Valentine’s Day! The perfect opportunity to exorcize your pent-up craft-making demons. It’s been WEEKS (maybe) since you packed away your handmade Christmas ornaments, we know that glue gun has been burning a hole in your craft holster. Spending a “leisurely” afternoon crafting with your five-year-old ought to put those demons to rest, just follow these 7 easy steps…

Step 1:
Spend two weeks scouring Pinterest for the perfect, handmade Valentine idea for your daughter’s class Valentine party.

Step 2:
Blow $50 at the craft store:  $20 on necessary supplies and an additional $30 on cute stickers and glitter she INSISTS she needs. Ignore the fact that store-bought cards for 30 kids would have run about $10.

Step 3:
Set up your craft station, aka Production Zone, and outline the plan to your 5-year-old.

Step 4:
Within three minutes, realize that any sort of “plan” was pure fantasy as your 5-year-old spends the next 20 minutes covering the first card with 80 stickers and an inch of glitter glue; declares she’s “done” and gets up to leave.

Step 5:
At this rate you will need two months to finish 30 cards. Steer her back to the table and kick into high gear. Begin furiously shuffling fresh cards in front of her like a blackjack dealer in an attempt to get at least one child-made mark on each card. Sensing you have less than five minutes before a craft-induced meltdown, break out the stamps (even though they are Christmas themed), arm her with one in each hand, spread out the remaining cards and direct her to stamp away! Whack-a-Mole style.  Bribe her into signing a total of four cards before giving up completely.

Step 6:
After she goes to bed, open some wine and complete the rest of the cards.  Toast your whimsical composition and fresh color palette. Decide that you have truly missed your calling as a powerhouse Pinterest craft-blogger; make a mental note to tweet pictures to @thistlewoodfarm. Consider misplacing her cards in favor of yours.

Step 7:
The next day at the class party, notice several children have clearly signed all their own cards. Tell yourself that they began their cards right after Christmas.

We’re here every week!
Read more Science of Parenthood on BonBonBreak.com

For more scientific snarkiness, follow Science of Parenthood
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Google +

 ABOUT NORINE & JESSICA: Science of Parenthood was created by writer Norine Dworkin-McDaniel and illustrator/web developer Jessica Ziegler.

Once upon a time, Norine met Jessica at one of those “it stays in Vegas” holiday parties — which actually sounds a lot more salacious than it actually was. A little while later, Jessica had a kid. Then Norine had a kid. Then Norine began developing a series of science-y/parent-y ain’t-that-the-truth-isms. Then Jessica came in and scribbled all over them. And Science of Parenthood was born. Norine and Jessica are not Nobel Prize-winning scientists … though they play them on the blog. Fortunately, Norine and Jessica are both married to their own adorable geeks, who explain all this science-y stuff to them at those times when recalling the laws of thermodynamics on three hours of sleep is simply too tall an order.

Follow Science of Parenthood on: their blog | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Google +

The post Making Valentines with your 5-year-old in 7 Fun-filled Steps first appeared on BonBon Break.

If you are like me and wondering if your baby has in fact reached the toddler stage yet or if you just need to know that you’re not the only one being driven crazy by fingerprints on everything, poo on the floor, and kids television, then this is the post for you!

1. Your favourite part of the day is bath time because it’s the only time your child will sit in a confined place and be content.
2. Your bathroom looks like the ancient crypts; There is toilet paper strewn across the floor, fingerprints on the walls and the occasional toy in the toilet.
3. You spend an hour every morning trying to find clothes to wear only to realise that everything is covered in an unknown sticky substance inevitably from your child and you opt to stay in your pajamas all day instead.
4. No matter how many times you clean it, your living room floor will always have a diaper, a random shoe, and turned over bowl of food on it.
5. You follow your child around saying ‘no’ to everything they pick up because of course they don’t want to play with their toys.
6. Your child’s favourite form of entertainment is climbing up the stairs and then crying for you to carry them back down the stairs just so they can climb back up the stairs.
7. You are successfully able to distinguish a temper tantrum from a genuine cry and have learned that ignoring is the best way to handle them.
8. Your child’s new found ability to take off their diaper has resulted in the discovery of little treasures around the house.
9. All of your favourite things end up in the toilet. Toddlers do not discriminate.
10. You have memorised the songs of your child’s favourite tv show so that you can sing it in the car when they are screaming.
11. You have contemplated getting into bed and pulling the covers over your head on more than one occasion.
12. You laugh when people without kids tell you your house is messy and add them to the babysitter list.
13. You put a note on the front door threatening anyone who rings the doorbell when your child FINALLY takes a nap.
14. You scream, “DON’T EAT THAT,” at least 10 times a day but usually closer to 20.
15. You feel bad for animals who dare get close to your child who has yet to understand how to properly pet them.
16. You are no longer amazed by your child’s ability to use anything and everything as a jungle gym including you.
17. No matter how many times you hide the dog food your child still finds it and throws it around the kitchen.
18. You have to hide ALL liquid because if it’s not hidden it will end up on the floor.
19. You spend 95% of your day cleaning up messes that you didn’t make.
20. Your babies baby soft skin is now covered in scrapes and bruises.
21. You get the best cuddles and kisses and for the first time, it feels like they really know that they love you.

