Thoughts on Mom(my) Blogging

by Ajike Akande 

Blogging about parenting has become so big over the past few years.  I enjoy the parenting blog, but I should admit, that I typically read parenting blogs written by moms.  It’s certainly not because I don’t think that all parents have interesting perspectives on parenting, it’s just that I like to obsessively compare myself to other people so I try to at least have gender identification in common with the blogger whose work I am reading. 

Based on my limited research, there seems to be three types of mom(my) bloggers.  

1.  The Pinterest Mom
She is all look at me in my clean and enviable organized house.  I cook all the things; I teach all the things; my children have all the morals, and all the soft and hard skills that reflect all the intelligences.  I also happen to live somewhere that never has winter or rain, except when it conveniently adds to the mystic beauty of my day.  My kids are conventional looking or strikingly beautiful.  I’m also a photographer on the side so everything looks even better in my photos.  If I have all the money, I have access to many more things than everyone else, but I never mention this.  If I have only a little of the money, I like to share my tips on living on less and perfectly couponing.  I’m probably married, and straight and white and able-bodied.  If I’m not, not only am I Pinterestly perfect, I’m also marginalized so you should read my blog because then you can say how brave and strong I am (We love to point out the strength and braveness of people who are marginalized, which is another way of othering, but that’s a different rant.). 

2.  The Self-Deprecating Mom

She is all I get you.  I see you.  I am you.  I’m tired and my house is messy and my kids are making me crazy.  I suck at cooking but I do it most days except when I take out the frozen nuggets (chicken, fish or veggie) and serve those.  I loathe all those moms who post their perfect meals, including the school lunches that are pieces of art, all over Pinterest to make me feel bad.  I wear “mom jeans” or slightly stained work clothes.  My kids swear and tear the house apart and forget everything, everywhere, but they reach out to the lonely kid at school and help the neighbours and write me chocolate stained notes reminding me that they love me and I’m the best mom ever.  My life is a mess but I guess I’m doing something right because my kids are loving and confident, and creative and a gift to the world.  I make you feel okay about not being perfect (nobody is sister) but my posted photos, like yours show the world that my kids are better than alright.

3.  The “I’m–The-Worst-Mother-Ever-And-I’m-Not-Afraid-To-Prove-It” Mom

She is all like here are all the ways that I suck – in a list because lists are the bomb-digitty in the blogging world.  My kids are impossible and I don’t deal with it well.  I look like crap all the time and I drink too much wine and eat too much chocolate.  My kids are probably the same as anyone else’s – loving, healthy, sick, somewhere on the ability continuum, a bully, bullied, etc..., and like most kids, they will be better than fine in the end.  I am perfect when you need late night laughs and reassurance that compared to me; you are the best parent ever.  You’re welcome, by the way. 

That’s how I see the Mom(my) Bloggers out there. I obsess over the perfect Pinterest moms, especially the ones with large families and children with special needs.  Every time I read one of these perfect mom blogs, I walk away from my computer and whine to Wife about how other moms can handle raising many children and children with special needs.  “If they can do it why can’t I?  And they even cook!  I never cook!  What’s wrong with me?  I’m the worst.  Why am I the worst?  And you know what Wife?  You’re the worst too.  We are the actual WORST together!" But then I post this picture on Facebook:

 

And then I’m all “look at my perfect, beautiful children” right? 

I regularly look to the self-deprecating moms for virtual, and totally one-sided friendship.  Whether they work outside of the home or in the home, whether they have many or few children, whether those children are developmentally typical or not, healthy or not, we are the same.  They get me.  I get them.  And mostly, they make me feel hopeful, but sometimes, they make me feel like a total failure because in this mothering competition (It is soooo a competition!) everyone, even self-deprecating mom is beating me. 

They post photos like this too:

Pictured: The Littles swimming in an entire bag of $9 organic, gluten-free cornflakes that they dumped on the floor.  Self–deprecating mom's caption reads: “I can’t manage my kids, but aren’t they adorable?”

