The Hero Daddy

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The Hero Daddy used to make me very angry. He would come home after a full days work at the office, and I a full days worth of in home war with two tiny toddlers.  I would be covered in peanut butter and jelly, a plethora of bodily fluids, and living in a sweat pants purgatory because nothing cute fit or because it  just wasn’t worth getting my one pair of jeans sticky.

And here he would come, Hero Daddy, swooping into the house in his clean clothes greeted by the sweet sound of tiny feet running and  little voices shouting “Daddy’s Home!”  When not two minutes ago those same tiny feet were trying to kick me in the face as I changed a diaper and the little voices were screeching things like “I don’t want to” and  “No Mommy” and just plain screaming.

Hero Daddy could all of the sudden make everything funny. All of the sudden when Hero Daddy tells you to eat your dinner its hysterical and a really fun game. When Mean Mommy asks you to its battle lines drawn. When Hero Daddy tells you its time to put on your pajamas its a laughable time filled with dancing while you jump into your jammies. When Mean Mommy tells you to put on your pajamas it really means its time to run away and throw your pjs into the dog kennel.

Hero Daddy

Mostly Hero Daddy made me angry because I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the one with whom the children laughed all evening long. I wanted to be the one to be able to solve tears with a joke and a playful threat of having to sleep in the chicken coop ( one of the children’s favorite). I didn’t want to feel like Mean Mommy all the time. The one who tells them to do everything and the one who seems to make them cry.

But then both girls finally started sleeping through the night, and it hit me, I’m not Mean Mommy I’m just Mommy. I am the one in the trenches every day with these little loves of mine and I am the one to enforce boundaries and do the disciplinary actions all day long. I am the one who tells them to eat every three minutes of every meal. I am the one who takes on the battle of what you can wear today and  how much TV you can watch and how far away you can run down the sidewalk and if you can eat those marshmallows you’ve just stolen out of the pantry.  But I’m also the one they call to in the middle of the night when they are sick or scared. I am the one they want to show their artwork to and the one whom they can ask to hang it on the fridge. I’m not Mean Mommy, I’m just Mommy and the more I realized that the more I loved Hero Daddy.

In truth, I have a Hero Daddy. My Mom was the everyday parent, the one I yelled at, fought with, laughed with, confided in and cried to. But my Hero Daddy was there every time I needed him to calm me down or make me laugh, teach me how to race a 400M or to sing harmony in a duet, take me out to ice cream before dinner and to make me feel like the most special little girl God ever created. And he still makes me feel like that.

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Every little girl deserves that. My little girls deserve that.

And Hero Daddy, with his clean clothes and loud dinosaur stomp as he chases them around throwing them into fits of hysterical laughter right before bedtime, does just that.  When he sneaks them cookies while I’m in the other room, makes jokes about stinky things and teases them out of a tear fest he really does make these two tiny girls feel like they hung the moon.

And as every child does, they deserve that feeling and will remember it for the rest of their lives.

Turns out, Mean Mommy and Hero Daddy make a pretty good team after all.

And it seems to be a pretty universal theme…

To quote Phil Dunphy from Modern Family “Let’s not play Good Cop/ Mom”

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Mom Time vs Dad Time

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We have been parents for just over three years now. Parents of two for two years in two weeks. And in that time I’ve noticed a distinct difference in the amount of time it takes the Mom and the Dad to do things. Here are two of our most recent examples.

 Going on a Walk.

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Mom Time: One Hour

Pack snacks in individual snack things with no spill lids. Fill individual water bottles and put in wagon. Put shoes on both girls. Put socially acceptable clothes on me. Put shoes back on both girls. Put coats on girls. Put hair in ponytail and sunglasses on. Put shoes back on the little one. Shove extra pacifier into my pocket. Open door and encourage movement toward the wagon in the garage. Wait 7 minutes while they slowly amble to the door and make their way outside. Do not touch the little one to help in anyway or she will yell “no mommy help” and take an additional 3 minutes just to prove to you that she can do it.