I know I’m new to this toddler thing but I can already tell I have a little trouble maker on my hands! What tricks has your toddler gotten up to?

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The post 21 Signs You’re The Mom Of A Toddler first appeared on BonBon Break.

That’s when it hit me; I hate the title “Bad Moms”.

Mila Kunis remarks in the movie that being a mom today is “impossible.” Meaning, between work/staying at home, homework, helicopter parenting/attachment parenting, food struggles and finally the JUDGING from other moms, it’s impossible to be what society deems a “good mom” these days. That’s where I have the issue.

It’s not impossible. We’re doing it every day.

I place an immense value on words. Their meaning and their intent can make or break someone’s day. There is nothing positive associated with the word “bad.” I related to all the “bad” moms in this movie, they ARE me.

I struggle with feeling cut off from friends and craving (almost more than food – almost) time with women. I struggle with hating the way we school our kids these days – the testing, the lack of free time they have. I, too, struggle at times in my marriage, that tear my focus away from my kids (hello, if you’re married, you struggle). I find myself frazzled.

I’m late to pick my kids up and don’t always make a gourmet meal to eat at the table, while we debrief on our day and talk about world peace. Sometimes, I make fish sticks and mac ‘n cheese and consider it a success if I have an apple to slice. That’s a GOOD day. Other days, it’s pizza or take-out tacos. I do what I need to do each day to make it to bed at night and know my kids are fed, alive, hugged, and maybe bathed. Maybe. Ok, probably not.

NONE OF THIS MAKES ME A BAD MOM!

I get where the movie was going, calling out the ridiculous line between what society (or maybe just folklore) deems a good mom vs. a bad mom, but I found myself really wishing there was another way to connote what being a mom these days really means, without using the term bad.

It’s hard. So fucking hard. It’s tiring, joyous, un-relenting, happy, frightful and hard. But, just because there are days where I am sure I am making every mistake and wrong choice in the book, I am doing the most important thing for my kids; I am loving them. I may get up and make pancakes some mornings and others, it’s dry cereal, but they know each day when I drop them at school, that they are loved.

They may stink to the high heavens because I don’t have it in me to fight about a bath, but even at their stinkiest, they get a hug, cuddle time and an, “I love you,” at bedtime. I listen to them. I talk to them about their lives, their friends, and their schoolwork. I also yell at them when they do something dumb, (I’m looking at you, teenage son) and I talk to them about WHY it was not the best decision. We share, we laugh, we yell, we cry and in the end, we love.

I am not perfect. My kids are not perfect. I fully expect to get the calls from the school asking me to come in for a chat. Because I am raising humans. Humans who are flawed, vulnerable, searching and trying. Humans who I hope will grow up to be kind. To know what it feels like to be loved more than anything and who will pay that love forward.

Just because hot dogs are always in my fridge and my boys may fart at the table, doesn’t make me BAD. I am trying. I am human.

I know “Human Moms” wouldn’t have been an enticing title for a movie. I just wish there was a way to celebrate all the GOOD we moms do each and every day. The good; even if it isn’t perfect. Even if it means too much TV time, sugar, video games or wine (only for US, of course).

We’re all doing our best. We’re all going to fail at times. In the end, I truly believe we will all succeed. As long as we show up, as long as our kids know they are loved.

So pour that second (or fourth) glass of wine in your closet if you need to. Hide the good chocolate. Lie and say you’re out of chips because you hid them above the fridge and dammit you NEED those chips for your Netflix binge after they go to bed tonight.

You’re GOOD. We’re GOOD. We will end up being more than ok. We will be the proud mothers of some amazing humans that WE raised.

US, the GOOD moms.

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What’s grosser than gross? Gross: Cleaning a dirty diaper of brown slime that managed to slide up and all around your sweet baby’s back and stomach, and all over the changing table. Grosser: Once you finally finish cleaning your entire baby, use an entire package of wipes, and clean the brown-stained changing table, you grab a fresh diaper a little too late and get sprayed with a new round of poop from head to toe. How does a baby make that much?!

We parents have to stick together and help each other out. That’s why I have compiled my top 10 list of dirty truths for new and expectant parents. For those of you who are knee-deep in parenting, enjoy the read and knowing that you’re not alone.

