New Mom Monday, Three

Sleep.

Sleeeeeeep.

If you don’t have kids you are probably tired (get it? haha) of hearing us parents talk about sleep. While I don’t want to fall into the parent trap of constantly rambling on about things that no one else cares about, I’m here to talk about it just a little bit more.

Recently, my darling Winifred has been sleeping for stretches of three or even four hours at a time at night, and I want to thank the Academy and anyone else listening for this wonderful turn of events. She is even at the point where I can usually put her in her crib, walk away, and she just goes to sleep. I’m starting to wonder if she has switched places with a twin I don’t know about.

It’s true, my extremely gifted child has figured out the most highest of baby talents, and yet, I keep messing it up—just my luck!

This past week alone, I have completely ruined three sacred sleep sessions:

Tuesday, 1:47 PM

I killed a cockroach, NO BIG DEAL. I’m not afraid of cockroaches—I like to let them hang out a while after I’ve smashed them with one of my husband’s shoes (certainly not one of mine!) before I pick them up—I AM NOT AFRAID OF COCKROACHES. I bent over to scrape it up with a credit card offer envelope roughly five hours later after I laid the baby down, and as soon as the corner touched its mangled body, it flipped over and ran across the room with the few legs it had left. I chased it around with a broom, trying to hit it with the bristles and letting out a short, high scream every time I missed, like a group of girls who are the victims of a rival bunk’s hijinx at summer camp. No naps were had that day.

Tuesday, 7:30 PM

Sometimes I like to leave the house without my baby, and the universe usually likes to punish me for this. I left her with my husband one evening, who took her on a “little ride” to “get a drink” before “putting her to bed.” Well his car must have had a mind of its own, because an hour later I came home to an empty house! An hour after that, they walked in the door from shopping the Dillard’s sale, at the mall, and she was wide awake, staring at me with her lovely, scary (1980’s) Elizabeth Taylor eyes. This one wasn’t really my fault, except of course it was, because I’m the mom.

Thursday, 7:34 PM

Every night I make sure to lay the baby down the opposite way from the night before, so that her head doesn’t become misshapen and then she can’t move to Manhattan and become a carefree socialite, as is her destiny. The other night, I reached down to pat my restless baby’s foot in an attempt to comfort her and recoiled in horror as my hand touched her warm, wet mouth. I accidentally freaked out and shrieked, then had to spend the next 20 minutes rocking and convincing her she was still beautiful and could go back to sleep.

While I’m still pretty clumsy at figuring this whole sleep thing out, I’ve got to say that having a baby that finally sleeps on her own is, to use a term I have been over-using lately as a new mom, life-changing. I have walked her around in her baby wrap during naps; I have gone to bed at 8pm so that she would go to bed at 8pm; I have read the sleep books; I have read the message boards saying not to listen to the sleep books; I have wrung my hands in pathetic conversations with my not-listening husband about our baby’s sleep; I have lost sleep thinking about her not sleeping; and while I’d like to think that all that time and energy has paid off, the reality is that she decided she was ready to do something so she started doing it.

I hope that’s just a baby thing!

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

90's music, aka what was on the radio "ten years ago"

I was trying to come up with a rap for The Tonight Show’s Twitter hashtag game #SuperBowlRaps. I had to dig deep into my history of rap knowledge and went to where rap feels comfortable for me: The Beastie Boys. In high school, I loved the Beastie Boys. Even still when I say “The sun was beating down on my baseball hat” I enunciate “hat” with all the toughness I can muster. 

So I was sitting at my kitchen table after the boys were all in bed and muttering some lyrics when my teenage daughter called out of her room (said in the most typical teenage voice), “What are you doing?” 

“I’m just rapping.”

She came out of her room at this point, incredulously and amusingly watching me rap under my breath as I tried out some Super Bowl versions of Sabotage, No Sleep ’Til Brooklyn, and Paul Revere. 

She wasn’t that impressed. And it is my duty, as her mother, to impress her of my music and rap knowledge. I had to show her that I was not too unlike her, once upon a time. I played a few Beastie Boys songs for her on youtube, as I rapped and danced along. She thought the music videos of the 1990s were ridiculous. I told her that in the 90’s music videos were as important as the songs. Sometimes more important. 

