Thursday, March 2, 2017

Mom life

I know comparison is one of the causes of suffering according to the Yogic philosophy, but it's hard not to when you see that perfect looking, pony-tailed mom with coffee in one hand, kombucha in the other, her golden retriever's leash in the other, and the jogging stroller with peacefully sleeping twins inside that pushes itself.

Bryan and I had this idea that we would be marsupial parents because we hated those unwieldy, monstrous strollers that are impossible to fit through doorways and are like 10% room for your child and 90% random pockets for all your shit to get lost in. We had numerous carriers but they all hurt different parts of my body. I rotated them to achieve an all-over body soreness, but decided after many months a stroller would be a useful solution. So we got a cheap, second-hand stroller with plastic wheels that looks like it's made for a doll. It's pretty much the Ford Festiva of strollers. No frills and no cup holder, so I wedge my coffee in between the useless sun visor and it sploshes everywhere. It's also hot pink so I get to hear people comment on how beautiful my little girl is.

As for our dog... I don't even know where to begin. The pulling? The walking sideways into the stroller constantly so I run over his paws? The need to avoid all delivery personnel so he doesn't attack them? The pooping? Theo had the words "Milo is a poo poo butt" way too early in his vocabulary. I used to not be able to leave the house with less than four bags. Now I keep a whole roll in the stroller. One day he pooped six times on a twenty minute walk. Six fucking times! It's a mystery of science really. You would think you can only poop out as much as you eat, but somehow our dog is a shit-making factory. He also spaces them out, like a nugget here, a nugget there. He'll waddle for half a block, pooping the whole way. I am SO CLOSE to putting him in a basket and pushing him down the Willamette. (That's a biblical reference for those of you that suck at Jeopardy.)

I have my moments when things are going well - Milo isn't pooping, Theo isn't screaming, my coffee isn't spilling, etc. - where I feel like I could be that mom that looks like she has it all together. I have a smidge of makeup thrown on and am wearing my formal clothes (anything that's not sweats/spandex) and smile and wave at people who pass by us, who smile fondly in return. But then I inevitably roll the stroller through a slug or something squishy and say ah shit! And Theo starts yelling ah shiiiit ah shiiiit and then I realize the Universe has a weird sense of humour and so I laugh along with it... all the way to my pill cabinet.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Date Night

Since Theo's birth, date nights are more rare than... I'm trying to think of something rare but the first and only thing popping into my brain is a Wully-Wully, because that's all I've read today: Babar and the Wully-Wully, about a rare creature the elephant children find that the mean rhinoceros named Rataxes (wtf?) keeps trying to steal. I'm so dead inside I've almost circled back around to feeling again.

Anyhow, Bryan's family was in town so we left Theo with his grandmother so we could go bowling with Bryan's brother and girlfriend. I don't know who decided this would be fun. In my humble hometown, the bowling alley was old with disgusting green carpet, some barely functioning arcade games and a sleazy bar that served Miller Lite and frozen pizzas. This bowling alley was brand new, with a restaurant, two bars, giant screens above each lane showing music videos, and SO. MANY. LIGHTS. There were black lights, blinking lane lights, disco lights, a top floor full of flashing arcade games. The place smelled like sweat, germs, and seizures.

My idea of a good time is either napping or sitting on the couch alone in silence. So needless to say, the visual overstimulation was too much for my brain. I gave air hockey a shot, but the lights blared and the puck made a loud ding! every time it hit the side. I nearly short-circuited. And that's how I end up in the restroom. If I had a memoir it would probably be called Hiding in the Restroom, because that's what I do when I panic in public places. I lock myself in a stall, put my head between my knees, and engage in wishful thinking. As in, I wish when I walk out of the bathroom that my bad date will be gone. Or I will suddenly be sober. Or there won't be a rave outside. It's enough to calm me until I can rationally think of a plan to get the fuck out of there.

