mom stuff

Just Let Us Run

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 1 Comment

Dear men of the world,

Stop catcalling women. Let us walk down the street. Let us finish our workout in peace. Let us enjoy our run. Stop honking your horns. Stop whistling. Stop acting like predators. Stop being predators.

STOP. Just let us run.

I have complained about the catcalls and inappropriate behavior of the male race before. Usually it is met by an eye-roll or two. So many insist that,

“Deep down, women actually love that shit.”

Yes. Outrageous as it seems, I have been told that we actually love this unsolicited attention. I have had a conversation with a group of men, during which my girlfriends and I pleaded with them to never, ever harass a woman jogger again. We promised these men that no, deep down, women do not love being catcalled. We actually all have a festering, deep-seeded rage that threatens to boil up to the surface every single time it happens. I personally have fantasized about taking a substantial tree branch to a catcaller’s rusted pick-up truck, and busting the ever-living crap out of it. I would be lying if I said I have never had to stop myself from walking up to a guy and round-housing him right in the neck. One man, a good friend actually, asked me,

“If you don’t like the attention when you workout, why don’t you just cover up? Wear baggier pants and stuff?”

Here’s a post-workout selfie, showing an example of typical workout clothes I wear. This picture wasn’t taken because I was feeling sexy or wanted sexual attention. This picture was taken because I felt strong and proud of myself.

That pisses me right the hell off. Why do I have to cover up on an 80-degree day, while men can run around wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts and Nike’s? They get to feel safe. Nobody yells at them out car windows and makes them feel self-conscious about their bodies. The chances of them getting grabbed off a path and raped in the bushes are quite low. They don’t have to focus on making eye contact with every passer-by to lower their chances of being attacked. They don’t have to secretly turn off the music in their earbuds when they pass a stranger to make sure they can hear if somebody decides to approach from behind. They don’t need to worry about sticking to busy streets so that there are plenty of eye witnesses and help available in the event that their personal space is violated. I wonder what that is like? To just throw on your shorts and go? Focus 100% on your workout? Not have a tiny jar of mace in your waistband? I can’t even fathom that freedom.

I got ready for a run today. I threw on a sports bra, tank top and a pair of fitness capri leggings. I tossed my hair into a ponytail, slipped on my running shoes, popped in my earbuds and took off. I didn’t look in a mirror. I didn’t consider my appearance, because why in the hell would what I look like matter in that moment? I had no make up on and put zero effort into how I looked. My thoughts focused solely on the practicality of my run, yet it’s my fault that I got catcalled because my clothing was tight? Here’s the thing: Baggy clothes make it hard to run. Cotton sweats hold in heat and get bogged down with sweat. Why in the hell do women need to think twice about what they wear during a workout?

Reasons I wear tight clothes to workout:

  1. Moisture-wicking fabric keeps me cool as I sweat LIKE ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING.
  2. My sports bra holds my boobs up. It has one legit job and it doesn’t fail me, provided it fits properly. Proper fit for a sports bra requires it to be tight to the skin.
  3. The leggings are like a second skin, moving with my body and allowing me full range of motion.
  4. These leggings, unlike bulky sweatpants, also reduce thigh friction. The thigh friction struggle IS REAL. Am I right, ladies? Nobody wants to end an hour of running with raw thigh skin. Nobody.
  5. Leggings designed for running also have a pouch that securely holds a cell phone in the waistband, so I can take it along for my run without it being cumbersome to hold or knocking around loosely in a pocket.
  6. Bright colors and reflective material on the clothes keep me safe by allowing me to be spotted from a distance by the bikers and drivers that share the sidewalks, streets and paths with runners.

And that is just to name a few! Workout and running clothes have practical purposes. In fact, my workout clothes cover more of my body than some other everyday outfits I have seen people wearing out in public. I am fully covered when I workout, from chest to knee. I am not wearing these clothes to be sexually suggestive. In fact, looking sexy is the absolute LAST thing on my mind when I am running. I’m mostly focused on my time, form, distance, trying not to sound like a freight train while gasping for oxygen, and most importantly, the amount of extra food I’ll be able to eat after burning off these 300 calories.