During the next forty minutes I schooled her in some of my favorite songs of the 90’s. She told me that Pearl Jam sounded like country music and I told her that she should never say such things in my presence again. (I may have spit on the ground and turned in a circle a few times so that our home would not be cursed with such heresy.) She didn’t find Blind Melon’s No Rain video as charming as I thought it was. She liked Garbage as we discussed the coolness and vocal abilities of Shirley Manson, and we mused about Courtney Love and if Hole would have been as popular without her connection to Nirvana. 

My daughter has chatted with my husband for hours discussing classic rock—of which he is very knowledgable and a fan. This was the first time she and I have discussed “my” music for more than five minutes (she isn’t ready for 80’s synth pop). I told her that I would make her a playlist of 90’s music (do people make playlists and CDs anymore?) and as I was making it, I couldn’t believe how old some of these songs are. It’s weird, because I’m not old, but the music is. Bizarre. 

Here is my list:

No Doubt — Sunday Morning
Live — Lightening Crashes
Pearl Jam — Even Flow
Garbage — Only Happy When It Rains
Beastie Boys — Paul Revere
Hole — Celebrity Skin
Blind Melon — No Rain
The Fugees — Killing Me Softly
Weezer — The Sweater Song
Sinead O’Connor — Nothing Compares 2 U
Smashing Pumpkins — Tonight, Tonight
Alanis Morissette — Hand in My Pocket

No Britney, no Spice Girls, no Madonna or N’Sync, no Backstreet Boys, not a lot of pop songs, I know. Their music and songs are all a blur in my mind—I couldn’t tell you much more about them other than they were super popular and I heard them a lot. But the music, bands and artists on my list take me RIGHT BACK to the 1990s. Listening to those songs, I can tell you the shirts I was wearing, the Doc Martens I (wish I still) had, the boys’ names I’d write next to mine all over my folder, the JanSport backpack I wore… on one shoulder. These songs ARE the 90s for me. And the kicker is, I still like them. If my daughter were to like them, too, I’d be stoked if she played them incessantly in our family room. I don’t feel the same way about “Hit Me Baby One More Time.”

As for my #SuperBowlRap, well I started writing this instead. As far as I got in that one was:
“Super Bowl 50 I be, All by myself without nobody
Watching the game in my football hat
The food is supa hot, the tv screen is flat”

It’s so literal it hurts. Back to the music for me.

What would you add to that list? What kind of music did you listen to in high school and college? I started listening to 70’s Super Groups in college and that needs to be saved for an entirely different night talking with my teenager... and another playlist.

How To Valentine's Day Like a Boss

Let's be honest for a minute, Valentine's Day is weird. 

It is so weird. And I love holidays. I decorate, celebrate, commiserate, mediate, alleviate, try not to hate... all that. I put up the hearts, I fill the candy jars with conversation hearts, cinnamon lips, and mini sour hearts. It's always been a little uncomfortable, though, how we feel pressured to go out, buy cheesy gifts, and/or feel sorry for ourselves if we don't. When you have kids--especially those in grade school--Valentine's Day is all about making amazing cards for all their classmates, special boxes in which to hold them (our school even has a Valentine box competition!), class parties, and so much sugar that you consider banning all sweets for the next month or three.

It might be weird, but it's kind of cute for the kids. FOR THE KIDS! I have compiled a few different lists of cards, boxes, party ideas, and non-sugar-related items for your kids' best Valentine's Day ever. And if your kids are happy, YOU are happy. Especially when you have to do little work and research. It's all here.

Delicious Valentines

I know there are a lot of ideas, but THIS BINGO set is amazing. My family played it last night and everyone was having a blast. It's adorable, it's smart, it's ready to go. Huge recommend.

Check out this Valentines Pinterest page for more ideas for classroom parties.

Non-Food Valentines

Will Zoo Be Mine
Love is a Battlefield
Bouncy ball Valentines
Blow Me a Kiss Whistles

Or you can just forget all that and buy bags of M&Ms and watch a good chick flick. Yeah, do that!

New Mom Monday, Two

This week we finally took our Christmas tree down, an end-of-January tradition in our lazy, always-in-denial-that-the-holidays-are-over home.

It makes me sad every year, mostly because the end of the holidays means the end of winter, the start of spring, and eventually the hot, hot heat of an Arizona summer, but this year it also felt like the end of a very unexpectedly hard chapter in our family’s life.

