PheMOMena

Generally, I am off mom duty for about an hour and a half on Wednesday. Every Wednesday hubs packs a very excited ballerina into the car with a bag containing two different pairs of shoes- ballet and tap. I watch them pull out of the garage and *run* back to my (still) hot cup of coffee. As I slowly sip my magical concoction, I mentally prepare for the day, grateful to have some time away from my little sunshine. I drink my coffee while it is hot. I make lists for the next few days. I pick something to clean in the house. If I am feeling really fancy, I will throw together something for lunch, which would technically be my breakfast because I have a fucked up eating/sleeping/living situation. (Just so you know, I don’t generally feel really fancy... because I would rather soak up the silence than eat.) These are the things that happen on Wednesday. Every Wednesday EXCEPT today. Today, schedules collided, hubs had shit to do and mama had to take Little Miss K to dance class. I w

Baby K is transitioning from a babbling baby to a very talkative toddler. It has been in the works for a bit now. I mean, if you look at her parents, it is easy to see WHY Baby K would be a talker. Ok- if you look at ONE of her parents. It is me. I am the talkative parent. I have to admit that when kids learn to talk... that shit is hilarious. It is funny and cute and completely inappropriate to repeatedly ask your daughter to repeat herself when she says new words. I am totally guilty of having a 'bad mom' smirk on my face as my child adds to her vocabulary. I cannot help it. When she first ventured out into sing-a-longs with us, her favorite song was "The Wheels on the Bus." She knows what the wipers do, the windows, the wheels. Then we got to the door and y'all. Y'all. Did you know the doors on the bus go "open and shuck"? Because they do in this house. And I absolutely REFUSE to correct her. I know that she will learn the right way to say it.

Round these parts summertime is for doing kid things like going to every playground we see and the ultimate test of mama's sanity- swim class. Now, generally, extracurricular classes are dad's domain. He takes little Lady K to class and he stays with her. It serves as daddy/daughter time and mama also gets to stay home and finish a HOT cup of coffee and get herself together. It is wonderful. It worked through the Spring (dance class) and we had set the Summer up to follow suit. But summer is swim class... and swim class is not for the faint of heart. Two weeks ago, hubs visited a Goldfish swim school in a central Ohio suburb and signed up Little Lady K for class. He attended the first class with her and it was traumatizing for the toddler. Last week, after class, she asked me to come to class with her and dada.I checked on my portable coffee mug supply and once I saw that I had five mugs to choose from, I told her that I would come and watch her class. Y'all, why did I

Oh, sigh. I try to keep things on THIS blog fairly light, right? I mean, I tell you all about my daughter and the new stages we are going through (BTW, we are all still assigned rotating characters from random ass Nick Jr. shows, just in case you we wondering). But, I find that what we did as a family today, along with some news stories, will take the levity out of this post. What can I say? We will be back to shits and giggles in the next post. Today, Luke Perry died. If you didn't know, he grew up a short car ride (think 35 minutes or so) from our neighborhood. In the early 90s, when I was barely a teenager, he was like the end all be all on 90210. He was hot and his hair was perfect and I loved him. (Didn't love the show, but Dylan... I totally loved Dylan). Last week Luke had a massive stroke. He died today, while I was in a meeting, at the age of 52. A few reasons why this freaked me out: 1. Hubs is 51, 2. Luke seemed to be in great health (and I am sooooo not curren

Most days I am “mama,” hubs is “dada,” and our offspring is “Kensie”. Most days. Which is generally how we like it, since we pored over our baby name list and picked a name that had meaning to us and all that jazz, right!? Right.  Starting yesterday, Kensie decided that she was NOT going to be Kensington for the duration. She was on some ‘my name is whatever I say it is’ bullshit. Not only did she say what her new name was, but Mark and I got new names also. She changed up the game all over. Like, fuck my feelings forever— she didn’t care that I’ve had the same name for 41 years, that shit stopped yesterday! 😒😒 So yesterday, Baby K was Owlette from PJ Mask. I was Cat Boy (did NOT like) and hubs was Gekko. If we called her baby, Kensie or any other name besides Owlette she SWIFTLY sent the correction AND would not answer us until we used her proper name. Protests of “I Owlette!!” rang through our house, followed by this look that screamed “I thought y’all were smart, but cle