Life Interrupted

My only goal for today was to make apple chips. What could be simpler than a recipe consisting of three ingredients? All I had to do was slice 'em up, sprinkle some cinnamon and stevia and bam!, apple chips. 

This is going to sound crazy to those of you who don't have children yet, or for those of you who haven't had young children in a very long time, but life is often chaotic when raising the under five crowd and even the most basic tasks seem impossible at times. 

I know you're thinking it. "What does she do all day?" It's not like I have a job, right? My sole responsibility on this earth is to make sure my two year old is safe and healthy. How hard can that possibly be? 

Well, ridiculously difficult in ways you can't even begin to imagine, is my answer.  The toughest part of it being the fact that you can never ever ever let guard down. A simple trip to a library or parking lot becomes a nightmare of epic proportions when your kid thinks it's hilarious to run away from you , weaving in and out of the aisles & spots like a tiny pinball, making them nearly impossible to catch fast enough to avoid irreparable harm. And I don't care how good of a parent you are, your kid will try this. In fact, I'd venture to say that the better of a parent you are, the more so your child will have the confidence to assert his or her independence and test their limits.

It means catching the cup of juice before it hits the ground because they doesn't understand the concept of gravity yet. Fielding the "What's that noise mama? When can we see a train mama? Where the moon go mama? Who that big man in the store, mama?" And then making the crying stop when they don't understand that trains don't run at night and you can't stand out in 20 degree weather waiting for one to roll on by. It's playing hide and seek in the closet 24 times in a row because "Peek a Boo, mama!" and reading the same book over and over again until you start to hate it. 

It also means finding the entire roll of Charmin in the toilet because "Look, mama. I flush!"  It's teaching them what a highway is, how to climb the stairs and why you don't throw things on the floor. It's giving them an option between the Thomas shirt and the Cars shirt because "No like Buzz Lightyear shirt, mama!"

It means making homemade zucchini bread, white bean dip, mashed potatoes, butternut squash soup and flax muffins until they decide to eat three bites of something because you're afraid they're going to turn toxic orange from all the mac n cheese.  

It means being forced to shop at a mall or a Target because you can't get out of the car for two minutes to buy something and then put a toddler back into the car seat again without mass hysteria. There are no quick errands, or quick anything for that matter. Getting out of the house at any given time is a 45 minute process. That's right. Between chasing them to get dressed, averting disasters every three minutes, changing the channel because they change their minds every thirty seconds and inevitable diaper changes right before you walk out the door, the odds of being on time are always stacked against you.

It's a constant struggle between temporary gratification (you get the cookie right now because the entire store isn't interested in hearing you cry right now) and raising a decent human being (you will not get a cookie because you can't always get what you want in life and i flat out refuse to raise an entitled brat). You have to be okay with the stares at the grocery store, the unsolicited advice and ignorant remarks. You have to make small goals, like apple chips. And you have to give yourself a break when things don't go as planned. 

I may have sliced off 1/16th of my right thumb with a mandoline today, but apple chips have been made. And that's good enough for right now. The fact is, I am incredibly lucky to spend every chaotic, loud, messy moment with a tiny human being that I am fortunate enough to be able to shape, inspire and hug a hundred times a day.  I will continue to set ridiculously small goals and live in the moment, because it's the in between that matters. It's the kisses on a boo boo, cheers when he gets the puzzle piece right, sweet little giggles when I  drop something on the floor, and spinning around the living room until we fall down laughing that counts. My son will only be this age once. The rest of it can wait. 

turbanista

Too much time spent getting ready in the morning equals major toddler trouble.  One minute I'm putting on mascara while G is playing with his cars on the floor and two seconds later he's out of sight and I hear silence. Awesome, right? Doesn't everybody love when their kids are quiet? No. Unless he's eating yogurt melts (in the "lellow" bowl!!) or in a Dora/Umizoomi/Mickey Mouse trance, silence is all around a major warning of impending doom. Like the time (yesterday) he pulled out the surround sound wires and matter of factly handed them to me like they were a present, "Here Mama!!!". Or the time (this morning) he tried to plug in the Christmas lights. Or make a crayon mural all over the kitchen wall (last week). Or unroll all of the toilet paper (everyday).

Needless to say, primping is not a priority most mornings. And getting up at 6am to get ready is just not worth it. Sleep is a precious, valuable commodity around here. It doesn't get traded for much. So, what's a girl to do when she doesn't want a momfro (think Kate Gosselin) on her head?

Behold, the Turban headband! It's a headband, it's a Turban! It's cuter than roots or flat hair when you run out of dry shampoo! Just don't pair it with a sari or hipster scarf (you know, the one you got at Urban Outfitters two years ago) and you're good to go. And now you know.

Semi Annual Sellout

It's been one of those days. It began with a wayward mist of Argan oil to the eye and an accidental melee with a container of applesauce (the applesauce won). Progressively worsening, Monday afternoon threw a wrench in the most basic of female mall trips, a trip to the VS semi annual sale. I don't expect much from Victoria except a random mishmash of neon bedazzled bras in a cardboard bin. Next to a bunch of unruly broads who act like they've never seen a Demi Cup before. 

This trip was no exception. One (excessively sequined) little number later, I was fully prepared to wait an unreasonable amount of time on line while distracting my toddler with copious amounts of potato straws and Nick Jr clips ( thank you iPhone!).  I was not, however, expecting the cashier to fully abandon register and rush over to assist the disheveled mess (wearing BEBE sunglasses) who just happened to cut like 15 people on line.  Breathe. My psyche steps in. No, don't breathe! Give her the side eye. Say something random out loud about the line, oh, i don't know; existing or something.  Too late. Employee of the month hands her a shopping bag and returns to finish my transaction.  My two year old is now screaming and lunging forward like a mini Houdini trying to escape his straightjacket, ahem stroller. Abort mission!! Exit store and judgey people immediately.

In an attempt to avert full toddler meltdown, I make a run for the exit when BEBEface runs right into my City Mini. "No, you go!", I exasperate. "Saaaaahry", she says and then it hits me. I've heard that shrieky Italian voice before. It's none other than table flipper extraordinaire, Teresa Guidice from The Real Housewives of New Jersey. You've. got. to. be. kidding. me. However, this is a mall in North Jersey. What else did I expect?

Barely recognizable, in unfortunate sweatpants and a very messy low ponytail, I almost feel sorry for her. Particularly when I think about the fact that she's likely picking up a leopard thong for Juicy Joe.

And suddenly, my Monday doesn't seem so bad.