I took down our animal ornaments and remembered when I took each one out of its box, which feels like it was both forever ago and just the other day, showing them to Winifred while trying to distract her from the annoyance of having two tiny teeth that would not just pop through already.

“This is a zebra! He is like a horse but with fun stripes! We are having fun!”

I talked to her like she understood everything I said, the way you have to when you are all alone with an infant all day and need to distract yourself from the loneliness and panic of having no idea what you are doing.

“Look at this beautiful giraffe. Mama doesn’t know what noise she makes, but she likes to eat and eat and eat, just like us!”

That tree has been up for more than half her life, and she probably doesn’t remember a time when it wasn’t there in the corner of our living room. She learned to play by herself underneath its branches while I sat on the couch and cried about almost everything, and together we stayed up late learning to breastfeed in its dim light.

I packed the last of the ornaments away while she sat in her swing, throwing her teething ring onto the floor and chewing on her fat fingers--no matter what toys I lovingly shove in her face, her hands seem to be the only things worth her time. It was only last Christmas I found out I was finally pregnant, and now she is getting so tall that her feet are almost spilling out of her swing like a bored, powerful king.

Babies are a lot of work (you heard it here first, people!), but the hard parts are what make us love them, and what make the good parts so much freaking fun.

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

The Infertile Mormon

by Belinda S. Han, MA

My name is Belinda, I am the oldest of five manly brothers and one very feminine, blonde haired, blue eyed sister (she has such a sensitive disposition that she cannot even handle moths). I have been married to a not-so-tall, but very dark, handsome, and strong man for nearly a decade. I have been blessed with a good education and meaningful work, I am a religious person, I have two of the most rambunctious and loving miniature dachshunds ever created, and (drumroll please)… I am childless. There is a difference between being childless and child-free. When a person is child-free he or she has chosen not to have children. When a person is childless he or she is unable to have children. Like in many conservative faiths, family and children are at the center of my religious culture. A few months ago I came across an article with an intriguing title: 5 Things Couples Dealing With Infertility in Your Ward (LDS Congregation) Wish You Knew. The title immediately caught my eye and I was excited to read it.

Here are the highlights:

  1. Never talk about children, motherhood, or anything else child related; you could offend those who are childless.
  2. Childless people want to feel like a martyrs, so make sure you always recognize his or her childless-ness.
  3. Always assume that speaking about children with a childless person is a painful topic (refer back to #1).
  4. Don’t ever be real about your parenting struggles and/or triumphs with a person that is childless; he or she might get offended (again, refer back to #1).
  5. Do not ever, I mean EVER share your feelings about how important and meaningful motherhood and/or fatherhood is (and, once again, refer back to #1). 

I was completely flabbergasted to read such a condemning article. In fact, I’m pretty sure this is one of the dumbest articles that I've ever read. Can you imagine having to hide who you are because someone who is different from you might get offended? This is like not sharing a delicious Ancho Chicken Taco with Cilantro Slaw and Avocado Cream recipe because there could be someone out there who is allergic to ancho chile and you might eternally damage their self-worth by saying how delicious this recipe is (by the way, this recipe looks AMAZING!!! You can thank me later for the link). I get that a human life and food are two very different things, but think about it.

Those of you that have children, do you ever have those fleeting moments where you see someone like me and have a twinge of jealousy because I get to go to the bathroom alone, or I get to go grocery shopping alone? But in the end you would NEVER trade your life for mine? Well, it's the same way for some of us that cannot have children. We have those moments of jealousy watching you get baby snuggles and being called mom or dad. But in the end, WE ARE HAPPY WITH THE BEAUTIFUL LIVES THE LORD HAS GIVEN US! I cannot tell you the joy I feel when a good friend whispers in my ear that he or she is expecting, when I see the miracle of a glowing woman with a round belly, read the thrilled social media post when that four month appointment comes and the doctor tells the prospective parents the gender of their little wonder, the dozens of pictures of the birth day, the announcement of the little one’s name, weight, and length, the month by month play of the child’s first year, the painful Lego moments and first days of school, the potty training triumphs and frustrations, the heartbreaks and joys of children growing up and becoming independent thinkers, and the list goes on. My life is completed by the diverse experiences of those whom I choose to surround myself with, and I hope I do the same for those who choose to allow me to surround them. 

