Say "Cheesecake"

‘Tis the season. No not for the holidays (yes those are coming too) but for… family pictures. Two words that equally evoke levels of dread and excitement in most parent. Yet, I continue to sign up.  Some people aren’t into them and I get that but let me tell you why I am.

This holiday season I ALMOST didn’t sign up because I just didn’t want to stress anyone out.  Then in a moment of absolute cuteness, I looked at my 18 month old giggling and toddling around in his footie pajamas and it made me realize, each day he grows up, he changes, he gets a little less like the day before and inevitably so do we all. We can’t stop time but we can capture it and that is exactly I what I plan to do.

T minus 2 weeks until photo session…

You make the announcement that you booked the session to your ever so agreeable husband. You can tell that he isn’t completely on-board but his innate competitiveness will eventually instill his drive to win an award for Lead Parent in a Supporting Role.

T minus 8 hours until photo session…

In what seems to be an Olympic sport of making sure all parties remain photogenic until it’s “go time,” You turn from cool mom into crazy mom. What I envision to be similar to the monitoring that would happen at Alcatraz; you are on high alert.  Ensuring that no one gets scratched by the dog, that no sticky foods are served for any meal in an effort to avoid it getting matted into someone’s hair, and no sibling spatting occurs that can lead to a bonked head and puffy tear-stained eyes.

T minus 4 hours until you need to be in the car…

Next comes the timing of the crucial and I repeat crucial, NAP.  If this little three letter word does not happen or happens to fall anywhere near the schedule photo op, you might as well just stay home. This year you decided to take pictures after nap, it was a well laid plan so of course it didn’t work out. Twenty five minutes prior to your pre-estimated time of departure, all three kids are out. Probably just finishing their nap-version of REM, when we had to wake them for the “getting ready extravaganza.” Nothing makes children under 4 happier than being awakened from a deep sleep with their warm blankies than to be disrobed and have luke-warm water splashed on their heads.

T minus 20 minutes until you need to be in the car…

Then come the clothes, it doesn’t matter if you bought brand new clothes or planned the color scheme around your child’s favorite clothes, they won’t want to wear them. Now starts the crucial bartering, “If you just wear this, I will give you a Skittle.”  You have to start with something little because you know soon they will turn into the equivalent of the brokers on the floor of the NYSE.  You then decide to give them the whole bag of treats so they are distracted enough to get the clothes on them.

T plus 5 minutes of needing to be in the car…

The shoes…as soon as you get two of the six shoes you need on their little feet; the one shoe is sure to go missing, one is sure to be in the dogs mouth being carried away and the original two successful shoes are now off. You throw the shoes in the car and decide to just figure it out when you get to the studio.

You are in the car. Now the conversation starts to veer towards what rewards can be promised if everyone just “smiles and says cheese.” Ice cream, toys, movies, and candy are the main topics but you always hold out the one mystery reward that can’t be revealed unless there is no crying.

T minus 1 minute until the first camera click…

You finalize the hair gel, make sure everyone’s nose is wiped, and that everyone has everything on them that they did when they were put in the car. Oh and then there is the “smile” word that everyone can get excited about. Like an episode of Sesame Street, everyone agrees today’s session will be brought to you by the word “Cheesecake!”

What you have prepared for all day literally goes by in a flash. 

So why go through the chaos? Because even the chaos is a memory. The pictures that come after are just tangible tokens of a life worth remembering. The love and the joy that come from capturing these times in our life, make every fruit snack incentivized pose, every M&M driven smile, every Dairy Queen promised hug, so incredibly worth it.