1. Projectile Poop

No matter how soiled your baby becomes, always keep the bottom covered, even while cleaning. From a happy and peaceful baby to a Niagara Falls of sprayed liquid feces, no parent wants to have a face- or wardrobe-full of unexpected milky-poo. Been there, done that more times than I’d like to admit.

2. Spit-ups

The post 10 Dirty Truths For New And Expectant Parents first appeared on BonBon Break.

Being concerned for my own safety, I pulled out my phone and texted my husband rather than walk five feet across the living room to investigate.

“Can you come up here? There is a noise at the window.”

Nothing.

More tapping.

“OH NO! I THINK IT’S A MOTH GET UP HERE RIGHT NOW AND SAVE ME.”

He came running up the stairs.

True love is knowing that you should indulge your wife’s illogical fears without question. Marriage is laughing mercilessly while you do it. Nevertheless, he released the moth that had gotten trapped between the window pane and the screen and I was able to live another day.

Moths are scientifically evil. When I say scientifically, keep in mind the hardest science I took in college was Psych 101. They relentlessly bash themselves against windows, fly like they just escaped Azkaban, and are the exact color of death. To me, they are little devil souls. Every so often, I try to do the grown up thing and convince myself they are not actually miniature Satans, but then I see one on the window pane, and I decide my initial assessment was correct.

Here’s the thing, on some level, a deep, hidden level that I refuse to fully acknowledge, I know that I am being illogical. Moths have not been proven to be the root of all evil and are allegedly an important part of our ecosystem. Most of the world does not want to vomit upon seeing one fly by. And now that I have children, I’m starting to realize I have to suppress my urge to run away when I see one of these foul creatures. I don’t want to pass on my own personal prejudices and fears on to them.

Let me rephrase that. I do want to pass on my own personal prejudices and fears on them. One of the main perks of parenting is having a blank canvas that you can indoctrinate with your own personal interests and shield from things you consider undesirable. For example, I hope they develop a love of reading and desperately pray they do not take up an interest in golf. I can’t pretend to be interested in golf, even for their sake. I just can’t.

We plan on participating in most of the standard parental indoctrination. I’m sure they will pick up on our political discussions at the dinner table. We will teach them to pray and hope that they find value in a spiritual life. We will tell them to turn off the TV and go play outside. I want to share with them what I believe, and what I hold near and dear to my heart.

I realize, however, that I am not always right. The majority of people in this world are not afraid of moths. A few even like golf. It’s just that I’m not always sure when I am right and when I am wrong. Teaching them about the world is a heavy task. I know enough about science to answer a three-year-old’s questions, have a good grasp on history, and can go with my gut on the rest. However, my gut also told me to order something called a Chicken Bake from Costco’s food court and that was definitely a big mistake.

I like to think that my worldview is right. We all do. The chances, however, of us all being right is pretty slim. And the chances of the one person to get it right being me seems even slimmer.

There is a certain amount of doubt needed in the parenting equation. It keeps us from taking everything too seriously, to realize that yes, we probably are doing something wrong, but at least so is everyone else. It’s what makes us give our kids a little space to figure things out for themselves.

I don’t doubt that moths are, in fact, the root of all evil. But I do doubt if I should teach my children this little known unscientific fact. For now, I’ll avoid passing on my paranoia to them. But if science ever gets around to researching this and ultimately proves me right, they’ll be the first to know.

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The post What My Fear of Moths Taught Me About Parenting first appeared on BonBon Break.

Teach them how to tie their shoes as early as possible.

Don’t buy Velcro shoes and don’t buy shoes that are easy to slip on. Make your child learn to tie his own shoes. It’s his first step toward independence. And, yes, it’s an accomplishment.

Teach your child how to ride a bike.

There is no better thing to see than the look of pure delight on your child’s face when she pedals her ass off and learns to ride a bike for the very first time. What you are seeing is her feeling of empowerment and confidence, and try as you may, you will never, ever, be able to buy her that.

Teach them how to whistle.

It’s fun. And along those lines, show them how to throw a baseball and how to shoot a basket. Teach them to swim, and dive, and jump off the end of a dock. Get them up and away from being inside the house all the time. Spending time together is what is important. Make the time. Vitamin D comes from the sun, not milk, and it’s good for parents and children alike.

Teach them to foster a true friendship with their pet.

When you care about your pets, it’s easy to take care of them. Really make them do the work – whether it’s walks, or feeding, or cleaning up after them. This is what bonding is all about. It’s about cleaning up shit, picking up chewed family heirlooms, feeding them, and getting them out. It’s about putting the needs of another being first. Caring for a pet opens the gate to compassion.

