Parenting is weird, sometimes. I have changed my mind about so many things in the last 15 years, I can never imagine trying to actually put my parenting technique into rules. Sometimes I’ve done things differently between kids, because they are so different. Sometimes I change my mind within the same week with the same kid because I realized the previous stance was NOT WORKING. Even if it worked before. Sometimes I switch up techniques 10 times in one day because NOTHING is working. I don’t think I could ever say anything as basic as, “I practice attachment parenting.” Or, “I do Cry It Out.” While both of those might have been true at certain points with one or more of my children, I know – in MY world – parenting is dynamic. Ever changing. Nothing is static. No decision I make today (Save the majors like: Don’t do drugs. Don’t torture small animals. Don’t vote against Gay Marriage.) regarding rules for my children or styles for my parenting, will stand the test of time. If there’s anything I’ve learned in 15 years and three children? For me? Nothing lasts forever.

But…

(There’s always a but…)

Sometimes I get frustrated when other parents do it. Or maybe, I get my feelings hurt with how other parents do it. Because, somehow some people think things are black and white. You can’t do THIS without condoning THIS. If you do THIS then you must ALSO mean to approve of THIS. If you let your kids eat cookies and chicken nuggets they’ll never like vegetables! Or, another variation: If you DON’T let your kids ever eat nuggets they’ll never know they like them! Like somehow decision making as a parent is that easy. Cosleep or your child won’t know you’ll always be there for them! And the reverse argument? Let them cry it out or your baby will never learn how to soothe themselves. I disagree with both of these statements. Sometimes I can cosleep AND teach my child how to soothe themself. DID YOU KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE? Or sometimes I can let my child cry for me, ignore them, and somehow still manage to raise them trusting I’ll be there when they need me. Since when did we, as parents, start believing everything was so black and white? Do people think that the ONLY factor in whether or not your child (a) Trusts you’ll be there for them or (b) Can soothe themselves when they’re upset – that the ONLY factor relating to those stances for your child is HOW THEY SLEEP? There’s so much more to it.

If you want to cosleep but worry your child won’t be able to soothe themselves? Then I’m sure you’ll find other ways to teach them down the road. And maybe they’ll still never learn. But they also might not have learned if you let them Cry It Out either. Because we can only do so much. Make the best decision you can in THAT moment, taking everything you know and everything you hope for and do the best you can. But it is NOT a science. There is no guarantee that anything will produce a respectable well-rounded loving and kind and successful adult. If there WAS a guarantee? Parenting experts would not exist to remind us all of the different ways we may or may not be screwing up our child.

For example: This fantastic article discussing the value of being affectionate towards children was referenced a few times by people who used it as support for why you shouldn’t do things like ignore tantrums or spank your kids. And while I thought the studies in the article were fascinating, I didn’t like using those studies to say things like, “This is why we can’t spank our kids! They’ll grow up being aggressive to me!” Because I have (a) Ignored tantrums and (b) Spanked before. And you know what? I also kiss my kids ninety million times a day. I carry my kids whenever they ask, even if they’re four. I give backrubs and headrubs to ease them to sleep. I hug. A LOT. I pat shoulders and backs. Just because a parent chooses to spank (which I stopped doing a decade ago because it just didn’t work for me) or to ignore tantrums, doesn’t mean they are not affectionate. Or not using touch to soothe. And sometimes, it just means for that one tantrum they made the decision: Ok. My kid is pitching a fit for no good reason and I’m not apt to deal with it right now. So I’m ignoring them. But the next day? The same parent may hug and soothe that child.

My Dad, on the rare occasion, yelled and threw things across the room. But afterwards? He apologized and offered his love. Yes…I would have preferred he not lose his temper. But what stood with me? Was the LOVE he showed afterwards.

Maybe this is why I don’t read strictly Parenting Advice type blogs or magazines. Even ones that try to be well-rounded. Because whenever someone is trying to make a point as to WHY they don’t do something, a correlation is always drawn to something else. For example: I don’t let my child watch TV because I like to encourage more creative activities and I want my kid to enjoy the outdoors.. And while I stand by a No TV stance in some areas and have written about it in regards to MY child, I do still let my kids watch TV. Some days a lot…some days none at all. Because some days we do crafts and go to the park! And the next day we may enjoy a Dora marathon. The two are NOT mutually exclusive.

