No, seriously guys, it’s April 1st so DON’T BELIEVE THINGS. I actually spent several months last year thinking someone I knew was pregnant because even though I KNEW it was April Fool’s Day her Facebook post was really convincing. It took me MONTHS to realize she had been kidding. I freaking HATE April Fool’s Day because I feel like I am always the person who doesn’t get the joke and ends up looking like an idiot and I hate looking like an idiot more than I hate anything else.

Well, almost anything else. I think I hate the fact that it still feels like February even though it’s April even more. I am so ready for spring – or even just NOT SNOW – that I’m refusing to dress like it’s cold even though my poor toes are freezing in flip flops and I’m shivering in capri-length leggings. I will MAKE it be spring.

But I don’t want to risk getting sick just in time for the sunshine so I spent the last few nights knitting myself a spring neck warmer…

I lightened this picture approximately 200% because there is NO natural light in my house right now

Flower Scarf pattern by Robyn Diliberto (available for download on Ravelry or here as a pdf) The yellow is just what I needed. I want to knit a giant blanket out of that yarn and hide under it until this stupid day has passed.

The next three days are going to be crazy busy with errands and baking and patching holes in walls and cleaning and…and…and…I should really make a list, or it’s going to be two hours before Little Evan’s party when I realize I didn’t make a cake.

Speaking of the cake, does anyone have a really great recipe for a yellow cake? I mean, if I wasn’t crazy I’d probably just get a good old Better Crocker cake mix in a box, but I’m just insane enough to make one from scratch if I can find a recipe that someone SWEARS is delicious. Oh and I need a frosting recipe. And maybe a suggestion for some sort of filling between the layers. Have I mentioned I’ve never tried to make a real cake before?

Excuse me while I go weep into my KitchenAid.

Happy Friday and Happy April and DON’T GET FOOLED.

I’m going to give you the most important piece of parenting advice you’re ever going to get:

Don’t listen to parenting advice.

At best, what you’re getting is someone’s own personal experience with a very limited number of children in a closed set of circumstances that you cannot possibly replicate exactly. At worst, they’re suggesting your dip your kid’s binky in Jack Daniels to deal with teething pain. True story.

Of course, no mother ever in the history of the world has managed to have a baby without getting some advice, whether she asked for it or not. For the most part, it’s all really well-meaning and kindly and just a way moms connect to other moms. It’s practically an automatic response, just like saying “Fine” when someone asks “How are you?” Someone holding a baby says “Jeeze, these diapers I’m using keep leaking” and BAM! I’m spewing word vomit about brands and sizes and cloth diapers versus disposables all over their face. I am totally guilty of the unwanted advice attack, even as I tell myself to stop.

The trouble is, it’s so damn easy to mistake advice for guidelines and guidelines for rules and as soon as something starts feeling like a rule the mommy guilt kicks in when you break them. When you’re exhausted and bleary-eyed and someone at playgroup says “You should put the baby to sleep in the crib so he gets used to it right away. That’s why my kids are such great sleepers!” suddenly everything you’ve been doing is wrong and those naps the baby’s been taking in your lap have doomed you to never sleeping through the night again. You’re a terrible mother!

Or when you mention in passing that you’re not really sure what you’re supposed to be doing with your infant all day long. I mean…she just lies there. Sometimes she smiles, but since she can’t even get her own hand in her mouth yet it seems a little early for baby signs or story time at the library. “Swim lessons!” says one mom. “Kindermusik!” says another. “Read her War and Peace!” says another mom, “Even though she can’t understand it it’s never to early to start the classics!” And then there you are, suddenly doubting the happy cooing and peek-a-boo games you’ve been playing aren’t doing enough to enrich your baby’s teeny tiny mind and she’s somehow falling behind the other babies before she can even hold her head up. Terrible mother!

