My immediate family is not a religious one. We enjoy the holidays, but not for the reason they were intended when it comes to Lent, Passover, Easter Sunday, and especially Christmas, much to my grandfather’s chagrin. He is a very religious man and I think it hurts him that his great grandchildren have not even been baptized. But holidays mean different things to different people; holidays, for us mean family and love.

Holidays are a time for our family to spend together without running around completing last minute errands, going from activity to activity or dragging the kids around for mundane tasks. We indulge in cuddles and kisses while hanging out in our pajamas and gorging ourselves on delicious treats.

I’ll admit, I am totally sucked into the commercialism of some holidays, especially Easter. I love that Easter means baby bunnies, kittens and ducklings. I love that the kids eat chocolate for breakfast and I adore the fuzzy stuffed animals delivered by the Easter Bunny.

Holidays are a special time for us to celebrate love and friendship regardless of one’s religious beliefs. Everyday is special and should be enjoyed with those we love, but only holidays, memories are made and shared however you choose to reflect. Life makes the best story.

No matter how you choose to spend this Easter holiday, I hope you are surrounded by loved ones. If you chose to spend this time in reflection, I wish you peace and love. If you spend the day in your jammies eating Peeps and chocolate eggs, I hope you have someone to peel the wrappers for you.

Most of all: take some time to press pause. Take in your surroundings, your family and your friends. Enjoy their company and shower them with love; today and every day.

:::

I am a member of Hallmark’s Press Pause Panel and have been sent a number of items to share with my friends and loved ones as we celebrate Easter and upcoming Mother’s Day, including: Totally Ticklish Duck who giggles when you tickle her under the wings; the Memory Keeping Recordable Frame which allows you to record a 10-second explanation of your photograph; and the adorable Watson the Raccon who participates as the story is shared aloud.

Hallmark has been the go-to holiday card company for years and now carries on the tradition with other memorable keepsakes which can be enjoyed all year long. Life is a special occasion. Enjoy.

Random Posts

• Emotional Eating with a side of Guilt Please. Hold the Tact.
• plain and simple. Monday’s suck
• Rookie Challenge: Week 3

It’s no secret I’d like to add about 10 more hours to my day. In fact, I bitch about it to anyone who will listen to my droning on about how I work full-time, work on web designs at night, two kids, house, pets, laundry, cleaning, blah, blah, blah. Not to mention that since March, I’ve also been working out 3 – 5 times a week, which is all well and good, but a little time consuming nonetheless.

Yet somehow through all this, I have managed to stay relatively sane save a few breakdowns here and there.

But now? We’ve added kindergarten to the picture, people. Kindergarten.

Our region has an integration program for the kindergarten classes where the children visit, one-on-one, with the teacher for an hour one day, then an hour with five or more kids, and THEN they start class: this is a two-week process.  Just this past week, Carter began his kindergarten routine.

And now? I have proceeded to: Lose. My. Ever-loving. Mind. AND! I’m not even the one that’s doing the pick up and drop off routine. In fact, my week has  become a tad bit easier since my step-mom comes over two mornings a week and my dad the other day. They get the kids dressed and walk Carter to school and take Hudson to the daycare.

That’s all fantastic, and am really lucky, I know. I am so grateful they are able to help us out…

But tell me: what’s with all this homework? It’s KINDERGARTEN.

I remember kindergarten. In my class we rode tricycles down the hallway and played house until someone received a blow to the head by some hard plastic food thrown at them in a fit of rage. Then all the kids were forced to sit on the ground in the dark with their hands on their heads like some sort of police raid was about to go down.

Good times, people. Good times.

Now kindergarten is all about learning! and parent contribution! and HOMEWORK!

We have books to read every night now; and sure they’re about six pages long, repeat the same five words throughout, and have prompts for the parents to make it fun! and easy! but it’s not. I get frustrated because I just want to tell him the word, but instead have to let him K-k-k-k-eye-eye-eye-eye-tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh through the whole thing. We get half way through a word and then OH! Something shiny! where we then we proceed to all over again. It’s nice to see him progress (Already, yes. My child excels at level 1 reading. Booyah!), but every night?

Okay, okay. I digress.

I can do this. I know I can do this. I will teach this kid to read.