It’s not the stances that bother me, we all take stances with our kids. It’s the platform that usually gets me riled up. I Don’t Do This ______ Because I Don’t Want This Bad Trait ______ In My Child. If it were that easy, 90% of parents would not do _______. And it makes those of us who do things differently get defensive because suddenly, because I let my child eat McDonald’s nuggets sometimes, I feel like I’m condoning a lifetime of poor fitness and obesity. I prefer to say it this way: I Don’t Do This _______ Because Right Now It Seems Like A Good Decision For This Child. We could all nurse, cosleep, never spank, and keep our kids from TV until they’re 15 but we still may have little sociopaths on our hands. I just feel like the second we present ourselves like, “I do this because the opposing stance IS AN AWFUL STANCE THAT WILL RUIN YOUR CHILDREN!” – then we are dividing ourselves up on teams as parents. It’s not like that. We are all on the SAME team: trying to do what is best for our children.

What is my point? I don’t know. I just am constantly feeling the need to defend myself in the comments sections of blog entries that make correlations between A and B that I don’t think are that black and white. I am always doing something in the gray area and whenever someone writes about They Do This Because ________ – I end up feeling like I need to pipe up and say, “Hey! I let my kids watch TV and play outside!” or on the other end “I don’t let my kids watch iCarly but I’m not sheltering them because sometimes we also watch CSI together!” (What? Okay. So that only happened once. I’m sorry.) Or my favorite, “My kid eats overly processed foods AND fresh vegetables!” (Obviously we’re talking about my boys, my daughter never eats anything. Cake or vegetables.)

But I know these entries are always meant well so I don’t want to be all defensive in the comments. There’s no need for me to pipe up and get upset saying “Just because my kid gets an allowance doesn’t mean they won’t be good with money!” because as a blogger? I always get stressed about those and I don’t want to stress anyone out. But it is an issue I think about often and since I have my own blog? I thought I’d write about it here:

I AM A GRAY AREA PARENT AND OFTEN DON’T HAVE ANY CLUE IF THE DECISIONS I’M MAKING WILL TURN MY CHILD INTO A AN OBESE, COUCH POTATO ABUSIVE SOCIOPATH, BUT I AM TRYING TO AVOID THAT OUTCOME TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITIES.

Maybe Gray Area Parenting will turn my kids into unstable adults. If it does? I’m sure this entry will be linked to in years to come as proof as to why you should PICK A STANCE AND STICK WITH IT! Until then? I’m going to just keep making the best decision I have in the moment and believe that nothing I do in that moment will destroy my child as long as I always show them love and kindness surrounding as many moments as possible. I have faith in that. Because on paper? My Dad wasn’t the best in the world. But surrounding his not-so-great moments? He showed me as much love as possible. And that, in the end, is what truly mattered.

Wes has INSISTED lately on picking out his own shirts. It drives me crazy because it takes him FOR-EVER. Yesterday he decided on this long-sleeve button-up. I allowed it because (a) I didn’t want him pitching a fit and (b) I knew it had buttons to keep the sleeves rolled up. When his sister saw what he chose, however, she decided she needed to adjust her outfit to match since she has the same shirt in her size. Hence the fashion-forward ensemble you see above. I feel like I need to carry a sign around with me that says, “My Kids Dress Themselves” – just as an explanation of the crazy outfits they wear. Lord knows I don’t want anyone crediting those combinations with ME. It’s hard enough to try to get people to take you seriously when you always look like you rolled out of bed, I want to at least pretend that if I had control over my kids THEY would look better than ME. Alas – we all just end up walking around town looking like blind hobos. At least the kids are cute.

