no matter who they are I am proud of them. That I will love them through any challenge they may face, through all the parts of their lives – good and bad. I pray they will be honest with themselves about who they are, what they need from a partner and be willing to not settle until they find the right person for them.  Because life is too short to waste on living up to everyone else’s standards. I’m just saying that all I want for my kids is to find true happiness. To find someone who loves them, respects them, makes them incredibly happy and completes them.

That ultimately, I wish them love.

Mom On Her Galaxy III

The other day a friend on Facebook posted a link to a blog titled Dear Mom on the IPhone, which I proceeded to read. And let me tell you, it kind of pissed me off. This post keeps creeping back into my mind and I get frustrated all over again because it just doesn’t settle with me. I, for one, spend plenty of time on my phone and in a world that tells me how I am not a perfect mom and shows me all the ways I am not stacking up, the last thing I need is another item on the list.

So let me explain who this Mom on her Galaxy III is.

First of all, I am head over heels in love with my punks. (And yes, I refer to my kids as punks and do so without guilt.) They are the very best thing I have ever done in my life. They bring me tremendous joy, unconditional love, laughter and fulfillment. They also bring me moments of feeling like a complete failure as a mom, frustration and tears that I’m never going to get this parenting gig down right. It doesn’t mean I love them any less, or make me less of a mom, when I feel like flipping them the bird when they point out all the ways I suck. It’s all part of the job I signed up for. I get it. When you’re a parent it’s not all rainbows and sunshine – it’s TOUGH. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done but I’m blessed to be able to do it.

Second of all, I gave up a career that I loved so I could stay home and be the one doing the raising (in hindsight, I may have been better of letting someone else do it but that’s neither here nor there). I felt that if I wanted them to be raised with the values that are important to us as their parents, I should be the one teaching them. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy going from a career that was social, fun, fulfilling, full of awesome perks (Hello, meeting Lady Antebellum complete with a concert for 20. Amazing.) and topped of with plenty of affirmation, to staying home with kids who don’t really care about the home-cooked meals I prepare daily (because no matter what when you are little McDonald’s rules and I can’t compete.) or the amount of time it takes to do all the laundry, fold it and put it away. I don’t expect them to give a shit. They’re little. I get it.

However, this is more than a fulltime job. I’m on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week. My breaks come in 2 week increments, not every four and a half hours. My friends all work, outside the house, during the day. We don’t get to enjoy casual play dates at the park where we can catch up on our lives. My mom passed away almost 10 years ago so I don’t have the joy of sharing this part of my life with her. I get lonely, people. I need to know I’m not alone in this parenting gig. So yes, I spend plenty of time on my phone – taking pictures and videos of my punks, catching up with friends on Facebook and tweeting my life on Twitter. And you know what? I don’t feel guilty about it and I don’t want to feel guilty about it.

I miss the social life I had when I worked. I was lucky to have co-workers who became dear friends, a job that offered me something new every day and the freedom that comes with being in sales. So when I’m on my phone texting one of my best girlfriends about how my punk would. not. go to sleep the night before, or sending a video of my two year old punk dancing and singing “Moves Like Jagger” (And he does. New front man for M5) or posting on a friend’s Facebook status it’s because I need the break. I need the interaction. I need to know that I still exist, outside of my punks. Because sometimes it’s hard to remember that and I, for one, need to remember me.

As a parent, one of the greatest gifts I can give my children is the ability to be my authentic self. Flaws and all. To allow myself to still exist as an individual, as a woman who loves who she is, gives herself the permission to keep a piece of herself, before she had kids. You know why? I’m a better woman and mom when I do this. I teach my children that the entire world doesn’t revolve around them. I show my daughter the importance of girlfriends, of figuring out who she is and that she needs to value that woman. I may not make it to yoga every day, I may not get to spend as much quality time with my girlfriends as I would like and I may not give myself as much time to be me as I feel I need, but sometimes connecting with my friends on Facebook is enough.

So when you see me at Disney World tweeting about how I don’t understand why it’s called the happiest place on earth when there are so. many. tears., followed by a picture of my own punks having a meltdown, I don’t need you to tell me that I’m missing out on every single moment of my kids lives. I’m capturing those moments. I share these moments because we all have them. Parenthood isn’t perfect, kids aren’t perfect, hell, my life certainly isn’t perfect but I’m comfortable enough in my life that I don’t have to pretend it is.

This mom likes her phone and all the ways it allows her to capture her punks lives, her own life, connect with friends and give her a few moments of her own.

Even at Disney World.

Confession.

You know when you really want to get your shit together but you just can’t? That’s this blog. I want to blog, really, I do. I just can’t seem to get myself to do it because there are 539 things that seem to need my attention first. And sometimes at the end of the day, a girl just wants to watch some trashy TV that doesn’t require her to think or give one ounce of a shit. Truthfully, even my beloved Housewives have been put on the back burner (Forgive me BH ladies, I love you and all your ridiculousness.) and that pisses me off more than this blog.

I think it’s pretty easy to lose yourself once you become a mom. Maybe this doesn’t happen to everyone but sometimes it’s hard for me to remember who I was before I had kids. Lately I feel like I’ve lost sight of all of the things that are important to me, things that I love (outside of these punks) and how to make sure they remain a part of me. There are times that I feel that I am missing a part of my life that belongs solely to me. I love being a mom – it’s the greatest gift I’ve been blessed with so this isn’t about wishing I didn’t have kids – but finding the balance between being a mom and still being my own person is challenging.

