Well, ain't that a B*#ch

Life changes fast. Really fast sometimes... Divorced, single mom now. I'll spare you the dirty details but per the advice of my legal counsel I took a hiatus from this blog until the divorce was final.  Probably wise.  I was not in the most positive of mindsets to be blogging about my life as it was... Let's just say I have enough wine corks to complete every cork craft on pinterest. Truth.

We've certainly had our ups and downs in the past couple years. But nothing we couldn't handle. I *think* we came out of this stronger than ever.  I feel like that is so cliché... but it's true. We weathered the storm.

Now that we seem to be well adjusted to our new lifestyle, it's not really terribly different.  I still wipe the nose, kiss the boo boos and give out hugs. I still do all the household chores, walk the dogs and pay all the bills, except with zero help now. Well, that's not true. Eli will feed the cats and dogs "when he remembers" and throws his dirty clothes down the stairs. 

It's not an easy road, this single mother thing. I have come to realize in the past couple years what it really means to hold a child together and hold yourself together FOR your child. Especially when things in your marriage go south out of nowhere. 
It hasn't been all bad though;  I've learned a lot about myself and how to be a better mom to Eli.  I've also learned that change can be good and that I am 100% ok with the fact that our laundry will probably never be put away after it's folded.  It will sit on the couch until the Zombie apocalypse. And I don't care.  Bigger fish to fry. Bigger fish.

So, there you have it. My "intro" into Single Mommy blog-dom.   I'll try to keep it up to date from here on out... *wishful thinking*.

Definition: Super Mom

What is the definition of Super Mom?  It seems to me that most, if not all, mothers feel that they are in some way a "Super Mom".  I know I sure do.  I mean, look at EVERYTHING I do.  In true Super Mom fashion, I have taken the liberty to compile a short list for you...

- work a full time job (that i LOVE and couldn't give up if I tried)
- keep my house clean and presentable (how clean is questionable at times, but I do the best I can)
- schedule all family appointments (from Doctor to Dentist to car maintenance to Veterinary)
- schedule leisure time with family and friends
- find sitters when necessary
- plan transportation (which is ME) to and from daycare and the previously mentioned appointments
- do most of the cooking/lunch packing/snack making  
- do all the household shopping (grocery and otherwise)
- pay the bills (yours, mine and ours)
- all household laundry
- Stockpiling crafts, recipes and household ideas on Pinterest (just to be prepared for anything)
- Facebooking with my elite mommy group (DCHSMAP2001) to ensure that I am, in fact, a good mother/wife
- keep our 2 dogs healthy and happy
- spend quality time alone with my husband (as rare as it is, it does still happen)
- run around to make sure Eli and I are at most of my husband's sporting events
- And, most importantly, making sure Eli is a well loved, healthy and happy little boy with manners, discipline and a solid foundation.

Don't you think this list qualifies me as a Super Mom?  Yes? No? What does? Who decides?

There are so many reasons that one may consider themselves to be "Super"... But when you look at the huge variety of parenting techniques and beliefs that are so prominently debated these days, how on God's green earth can I confirm my Super Mom status???  Of course I think I have earned it.  But what about the Judge and Jury?

Some people would contend that I am not a Super Mom because I work.  Because I have the audacity to let someone else "raise" my child. 

There are also some people out there who condemn Stay at home mothers. Because they could be contributing to their families financial freedom and their child's social well being by going to work and leaving them with a daycare provider.

But what makes "some people" the the deciders?  Who are they anyway?  And why the hell do I care what "they" think?

I didn't make my baby food from scratch. So what? I let my child reasonably "cry it out".   Your point is?   I let my son drink juice and eat candy.  <GASP>  Honestly now?   Yes, I let my son dress himself and don't care if he's matching or looking "perfect".  Really, who cares?  Does that make me less of a parent?  I am so sick of watching mothers being judged by other mothers.  By a group of women who should be able to stand by each other and help each other.  I think that we are all doing the best we can and doing what we feel is right for OUR families... and I can say truthfully, that I stand behind the choices I have made as a mother, whether "some people" agree or not.  So... did you bottle or breastfeed?  I don't care, as long as your baby is well fed and at a healthy weight.  Did you co sleep?  As long as your co sleeping was done safely, I don't care!  You didn't use cry it out and decided to stay up for 48 hours with your crabby baby in your arms instead of putting him down and letting him figure things out on his own?  I don't care, as long as you all got some sleep eventually and you feel good about your decision.  And, I don't think that our differing parenting opinions make either of us less of a mother.  Can't we all just get along ladies??

Can we all just put aside our differences and come to an agreement on what it takes to be called a Super Mom... Because I think I learned it this morning...

At some point during our hurried morning schedule my 3.5 year old walks into the bathroom.  I'm trying to get ready for work and he wants to tell me the life's story of a #2 pencil.... Mentally I'm thinking: Crap, we're going to be late again... But I say:  sure honey!  Wow!  I didn't know that!  He looks so proud to be telling me all this "information" about this amazing #2 pencil.  He's smiling.  He's relaxed. He's using his imagination.  And he's proud of himself.  I couldn't be happier!  So I go about my routine, and he's sitting happily in the living room drawing with his pencil, that I just learned <wink><wink> was sharp and used for writing things and if it breaks you just make it sharp again.  Who knew??!!??