Oh hey sippy cups

We all have heard of “Empty Nest Syndrome,” but I’d like to shine a light on something I to refer to as “Empty Bottle Rack Syndrome.” Parenting is one gigantic rubber band ball of emotions and just when you think you are getting close to the core, you find another layer. I have had three beautiful babies and while I would love a thousand more, reality and my car square footage are telling me to hang up the trusty ole stretchy pants for good. I thought had made peace with that, but then came today. The youngest one’s first birthday eve: the last day that I would have one of my “babies” sleeping under my roof. Of course I’m going to be that mom that refers to her 54 year old son as her baby because that is a well-earned prerogative but still… that baby phase…it’s over. I will wake up in the morning to have a one year old, a near three year old and a four year old. I no longer will resort to the (insert # 1-12) month old statements as a prefix for announcing my children. You may be reading this and thinking I’ve lost my marbles or you may think why yes, I too struggle letting go of that ever so short “baby” age. Either way, I write on my blog as a somewhat cathartic process that allows me to unravel that crazy rubber band ball in the best way I know how.

Let’s get back to the “Empty Bottle Rack Syndrome.” In the early months of child rearing, my husband and I would use the bottles as a bartering chip for other chores that we may find less undesirable. For example, you will often hear in our house, “I will fold the laundry, if you wash the bottles”. The other person would then ponder the pros and cons of each task for a split second and then indubitably always chose the non-bottle related task. What’s the big deal about the bottle you ask?  Wellllll here comes a not so pleasant truth…we have accumulated a lot of bottles with that allowance comes the procrastination of not having to wash the dirty ones in a timely fashion, ergo, icky bottles. One would think we would learn our lesson and not let this happen but time and time again, life got in the way of washing those itty bitty bottle parts. Let’s not even mention the “roll away” bottle. You know the one that got knocked off the end table and then you had to let the dog out and then the two year old rammed it with the Lightning McQueen car into the deep dark crevasse underneath the sectional that you find when you are looking for the remote. Yeah, that one.  Whoever was stuck with daunting task of milk cleansing would quite often be heard mumbling “I can’t wait until we don’t have to wash bottles anymore.”  What I didn’t know was that starting to put away those bottles forever would be the actual daunting task.

Being a mother doesn’t stop when your child turns a certain age but being in the stage of motherhood where those sweet little eyes are looking at you while cradled in your arms is something I will genuinely miss. It makes me tear up a little (or a lot if I’m being honest) that THAT part of my life is over. I feel beyond grateful that it happened but it doesn’t mean my sadness for its end is any less… well… there. But we move on, it’s just what we do, we move on to the next emotional mile marker that is not only part of parenthood but life and capture it the best way we know how. Take the picture, write the blog, finish the baby book, whatever it is, cherish it. They weren’t kidding when they said it would go fast.

Gotta go fold the laundry.

6 Things Toddlers Say That Will Make a Boy Mom Cringe

1)      Guess what I found? Usually followed by a mysterious closed hand that I am not sure I want to open. The other day my oldest was outside and came in with this exact presentation. I never know if it is something alive and/or how many legs it will have. Therefore that level of unknown mobility is slightly scary when you are not really fully adapted to the boy mom life.  Thankfully most of the time it some form of rock, dirt, or garbage, which I can handle.

2)      I want some more, please. I know what you are thinking. This seems harmless. To understand the problem with this short polite request, I need to provide some context. This phrase is dangerous when your kids are not participating in any eating or drinking event but rather coloring with crayons. When I first heard this, I was watching a TV show while my oldest two did some artwork at the table about 15 ft away. They were giggling and getting along so well when the youngest exclaimed, “I want some more, please.” I thought  ‘oh he is so sweet, asking for more crayons and in a way I wasn’t far off. One look at his colorful grin and I knew that he did indeed need more because he ATE the 2 he was using.

3)      I feel wet. With many liquids in my kids' lives on a daily basis, this is alarming in that you are never quite sure which one is the cause when those 3 little words are uttered.  With one kid fully potty trained and the other just starting the potty adventure, it is definitely cringe worthy.  Then you have to do the smell thing, you know the one where you try to decipher the cause of the wet spot so you can take your next step accordingly. For some reason, this statement has an uncanny way of popping up when you are in a rush OR if you just cleaned the car seats.

