And let the words fall out
Honestly, I want to see you be brave...
Why don't you tell them the truth?
And let the words fall out
Honestly, I want to see you be brave
Nothing screams, "I'm a totally stable, functioning human being" like a woman who restarts a blog she abandoned over two years ago (and the year before that... and many, many other times). To be fair, there are a dozen things about me that should be giving you very clear signs that I am anything BUT stable & functioning. Either way, I'm alive! I'm here, and I'm so glad you are, too.FO
TWO THOUSAND EIGHTEEN.
Hi, friends! I had this whole "it's been so long since I've blogged and I have such visions for the future and #newyearnewme" intro written out, but ultimately decided to skip the formalities because we all know I'll write this and then abandon ship for a minimum of 4 months. However, in the event that I actually do keep up on this,
HELLO AND WELCOME (back) TO WORD VOMIT!
New Year, New Me!
lol, jk. I'm still the hot mess I've always been.
Also I'm apologizing in advance, I've been out of the blogging (or doing any sort of writing) scene for awhile, so my vocab is (thumbs down emoji) and I speak like a mom who only interacts with humans under the age of 4.
If you're new to the blog, thank you for stopping by. If you're in shock that you got an email saying I updated this thing, welcome back! Either way, I'm starting this thing completely from scratch and we're starting off with a MEET THE VOMITER post.
so,
Hello, I'm Allie.
"Met this old astrologer hippy lady at the market. Older than Betty White- swear to god. She likes me because I'm a Taurus. Gave me her number. Wants to hang out on Monday, go to folk fest. I think I'm going to go." (it should be known that these random occurrences in her life are totally normal and happen on an unusually frequent basis)
I know that most of these thoughts probably aren't original. SUE ME. (don't sue me. I can't afford that right now, and frankly if you're suing me for not having original thoughts about parenting then YOU ARE THE WORST.)
I apologize in advance that I never post pictures and also that this is just mumbo-jumbo. Also I'm sorry that I just said mumbo-jumbo, because that hasn't been socially acceptable since 1492.
+ You know that whole "I don't have a favorite child" nonsense? That's the world's biggest lie, second only to, "of course I don't pee in the shower". I mean, I don't wake up every day thinking, "Well, it really sucks to be Jameson today because he is not my favorite!" but occasionally halfway through the day when he touches his junk and then puts his nasty unwashed hands on my food, I look at my daughter and praise the heavens that she isn't that gross (yet).
To be fair, the whole "favorite child" thing is switching constantly. It's not set in stone. Which I guess is why people can't say they have a favorite. It's not because there isn't one - there is always one. It is because the award for golden child is switching so frequently, nobody can even keep track. I only have two kids, and unless one of them is being a terrorist, I forget who is at the top of the list.
+ While we are on the topic of favoring children, I also have hit this point where I am realizing that my kids aren't always the cutest. It's terrible. You know if you have children, you've looked at other babies and kids the same age as yours and thought, "my kids are way cuter". It's a natural parent thing to do, and that's fine. I usually think my kids are cuter.
That isn't to say my kids are photogenic. OH, they are the worst when they are newborns. I swear Jameson was a cute newborn, but half of my photos make him look like baby Squidward. And Charlotte, she was a really cute newborn, but sometimes I look at pictures and wonder if the thing that I am seeing is even human. I have a few photos of her that look like they could be the offspring of the alien in Men In Black after he puts on the farmers skin. MORE SUGAR WATER.
Anyway, what I'm getting at is my kids are getting less cute. I'm pretty sure Charlotte peaked at 6 months old, which is really a tragedy. Every human hits an awkward stage in life where they aren't cute for a few years. I think Charlie girl just hit hers about 13 years too early. Don't get me wrong, she is still adorable (to me), but with her hillbilly mullet and her crooked front teeth that would put a beaver's to shame, she is really struggling to keep up with Gerber status. We love her anyway. Maybe when her front teeth come all the way in they will straighten out and shrink two sizes. Or she'll just have snaggle-teeth and a mullet for life, because it's hilarious.
+ Feeding kids is the worst. THE WORST. If you have children, you get it. You spend forever making a gourmet meal (most likely 30 second microwaved chicken nuggets straight from the freezer), only for them to throw it on the floor and eat the EXACT SAME THING off of your plate. Or they just refuse it entirely.
It's moments like those when my kids tell me they don't like something where I think, "Really? You suddenly hate pb&j? That's weird, because I'm pretty sure two seconds ago I watched you pick your nose and eat it, and your sister is literally eating a used q-tip out of the bathroom garbage right now and somehow both of you are refusing real food. WHAT IS MY LIFE?!"
