First Birthday: Countdown to One, the Second Time Around

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It is happening again. There is no way to slow it down. The days are passing quickly and my tiny little baby is slipping away.  My sweet little girl, you are going to be one.

I cried on your sister’s first birthday. I know, how stereotypical of me, but I could not believe that I was leaving those cherished baby months behind. However, I do not think I will cry on yours. Do not take that as a slight, my little one; I just know what is coming. Your baby days may be numbered, but your people days are just starting. I get to watch you grow, and I am already catching a glimpse of who you will become.

I can see it already–the wheels turning inside your head. Your curiosity is abound. You are drinking in the world around you. I love the way you interact with us and mimic what we do. You are trying with all your might to communicate with us and you are elated when you receive the response you sought after. I love your dance moves and how you are desperately trying to walk. I am so impressed by those couple of steps you take when you think no one is watching. I love the way you and your sister are beginning to interact. She more than just tolerates your presence now; you’ve charmed her. I look forward to the days when you can hold your own against her.

Your tiny little smile can light up an entire room and your giggle is contagious. People flock to you, and you welcome them with no questions asked. You are fearless, which scary because I thought I had my hands full with you sister. I may never sit again once you get moving. These toddler years, while trying, are also so rewarding. 

Now, do not get me wrong; I am going to miss my sweet, happy baby. You can be sure I am going to soak up these last few weeks. Snuggles will be plentiful and I will breathe in that sweet baby smell. Those middle of the night feedings are slowing down, so I may rock you just a bit longer. I know I will miss those quiet moments, just the two of us. I am going to kiss those sweet, baby feet and try to get in as many full belly baby laughs as I can. And when those tiny, little hands reach up for up for me, I will scoop you up and cuddle you closely.

This year has been so full of love, my sweet little one.  You were the perfect addition to our family. I did not know what I was missing until you entered our lives. Your sister may have made me a mother, but you, sweet girl, you showed me how much my heart could expand.

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Photo courtesy of KM Photography

Happy Birthday, Little One! 

Successful Woman: My Grandmother’s Ordinary Life Done Well

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success successful woman grandmother life done well Providence Moms Blog Once upon a time, my co-workers organized a “Successful Women” series. They featured a CEO from a mid-size bank. She clearly had it all. A prestigious job, participation in numerous charitable causes, and numerous awards. Plus, when her daughter came home from college with friends, the CEO humbly bragged, she happily baked them all brownies.

Gah! I clapped dutifully, suppressing the urge to stick my fingers down my throat and retch.

Sure, it was jealousy. I always found that, with children, getting out of bed was hard enough. Making it in to the office was a clear win. I didn’t do outside evening activities. I had wine and went to bed. And, brownies?! Really? Brownies?!

But the real reason that I was so annoyed was different.

You see, the woman who I hold in my heart as my definition of success wouldn’t have been able to check a single one of those boxes.

Her resume was skimpy. She had an 8th grade education. She wasn’t on the boards of any charitable organizations. She never wrote anything; she never invented anything. No one outside of her small circle of friends and relatives had ever heard of her.

But she was a success. In part, because she had come far. A country girl, she married the gawky kid on a bike that her 8th grade teacher told her was the only boy in town worth her while. success successful woman grandmother life done well Providence Moms Blog

She gave her daughters music lessons and delayed installing in-door plumbing to pay for their college tuition. They all graduated. In her later years, she became financially secure, and in her 70’s and 80’s, she traveled the world with her eldest daughter.

But that’s not why she was my model of success.

She was my model of success because the people that she loved the most loved her back. Her husband followed her with his eyes, and I never heard them raise their voices. Her three daughters all lived within walking distance. They called her every day. They didn’t call out of duty; they called because they needed her. She grounded them; she listened; she complimented. She was quiet, and she was slow to give advice.

She came to my house and took care of me when I had my babies.

On her 86th birthday, my husband and I wanted to take her out to dinner.

“I can’t” she replied. “I’m babysitting.” At 86, she was busy babysitting her great-grandchildren.

success successful woman grandmother life done well Providence Moms BlogSo. Where am I going with this? I mean, lots of people have lovely grandmothers and admire them. Why is this relevant to a moms blog?