And let’s talk about Nikki’s reading selection for the week – shall we? After E’s first day of school we did the token check-writing and form-filling-outing (?) routine that comes at the beginning of every year. We always have to sign the back page of the handbook to “prove” we’re read it. Which – we have over the years – at least read the parts that have applied to us. But it’s basically the same every year and after 10 years? It kinda just ends up in the trash. Sorry Huntsville City Schools. But this year? NikkiZ decided she needed it. She has carried it around with her everywhere. Sometimes she writes in it, sometimes she “reads” from it. Usually this involves her two favorite things to talk about: Poop and Princesses. I like to think she really IS reading from the handbook and that someone at the Handbook Office knows parents rarely read it cover-to-cover and insert some of what she’s “reading” just to keep us on our toes.

When she took it to preschool yesterday I made sure to explain to her teacher that we (a) were not trying to send her hints about the way we think she should be managing her classroom AND (b) didn’t expect her to read this particular book to the class like she normally does when students bring in books.

The point of this entry? My kids are Weird. They get that from their Father, you know. Because we all know their Mother is perfectly normal in every way.

Yesterday was a rough day on the kids. They seemed increasingly sensitive and needy and I was (and have been off and on for weeks) stressed and tired. It’s never a good combination as a parent – when your kid’s bad mood and your bad mood overlap in time. Yesterday? It involved a couple of occasions of tears (mine and theirs) and some clingy behavior that impeded my ability to get some quiet work time after MrZ came home. One of the few nights he didn’t have a work out, so I asked him to help with the kids while I did some maintenance on my site and computer. Unfortunately? They were only half interested in Dad Time and half interested in playing around my feet while I work. Eventually it ended in AndyZ begging me to sing him night-night songs and I decided my work could wait (I was running into issues there anyway) and I took him to bed.

When I was in bed with him, my first instinct was to be frustrated with his neediness and to just rush the songs and get back to work. But something about his pitiful face and his GIANT blue eyes (they are of the devil, you know) shook my grumpiness out. I just took a few deep breaths and started rubbing his head and singing to him. “One more song…” he said after every one, so I went through the 6 song menu I choose from every night. He slept with one of my stuffed snowy owls (Hedwig!) and I kissed him goodnight.

It’s hard, sometimes. To not let the rest of my life get in the way of being a good Mom. Suddenly having to walk my dogs 3+ times a day and mow two lawns a week during the hottest summer on Alabama’s record books – these are a few of the things giving me a permanent case of the grumpies. Then there’s trying to get the house on the market and the generic Back To School chaos that ensues this time of year. But none of these stress catalysts are my kid’s fault. As a matter of fact, many of them add stress to their lives as well. I’m trying my best to remember that. They are innocent bystanders in the pandemonium that is now our life…just as affected by the situation as I am. Should I make it worse by being short and terse with them? Or should I do the opposite and try to increase the positive in their lives. Definitely the latter, because as I realized singing to Wes last night – Being good to them? Is also being good to myself. I felt very much at ease as I left his room last night. Letting go of my own stress so I could sing to him peacefully? Did me as much good as it did him.

TODAY is Wacky Day. I’m thinking the outfit she just picked out on Monday with no inspiration, just her usual…Hmmm…what am I going to wear today? – I think that outfit would have passed just fine for Wacky Day, don’t you? She did hesitate a little about the striped tank, but that dress is a little big so she needed something under it. Evidently the nine-million pink shirts wouldn’t have sufficed. The one shirt she has that wouldn’t have actually matched was the one that spoke to her. Gotta love it.

I’m sending Wes for a few days this week too so he can participate in some of the fun and so that I can spend hours painting and caulking trim in the old house as it hits the market next week! I worked on our bedroom and the bathrooms and kitchen all last week, now is for the other areas of the house. So, Wes is getting dropped off at school a few days. Yesterday? HAT DAY!

I remember when I worked I would get frustrated at anything that school planned that required any extra thought/time/energy on my part. I was too busy! Why do I need to worry about what day is what and how my kids should be dressed for each day? Now that I don’t work, and NikkiZ is still in the preschool program (half-day) I enjoy these days. It’s fun to get her excited (Pajama Day is Friday and she is beside herself with joy.) and to help her decide what to wear every day. I don’t have an office waiting for me (just a paintbrush) so if we’re running a little later with the extra prep, it’s no worry.