I occasionally glance at the blogs written by the “I’m–The-Worst-Mother-Ever-And-I’m-Not-Afraid-To-Prove-It” moms but honestly discovering that we have many things in common, makes me feel as bad about myself as discovering how little I have in common with the Pinterest moms.  At least from the Pinterest moms I can learn a few things! 

As I hashed out a description of the three types of Mom(my) Bloggers, it occurred to me that I may actually be all three types of bloggers at different times.   Hmmm… interesting and so self-reflective.

Anyway a good friend told me that I may be getting close to being one of those mom(my) bloggers who make other moms feel badly about their mothering.  If that is the case, Girlfriend, I’m sorry.  That is not my intention.   Let me tell you something, you know how Rome wasn’t built in a day?  Well, children aren’t raised in a day.  And we can thank the creator for that, because for most of us, most parts of most days are a sh%t-show.  And when it’s not?  Total win for that day!  Truthfully, I think we are all messing up  this mothering thing except for a few blogging mothers who actually are doing it all right.  I have list of their names and web addresses .  Contact me if you would like this list so you never accidently land on their blogs and totally give up because you’re obviously so far at the back of the race, you’re not even really part of it anymore.  I kid you not, some mothers are out of our league and we just shouldn’t play with them! 

Keep on, keepin’ on friends.

XO Ajike

My Day By The Numbers

by Ajike Akande

When one does the same thing day in and day out, one is bound to wonder how many times one says and does particular things. I decided to keep track for a day and here’s what I came up with.

• 7 – the number of bowls of cereal I prepared last night (and every night) for the morning. Z & G-Dog always have two bowls.

• 2.5 cups – the amount of rice milk wasted this morning, which may explain…

• 4 – the average number of cartons of Rice Milk the children consume every week.

• 1 – the number of bowls of cereal F-Jammie wasted this morning (and every morning) because “It’s soggy, Mommy!”

• 7 – the number of times I threatened to take breakfast away from the next person who got up from the table.

• 7 – the number of times I made empty threats undoubtedly contributing to my children’s awful habit of ignoring much of what I say.

• 3 – the number of times this morning Z yelled for me because F-Jammie & Mr. Lee were up to trouble

1. Mr. Lee was trying to shave his arms with my razor. Thank God he was unable to remove the protective cover.
2. F-Jammie got her hands on the milk and was seeing how much all the bowls could hold.
3. Mr. Lee was drumming on a stool with crayons. This concerned Z only because it was loud and he could hear the TV. It concerned me because the stool is now brown speckled.

• 2 – The number of times I kindly asked Z & G-Dog to watch their brother

• 1 – the number of times I yelled, “I thought I said WATCH your brother!”

• 0 – the number of times I apologized for being a totally unreasonable mother that expect the older children to watch their impulsive, wild, little brother.

• 1 – the number of times I licked my thumb and wiped the gunk off of Z’s face.

• 1 – the number of times I called out to Z, as he was walking into school, telling him to lick his finger and wipe off the gunk under his nose.

• 1 – the number of times I wondered if I am the most embarrassing mother ever.

• 2 – the number of Egg McMuffins I inhaled this morning on the way to the drop-in centre.

• Infinite – the amount of guilt I feel for still eating at McDonalds.

• Infinite – the amount of relief that I feel that my standards for what I put in my body versus what I put in the bodies of my children
• 1 – the number of times I made somebody’s jaw drop when I said that I have five kids including two sets of twins.

• 3 – the number of times I noted out loud that F-Jammie & Mr. Lee were playing really nicely on their own.

• 10 (at least) – the number of times I wondered if them playing nicely without my interference is an indication that they’re ready to spend their days away from me (their mother who has put her career on hold to be with her children).

• 5 – the number of times I said, “Okay, it’s time to go” before ending my conversation with another adult and making a move to leave.

• 3 – the number of times I pretended that I didn’t hear F-Jammie asking me for lunch. (Every single day with this “feed me” stuff!)

• the number of times I looked in the fridge, saw wine and wondered if it was too early to have some.