To answer that, I have to go back to trying to figure out why I was so annoyed with that workplace presentation. (As well as why I haven’t moved on, so many years later.) It was because there were young mothers listening to what seemed to me to be such a narrow and potentially hollow definition of success–career success only. No!

I mean, actually, my grandmother was a working mom. She ran a farm while her husband worked as a carpenter. But, unlike my own mother, myself, and my daughter, she didn’t have a choice. She was stay-at-home. There were no career opportunities outside the home for women, and she played the hand that she was dealt. If I told her that she was my model of ‘success,’ she would probably give me a bemused look and a dry chuckle.

But the thing is, today, and when I was a young mother, everyone, everyday, has to make multiple large and small decisions. Should I take this job? Should I work overtime tonight, or come home and spend time with my family? Should I answer the e-mail before I go to bed? Am I a failure if I don’t work longer and harder?

That’s why I was lucky and wise to choose my grandmother as a model of success. It was achievable. When I knew her, she was first of all a good wife, mother, and grandmother. Me, I was never going to be a CEO, but hopefully, I was, and am, an okay mother. I was never going to be famous, but, hopefully, my husband and children love me, call me, and listen to me. I’ve been retired for 10 years, but I’m not lost; I’m too busy babysitting my grandchildren, and that’s fine. I’m okay with myself.

My grandmother led an ordinary life, but she did it well. I’ll be content if I can do the same. And that’s her final metric of success. My gratitude. My recognition of the multiple and subtle roles she played in my life.

Thank you Grandma. Thank you from my heart. You’ll always be my model of the successful woman.  

Facing Pregnancy Together With My Best Friend

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pregnancy best friend Providence Moms BlogWhen my best friend called me to tell me that she was six weeks pregnant, I choked back tears and responded with three words: I am too. For years, we joked about getting pregnant together, but neither of us could have predicted being due just four days apart.

Being pregnant with someone else has so many advantages.  We were able to compare and contrast, prepare for what was about to come, and excitedly count down to the big day! 

Although it was her second pregnancy, it had been about five years since her first, so she had forgotten a lot of the bad parts. This was actually really helpful. We shared our fears about the birthing process (I was dreading a c-section and she wanted to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible) and laughed at the idea of being super pregnant for the entire summer. She coached me on building a registry and I sent her blogs on all the latest updates to baby items since the birth of her first.

The connection was a really great way to bond over the 425 miles between us. Each week, we joked about the absurdity that was the fruit comparison to what was inside of our bellies. We panicked abou

t baby clothes and bottles, craved margaritas, and gave each other tips about staying hydrated and comfortable. She found out the gender (a baby girl!) and I chose to find out upon arrival (a baby boy!). best friend pregnancy Providence Moms Blog

Our children were born just 25 days apart, instant friends from the start.

Throughout the entire pregnancy, we were there for each other. A simple “thinking about you today” text went a long way when it was time for an ultrasound or blood draw. She stayed awake the entire night I was in labor because she was so worried, yet I was the one who felt guilty about leaving her on her own for our final month of pregnancy.

Many say that the fourth trimester is the toughest, but having someone go through all the challenges of a newborn was the icing on our friendship cake. I couldn’t have made it without her. To my best friend: I am so grateful that we have grown closer by sharing this time in our lives (and our children!) together.

On the Road Again: A Mommy’s Thoughts While Road Tripping

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At this point, we are well into summer, and I am sure many of you have ventured out on road trips.  Here is a small collection of thoughts and interactions I have had during my personal and long road trip journey: 

thoughts road tripping with kids alone Providence Moms Blog

Scene: Leaving for a 12 hour car ride, 2 year old stops short on front stairs

Me: Come on; we need to get to the car! (Holding all the things, plus the baby)

2 year old: No.

Me: We need to go!

2 year old: No.