But the REAL kicker?  I find out there’s two “nutrition breaks” instead of one lunch hour and two recesses; I’m required to make two meals. I didn’t even want to make the first one! And why are kid lunch bags so damn small? Those things are busting at the seams with a sandwich, yogurt and carrots. I’ve been jamming two meals into this itty bitty little kid lunch bag like I’d pack an overstuffed suitcase. Seriously, I throw all my weight on that 10-inch by 8-inch flimsy bag just to get the zipper around it, then I precariously place it in the fridge hoping it doesn’t explode.

Would it be weird if I sent my child with two lunch bags?

Tell me: how have you survived kindergarten? Drink excessively? Find yourself a meth dealer? Remind yourself that you’re contributing to the future of your great nation by taking full advantage of this early learning?

Basically, I just wanna know if I’m the only one that sucks at it.

* I don’t think kindergarten sucks entirely. It’s CHANGE, and it’s CHANGE that I don’t do well with. And the fact that my kid is in KINDERGARTEN. I can’t believe he’s already in kindergarten!

• A 459 Character Tweet
• Succomb
• Restaurant’s Closed

I know this exercise shit is getting old. I promise it won’t be forever.

DUDE.

I did a sit-up.

Actually, I did a BUNCH of sit-ups.

In a row.

My legs straight out in front of me, and from lying down to SITTING UP RIGHT.

FUCK YA!

Ahem.

I know Jillian says it’s the easy way, but if you burst my bubble I will be forced to cut a bitch.

My weight went up my 0.6lbs but I am attributing that to the rock hard muscle I’m building not the Big Mac I ate last week.

And! I can do push-ups.

Awesome, right?

Well, I thought so.

Plus, my apron is shrinking.

Did you know an apron is the flap of skin that hangs down after you’ve birthed 9 pound babies from your lady bits? You’re welcome.

Not so cool? My boobs, they’re leaving too.

Speaking of babies…

Hudson’s 2nd birthday is creeping up on me. I can’t believe he’s going to be two. He’s still so tiny, but his mouth? It’s big. He has so many new words and is stringing together small sentences already. His baby fine white-blonde hair is finally beginning to grow, and he’s got nearly a full mouth of teeth.

And Carter. My sweet little boy. I can’t believe he’s going to be five. We’ve signed up for kindergarten in the fall and soccer for the summer. He’s a bundle of energy that just doesn’t stop. He’s hilarious and wonderful and such a great big brother.

I bet you’re wondering what I used to take those amazingly wonderful shots of my kiddos, aren’t you? Well, actually… IT’S MY NEW iPHONE!!

I HAZ iPHONE.

Finally.

Annnnd this is going nowhere, so I’ll just end it here.

Look! Cute kids!

Random Posts

• shift work? I thought I was done with you.
• I Could Dry Hump Juan Valdez
• Blogging fun

My five year wedding anniversary is Friday. We’ve been a couple for ten, so to say five sounds like we haven’t been together all long. It’s like taking away the other half. When people ask how long we’ve been married and how old Carter is (five this summer) I can immediately sense them calculating the months (the answer’s four) and, to me, feels like our marriage is cheapened by the fact that his birth date is so close to the day we were married . I know it’s really insignificant, but it’s something that bothers me, because ten years makes it sound like we know what we’re doing whereas five sounds like we’re still newlyweds with a young family who chose to marry because we got pregnant (which is so not the case).

I’m happy to say we’ve reach this anniversary of wood.

Heh. I said wood.

Because the road to wood has been rather bumpy and rough.

Heh. I said bumpy and rough while talking about wood.

Get it? Wood. Bumpy. Rough.

Nevermind.

I would be dishonest if I told you that we’re happily married and everything is coming up roses, because it’s not. We’re not. There are no motherfucking roses to speak of most days.

I love my husband greatly. I love him more than chocolate, and that says a lot – ask him, he knows. But what I don’t love? The constant, unforgiving battle of wills. It’s like we both refuse to let the other lead. He grew up in a house of women. Being the only man can wreak havoc on your masculinity (or so I assume) and even though he’s just about the Manliest of Manly Men, I think taking direction from yet another woman is like, the ultimate pet peeve for him. I, on the other hand, grew up in a single parent home where my mother taught me I do not need a man to get by. I don’t need a man telling me when I can and can’t go buy a new pair of shoes. I work I can buy my own fuckin’ shoes whenever the fuck I please.

Ahem. I’m projecting, sorry.

So we’re at a cross-road. A cross-road that is threatening to dead-end at each and every turn if we don’t get our shit together.