   4)      I didn’t do it. This usually leads to a toddler version of A Few Good Men where it feels somehow like they are Jack Nicholson and we truly “can’t handle the truth.” Nevertheless we pursue the integration to somehow bring justice to why there are 56 pairs of shoes in a “shoe rainbow” across the mudroom floor.

   5)      I stepped in something. If you have pets and 3 kids like myself, this is always a crapshoot. Literally, it might involve the c-word. Again you have to become the mom version of "Blues Clues" and decide if it was an unfortunate missed spot of spilt applesauce or if your cat had a hairball. 

     6)    “-------“ This my friends, is the dreaded sound of silence. It happens when you least expect it, when the kids are seemingly well behaved and have had no issues for the past 2 hours. Because of this, you let your guard down and put your multi-tasking into ultra-gear, thinking “Wow, I’m actually going to get so much done today.” You pull out all the stops, even the steam mop that in and of itself needs a steam mopping prior to use because it lives above the litter box in the closet.  You finally collect all the clutter off the floor and are about to channel your inner ‘Mr. Clean’ when all of the sudden you hear it. Nothing. The infamous sound of nothing and realize it is too good to be true. Before kids, the sound of nothing was glamorized as the ideal form of relaxation.  Who didn’t love the sweet as pie ode to romance; “When you say nothing at all." But now as boy mom the lack of noise has become a red flag that something has gone terribly wrong. Please reference the above picture: 2.5 minutes before the multitasking mama appeared, this boy was not blue and was fully clothed.

Being busy: a blessing not a burden

The #1 response I get when I say I have 3 boys, 3 and under is- "Wow, you must be busy."  To which I casually reply "Yep but I love it." And for the most part I truly do. In our go, go, go, world being busy has become the new norm. That doesn't mean that being busy doesn't come with its fair share of headaches. Exhibit A: in the midst of running errands (which is a fancy way of saying going to Target) , going to the doctor,  bringing my oldest to swim lessons. I did that mom thing. I locked my keys in my car.  I have no idea how I did it.  It was as though I had loaded my 46 bags into the car and thought they could just drive home while my 3 year old and I found a non-existent Uber. Thankfully I was in West Fargo where the police most generously help damsels in distress as part of their routine. When the officer arrived (who I call Ken, because he was a doppelganger of Barbie's main squeeze, plastic hair and all), he got to work. At one point he called for back up- yes back up and yes for my keys. Meanwhile I am trying to present myself like a cool, calm, collected adult even though my breast milk is about to start flowing out of me like a sprinkler and my child is minutes away from hangry stage.

Why am I telling you this story you wonder? Here's why. Along with my keys, I had locked my phone in my car. See, if I hadn't locked my phone in my car, I would have found many reasons to scroll my oh so snazzy iPhone.... 6S and fill that time to make myself unnecessarily busier.  For those 30 minutes, while the officer tried to fish my key fob through the window I was forced to be present. I was making memories with my son.  He came home that night so excited that he met an officer and told my husband how he even got a high-five.

Exhibit B is less idyllic. Sometimes the busyness of being a boy mom doesn't present itself in an anecdotal paradise. Sometimes it is just chaos. Like the one time at Target when 2 of my 3 boys were throwing a tantrum as if they were going for gold in the toddler Olympics. So much so that three complete strangers offered to help me. Then the little hoodlums decided it would be best just to lay down in the parking lot and go limp. When you only have 2 hands and your cart is full of diapers and Market Pantry brand everything; you have 1 of 3 choices: A) wait it out B) pray that one stops and just gets up C) accept help. I chose C. The 3rd lovely person to offer help was the not-so lucky winner. The bright side to this is that my husband no longer wonders why I buy EVERYTHING online including sponges.

The overwhelming part of being busy, the part that steals those precious kid-free hours, that part is on me. I strongly believe that any wife, mom, or person will find ways to occupy their time and fill it to the brim. Being busy is something everyone struggles with and there is a fine line between  (insert any Hobby Lobby sign about living life to its fullest) and swimming upstream. To me, it simply means that I raised my hand when life asked, "Who wants in?"

