Cousin It

I'm a hairy woman.  Stoofy is a pretty hairy guy.  When we were dating and engaged, I knew that we would eventually have a hairy child.

In fact when I was pregnant, I used to dream that Elly would come out looking like a monkey. 

What I pictured my unborn child to look like at birth

The doctor would hand her to me and then hand me shaving cream (extra sensitive, super-specially formulated for my minutes-old baby) and a razor and I would have to shave her before being weighed.  She would only need that initial shave and then would be fine until she became menopausal. 

So it was no surprise to me (given the amount of heartburn I had during my pregnancy) that she came out with a full head of hair.  I WAS surprised she didn't look more like a monkey. 

Although, Elly WAS born with hair on the top of her ears, like on the ridge of them.  She looked like an elf.  It actually took me about 2-3 hours of her life before I figured out that the hair I kept tucking behind her ears and under her cap was actually attached to her ears and not her head.  (Mother of the year already.)

It should be no surprise that she's got lots of hair now. In fact she's got longer hair than me.  In her nearly two years of life, I have yet to cut it.  I used to think people who never cut their kid's hair and let it grow past their kid's ass were nuts.  I mean, who lets a kid who can barely wipe on their own let their hair dangle back there and get in the way?  Gross.

But now that I'm faced with the milestone of her first hair cut, I just can't do it.  I'm prepared to let her hair grow to her kneecaps if I have to.  I'll just embrace her hair and dress her as Cousin It for Halloween. Shit, I'll even spring for the Repunzel costume if that's what it takes.



"AAAHHH! My hair is out of control!"



Why am I protesting the shears? Probably because the moment I cut her hair is the moment we can never go back. Once you get your first hair cut, that's it.  It's the end of the baby phase of her life.  It's the start of a whole new confusing part of life where you're desperately trying to get a "Rachel" hair cut when you have "Felicity" hair. It's the start of worring about all things coifed.

I'm not ready for it and I'm not ready for her to grow up.  I'll just buy more hair ties to keep her locks out of her yogurt in the morning.

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It's just terrible

In one week Elly will be turning two.  I'm crying just writing that.  Why am I even crying? I mean it's not like she's leaving for college next week or anything.  It's not like she's going off to have her life adventures, meet her soul mate, get married or have kids.  She's just turning two.

But then she'll be 5 and going to kindergarten.  And then she'll be 10 and having her first playground boyfriend.  And then she'll be 13 and going through all the terrible things that happen to you when you become a teenager.  Not to mention she'll be turning 16 in a blink of an eye and will never be home since she'll be able to drive.  And then it'll really happen.  She'll turn 18 and go off to college or do whatever and she'll be gone forever.

Now I'm really sobbing.

And laughing.

Let's call it slaughing (because slobbing sounds gross).

Why do I always have a melt down when she has a birthday? (all two of them so far.) Will I always sob leading up to her birthday? And why am I even crying?

Maybe I'm crying because I know that she'll never be this small again.  Her toddler vocabulary will develop and she eventually will stop asking for "oh shit" when she wants lotion.  She's going to grow out of the phase of needing to curl up on my lap to fall asleep. 

I mean, it’s already begun. She won't hold my hand to walk anywhere. 

Or maybe I'm crying because the years ahead are only going to get harder. Just thinking about all the milestones yet to come is paralyzing.  I can't even bring myself to take Elly for her first hair cut! Instead, I've succumbed to the fact that I'm allowing my child to walk around looking like Cousin It.

My child, Cousin It

Or maybe the real reason I'm crying is because every time I tell Elly something I'm met with a resounding "NOOOOOOOO!"  And I mean EVERY.SINGLE.TIME.

That must be why I'm crying... I've just hit the terrible twos/threes phase and all I'm going to be hearing for the next year (plus some from what I hear) is NO.  This is just terrible.

Half Baked

My name is Betty Bakedgood and I like to bake.  I also love to knit, crochet, quilt, sew, cross-stitch, scrapbook and make whatever other fun crafts I find on Pinterest.  I also work full time and I'm a single mom trying to survive life with a toddler.

So my baking has taken an unfortunate dip in production.  It makes me sad.  I really want tasty morsles of delicious cookies in my house.  I love to make cookies, cupcakes, pies and tarts.  It's soothing and theraputic for one, and two, it makes my house smell yummy.

The problem is all of my projects are half baked.  I'm in the middle of five ten crochet projects, a knitting project, two cross-stitch projects and I've got supplies for at least 10 Pinterest projects in the queue.

Someone once told me that it's a sign of intelligence  when you bounce between projects because you can always remember where you left off and can pick it up and carry on with no problem.  I find that to be a load of horse shit because half the time I can't figure out where I left off and it takes awhile to get back into a project.