Me: Alright, I will meet you at the car. (Slowly starts to walk away)

2 year old: NOOOOO! (Runs, trips, fall in mud)

Me: Well, this is a good sign. (Now carrying all the things, plus the baby, plus the crying, flailing toddler)


Hours One-Three:

How much did I pack? Why do we need so many things? I may need to reevaluate when we get back!

Double nap time is amazing. I can definitely survive this trip.

Did I just make it out of Connecticut without hitting traffic? I think I might have just sold my soul unknowingly. 

Shrieking — what  a glorious thing to discover for this car ride. I love milestones.

 


Hour Five:

We’re just going to make a quick stop and then head back on the road… 

An hour later:

I may need to redefine “quick stop” with children.

Hours Six – Eight:

Philosophical question: Is the toy worth the 20 minutes of quiet if it is followed by 20 minutes of crying because it was dropped?

2 year old:  Sing it again, Mommy!

… I hate you, Old MacDonald.

Is she singing back there? (Turns down music, slightly)

2 year old: By the way…  you do things to my body… ‘Til I tasted you.

Well, she pretty much nailed that chorus. It’s time to change the station. 

Me: Baby, do you want Old MacDonald again?

How many fruit snacks is too many fruit snacks?

Oh, Ed Sheeran, it’s you, again. I was worried, it had been a whole 20 minutes since I last heard this same song.

I downloaded things to keep my daughter busy; why didn’t I download an Audible book for myself to listen to? For the ride home, definitely. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t.  Ah, motherhood!)

Hour 8, at rest area, reading warning on changing table in bright red letters

Weight limit, 20 pounds? I know 6 month olds who weigh more than that! Who designed this! Wait, is that true for all changing tables? (Cue, panic)

2 year old: Look Mommy, a cow!!! 

Me: So cool, baby! 

 We are in Pennsylvania, this is going to get old fast!

Oh, now you’re both crying. This is delightful. 

Both girls are sleeping. I could use a coffee, but if you give a mom a coffee she is going have to use the restroom. If she needs the restroom she is going to have to stop. If she stops, she will have to take both kids out of the car. The children will wake up. If they wake up… Seriously, a circle story! I NEED another adult.

Hour 9

I need to stop, again. There is a McDonald’s off the next exit. I have food for the kids and I can get some caffeine. Not my favorite choice, but it will do.

(Pulls off exit, reads sign)

A fenced in play place. What?!

Ronald McDonald for president!

thoughts road tripping with kids alone Providence Moms Blog

Hours Ten -Twelve:

How am I still driving?  

I need wine!

Almost there, you can do this!

Oh no… I still have to have to drive home!

 

Processing Gender Disappointment

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There I was in my midwife’s office, tears rolling down my face. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t stop them from falling. “I’m not sad, just surprised.” She made a note in my file as I blubbered on. “I just can’t see myself mothering a little girl,” I continued,  “I always thought I would only have boys.” My midwife assured me that my feelings were perfectly normal. “Just give yourself a little time to process,” she added.  I nodded, wiped my continuous stream of tears, and left the office feeling like the absolute scum of the earth.  

Twenty minutes earlier, my husband and I were sitting in the dark office of a pleasantly chatty ultrasound technician. As she measured the bone length and heart chambers of our growing little one, I excitedly predicted that I was carrying our fourth baby boy. I explained how only 3 years separated my oldest son from my third son, and how close they all were. Adding a fourth little boy would be an easy transition for our family. 

As convincing as I may have been, I was blinding myself from the inkling I had about this baby from the start. My first trimester brought extreme morning sickness. It was a textbook first trimester, one that I had not ever experienced in my other three pregnancies. On top of that cravings were different, my weight gain was different, I just felt weird. Then, I panicked. I googled every pregnancy wive’s tale on the internet.

I looked on in dismissive amusement as the Chinese calendar predicted a girl. The ring tied to a string swung like a pendulum. Each prenatal appointment revealed a “girl” heart rate.  I even inspected a cup full of my own urine mixed with Drano for something, anything that would confirm my own version of the truth.   Regardless, I spent the first 19 weeks of my pregnancy bonding with a little boy. The problem was I was bonding with a little boy who was almost entirely a figment of my own imagination.

