More Soap Please

It’s that time of year again! I’m not talking about the holidays, but about the time of year when I look at the cherubic rosy faces of your children with horror and suspicion. Is that button nose running because of the brisk wind outside? Or is it because that face is a festering mass of mucus just waiting to sneeze out onto my kid’s sandwich? Your daughter’s pigtails aren’t just an adorable means to keep her hair out of her snot, but are potentially harboring a blight of lice just waiting for my daughter to try on her hat.

That’s right. It’s the time of year when parents walk the fine line between trying to keep our kids healthy and trying not to turn them into crazy people. I see germs everywhere.

You see, your kids are gross. Don’t be offended; mine are gross too. Their hands have most certainly been in questionable places and they leave much to be desired when it comes to being generally civilized and not disgusting. And if post-bathroom handwashing statistics are to be believed, adults are gross too.

I can handle my kids’ gross. (Because I have to.) Your kids’ gross is another story.

My child’s runny nose? Not my favorite thing, but I’ve been known to have my coat pockets full of other people’s used tissues and I’ve lived to tell the tale. Your child’s runny nose? The worst! It is an ominous foreshadowing of the illness that will take down my family.

I’m always on the lookout to keep my family healthy. We aim for a mostly healthy diet, mostly healthy sleep habits, mostly healthy days containing some form of physical exercise. My kids have regular checkups and are vaccinated, including the annual flu vaccine.

I can’t control your children’s mucus; all I can do is try to keep it off my kids’ hands. To that end, we’re frequent hand washers. The kids are pretty good about it. They know it’s the first thing we do when we come home from anywhere. We wash off school germs after school, supermarket germs after the supermarket, outside germs after playing outside. We wash our hands before meals and definitely after using the bathroom.

I hope I’m staying just on this side of crazy, but I can’t guarantee that I am. So far it seems to be working. My kids are sick infrequently. I totally just cursed us all.

This is a sponsored post for Gigasavvy. The opinions in this article are my own. I do not work for, or with, any brand mentioned in this article, nor do I have any official relationship with them.  I have a relationship with GigaSavvy, for whom I create original editorial content.

Embarrassment

When I was a kid my parents embarrassed me, constantly and on purpose. I grew up believing that it was the parents’ right, nay job, to embarrass their offspring. So now that I’m a parent, it’s my job too, right? Well, it turns out I’m still learning that life isn’t fair, because I’m still the one being embarrassed. This time by my offspring – my evil genius Luke.

He’s embarrassed me in so many ways. Opening public bathroom doors when I’m, well, not ready. Talking about indelicate topics in front of other people (“My nipples are small, and so are daddy’s, but mommy’s are big!”) Or, my favorite, throwing an epic tantrum at age 3 because I would not buy him a training bra. That’s right. A training bra.

Here’s the scene: Target, tween girl section. A huge display of training bras in a myriad of attractive pastels. Think: a wall of Easter eggs. But soft and silky, lightly padded (wtf?) and smooth. Luke heaven. He wanted one. Bad.

He walked up to the display wall as if in a trance. Arms outstretched. He touched every bra he could reach. “They’re so soft and pretty. Can I have one, Mommy? Pleeeeaaaaaase??” I hear some snickering from somewhere behind me. “No, Luke, I’m sorry, you can’t have one of those. Those are training bras and they’re for big girls, not 3-year-old boys.”

Fast forward about 8 seconds. Luke is now on the floor screaming and kicking everything in sight. This was not your average tantrum; this one was turned up to eleven. Between the shrieks and sobs he shouted the following things:

“I want a training bra!”

“I am a big girl!”

“I don’t like you, Mommy!”

“Training bra!”

“Training braaaaaaaaa!”

I now have the attention of all Target shoppers. Most think it’s pretty hilarious, and really, I do too. I certainly would have enjoyed myself if this were someone else’s kid. But he was mine and I was expected to take him back home with me.

It’s OK though. I have a plan. I will win this one in the end. With just a little patience, I will have the last laugh. See, I’m storing this memory for future use. It’s a weapon. My embarrassment at the time will be nothing compared to his when I feel the time is right to retell this story. To a group of his friends? To his girlfriend? His future in-laws? All the guests at his wedding? Time will tell when it will come back out. It all depends on how well Luke treats me from here on out.

At last! I will have the last laugh! Revenge will be mine! Bwahahahahahahahahaha!