I get the crafting equivilant to writers block when I look at my half baked projects. I actually seize up a little when I see a project sitting there, glaring at me.  Elly's felt food pile is waiting to be embellished with hand stitching.  It's mocking me.   

So here's my vow to my half-baked projects.  I will complete you before starting anything new.  I will bake cookies for my coworkers because they deserve it.  I will complete my blogs (even this one took a week to finish!). 
I will finish my first knitted sweater project. (It's coming along nicely actually!) And I will finish it with enough time for Elly to actually wear it before she outgrows it. I will also finish this project because my knitting club friend is providing the adult supervision for me and holding my feet to the fire.

I will finish the baby blanket for Ms. B before she pops out her baby.  And then, and only then, will I make these adorable monster slippers for my friend. 

(Don't worry, I'll start them in the next couple weeks as promised! Because I know that I'll just skip around my other projects and work on this one anyway!)

Bakedgood weekend

My mom is coming to visit this weekend!!!! Yay!!!

The only thing on our agenda is nothing! I think I'll teach her how to crochet and maybe I'll convince her to help me make peanut butter cookies.

Until then, I'll just keep working on Elly's sweater.





It's coming along nicely. In fact, all of my projects are coming along nicely. It's a Bakedgood weekend!





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Lego Landmines

There are mornings that Elly wakes up bright and early.  Those mornings suck.  She is usually yelling from her room while I'm trying to fumble through my getting up and dressed for the day routine. To keep her from climbing into the shower with me (which leads to a melt down because she's part cat and doesn't actually like being submerged under the shower nozzle), I often poke my head out from behind the curtain and tell her to go find some blocks.  She scurries off to find her Duplo Legos and brings them into my room and tosses them all over the floor. 

As I climb out of the shower trying to dry my hair and make sure she stops poking the dog in the eye, I usually step on one of the Legos. 

Instant pain.  It's like stepping on a landmine.  A Lego landmine. And it freakin' hurts. 

I usually hop around in pain and then bang into my vanity.  I'm lucky if I don't cut my shin on my bed frame. All of this usually makes Elly squeal with laughter like the kid on Monsters Inc. Being mocked by my own kid is just a sucky way to start a morning.

When you're pregnant, no one tells you how painful parenting can be.  It's not just the pain of child birth, it's the entire life of your kid.  Sure there are plenty of things that help ease the pain... laughter, memories, wine... But it still hurts when you step on one of those Lego landmines.

I've recently discovered there are other landmines in the world of parenting.  No one really warns you about these either, until it's too late. 

It usually comes in an innocent form. You meet one of your kid's friends, Suzy.  You meet Suzy's mom. And then you think, cool! Elly and Suzy are the best of friends, so I'll like her mom and we can have play (wine) dates. 

As you wade into this new found friendship, you discover Suzy's mom doesn't like Suzy to eat certain things.  Fine.  To each their own.

When you mention you don't like Elly playing with certain items (say stickers or glitter) because she can't stop ruining your upholstery with said play items, Suzy's mom shrugs and makes a snarky comment about how you just have to show her how to do it right. (FYI- there’s no right way with glitter unless you’re Ke$ha.)

And while I bite my tongue because I want this new friendship to work, Suzy then takes a turn with the crayon, stickers, glitter, etc. toward my upholstery.  Suzy's mom does nothing.

And that's when I step on another landmine. I make the bold attempt to stop Suzy from breaking a rule and try a gentle, approved discipline technique in my house.  (Scolding, redirection and maybe a time out if hitting is involved.)

KABOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!  And there goes my life, limb and budding friendship. 

Because no mom wants another mom stepping on her disciplinarian toes.  I get that.  However, don't let your kid break the rules in my house just because you've taught Suzy the right way... because clearly you haven't yet and she needs some work. 

No one tells you how to avoid these landmines.  No one tells you when you're knocked up that it's not just your own kid you have to figure out, but it's everyone else's kids and their damn parenting styles.

So this is my warning to the barely there parents.  Watch out.  Parenting is painful and you're likely to step on some landmines... mostly of the emotional or plastic variety.

Because I don't like Mondays either...
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Sunday Funday

Sunday was one of my first full days of being kid free and with nothing but me-time on my schedule.  I didn't have errands to run, I didn't have grocery shopping or cleaning to do.  I planned ahead and got it done so I could have a Sunday Funday all for myself.

So what's a young 30-year-old single woman to do with 24 hours all by herself? I went to a knitting club meet up, of course!  That's right. Instead of hitting a single's event or finding a super bowl party, I went to a meet up with a couple of married women... to knit.  

