Why I'm suing Pintrest

The other day I decided to google pictures of "homework organization ideas".  Elise will be starting her journey into the public schooling arena in the fall, and rumour has it that homework starts early and often these days (I'm sure I'll be ranting about that when it happens).

Because I feel like I might spontaneously combust when things are disorganized, I decided to get a jump on it.  Little did I know that such an internet search would be extremely damaging to my Mommy Psyche.

It all started when one of the images that popped up was someone's Pintrest page.  Let me just say that I am not on Pintrest.  I'm not even quite sure I get it. But I made the error of clicking on the link.

What greeted me was photo after photo of the most incredible organization ideas.  Not only for homework, but for everything!  Your mail!  Your car! Spice jars! Box tops! Toe nail clippings!

You name it, it can be organized.

Not only that, but it can be designed to match the decor of your room.  Match your magenta sofa!  Make the purple in your painting pop! Who knew that I was doing such a disservice to myself by not caring about these things?

Even worse, all of these pictures looked like no living soul had ever ventured into that living space ever.  Do people really live like that?

As I delved deeper into this soul-sucker known as Pintrest, there were other, more disturbing circles of hell; food, clothing, children's rooms, closets, woodwork, and craft after craft that would make Martha Stewart look like a clumsy 5 year old learning to use scissors.

And it dawned on me; I SUCK as a mother.

I can't make the Taj Mahal out of veggies.

I won't be able to fashion my daughter's wedding dress using kitten fur.

I lack the know-how to take a dilapidated section of fence and craft it into a designer crib for my baby.

And I just don't have the time to grow my own organic garden while caring for free-range, grain fed animals and doing it with perfectly styled hair and wearing the latest fashion trend that I naturally sewed myself.

When I take a banana, strawberry, some yogurt and an orange, the only thing I can make out of it is a smoothie.

So I have decided to sue Pintrest for pain and suffering by bringing to light my huge shortcomings as a mom.  Damn you Pintrest.  At least I'll know to blame myself when my children turn to a life of crime because I never was able to make them a pizza with toppings arranged to look like the Last Supper.

Only the b(r)est for my baby

When a child is born, we only want the best for them... best hospital, best doctor, best baby toys and all the other accouterments that babies need.

As they get older, our infatuation for the best continues; the best food, the best friends, the best school, the best teachers, the best college, the best spouse, the best life.

I think our fanatical desire for the best is natural. We love these little creatures to bits and would do anything for them. What puzzles me is why breast-feeding is considered best, but only up to a certain point.

When I went to the doctor a few months ago, she wanted to prescribe a certain medication. When I asked if it was okay to take if I was breast-feeding, the doc furrowed her brow and we had the following conversation:

She: how old is your son?

Me: 14 months (which he was at the time).

She: And you're still nursing him? Any particular reason?

Me: Because it's good for him and for now I don't see a reason to stop.

She: Well, if you want to take this medication, you'll have to stop. Maybe now is a good time to tell your son no more.

In the end, I opted NOT to take the medication, and the whole exchange still strikes me as bizarre (from a doctor, no less). I often get the same reaction from other people when the topic comes up:

You're STILL breastfeeding him? WHY?

Why not?

And why not, indeed? Over and over it has been proven that breast milk is THE best thing for a baby. It protects against infections and contains all the nutrients that babies need to thrive. Neither of my kids have ever had an ear infection, and seem to avoid a lot of the illnesses that are floating around.

For Moms, breastfeeding can reduce the risk of breast and ovarian cancer and also provides a great way for mothers to bond with their babies.

So why is it so weird that I support extended nursing? I nursed Elise until she was 2 1/2. Even though at 12 months, when she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, I was told to stop nursing her. I didn't, and never noticed an adverse affect on her blood sugar.

I plan on nursing Mattias for a few more months. When there are only pluses and no negatives, why shouldn't I?

I get it... breast-feeding is not easy sometimes. I remember that in the beginning, every time Elise would latch on it would hurt so much I felt like throwing up. With Mattias, he staged a nursing strike at 4 months. I had to pump and syringe feed him at times because he refused to take a bottle. We were going through a bunch of other things during that time and it. was. HELL. I don't think I've ever been so stressed out in my life.

But I still knew it was best, so I stuck with it. And I think we proved who the most stubborn one of all is, right?

I love this part of being a Mom. I love the bonding that comes from those quiet moments where both of us are still. I enjoy looking at his sweet face; losing myself in his beautiful blue eyes, stroking his soft, silky hair and just reveling in that wonderful baby smell that still surrounds him.