Sure, 3 boys is a lot of work but I would argue any one is just as busy in their own right. Besides, how does that old cliche go? "find something you love and you will never work a day in your life." Turns out... I found it. Well more like I found them.  Snotty nosed, bottomless bellied, dirt loving boys are my thing and they make my go, go, go, world go round.

I'll have some sugar on my quinoa, please.

Just like most moms/wives, I spend about 73% of my time thinking of what I am making for the next meal. Whether it be boxed cereal or mac and cheese, I try my best to make 2/3 of the meal somewhat healthy to achieve well, you know, 'balance'.  Balance is such a funny word. It is thrown in every walk of life as the ultimate goal: a healthy balanced diet; a work-life balance; a social life balance.

Being a boy mom, I have also realized balance is just as important in my expectations of their reactions. 

Tonight as I was driving the boys home from daycare, we had the usual "what's for supper?" conversation. They ask this almost immediately upon entering the vehicle. If I have something that I have worked really hard on I have learned to minimize it. I call pretty much everything "hotdish" even if it is grilled salmon on rice. I used to tell them my immaculate plans only to hear the polite disappointment in their voices when it wasn't one of the 3 following items... pizza, hot dogs, or spaghetti.  Now we RARELY have spaghetti. This is purely selfish on my part because I hate the mess it makes and the stains it leaves. But every once in awhile when I'm feeling ambitious, I have the privilege of announcing that it is "SGETTI NIGHT!" And tonight was that night.  I could hear the genuine excitement in my boys reactions while I tried to hide my discontent with the inevitable aftermath. (Not to mention that one rogue hardened noodle that I am bound to step on two days later that feels like a mini knife in the ball of my foot). It takes about 7 minutes to drive home from daycare, about 30 seconds from the driveway, I hear my eldest say "That's good mom; {long pause} that's good  that you didn't make chicken again"; as he stared contently out the window. Did I mention he is 3 years old? I couldn't help but laugh out loud and ask him to repeat it, again in the most calm and understated way he gave me kudos on making spaghetti of all things. But really he showed me that balancing the healthy grilled chicken with a carb-filled plate of spaghetti wasn't something to dread but something to be proud of because it brought joy to my boys.

Now part of this next example is very much because all 3 of boys are so young still and not necessarily a part of the boy mom repertoire but still applicable. A few months before each of the boys birthdays I begin my birthday party planning.  I dream of the menu, decor, and gifts. I try to establish a common theme by spending countless hours on Pinterest, searching anything starting with "boy..." Turns out most of the cute birthday party ideas I am drawn to are for girls so hence the filter. But over time, I have realized they don't really care about the theme, in fact no one really cares about the theme except for me. I've learned little boys simply like fun things, happy people, and sugar.

This doesn't mean I am going to stop planning or Pinteresting  (or cooking chicken more than spaghetti) because it something that brings ME joy. I sprinkle in what brings THEM joy and we call it, you guessed it....'balance'. I am still going to arrange the fruit tray like Captain America's shield even if  I've never watched a full episode of The Avengers. I am still going to buy coordinating "garbage silverware" as the boys call it. It might be in Hulk green but oh well!


They have taught me it is OK to bend a little more than I am used to outside of comfort zone in a effort to find the ever so coveted balance and I'm so thankful for that.

The only thing pink in my world was the pregnancy test box.

In a world where I am surrounded by all boys (including a male cat), I needed a space that I could call my own. A space that wouldn't get muddy, wouldn't get a grass stain, or show up to church with a Kool-aid mustache. This is that space. I decided to start a blog -not because I wanted to jump on the millennial bandwagon- but because I wanted to chronicle my life as a boy mom.