So, DO NOT stubble awkwardly when you speak about your life, children and all. Be proud of who you are and what you have! Speak freely. Ask me how many kids I have, and when I say none don't look at me with pity or like I'm suffering. God has a plan for each of us. We each have a specific role to fill. My role is different than yours, this is how God intended it, and I thank God each day for the beautiful and miraculous life he has given me.

And the next time you walk past me with one of your adorable children and/or an Ancho Chicken Taco, hold tight to BOTH as I may be inclined to do a little neighborly “borrowing.”


Belinda grew up in San Diego, California as the oldest of 7 children (5 brothers and 1 sister). She moved to a small town in Utah while in high school and has never looked back. She received a Bachelor’s degree in Behavioral Science from Utah Valley University (UVU), a Master’s degree in Organizational Leadership from Gonzaga University, and is completing a Doctorate of Education in Interdisciplinary Leadership at Creighton University. Belinda is the Director of the internationally recognized Center for the Advancement of Leadership at UVU and an adjunct professor in the Woodbury School of Business and in Student Leadership Success Studies. Over the last several years Belinda has presented at professional conferences around the world including the most recent International Leadership Association Global Conference in Barcelona, Spain. In 2007 she married the handsomest, most charming, and hardworking man ever born. Together they have 23 nieces and nephews and live happily in a small brick home with two fireplaces and their pups, two miniature dachshunds named Doc and Pepper (like Dr. Pepper, Belinda’s favorite drink).

New Mom Monday, Intro

Hi there! My name is Libbie, and this is my daughter Winifred.

As you can tell by the bags under my eyes and the fact that my baby is wearing pajamas at a sushi restaurant, I am a young, hot, young first-time mom, and have been for eleven years... or five months, depending on whom you ask. I finally understand the theory of relativity and can watch Interstellar without having a breakdown.

Just to recap the past few months: the first few weeks were hard but wonderful, breastfeeding and colic sucked, I felt sad and lame, then we hit a rhythm where I was finally feeling better and Winifred was finally getting over feeling abandoned and totally freaking out any time I wasn’t holding her, but then she realized how dumb sleep is and I realized I was going to kill myself with anxiety if I didn’t start to “go with the flow.”

This past week, something completely magical happened. Every time she woke up at night or during the day, I was used to her screaming, “What… what… WHAT… WHAT?!” Then one day she was just like, “Oh dear, I seem to be awake now, how funny! I’ll just lie here and talk to myself for a bit.” My sweet baby went from a cranky, teething mess who spasmed between periods of unpredictable hyperactivity and unreliable sleepiness, to a delightful smiling cherub whose soft cankles sweet old women can’t help but stop and squeeze betwixt their fingers while she tells them all about her day in excited babbly squeals.

No matter how many times we go through these little growth spurts/phases/periods of hell, I keep forgetting this, so I want to have it on record for me and anyone else who needs it to remember: the baby you have this week will be gone the next. It is both comforting and sad. On the one hand, how exciting to watch them grow and play, and what a relief it is to see them learn to cope with everything they can’t do yet, and keep practicing so many new skills in such a short period of time; on the other, once they stop needing you to hold them while they fall asleep, will they ever need you for that again?

I personally have a tendency to get caught up in the stress of whatever difficult thing we are dealing with at the time, and I always feel like it will last forever. When she was first born and before we had her tongue-tie fixed, she would take an hour or two to nurse, so sometimes I would literally be nursing all day and all night. This is too much! I would think, When are we going to get to the part where it doesn’t hurt and I can do other things? How many years am I going to have to spend all day on my couch watching Project Runway re-runs? Now, she gets annoyed if she has nothing to look at but my weird boobs for longer than three minutes, and while she is so much fun and I even have time to brush my ever-thinning hair, I miss that period in our relationship when she was so content just quietly lying there on me for hours (and also, I miss Tim Gunn; what a delightful man).

It almost makes me want to have another baby so I can do it all again with the knowledge that it will end. Almost.

Every Monday, I’ll be chronicling the first year of my baby’s life. It will be short and sweet, I promise, and hopefully not make you want to break into my house, try on my clothes, raid my fridge, make a sandwich, make one for me too please, add avocado, yes I know it’s extra, steal my laptop, and run over it with your car so I can never post again.