Head out for the walk. Get as far as the mailboxes before tantrums, fighting and pleading to hold me mommy begins. Kick some rocks, find a slug, hit your sister and we head back home.

Dad Time: One Hour

Put coats on kids and big boots. Go outside for a walk.  Have a great time with our delightful children. Return one hour later and hand kids over to mom because they are hungry.

Going to a Christmas Party

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Mom Time: 3 hours

The party starts at 6 so take a shower at 3. Dry your hair while alternating blowing hot air at your children with the dryer to keep them entertained and out of your good makeup. Run after your 3 year old, while still in your towel, who has run off with your dress to partly be funny, partly be naughty and partly to dress like mommy, and hope the neighbors can’t see you. Feed the children big late snacks so that they aren’t too grumpy before we can eat at the party. Put the little ones dress on. Put your own dress on. Do your make up while singing “If You’re Happy and You Know It” and swatting little hands to keep said big snack off of your party dress. Put the older ones dress on. Make first attempt to do daughters hair. Do half of your own hair. Make second attempt to do daughters hair, be successful with one out of two. Finish your hair. Third and final attempt to do other daughters hair, be mostly successful. Put shoes on everyone. Get everyone into the car. Run back inside to grab a bottle, lipstick and take a final look the mirror only to discover you don’t like your party dress after all. Make a quick change and run to join your family in the car. Enjoy the party.

Dad Time: 28 Minutes

Party starts at 6 so work in the yard then fiddle in the garage. Tell the little one she looks pretty in her party dress. Shower at 5:18. Tell the other daughter she also looks pretty and that you like her hair.  Catch the end of the game. Get dressed and into the car. Wait for wife who is doing who knows what. Tell her she looks pretty too. Enjoy the party.

Disclaimer: I think mothers and fathers play distinct and different roles in the lives of our children. In no way do I expect my husband to be as sensitive and pack as many snacks as I do. And in return, he does not expect me to never pack diapers or to have the whole family actually ready for an event in 15 minutes.  We fulfill our unique rolls differently…and on different time tables.

Repeat After Me

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Repeat after me:
I shall not judge my house, my kid’s summer activities or my crafting skills by Pinterest’s standards.
I shall not measure what I’ve accomplished today by the loads of unfolded laundry but by the assurance of deep love I’ve tickled into my kids
I shall say “yes” to blanket forts and see past the chaos to the memories we’re building.
I shall surprise my kids with trips to get ice cream when they’re already in their pajamas.
I shall not compare myself to other mothers, but find my identity in the God who trusted me with these kids in the first place.
I shall remember that a messy house at peace is better than an immaculate house tied up in knots.
I shall play music loudly and teach my kids the joy of wildly uncoordinated dance.
I shall say “sorry” when sorry is necessary.
I pray to that God I shall never be too proud, angry or stubborn to ask for my children’s forgiveness.
I shall love their father and make sure they know I love him.
I shall not be intimidated by the inside of my minivan – this season of chip bags, goldfish crackers and discarded socks too shall pass.
I shall not resent that last call for kisses and cups of water but remember instead that when I blink they’ll all be in college.
~ with love from one tired mother to another.

A conversation about Ice

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A conversation about ice with a 2 1/2 year old

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Georgia do you want ice water?

No. Yes. Just water.

Ok, so no ice?

Yes.

Yes ice?

No.

Ok. No ice.

Yes.

(filling up orange cup with water)

Mommy noooooo!

I’m putting water in your cup. You asked for just water.

No, Mommy. No ice.

So you want ice?

Yes. No.

So no ice.

No. and she starts to cry

So, water with no ice in your orange cup.

No. Yes.

Here is your water with no ice in your orange cup.

Thanks Mommy. Then she goes about her usual business of bossing around her little sister.