 

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When Photos Lie

A blustery and cold November Sunday stretches before us. My mental to-do list includes things like: stay in pajamas, drink tea, watch a movie, maybe clean up the playroom. My husband decides we need to go fly kites. I can’t muster enthusiasm for the idea, but it is happening, so I just keep my mouth shut and dress in layers.

We head out. The wind buffets our car on the drive to the playground. “We’re the only ones here!” the kids exclaim as we park. “Of course we are,” I can’t help but say.

As I take photos of my family, the disconnect between reality and the images is readily apparent. The images paint a picture of an ideal family outing, of happy children enjoying a windy day in maybe the most classically sweet way. Father Son Fly Kite

We look like a catalogue family.Family Outing Kite Flying

I see a potential Facebook spread, the kind my newsfeed is full of. And it’s tempting. If I upload them right away, my friends would know that while they’ve hunkered down in their houses, I have been out in the weather, with my intrepid family doing fun, active, wholesome stuff.

Paired with just the right status update – maybe “Perfect day to fly a kite!” – my photos would imply that I am winning, that I am the better mom, and that I have the better family. People would see my husband and children, faces flushed and smiling, while their own husband naps and their own children bicker or complain of boredom. Comparisons would be made, and my family would win.Girl Flying Kite

When we post our selective moments of familial happiness and togetherness we send a message: This is our life. We are happy, active, and spend time together as a family. We vacation and go to pumpkin patches; we have ice cream cones and visit the aquarium; we spend windy Autumn days flying kites.

Boy Flying Kite

No one’s life is just pumpkin patches and happy outings, but there’s no mention of the mediocrity- the exasperated expression we give our spouse when we’re stressed and tired and he forgot to do the one thing we asked of him, the countless children’s fights broken up, complaints whined, the orders shouted. We don’t post status updates about our kids’ failures or struggles, only trophies and achievements. We don’t post about the times we don’t get to the gym, don’t prepare a Pinterest-worthy dinner, don’t feel up for a family outing.

We fail to mention that we snapped at the kids in the pumpkin patch because all we wanted was one good picture and that shouldn’t be too much to ask for; that we spent most of the time at the aquarium in a desperate search for a bathroom, first for one kid and then the other because she didn’t think she had to go when we were just in there; or that shortly before we went out for ice cream cones our kids asked if we are getting divorced because they overheard us arguing.

I’m not suggesting that we all must either stop posting happy photos or start posting about some of our lesser moments. Of course we want to share the cute apple picking shots and our trip to Disney. But, as we rely more and more on platforms like Facebook to maintain our friendships, and less and less on phone calls and actual get-togethers, we are only seeing a narrow view of our friends’ lives. Without ever seeing the full picture, soon we wonder: everyone else is so happy all the time, why aren’t I? What am I doing wrong?

Posting my photos to Facebook with a caption like “Perfect day to fly a kite!” would be lying. Not only was it definitely not a perfect day to fly a kite, but the pictures do not capture anything like the real story.

The truth: It was too windy for the kids’ crappy kites. In fact, 3 kites broke. The kids were easily frustrated and too cold for patience. Since I never wanted to go in the first place, I just hung back with my camera (and bad attitude) and let my husband deal with all the kite/kid problems. With the exception of about 5 minutes of one kite’s success, kite flying was a complete bust.Monkey Bars Playground ClimbingSo we moved onto the playground. In this photo, it looks like Sally is happily climbing, but she was already starting to cry and I had to “rescue” her off of the climbing structure moments after taking it. As I selfishly trained my camera on her, determined to capture a moment that simply didn’t exist, she began shrieking that her hands hurt, and refused to move from that spot.

The constant, whipping wind made my ears ache so I hid in the relative shelter behind a climbing wall, completely checked out from my family outing, until I eventually decided to sit in the warm car instead. My husband and the kids did have some genuine fun as he ran around chasing them for a while. When it was time to go Luke threw a fit and told us that he hates us. Perfect ending.

Oh well, we at least tried, right? Certain that we had killed a large portion of the freezing, miserable day, we weren’t at all happy to see that it was only 10:45 AM as we drove home from the park. So.much.more.day.ahead.of.us.

I did post my pictures to Facebook, but not with the implied message of superiority. I described the actual outing. And I’m posting it here. Just doing my part to let you know that it’s not all sunshine and rainbows or beaches and birthdays in anyone’s household. And if you ever get that nagging feeling that it is, and that you’re somehow missing out, call your friend instead of checking in online. Over the phone you’ll hear her tired voice, her toddler screaming, and her story about how her husband is on yet another business trip leaving her to deal with the homefront alone.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but no one said anything about those words being true.



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