This passage of time is so fleeting that I am in no rush to get through it.

Getting bigger (and cuter) every day.

Why?

Oh dear Lord, if I never hear that word again, I will so be okay with it.

If you can't tell, Elise has reached a new, and incredibly annoying stage. Yes, it's the "Why?" stage. Every statement I make is answered with "Why?". I swear the next time she starts it up I'm going to duct tape a sock in her mouth.

(really I'm not, it's just one of my bouts of hyperbole brought on my extreme annoyance. Now stop calling CPS and put down that phone.)

These days, here is how a typical conversation with Elise goes:

Me: Okay Elise, let's get in the car!

Elise: Why?

Me: We're going to Target

Elise: Why?

Me: Because Momma needs to buy something

Elise: Why?

Me: Because your Momma is a product of a consumer-driven society that feels that the more stuff they have, the happier they will be.

Elise: Why?

Me: Let's play a game... no talking for ten minutes!

You get the point. Everything... EVERYTHING I say, is met with a "Why?". I actually banned her from saying the word earlier today, and when I told her to do something, she responded, "wh... oh, I'm not allowed to say that."

It only worked for about 20 minutes.

Why did we think it was cute when she learned to talk?

Why?

A FailMom kind of day

You know you've had a FailMom kind of day when:

It takes you THREE tries to get the oatmeal-making right this morning (OATMEAL for the love of all that's holy). Try #1 has you boiling up a pot of quinoa instead of your oatmeal. Because quinoa and steel-cut oats look exactly the same. Not in the real world, but in a world where you've only gotten three hours of sleep, they do. Try# 2 has you wandering upstairs and completely forgetting about your breakfast, thus burning the oatmeal and making the entire downstairs a total stink-fest. You finally get it right, over an hour later. Good thing the oatmeal was for you and not your kid who had already been given her insulin and needed to eat like, 50 minutes ago.

You manage to convince yourself that it is no big deal that your daughter is wearing the same top for the third day in a row, and more than that; it's okay that it's a pyjama top. And it's completely fine to take her out into public dressed like that because hey, at least you made an attempt to find matching pants. Emphasis on the word attempt.

You peek out through the shower curtain and notice your child is keeping herself busy by building the Leaning Tower of Feminine Hygiene Product Packages. You then shrug and tell yourself it's cheaper than having to buy her actual building blocks, since they serve a dual purpose.

You try to introduce your daughter to a brand new and totally fun game called, "Let's all take a Nap!" Wherein the object of the game is for you both to lie on the floor completely still and pretend to sleep . The secret object of the game is for you to actually sleep, while your child believes you are playing a fun game.

While you are making dinner, you allow your kid to pull out every pot, pan and other cooking utensil from the cupboard because you're just happy she's keeping herself occupied. You then notice with complete horror that there is blood everywhere and discover she has cut herself with the apple slicer-thingy. Not a bad cut, but a cut nonetheless. You then, being a mother of a T1 diabetic child, quickly ponder if you should use said blood to do a BG test, because hey... you need to test her in about 15 minutes anyway.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen... I am a star.

It's always something, isn't it?

Today was one of those days where the planets and the stars aligned and all was right with the world. Elise slept soundly through the night and woke up in a wonderful mood at 8:00 am. A nurse from the endo's office called to discuss Elise's numbers, and we ended up making some changes to her treatment plan that Fred and I had been asking for.

Later in the morning, Elise and I got our walk on and enjoyed the bright sunshine and temperate weather. Yes there were birds, and yes they were singing. There were no huge food battles today and Elise enjoyed everything I put in front of her. To top it all off, the proverbial icing on the proverbial cake... Elise's numbers ranged from 94 - 155. Can you say woo-hoo? Because I can.

WOO-HOO!

The only hiccup in our day was the 1 hour nap Elise woke up crying from. But I think it's safe to blame that on the teething monster.

As I was preparing Elise's dinner, I thought to myself, "I am a good Mom. No, a great Mom." I gave my daughter an adoring look, to which she returned ten-fold. And then it hit me.

I had totally forgotten to make dinner for Fred and I.

Not only that, I had forgotten to even prepare anything. I had even forgotten to think about preparing anything. It was 5:30 p.m. and all thoughts of my greatness flew out of my head as I rummaged through my fridge for anything that I could magically turn into dinner in less than 30 minutes; start to finish.

I'm happy to say, I did it. It wasn't easy trying to feed Elise, cut peppers, boil pasta and make sauce, but I got it done. You know, being a wife and Mom would be a whole lot easier without all this "extra" crap.