“Do you two want to know the sex of the baby?”

“Yes of course!”

With three words, the sweet technician turned my entire world upside down.

“I’m thinking pink!”

“WHAT?!” Tears of shock rushed down my face and didn’t stop. gender disappointment girl Providence Moms Blog

     When you hear stories of gender disappointment online, it’s easy to sit in your judgy-seat and spout off things like “at least the baby is healthy” and “you’re blessed to be able to even have kids.”  Really, what does that do besides shovel more guilt on top of someone already working through some difficult emotions? 

     It brought me nothing but joy to see our healthy baby dancing on the screen.  The issue was that I bonded with this baby as a little boy. With three words, I no longer knew the person growing inside of me.  I wasn’t sad or disappointed; I was terrified and felt what I can only describe as … betrayal. I felt betrayed by my own desires and betrayed by the God who blessed me with her. 

    Thanks to the many hours spent awake at the end of pregnancy, I had time to process my emotions. I found that at the root of my fear was the belief that I was incapable of mothering a little girl. Little girls look up to their mother, and I felt pressure to be a woman I had not yet become. I was not yet her, and I was doubtful I would ever be a woman worth her admiration. 

     Eighteen months after her birth, I see Samantha adds a sweetness to our family that only she can bring.  I know my daughter will either emulate or reject the example of womanhood I place before her.  The adoring eyes of my sweet girl give me to courage to grow. Hopefully I will grow in to a woman worth mirroring.

 

Goodbye, Cable!

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Unplug. Tips for cancelling cable.

We pulled the plug on cable television just a few short months ago. Our bill had been inching its way to the $200+ range, and it was just too much. From a financial perspective, we probably could have made it work, but it was the principle of sending the check each month that eventually pushed us over the edge. We initially supplemented with Hulu and Netflix, but we have suspended service on both for the summer since we’re always on the go!

The first 24 to 48 hours of not having cable was just weird. Every time I turned the TV on, I was surprised to find it not working. I’ll fully admit that I had become somewhat of an addict while on maternity leave. When the baby was sleeping for 15-18 hours a day and I was spending so much time nursing or pumping, it was really easy to get engulfed in so many shows.

Maternity leave has come and gone now, and life is far too busy for TV. I’ve learned to live without reality TV and have traded it in for extra snuggles with my kid, sunsets on our back deck, and the occasional movie on Amazon Prime (which we were already paying for and never using for a streaming service!)

When we tell people that we ditched cable, they look at us like we’re crazy, but it has made us connect as a family in a way that I didn’t expect. Sometimes, we listen to Red Sox games on the radio, like in the old days. We read a lot more with our son, and we watch the news every morning while we’re eating our breakfast. It actually makes for some great conversation between me and my husband!

I didn’t think I could live without the Housewives, but here we are, a few months in, and we’re not looking back. One thing is for sure: we’re saving about $1,200 a year (even with the addition of streaming during some months!) and I can think of about a thousands ways that it can be spent on things other than cable. Diapers and formula come to mind, but my husband and I are thinking of using the money to take a long weekend away to Chicago, one of our favorite cities, this fall. 

Tell me: have you ditched your cable service yet?  What are you doing with all the money you’re saving?

I’m Trying to Savor…

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You’ve been here for a month, my sweet baby girl. How has it gone by so fast. I look at your perfect little face and I wonder, am I holding you enough? I had to do the dishes, to feed your brothers, to take a shower, and I wonder what I missed when I put you down. Your time in this world can still be counted in days and the sound of my heartbeat, the feel of my skin… these still ground you like nothing else can. I want to be your entire universe for as long as you need me.

They tell me to savor every moment, and I promise, my love, I’m trying as hard as I can.

This month you will turn three and are truly a ball of delight. You are sandwiched in the middle of this family, but demand every bit as much attention as your siblings get. I find myself thinking of your first birthday and wonder where the last two years have gone. I listen to the jokes you try to formulate, mispronounced words and misplaced punchlines still resulting in hilarity and I wonder, am I laughing with you enough? I’m so often weary from all of the demands on my attention and I tune you out too much, but despite this I remain the one you come to first with those delightful jokes. I want to be your audience for as long as you’ll let me.

