Dear Netflix

First off… on behalf of mothers everywhere – thank you for giving us at least one episode’s worth of extra sleep. We sincerely appreciate your ability to retain the toddler’s attention on our phones while we get just a sweet 21 more minutes before the day really begins.

But… we need to talk.

I think you’ve heard us by now… and you have ignored it for long enough. Stop judging us, Netflix. Stop asking if we’re still watching after 3 episodes automatically play. The kid freaks out when that screen pops up and we have to stop the cleaning/folding/sanity composing/coffee reheating/wine guzzling to push “continue watching”. Also… of course I’m still binge watching my garbage TV show with cuss words after bedtime. I’m only on my third glass of wine. I’m not a quitter!

Besides all of this, Netflix, why on earth do you have random nonkid’s shows on my kid’s profile? Seriously. My daughters share a “kids” profile. At first I selected the option “little kids only” and that caused literal riots in my home as that option does not contain Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell, Netflix… my six year old daughter needs Tinkerbell. Come on. So I upgraded her account to “for older kids and below” and wow, Netflix. Chill. Once Upon a Time is hardly kid appropriate. As is Hater’s Back Off and Star Trek Voyager just to name a few that are way above her level. What gives? I’ve gone to the website and tried to figure out how to change this but to no avail. The only “Parental Controls” you have is for me to add a pin for their profile… my two year old also needs to be able to work Netflix on her own, guys. I mean that’s literally why I own you. For the two-year-old. We all know toddlers run this place, anyway.

With all of these frustrations, it’s important for you to know that no matter what happens, I’ll always have and appreciate you. You could literally jump your prices through the roof and I’ll still be loyal. Like I said, the toddler runs this place and she needs her Netflix… sooooo it looks like we’re in this together. Just hoping you could get more on my mommy level and stop catering to the millennials who really are just using you to Netflix and Chill… I promise you, more moms are using you than you will ever know.

I’ll leave you to fix this. I trust you will. But I mean either way you’re still getting my money so this isn’t a threat or anything… just a tired mom.

Love always,

the world’s okayest mom.

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Life Lessons in Social Etiquette (…for boys)

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(All antics have been honey badger tested)

Life Lessons in Social Etiquette 1-10

1. Laying across the entrance to the school will not stop school.
2. Biting your classmates’ hand when they try to help you at the computer because your hands are busy “typing” is wrong on all fronts.
3. Leaving your superhero underpants on the floor of the little boys’ room is not sharing.
4. Believing your classmates are “Stormtroopers” and you’re the only “good guy” is not fair.
5. “Pew-pewing” the “Stormtroopers” won’t make you any friends.
6. Throwing chairs when asked to do your writing work is not a bargaining tactic.
7. Stuffing your cheeks with wadded up balls of pink construction paper does not make you “Murl the Squirrel.”
8. Your game “Dangerous Windmill” which entails spinning in circles with your arms wide out and hitting classmates is not a team sport.
9. Your mouth is not a rock tumbler.
10. “Saving the World” by moving all the earthworms onto the grass is a pretty cool thing.

Stay tuned for lessons 11-20 next month!

 

This month’s life lessons are brought to you by our fellow Okay mom Jennifer Holston

Why Okay Mom’s Don’t Volunteer…

Monday is unique in the world of moms. It’s the day little zombies are pulled out of their beds after two days of a low demand schedules and whine their way through the morning routine; add in a school field trip and it results in deaf, screaming creatures with amnesia running in circles. They have little ability to function, but somehow mom pulls things together enough so that everyone is semi-groomed, dressed, and crammed into a car on their merry-ish way to school. I forgot to mention, in a moment of insanity, I volunteered to be a parent driver for said field trip.

The morning was further complicated by a rebellious stomach, starring a gaseous repeat of last nights chicken dinner and it was too late to find a replacement. 9:15amwas the hour of departure. Kids were due at a theater tour at 10am. I had one hour to prepare after the initial creature drop. Gas filled,  GPS programmed, grocery store trip for a variety pack of cereals (frosted mini-wheats were the only thing I could tolerate), child-friendly movie, garbage and clothing collected and ejected. I even removed the goo that lined the bottom of the rear cup holder! We were totally prepared for a smooth drive.

At 9:15 I lead a line of four vibrating 7-year-olds to the car while toting two booster seats, water bottles, and simultaneously unlocking and opening the doors. I felt like a sour-stomached super hero. They funneled in.

The normal whining that inflicts my daughter every Monday morning continued, except at a volume several decibels higher than normal. Having to use her brother’s 5-point harness booster ruined her day. I wrestled with seatbelts while the creatures hooted, hollered, and bounced. Even with each one safely buckled in, they still managed to make the van sway. I slid into my seat, flipped down the tv screen and started “Robin Hood” in one swoop. Cheers ensued as they rooted about their snack bags. The rocking motion of the van stopped, and I put the car in reverse.