Compromise: this is something either of us know very little about. I can’t speak for him (and he won’t tell me because that would be sharing feelings and men just don’t do that. Not Manliest of Manly Men.) but I feel like I sacrifice a lot. I don’t travel for work anymore because I am now the primary care giver. I take the heat at work when the kids are sick; I have to tell my boss, no I can’t stay late because I have to get to the daycare; I do the pick-up and drop-off every day since his end-of-day is rather unpredictable. I put in hour upon hour of time trying to keep this ship afloat. And, I feel wronged when I come home from work to see – after a nice restful sleep (since he’s on nights lately) – he is sitting in his comfy jogging pants dicking around on the computer while it’s ten-to-six and I’ve just sat in rush hour traffic to get to daycare where I had to rip two small crabby children from the daycare playground in order to get them home in time so I can make it to my chiropractor appointment.

I get mad. Then, I want to get even.

So I pull the same shit on him.

Sometimes, I ignore the fact that it’s dinner time and make him get up and prepare it. I don’t offer a hand. I leave laundry – that for some reason can’t find its way to a hamper – sitting on his side of the bed and wash mine and the kids stuff instead. (For the record: It’s been a month and he hasn’t touched the clothes and neither have I. The pile continues to grow and he continues to casually step over it. Every. Fucking. Day.) UPDATED! We compromised today! He washed his clothes, I folded them and he put them away. Compromise FTW!!

In an effort to “teach him how it feels” I am actually doing myself more harm than good because he doesn’t even realize all the times that I actually do stuff but only remembers that time I didn’t.

And it’s a revolving door of shit slinging and treating each other like crap.

Fun times.

One morning, two weeks ago, I woke up. Literally. Out of nowhere, I decided that I was sick of living my life waiting for Mike to make a move; waiting for him to wake up and ‘get it’. I am going to lead by example rather than try to make an example out of him. I will take the high road and do what I have to in order for myself and my kids to be happy. I will do what I can to support him and try my hardest to see that he does try rather than nit-pick about what he’s not doing or how he’s doing it. Because, you know what? We’re not perfect. We’re human and we (I) need to learn to accept that neither of us (he’s) not perfect either.

And no matter how many times I wonder if I married too young or even married the right person, it doesn’t matter because whether it’s him or another Mr. Right, it’s inevitable he will eventually leave his skid-marked underwear on the bathroom floor.

• Love Beyond the Chemistry
• Let’s Make Out Like We’re 16 Year Old Virgins
• Check Your Sexism At The Door Mister

I’ve been teetering on the edge of losing my ever loving mind over the past few weeks. Between working 70 hours a week in the office, another 20 – 30 at night on my own business, I’ve worn myself down to merely a zombie going through the motions. Mike was off work for the past 6.5 weeks and I’ve been doing what I can to pump out some quick work to bring in a little extra cash while I’ve been swamped at my salary paying regular job. Without him, I’m certain this house would have imploded.

I try valiantly to find balance, but I find that I become consumed by one or the other depending on how much attention they require. The kids get sick, I stay home, things come up that need my attention then I spend too much time away from the office or unavailable, the boss notices and then there’s reprimand. Should I have to put in additional hours – which include weekends – then family and marriage suffer. Finding that balance is a feat in itself and I am finding I am not so strong at managing my home and work-life balance.

Actually, I am failing that balance.

I know it’s short term and will eventually, (hopefully) work itself out. It has to. I love what I do. I love working. I love being a part of something and contributing to amazing and wonderful transformations on a daily basis. Driving into Downtown Toronto and seeing the skyscrapers and condo buildings makes me proud because even though they have become eye sores and block out any natural light in the downtown core, I have been a part of their construction. Though my work is neatly hidden beneath soil, steel and glass, It’s an amazing feeling to know that I have contributed to that.

But that feeling, as amazing as it is, is really nothing compared to that of being there for your children. Teaching them, learning with them, being there during their Firsts. Nothing in the world can neither compare nor replace that, and I don’t I want it to.

I want both.

I want to find that perfect equilibrium.

But then again, don’t we all?

I am not about to quit my job, though I do appreciate the links and feedback on my last few posts, I am just working through being overworked and underpaid, fatigued and riddled with Mommy Guilt. It’s regular day-to-day around here. I need to rant and vent, but I am so grateful to have you. To hear my woes and encourage me to keep on keeping on.

Just a few more hours of sleep. That’s all I need.

Oh, and a life coach, personal organizer, nanny and a winning lottery ticket.

I wasn’t kidding. I want it all.