• 20 (at least) – the number of times I called one of my small humans “monkey” or “baba”

• 5 (at least) – the number of times I said, “I love you!” and “Who loves you?”

Our Village

Things have been rough in our teeny tiny corner of the universe.  I could get into a long story about the ways in which things have been a bit hard for the Silverman-Akandes but a) there are a lot of details – some of which are best kept close to the chest for now, and b) sometimes what we learn during our hardest times is such a gift that we almost become grateful for them.  What I will share though is how, through this rough patch, our boat has been steadied as we navigate rough waters.  

We have all heard the proverb “it takes a village to raise a child”.  It is an African proverb.  More specifically, it is a Nigerian  proverb originating from the Yoruba and Igbo tribes.  Let’s just say that my love of this proverb is directly related to my Yoruba heritage.

I used to think that in my big-city community, we believe in the child-rearing village, but we don’t necessarily live that belief on a day-to-day basis.  We’re all struggling and trying so hard to live the best version of the lives we imagined while dealing with the life we’ve been dealt that many of us don’t think that we have much to offer a village.  I realize now, that I may be wrong.  With no concrete plans or agreed upon rules, my basketball team sized gaggle of children are offered the love and energy of a village.  

There are those villagers who we have been formally invited into our lives as caregivers and teachers, who perhaps, with no real intention, become more than what their titles would suggest.  They don’t always act in ways that best echo our beliefs and values but they always act with great love for our children.  They hug them and listen; they remember what they love and what they hate and what they fear.  They laugh with them and at them (but in that “you’re so adorable” kind of way).  They teach them and teach them again and again.  They “clock in” but they never fully “clock out”.  Thank you.  We are grateful for you.  

There are those who live close by and share their yard and their kitchen and their couch.  They run faster than us when one of ours topples over on their bikes darts out in the road, after a runaway ball.  Their children’s grandparents know our little ones by name and remember them coming home.  On Halloween someone gives out candy, and someone pours the wine and someone hangs with the kids.  We never talk about who is doing what or when we’ll change jobs but we all know it’s all taken care of.  Our little ones sing goodnight to them and ask for one more snuggle from them before coming home.  They drop off a bottle of wine or a case of coke and they know exactly which liquid we need and when.   Thank you.  We are grateful for you.  

There are those villagers who are part of our family of origin. Bubby and Zaide, who call on the phone and send cherished postcards and come for special weekend visits to be showered with enough kisses and cuddles to make up for lost time.  There is Nanny who is nearly part of our every day but still gets the run-down-the-hall greeting every time she arrives and the confused look when there’s only time for a short visit.  There are aunties and uncles who are like royalty and somehow are the ones who can always do the things we cannot.  There are aunties and uncles  and cousins who show up every week, even when they’re tired, and love our brood enough to spoil and scold.  Thank you.  We are grateful for you.

 

Our village includes chosen family – old friends and new friends, who love up our kids but love us up too.  We can be honest with them.  We can call our kids assholes and they know that we need a break not to be judged for saying horrible things about our kids.  They know what we sound like when we’re on the other end of the phone but are crying too hard to form words (okay that may be the beauty of call display, but you know what I mean).  They let us brag about our kiddos without feeling guilty.  There are those villagers who when we’re talking about one of our kids and their struggles say, “We’re going to do what we have to do to support her.  She’s our little one.”  With those friends we are never alone.  They hold us up.   Thank you.  We are grateful for you.  

It’s been a lousy couple of weeks for the Silverman-Akandes but it’s totally okay.  Our boat is being steadied.  As I write this I hope that we are good villagers and that I am wrong about thinking that we have nothing to offer the village.  I hope we give you and your littles as much Yoruba style, village love as we receive.  

To our people, to our villagers, I hope you know who you are and I hope you know that we are so, so grateful for you.  

XO Ajike

Taking Care Of My Sickies

As a parent of many, there is no shortage of opportunities for me to pretend I have the skills of a medical practitioner.  The small Silverman-Akandes are very good at getting harsher than necessary, benign health problems.  Miss O and Mr. Lee have, since birth, been especially good at giving us scares.  There have been frequent trips to the emergency room – once by ambulance; there have been IVs – usually for hydration but sometimes medicine;  there have been hospital stays and regular trips to specialists and therapists.  

