House Rules

Y’all, I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable here, but I put on real pants today, pants with buttons and a zipper, and they fit. In the spirit of that level of success and productivity, I thought I’d take the time to write down my updated list of house rules.

Previously, I’d say that our house rules were pretty normal. My demands are usually fairly minimal, stuff like “don’t jump on the couch,” “muddy shoes belong on the mat,” “don’t bring slugs indoors,” that sort of thing. But, as with most things these days, I’ve come to realize that our house rules need a little bit of a revamp.

Below you’ll see the letter I’ve written to the darling cherubim I like to call my children. Please feel free let me know if you’ve got any ideas for additions or revisions.


Dear Offspring: As I’m sure you know, times they are a-changing. Therefore, I have updated our house rules. I’m sure you’ll agree that this is long overdue, as I have heard your repeated protests and observed your continual opposition. Today, you’ll be pleased to know that I have heard you and your demands are reflected in policy changes below. Please review the proposed legislation, which follows. Thank you for your continued support in keeping our home a haven of rest, serenity, and joy for many years to come.

  • Do what you want with the couch. Go ahead and jump, climb, slide, destroy, and ruin that thing…I’ve accepted the fact that its demise is near.
  • Just put the shoes anywhere. I’m tired of hearing myself speak pointless reminders into the empty, echoing void.
  • All future arguments will be settled by trampoline cage match. Just sort it out amongst yourselves. You know where the bandaids are.
  • If you could just kind of attempt to clean your teeth, we can call it good. Just try. Do it for me and the people living in the tri-state area who can smell your stench.
  • If you are tempted to tattle on someone, please refer to #3.
  • Just use the screens. I don’t have it in me to police screen time anymore. Give my regards to Mario and the Koopas. Good luck with your turnips and I hope you catch a red snapper who’s looking pretty dapper. I’m out.
  • If you can keep living insects out of the bathroom, that’d be cool, but I understand the deep desire to bring the outside in. Let’s just avoid the ones with stingers, shall we?
  • Go on ahead and just scatter those LEGOs like party confetti. I’ve become accustomed to navigating the house as though I’m traversing minefield and I rather enjoy the challenge of charting a new potentially pain-free path through the living room every morning. If I ever find one, I’ll let you know!
  • Feel free to partake in wrestlin’, wrasslin’, wranglin’, tanglin’, tumblin’, bumblin’, or any other form of fisticuffs while you’re upstairs. I accept the fact that your fighting will eventually bring the ceiling fan in the kitchen down upon me. ‘Tis inevitable.
  • You’ve got open access to the nail polish, the stove, and the lawn mower. Again, you know where the bandaids are.
  • Essentially, kids, the house is yours. I formally surrender to the fact that I am a mere observer of the real-life Lord of the Flies reenactment that my life has become and I shall sharpen my pike as a sign of unity with your new form of government…
  • HOWEVER, No child shall eat, breathe, or make any manner of mouth noises anywhere near my person. If there is a youngster in the tri-state area who is partaking of foodstuffs and I can audibly hear the consumption of said food, I will flip my actual lid. I can handle all of the other annoyances for they are minor in comparison. But if I hear another child noisily masticate a graham cracker right in my ear, I am out. Totally not kidding, Imma check myself into a hotel and y’all are on your own. Good luck, you know where the bandaids are.
  • And while we’re at it, if the rare occurrence happens in which I am granted the opportunity to sit and eat my own meal, y’all better not touch my body. Me sitting down to eat is not the signal for you to climb into my lap, hang on my arm, or violently lay your entire body across my back. It is not the time, younglings. Not. The. Time.
  • In conclusion, my food is the same as your food. Actually, it’s probably just a collection of cast off scraps that I’ve pillaged and gathered from your plates. Contrary to popular belief, my meals are comprised mainly of the food you refuse to eat. Do you remember that food you loved yesterday that I foolishly assumed you’d eat again today? Anyone recall that old favorite from days of yore that you can’t bear to eat ever again? It doesn’t magically become different food when I scrape it from your pitiful plate of refusal onto a different plate which is then placed in front of me. When my plate is full of these outcast foods, it’s still the same food, so please don’t try to steal it from me. It is still the cheese I sliced incorrectly or the third helping of meat you demanded and then realized you couldn’t eat. It’s not miraculously more delicious than when you had a chance to eat it, so just let me eat it in peace. It’s all I’ve got and I just want to eat undisturbed.

Sincerely yours,

Your devoted mother


At the time of publication, I literally used the phrase, “Don’t put that sheep in your pants,” so I suppose that’s getting added to the list.

Ask Ms. Gail

Found yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place with the kiddos? Or perhaps you’ve found yourself stuck in a weird nook in the clubhouse you’ve been told repeatedly that you really won’t fit in?

If you’re anything like me, we’re almost two weeks in and still struggling a bit with our new normal. Social distancing, shelter in place, watching the numbers of confirmed cases rise, counting celebrity diagnoses, juggling school work, vying for attention and computer time are all contributing to the fact that errabody at our house is getting a liiiittle bit twitchy. And maybe a little stabby. At the very least we’ve got cabin fever and a very short fuse.

