WARNING: YOU PROBABLY DON’T WANT YOUR CHILDREN UNDER 10 READING THIS IF THEY’RE STILL FANS OF THE MAN IN RED.
Image from MyLot.com
If there’s one thing I admire about parents, it’s their refusal to “parent by default.” That is, they take a stand for something, anything, and give it their best shot to not let society trample their beliefs. They avoid activities they deem inappropriate, educate their children about their beliefs, and oftentimes have to duck and dodge popular culture with its ever-present marketing messages. It’s tough. But they’re trying. They question popular toys or customs, and don’t automatically participate just because “all the other parents are doing it.”
A friend of mine is one such parent. She and her spouse want their children to celebrate the true meaning of Christmas, Christ’s birth. And they don’t want them distracted with …
She looked so sweet, and smelled so…bad.
My sweet toddler has been sick for four days now. And if you’re squeamish, you may not want to read any further. But if you’re a new parent, or considering parenthood, I strongly urge you to hold your lunch and read on. After all, I believe expectation management is the key to happiness. If you know what’s coming, you’ll be better able to handle the “joys” of parenthood. Here is what you can expect when your little one gets a super nasty stomach bug, especially if they’re able to run through the house (while vomiting), yet not able to reason quite yet (around 18 months old or so).
Your child may seem cranky/irritated leading up to getting sick, but they can’t tell you they’re getting ready to throw …
I am SO in love with these sweet sisters. My children. My heart.
There are times when things settle down, when the crying subsides, when the whining takes a break, and I can simply enjoy the presence of my children. We’re entering an “easier” season of parenthood, sure to be followed by a hard one. But I don’t want to worry about that. I just want to enjoy. Things are still crazy, still hectic, still messy, but either it’s getting better, or I’ve just adjusted my outlook and am better able to cope. Either way, it’s a blessing.
Daily, sometimes hourly tantrums have gone to weekly. Constant monitoring has gone to frequent sideways glances (as I hear a bowl of dry Cheerios spill in the next room). Things aren’t easy, but they’re easier. I’m only getting …
I wouldn’t trade my post-baby body for my skinnier self. My girls are completely worth it. The hair was pretty cool though…
Flat stomach. Sleek thighs. Tight tush. Whether you’re a size 18 or size 2, you’ve probably looked in the mirror and desired to see these attributes. As women, we’re taught from an early age that beauty is defined by how you look in a pair of blue jeans, and that an extra squish should be taped down, bound up or just plain sucked out. We toss around phrases like “real women have curves” and “big is beautiful” but most of us don’t feel this way. We subconsciously suck in our post-baby pooch when someone else enters the room, and we thank the Lord for Spanx. We crave the feeling of being “thin,” all …
Normally, I try and slip into another mother’s (or father’s) shoes before I give them the mental stink eye. Parenting is tough, and you just never know what someone else is going through. But there are a few occasions where I judge, and judge hard. Sometimes, parents make stupid decisions, or are just plain stupid in general. Like what I witnessed at the zoo a couple of days ago.
As I pushed my toddler in circles in her stroller, hoping to stave off the “I’m tired and overstimulated” tantrum that was building, I couldn’t help but count my blessings that I had come to the zoo with backup. My mother-in-law had taken my preschooler to the bathroom as we were making our way towards the exit. (And trying to get out through the gift shop without …
Somersaults aren’t the only thing she’s learned at dance class.
I tried something new at dance class tonight. I left. Usually, I’m chasing my 18 m/o around the studio while my 3 y/o attempts to follow the instructor’s directions. It’s chaos. So, I decided to take the toddler outside to run around while my big girl did her thing inside. I thought all was going well (no shouting, screaming, etc.) until the end of the class. That’s when I heard crying. Loud, soulful crying. It was my kid. Sigh. I hurried in to her, expecting to find her with a stubbed toe, rug-burned knee, or some other dance-class casualty. No. She was sitting in closing circle, crying her eyes out while the other girls looked on with uncertain expressions.
“What’s wrong?,” I coaxed. Had she suddenly remembered I’d …