Even really benign comments, like “I always put on make-up in the morning, no matter how busy my day is. It’s important to me to make the effort” can sound like “Look at you, you slob! I am judging your unwashed hair and pony tail and yoga pants! Obviously you’re just too lazy to make an effort!” especially to a new mom. Hell, you don’t even have to be a new mom, since every single stage of motherhood is challenging, every single time. A sleepless toddler thanks to his new big-boy bed is just as exhausting as a colicky newborn. An infant having trouble nursing is just as stressful as a 2 year old who won’t eat anything besides Goldfish. We’re all scared of making mistakes, all unsure about some of our choices, all blaming ourselves for every cough and sneeze and bump and bruise, so we turn to those around us, desperate for that one mommy secret everyone but you must know. But when well-meaning advice makes us feel even worse it is no longer helpful. You are the parent, you get to make the decisions, even if it is the total opposite of what your best mommy friend told you worked for her.

Of course, some advice is good. I want to kiss the person who suggested stickers as toddler entertainment right on their mouth. I’ve gotten great advice when it comes to breastfeeding from my (now defunct) nursing moms support group. And the internet has helped me in countless ways when I needed to connect and get a new perspective on what’s going on with my crazy toddler.

But in the end, don’t let anyone’s advice get in the way of your happiness.

Yesterday morning at Target I had an experience that left me feeling alternately overwhelming guilt and extreme anger (neither of which seems warranted but I’m really tired and overly emotional right now).

The kids and I haven’t left the house since last Thursday and if it was up to me we probably wouldn’t leave again until it’s consistently above 70 degrees, but a lack of cold medicine and Goldfish drove us from our cave and out into the world. And by world I mean Target. We actually did pretty well getting ready and packing up to go so it was early when we got to the store.

Now, with one child, my standard method of getting said child into a store was to park as close to a cart return as possible, toss my bag over one shoulder and carry the child to one of the carts in the return. Then I don’t have to worry about anyone running away or distracting me in a Dangerous Parking Lot Situation and we roll right into the store. The problem is with TWO children – especially when one weighs upwards of 30 lbs and the other is sleeping in a bucket seat – is I cannot carry them both safely at the same time. It is possible but not easy and not something I like to do, especially with the toddler in his current state of extreme defiance. I just don’t trust him not to thrash out of my arm when I’ve only got one to hold him with. So what I try to do when I have both kids with me is park directly next to the cart return (even if it means parking super far away from the store)(I actually prefer far away because then no one parks so close to your doors you can barely fit in the space to get the kids into the seats), lock the car, grab a cart and bring it back to the car to load the kids one at a time. I’ve always felt very comfortable with this situation, because my proximity to the car at all times means even in the extremely unlikely circumstance that I were to suddenly – KNOCK ON WOOD – drop dead while the kids were locked in the car, someone would notice them.

Unfortunately, because it was still really early and I was at the Target Less Traveled (you should be so lucky – brand new gorgeous store, almost always empty) there were only 2 carts in the entire parking lot and both were in a cart return in the only row full of cars. I drove around for a minute, hoping I could stalk someone out of the store to their car and grab a cart from them but no one came out. So I decided to pull through a spot one row over from the return. That way although I would have to trek across a row of cars to GET a cart, I’d only have to cross the lane of traffic to put it back.

So I park the car, turn around to tell Little Evan I’ll be “one minute”, which he repeats back and holds up one finger, and get out of the car. At that exact moment, cars pull into spots near mine. The guy in the truck on one side smiles and heads towards the store. No one gets out of the minivan on the other side. It isn’t until 5 seconds later when I’m on my way back with the cart, being extra-super-careful not to ding anyone’s car on my way through the row that I can see two women in their van making dramatic motions and pointing towards my van, where you can clearly see Little Evan sitting in his seat drinking his milk. I get back to the car and press the “unlock” button as dramatically and obviously as possible, wrestle the toddler then the infant seat into the cart and start towards Target. Only THEN do the women get out of the van.

After picking up all the essentials – cough drops, graham crackers, tiny pink cowboy boots – I successfully navigate checkout without accidentally stealing anything or letting the toddler fall out of the cart and head to the car. I open the right door with the remote, lock the (still sound asleep) baby’s bucket into the base, drop my bags under her seat, and close that door. I roll the cart around to the other side, wrestle the toddler into his car seat, put my diaper bag under his seat and close THAT door. Now I have an empty cart and two kids secured in their seats, so I press the lock button, dash across the lane of traffic and shove the cart into the (still empty) cart return.