Until, that is, some asshole decides to hang his stupid head out a car window and start the inevitable bullshit that every woman alive is all too familiar with.

“Hey blondie! Who you runnin’ from!?”

“Damn girl! Look at that body! Keepin’ it tight!”

“Owwww owwwww!”

Orrrrr there’s always the traditional whistle and horn honk, if they are passing by without time to articulate one of the oh-so-eloquent sentences above.

One of my girlfriends was running, and had to stop at a cross walk. She was innocently stretching her calves while waiting for the traffic signal to change. (This is a completely normal behavior while running, may I add. Nothing sexually suggestive about calf stretches.) This was when a guy stuck his arm out the car window and snapped a picture of her. He followed that up by screaming, “DAMN, GIRL! SPANK BANK!” before the light changed and he drove off. So now there is a picture of her, in a vulnerable position, taken without her permission, on a stranger’s phone. If you don’t know what a spank bank is, I’ll let you google that on your own time. Are you offended for her? Because I certainly am.

Now I cannot speak entirely for her, but I can tell you that the minute anything like that happens to me, my mind snaps back from whatever enjoyable, relaxing place it has gone during my run. My thoughts are then focused purely on my personal safety. I now know those men noted my presence. They know what I look like, what I am wearing and what road I am running down. They went out of their way to target me and call out. If they took the time to call out, how many other men noted my presence and didn’t call out? Did any of them take a picture? What if they did? How do you think that makes me, or any other woman in that position, feel? I’ll tell you what, we certainly are NOT flattered. We definitely are NOT secretly loving it.

WE EFFING HATE IT.

This is why I cannot run the same routes day-to-day and week-to-week. This is why I have to make sure my husband knows my routes and how long I should be gone. This is why I wear a GPS tracker on my runs. This is why I carry mace in my waistband. Women runners are told to ALWAYS change our routes and times of our runs. Don’t be predictable. It makes you a target. Somebody could note the route you are running and the time of day, and they might return to that spot at that time tomorrow, or a week from now. They could watch you for a day or two, and then you are prey. You are no longer simply training for your half marathon or 5k. Now you are a victim. Some will call you paranoid, but if you don’t do all this? If you think you can just leave your house wearing a sports bra and leggings for a run, and God-forbid, something terrible happens?

On some level, society will view that as your own fault. You will have to carry some of the blame for what a man has done to you. YOU wore the tight clothes. YOU forgot the mace. YOU took the same route at the same time every Saturday morning. How could YOU be so stupid? You silly girl. You made yourself vulnerable, and YOU let the bad guy catch you.

So, men in my life, I need you to understand all of this. I need you to look at how you are able to walk around, every day, feeling safe and secure. I need you to realize that all the women you know do not have that same freedom and security. Take a minute and think about it. I need you to help us get there some day. I don’t want to produce another generation of boys that think this behavior is acceptable. I don’t want my little girls to know what it feels like to be catcalled. I don’t want them to EVER have to look at their own clothing, body, appearance, routine or actions and think that it must have been their own fault that they were sexually harassed. I don’t want our generation of adults to shrug it off as “boys being boys” and “that girl was asking for it”.

Please start with setting the example. I need you to stop catcalling women. Stop thinking it’s okay for other men to catcall women. Stop telling us to cover ourselves up. Stop taking pictures of us without our permission. Stop leering at our bodies. Stop insisting that we love being sexually harassed.

Stop rape culture.

Just let us run.

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A Toast to the Moms Without Manicures

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ Leave a comment

Recently after picking up my daughter from dance class, I had an invaluable lesson in self-image from none other than my 6-year-old. It went something like this:

“Mom! Guess what! My friend Sophia said her mom was beautiful. Then Maddie said her mom was more beautiful. But ya know what I said?! I said that YOU were the most beautiful. Because I know you are the most beautiful mommy in the whole world!”