With that in mind, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Ms. Gail! I have this weird ability to collect very useful friends and right now, Ms. Gail might be the most usefullest of all. She’s a teacher at my kids’ preschool, happens to go to our church, and is an all around kind and decent human. She also has a Bachelors in Child Development and Family Studies, a Masters in Curriculum and Instruction, and PhD in Urban Studies with a specialization in Learning and Development. Boom.

Ms. Gail has personally helped our family navigate some weird behavior issues (kid issues and parent issues, let’s be honest) and she is such a good teacher. When our kids started showing some signs of stress and I felt my parenting slipping into reactionary anger mode, I reached out to see if she had some advice I could share on Ye Olde Blaaagh. Happily, she obliged, and I’ve got some great info for you all. I’m going to split these up into a few posts, but for right now I want to leave you with these words from Gail:

 First of all, many children have been home for going on two weeks. The newness, excitement of not having to go to school, and being able to stay home is probably wearing off or long gone. Children are feeling stressed at this time. No matter how much we try and protect them from the news all children realize something is happening.

If adults haven’t already, they should have an age appropriate conversation about what is happening. Not scary but why we all need to stay home. Also, limit how much news and conversations about what is happening around children. Children hear everything, even if you think they are busy and not listening they are! 

I have said many times, “It’s hard for me to wrap my head around what is happening,” and I, as an adult, have the ability to understand. Children do not have the cognitive or emotional abilities to fully understand what is happening, so they will make sense of what they hear in their own way and it will likely be much scarier than we can imagine. They are missing their friends and teachers and they are getting sick of their siblings and adults in the house!

Above anything else, let patience and kindness guide you. There is no best way of handling this situation. Don’t compare yourself to any other parent/family. Do what you and your children need.

I told you she was good.

I was going to split this up into a bunch of different posts, but decided to lump it all together into one resource. Here’s the table of contents:

  • “Reading” Kids’ Behavior: How Children Communicate Stress and How We Can Help – p. 2
  • Guidelines for Talking About Current Events With Children – p. 3
  • How to Manage Anger and Cabin Fever – p. 4
  • Navigating the Transition From Traditional School to Home – p. 5

Hard Reset or The One Where I'm a Big Fat Liar

Welp, we hit a wall yesterday. We hit. a. wall.

I didn’t sleep well, tossed and turned all night, then woke up to nerves because I was asked to do a (very short, not spectacular, I was only asked because I was probably the first one to pick up my phone) Skype interview with a cable news station about my doula work. 

Obv the computer camera wouldn’t connect to Skype. I had to do a hard reset and it finally connected, I’m happy to say I handled it maturely like the adult I am. PS. I’m a liar.

Obv I bribed the kids with candy bars and popsicles (yes, both) to be quiet while I talked to the news lady.

Obv they were only kind of quiet.

Obv I gave them candy bars and popsicles anyway because I’m all about mercy right now and you can only expect so much out of 4 and 6 year old boys, ammirite?

I was crabby all morning, but decided we’d turn it around! We’d take a neighborhood walk! We could do this! We got our shoes and jackets on and headed out!

At which point it started POURING rain.

Never to be deterred, with our great attitudes in hand (lying again), we just got our umbrellas and decided to embrace the mess. This was the high point of our day.

After baths and new clothes and starting some laundry, I settled in to digitally submit a week’s worth of school work for three children. It was a delight. It was quick and easy and required no critical thinking. I am a lying liar who lies.

Then whole afternoon just spiraled. To buy myself time to submit the school papers, I let them have screen time. But when I announced that screen time was over, the littlest bub among us lost his ever-loving miiiiiiind and literally screamed for 15 minutes straight because he couldn’t play Mario anymore. 

I responded with compassion, patience, and grace. I am a lying liar who lies. I lie a lot of lies.

Once the cherub was finally settled and I had broken up about forty-seven fights over topics ranging from the proximity of a chewing child to his or her cohorts, the volume of the chewing thereof, disputed ownership of a balloon, and the nature of squatter’s rights in regard to television viewing seats, I started to cook dinner. 

I had had a brilliant idea earlier in the day that I ought to try my hand at homemade focaccia bread. Because I’m good at picking the right day to try something new.

The particular recipe I used called for a steam bath as the bread is baking. “Cool, no problem,” I thought. “I’ll just toss this pyrex dish in the oven while it preheats to four hundred degrees and then I’ll pour the water in!” 

Now, obviously this is the time of the day that I *should have* remembered Mrs. Jackson’s seventh grade science class in which a hot beaker was filled with cold water and it broke everywhere and probably no one got detention because Mrs. Jackson is nice. But, alas and alack, I forgot Mrs. Jackson’s class (please forgive me, Kathie, I love you). At this point in the day, I lost all ability to employ common sense, so as you can guess I exploded a glass dish in my oven.