Please don’t judge me too much, okay? I mean, a little is fine, but try to at least be nice about it. It’s what we mothers deserve.

 

Libbie Henrie is a new mother and really smart gal. You should believe everything she writes, especially the super sarcastic parts. She lives in Arizona with her husband and newborn baby. You can read more of her musings on her blog and follow her baby wearing adventures on Instagram @sweetcheeksbabywearing

 

Sarcasm

Recently I was at the middle school “teaching” a group of students about avoiding miscommunication. Middle School. Where miscommunication was incepted and nurtured. One girl raised her hand and lamented that she is most often misunderstood when she tries to write sarcasm in her texts. Ding Ding Ding. Do we have a prize for the young lady? So it will be for the rest of her days. Some people know you well enough to read the sarcasm intended and 90% of everyone else will be offended and/or unaware of your witticisms.

I could write 100 examples of times that my written sarcasm was misunderstood. It happened with friends, at work, online, and through text. I thought I had something especially clever to share and what was considered by me to be extremely witty and fun was received as rude, insensitive, or dumb. Maybe some if it WAS dumb, on further thought, but if those reading it just realized that it was meant to be light and witty, perhaps they would understand the intent and laugh a smidge.

Five years ago I remember reading some comment from someone somewhere like, “I wish there was a sarcasm font!” or something ;) (did you get that the winky-face meant that I was intentionally being dramatic and silly? No. Well, then you see that the winky-face is not all it is cracked up to be). So I thought about it and decided that I would come up with the very thing to solve all misunderstood sarcasm problems. (=puts on superhero cape=) I wrote a post on my blog in 2011 about WIT EQUALIZERS! echo echo echo. WIT EQUALIZERS! They were going to change the world… if only people would read it. Which, you know, they mostly didn’t. 

Then, just last month, I saw posted on a quasi-popular Instagram account a photo that read “I wish there was a sarcasm font!” or something. I thought about it, contemplated the WIT EQUALIZERS, slept a bit, ate some snacks, made my bed a few times, tried out a new Chinese restaurant, and then this morning saw some misunderstood sarcasm on Facebook and realized =NOW is the time to save humankind from the misinterpreting of wit!=

I can wait no longer. People often say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. Pisha! It is my goal in life to change the perception of sarcasm. And to have it understood is my first mission. 

“Sarcasm is a clear sign of intelligence, sexual prowess, and a value to society.”
-Anna Macfarlane, Queen of Sarcasm.

Studies have even found that sarcastic people are more creative. Those in one study “demonstrated enhanced creativity following a simulated sarcastic conversation or after recalling a sarcastic exchange.” So sarcasm makes you smarter and more successful. It is not the lowest form of wit, it is imperative to the furthering of our society. 

Give sarcasm a chance. Use it well.

Use the = = around your witticisms so that the reader can understand your cleverness and intent.

Let’s =save the world together= with our written humor.

Pass it along, so others understand that your = = mean something. 

"I have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it." -Groucho Marx
Groucho Marx didn't need wit equalizers, but you, my friend, =are no Groucho Marx.=

People may still misunderstand your =hilarious commentary= even when you use the sarcasm equalizers. But the pressure is off you now. You used the wit equalizers, you let people know your intention was sarcastic. Let the chips fall where they may.

"I am not young enough to know everything." -Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde did not need wit equalizers, but you, my friend, =are no Oscar Wilde.=

Holiday Lip Sync Battle? YES PLEASE!

When I was eight years old, I would sit in the back of my Mom’s Suburban with a ballpoint pen in hand (my microphone, obviously) and lip sync to whatever was playing on the radio. I was CONVINCED that those in the cars next to us must have thought that I was RECORDING the music right then and there. They must have been so impressed.

Thanks to Jimmy Fallon bringing lip syncing back (yup!), millions of us can once again wield our “microphones” and lip sync without fear of embarrassment. 

Since I love holiday music and lip syncing and YOU love holiday music and lip syncing, I think it only makes sense to have a Holiday Lip Sync Battle. Yes? Yes!

Check out those battling HERE!

Here is how to enter:
1. Record a holiday lip sync—use any format, any amount of people, and however you want. I chose to use musical.ly, but you can record your lip sync however you like. Song must be HOLIDAY, so think Hanukkah, Christmas, New Years, SNOW, even.