Next thing I know, Eli runs back to me, latches his arms around my leg and shouts: "I love you mom!! You're MY Super Mommy!!"  And runs right back out... leaving me practically in tears. 

At that moment it became clear to me. To him, almost none of the things on MY Super Mom list matter.  He honestly couldn't care less if I take care of the bills, or fold the towels, or that I schedule his doctor appointments.  He has no idea that there are mothers attacking other mothers because they choose one way of parenting over another.  To him, the only thing matters is that I am "present".  That I am always willing to pay attention to him, to give him a hug, to read stories and to kiss the scrapes on his knees when he takes a tumble...    My son is the sole evaluator of my parenting and he will be the one to make the definition of his Super Mom... in his innocence he can't see the chores of daily adult life.  That isn't what matters to him.  He just sees love.  Love. Love. Love.

And THAT, my friends, is what defines a Super Mom. 

Mud Season

Spring is such a magical time in Vermont.  My son is in awe of the rapid and refreshing transformations that are happening in his little world.   The snow is melting, trees are budding, the birds are chirping, and the sun is finally shining.  All are hugely anticipated changes.  By March 1st people have completely lost it and there is a full-blown pandemic running rampant across our Green Mountains.  It leaves grouchy, bored, ghostly pale, pinterest addicted, Vitamin D deficient Vermonters in its wake... It is commonly known as "Cabin Fever".  By the time daylight savings hits, it's all or nothing.  We need to get out for some fresh air and sunshine.  Which I try to embrace wholeheartedly.  There is one part of the season, however, that I still can't seem to love... or even like for that matter... the mud.

The children of Vermont are raised in the great outdoors.  The first day it's above 50 degrees outside, the neighborhoods are filled with yelling kids, basketballs bouncing, bicycles whizzing by, and splash-splash-splashing.  It's a rite of passage when one is raised in Vermont; stomping in the mud I mean.  One I was lucky enough NOT to experience during my childhood in Ohio.  Did I mention that I hate mud?  I don't want it on my shoes, not on my pants, not in my hair and certainly not on my child.  Unless it comes from the Stoweflake Spa, keep it away from me please. 

Way back when I "should" have been jumping in mud puddles, I was busy being raised in a country club.  The land where mud = dirty khakis and dirty khakis are a punishable offense.  Being the "dirty kid" is just not acceptable, unless of course you've just come in from playing 18.  In which case you would head in to your locker and change immediately after logging your scores.  This is where my lifelong battle to avoid mud puddles at all costs begins.

And now I find myself at a crossroads... my 3 year old LOVES playing in mud... He would like nothing more than for me to sit him down next to a dirt pile, give him a hose and walk away.  Eww!!  Just the thought of it gives me chills.  And he knows it.  That little brat will chase me around when he is at his dirtiest and try to plaster me with it just to get a laugh!!!  Like the other day.  When I pick him up from daycare he runs to me, smiling ear to ear and COVERED in mud! "Mommmyyy!!! I've been playing outside" he shouts as he runs in my direction.  With one look into his eyes, I realize his devious plan and find myself with no escape.  Quick as lightning he leaps into my arms and his mud soaked clothes smack against me.  My mind is in a panic... ah crap. Now I'm covered too... and we have to get in the car like this!?! 

To my great dismay, it seems that springtime in Vermont means puddle time.  Seriously, what did I expect from a state where there may possibly be more dirt roads than paved?  And more cows than people?  I guess I am just going to have to get used to it... the mud that is, not the cows.  Ironically enough, I'm fine with cows.  I am, however, still having a hard time wrapping my mind around the filthy subject of mud.  What it is about this mucky stuff that makes kids go gaga anyway?  I really have given it some serious thought... How is it fun? Is it the texture? The color? The mess? The Smell?  Eww. No. forget that. Can't be the smell... Please don't be the smell.  Honestly I just can't seem to come up with an answer.

So as I sit here staring Mud Season in the eye, I can't help but wonder who will emerge victorious.  The dirt or the supermom?  With an unruly toddler on my hands, I am beginning to think that this one might just be too close to call...

Rush Hour

Ah, the morning rush hour.  Every day I feel a great sense of accomplishment simply by making it to work on time. And, not to my surprise, it seems that all mothers tend to be elated when they make it anywhere on time.  Sure, I set my alarm 2.5 hours before I have to be to work, but there is always something that seems to pop up.  Let alone the inevitable chore of getting myself and my unpredictable 3 year old ready to get out the door... on time.

No matter how much time, or effort, or planning, or routine is involved, there is always the great unknown lurking over my shoulder.  Threatening to pounce on me at any given moment.

Take this morning for example... alarm sounds, 6:34. SNOOZE... 6:43, damn alarm again... SNOOZE... 6:52, ok! Ok!  Probably time to get my ass in gear.