Honestly, I don't know anything about dating really, but this is probably not how you meet a guy. It's not like Ryan Gosling is in my knitting club or anything! (In case you missed that, the Hollywood hotty's perfect day would include knitting!)

I also checked out "date night mass" at my church.  Yup, you read that right.  The priests actually billet it as a place to either meet a mate or take a date!  Brilliant marketing and incredibly progressive for a Catholic church.

Here's the thing. The first date night mass (starts at 5 p.m.) I chose to attend was on Super Bowl Sunday.  Guess what?  No one's there, because they're all at a freakin' super bowl party!!!  Even if I had wanted to meet my soul mate (check disclaimer below), I picked the worst Sunday of the year to do it at church! 

Here's what I learned from my Funday: 1) I'm glad I can find a way to enjoy some me-time away from Elly. 2) I will be single until I'm 60 when my Funday activities are considered cool by my peer group. 3) It turns out I'm really ok with that!


****** Disclaimer********
I have no intention of dating any time soon.  I'm not on the prowl or making any effort whatsoever to find a new man for my life.  In fact, the only proactive step I've taken since being newly single is to actually start wearing concealer before leaving the house.  The next step will be to stop wearing sweatpants in public.  So keep in mind, I'm being sarcastic about actually wanting to date.










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This is 30

A friend of mine just posted on her Facebook about her day with her kids, how she was going to watch some tv and then go to bed early. Yup, sounds pretty much like my day. In fact, when she posted that, I was doing my final check of Facebook for the night and debating whether I was going to go to bed or read a little bit of my book and then go to bed. It’s 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night.


My friend summed it up best, "This is 30."


Gone are the days of Saturday night primping and pre-gaming at 8:30 p.m. Because the only reason I'd be leaving the house to go out at 10 p.m. is if there was a medical emergency and I was headed to an ER with my kid (KNOCK ON WOOD!!!!)


It really wasn't that long ago that I would just now be getting ready to figure out the night's plan. It usually involved a lot of booze, music and crazy girl antics. Nowadays I barely have the energy to make it to the fridge for wine. The thought of hard liquor turns my stomach.


I'm pretty sure if I did a shot of tequila at 30, not only would my clothes fall off; I'd probably fall down instantly and puke. This is 30.


While I write this blog, I'm checking the time. Because God knows that with an incredibly energetic toddler who is an "early bird gets the worm" kind of kid, I actually can't stay up past 10 without paying a price for it tomorrow.


I'm glad I got all my partying done and wild oats sowed when I was younger. Because there's no way in hell that I could work full time, be a single mom, have a tiny tornado toddler AND still go out and hang like I did when I was 21.


Tomorrow morning Elly is going to wake up and yell for me to get her. She's going to play coy while I try to snatch her up out of bed. She's going to run streaking throughout the entire upstairs when I try to stick her on the toilet to try and potty. When I give her a hug and squish her face for a kiss and tell her I love her, she'll say, "Love you too, mama."


This is 30.

 

Struggling

So I haven't written anything in what feels like a decade.  I've wanted to get back out there and write again but I've been struggling.  There's been so much I've wanted to write, so many things that are funny and worth writing and so many things worth writing just so I could get it off my chest.  The biggest thing I've been struggling with is how to start really publicly announcing that I am getting (just a few more pieces of paperwork away actually) a divorce. 

After nearly 6 years of marriage (it'll be just a couple weeks shy of 6 years by the time it's all said and done) I will be single again. There's a ton of emotions that go through me when I've tried to type this all out.  For the last year, Stoofy and I have been separated and preparing to file our paperwork.  And in that year we've hit some very serious bumps in the road. 

I haven't written because I didn't want to vent all my frustration on my blog.  That shit's for my diary! I didn't want you guys to have to endure reading my rants and listen to my sobs.  That shit's for Abby and my mom!  And I wanted to make sure that I didn't post anything that I would regret. 

I didn't ever want to post something I couldn't take back and then one day Elly would see it.  While Stoofy and I are about as amicable of a split as you can be when you don't want to spend the rest of your life with someone any more, we haven't always been perfect during this last year.  I just didn't want my words to spill out and Elly to ever have to hear them.  That shit will NEVER be for her!

So now you know why I've been absent.  It's not that I didn't want to write.  It's that I've been knee deep in love hangover land and I didn't want to subject you all to reading my woes. 

I will say, that I'm doing well.  I'm still crazy. And I still have an insanely crazy toddler running around.  So now that it's time to potty train, you'll get to hear about that. Oh, and Elly talks a whole lot now (shocking) so the shit she says is pretty crazy!  There's plenty left to tell you all about, and if I get too "single-mom crabby" on you, tell me to write it in my diary, not my blog!