Can it even exist? I can’t even make it to my beloved yoga class three days a week on a regular basis. I love yoga. Love it. And yet, making it happen for myself is as challenging as potty training the two year old, who apparently loves crap in his pants as much as I love yoga. Why do I feel guilty about taking time for myself, for the things I want to do? Pinterest has me believing that good moms work on crafts daily, bake with their children regularly, host weekly family campouts in the living room, spend every waking moment with their kids and make everything from scratch, and I’m not talking about dinner. I’m not that mom. I’m okay with not being that mom but sometimes I just want to flip that mom the bird from all of us who aren’t her.

I’m not perfect. Far from it. Some days I barely have enough patience to get through breakfast before I am losing my shit. Some days I forget to add lunch money to the kids lunch accounts. Some days I treat myself to a good old fashion meltdown of my own. I’m sarcastic. I’m snarky. Sometimes I’m just a bitch (ask my husband, he can vouch). Sometimes I like to have drinks with my friends over having a campout with my punks. I cuss, sometimes in front of little ears *GASP* and sometimes I think my punks can be a-holes. My life isn’t perfect. I’m not perfect. My punks aren’t perfect. I won’t sugarcoat the fact that some days just suck ass.

So that’s it. I just want to find a way to take care of me, too. To allow myself the time I need to be me, without guilt. To find a balance between being mom and being my own person. To give myself time for yoga and to write and to do what I want to do, even if it is watching trash TV. This not being able to get my shit together is exhausting. I’m out of whack, running around in circles chasing something I can’t quite find and getting nothing done. So, here’s to figuring it out. And here’s to getting the smallest punk to crap in the toilet.

My Girl

First of all, I know I am completely biased. Second of all, I don’t care.

She’s beautiful.

And precious.

And sweet. And kind. And loving.

Sometimes I look at her and I can’t believe she’s mine.

She’s perfect. 

Attitude and all.

7

It’s funny how seven years can feel like two on some days, and other days it feels like 25. So much has happened since we’ve been married that it almost seems impossible it’s only been seven.

I am so thankful for you. That you brought Aidan into my life. For the three punks we’ve created together. For your unconditional love and patience. For your friendship. For this life we’ve created together.

It’s chaotic, noisy, busy and sometimes insane.

 

There are tears, fights, laughter and hugs.

Our life is filled with comfort, joy, pride and love.

Even when days are grey, we always have each other.

Thank you for the laughter, friendship, punks and unconditional love. 

You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

Despite the craziness that surrounds us daily, I wouldn’t change a thing. 

Happy #7, babe. I love you.

Knock Knock!

Some of you (who either follow the Fun Ruiner on Facebook or are friends in real life) know that Cortland broke his leg about two weeks ago. Ryder, being the good big brother he is, attempted to help Cort get down off the top bunk bed and fell in the process, which resulted in a broken leg.

If you know Cort than you understand what a challenge this has been because he is truly our high spirited, fearless, wild child. He asks no less than six times a day if he can ride his bike, swim or go on the boat. It pretty much sucks and I am living up to the Fun Ruiner namesake because I have to tell him no less than six times a day he cannot. I’m sure he thinks I suck.

Along with being high spirited he is also hilarious. I predict we have a future Jerry Seinfeld on our hands. See for yourselves.

I do hope he learns to deliver his jokes in a more timely fashion as this took approximately 11 takes. Apparently he doesn’t do well under pressure (pressure in the case was my phone in his face). Standup comedy won’t be easy if we don’t get this down.

This weekend I’m looking forward to sleeping past 6:30, cooler weather, catching up with some friends, a nice glass of wine and the hot tub. I hope you all have a fabulous weekend as well!

Girls Rule!

Emmerson celebrated her 6th birthday approximately a week ago, but that is neither here nor there. Let’s ignore the fact that I am just now writing about it and focus on the fact that I am writing about it. 

She had her first “friend” party this year which was a huge deal to me her. She chose the colors – zebra striped with hot pink – and we decided we would go with spa theme and paint the girl’s nails. As most of you know, Emmerson and I are outnumbered by the males in this house (4:2) so these were perfect since this is our motto:

My sweet friend had them printed especially for the princess. 

My MIL loves to sew, and spoil her granddaughter, so she made these little tutu’s for all of the girls. I hung them on the fireplace and they each got to pick their tutu, which they took home after the party. 

The goody bags were filled with little nail kits, a candy and a little bottle of polish. The zebras were stuffed after an African safari. That is a bold face lie. They’re paper mache, but they did come from the zoo. I don’t want you to think I found those on Pintrest and made them myself.

Kitchen island.

 

Nothing says “party” like fruit punch, when you’re six. When you are 35 “wine” is the answer. 

Dining room table.  Candles, feather and flowers. 

Cake table filled with all things healthy and sweet: Pretzel rods, pink and white iced animal crackers, black licorice, raspberry M&M’s, Oreo’s, popcorn, marshmallows, yogurt covered pretzels and red Starbursts.

In hindsight, I probably should have added toothbrushes to those goody bags.

9 silly Princesses, in a row.

We lined the girls up and snapped some pictures before we got started on their nails, then had this printed so we could send a framed copy home with each girl.

Emmerson had the best birthday of her life and I was able to go a little overboard on decorating for the only girly party this house will see this year. I’m so thankful I was able to give my sweet girl a special party but I’m hoping she won’t remember this when she’s 16 so I can simply recreate this. Given her ability to forgot simple chores, I think the odds are in my favor.