It didn’t really phase me. (Lying. Obv. Also, remind me to digitally submit my kids’ dissertation in a couple of weeks. It’ll be titled, “Swearing for Beginners: Fun and Fanciful Words I Learned On My School Break.”)

The child who spent his afternoon screaming his face off while demanding to be held (and also peed on me a little during the exchange) saw it all happen. He very casually informed me that he, “didn’t like that” and then asked for a snack. 

While I was cleaning up the mess, the eldest stood by observing and commented, “Mom, you’re allowed to make mistakes. It’s okay,” which would’ve been received better if her tone hadn’t been so condescendingly patronizing. 

We finally ate dinner, during which we go around the table and share two things we’re thankful for, one bummer from the day, and mention someone we’re praying for. Four out of four kids’ bummer was that, “Mom yelled a lot today.” Don’t fret. My husband and I had a big talk about how they’re growing up to be the most horrible little liars.

All of this to say, there’s still probably glass shards in my oven and I woke up this morning to find a new chin hair and pepper inexplicably stuck in my teeth. 

I’m sure there’s a metaphor of some sort in here, but I just really need y’all to know that it’s okay for this to suck and for you to hit a wall. (Literally? Figuratively? Only time will tell!)

(PS. I totally forgot about the part of the day in which I let the kids eat sprinkles so I could clean up glass and then they obviously dumped them on the floor. But I’m raising them to contribute around the house, so I tasked them with cleaning that one up…)

War Crimes

I like to tell my kids this is a benevolent dictatorship…and I kind of run a communist style ship around here, if I’m being honest. Everybody shares everything, too bad if you don’t like it, no soup for you, I’m not sorry.

 

So, seeing as I’m basically my family’s Vladimir Putin and all, I thought I’d take a little time to charge some folks for some war crimes. As one does.

28166-unaxzb

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie, age 6

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#wildwoman #newyearseve

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Charged with Inciting Panic. You know that hour right after dinner when you’re completely exhausted from being an adult all day and the act of pretending like you’ve got your life together is really taking its toll? You know…it’s the hour when you feel as though all the life blood has been sucked from your body by a parasite and you’re about to fall into an unbathed pile of exhaustion. This is the hour in which she strikes. She will sneakily lure unsuspecting younger siblings to the stairs and whisper potty jokes to them, convincing them that screaming “poopy diaper head” in the faces of your dinner guests is a good idea. She will laugh maniacally while forcing you to listen to yet another knock-knock joke. Under the guise of entertaining her little brother, she will start a game of “chase” in which someone most certainly will be tripped and maimed. She will insist on leading the others in illegal games of “jump all over the damn couch even though Mom told us eight thousand times not to” and “let’s all violently wrestle until Lily’s hair gets pulled and she shrieks like a banshee.”

 

 

Lily, age 3 

 

Charged with Harassment and Stalking. She’s kind of the least offender because I truly believe that her intentions are pure…but she’s always there. She’ll demand to help with every single task ever of all time. Have some strong chemicals you want to clean with? She’ll pour. Have a sharp knife you’d like to chop with? She’ll show you how it’s done. Have some detailed sewing to be done? She’ll hold the needles. Have to finish your taxes? She’ll file ’em for ya. Have some sleep you’d like to get? She’s in your bed. However, if you actually ask her to help with a task she’s so uninterested it’s not even funny. Chores to be done? Nah, she’ll sit an observe the other fools and cry rather than comply.

 

Also, she’s an accessory to every other crime committed. She’s not usually the mastermind (…yet. Kid’s brilliant, so once she realizes her powers I have no doubt that she’ll use them for evil), but she’s usually coerced into helping, so we’ll let her off with a lighter sentence and call it good.

 

 

Everett, age 2

 

Charged with Aggravated Assault. Even his hugs hurt. Gentlemen visiting our home are advised to wear an athletic cup in order to protect themselves from the colossal skull that will crush their testicles approximately ninety-seven times during their visit. Also, watch for flying dump trucks being launched down the stairs, blocks torpedoed toward faces, and strategically placed Hot Wheels that were definitely not under your feet a second ago, but most certainly are under your feet now that you’re carrying a lot of stuff. The perpetrator has been known to climb basically anything with an elevation of…off the ground. So, watch for falling boys, as well.

Also, while we’re at it, let’s charge him with Indecent Exposure and Disorderly Conduct. You know, for good measure. And ’cause he never wears pants.

 

Remy, age 8 months

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Over it. #grumpybear #remyvincent

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Charged with Disturbing the Peace. Bro doesn’t sleep. Or rather, he sleeps, but only long enough to give you the illusion that you’re going to be able to get something done. He’ll nap juuuust long enough for you to get right into the deep disgusting middle of finally cleaning out the refrigerator and then he strikes. It basically goes on like that ad nauseam.

 

Alright, so that’s my legal work done for the day. Time to go dole out punishments! Mwuahahahaha!