In the end, the best we can come up with is that these two really love to hang out at the hospital, enjoy all the attention that comes with it and still haven’t gotten over the fact that they came out of me sooner than they wanted and are a little more prone to getting sick because of it.    

Like any parent, I will do anything for my kids and want to ensure that they are healthy beings but there’s only so much excitement and panic I can muster up every time one of them gets sick.  I’ve suggested a frequent visitor points card for the hospital we frequent, where on the 5th visit you get free parking for the duration of your ER stay, but they have not jumped on this idea.   Until they give my frequent visitor card, where possible I want to deal with my kids’ illnesses on my own.

Because I refuse to visit the doctor or get stressed every time my people get sick, I have learned a few tricks.  My friends have been known to call me when their kid has weird symptoms of some kind or another because I’ve seen a lot in my 7 years as a parent, and “oh I was the ER last night” is not an exceptional thing to hear me say.  Sharing is caring so I have compiled a list of 7 things I do when my kids get sick.  

This goes without saying, but this does not replace medical (or valuable) advice. 

1. Start with Vaseline.  When my children tell me they are sore or itchy or rashy or there’s a red spot, or whatever other problem they think they are having on their skin or in their crevices, I put vaseline on it.  (Don’t worry, natural medicine supporters, I use the non-petroleum jelly.)  The way I see it, if vaseline doesn’t make the “problem” go away, then I’ll treat it like an actual problem.  My mother thinks this is irresponsible, but I think it’s genius and she doesn’t live with my people so she doesn’t have a realistic sense of just how much I use this vaseline trick!

2. Trust your instincts about yourself and your children.  Do not always trust your child’s instincts (except when they are bang on, which can happen).  Children make things up and aren’t patient by nature so they don’t give time a chance to heal their wounds.  

3. Always have band-aids.  Do not get into any sort of debate about whether or not a band-aid is required.  If you are willing to have this debate with a child asking for a band-aid, you are not busy enough.  Just give them the damn band-aid and a kiss.

4. If they complain about a tummy ache, first, take them to the bathroom.  I think you know why.  Second, offer them water.   Third, if it is convenient, offer them a hot water bottle, a bucket for potential vomit and space on the couch to lie down.  When I go through these three simple steps, I sometimes solve the tummy ache problem but usually I just make my kid feel like I am taking them seriously.  This is not patronizing.  It is effective.  When I dismiss their complaints, which I am wont to do, they just keep complaining.  They can complain forever.  Besides, what if their tummy ache is a direct result of them thinking that I don’t take them seriously?

Skip the oral temperature taking!

5. If you’re going to take a child’s temperature because you really want an accurate number, do it rectally - even if they are no longer babies.  If they are really, really sick, they won’t have the energy to complain about the rectal temp. taking and then you’ll know for sure that you’re dealing with an actual sick child.

6. Invest in an ear scope thingy.  My kiddos get ear infections all the time but they complain of ear pain even more.  Different things can cause ear pain, not all pain is an infection and some infections do not need to be seen by a doctor.  An ear scope is a good way to save me unnecessary trips to the doctor.  Also checking your children’s ears totally makes you feel like a doctor.  It’s so fun!  

7. Do not over-react when a child falls or crashes into something.  Despite my relaxed attitude about most health related things, I am terrible at this one.  I am the queen of the gasp or embarrassingly loud scream when a kid hits the ground.  I get in trouble from friends for this, but let’s just imagine that an adult fell off their chair or crashed head first into another adult, wouldn’t you ask if they are okay? Ahem; I rest my case.  

Those are my tips.  I probably have a few more, but Miss F who has a tummy ache is currently calling me.  I’m not even making this up in the name of writing!  Luckily she knows the rules; she’s off to the bathroom.  

