I just read an article claiming to teach you techniques on how to deal with your children without yelling. I started it with an open mind, but as I read each step the sarcasm was screaming to come out. Maybe some mothers can and will benefit from these techniques, but I am not that mother.

Step #1: Breathe… They say that before your blood starts to boil, you should stop and breathe. I breathe all damn day, if it worked so well, why is my blood boiling in the first place? I’ve tried taking deep breaths, letting it out slowly, all it does is give me the look of The Hulk just before I lose it. As a matter of fact, I like this technique; adds to the intimidation factor.

Step #2: Speak softly… The idea is that children have to work harder to hear you, and will therefore calm down in order to hear what you are saying. Clearly the author has not met my children. Actually, I find that lowering my voice is an effective way to warn them that I’m about to snap. If that doesn’t work, see Step #1, for The Hulk.

Step #3: Help your child explain their feelings… When Johnny pushes Sally because Sally knocked over his tower, you say “I know you’re angry, but it’s not OK to push.” What does this have to do with stopping me from yelling so much? OK, I get it, if I’m busy coddling Johnny, I won’t notice that Sally is rolling her eyes behind my back, laughing at this week’s BS parenting technique. I get it.

Step #4: Have clear rules and stick to it… No more “I mean it this time!” while you shake your fist and remember your breathing technique. They say the kids will eventually call your bluff, and ignore the threat. I agree with this one. My kids are smart and see right through my whole “I swear on all that is holy and good; you will sit in that room for the rest of your ever loving life!” routine. Oh well, it makes me feel good just saying it.

Step #5: A strong bond makes discipline easier… So apparently if you have a strong relationship with your child, and spend enough time together, subsequent discipline will be easier. This does not address the issue of having to scream and holler in order to get one freaking minute alone so that you can piss in peace. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong.  

Step #6: Put yourself in their shoes…

Step #7: Praise good behavior…

blah blah blah… I’m bored with this.

I’m loud, I’m animated, I’m a screamer, and my kids are the same. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Why did I even bother reading that in the first place? Thanks for wasting my time Parenting Magazine. The next time someone writes an article about “Potty Training your Pre-Teen”, “Back-Handing the Back-Talker” or anything else relevant, please email me. Thanks.

I don’t know where to begin, so I guess I’ll start with the bottom line; my son hates me.

I took Silas to the movies yesterday. Much of what went on during that hour and forty three minutes is already a blur, as I tend to block traumatic experiences. I know most people wouldn’t think of bringing a 2 year old to a movie theater. Let’s face it; toddlers have the attention span of a gnat, mood swings of a menopausal woman, and lungs like a fog horn. I saw the dirty looks we got as we walked down the aisle. I didn’t care. I know my kid. He is evil, but he’s mine, and I can keep him under wraps for a couple of hours.

I can honestly tell you that he didn’t disturb a single person in that theater. He kept his volume low. He didn’t whine, cry or fuss. He didn’t squirm around or run up and down the aisles. Since I’m being honest, I’ll also tell you what he did do. He took off his sandals and threw them in opposite directions, and while I was down on the floor trying to find them, I also found my phone, which I didn’t even know was missing. He opened my soda, and proceeded to wash his hands, face and neck with Diet Coke. He took a piece of candy he’d found on the floor, and put it into my mouth. It was chocolate. We had Skittles. I spent the last 25 minutes of the movie singing “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” until he went to sleep right as the credits began to roll. On the way out someone was kind enough to tell me I had Skittles stuck to my butt.

Like I said; my son hates me.

We went to the mall last night and of course stopped to see Santa. There was a family ahead of us with newborn triplets! They were the smallest babies ever! The girl looked to be about 6lbs and the boys were much smaller than her. They were all dressed up in Christmas clothes, looking like porcelain dolls. As I watched the Mom (and the useless/helpless/confused Dad) I got butterflies in my stomach. I remember those days so vividly, that watching them made me feel more anxious than nostalgic. Each baby took its turn crying, as their mother bundled and packed them in the car seats. She was like a robot, going from baby to baby taking care of each one before moving on to the next. The Dad stood there looking flustered; holding a diaper bag, Mom’s purse, a blanket over each shoulder, a pacifier and his wallet. I recognized “The Look” in the mother’s eyes. She was in the zone… her happy place, if you will. It’s the only way to survive those first days/weeks/months of new multiples; when time stands still, yet races by at the same time. She wasn’t frantic or hurried. She just kept doing what she was doing, without looking up, and without distraction. 