2. Post a NEW video to Instagram—It must be posted from today (December 11) to the last day of battle (December 18). Your account must be set to public. I understand the need for private accounts, but for this battle, it is only fair to have all accounts be public. You can post more than once. 

3. Use the hashtag #TheWorstHolidayLipSyncBattle and tag both @kidsaretheworst and @thingsaretheworst in the CAPTION of your video. Not the comments, not a DM, but in the caption. 

4. Check out the hashtag and cheer on your fellow lip sync battlers with positive comments and likes. Spread the lip sync love!

But, Anna, what do I win?

Oh, dear friends, it wouldn’t be the holidays without a gift or two. And I am offering TEN winners a gift… or two. Shazam!

The first gift is what all holidays are chock-full of and that is THE REGIFT. Straight from my home to you, I will mail you a gift currently in my home. Who needs an ugly Christmas sweater when you can have an all-year ugly sweater that I have worn two times and decided it isn’t my color? Boom! Or how about that water belt I got when I was training for a marathon and then decided I didn’t want to run anymore so I never used it? Bam! Maybe you will win the box of popsicle molds that I meant to give my sister and forgot. Blammo! 

Who knows what you’ll win? Isn’t that so exciting? Isn’t that what the holidays are really about? I am excited to match my regifts to your videos.

And the second gift is legitimately cool: @babylitbooks is generously sending all ten winners a specially-made gift box with a tote, book, puzzle and ABC stroller cards. The BabyLit books have been a New York Times bestseller and are wildly popular.

Give it to your child, bring it as the best gift at the next baby shower, or if you are like me KEEP THEM for yourself because they are so adorable.

Winners will be announced December 21. Get lip syncing!

Meeting a new sister

When I had my second child, I was worried that the first would feel left out. Isn't that funny how we worry about potential reactions? So I bought my firstborn a gift to open for herself at the hospital when she met her new baby brother. I did the same thing for the two older kids when they came to visit my third baby, their new brother. By the time I had my fourth baby, I knew that the other kids would be getting enough treats from their grandparents at home while I labored at the hospital.

The reactions on these videos to the new siblings are priceless. Did your record your children meeting for the first time? I would love to see them.

And now I'm a puddle.

~Anna

Dry skin help FTW

My three boys have had dry, red skin every winter since they were babies. Their hands get super dry and rough, so bad sometimes that they end up licking the backs of their hands to get respite (which of course makes it more cracked). Their hands always end up bleeding sometime in the winter. It's so sad, really. They get other spots of eczema and dryness, but it is the back of their hands that are so extra tragic from all of the hand washing and use.

We have tried prescription lotions, homemade balms, natural remedies, oils, you name it. Sometimes they help a little, but often they cause discomfort and stinging. Or the smell is so strong and the little guys can't handle it. If it hurts or stinks, the whole process is a struggle every morning and night.

I was so glad to try out Mustela's Stelatopia line for eczema and dry skin. It is fragrance, colorant and paraben free, which is a huge plus when it comes to smell and discomfort. My boys use the cleanser at bath time and the creams before bedtime and before school. It makes such a difference in the dryness and cracking of their hands. Their eczema spots are relieved, as well. 

I just wish we had discovered Mustela's Stelatopia line sooner.

You can win one of two Eczema Essentials Bundles from Mustela ($52 each) by following them on Instagram and tagging a friend (or more) on our Instagram account under this picture:

Do your children struggle with eczema or really dry skin? Have you tried Mustela? I'd love to know what you have tried and what works for you.


*This post was sponsored by Mustela, but all of the opinions are 100% mine and true.

Halloween Vlog

Thanks for sharing your Halloween costumes and photos on Instagram and by email (kidsaretheworstest@gmail.com or thingsaretheworst@gmail.com)

Here are some of my favorites in vlog form. Let me know if you like the vlog on the blog. Be gentle. 

And, for the record, I don't mean to be inappropriate, so please pretend like nothing is inappropriate if you think it might be inappropriate. (yikes. hehehe)

Happy Halloween, mas and pas.