Tomorrow is Stuffed Animal day (OMG…deciding which animal to bring may KILL US ALL.) and Friday is the beloved PAJAMA DAY! I’m thinking about strutting around in my pajamas all day too on Friday. Another perk of ditching the 9-5 world of working in an office: Everyday can be PJ Day!

I’ve been thinking a lot about my kids and how I may or may not encourage/discourage certain gender-specific activities. Julie wrote about this twice recently so I thought I’d follow her lead and share my own stories. I try my best to simply let the kids do whatever they want: Society Induced Gender Roles BE DAMNED! That part is easy. If the boy wants to play dress-up in his sister’s princess clothes? GO FOR IT. If the girl wants to play with her brother’s tool bench? IT’S ALL YOURS. This part of making sure your child has a neutral understanding of “gender roles” – this is the easy part. Just don’t say “No!” when they want to do something even if it’s typically reserved for the other gender.

The End.

Except it’s not always that easy. There are two situations I often find myself in that cause me a bit of a struggle:

1. Trying to force myself to allow the stereotypically girlie behavior. NikkiZ is such a girlie girl it’s not even funny. I am not. Sometimes I get irritated that she likes to play Pretend Fashion Diva (or whatever this game is where she dresses up in crazy outfits and prances around the house) and I try to make her go play soccer or color or something…anything else. But you know what? Not letting her play girly dress-up is just as bad as not letting her play with tools. The point is to let her do whatever, right? But she is SO GIRLIE and I am SO NOT that I struggle more with that than with anything else. If I’m letting her pick out something to wear and she chooses pink I’m always, “What about this green skirt?” Or, “don’t you want to wear this purple dress? Purple is a girlie color too.” Mainly because I’m SO SICK OF PINK. If I never intervened she would wear frilly pink dresses and pink headbands and shoes ALL THE TIME. But I’m constantly asking myself, why am I interfering? I mean…I try to act like I’m open-minded and progressive: Look! My daughter plays T-ball AND takes Dance! But in reality if I’m trying to force her more towards the t-ball and less towards the dance…aren’t I just as bad as if I were doing it the other way around? I seek solace though in knowing my desire to make her more rugged is simply because I want to have more in common with her. I’m more rugged. Just like any parent we steer our children towards our own interests. In other words, I’m not steering her away from pink because it’s girlie, I’m steering her toward blue because that’s the color I like.

Of course – whatever my own personal motivation – I should still just let her be her own giriey-self. I can’t help but to encourage other activities too – but I guess if she wants to be the super-girlie princess, I will try not to stand in her way. I’ll simply get her to teach me how to do my makeup when she gets older.

2. Allowing activities I worry they’ll hate me for later. This one applies mainly to Wes. When I was painting his sister’s nails last weekend, he obviously wanted to join in on the fun. I have him blue toenails because I can hide those in shoes and I painted one finger on each hand yellow. He loved it so much that he made sure to show everyone he saw out in public. We ran into my friend at Jason’s Deli the other night, Wes had never met her before (that I can recall) yet the first thing he did when I started talking to her was stick out his fingers and toes to show her his nails.

This is all fine and dandy except for one factor: What if he hates me for allowing that later? That’s the part I struggle with. Maybe he’ll be like his big brother and think that stuff is hilarious. But maybe he won’t. I mean, of course I hope he’ll grow up to be open-minded like his father and I, but what if he looks back on this and gets angry with me? I knew the boys as teenagers and I’ve encountered the men as adults who are the type who would be angry at their Moms for doing the same thing. I guess I just hope that the environment I raise him in will keep that from happening. That he has no choice but to grow up open-minded and glad his Mom let him have those moments of whimsy when he was a child….right?

What about you…do you try to let your kids do whatever they want regardless of gender norms? Do you have any struggles with doing this? Do you HATE PINK AS MUCH AS I DO RIGHT NOW? Because sometimes I want to punch that color in the face.

Silence is not golden in my home. Silence means someone is doing something they shouldn’t. Silence means one of my favorite articles of clothing is getting colored on or Donnie’s toolbox is being dumped on the floor and examined for the most dangerous item to be used as a hairbrush. Silence means clothes are being dragged out of every drawer and strewn across a bedroom. Silence means books are being taken of shelves and uncovered and possibly, if I’m really lucky, pages are being ripped from bindings.