XO Ajike

My Children's Crappy Stuff Falls Into Four Categories

by Ajike Akande

I am currently struggling with the overwhelming urge to throw out most of my children’s belongings.  It could be that spring is in the air (or it least it should be based on the calendar).  It could be that we have been cooped up inside, existing among their stuff for months now.  It could be that most of the children’s beloved stuff is actually crap!  Their crap falls into three categories.  1) Toys and games that encourage their development (My kids don’t see this stuff as beloved but just stuff they are entitled to.  I’m going to have to address this issue with them).  2) Crap they’ve made and brought home.  Just because you made it during art class, doesn’t make it art.  3) Crap given to them by other children in the form of Valentine’s Day Cards (I hate you St. Valentine) and Loot Bags.  

Regarding crap category number one, it is true that my kids have way too many games and toys but I’m pretty good at removing the things they don’t use and putting the rest in carefully labeled bins.  (I love you label maker!)  

I’m not even going to bother expanding on my issues with crap category number two - my children’s overly glittery “art”, because some of you lovely, kind and hopefully loyal readers are probably artists or art appreciators and I don’t want to deal with your comments about art interpretation and voice and principles of design.  Let’s just say that where much of my children’s art is stored is between me and the recycling bin.  It’s not about the product anyway; it’s about the process.  

Crap category number three, however, is something I’m going to need to discuss.  Please note the following paragraphs may contain harsh opinions.

The other day I almost tossed Miss O’s Valentine Cards.  In my defense, Valentine’s Day happened 26 days ago.  I didn’t do it though.  My little one, with her adorable and sometimes annoying fixations, loves her Valentine’s cards.  They have all the right characteristics for our quirky kid.  A) They are cards.  Cards are the best.  Do not leave any type of card lying around in our house; Miss O will find it and stash it.  B) They are small.  Holy crap small is so, so, good!  C) They were brought home in a bag.  Small cards that can be taken out of a bag, sorted by any number of attributes and returned to the bag?  That’s awesome stuff in O’s world.    With great concern when she heard of my desire to toss the Valentine’s Day cards, Wife said, “They’re her Facebook!   You can’t throw out the cards!”  (I thought this analogy was a little exaggerated – nothing is as good as Facebook, but I see her point.) The Valentine’s Day cards stay.  And because Miss O’s cards stay, everyone’s cards stay.  So on my would-be-pretty display table in the dining room, I have three paper bags full of Valentine’s Day cards.  Damn you beloved stuff!  

If Valentine’s Day cards aren’t bad enough, don’t get me started on loot bags!  For the love of David Suzuki and all things “eco”, we’ve got to stop with the loot bags!  From now on the following note will be pinned to my children when they attend a birthday party:

Dear Adult host of birthday party,

How about I buy your kid a present and say it’s from my kid, and you show your appreciation for the present by NOT giving my kid a bag of junk that I have to sneak out of the house item by item, because they think it’s an actual a bag of prized possessions!  

Love,

A Mom Who HATES Loot Bags

And to children who attend a birthday party for one of my children, the following note will be given:

Dear child guest at my kid’s birthday party,

Thank you for coming.  At the city landfill there is a bag of crap with a cute tag with your name on it.  In it is a bunch of stuff that I got at the dollar store to give you and the other kids “from” my kid to show our appreciation for your attendance at their birthday party.  I know your parents are busy; I also know your propensity to become unreasonably attached to crap you get or find so I’ve decided to save your parents the time and you, the pain and just took the bag of dollar store crap directly to the landfill where it will ultimately end up anyway.  

Love,

A Mom who HATES Loot Bags

P.S Eat all the sugary junk food that you want; you’re going home to someone else soon!

Look, I’m not a minimalist.  I like stuff as much as the next person, but kids really need to be reigned in.  They need to be taught to identify stuff worth actually keeping and perhaps more importantly, how to organize and maybe even hide their stuff so that I don’t have to look at it all the time!  

Rant over.  Carry on.  