Anna

Mom Costume in a Jiffy

You've been working on your kids' costumes for a few weeks, maybe even a month or more. You bought all of the candy (and maybe a little more after some of the candy mysteriously disappeared) to give to the trick or treaters that come to your door. You decorated the inside of your home. The outside of your house looks fun and just spooky enough to keep the ghouls away. You've read the Halloween stories, picked up pumpkins, maybe even carved some, too. You've done a ton to get ready for Halloween.

But, wait! What about you? You love Halloween and don't want this year go by without dressing up. What are you going to do?

I have your costume for the year. Also one of my best ideas yet: AN ESCAPE VEHICLE. Every year it's the same, your kids are excited to fill their bags full of candy and you are excited to take them. Fueled by energy and a few dips in the recently-procured candies, you have made it ten blocks from home. AND THEN, your kids lose it. Complete meltdown. Their legs quit working, their costume is too hot/too cold, the last house was too scary... Halloween, as far as your children are concerned, is over. Where is your magic wand to zap you all back home? Drats, you forgot to bring it. So you carry your crying, exhausted child home, while their candy is spilling all over the sidewalks and your wig is falling off.

Escape vehicle, friends. Complete with blanket, maybe water bottles, and of course your skeleton. My escape vehicle this year is a Madsen Cycle. This thing is killer. I can't believe I have lived my life this long without one. But any bike with a basket or trailer could work, too. Or a golf cart? Escape vehicle. The two words that will save your Halloween this year and every year. 

I don't know why I was sporting the double chin so hard in this video. Luckily I am not TOO concerned. But still, let's meet in real life and you can see I'm not this ridiculous. Or am I?

Here's wishing you a Happy Halloween, to all mothers, fathers, children, grandparents, and all the rest of ya!
 

Anna

Guest post: Captain's Log

Captain’s log: What happens when Mom is left alone with three boys under six for five days. 

Three boys, one mom, five days, no dad. There are many strong humans who are used to this sort of thing and roll with the punches. For me, one soft with the presence of consistent reinforcements, it seemed like an eternity; every second brought a crumbling of my mental stature. 

While alone, I documented my condition through a series of logs shared via social media. The following is a transcript and photo-log of how I survived using the my life raft of sarcasm and my 72 hour kit of cynicism. 

Captain's log, Day 3 sans reinforcements: 

Captain can’t remember the last she changed her underwear. Found a band aid in hair this morning, not sure where it came from. Natives are growing restless, their access to sugar and screens is increasing dramatically.

Captain survives nights by watching too many episodes of Hoarders and eating unspeakable amounts of ice cream. 

Captain fears an uprising is imminent, and requests, if she perishes, to please bury her near a quiet bathroom so at least in the afterlife Captain can pee in peace.

Captain's log, day 4 sans reinforcements:

Shower managed, but at the expense of a box of Cheerios, the contents of which still remains ground into captain's new, expensive, and impulsively purchased wool area rug. 

Natives have learned 2 new swears, claiming captain yelled them at various natives throughout the day. Captain denies such claims. 

Morale is looking up as captain's extended family has sent pizza to the ship and crew and natives are now dining in peace. Captain’s motivation to cook meals is all but gone due to crushing fatigue and growing indifference to the ‘five servings of fruits and veggies a day’ rule.

Captain still seeks a quiet place to pee, as solitary urination has not yet been achieved.

Captain’s log, Day 5, help arrives:

Reinforcements have arrived, and not a moment too soon as natives had grown deaf to Captain's voice and anarchy was building. Her commands now make natives laugh and throw food. 

Order has been restored, but reinforcements may be sleeping on couch after complaining about free massage received on voyage.

Also, if reinforcements do not stop talking about luxury of 5-hour-long solo flight, Captain may be forced to feed natives diet coke and leave the house right before bedtime. 

Captain has, at last, peed alone.

 

"Cooking dinner with a toddler underfoot is always a blast." from Instagram @robynn.garfield

"Cooking dinner with a toddler underfoot is always a blast." from Instagram @robynn.garfield

Robynn Garfield has worked as a professional writer and journalist for 10 years. Her employment adventures have included KSL.com out of Salt Lake City, freelance work for NPR and CNN, and a fruit salad of writing projects featured in published anthologies, blogs (), and angry letters to the editor. 

Robynn currently stays at home with her three young boys. She staves off insanity by reading crap on the Internet and waiting longingly by the front door every night for her husband to come home.