There are a few things I was able to conclude during my stunned silence:

  1. How adorable it is that a group of kindergarteners spent their free time in dance class talking about their mommies.
  2. That they all really do believe in their little hearts that they each have the most beautiful mommy in the world, to the point that they experienced an actual disagreement over it.
  3. That more moms need to be aware that these conversations are happening, and it’s a very good thing.

These days, if I’m being honest, I certainly feel anything but beautiful. I feel rushed and busy. I feel good about fitting into my skinny jeans, but bad about the fact that I own nothing but tee-shirts to pair with them. I feel like I need an extra cup of coffee to get through my day. I feel like I probably should have put on some blush today since I ran into an acquaintance at Walgreen’s while picking up a prescription for my youngest daughter, who currently has strep throat, looking like something the cat dragged in. I feel like it wouldn’t kill me to put on a pair of shoes that aren’t combat boots, until the practicality of my day sets in and I say “F THAT” and throw on the same busted pair of combat boots I have been rocking for 3 years and running. I feel like I wish I had cut my workout 20 minutes earlier to hit the shower so that I could show up at my daughter’s dance studio not smelling like a gym rat for just once in my life. I feel like I should have taken the time to wash the paint splatters off my arms and hands, but honestly didn’t even notice them until I was standing here in the school pick-up line, again, covered in paint splatters. I feel like I desperately need my hair done, but don’t feel like spending the $200.00 it will cost me to get it back to looking fabulous. Hell, what’s the point? I wear baseball hats 5 days a week anyway. What’s a few more weeks without a touch up? The state of my nails could be described as an embarrassment at best. My cuticles have run rampant and my nails haven’t seen polish since I stood up in a friend’s wedding 7 months ago. Please don’t cringe like that. It hurts me.

So yea. Beautiful isn’t a word that’s included in my current self-assessments.

Back in the day, when I thought I was “busy” working a couple of part-time jobs and going to college, I still managed to keep up my beauty regimen. My well-planned series of treatments, dyes, bleach and wax transformed me from a regular girl into a goddess, really. Despite my crazy schedule, I had infinity time to spend at the gym. I showered, blow-dried my hair and applied makeup EVERY SINGLE DAY. I got manicures, pedicures, spray tans and whitened my teeth every other week. I got my hair professionally touched up and my eyebrows waxed every other month. I got facials regularly. I sported smokey eyes and contoured cheek bones when I went out every night. I exfoliated and moisturized and conditioned my skin and hair until everything was softer than a brand spankin’ new baby’s behind. Face masks? Yes. Hair masks? Double yes. Paraffin wax on my hands and feet? LIKE THERE’S EVEN A QUESTION?! YES. (I mean what if someone glances down at my feet in my strappy shoes and they look dry around the heels? THE HORROR.) I put thought, time and energy into my appearance. Back then, I definitely felt beautiful.

Soooo fast forward to now, and my beauty routine consists of tinted moisturizer, mascara and chapstick – on days the public is lucky. If I wash my hair, you might see me with it down that day! Chances are its soaking wet because the thought of blow drying it with a round brush until it was perfectly smooth, yet voluminous, makes me want to stab out my own two eyes with said round brush. If I washed it yesterday, it’s DEFINITELY up in a top knot by now. If it’s been 2+ days since a shampoo (and that’s basically 80% of my life, folks!) …..I’ll let you in on this beauty secret….ponytail and White Sox hat. Try not to be envious of my natural sense of style. I know, it’s hard. Want to hear a funny story? I watched a beauty vlogger style her hair with dry shampoo once. I even went out and bought some after that. It’s still sealed and will probably sit in my bathroom cabinet for all eternity. REAL TALK, PEOPLE.

I used to spend hours buying, trying on and styling outfits. I had coordinated clothing. I was rocking the latest trends. I even owned cute bras, because I actually needed to wear them before I had two kids suck all that was living right out of my boobs. Want to know what I wear now???

Painting clothes.

Exhibit A: Painting clothes, top knot and beer, because that’s my real life.