While tip-toeing out into the hallway as to not wake up my "not a morning person" son, I hear a whimper. <Insert deer in headlights face>  Shit, I'm busted. I freeze in my tracks and listen... "Mmmooooommmmmm?" There we go;  peaceful shower and easy morning just went out the window. At least I set the timer on the coffee pot last night.

So I scoop up my grouchy toddler and proceed down the stairs, deposit him on the couch, and try to make it to that coffee... Now we're only a couple minutes behind schedule when the whirlwind actually begins... As I let the dogs outside, I hear Eli screaming from the living room.  So I scurry, as fast as a still half asleep parent can, into the living room to find him standing on the couch holding his man parts and wailing that he : "Needs to gooo ppooottttyyyyyy!!!!"  Alright, alright, calm down.  We can do this!  Then we brush our teeth, I locate clothes for both of us to wear and wonder: where are the dogs??  Oh crap, they're still outside. And I realize I have yet to put my hands on this elusive cup of coffee.

On my way to the back door I spy, out of the corner of my eye, the empty food and water bowls.  I fill the dog bowls and set my sights on that coffee pot... I swear it appears to be glowing as if sent from heaven, drawing me in... scratch, scratch, scratching on the door inturrupts me mid stride. Oh, right! I came in here to let the dogs in!!  In they come, right to the freshly filled bowls they go and off to the shower I scamper.  It's now 7:32 and we are increasingly behind schedule.

Proceed to the fastest shower, hair drying, straightening, dressing and makeup application humanly possible.  Then in a flash, this supermom has reached the living room with her hands full of  clothes to be put on her toddler... But, wait! What is that noise?? Oh, that's the precious, now confirmed to be grouchy child, proclaiming in a tone that can only heard by animals that he doesn't want to get dressed and that he, in fact, will be wearing his pj's to daycare today. BAH, WHATEVER!! I actually couldn't care less at this point what my child is wearing and am actually thrilled that he slept in sweatpants and a t-shirt instead of the usual footie pajama's... for god's sake it's 8:04 and I haven't even started the car or made lunches.  And can someone please just get me a #@%*ing cup of coffee!

So, I run, yes run, out to start the car. Back to the kitchen I go while Eli is happily watching Mickey Mouse.  I grab the nearest can of soup, snack bar, apple, cheese stick, pretzels, anything prepackaged I can get my hands on and throw it in a bag! And we're off. 

Just as soon as I think we're in the clear, we've hit a little road block. Code name: Temper Tantrum.  For those of you who thought the two's were "terrible",  hold on to your hats girls because it's going to get a hell of a lot worse.  As I am literally bribing my child to get the mittens, hat, boots and coat on his body, I wonder to myself... When did this happen?  When did I become this blithering idiot who has to negotiate with a tiny person just to get out the door in the morning?  The truth is I can't tell you when this internal transition occurred... Perhaps it's the mother's instinct?  Perhaps these fine parenting skills are lying dormant inside women until the day they are needed?  Or perhaps I am simply sleep deprived?  Yea, that's it.  And then, just like that, I'm back to reality. Mentally counting the minutes that are ticking away.

I grab my bags, my now to-go coffee cup, Eli's hand and out the door we go... YES!!!  Wait, I have my slippers on?!?!  Awesome.  After a maddening minute of searching for my house keys, back in we go, shoes are changed and now we are really ready.

The second we back out of the driveway a sense of calm washes over me... we did it.  We're on the way.  These small victories have come to mean so much in my life... simply that we made it out the door in one piece is a "win".  So, with "Silly Songs" blaring on my car speakers and Eli happily serenading me from the back seat, we begin our day.  Not too shabby in my opinion... and it's only 8:37.

All roads lead to VerMOMster...

How does one become a VerMOMster you might ask? Well, it's really quite simple...
       Girl meets Boy... they fall in love... they move to Vermont... they engage in wedded bliss... and boom! Prego!

       Let's take it one step at a time... So, I met my husband-to-be in Ohio.  It was in 2001, shortly before my mother passed away from Inflammatory Breast Cancer. (Pay attention folks, there may be a quiz later!!)  Unbeknownst to me, our future was already being set in motion as this boy from Vermont declared that he would marry me the first time we met.  My thoughts on the subject?  Why thank you for asking. The wheels in my head were spinning as I thought:  Who is this guy?  Did he say marry?  Where is Vermont anyway?  Is it even a state?   Oh, but he was persistent... and eventually love would run its course. 

       Fast forward through college and there we were: moving to Vermont.  Then on August 18, 6 years and 4 days after we started dating (but who's counting??), the wedding bells rang!  And we were, as Travis had predicted, husband and wife.     

      A little over a year later, on November 25, we welcomed our bundle of joy to this world.  6 lb. 11 oz., Eli William made his entrance into this world via c-section and would change our lives forever... we just weren't quite prepared for how much of a change it would truly be...

      And the rest is history.  Here we are, living the simple life in Vermont.  We work hard and are raising our son to the best of our abilities; trying to make ends meet and decipher the "best" ways to do both... successfully.  And so this blog was born.  A little map of sorts.  A map of  my life as a VerMOMster.