Teach them that they can count on you for the big stuff.

You’ll be at their graduations, their games, their events. You will cheer them on, and make them feel important, but do miss some things. It’s just as important for you to teach them that they are not the center of the universe and that your happiness in life is not solely riding on their successes.

Teach them to develop their own interests.

If your child likes to paint, don’t sign him up for baseball unless he likes that too. If you want to play the piano, then YOU should sign up for piano lessons. It’s a fairly easy idea to grasp, but often difficult to implement. Also, along that line of thinking, teach them not to quit. If they don’t like an activity make them ride it out. They don’t have to sign up ever again, but they must give it a fair shake.

Teach them to look under rocks.

Encourage curiosity in all forms and prompt them to ask questions. Answer them, and when you don’t have the answer, make a big production of going to the library and looking it up in an actual book, or just do it on the computer. Unless it’s about sex. If it’s about sex, change all the passwords and don’t look it up on the computer. Put the computer in the kitchen.

Teach them to do chores with or without an allowance.

Do they live in your house? Put them to work. In most cases, work ethic is instilled, not innate. If it’s expected early on, it will happen later on.

Teach them to speak in front of a group.

Have them say a prayer at the table, or make a short little toast. No one ever wants to do this, and it never gets easier. But, if they have done it before, some of the hesitation and “stage fright” dissolves as they become adults and may be called upon to speak on occasion.

Teach them to put their cell phone down or away by putting your cell phone down or away.

Period.

Teach them that their grades in school are their grades, not yours.

Period.

Teach them to wash, fold and dry their own laundry.

Teach them that it’s more than okay to toss a load of dirty clothes into the washer, even if the clothes are not theirs. This is a major concept and it could take years and years to witness in action, but it eventually happens. And when it does, the hallelujah chorus comes out from behind a curtain to sing the roof right off your house. Yes, there are tambourines and a full horn section.

Teach your child to give something away.

Make him clean his room and when he does, have him sort his stuff into 3 piles: Keep, donate, toss. This is how you give him the tools to become a real person who values stuff but is not attached to it.

Teach him how to NOT become a hoarder.

Make him watch that show, Hoarding: Buried Alive, just to be sure he knows that his room is not so far off from what he sees on TV. Sometimes self-respect comes from just keeping your space clean and neat most of the time.

And on that note, teach kids to be in charge of their own stuff.

Don’t find her sneakers for her, or put her homework into her backpack. She’s in charge of that, not you. If it’s time to leave for soccer practice and she can’t find her shin guards, help her, of course, by telling her where to look, but don’t find them or get them for her. If she is late, she is late. Remember, the soccer game is about her, not you. If it’s important to her, she will know where she put her shin guards.

Teach them to fight their own battles.

If they’re having trouble with friends give them some strategies for working it out, but do try to let them work it out. You don’t need to call other parents and get everyone involved. Bullies (eventually) don’t retain a lot of friends. They peak in high school only to spend the rest of their days tapping beers and collecting tips. This happens while your “late bloomer” child graduates from college, wins awards at work, and spends her holidays “back home” so her dear mother can make her favorite waffles and spend time with her beautiful grandchildren.

Teach them to advocate for themselves when it’s important.

Most of life is about negotiation. If they are not happy with their grade on a paper, of if they feel that they are being treated unfairly, teach them the right way of sticking up for themselves – respectfully. By respectfully, what I mean to say is teach them to listen and respond intelligently without a sense of entitlement.

Teach them to take risks, but to be a little bit afraid.

For example, what I mean is: it’s okay to let your kid wander the neighborhood or ride his bike to a friends’ house several miles away, but he should be made fully aware of his surroundings, road safety, and the some of the dangers involved. He should check in, be home at the time you set without fail, and if he is not, this privilege should be revoked.

This sets the tone for later risks (they are inevitable). For example, your 17-year-old is at a party drinking (trust me, this will happen), and while not inebriated, he still understands that it is NOT okay to get into his car to drive home. He texts you to say that he is sleeping over and you read between the lines and decide that even though you will not fall back to sleep because you envision him passed out with throw up on his neck, you are fine with that choice. While the drinking isn’t condoned, he is at least making the right decision about driving. He also checked in with you. That is taking a risk, but still having some fear regarding consequences – enough fear to stay safe.

And for heaven’s sake, teach them how to cook something delicious that YOU know how to cook deliciously.

Whether it’s lasagna, or a pancake, or your grandmother’s pot roast, or some sort of weird couscous salad, learning to cook one thing well is the bridge to learning to cook everything well. Give them that.

And out of everything you will teach them, or try to teach them, they will probably remember the following two things only: They did not always get whatever they wanted when they were growing up, but you somehow managed to give them exactly what they needed.