XO Ajike

Tomorrow Clothes

As a parent of five little kids, other parents often say to me, “I don’t know how you do it.”  First, could someone please tell me the appropriate way to respond to this comment.  I know “on psychiatric drugs,” is not the best response so I usually say, ““Ohhh, come on.  I do it the same way you do.  Kids have a remarkable way of taking up any physical and psychic space available, so we’re all swimming upstream totally exhausted and blessed.” While my closest friends and family have heard a slightly more honest response to this comment, this is verbatim what I say to people.  Until now. 

What is the point of having a unique, large family, if I cannot share the wisdom borne of my experiences as a parent?  And so I will share some of the ways that I “do it”:

I was never a girl scout, but I am a firm believer in the adage “Always be prepared.”  The lengths that we go to, to prepare for one day of our life is quite something.  During the school/work week we do everything the night before.  We make lunches and coffee and our smoothies.  I know, this is nothing special.  We also pour everyone’s cereal including a smaller bowl which holds “seconds” should anyone require them.  If I’m feeling especially panicky about the morning to come, I will place each child’s bowl at the their spot at the table along with a spoon.  Back when Z rode in the bike trailer to get to school in the winter, I would hang his snow pants on the back of his chair so that he could put them on before sitting down to breakfast.  He didn’t like this.  I think he may have cried once.  Wife told me it was excessive, but time is everything and there is no time to waste in the morning.  Besides this was nothing compared to my mother’s response to me being a slow mover.  When I was in kindergarten, in an effort to improve the speed at which I dressed for the outdoors, my mother borrowed a stop watch from the gym teacher and spent a weekend doing snowsuit dressing drills.  Now that is excessive! 

In addition to the preparation of the children’s breakfasts, we also lay out all of their outdoor clothes (jacket, hat, mitts, scarf) on the living room floor, which we now refer to as the staging area. Z just throws his jacket and stuff on the floor as soon as he comes in the house, in an effort to “help” with the night time set-up.  Unfortunately, because I’m crazy, I insist that the children hang up their belongings with their hats etc. in their coat sleeves so that I can have the satisfaction of removing everything from their hooks and laying it out on the floor myself after they go to bed.  Inefficiency at its best. 

Certain that we were not prepared enough for the morning, I recently made another modification to our night time routine.  On the odd occasion, over the past few years, we have put the kids to bed in their “tomorrow clothes”.  It was fun and cute and always because something special was going to take place the next morning.  It occurred to me that “tomorrow clothes” don’t have to be just for special occasions, they can be the norm.  From Sunday to Thursday, our children now go to sleep in their “tomorrow clothes”.  Of course there are always the minute details of a plan that need to be worked out.  You see our children bathe and get ready for bed before supper.  Before you start thinking that eating in our house totally hinges on being prepared for the activity following the meal or that meals are rewards for completing undesirable tasks like bathing and getting ready for bed or school, let me explain the very good reason why bed prep is done before dinner. 

Our kids love bath time and get unbelievably excited about all being naked together.  It occurred to us that putting the kids to sleep would be easier if they didn’t have to come down from the high of bath time, so we moved it to earlier in the evening.  Once we decided to get rid of pajamas, the kids simply put on their “tomorrow clothes” after bath.  BUT nobody wants to go to school in “tomorrow clothes” with stains from last night’s dinner, so I decided that the kids would wear their “tomorrow bottoms” and a bathrobe to dinner.  We call them dinner jackets.  

After supper we go upstairs, brush teeth, put on “tomorrow shirts” and hunker down for bedtime stories.  Obviously the Littles want in on this “tomorrow clothes” business but they still wear diapers at night so they need to be changed in the morning anyway.  No problem. We put on a diaper with “tomorrow underwear” on top so in the morning F & L can pull down their pants, half way, pull off their diaper and pull up their dry “tomorrow (now today) underwear”!  Bam!    

And that, my friends, is how it is done!  It’s true about all parents swimming upstream, but some of us have a larger school of fish to lead so we need some, outside of the box, strategies.  There are more, equally amusing, ways that we “do it”, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.  How do YOU “do it”?  Let me know in the comments. 