Part of being a DIY junkie means getting your hands dirty sanding, priming, painting, distressing, sealing, etc. Once paint splatters onto an article of clothing, it becomes “painting clothes”. I have an entire drawer full of painting clothes. Usually I am rushing to finish a project in between drop-offs and pick-ups of kids to various schools, sports and activities. I don’t always have time to change into clothing suitable for public. Consequences of that = I look effing homeless. Occupational hazard, I guess.

If I’m not wearing painting clothes, then I’m wearing workout clothes. I have to squeeze daily workouts into those precious fragments of time in-between my kids’ activities, meals, what have you. Therefore, I don’t always have time to shower, let alone change into clean clothes, before running out the door. Upside = my body is still bangin’, yo! Downside = again with the homeless look. A girl can’t have it all! Which brings me back full circle to that whole bra thing…. I wear sports bras every damn day. If I’m hoisting these sad lumps of flesh that my hungry babies have left behind into a real bra, I better also be drinking wine from a bottle that cost more than $10 and eating a meal of food prepped by a professional chef. Since those nights are rare these days, hellooo sports bra! (There were days I would read something like that and be ashamed for the poor soul who wrote it, but now I’m just proud of myself for taking the time to use support at all. The concept of free-boobing is quite tempting.)

I know there are moms out there who still look fabulous every day. I see them, and I look at them in awe. I probably could do that too, if I reallyyyy wanted to. Maybe I should get up at 5:00 in the morning, workout, shower, blow-dry my hair, apply makeup and put on some actual clothes before my kids get up at 7:00. I would look nice dropping them off at school. I would look like a civilized lady while grabbing groceries and stopping by the dry cleaners and post office. I could put on an apron to cook and bake so I don’t ruin my nice clothes. I could wear coveralls while I paint, and then take them off to reveal my pristine outfit when it’s time to go pick-up one of my kids. I could go get my nails and hair done regularly on evenings when my husband is home, instead of spending that time with my family.

Could of…should of…would of….

But who would all that effort be for? Why put myself through that if my heart isn’t in it anymore?

Here’s my 6-year-old all dolled up for the Daddy Daughter dance, and me in a tee-shirt. I think I might be wearing mascara, but it’s hard to be sure….

When I think about it, I like to squeeze my workout in during the day so I can get that extra hour of sleep in the morning. My kids complain when they give me kisses and I have makeup on. My 4-year-old says, “Mommy! You smell like makeup! I like to kiss your real face!” My husband likes it when my hair has no product in it and he can run his hands through it, and rolls his eyes every time I get dressed up and bust out the bottle of hairspray. I actually like the way I look in jeans and a white tee. I love the way my feet stay dry and comfortable as I run around in my trusty boots. I love getting caught up in a DIY project or writing a blog post, and would rather spend every spare minute working on it than quitting early to “tidy myself up” before I leave the house. I’m a different person now. I’m a mom. It isn’t glamourous, but it’s so much better than any slew of beauty treatments you could dump on a face.

So this one’s for you, my fellow moms without manicures, go ahead and feel beautiful. Raise up that mug of coffee and make a toast to your favorite jeans! Pat yourself right on the back of your tee-shirt! Go get all the kisses on your bare face and throw a ball cap on over your air-dried hair. Because the most important little people in your life already KNOW in their souls that you are the most beautiful mommy there is, so there’s certainly no need for improvement!

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The Plight of a Feminist Stay-At-Home Mom

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 2 Comments

There are those questions that every stay-at-home parent dreads to hear:

“What do you do all day?”

“How can you guys afford anything?”

“Don’t you go crazy just sitting at home?”

Or even better, the unsolicited advice based on nothing:

“You’ll someday regret these years you aren’t paying into retirement.”

“Your job as a parent is to provide as much financial security as possible to your family.”

“This is doing irreparable damage to your career.”

Then there’s a whole lot of the “well-meaning” comments from people who have “good intentions”:

“I could never do what you do.”