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Heeeeeere comes Mother’s Day! An ENTIRE day in which your children shower you with attention and gifts. So! Many! Gifts! You are one lucky lady. Yes, indeedy.

In preparation for the gift bonanza, spend a few minutes each day practicing your thrilled/surprised face in the mirror. The surprised part will likely come naturally, the layer of “thrilled”atop it will take some practice.

Your purse decorated with dinosaur stickers? How lovely! Damp goldfish crackers from your child’s pocket? Don’t mind if I do!

You’ve got to hand it to them, they do try. Just remember, despite all evidence to the contrary, they really do love you. Let us count the many ways they show it.

Gifts that might be headed your way this Mother’s Day

• Flowers from the mean neighbor’s garden
• A playdoh …thing. Giraffe? Chicken? Grandma??
• A necklace made from other jewelry you own, all tangled together
• A peanut butter and grapes and ketchup and salt sandwich
• A live worm
• Earrings made of noodles and tape
• Your child’s favorite toy (On second thought … No, you can’t have that)
• A handful of full of partially chewed smoked salmon, because it’s “yucky”
• A crown of weeds
• A drawing of you topless with a giant wine glass
• Another drawing of you topless on the dining room wall
• Nose smear on your blouse in the middle of brunch
• Handprints made with syrup in your hair
• A lap full of buttered toast
• A day filled with damp hugs that you wouldn’t trade for the world

We’re here every week!
Read more Science of Parenthood on BonBonBreak.com

For more scientific snarkiness, follow Science of Parenthood
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Google +

ABOUT NORINE & JESSICA: Science of Parenthood was created by writer Norine Dworkin-McDaniel and illustrator/web developer Jessica Ziegler.

Once upon a time, Norine met Jessica at one of those “it stays in Vegas” holiday parties — which actually sounds a lot more salacious than it actually was. A little while later, Jessica had a kid. Then Norine had a kid. Then Norine began developing a series of science-y/parent-y ain’t-that-the-truth-isms. Then Jessica came in and scribbled all over them. And Science of Parenthood was born. Norine and Jessica are not Nobel Prize-winning scientists … though they play them on the blog. Fortunately, Norine and Jessica are both married to their own adorable geeks, who explain all this science-y stuff to them at those times when recalling the laws of thermodynamics on three hours of sleep is simply too tall an order.

Follow Science of Parenthood on: their blog | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Google +

The post Gifts That Might be Headed Your Way this Mother’s Day first appeared on BonBon Break.

Getting my two-year-old to agree to change her plans to meet mine is equal to climbing Mount Everest. When we reach an agreement, I feel that I’ve just planted my flag on the ground of the highest summit on earth.

This daily battle with my two-year-old got me thinking if there was a way to understand how her mind functions to reach out and get closer to her and understand her needs.

And then it hit me, yes there was a way: the hierarchy of needs!

In the academic world, it is known as Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.

In the parental world, it is known as manipulation!

Subtle manipulation.

More precisely, a guilt- free manipulation that is backed up by this rationale: either the parent or the child has to hold the stick of power, and to avoid dreadful battles of opinions (can you really argue with a two-year-old?), I found it best to make her believe that she is in control of all situations.

In our house, she is the one and only ruling queen.

I’ve put together an adapted version of this pyramid to define how the hierarchy of needs functions in a toddler’s world. To understand it, you should read it from the bottom-up. It works in a very simple way: once you satisfy the basic lower needs, you can progress on to meet the higher needs.

The Never Ending Cycle Need

This is the need that goes back to the basic instincts. It has three major activities that involve eating/drinking, peeing/pooping (basically, anything that comes in and out of the body), and sleeping. Ignore this need and any kid around the globe will make you pay hard for it (very hard). On the other hand, satisfy this need and you’ll have a happy child.

The Let’s Keep Mom Busy Need

This need is a constant paradox: kids love to feel safe and secure, but ignore the rules that you put in place to make them feel this way. The results? You can skip those fancy sessions at the gym as you won’t need them anymore. Running around your toddler’s little feet will be sufficient to keep your muscles working all day long!

The Moms’ All Time Favorite Need

This is a pleasant need that moms would never complain about. As part of their development, kids need reminders that they are loved, so take advantage while it lasts. It feels like a little break from Need #2 as you actually get to sit in one place and enjoy waves of cuddles, hugs, and kisses. And we all love that, don’t we?

The We’re Not Done Yet Need

A Little warning here: don’t get too distracted with Need #3. As rewarding as it feels, kids get back to being kids and reality will eventually hit. Once the first three needs are covered and kids have had the food, sleep, security and hugs that they need, it’s time for them to develop their mind and learn how to become autonomous and independent. Hard truth: one day they will grow up and will leave your little nest, and for this, it is important for them to acquire two important tools: self-esteem and confidence. In other words: you (and I) need to stop doing things for them.