“Wait! I brought the wrong bag. This is my lunch.” exclaimed one creature.

I put the car back in park, the glowing 9:35am caught my eye as I looked back. The theater was a 30-minute ride. “Isn’t there something in your lunch bag you could eat as snack?”

“Nope,” he said self-assuredly.

I remembered the boxes of cereal in the back of the car and ran to grab them. I held them up like a victory beacon for all the creatures to see. “What would you like?”

“Ummm…,” he contemplates.

A couple minutes go by and the whistling number starts on “Robin Hood.” I start making cereal suggestions. He finally settles on Rice Crispies.

I put the car in reverse.

“My snack is old,” piped another creature.

I put the car in park and held up the cereal. “Anyone else want a box?”

Prospects of sugared cereal caused a frenzy amongst the creatures. Songs were sung, gleeful shrieks rattled the windows, and once again the car shook.  One of them escaped the seatbelt to examine the cereal choices and the others followed.

After a bit, the creatures settled, were reseated, and buckled up. A murmur settled over the car, with only an occasional spastic shout. I looked back to see feet swinging in tune with the movie and looks of contentment.

I put the car in reverse.

The sound of pressurized plastic forcefully torn open, followed by a shower of crispy rice hitting the seats and windows made me freeze.

I heard “OH SNAP!” from the back seat and then complete silence.

I put the car in park and slowly turned around.

Everything, including the creatures, were covered in a fine sheet of Rice Crispies. They were even heaped along the window like winter snow. One creature stared in horror at the empty Rice Krispies box in his lap. The rest were like statues. I brushed the crispies off my shoulder and laughed.

One of the creatures shouted “It snowed in Texas today!” and they all laughed. After we cleaned up a bit, I put the car in reverse and had all the kids roll down their windows to hear the “Snap, Crackle, Pop” of our 10am departure.

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Today’s post was brought to you by fellow World’s Okayest Mom::

Jennifer Holston at dirtybadgerpaws.com  

Avid gardener, mommy of two, cook, crafter, writer, wife, nurse and improv tradeswoman aimlessly roaming the ranges of Texas.

7-year Reset

rings“Seven-year itch” what does that even mean?

“The sevenyear itch is a psychological term that suggests that happiness in a relationship declines after around year seven of a marriage. The phrase originated as a name for irritating and contagious skin complaints of a long duration.” – literally what I got when I googled it. 

Getting married when I did came off as crazy since we were so young. But he was my soulmate. My one and only since I was 12 years old. We had several years in between where I had a few boyfriends and lots of mistakes but this boy waited for me. Me. Like I was someone special. We have the fairy tale story. Anyone who knows us will attest to that. We are soulmates. In the truest sense of the word. Does that mean this is easy? Fuck no. Not even a little bit. Does that mean it’s more worth it. Fuck yes. All the way.

Our eighth anniversary is next month.

To say this has been the hardest year is like putting butterflies and rainbows all over a Lifetime movie. There were a few times this year where my soulmate and I looked each other in the eyes and didn’t know where to go next. Leave? Stay? Walk out the door? Fight? Snuggle the shit out of each other? I’ll let you take a wild guess what we did.

Neither of us had any affairs, neither of us “wandered” or committed any unforgivable offense. It was just hard. So fucking hard.

There have been more “I’m sorry”‘s out of my mouth this year than ever in my entire life.

What now? Do I keep apologizing? Do I keep fighting?

Y E S.

We hit this moment in the fight where I realize we are having the same fight we have had for seven years and I want to bail. My mind is telling me this is all bullshit and he will never listen to me. My heart tells me something different. I have finally begun listening to my heart. It tells me that no matter what, I will take it. If he wants to fight then lets fight! Tell me how I hurt you. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me all the mistakes I have made in the past seven years. I will lay down and welcome it. He could be wrong. He could be so wrong that every single person in my life will tell me to leave him. But I love him. I love this man with every fiber of my being and that means that I will hurt for him. I will sacrifice for him. I will cry for him. I will die for him. After I finally figured this out, it hasn’t been streets of gold but it’s been so much easier. Easy for me to fight. Easy for me to chose him every day I wake up tired from the kids staying up late the night before. Easy for me to listen to him venting and hurting just so I can tell him I understand and he’s not alone. I love this man so much that I will hurt for him. No matter the cost. He will not take advantage of me. He will only ever protect me and love me unconditionally for the rest of his life. This man fights for me every day even when I don’t see it. That doesn’t stop him, though. He keeps fighting until his eyes are swollen and his knuckles are bleeding. Because I am his soulmate. I am his one and only. The girl he waited for. The girl he has been in love with since he was twelve years old. That’s the kind of man I married.

Seven year itch has turned into the seven year reset.