It is for that reason that I welcome the screaming and squealing. If the kids are playing and I can hear them? That is a good thing. That means they’re playing loud – but appropriately. You don’t have to teach a child to hide and be silent when he’s doing something he shouldn’t, he knows that at birth. It’s some sort of survival trait we’re all born with. If the kids are singing and yelling and jumping on beds? I can hear them and THEY ARE FINE.

I’m not sure if all families are like this. Maybe your kids aren’t mischievous so silence simply means: Peace and Quiet Playtime. Maybe your kids read quietly or color in silence. Even when mine are reading and coloring they are talking and singing and yelling. My kids are only quiet for two reasons (1) A stranger is talking to them and they’re being shy or (2) They are doing something that will have them put in timeout as soon as someone catches them. That is it. There is no other time when silence is a factor so silence is NEVER WELCOME in my home. Not with my wild monkey children.

I kinda like it that way. I like the loud singing and the crazy yelling of direction during some random imaginary scene my daughter is orchestrating. “No, Wes! You are the Wild Dinosaur and I am the Princess Who Is Sword-Fighting You!” Even though my kids like to be mischevious at times, I at least know the warning signs: I Can’t Hear Them. As long as I can hear them? All is right in my world and I can finish washing dishes without worrying that my childhood books are being torn to pieces or that Wes’s face is being drawn on with Sharpies.

When I was working in an office, any family business that needed to be handled by phone (Doctor’s appointments, consultation schedules, maintenance calls etc.) for the family were done by me. I never really questioned this because; while MrZ and I both hate the phone, I accept that I hate it less and probably handle those kind of issues better than he does. No big deal.

But now that I’m at home all the time? I don’t like dealing with the phone issues. It’s a funny situation because I’m sure from an outsider’s perspective, of course it would be ME that handles the phone calls. I don’t have a job! I’m at home all day! Easy Breezy! And let me tell you – when E was little? It wouldn’t have been a problem. E played quietly and entertained himself without being destructive often. Maybe it was because he was forced to learn how, since I always had him up at school with me while I was working on projects for my degree. Maybe he was just more laid back than my other two kids. All I know now is that phone calls with my two youngest around? NIGHTMARES. They are constantly screaming at me or hanging on me or making messes or torturing small animals…you get the point. It is hard to focus my attention entirely on a phone call when I have two beautifully lovable monsters destroying the village.

I was trying to talk to a painter the other day – giving him a description of our new house since I can’t show it to him until we close. It was a detailed conversation in which I had to read off notes from the measurements and dimensions I have in my notebook. It required all of my attention so I decided to make the call while in the kids’ room. Wes does better in that room because he can’t get out and he can’t do too much damage if I’m not watching him every millisecond. The phone call lasted, maybe 10 minutes and I was entirely focused on it without glancing up from my notes for about five minutes. FIVE MINUTES. When I looked up? Wes was covered head to toe in blue highlighter (No idea where that came from.) and there were huge chunks missing out of the drawers of his dresser. I could find no tool of destruction and I’m sure I would have looked up if I had heard him beating his furniture with a sledgehammer, but somehow – he did it. He painted himself blue and destroyed a piece of furniture.

This is why, periodically, I try to con MrZ into handling the phone business. However, not only does he have the “I have to do my job while I’m at work, not personal business” argument, but he also has another programmer who shares his office. Programming is not something that can be done easily while your office mate chats with their insurance agent. So, I guess I’m still stuck making the phone calls. But I do feel like it needs to go on the record that this task? IS NOT EASY JUST BECAUSE I’M A STAY AT HOME MOM. Especially during this house-buying process. Everyone wants to talk on the phone. EVERYONE. I’ve started trying to schedule phone business for naptime, but it doesn’t always work when people aren’t in their office. (Naptime here is lunchtime for most.) Inevitably they end up returning my call when my hands are covered with chicken guts for dinner prep and my kids are each hanging off one leg demanding I sing ON MORE ROUND of “Wheels on the Bus.” And let me tell you from experience, trying to convince someone to let you float two mortgages for a few months? Not an easy task when they can hear kids in the background yelling, “Mom! Wes pooped in the bathtub and now he’s drinking the water!”