They tell me to savor each moment, and I promise, my love, I’m trying as hard as I can.

My firstborn; you are so earnest, so intense, and your heart is so big. I cannot believe I am expected to send you off to kindergarten in such a short time. It seems impossible. The vividness with which I remember the day of your birth hasn’t faded one iota in the last five years. I am in awe of the worlds you create in your imagination; your play is intricate and involved. You blow me away. But I have work to do and laundry to fold.  You’re getting old enough to understand and you play alone well, but as I listen to the narration of your play I wonder about the fantasy I am missing out on. I wonder how much longer you will invite me into these worlds with you. 

They tell me to savor each moment, and I promise, my love, I’m trying as hard as I can.


This is the eternal push and pull of motherhood: the desire to be invested in every single moment clashes with the reality that it is impossible to constantly engaged. We yearn to cherish every smile, every laugh, every giggle, but despite how much we try, life gets in the way. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe we have to yield to the reality that the balance we strive for is impossible. Maybe we savor moments we can, and we trust that it is enough. 

They Don’t Call Me Mom: The Making of a Stepmom

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“There is an instinct in a woman to love most her own child – and an instinct to make any child who needs her love, her own.” – Robert Brault

They are 5 and 4 years old.  A sweet, thoughtful girl, and a rambunctious, hilarious boy.  I know their laughter in the midst of a playground full of children, and I know their cry. I know their fears, and I know what brings joy to their faces.  I know when they’re lying and when they truly mean it when they say “I’m sorry.” But they don’t call me Mom. 

They argue with me and ignore me.  They talk back and throw fits. They ask me to read to them, color with them, and beg me to let them watch one show before bed.  They grump at me when I ask them to clean up and laugh with me when I try to make it fun instead of fighting about it.  They tell me about their dreams and climb into my bed in the early mornings. But they don’t call me Mom. 

They ask me to tuck them in, read them a story, and check on them before I go to bed.  I hear them when they cry in the night, and I sit with them when they’re sick. I know just how much sugar they can have before their dad and I will really regret it. But they don’t call me Mom.

I miss them when they’re gone, and the house is 400 times quieter than when they’re here. When my husband picks them up, they ask to call me from the truck with an excited, “we’re going to see you soon!” as if I don’t have the parenting schedule memorized, holidays and vacation switches included.  I have a running list of things they need in my head, and a running list of concerns related to health, habits, and behaviors that I’d love to have more than one-third of their time to address. I think about their future spouses and children and the effect they will have on the world. But they don’t call me Mom. 

We didn’t bond in utero or over late night feedings- bottle or breast, or long months of all-nighters when they were newborns. We bonded over awkward first meetings, timeouts, hide and seek, and chores.  We bonded over wedding plans, girls’ days, and arguments.  Blossoming language and potty training. We’ve even bonded over one very loud “YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER,” and too many threenager power struggles.  We’ve bonded over heartfelt chats about the fact that they don’t call me Mom, how they only have one mom and one dad, and both will always love them and spend time with them. 

Despite having my own stepmother for the better part of my life, becoming one myself is an entirely different experience.  An eye-opening one that has brought laughter and tears, joy and sadness.  It gives new light to the struggles that I had with my own stepmother (although they were nothing compared to the struggles I had with my “real” mom). It makes me even more grateful for that same stepmom, who taught me that while difficult, like all relationships, it’s possible to love someone else’s child as much as you love your own.

Very soon, the kids will have spent more of their life with me in it than without. The youngest likely won’t remember a time when I haven’t been around, and the oldest will struggle to. I will be around for the first days of kindergarten and all the years following.  I will be there for first dates and first heartbreaks. Graduations, weddings, and babies.  I don’t anticipate that it will be easy, and I’m quite sure I will hear “YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER” uttered many more times in my lifetime.  