Growing up my world was filled with Barbies, softball (and not the cool fast-pitch kind, the slower-than-molasses kind where you have to hit a ball the size of the moon), and creating the most fantastic cheers after we would score a point in volleyball. I always dreamed of having a little girl that would carry on my "ahhhh-ACE!" cheer but instead God decided to bless me with boys. And when I say bless, I do not mean it in the fluffy hastag sense, but I mean it in the most profound sense. I truly love my little men.

Since this is my first blog-let's go back a few years to our first gender reveal. I wanted to go big or go home so naturally we used a shotgun to blow up a pinata in the woods for the extra spectacle. I had provided my dear friend with the essential blue and pink trinkets to stuff into the colorful donkey. I had this dream of having a boy first and girl second (like 90% of expectant mothers I am sure). The boy would be the protector and the little girl would come in and add a sweet subtlety to the family dynamic. So when the blue confetti flew out, I can't say I was an ounce disappointed. I was thrilled; my dream was coming to fruition.

Then ultrasound day for baby # 2 came. The anticipation was just too much to wait, so my husband and I opted to find out right then and there. I was fully expecting to hear the "girl" word. When the technician typed, "It's a.... boy" on the screen, I felt my raw emotion kick in. I know it isn't politically correct to feel disappointed but my 'internal girl' did. I looked at my husband who was beaming and he said "it's going to be great, they will be best friends!" And sure enough, they are (so far :) )

About a year and half later, we were back in the same room with the same results. However, this time it was different. I was different. See...I knew our 3rd baby was most likely our last baby and with that in mind, I had put so much pressure on myself to have a girl. As if my own expectations weren't strong enough, my surrounding world and social media fed my hopes until they were the size of the balloons at the Macy's Thanksgiving parade. The comments came flooding in the with my pregnancy announcement... "The boys need a sister"; "Daddy needs his little girl"; "You need a girl so you aren't so outnumbered."  The truth is no one NEEDED a girl, what I wanted and needed were not important. What was important was the healthy human in my belly that was about to enter this big ole world.


I had convinced myself that all the well wishing comments and girly pregnancy symptoms (increased heartburn and pounding hormonal headaches) meant I would for sure have ruffled butt leggings and burlap flowered headbands in my future. And when that didn't happen, something else did. I had a mini melt down and not the cute kind in the movies where a slow paced montage plays with a Sara Bareilles song. The ugly irrational kind where my words were inaudible between my sobs. My husband tried to pull me back to reality and reminded me of all the beautiful things that lied ahead.

Meanwhile I was listing all the things I was going to miss out on: the prom dress shopping, the wedding dress shopping, the first grandbaby's nursery shopping. Ok, ok, I see that shopping seems to be the only thing I was worried about here. What if my imaginary daughter DID NOT like shopping, or Barbies, or softball, or heaven forbid her mother's beloved volleyball? I hadn't thought of such a thing but the reality was I couldn't count on reliving my girly memories with someone I hadn't met yet. My interests don't automatically get transferred because we have 2 X chromosomes.

This is the part where I am supposed to say I woke up the next day and realized I was ridiculous and changed my mindset and embraced the boy mom mentality. While I did wake up the next day and believe me FULLY realized how ridiculous I had been; I did not change my mindset in that instant.

If I'm honest with myself, it wasn't until I actually gave birth to my third son that mindset fully changed. Bringing home my third boy was so effortless and so wonderful that I truly couldn't envision my life any other way.

I have started to realize that I am not missing out on anything but that I have gained the three most loving human beings that I could dream of. Dreams change. They sometimes even open up new ones. I have always wanted to be an author. My husband may scoff at that because since we have been married he can count on one hand the amount of books I've read for leisure. To that I say: I love to write, not necessarily read, ergo my blog was born. I'm passionate about this subject because it is my duty to raise these little guys to not just be the best husbands and fathers in the future but rather just be the best people. Gender is not the determinant of your character, purpose, or journey in life.

This blog's purpose is to explore the boy mom world, capture it's essence, and take away any  stereotypes that may come with it.  My hope is that you can relate on some level to the stories and reactions that I experience along the way.