I get frustrated by the minutia of parenting declarations sometimes.

Participation trophies make our children grown up with a false and heightened sense of self-worth!

Putting our daughters in pink and our boys on tball teams before they’re old enough to ask for either is enforcing gender stereotypes!

HFCS and Processed Cheese will increase the chances that our children are obese and depressed!

Breast is Best!

Crying it out is the only way a child learns to comfort himself!

I believe there is truth in all of these statements, but these blanket declarations like someone knows FOR A FACT that this one thing is true for all children in all families…they make me crazy. Every child is different. Every family is different. I nursed NikkiZ perfectly and she would never take a bottle. Both my boys were supplemented with formula, but for different reasons. I used to be able to let E play by himself without coming back to disaster, if I leave Wes in a room alone for 5 minutes he’ll tear apart furniture and break 12 bones. Nikki puts on her princess dresses to play t-ball outside. Wes eats raw fruit by the truckload and Nikki prefers her chicken processed from a drive-thru.

I wish there was a way of knowing what was the exact right move for every kid, but there’s not. And acting like anyone knows better than anyone else, no matter how trained they are or how perfect their offspring turn out, is ridiculous. Not a day goes by when I don’t remind myself of this fact.

I read a brilliant blog entry today talking about how our parenting decisions may or may not affect our children. You need to read it…NOW. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Of course whether we get it all right or all wrong doesn’t matter. It’s their story, and they are sketching the outline of it every day. We have no control over the way they remember it later on. Will they remember only the days when I was cranky and frazzled and couldn’t get them to class on time because I locked my keys in the car but didn’t know they were in the car so I spent an hour stomping around like dumbzilla RAWR I SUCK AT STUFF upturning furniture and emptying drawers and CAN’T FIND KEYS and retracing my stomping steps through the apartment over and over? Or will they remember finding a giant limb in the back yard and draping sheets over it to make a fort, and eating strawberries, and laughing at their hilarious parents’ hilarious jokes? Will they be glad that we homeschooled? Will they be grateful for our choices, or resentful? We can’t know.

AMEN. Let me say it again. AMEN. AMEN. AMEN. This is the point I arrive at whenever I start to doubt myself and my decisions. Like, when I hear the latest news about the next thing that is going to cause my child a lifetime of health issues. Oh, Crap. That mix mac-n-cheese is bad for my kid because of some color or dye or processed something or another? I’ve fed it to them everyday for 15 years. I suck. But then I remember…it doesn’t matter. I do the best I can, with the information I have in that moment, and the rest is up to my kid. When he/she grows up, if they want to tell the story of their childhood as “awesome” or “awful” – they will be able to tell it exactly how they want by choosing certain bits to include in their story. It’s going to eventually be up to them. I look back on my childhood in the following way: I was raised by a single father who was the most wonderful father a girl could have asked for. But let me be honest, there are other ways I could have spun that story. I could have had the same amount of proof to support several other not-so positive narratives. We all can. We all do. So it’s going to be up to our kids in the end…what story they want to tell.

One time I was talking to my Dad about something and I brought up the show A-Team. “Remember, you loved that show! We used to watch it together as a family!” To which he replied, “Kim, I hated that show. I watched it with you guys because you all liked it but I hated it.”

WHAT THE HELL? It was one of the most shocking revelations from my childhood…I kid you not.

I had built a big chunk of my childhood narrative around my Dad, brother, and I watching A-Team together because Dad loved it. Turns out? WRONG. So very wrong. Not only did he not love it, he hated it. And yet, I told the story to random friends throughout my whole life about how I remember on really cold nights, we would cuddle up in front of the one baseboard heater in our house and watch A-Team with our Dad because he loved it. It was a great story that painted the picture of the childhood I liked to talk about. And it was wrong.

