No one thinks I'm funnier than my toddler. He's a great boost for my self-esteem, and there is no better sound in the world than a child laughing. (Okay, that's a lie, children laughing can also be the creepiest sound in the world. Remember Chucky?!?)
I'm about to share something very personal and embarrassing with you guys: the contents of my purse.
Whenever I get a new bag, I start out with the best of intentions, and a declaration to the universe. A purse pledge, that sounds something like this:
"Dearly beloved new bag that smells divine and sweet. I will NOT turn you into a junk pile/trash can/collector of random shit. I will carry you proudly, and stroke you gently with love and affection..." (I'm making my husband jealous). And then two months later, what happens?
Maybe it's because Maeve isn't such a baby anymore, and she might be our last (she'll most likely be our last). Or maybe it's because it's summer - and all I want to do is play, play, play (and not work, work, work). But I've totally been Peter Panning it lately, and it's awesome.
Most families I know have two working parents. Often one, or both of the parents, spend time commuting. With kid(s) in daycare/school, and extra curricular activities, it's hard to imagine where parents "nowadays" (I sound like I'm 80) find time to fart, let alone fold the laundry.
Well, since I've returned to work after baby number two, here are five things we've done in an effort to stay sane:
Guess what I found in my kitchen pantry the other day?
A toy chainsaw.
Yep. Sitting right there in the bread basket. My son's Stihl brand chainsaw, laying nonchalantly across the Country Harvest multigrain. Having a rest after a long day's work.
And I get it. Bread is comfortable. Why wouldn't a chainsaw want to get all snuggly and cozy on top of a fresh loaf of bread? A totally logical place for a chainsaw to take a rest if you ask me.
In two short weeks, my mat leave is over, and I'm heading back to my full-time day job. This hurts my heart. Not because I don't love my job (I do) but because I don't like working 40 plus hours a week and commuting. I'll miss my kids. A lot. There will be a huge adjustment period, and I'll actually need to start getting dressed before 2pm. And possibly start brushing my hair (if I have time.) I'm going to miss my afternoon snuggles, trips to the park, and spontaneous living room dance parties.
I know. I know. It's not safe for kids to wear bulky coats while in their carseats. I've watched the YouTube videos with the crash-test dummys. I've been sufficiently scared enough to know better. Car seat safety is important. So, my kids don't wear bulky coats in their car seats.
Since I'm a chronic rule-follower, I'm following the rules. But that doesn't mean I like it. No. In fact...
Have you ever repeated a word so many times that it starts to sound strange and no longer feels like a real word? Well, that's how I feel about the word "why." Why, you ask? Because my son says it ten thousand times a day. Why? Because he's two and a half. This is what our conversations look like:
Cole: Why does that truck have a door, Mommy?
Me: So that the driver can get in and out of the truck.
Cole: Why?
Me: Because he can't live in the truck. He needs to get out sometimes.
One of my dearest friends just had her second baby. She messaged me desperately saying, "Mayday, mayday, I need your advice! How was Cole with the new baby? I'm pretty sure my toddler hates me! Message me back, or better yet—write a blog post on the topic!"