After ten minutes when I reemerged, the thrill of shoot-basketballs-at-a-tiny-hoop-until-the-clock-runs-out was over and they were ready to leave, thankfully. Then I made everyone wash their hands and get froyo, because I didn't want us to contract any weird diseases. And also I wanted froyo.

Thursday, February 16, 2017


Your child has finally unlatched after 45 minutes of breastfeeding in the night but then lays his heavy-ass head on your chest. Do you:

A. Try to stealthily move him off your body ninja-like at the risk of waking the sleeping giant who will scream and latch back on?
B. Say fuck it and Pinterest brownie recipes
or C. Agonize between whether you should do A or B until he wakes up and screams for milk anyway.

The answer is no matter what you do, you have a toddler. So you're fucked.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Do Not Knock

Anyone with a child knows that nap times are sacred, which is hard for my boyfriend who would not be described as quiet. Our bedroom is on the main floor a handful of steps away from the kitchen so any noise there is somehow amplified. Theo once woke up from the Bryan's coffee grinder and there was hell to pay. After that I made him grind his afternoon coffee in the bathroom during nap times. He's not as bad as the Century Link people though. There's a sign on our door that says Do Not Knock!! Baby Sleeping!! and then our phone number. They knock anyway, saying their boss tells them to knock no matter what. WHAT? That's how you plan to get customers? Waking their baby up and somehow having WORSE customer service than Comcast?

Luckily the last time they came Bryan answered the door with his kitchen knife and probably threatened to sever their limbs. I have a problem with poor boundaries and I know this about myself but I'm still way too nice to people. That's why I leave things requiring assertive responses to my more aggressive half although I'm working on it. The other day we were downtown and an obnoxious canvasser with scripted lines and a cheese dick smile tried to shake my hand and get money for his cause. I was holding Theo and said "No thank you!" as we continued to walk into Sur La Table. I said to Bryan, "Aren't you proud of me? I didn't shake his hand and get sucked into his spiel." To which he replied, "Aren't you proud of me? I didn't punch him the face and get charged with assault."

We high-fived, proud of our teamwork toward becoming more evolved humans. And then we bought a lemon squeezer.

Monday, January 30, 2017

Things I Never Thought I'd Say This Week

Why can't you just sit still and watch TV?!

Great underwear necklace honey.

Are you kidding? Clifford original is way better than Clifford Puppy Days!

Here, I'll eat the banana you just spit out of your mouth.

We don't pee in the sink.

Geez, Curious George is kind of an asshole, isn't he?

But I'm tired of drawing fish with hats.

No, you can't have mama's pills.

Because they're MAMA'S pills.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Coffee with a Side of Rodent

I was at Ristretto drinking coffee and trying to accomplish things when a mouse ran by me.

"OH MY GOD THERE'S A MOUSE," I may have yelled while a coffee shop full of people looked up from their computers to stare at me for maybe a second. They could not have been more unimpressed. Except one guy, who was pretty hot, jumped into action.

"Whe was ee? Lemme at im!"

That's my best British accent. He didn't have one but I like to remember it that way. And the barista didn't give a fuuuuck. If anything he got more relaxed with his beanie getting even slouchier, probably practicing his latte art. I mean, hopefully. I'm sick of seeing those stupid heart flowers, you one trick ponies. Would it kill you to exercise some creativity? Maybe do a mouse since you have a live, nude model running through your establishment eating scone crumbs from the worst pastry I've ever had. I couldn't eat more than a bite, which is saying a lot for my sugar-addicted ass. Tasted like a hunk of flour with some sugar paste jizzed on it.

I told hot guy the mouse had made its escape. "Just don't let it get your scone," he said jokedly.

"Oh, the mouse can have it," I replied, smiling at him as I cried a little on the inside because I'd wasted somewhere between three and four dollars. I'm still going to give it four stars on Yelp though because it's within walking distance to my house and they have a table outside where I can post up while Theo runs around and splashes in the water, which might also be a bowl for dogs. It's unclear.