So, yeah. We do our best. But I can’t bring myself to freak out over the little things. Hell, I can’t even bring myself to freak out over the big things a lot of the times. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I don’t and count to 10 instead. I don’t let my teen do things on school nights, but I have been known to allow a co-ed sleepover. All of my kids have cried themselves to sleep at some point in time, but I’ve also spent sleepless night rocking/singing to each one trying to help them sleep. I let them watch tween shows for awhile, and then changed my mind after deciding it was making them rotten. I just try my best in each moment, even if the best at that moment is not the best the moment before. And I always remember that no matter how bad I screw up, or how awesome I am, this is still going to be my kids’ story to tell. And they’ll tell it how they want. I may be the villain, I may be the superhero, or I may be just some ancillary character that sometimes made cake poppers for school functions.

I just hope they remember the important things, like what TV shows I liked. Because obviously I failed Dad on that one.

Some days, or more importantly – some nights, can make parenting seem like a form of torture. When you’ve sang every song, read every book, tried every bed, driven through every neighborhood – and your child still won’t go to sleep. Eventually you end up in your own bed with a kicking 2-year old who finally falls asleep only to wake up 2 hours later, demanding a meal. You know, because who doesn’t want to feed a toddler at 1am? It’s my favorite thing to do! And then, when he finally goes back to sleep it’s only for a few hours because 5am? Wake up, sleepyhead!

Basically, I’ve spent this morning implementing the most basic of Happy Self principals. MIND OVER MATTER. My body is tired. My mind is fried. My heart is a little beaten. My throat hurts. But will this do me any good today? NO. It will simply make me more miserable. I’ve been spending every other minute of this already-long morning saying to myself, “You are in a great mood. You are excited about your day. Your kids are wonderful blessings, not evil spawns of Satan. Today is going to be a great day!”

And as cheesy as it sounds? As long as I keep telling myself this, and don’t let the festering thought of misery have even one millisecond to grow, it works. It’s one of my most valuable lessons I’ve learned in parenting. Mind over matter can work. I’ve been joking with the kids, calling their milk/juice their coffee. “Don’t spill your coffee!” They think it’s hysterical and it give me the periodic excuse to get more coffee. Which helps too. I’m staying busy, doing laundry, not letting my body dictate my mood. It doesn’t always work, trust me, but it definitely won’t work if I don’t ever try. So every time I have a particularly rough night, I try to psych myself out the next morning. I convince myself the night wasn’t that bad, I’m not that tired, and today has too much potential to waste on my own grumpiness. I say 3 days out of 5? This helps me salvage what would have been a pretty crappy day. Those are pretty good odds, if you ask me.

Several weeks ago, NikkiZ and I set out to repair a toilet and install a new toilet seat. Nothing major, just a simple task that needed our attention. I tried to make it seem fun by allowing her to be part of the entire process and help. Oddly enough? She was excited. And when it came down to it? She did most of it herself. She repaired our flusher and installed a new toilet seat with only minimal help from me. I was pretty impressed. I’ve always wanted her to see me doing stuff like that so she’ll grow up just assuming women can repair things as easily as men can, but I didn’t think she’d actually get excited about it. I mean…I know how to do it…but I’d rather someone else do it. You know?

Fast-forward to Sunday when AndyZ got a bunch of tool sets from various family members for his birthday. NikkiZ played with them all night. And then yesterday? I got these great photos that show exactly the two personalities in my middle child.

She’s always shown great mixtures of girly-girl and tomboy. She wears princess gear and tiaras but she also hits the crap out of a softball. She wants me to paint her nails but she is overly aggressive on the soccer field. She’ll rock her baby dolls to sleep and then teach her brother how to use a screwdriver. It’s just so fascinating watching her grow into this fantastically well-rounded little girl.

Much better than her mother who still doesn’t know how to apply makeup properly.

Edited to add: For those of you who noticed part of this entry is missing? I took it down just to make this entry a little more positive and less negative. I realized after the fact that it seemed a bit bitchy and, while it made me feel better at the time, I don’t want to put too much extra negative out into the universe when there’s already plenty out there. I got the bitching off my chest, now I’m okay shifting the focus of this entry back on my adorable daughter. Thanks for those of you who tolerated the previously included rant.