Motherhood can be so confusing…

Obituary for a Chicken

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Henrietta the Chicken

Born probably about 4 years ago- Died August 26th 2012

Henrietta, at least I think your name was Henrietta. I can’t really remember what I named you all when we moved in last year. But I’m pretty sure you were my favorite and I would have clearly named my favorite chicken Henrietta.

She was a loving chicken. If a chicken can be loving. She was the most vocal, anyway, when the 4 of them accidentally got locked out of their coop on their weekly afternoons in the yard. She was always the most friendly of the ladies, and would walk up to a child sitting on the ground and peck at their sweet little hands sending some of them running to their mothers in tears.

Henrietta passed away at the hands of our bird dog, Roscoe. While staying the weekend, my Well Intentioned Mother In Law let Henrietta out  of her coop at the same time as Roscoe Dog was out in the yard. Roscoe, being a born bird dog and a well bread English Springer Spaniel took her life somehow. I don’t know, I wasn’t even home.

She was found by my Well Intentioned Mother In Law and laid to rest under a cardboard box in the yard until my husband got home to move her to her final resting place, the garbage can. Luckily for her, it had recently been trash day so the garbage can was empty and clean.

Henrietta gave us months worth of delicious farm fresh eggs in the year we have known her. At least I’m pretty sure she did. They all lay their eggs in the same nesting box ,but I’m sure she contributed. She was my favorite after all.

Our first Eggs & Hazel in her Spica
Summer 2011

Henrietta is survived by the other three chickens out in the coop, all whom have names that I can’t remember.

RIP Henrietta.

Words Matter. Learn the good ones.

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Drink, drank, drunk.

Swim, swam, swum,

There, their, they’re.

I love words and words matter so chose your words wisely.

Words can wound and words can heal.

Words can build you up or words can tear you down.

Words can make you cry or….

Word can make you laugh!

I love words. Little words, big words, and the way you can put words together.

words, words, beautiful words

I suppose I’ve always loved words because I’ve always been good at them. The same way someone with a penchant towards math, like Winnie from The Wonder Years, has always loved numbers. My abilities with numbers is laughable, in fact, it is one of our longest running family jokes. That and how Mom always burnt the last waffle on Sunday mornings.

I  regurarly find myself irritated with the people who have to use a cuss word to make every point they have. Seriously folks,  most of you are smart so get a bigger vocabulary!

All that said, I finally became a good parent• and bought my first flashcards for my children.

Big Words Flashcards

I’ve always felt myself to be Abnoramous. And my love of these Big Words flashcards may just prove that.  I find these big words to be Mellifluous and humorous, especially coming from a child’s mouth. Right now the most humrous words coming from my youngests mouths are the words Frog and Croc. To hear what they sound like when she says them ,take the r out of frog and add a ck and just take the r out of croc.

This morning as the neighbors rooter Ululated, I Preambled over to the coffee table and found my daughters preparing for their daily Shenanagins. With any luck, I will raise myself a few Loquacious children. They laughed at each others various Onomatopoeia, “Buzzz” “Bop” “Bang”. Not wanting to Lollygag, I Skedaddled over to the coffee pot for my morning coffee then returned to the Smorgasbord of big words splayed out in the living room. I laughed and basked in this strange joy words bring me.

Inspired by the words I was looking at I set about to write a piece about words. I’ve had to stop numorous times to take care of my Cantankerous little lady and stopping to Mollycoddle them, if only for a few minutes.

I don’t want to be a Nincompoop or a Rapscallion, or Persnickety for that matter, but I have now finished this post using all but six of the Splendiferous words in the Big Words Flashcards box.

To buy your own box and cause a Kerfuffle writing your own big words blog go to KnockKnockStuff.

Make that all but five.

Words matter. So learn the good ones!

• The term Good Parent should be read dripping with sarcasm. I find most flash cards HogWash and and am not at all Hoity-Toity about early education. Love your children, talk to them often, read to them regularly, play with them daily and they will learn what they need to learn by the time they go to Kindergarten.