I know we will continue to “bond” over power struggles, and I will continue to wonder if I’m doing anything right or everything wrong. Ultimately, I hope they will know that while I am not their mother, I will love and support them as if I were.  I am hopeful that, like my stepmother and me, we will all be better off because of our relationship with each other.  That, like all mothers, hope and pray,  their children’s lives will be better because of them, and that they will come to treasure the unique relationship that we have. 

They don’t call me Mom.  They call me Brookie.  And it’s pretty awesome.

Motherhood is (Not) So Glamorous: Gross Parenting Moments

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Have kids, they said.  It will be great, they said. Motherhood is so beautiful, they said.

You know what they didn’t say?  

Being a mom can be seriously gross sometimes.  

Yes, having kids is beautiful and fun and rewarding.  But, day to day, raising kids falls far short of the glamour of those stock photos you find in picture frames at Kohl’s.  There are days that you can’t help but think: “what exactly did I sign up for?”

You know, like that one time my son, who was about a year old at the time, projectile vomited all over me and himself.  And I mean, ALL over. 

As you could hear (yes, HEAR) the puke drip off both of us onto the hardwood floor, I looked to my husband for guidance.  He shuffled us into the shower, fully clothed, leaving a trail of vomit all the way to the bathroom.  We got my son quickly undressed and washed up and I passed him over to my husband to dress up.  And there I stood in the shower, still in puke covered clothes that were now sopping wet. 

On the bright side, my son felt a lot better after that.  I, on the other hand, gagged my way through cleaning myself up.

If you’re nodding your head knowing you had one (or two or three or three hundred) of these types of moments you’re in good company.  To prove it, I started asking other moms for their cringeworthy parenting moments.  

Reading these will make you laugh.  They’ll make you cry from laughing.  And then you will probably pee yourself a little, because you’re laughing.  You know, because growing a kid for 9 months and giving birth has done wonders for your bladder control (let’s add that to the list of gross parenting moments)…

“My husband was with our eldest son at his first Red Sox game and I was home with our other children.  My one year old, who was in his pack ‘n play, had evidently pooped. However, he had proceeded to remove his own diaper and was ‘poop painting’ the white walls and curtains in his reach.  I definitely drew the short end of that marital stick that day.”  

“When my son was about 6 years old, he came into our bedroom around midnight, stood in the middle of the bed and informed us that he felt sick. Seconds later he threw up all over the bed and us. He was sick the rest of the night. Not our finest hour.”

“I have 3 young boys. They all share a room. My 7 year old came down stairs one morning and told me that he knows for sure that pee tastes disgusting. I was then informed that my 4 year old had to pee in the middle of the night but didn’t feel like coming downstairs so peed in his empty water bottle. My 7 year old discovered this the hard (and disgusting) way. My 4 year old simply said, ‘you shouldn’t have drank out of my bottle!’ “ 

“My daughter spit up all over me at my sister-in-law’s house, an hour away from home.  It was in my hair, down my neck and shirt and down my chest and in the cups of my bra.  I cleaned up the best I could but had to wear it for another 3 hours before we got home.” 

“I was distracted with the baby upstairs, and my older kids (including the non-potty trained one) pooped. Both boys decided that this is the day they were going to wipe themselves. When I came downstairs, everyone and everything was covered in poop. The worst part? They were so pleased with themselves that instead of retching and yelling, I had to act proud and hand out potty treats.” 

“My adorable 1-year old went up to everyone at a party with a bowl.  And they all gave him blueberries, all afternoon. On the way home, on a hot, hot summer evening, he threw up all over his 4 year old sister.  We were on the highway, just an exit away from our house. She wailed in horror until we arrived home.  When we got home, my husband took our 1 year old out of the car, still attached to his car seat.  He told our 4-year old to stand still and then he hosed them both down.” 

“My daughter pooped in her diaper sometime over night and then proceeded to pee quite a bit. Fast forward to the next morning when I walk into the room and hit by the most offensive smell ever. That poop had liquified and had seeped into sheets, blankets, and clothes. Before walking into this mess, I saw her licking her fingers in the monitor.”

