I came across a picture of @JoanneWallace on Facebook one day and it pretty much inspired me to be a better parent.
Joanne manages to make even the most mundane seem fun so when I read about her Craaaaazy Night on EverythingMom.com I thought I’d give it a go. But I couldn’t do it exactly like Joanne because (a) I’m not all fairy dust and smiles like her. I’m more a cynical, let’s have fun but 'for the love, can you two just please calm down', I know the exact point it’s all going to get out of control so let's just stop this RIGHT NOW kind of mom and (b) my husband works ridiculous hours so I’d be doing all this Cuh-razy *waves hands manically in air* stuff by myself and I know all too well that Craaaaazy Night on my own without back-up would make it crazy for a whole different set of reasons.
So I thought I’d take one aspect of the whole craziness and embrace it. Each Friday I would let the boys choose whatever they wanted to eat for dinner.
When I told the boys, they were ecstatic, yet also unbelieving. What was the catch?
When I explained there was no catch, they started planning. It was Son No. 1’s turn first and the dinner he picked was….drumroll please….. Cookies and Cream chocolate bars and juice.
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I smiled and nodded enthusiastically, then said “Joanne’s the one who came up with this idea so let me see if there are any rules we need to follow before we plan, okay?”
And they’re all, but you said there wasn’t a catch and I was all It’s not a catch, it's a clarification.
Also, shut up.
So I fired off an email to Joanne in a panic. What do I do if all they want to eat is candy for dinner?
And she responded Meh…it’s just one night.
And I was all But it's like chocolate! And juice! And...chocolate...and....
Oh good gawd I'm a control freak.
So I went back to the boys and was all candy for dinner’s fine but you need to have one healthy thing. Because I don’t think Jo-Anne really understood how much of a control freak I really am and while I’m okay with permanent marker and snail habitats strewn throughout my house, the thought of giving my kids only candy for dinner threw me into a bit of a tizzy.
We’re now on week four of Craaaaazy Night and funnily enough, the dinners have gotten a bit better. Turns out having nothing but chocolate bars and juice for dinner leaves little boys with sore tummies. Nothing like some good ol’ natural consequences to teach them about better choices.
But most of all, the kids love it, it’s all they talk about all week. They plan, trade ideas, change their minds about 10 million times, and then they plan some more. And the absolute delight on their faces when they tell friends about their new Friday night dinners is almost as good as the look of disbelief on my husband’s face when I told him about the Crazy Night plan.
That was all kinds of awesome.
As for me? With a couple of Craaaazy Nights under my belt I've become more relaxed knowing one night of food debauchery won’t spiral into a sugar-induced frenzy that ends with yelling and tears.
I save that for when I'm PMSing.
I’m fashionably challenged. That’s not to say I can’t look put together but the fact is, when it comes to style, I have none. Unless you count white t-shirts and black yoga pants as style, then I have lots of it – 14 and 7 respectively.
It’s not that I don’t try, it’s that I just can’t figure out the whole putting an outfit together thing. My friends know this and try to help me out. Like when I was at Blissdom and Lisa took one look at my shoes and socks and said Oh my gawd, NO Sharon! and started laughing. So I try to get a handle on what my more fashion savvy friends are wearing and go shopping, stressing about how to put together an outfit. Then when I do manage to put some pieces together that make me look presentable, I wear them over and over again. To the point that I wear them out and have to find something else to wear. Then the whole process starts all over again.
So I figured I’d go to H&M and try on some new clothes because I can't fit into anything from last year *burp*, plus I was taking the kids there anyway since Son No. 2 won’t wear any t-shirts except the ones from H&M because they’re soft and don’t itch him. It’s been an ongoing issue, one that I won’t even get into because THE SHIRT FIGHT IS DRIVING ME INSANE. I’ve essentially given up.
We get to H&M and I get 70 kajillion new tees for Son No. 2 so he'll stop telling me he has no shirts EVEN THOUGH HIS DRAWERS ARE FULL OF SHIRTS BUT APPARENTLY THEY'RE ALL ITCHY EVEN THOUGH HE'S TOLD ME ON PREVIOUS OCCASSIONS THEY AREN'T ITCHY AT ALL.
I find a cute grey maxi dress, plus a couple of others and head off to the change room. I had to take the boys in with me and while I pulled Son No. 2 back with my foot while he tried to crawl underneath the change room door, I threw on dress after dress over top my clothes while Son No. 1 made comments like "I think that dress is for teenagers mom" and "Are your bra straps supposed to be showing like that?" and my favourite "That one makes you look a bit chubby, like you're pregnant again. You're not pregnant aren't you?"
The maxi dress ended up looking fabulous so I bought it along with a funky necklace, then I ran over to Guess and got a black cami to complete my new ensemble.
I was actually feeling quite styling, almost bordering on cocky, about my newfound fashion sense. Maybe this style stuff isn't so tough after all.
Which is exactly when I should have realized that life is about to kick me straight in the ass.
Because the next day I went for a run and then to pick the boys up from school. I guess all the running movement caused my running pants to ride up as well as a few 'certain' adjustments I wasn't aware of.
It wasn't until I got home, after hanging out and chatting with moms at the schoolyard, I saw myself in the mirror and realized I had a huge case of camel toe.
WHO GETS SWEATPANT CAMEL TOE?
Apparently the same person who gets atomic wedgies.
I may never take off the maxi dress ever again. But for the love of god, please tell me if it's ever tucked into the back of my underwear.
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