When she was done, she glanced at me and then the girls and asked if they were twins. I said yes, and she replied “So you know how this is.”, gesturing to the caravan of strollers; hers and mine. I gave her a sympathetic giggle and nodded, then told her that it won’t always be this tough. She smiled and walked away, looking slightly comforted. I didn’t have the heart that to tell her that it would get worse before it gets better, then it would be great; but then it would get so hard that she’d long for the days of back-to-back feedings, sleepless nights and endless diapers. She’ll learn that on her own.

To my mother, sister and I, Thanksgiving is The Holiday. We start planning months in advance. We write out a guest list, menu, shopping list, job assignments, and table decor. We call, text, and email ideas, suggestions and other plans. We even have sit down meetings to go over our notes. Yeah, it sounds a bit obsessive but its what we do. We love doing things big, and everything about Thanksgiving is just that; big food, big family, big laughs and big love.

This year things started off as they always do… except for all of the disasters along the way.

Disaster #1: After a couple of weeks of planning a big surprise for my mother, I let it slip the day before that one of her favorite cousins was flying in from North Carolina. I felt like an idiot, but we were able to trick her again when his flight was delayed. We told her it was canceled and that he wasn’t going to make it.

Disaster #2: My mother and a different cousin stayed up all night drinking the night before and failed to notice that the oven wasn’t on when they put the turkey in at 4am. Thankfully my sister noticed at 7am, and got it started.

Disaster #3: Someone, actually several someones spilled that Cousin Ricky was still coming. Several people confessed to letting it slip. By the time he arrived, only ONE person out of 25 was surprised.

Disaster #4: My mother turns off the oven. Why? No one knows for sure. The turkey was still in there. She doesn’t know what she did, but we all saw her pressing buttons. By the time we noticed it was off, it was too late for it to get done in time. No problem. We had a back up turkey ready to go (and I bet you thought all that planning was pointless!!) and brought it out back to fry. We move on, putting the mac and cheese and roast beef in the oven.

Disaster #5: The oven stopped working all together! So, we gathered up the roast beef, yams, and the rest of the stuff that needed to go into the oven, and haul it across town to my house. Set the dial, pop it all in, and head back to my mother’s house.

Disaster #6: That didn’t work either. Apparently you cant shove 6 aluminum pans in an oven set at 350 and expect stuff to cook in an hour and fifteen minutes. Who’d a thunk it! So we returned with semi raw food. Thankfully by then they had the other oven working.

By the time we had everything cooked and warmed and ready to serve, it was 6pm. It may as well as been midnight! We normally eat very early, then continue to graze the rest of the day. On a normal Thanksgiving, I would have eaten three times, and taken a nap by 6 o’clock!!

They say good things come to those who wait, and that anything worth having is worth fighting for, and we sure as Hell were not going down without a fight! Despite all of the drama, we laughed and played the blame game and made wonderful memories for years to come. The food was amazing, and the company even better. We had a fantastic day, full of belly laughs and lots of love. It was exactly what the holidays are all about.

Did you know that the average adult gets 6.9 hours of sleep each night? Did you know that I get about 3?

Did you know that sleep deprivation costs Americans about $100 Million annually in lost productivity, etc? Did you know that it costs me about $870 annually, in coffee alone?

Did you know that 7 out of 10 people express having sleep issues, although they have never been diagnosed? Did you know that I have been diagnosed?

My official diagnosis is Motherhood, and the prognosis is terrible. I am not expected to get more than a few hours of sleep each night for the next several years. As with every life altering realization, I have gone through the 5 Stages of Grief.

Step 1, Denial: This can not be happening to me. They can NOT be awake again!! It’s 2am and I haven’t even closed my eyes. This is not the life I ordered.

Step 2, Anger: WHY?!?!? Seriously, why? Why won’t they sleep? What have I done to deserve this??

Step 3, Bargaining: If you stay in your bed, I will give you anything you want, seriously, ANYTHING!! OK, well, if I let you get in my bed, then will you let me sleep?

Step 4, Depression: It’s hopeless. I quit. If the kids don’t sleep, I don’t sleep. If one child wakes up, they all wake up. That’s just the way it is.

Step 5, Acceptance: This is my life. I’m used to it really. I can function on the little sleep I get. Really, I can. If waking up 47 times every night, is the worst thing that I have to deal with, then that is OK by me. I have 3 healthy, happy, intelligent, young children. They are a gift. Even if the little buggers never, ever, EVER close their eyes…. ever.

So there you have it. I stand before you today, having accepted my lot in life, and declare that from this day forth, I shall not complain of how exhausted I am. I will embrace my destiny of sleepless nights, and chaotic days. I will hold my head high, and stay strong, because I will.not.be.defeated!