As I get back into the car, I look to my left and notice those two women are sitting in their van, just watching me with their judgy, judgy faces.

I can’t prove they were waiting for me to come out and they never said a word while we were in the store together, although I passed them several times, but I would bet a MILLION DOLLARS the conversation they had when they pulled into the parking lot was whether to call the police and report children left in a car. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wrote down my license plate.

Or, hey, maybe I’m just being paranoid! Maybe they were waiting to see if I needed help! They’re just Concerned Citizens and they want to watch out For The Children! Such As.

So here’s the thing: Am I doing this wrong? Is leaving my kids in the car for less than 30 seconds at any given time worth the looks of scorn and horror these women were sending me? Trust me, I am VERY AWARE of the dangers of leaving your kid in the car but…I don’t think that’s what I’m doing here. I would bet the number of children hit by cars in parking lots is a lot higher than the number of children who are kidnapped while their mother grabs a cart. Even if you add in children who were left in a car for up to 5 minutes while their mom runs into a convenience store to pay for gas or buy some milk I think “hit by car in parking lot” would be significantly higher. I am making what feels like the safer choice in a situation that doesn’t really have a better option – at least until Target gets valet parking.

What say you?

I had a MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH this week. It is epic. Truly life-changing. I actually cannot believe it took me this long to get here, because now it seems so totally obvious. Are you ready to hear about it? Are you super excited?

OK, here goes…

I am a homemaker.

I KNOW, RIGHT?

I’m serious though. In 6 1/2 years of marriage (the last 2 1/2 of which I have not had an outside job) I have never thought of myself as someone who is in charge of a home. I thought of all the stuff that keeps this place running – cleaning and laundry and cooking and dishes – as CHORES, chores I hated, chores I tried to avoid. I spent a lot of time and energy being pissed off that I was expected to do these things. It’s because I’m a WOMAN. It’s so SEXIST and UNFAIR and DAMN THE MAN for pushing me into this gender stereotype!

Until I realized wait a minute…I wasn’t pushed into a role I was unhappy with. I wanted this. Yes it’s true that the other option – me working and E staying home – wasn’t ever really on the table (the Navy doesn’t exactly let you quit just because your wife is tired of doing the dishes) but his job stability and paycheck was part of why I signed up for this marriage. Wait, that sounds bad. What I mean is knowing E could provide for me and our future children was one of the things I liked about him from the start. Wait, that still sounds bad. Before we even GOT married we decided I would stay home once we had kids. We just forgot to negotiate out what “staying home” included.

(If you still think the previous paragraph makes me sound like a gold-digger, let me assure you, there is no gold to dig. There is maybe a frappuchino or two and possibly a new toilet seat – SO SEXY – to replace the broken one. But no gold.)

My “ah-ha” moment came the other night while I was trying to make dinner. I say “trying” because it is difficult to cook while a toddler throws his entire weight against the back of your knees and screams for more milk. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but you’re much more likely to cut off a finger and I kind of like having a nice even number. So, in a conscious act of gentle patient parenting (something I am working on SO HARD with mixed success and/or results) I got down on Little Evan’s level and said, “Honey, Mommy needs you to go play in the family room. Mommy is making dinner right now, which is part of her job. You know how I watch you during the day while daddy works? Well, right now I need Daddy to watch you while Mommy works.”

It was like a light bulb went off in my head. MY JOB. Making dinner is my job. Housekeeping is my job. I should have work hours and a lunch break. I should be allowed to do my job without the toddler climbing up my butt. People DO get paid for these things – a cook, a housekeeper – so why shouldn’t I value my work?

(Of course, none of that applies to motherhood. Kids don’t give a crap about my stupid “job” theory, especially when they need something something right now NOW I WANT IT NOW MAMA SOMETHING FOR ME NOOOOOOW. That also means parenting duties during hours we are both home are still 50/50. I’m not some kind of June Cleaveresque mommy martyr.)