The I’m Finally There Need

This need is the most rewarding and is equal to reaching the top of Mount Everest for your little ones (and for you as well). After lots of repetition, hard work, and patience, kids finally learn how to do the tasks that you’ve given them and this moment is so rewarding that you can expect to shed a few tears too. For example: when a baby makes her first steps when she manages to eat, slide, jump on her own, when she calls your name for the first time and sees that you responded back (and the smile on her face is simply priceless!). These moments are little reminders that heaven does exist!

So the conclusion, I guess, is to be patient. Very patient.

Head to the Family Room

This post was syndicated with permission to BonBon Break Media, LLC.

The post Hierarchy of a Toddler’s Needs first appeared on BonBon Break.

But, of course, there are other nights when I suddenly remember the actual night my son was born and (spoiler alert) the polar bears do not dance until dawn in that version. That version involved a hospital and a bunch of blood. Nancy Tillman was not there holding my hand and telling me it would be ok, and in general, things got a bit stressful. Having my son was magical at times, but the actual night he was born wasn’t particularly magical, it was kind of rough. Which is why when someone told me that you can buy a personalized copy of On The Night You Were Born I immediately thought, “WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT THAT? THAT WOULD BE THE WORST BOOK TO READ TO CHILDREN,” because, like a total idiot, I thought it was your actual literal birth story written out with Nancy Tillman’s illustrations. (For the record, I think they just include your child’s name in the title—On the Night You Were Born, Mallory—and have a personalized introduction page.)

But, of course, once I started thinking about writing out my actual birth story, how could I not do it? Sorry, I didn’t have time to re-create all the illustrations but my kid no longer naps. My apologies to Nancy Tillman for this far inferior (though more true to life) version of her beautiful book.

TO MY SON:

On the night you were born, the moon smiled with such wonder.

And your father whispered, “Hey, do you want to order in Vietnamese food?” and I was like, “Yeah, I love Vietnamese food, that sounds great.”

So enchanted was I with the spring rolls I had, but I felt sort of weird and I felt sort of bad.

(The feeling I felt was a magical one but became much less magical as the night wore on.  Let’s say it out loud before we go on: contraaaactions.)

I sailed through the kitchen, starting to seethe

Clutching my stomach

And trying to breathe.

Until everyone heard it and everyone knew and my husband was like, “Wow, this is advancing really quickly, should I call a cab to take us to the hospital?” and I was like, “No, the doctor-on-call told me to wait until the contractions are a minute in length.”

Not once had there been such confusion.  Such pain.  A feeling as though I’d been hit by a train.

(In fact, I think I’ll count to three and we can run through how I was supposed to do that breathing thing again.)

When the polar bears heard, they were like, “Um– if your contractions are 3 minutes apart you should really be in the hospital.

From far away places the geese were like, “SERIOUSLY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  PLEASE CALL A CAB IMMEDIATELY.”

The moon stayed up until morning next day, at which point it actually picked up the phone and was like, “Hi, this is the moon.  I need a cab for an insane pregnant woman who’s afraid of getting to the hospital too early and being told to go back home.  Can you be here in 15 minutes?  Great, thanks.”

And none of the ladybugs was fully able to explain “back labor.”

So if you ever wonder how special you are

And you ask, “Was my birth night completely bizarre?”

Listen for geese honking high in the sky.

(They’re going, “So sorry, your mom didn’t get there in time for an epidural.”)

Or notice the bears asleep at the zoo

(It’s because they’re exhausted from telling me to PUSH– PUSH NOW.  WE NEED YOU TO PUSH.)

Or drift off to sleep the sound of the wind.

That’s what I felt like doing when that whole ordeal was over but then all the extended family showed up and I felt like falling asleep would be rude.

And never again in story or rhyme

(not even once upon a time)

would I feel like going through that again

so I’m really sorry if you were hoping to have a whole bunch of siblings.

So…the night you were born?  Was less magic than pain.

There were no singing oak trees and no gentle rain.

There were no dancing mammals with shimmering fur

And yet, were you worth it?

Without question, you were.

         *               *                *

Thanks for reading.  If you’d like to read a much more beautiful version of the night your child was born, here is a link to buy the actual book, which you should totally do.

READ MORE IN THE FAMILY ROOM

This post was syndicated with permission from The Ugly Volvo.

The post (What Actually Happened) On The Night You Were Born first appeared on BonBon Break.