• Greet the dawn, you know, without killing someone….
• Fixture
• Failed

It’s not often that I cook. Everyone who knows me well knows my cooking typically consists of quick and easy items: macaroni and cheese (Velveeta, not that Kraft powder shit), spaghetti, sandwiches, zoodles, sometimes boxed preservative laden meats even.

I think it’s more the waiting part that turns me off cooking rather than the actual mixing, working and creating. I am very much the type of person who needs immediate results in order to be satisfied.

Cooking does nothing for me.

Once and a while I will bake. I love making chocolate chip cookies mainly because I eat more of the batter than I do the cookies. See? Immediate results.  I’ve been known to slave over a few lemon meringue pies in my time, even some easy peasy cherry cheese cake type concoction I learned from my Gramma. Once again, all quick, all easy all requiring little to no actual baking.

Since having children I have taken a little more pride in cooking and baking. I’ve learned a few more recipes, I’ve actually made macaroni and cheese from scratch (THANK YOU PIONEER WOMAN!) and even indulged in bring baked goods to work. To feed my co-workers. To share. To proclaim to outsiders that I am indeed capable of making food stuffs save enough to eat!

Carter announced to me earlier this year that he LOVES pumpkin pie. LOVES. Because the lady at the daycare – The Cooker, The Daycare Lunch Lady, The Chef, or as I like to call her: The Procurer of Food for The Little People – makes a mean pumpkin pie.

So, for Thankgiving, I thought I’d spoil the little ankle biter and make him his own pumpkin pie. After all, what child could turn down a pumpkin pie made by their caring, doting and wonderful mother? Right?

I’ll spare you the disaster details of the actual pie making as they are irrelevant. But the kid got a pie. A pretty damn good pie if I do say so myself.

As we sat down to indulge in the delicious pumpkin-y goodness with a dollop of Cool Whip I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Carter’s little four year old face scrunch up in disgust. I played it off as nothing as I dove into the creamy goodness of my pumpkin filling.

The kids wasn’t eating anything. Not even a lick of the Cool Whip. I kinda suspected what may be coming, but I asked anyway.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” I asked.

“This pie tastes like junk,” he said matter-of-factly, “and not the good junk either.”

Seriously? Are you SERIOUS, you little jerk? After I slaved over that pie for you. I measured. I mixed. I baked. I WAITED!!!  And you call my pie JUNK!?I am NEVER. BAKING. AGAIN!!

But instead of letting him know how royally pissed I was that he dismissed my pie so coldly, I did what any parent would do in that situation.

I excused that ungrateful little shit loving and brutally honest child from the table and scarfed down his pie too.

:::

This post in brought to you by the Silicon Valley Moms Book Club. This month’s book is See Mom Run: Side-Splitting Essays from the World’s Most Harried Moms by Beth Feldman. The book is a culmination of short essays written by a number of very talented blogger who also just happen to be moms (including two short stories from one of my favourite writers, Liz Gumbinner of Mom 101). It’s witty, hilarious and ALL TRUE. Read it!

For the FTC blah-blah-CRAP: I was given this book for free and asked to write a post inspired by the book, not a review. Also? Suckit.

• Eighteen and counting
• Disconnected
• 2011: Suck Less

I thought I’d pass the reins to someone else for the time being. You’ll have to excuse the mumbles and lack of dialogue on his part, he’s just starting out. I’m thinking once he gets his routine down he may be better at maintaining this bitch.

I mean the site.

(Not THIS bitch.)

((That’s just wrong.))

(((Not to mention disgusting.)))

((((And also? SOMEONE ELSE’S JOB. SOMEONE WHO HAS NOT BEEN DOING HIS JOB.))))

(((((YA HEAR THAT SOMEONE ELSE!? I’M TALKING TO YOU SOMEONE ELSE.)))))

Ahem.

This is all wrong. ALL. WRONG.

Like I said: I think he’ll be taking over.

• Junk
• Eighteen and counting
• Today

This past weekend was my very first BlogHer and since I’ve been writing on this site for over three years now, I’ve come to *know* quite a few people. I’ve become very close with a gigantic mitt full of them making it even more surreal to have those people (and more) in the same room at the same time, talking face to face. There’s no other way to describe it other than completely surreal. I mean, you know all about them: their loves, their children, their hard times, their fears and to have never laid eyes on them until that meeting and know exactly who they are is pretty fuckin’ cool.

I can’t remember which night was which nor where I’ve ever had so much fun before.