“When our twins turned 3, we started potty training.  By the third day, I was so excited that it really seemed to be clicking! One morning the girls were playing with their Elefun game. I was busy putting laundry away when one of our girls ran into the bedroom all excited to tell me that her sister did potty!  Of course I went running to the bathroom, her but the potty it was empty.  Perplexed, I found my just-went-potty daughter in the living room, as proud as can be, exclaiming, ‘I go potty!’  To my shock she is pointing to the Elefun game.  She had taken the head off of the elephant and used his body as a potty.  Needless to say we had to say goodbye to Elefun that day.”  

“I was grocery shopping while holding my seven month old daughter on my hip.  I suddenly felt something warm and looked down to notice that she had exploded out of her diaper.  I was now covered in poop.” 

“My husband and I took the kids to the beach.  The kids were looking for seashells and picking up rocks and throwing them in the ocean.  I notice my little one throw a rock into the water that landed rather suspiciously.  It didn’t make quite the same ‘plop’ as the other rocks.  As the waves retracted, I walked up to where his ‘rock’ had dropped.  Sure enough, I realized he had just chucked a dog turd into the ocean.  He was going through a ‘hands in the mouth constantly’ phase, so I ran him to the bathroom.  Three hand-washes and two applications of hand sanitizer later, we were back on the beach, throwing rocks into the ocean.” 

Look, no one said being a parent would be glamorous, despite what the parenting magazines tell you.  We have all caught ourselves wondering how long we’ve been wearing our shirt or how many days have lapsed since we washed our hair.  Then there are moments like the aforementioned, the ones that are slightly traumatizing and don’t (and won’t) leave your memory anytime soon. 

Don’t worry, though, because if this little research project proves anything, it is that you are NOT alone.  And let’s face it: it’s all worth it, every disgusting moment is worth it because, in the end, kids are pretty amazing.  Plus, those moments for some great stories to tell your future grandkids.

 

How to Name a Prince and Princess: A Mostly True Fairy Tale

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naming prince princess naming children tradition Providence Moms Blog

On the inevitable day my kids ask about why they have the names they do, I have been working on a story (based on true events) to help them work through my issues and principled stances about their names. Here we go: 

Once upon a time, a prince from Rhode Island and a princess from Massachusetts met and fell in love. After many years they married. Then they had a son, a baby prince. 

“Oh, yay! A baby prince!” the prince’s family celebrated. “His first name must be the prince’s father’s first name and his middle name must be the princess’s father’s first name.”

“Um…okay…but why?” asked the princess and new mother.

“Because that is what we have always done. It is tradition,” said the prince’s family (in strong Rhode Island accents).

The prince advocated for his family’s naming tradition. And so it was. The baby prince’s grandfathers were honored by having their new baby grandson named after them both…just for being men.

Then when the baby prince became a toddler, the prince and princess forgot what it was like to have a newborn and decided to have another child. This time it was to be a girl.

“So, out of curiosity,” said the princess, “are there any naming traditions for baby princesses?” Both royal families paused for a milisecond and both said, “Nope!”

The princess was relieved and infuriated at the same time. She decided to compartmentalize her frustration and reflect on the very powerful gift and responsibility of naming a child. The princess and prince talked at great length about names they liked and disliked. The prince, though, was very wise, and concluded most conversations with, “whatever you think is best, my love.”

Then the momentous day arrived! The baby princess was born and the families gathered to hear the name of the sweet little girl. To the surprise of all, she had three. Her first name was in honor of a woman the prince and princess had read about; a woman who was admired for her wit, courage and songwriting centuries ago. Her second name was in honor of the princess’s mother. Her third name was in honor of the prince’s grandmother and great aunt. All three of these royal women were strong-minded and undisputedly ruled their respective kingdoms with fairness and love (and amazing food!)

Though the baby princess’s name was unfamiliar and seemingly complex and principled, both families were gracious and (mostly) kept their opinions to themselves. And all in the kingdom rejoiced that there were now two happy and healthy little royals. A prince and a princess with meaningful names to honor loved ones. And they have been ruling the kingdom ever since. The End. 

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