XO Ajike

Glad That Week Is Over

If you read my blogpost last week, you may not be surprised that I am totally exhausted and deeply in need of some rest and sleep.  Now that our little twins are in big kid beds and no longer nursing, it takes hours to get everyone to sleep at night and I am, most definitely, a hormonal mess.  Let’s just say that things got ugly this week. 

Last week we bought a new van; so much to my surprise, I am now driving a fancy 2013 Dodge Grand Caravan.  In beige.  Go ahead and chuckle.   As if it’s not bad enough to be driving a minivan, it’s also beige!  And folks, if the minivan is a-rockin’, please come a-knockin’ as there’s probably a kid having a tantrum inside because the laws require that they be buckled into a car seat!  Anyway, the week got off to a good start.  The kids were excited about the new van with a DVD player and bets were placed on how long before the bacteria content on the floor of the van reaches frightening levels due to the amount of food on the floor.  What could go wrong?

On Tuesday evening, a.k.a the evening I lost my mind, Wife picked up the new wheels.  Because I had misplaced the special part of my brain reserved for reason, I lost it on the kids over the dinner and bedtime hours, for having the nerve to be kids, and then Wife and I had an epic, but brief, angry exchange.  Why sugarcoat it?  There was yelling and swearing.  So in an attempt to win the award for being the most dramatic participant in a marital disagreement, I stomped to the front door of our house and announced that I was leaving (Really I was just going out but leaving sounds way more dramatic).  

Unfortunately, in the middle of my tantrum, I had to ask Wife for the keys to the new van.  (Should you ever find yourself needing the assistance of your opponent during a fight, consider postponing the fight!)  This is when things got a little comical.  She hands me something that resembles a fob and trying very hard to remain in control and angry I say, “And what the hell am I supposed to do with this?!?”  “That’s the key!” she spits back at me.  “This?  This stupid thing is the key?   Fine!  Good-bye! ” 

 

This is what I use to start my car/spaceship!

At this point it would have been totally understandable if one or both of us burst out laughing but we were already invested in our fight, so I stormed out and went to the car.  Once I got into the massive beige minivan, I checked to make sure Wife was not watching from the window because I was a little embarrassed by my behaviour and it took me a solid two minutes to figure out where and how to insert the “key” to start the car!  I then spent another minute looking for the gear shift and the lights and then actually jumped when I put the car in reverse and the screen on the dashboard lit up with a live action video of me reversing.  A rear camera is a bonus feature on cars these days but they are totally weird!  I felt like I was angrily running away from home in a spaceship!  Vans have really come a long way, baby! 

My week didn’t actually get much better after Tuesday evening’s Oscar worthy performance.  On Wednesday, instead of spending the 30 kid-free minutes I had before school pick-up being still or drinking tea or reading, I decided to make an emergency run to the closest barbershop that I could find.  And that, my friends, is how I ended up with Bobby Brown’s haircut circa 1987!  

My lovely son, who frequently plays the part of image consultant, made me feel better about my haircut.  When I asked him if it looked “manish”, he looked at me like I had temporarily misplaced reason (which I had) and said, “Mommy, there’s no such thing as boys’ haircuts and girls’ haircuts.”  Right.  Good point.  The take away from Wednesday?  Do not get an emergency haircut from an unknown barber and be grateful when your kids are way smarter than you! 

I had hoped that I would reign in the crazy for Thursday, but that was not meant to be.  I sobbed for the entire drive to the kids’ school in the morning (not safe) and was still crying as I tried to say good-bye to them in the office in front of the Late Slip Lady.  The principal called me into her office to calm me down and reminded me that punctuality isn’t everything.  I’ve decided not to tell the other frequently late parents that she was so understanding, as she regularly reads the riot act to all the latecomers. 

By Friday I was so emotionally exhausted that I spent most of the day sharing sugary treats with the kids in the name of Valentine’s Day.  While I am still in need of sleep and rest, I am adjusting to the change in hormones.  In closing, I would like to thank the friends and family that rode my special roller coaster last week.  You are the real heroes of the week of February 10^th!

XO Ajike