Krystle (@snarkykisses), Moi and Miss Karen (@karensugarpants) at The Sparklecorn Extravaganza hosted by MamaPop.

photo lifted from Dove Clinical Protection Photo Booth @ MamaPopRocks Sparklecorn Extravaganza

I stayed up all hours of the night living off basic necessities like coffee, pop and free swag food – and free alcohol (DUH!). I think I had one staple meal the entire weekend.

I felt like I was in college again.

Totally hugging on The Michelin Man in the Expo

Totally crushed on people I’ve been reading FOREVER like the GORGEOUS and very sizzle Sizzle.

Me and Sizzle

And her? OMG HER. I would move to Florida and live in a cardboard box just to be with her all the time.

Me and Miss Britt

My Americus twin. I don’t know what more I can say about her besides she’s funny, GORGEOUS and so generous.

Angie and Me. Us. Forever.

Oh, and she likes my bewbs.

My Ali (@alimartell), Me and my Angie, bewb lover (@alotofnothing)

Wednesday night, our BlogHer Carpoolers‘ vehicle arrived. Chevy dropped off a beautiful 2010 Equinox which I immediately fell head over heels for. It’s an amazing drive which I totally pimped out the whole time (because I wanted to, not because they plied me with alcohol and free food). I think I may have even sold it to the gas station attendant I caught drooling all over the hood.

I arrived at Miss Karen Sugarpants‘ house where she greeted me at the door with a beer in hand. Which totally makes up for her calling me a twat. Then I spooned her and snored sweet nothings in her ear for about two hours before we got up and headed out on our eight hour drive to Chicago. Giddy like little high school girls we crossed the border into Americus blaring Britney Spears while Karen earned her new moniker @karengrannypants.

And America? Can you please talk to Target about opening their doors at 7:00am. Kthxbai.

Arrived in Chicago short on hearing (I think @karengrannypants forgot her hearing aid back home because the stereo was louder than loud and my ears were ringing for DAYS) where we met up with my twin, my stalker (WUUUUT?) (P.S. Fuckin’ LOVE her), Miss Shash and my dearest Avitable (Yes, I said dear). A warm welcome indeed.

After finding our room and cracking open our WalMart beer (I never thought I could love WalMart or America more) we met up with Mrs. Flinger (but don’t click that link because Ree has beaten Leslie’s server to a pulp and there’s nothing there.) in the hall as they stuffed bags for the Room 704 Party. Skype doesn’t do that woman justice people. Mrs. Flinger is all kindsa awesomesauce!

Thursday night has become a blur of FINALLY meeting my imaginary friends, parties and swag.

Seriously? What is this swag y’all are talking about? I’ve never even heard of swag. Swag gives me hives.

(If you haven’t listened to Dane Cook’s ‘The Nothing Fight’ then that will mean absolutely nothing to you, just carry on.. we’re walking… we’re walking…)

I know Craftastrophe won a weapon, I drank some beer and walked about six city blocks at 3 o’clock in the morning only to turn around and go back to the hotel.

I paid for a conference pass yet didn’t attend one panel. I’m not sad about that in the least. Because you know what? That conference pass was worth just being a part of those Community Keynotes (Can’t find a link to video at the moment, sorry!) and the Room of Your Own sessions. I stressed a little that I was wasting my money not attending them until that Community Keynote. Then I KNEW why I was there.

Friday night’s Nikon Cocktail Party was totally fabulous. Met some goreous women, and hung out with some of my favourite ladies while I contemplated approaching Carson Kressley but shied away from his lips critisism fame and watched from a distance.

Can I just tell you that party? So well put together, so much fun pretty well the highlight of the trip.

Or so I thought.

Because that was BEFORE I made it to the Sparklecorn Extravaganza.

Oh.

My.

Gah.

I didn’t even get any cake, just a giant unicorn leg of fondant icing.

Unicorn cake. OMFG.

picture from amysprite’s flickr. Go see. She’s AMAZING!

But like Karen said: The party was like a HUGE wedding without all the boring stuff.

And then I went all Gene Simmons on Mrs. Flinger.

So ya. That’s BlogHer.

Ahem.

Oh! And Casey. My dear sweet Casey.

Nothing but perfection.

Another amysprite pic.

________________________

Side Note:

I wanted to thank you all for your outpouring of support during our difficult time in The House of Me. I don’t think I’d be as sane right now if it weren’t for you. So thank you from the bottom of my cold, dark, shriveled heart.

I love you.