So while E is off doing…nuclear Navy stuff, I am here doing the house stuff. There’s stuff that needs to be done every day, stuff I hate to do, stuff that has to be done a zillion times a day, and stuff that only needs to be done every once in a while. So I made a list. Actually, I made three lists:

Do these every day
– Laundry
– Dinner
– Empty and clean sink (my tribute to the FlyLady method and the ONLY part of her plan I’m adopting)
– Put all the toys in the toy box
– Feed animals
– Scoop cat box

Do one of these each day
– Clean a bathroom
– Sweep/mop downstairs
– Vacuum upstairs
– Dust
– Clean out fridge
– Declutter flat surfaces

Do these as needed
– Menu plan
– Grocery shop
– Buy bulk items (toilet paper, diapers, etc)

Yesterday I scrubbed down the powder room and it felt AWESOME. Today I straightened up the dining room and feel FANTASTIC. If someone were to stop by for an impromptu dinner I could not only feed them, I could serve it to them on a clean table. The best part is I am no longer overwhelmed and angry about all this housework. When I’m not spending all my time putting it off and sending E angry glares for not helping it doesn’t really take that long to load a dishwasher. Of course, on the weekends there WILL be helping. And when I am sick/need a scheduled day off (and there WILL be scheduled days off) I’ll have a concrete to-do list E can follow. It’s not fancy and it’s not worthy of a book deal (or even an Excel spreadsheet) but I do feel like this is a major change for the better.

Secret bonus part of my new “job?” I get paid in impromptu shopping trips to Target for new black flats and bright colored tights, guilt free.

Now excuse me, I have to go shine my sink.

Thank you to everyone for the kind words last week after I vomited emotions all over the place. I promise next time I’ll try to find a  bucket or something instead. It’s so great to have a support system that will both sympathize with me and remind me that I’m an awesome mom doing a great job when I’m having a bad day. I was planning to write thoughtful, personal replies to each one of you, well, I didn’t. Please feel free to send me hate email. I could even cry a little if you want, I’m in that kind of place these days.

The thing is though…I’m not really an awesome mom and I don’t think I’m doing a great job. I don’t mean that in a cute “OMG I’m so fat!” fishing for compliments sort of way – I mean I am impatient and frustrated and uninvolved and feel like I struggle with good parenting more than anyone else around me. I raise my voice far more than I should, and I often let it get beyond just voice-raising to yelling. I swat Little Evan’s hands instead of firmly redirecting his attention. I spend a LOT of time online – something that’s gotten totally out of control since I’ve become a recluse who never leaves her house – instead of letting him interact with other kids and burn off his energy. Sometimes when he’s crying for no reason I give up trying to comfort him a lot sooner than I should. I make a lot of excuses not to sit on the floor and play with him (I’m too busy! I’m too pregnant! I’m too tired! I’m too sick!) but get annoyed when he tries to climb on me on the couch. And poor baby Caroline had to throw a huge fit for the past two days to get me to hold her for longer than it took to nurse. It’s just so much easier to put her in a swing and let her sleep all day while I deal with Little Evan instead of give her the attention and cuddles she deserves.

Sometimes I imagine there’s are secret Dr. Phil Family-style cameras in my house watching me spend the day parenting and more days than not I would be embarrassed to let anyone see the video. I can just picture myself sitting across from Dr. Phil himself and all he’s doing is shaking his head in disappointment. I’m being imaginary shamed by a fake TV doctor and he’s RIGHT.

SO. Instead of resolving to make dinner every night or finish two loads of laundry a day or always wear make-up or lose weight, my goal for 2011 is to be a better mom. More patient, more involved, more fun, more cuddly, and more like the mom my kids deserve. Part of that resolution includes taking better care of myself (no more ignoring symptoms and putting off appointments) because it’s so so much harder to be calm and rational in the face of a screaming toddler when your head feels like it’s going to explode and you can barely sit up. But the ultimate goal is for all of us – the whole family of four – to be happier, calmer and more loving. Because I DO love my kids and I never ever want them to doubt it for even a second. 2011 is the year I become the awesome mom I know I can be.

And then I’m going to punch imaginary Dr. Phil in his face.