At this point in my life, I’m less bothered by my own abbreviated thinking, perhaps because the pattern has become familiar. I’m also more aware that my one-liners are generally a sort of coping mechanism that I default to in my more terrible moments of parenthood. Raising  spirited children means that exuberance can easily detour into waywardness. In those moments, I realize that thinking complexly about the problem is best saved for the morning after. Humor helps me savor, I suppose, the messier aspects of our busy lives.

Of course, not all moments can be successfully rendered as one-liners. Sometimes life’s lemons are simply overwhelming, and no amount of rhetoric can transform them into comedy. When he was three, for example, my son slipped away from me at the zoo, and I only noticed his absence when I turned around to see him poised on a rock ledge about 20 feet above the sea lion pool. That incident didn’t really become funny until much, much later. But most of my children’s exploits have been only mildly awful – not really scary or terribly shameful, but just bad enough to need some reduction into a manageable quip. These are a few of my favorites:

It’s all fun and games until your play date ends in a trip to the ER.

The Poison Control Hotline says that the glo-stuff inside of glo-sticks isn’t toxic. Who knew?

I know that if kids are climbers, you bolt your furniture to the wall. But what if they are hiders? Microchip?

Another close call with that darn cat today — this time he slipped into the storm drain, which left kiddo in tears because he believed his cat had fallen into the sewers and drowned.

I’ve noticed some of kiddo’s “creativity” re-emerging since the school year ended. This morning he walked outside while I was changing his sister’s diaper, which would have been fine, except that I heard him start the car shortly afterwards.

Note to self: Yes, you absolutely must still sit in the bathroom with your 4 year old during bath time. If you do not, you will walk in and find that he has discovered the bath pillow that you put away and is now trying to figure out how to surf on it.

Kiddo got really confused when I told him we were going to dye eggs. I finally figured out that I needed to explain to him that we were going to color eggs, not kill them. Then he proceeded to pretend to kill eggs in various ways anyway. “That egg is going in the hot lava!” Another one died by spear, etc.

My son drew his daddy today. If you look closely, you’ll see not only arms, hands, legs, feet, eyeballs, a mouth, and a belly button, but also hair and a brain, blood, and three penises.

We thought our stockings were hung by the chimney with care, but then then T.O.T. (Tornado of Terror) found a way to get a head injury. (He’s okay now.)

Bad inspiration from library books #2: Pretending to pole vault. This involves a 3-year old boy half-burying a stick in the ground and then jumping on it. Looks like an attempt at impaling oneself. Sigh.

I didn’t realize that that sports book we checked out from the library would inspire that kid to dump out a cup of ice on the living room floor so that he could go ice skating.

If one-liners reduce the complexity of a situation, then so be it. At this point in my parenting career, I’ll take reductive simplicity if it helps me to maintain personal sanity.

This post was written by Tracey Watts exclusively for BonBon Break Media LLC.

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The post My Worst Parenting One-Liners first appeared on BonBon Break.

Apparently that was endearing to him, because after our awkward first dance, where we held each other at a safe distance — i.e. no less than 16 inches apart — and a shared can of Coca-Cola, we started dating. We broke up just three months later, but that is where it all began.

Fast-forward a few years. We rekindled our relationship at 17 where we fumbled through the strange dating days by eating  dinner at places like Rainforest Cafe and watching Arnold Schwarzenegger movies in cold, dark theatres (on our first Valentine’s Day!). Somehow we made it through and became high school sweethearts. Soon after, we became that “college couple,” the carryovers from high school that everyone expects to split up by winter break. But we didn’t. By 21, he was my fiancee and by 24, we were married. Were we ready to start a family? Hell no. But we were in the honeymoon period: that time of our lives where everything seems picture perfect and love always wins.

I don’t know when it ended; I don’t know when I stopped looking into his eyes and loving him, but by the time I gave birth to our daughter in the summer of 2013, I had traded compassion for contempt, and I was watching our 12-year relationship and 15-year history, dissolve into nothing more than a tearful puddle on our bathroom floor.

I was so engrossed with new motherhood I didn’t notice it at first, but we weren’t speaking. Sure, we talked about the color of our daughter’s poop and how many times she had awoken that day, but the conversation was strained. We were struggling to make small talk. We were struggling to find ourselves and each other, and instead of dancing together, we now danced around each other — in a semi-choreographed routine based solely on avoidance.

No one warns you how much having a child can change your marriage. Our foundation was rocky going into it, but I thought it would get better. I thought we would pull closer, pull together as a parenting team. Instead, we were drifting further apart.

I found myself wondering if I still was still in love with him or just in love with the idea with him. I found myself fantasizing about divorce.

Then my daughter, um — how shall I say this — voided her bowels in my husband’s hands.

“Well, move her away from my head; I don’t want her to poop on me!” (Sleep deprived and having spent the whole day wrist-deep in infant diapers and endless bowel movements I wasn’t willing to take any chances. I’m also pretty sure I didn’t say poop, but that is beside the point.)