There are interviews being conducted with the children starting in two weeks. I haven’t decided if I should be there or just have Carter talked to someone without me there. I’m working through that at the moment.

We close on our new house TODAY. Our internet will be cut from this afternoon until the 11th of August so I have no idea when I’ll be checking in again. I’ll do my best to keep up with e-mails for The Business and I’ll be here and there when my addiction sees that it’s time to head to the nearest WiFi location.

<3

P.S. None of the photos are mine. I’ve stolen each and every one of them. There’s been NO time to download my camera. If you click the photo it will link you to its rightful owner.

• The Thing With Friendships
• A New York Minute
• The Obligatory ZOMG!!!11! #BlogHer09 Post

I’ve failed.

I’ve failed my child.

I see the words, and before I can finish typing them, I feverishly delete as the lump builds in my throat and as I think about the notion of googlebots and searchers finding this site with those words and I just can’t bring myself to include them.

I can’t even fathom their truth. I can’t comprehend.

As a parent, we do our very best to protect our children. We try our damnedest to keep them from compromising situations, and hope that what we’ve done is enough to protect their innocence.

My dear beautiful 3 year old son has been – over the last month, in the care of someone I thought I trusted. Someone I felt comfortable with. Someone who has allegedly taken advantage of our trust as parents and allegedly committed a crime against a child under their care.

Someone whom my child has been alone with on many occasions.

I want to believe that these allegations are false. I pray for my son, for this person, that this situation is no more than a tale from a confused child, a misunderstanding.

There has been an investigation, charges have been laid. My hopes for a misunderstanding are fleeting.

I don’t know what to do at this point.

I feel sick.

I feel confused.

I feel sad.

I am lost.

We’ve discussed the situation with Carter and he’s pretty adamant that nothing’s happened to him. I can’t really say much more at this point because I just don’t know what there is to say.

I am in shock.

I have failed to protect my child.

• On The Realm of Reality
• Greet the dawn, you know, without killing someone….
• On Wanting It All

I hate age four.

We’re technically not there yet, so I hate age 3.8333333333…

We’ve reached the crossroads between independence and needing mommy for everything and it ain’t pretty people.

As of late, everything has been a fight. Questions and defiance all the time. It’s almost as if he’s mocking my authority, because seriously? Killing me.

This morning for instance: Carter kept insisting that today was Thursday not Wednesday. As much as I’d like him to be correct, he wasn’t. I attempted to tell him that today was in fact Wednesday, not Thursday to which he continued to insist that today was THURSDAY as if that would make it THURSDAY. I tried valiantly to ignore the constant But today’s Thursday Mommy. It’s Thursday, not Wednesday. Mommy, it’s Thursday right? Today’s Thursday.

Then tears started (his not mine -yet) and I gave up. I just let him go on believing that today is Thursday.

Choose your battles people, and choose them WISELY.

I never thought I would be a spanker, a yell-er or so frustrated with a child. I think I’m a relatively patient person, but this kid? Carter’s trying every ounce of control I have. Time outs are futile. He’ll sit there talking and fidgeting; I start the clock over each time until he sits there quietly and waits out his punishment but he’s sometimes so disobedient and difficult to the point where I end up yelling. He cries, I yell and everyone’s just pissed off at the world.

I’ve become That Yelly Mom.

You know That Yelly Mom. The one that can be heard from the road screaming at her kids while all the windows are open? The one that you wrinkle your nose at and think “She doesn’t need to talk to her kids like that,” or “Holy shit lady. Calm down.” Okay, so maybe not to that extent, but yes. That’s me.

I hate it.

I despise it.

Before I realize that I’ve done it, it’s too late.

I ask and ask  and then yell when he doesn’t listen; and before I realize that I’ve turned into That Parent I never wanted to be.

There has been no spanking to-date; I’ve resisted the urge so many times resorting to taking away privileges, time outs or early bed. Sometimes they work and sometimes it all just seems like a wasted effort.

So then I yell.

I know it’s a normal stage of development for a child to find and exert their independence, but it’s a stage that I am finding I don’t handle very well. With the combined whining from Hudson, who is also at a stage where he’s developing some semblance of independence, my patience are at an all time low. The stock I once had in my ability to parent effectively is about as deflated as the US housing market.

I just don’t know how to get through the next 12 months without having a constant and unforgiving battle of wills with a four year old child and not be admitted into a 12-step program in the end.

• Stepping up my game
• Failed
• Hierarchy of Suckage*