Tomorrow my husband is going to take me on another first date. Coffee. No talk of kids or bills. Just us, getting to know each other. Like it’s the first time. A reset. A new beginning. I want to get to know the man I am married to. We were married so young, the man I married eight years ago is not the man I am married to today – this is not a bad thing, just a new thing.

So, here’s to our first date. I can’t wait to meet the man I married.
***edited to say that our second first date was definitely better than real first date. I am hopeful and excited for our future as a couple. I never doubted we could get through anything. 

After the kids go to bed

That moment of silence after the war.

My shirt is wet from giving them a bath. My knees and back are killing me for bending over the tub. The kitchen is a mess after cooking them a dinner instead of giving into the urge of take-out. I’m tired. I need to wind down via an entire bottle/box of wine.

This is the time of their life when they constantly need me. To tie shoes, to braid hair, to spread peanut butter on bread, to reach the plastic cups in the cabinet… it’s exhausting.

People are always telling me that I’ll miss this stage. I’m sure they’re right. I can totally see myself sitting on my couch realizing it’s been silent all day and miss the screams… a little. But at the same time, I can’t wait.

We shouldn’t feel guilty for looking forward to the not-so-distant future. Where our kids can make their own meals, run to the grocery store for some milk, not need any more rides or even help with homework… we get to watch them learn how to do all of these things. It will go fast, we will miss moments because we are consumed by schedules. But we will still be on the front row of it all. That’s pretty amazing.

Some day it will be silent, like after bedtime silence only longer and without wet clothes. Some day we will be able to just let them go and hope that we equipped them enough to handle the outside world. Until that day, enjoy that glass/box of wine and try to enjoy the after bedtime silence.

Happy Mother’s Day, queens

To the tired ones, the stretched ones, the broke ones, the ones who have little ones in heaven, the ones who do it completely alone, the ones who do it with the village they have been given. For the times the calendar was too full to catch a breath, the times the milk is spilled on a freshly cleaned carpet, the times you have to google the answer to the homework. The late nights, the early mornings, the bills, the baths, the boo-boo’s, the graduation ceremonies for literally every grade they pass… We are mothers. We are nurses. We are maids. We are taxi drivers. We are warriors. 

I hope that no matter where you are in your journey of motherhood that you know you are deeply loved. You are appreciated. You are needed. 

I hope you get a moment of peace and rest today, even if it’s just one moment, don’t let it pass by unnoticed. 

Happy Mother’s Day, momma. You are the champion of all champions 💪🏼

I don’t want to write

I have this thing telling me what to write.

All the time. All day every day. Constantly looking around for material. Things that are funny, things that are obvious but no one talks about, things I wish people saw through my eyes, things I want to tell the world…

This thing tells me to go home and write every single day. It tells me to whip out my iPhone and jot down a note while I’m driving or sleeping – really inconvenient times.

This thing yells at me every single day and yet I can’t manage to do it. There are so many things it tells me to write about, that at the end of the day when I finally sit in front of my laptop… I have no idea where to start. I get discouraged, I close the laptop, and watch a mind numbing show on Netflix ’till the husband gets home from his late night at the office.

With this thing constantly telling me to write and what to write about, I feel inadequate. Everyday I struggle with this fear that I’m not going to be able to put it down into the correct words. Or I put it down in the perfect words but I shared it at an odd time and no one reads it.

Fear. It’s both necessary and torturous. Without fear, we wouldn’t know our physical limits. We would make terrible decisions at every turn. Fear keeps us grounded and focused when we need to. So maybe getting rid of fear isn’t the answer. Maybe we just need to learn how to work with our fear. Maybe tell our fears to take a back seat every once in a while and tell it that it cannot make any decisions for you today.

So here I am. Telling my fear to shut up for a minute and writing. Maybe I’m writing about nothing. Maybe I’m just venting… but it’s something.

I have been on this incredible journey for a couple of months. Healing from past hurts, my abuse as a child, and forgiving those who maybe won’t ever understand why I did. It has been an incredible adventure and filled with much heartbreak, tears, and deliverance. I am reaching out to those who hurt me and asking them why. It is hard and filled with fear. But I am done with fear controlling my life. I’m done not being the driver. Yes, my past is a hot mess of terrible events, and yea… my therapists always ask me how I’m not either dead or on meth in a ditch somewhere. But it’s my past. It’s my story. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a strong woman and I can and will write my own story. No longer letting fear run the show.

Maybe some of you need to take that control back.

I can’t wait to write it all down for you guys. I can’t wait to share my story with the world.

Until then, here is a blog written for my 1,300 followers who are mostly old friends and relatives, about nothing.

Thanks for sticking with me this year.

I fully believe with everything in me that 2017 will be a huge year for me and my story.

This best is yet to come. the_best_is_yet_to_come-280254