And it is at this moment that I am finally realizing why my husband still makes fun of me for trying to feed a two-year-old filet mignon.
hhhhhhhhhhhnj
^^ well m , b bv the kids found me....
so adios
u
This post was originally written in March of 2015. Making Jameson about 18 months. (for those of you who can't do math and need it put into a measurement that makes sense, that means he's just over 78 weeks old. a prime time in his toddlerhood.)
To be fair, I am still the same type of parent now that I was then.
original post:
I'm not a bad mother. That doesn't always mean I'm the best mother... just that I'm not the worst.
I was getting the car packed up to leave today, and as any mother knows... sometimes you have more things to carry than you have arms for. If my child is one of those things, then I have him walk with me to the car. He is able and willing, and if it saves me a few trips back and forth I am all for it!
As I was putting a few bags in the car, I noticed my son was wandering about 25 feet away from where I was standing. I wasn't worried about it. (I mean, let's be real. I survived losing him in Costco so 25 feet away in plain sight is fine by me.) Just then, I saw a stranger slow down their car. She stopped, pointed at my son and said something probably about my parenting skills, then gave me a disapproving look and shook her head. And then she drove away. The message she was sending was clear.
There are few times I have ever felt so judged. I wanted to go full-Hulk on her and rip her to shreds. Didn't your parents ever teach you it's rude to point?!
Don't look at me like that.
DON'T shake your head.
"GTFO!" (but really.)
So there I was, with my son still 25 feet away, and I thought, maybe I really need to evaluate my parenting style. If a total stranger thinks I'm a bad mother... what do my neighbors think?! What does my family think?! Oh. My son is now 40 feet away. I should probably go get him before an angry mob of strangers comes to point their fingers and shake their heads.
So I stuffed my son in the trunk and told him to sit tight while I re-evaluated my life.
..because that is the kind of disapproving look that lady gave me.
Listen lady. I'm not a bad mother.
I don't abuse my son in any way.
I don't neglect him.
I don't feed my him big bowls of sauerkraut! Every single morning! (it was driving me CRAZY! I said to my mom, I said... hey mom...)
That being said. I am far, FAR from perfect. And sometimes I don't even feel bad about it. I openly admit I am a culprit of bad parenting on a daily basis.
My son just might experience severe hearing loss by the time he is 5 due to the fact that I blast Taylor Swift any time we are driving in the car. Is that the best thing for my son? No. But I do it anyway. That doesn't make me a bad mother.
I have days where neither of us change out of our jammies until dinner time. Some say that's unacceptable. I say it's an all-day pajama party. Who doesn't love pajama parties?
I make him watch Lord of the Rings. It's rated PG-13. And unless something strange happened while he was napping, I'm quite certain he is not yet 13. But he's seen it. And he likes it. And that's okay by me.
I use every ounce of strength I have to pin all of his limbs to the ground when changing his diaper. He screams like a banshee. Torture? Uhh, yeah. For ME. You go change his diaper. I'd like to see you do it without using both of your arms and legs. Level 2 is getting his clothes back on before he escapes. (but sometimes I let him escape on purpose, because what is cuter than a baby running away with no pants on?)
addition:
so, reading this is a little bit hilarious because few things have changed.
I was telling my dad earlier today about the time Jameson (when he was around the same age as the original post) climbed into the large basket part of my grocery cart and started hucking cans of food at an old lady in the same isle as us.
Not that that makes me a bad parent at all... but it's sad and hilarious at the same time.
On a more related note, just a few months ago I lost my son in Target. LOST him. As in, I actually started panicking. I was literally running through every isle to try to find him. I won't tell you how long it took me, but eventually I found a swarm of ladies circling around something. Unless Target started a women's fight club in isle 17, my son is probably in the middle of that circle.
I reached the circle, completely out of breath and a woman looked at me. Completely disregarding the fact that I had obviously been running around the store and could barely breathe, she said, "Oh, THERE you are! I was about to go get security!!"
OKAY. I get it. I'm a terrible person. Now please, hand over my son so I can go cry in the bathroom while he drinks water from the toilet.
As soon as he spotted me, Jamey dashed away laughing. The lady who so lovingly judged me tried to run after him, but she was unaware that my son is 1/80 cheetah and can outrun every judgmental person on the planet. He fell, and as she reached to grab him, he turned and yelled,
"NO! STOP! You don't touch me!!" (waving a very angry finger at her)
I wanted to turn and yell, "Yeah! you hear that?! Don't touch my son or I'll be the one calling security, mean lady!" but instead I thanked her, picked up my son and left.