No sooner did I say that, no sooner had her glistening little booty been moved away, then it happened. She began crapping in her father’s hands.

To say it was everywhere would be an understatement: the runny mustard-colored turd was dripping between my husband’s fingers, into the sink, and onto the floor.

He screamed and laughed, laughed and screamed. “What do I do! What do I do?!”

Gasping for air, hunched over and holding my stomach — my side literally hurt from the hilarious scene unfolding before my eyes — I squeaked, “Hold her over the sink until she’s done.”

By the time she was done, not one but two movements later, tears were rolling down our faces, tears he couldn’t wipe thanks to the feces running between each and every finger.

It seems strange to say that stool brought us back together, but it did. You see, when you are faced with a mess, you have two choices: buck up and clean it, or stand there, covered in crap. And when the bath was over (Daddy’s and our daughter’s), the tears wiped from our eyes and the house once again quiet, we chose to wipe up our mess. I won’t say it was easy; in fact, it took more than two years and couples therapy to make it work, but it did work. Because we decided it had to work. Because we chose to clean it up.

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This post was written by Kimberly Zapata exclusively for BonBon Break Media, LLC.

The post Gettin’ Real: Baby Poop, Love and Marriage first appeared on BonBon Break.

I kissed my loved ones goodbye each morning (my boyfriend and my cat), and hoped I’d make it home in one piece. Because kids can be brutal. But you can also learn a lot from them. Or at least from (substitute) teaching them.

Now that I’ve got two kids of my own, I put that training to use on a daily basis, before kissing them goodbye and sending them into the unsuspecting arms of innocent substitute teachers:

1. You don’t have to be in control, you just have to act like it.

Whether it’s a screaming toddler or a screaming class of 24 students, they don’t have to know you’re freaked out of your mind. Just act cool, and speak calmly and with authority, instead of freaking out like you are totally about to. They just might listen.

2. Never let kids play with scissors or else someone’s hair will get cut.

There is no such thing as “safety scissors.” Those newfangled contraptions only help children SAFELY cut another child’s hair. As in, not-stabbing-their-friend’s-eye-out-while-they’re-chopping-clumps-off-their-friend’s-hair. You’ll have a Category 1 disaster just giving them glue and markers. Do yourself a favor and hide the scissors, preferably in another school district/ next-door neighbor’s house/ solar system. Don’t make it harder on yourself.

3. If your child/ a student asks if you’re old enough to be doing this, take the compliment.

Your first instinct may be to be insulted. “P-shaw! Of course I’m old enough to be a parent/ substitute teacher.” Instead, be grateful they can’t see the crow’s feet forming in the corners of your exhausted eyes. Bonus points if a fellow parent/ teacher mistakes you for a student. Except not in an elementary school. That’s just weird.

4. Keep an eye on those bathroom breaks.

If a child asks to go to the bathroom, he’s probably legit. No need to scar the kid for life by making him hold it or have an accident. But if he has to go twice in an hour, he might be taking advantage. If he and a friend/ sibling have to go at the same time, you can bet they’re up to no good.

5. Don’t let them pit you against their regular teacher/ the other parent.

“Mrs. Brown lets us talk while we write our essays.”

“Dad lets us eat pizza and candy for breakfast.”

“Mr. Elliott said it’s OK to eat Cheetos in chem lab as long as we share.”

Don’t be fooled! Your subs said it to you, now it’s your turn to say it: “Well, I’m not Mrs. Brown/ your Dad/ Mr. Elliott!” And go ahead and confiscate all that pizza and candy and Cheetos for yourself.

6. If a kid asks if you’d like to see his shark bite scar, DO NOT take the bait.

He’s trying to shock and disgust you. It will work. In theory, if it’s your own kid, you should have already seen the scar. Still, if he tries to show it during dinner, DO NOT let him or he’ll ruin everyone’s appetite.

7. When in doubt, bring the videos out.

Yeah, yeah, we all know videos rot kids’ brains and turn them into zombies. But they also keep them nice and quiet. Stash this tool in your back pocket and whip it out in emergencies. And feel free to define “emergencies” as loosely as necessary.

8. No matter how bad your day is, you get to leave at the end of it.

They may put you through hell, but as soon as the final school bell rings, it’s adios amigos. Another day under your belt, another day’s wages in your pocket. Oh wait. That doesn’t apply when it’s your own kids. Well, at least I learned seven things.

Head to the Family Room

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 This post was written by Vicki Lesage exclusively for BonBon Break Media, LLC.

The post 8 Ways Substitute Teaching Prepared Me for Parenthood first appeared on BonBon Break.