If you’re reading this, send wine.

Potty training is hell. Potty training a tiny diva terrorist is it own special kind of evil.

About a month ago, I was boasting about my potty trained princess. Miss thing had fully moved to her big girl princess underwear (damn you Disney). She thought she was so cool to be wearing them. And, I mean, you can’t get princesses wet with pee so this meant numerous bathroom trips to keep those fabulous cartoons dry. 

The universe clearly thought that was too easy. Because no one’s got time for laundry (and my single lady days of sending it out are long gone) and littles don’t always wake up when it’s time to pee, we’ve been using pull ups at nap and bedtime. 

Yeah, you already see where this is going don’t you? 

Miss V has taken to holding her pee for an insanely long time. We can carry her kicking and screaming to the bathroom, strip her butt naked, and place her on the toilet. Behold, the bladder of steel. That thing still doesn’t get emptied. 

Our nanny needed a sick day on Tuesday, so I stayed home with the kids. After a full morning with a trip to the park and lunch, it was time for home and bed. 

I successfully tuck her into bed, and descend the stairs with my almost sleeping little man. Winning!

I haven’t hit the bottom step before I hear the cries.  

“Mommy, mommy!”

Panic sets in as I realize I forgot the pull up. Why is this a big deal, you say? Oh well, Miss V likes those princesses better, and holds her pee just to share it with them. Sofia can hold an impressive amount of pee.  She can be so full she might fall off on her own, but Miss V cannot let her princess go. 

Witness the Sofialess and now pee soaked toddler. She and her big girl princesses are wet. The world is ending. 

You can bet Mommy hasn’t forgotten the pull up the rest of this week. 

Hey Disney, if you’re reading this, your princesses need to pee, too. Plaster a big,old white throne on that screen where said princess can pop a squat. I’m thoroughly impressed with Sofia’s magical bladder, but can we lob a little parental potty training assist this way? I mean, if Sofia does it, it has to be cool, right?

Even better, package some wine with those pull ups. 

Threenager

Parenting is a tricky beast.  It has this nifty little trick where it makes you think you’ve got it all figured out. And then surprise! Your sweet little children hit a new mastery level in manipulation.  Last week you were skilled at getting them to follow directions, and suddenly this week your bribing them with lint covered chocolate from the bottom of the diaper bag to eat their dinner. 

Mac+cheese with a side of fruit snacks four nights in a row is totally winning, right?

Parenting is hard, yo. It’s survival of the fittest out here.

Sadly, I’m not the one to come to for sage parenting advice (reference the lint covered chocolate above).  However, my SIL, Urban Ohana is good at that stuff.  She’s got some helpful hints here for surviving the newborn stage.  Me, well I’ve already blacked that stage out.  I mean, don’t all fresh from their mama babes only smell delicious and just want to cuddle? Eh, E is not quite four months, but he doesn’t eat green beans off the floor or talk back.  That totally makes him my current favorite.


This girl. Ooof. We have entered a whole new world. This image is of a full blown threenager. The mastery of manipulation on display is one to behold. The Terrible Twos have nothing on this(note this is being written by the mother of an almost three year old that will probably be laughing at herself in a year). 

Threenagers truly get the art of the deal.  I’m spectacularly impressed by the numerous glasses of water and bathroom trips one tiny human needs at bedtime.  There must also be an unspoken rule that poop cannot happen until 30 minutes after “goodnight”.  These are some seriously crafty humans. 

I once asked my mother if my three siblings and I were like this as children. Her response, “I don’t know.”

Guess blacking out runs in the family. 

Well, until I am no longer out-manipulated, at least there is Ros√®. 

Pinch me.


ūüď∑: A Little Photo Studio
Sometimes, I could swear that I’m living in a dream.  I look at my kids and can’t believe they really are mine.  For real.  They both spent months growing in my belly, and I worked crazy hard to push those big-headed babes into this world.  

So many days though, it still doesn’t feel real.  The giggles, hugs, and I love yous seem to make everything else in the world stop.  There are fleeting moments where I have all the feels.  I know they are mine, but at the same time feel like there is no way these children can be mine.  

It’s in those moments that I feel the need to pinch myself.  To make sure I’m not dreaming.  

These two mesmerizing souls are mine. The universe picked me to be their mama. I’m humbled by my daughter’s spirit and tenacity.  At the same time, in awe of the strength and calm that, at only 3 months old, my son already emits. 

I’m not sure what I did to deserve these two beautiful humans. And I’ll keep pinching myself every day, just to make sure this isn’t a dream. 

Miss Sassy Pants

Raising kids is hard, yo. Small electronics come with manuals. ¬†New jobs come with manuals. ¬†Kids, surprisingly, don’t.

Wait, what?

I’ve successfully adulted for awhile now. ¬†I earned a driver’s license, graduated college, happily enjoyed my career, and married the man of my dreams (clich√®, I know and I don’t care). ¬†I was ready. ¬†Kids were always part of my story, and now I was finally at that chapter in my life.

I was ready, did I mention this already?

Riiiight.

I’m the oldest of four. Many a countless hour was spent babysitting, and I even did a stint as a daycare provider. ¬†I could handle a baby. ¬†No problem.

Baby girl came along almost three years ago. ¬†The first few days in the hospital weren’t so bad. ¬†Then they give you your baby to place in their car seat and drive home.

That’s when you realize…oh shit, I’m responsible for another human being. ¬†Yeah, there are books, blogs, and the advice from generations before you. ¬†They all fail to mention that their advice isn’t an exact manual for your spawn. ¬†So we fly by the seat of our pants, and congratulate ourselves as each night closes that our kids survived another day. ¬†I mean, that really is the only true test that your winning at parenting.

Our baby girl spawn is amazing. ¬†She’s smart, funny, and fiercely independent. ¬†That independence makes this mama so proud. ¬†It also makes me want to drink ros√®, and solidified my need for a steady stream of caffeine at all times.

Some days I’m in complete awe of her. I wish I had her passion and fearlessness. ¬†The girl only has one speed, and that is full speed ahead. ¬†For everything.

And some days when you’ve only just returned from maternity leave and your nanny needs a sick day, you let her little strong willed heart win. Some battles aren’t worth fighting.


V-1 Mommy-0

But that outfit, tho. ¬†Miss V is resourceful. ¬†That right there is her swim coverup and her dress (aka mama’s tank top). Pure fashion gold. ¬†I’m sure it’s even Tim Gunn approved.

So while I want to pull my hair out many times a day, I’m equally enamored with her. ¬†She makes my heart full. I can’t wait to see who she becomes one day. ¬†And sometimes I think we’ve really nailed this parenting thing with her. I mean really nailed it.

We fooled ourselves so much that we added spawn number 2. ¬†He didn’t come with a manual either.