“You don’t have to do this. There are so many good childcare options these days.”

“I would be in great shape too, if I had all that extra time to go to the gym.”

“You’re so lucky that you get to watch TV and drink wine all day!”

How exactly can I explain to these people that I do what feels like, basically, everything!? How can I tell somebody that I do, in fact, sometimes feel like I’m going nuts, yet it is worth it? Why is my family’s financial situation such an anomaly to them? Why are they so worried about the future of MY career?

Aside from all of that, the fact that they think I get time to myself? Suuuure, people. I can work out at the gym for hours, then come home, sit around, drink wine and watch TV alllllll day! #livingthedream

^That is just plain hilarious. I’m always in stitches over those assholes.^

This topic is a tricky one. I cannot simply explain my decision to become a stay-at-home mom to families with two working parents. It is legitimately, damn near impossible. They either:

1. Get offended. Maybe they think that in some way talking about the hows and whys of my decision in turn means I look down on their own? I’m not sure, but it has happened more times than I can count.

-OR-

2. They look at me like I have 3 heads. I am no longer allowed to be an independent, educated feminist. How dare I not earn my own paycheck and pay my own bills!? How could I let my husband do that for me!? I am the problem! Down with domestication!

I am going to try to explain this life and why I chose it. My point here is not to offend, my point is to educate. Maybe you are one of those people above? Perhaps some of those words have come out of your mouth? If you didn’t say them to me, maybe you said them to another parent who decided to take a few years off work to focus on their kids. Maybe you decided you would crack a joke about the sad and pathetic stay-at-home moms of the world. I have heard it all, trust me. During conversation at a dinner party, there was a man who once said to me,

“If my wife wasn’t helping to contribute financially, she better be waiting for me in a sexy outfit with a cold beer every day. Cody’s a lucky man.”

I’m going to take a stab at what he assumes about stay-at-home moms like me… You assume that I barely made it out of high school and had no future. My only option was to trap the first guy with a decent salary I stumbled upon into marrying me and pop out a few kids. Now I’m just another one of the mommies who bake cookies, wear mom jeans and drive minivans full of screaming kids to the grocery store. I’m forever lumped into the “housewife” category. I’m not worth the dirt on the fancy, designer heels you bought for your own glamorous wife to wear as she clip claps into her corner office. Your wife is better than me because she chose to put her career first. (Or did she? Sounds like maybe you weighed in on that matter, sir!) I am a lost cause to the feminist movement, a failure who could have done better for myself. May God have mercy on my soul.

Well. I would answer him plain and simple: YOU. ARE. WRONG.

Turns out, like so many other stay-at-home parents, I graduated high school with honors and have a bachelor’s degree in kinesiology. I have experience training college athletes and educating patients in cardiac rehabilitation. I also have two kids. And when my oldest was born, I decided none of that was as important as she was. Plain and simple, everything else in my life could wait.

You know what won’t wait?

My kids. They are going to keep growing up. Nothing can slow that down, and I feel like if I blink I am missing something. They were only babies for two years. That’s it. Two. That is all you get, and it goes by way too fast.

I opened my eyes one day and my daughter was running around on chubby legs and asserting herself in her own little voice. She wasn’t a baby anymore, she was a toddler. Then I was dropping her off at preschool and watching her climb on the playground, and before I knew it, we had a kindergartener. This kindergartener is in cheerleading, dance, gymnastics and soccer. She is her own person. She lost all her baby fat. She has her own smell, and it’s no longer the scent of my baby. She has long blonde hair, instead of wispy baby fuzz. She chooses her own outfits, does her own homework and gets herself snacks. Next year she will be in school full-time as a first grader, and she won’t need me during the day anymore. Coming up, just as fast, behind her is my youngest. I have a couple of years left at home with my babies, and then I’ll go back to work.

A job and a big, fat paycheck will always be there. I might have to work a little harder to gain the ground that I lost. I’ll have to do some continuing education to bring myself current and stay competitive in my field. I may never climb as high as some have, but then again maybe I still will, despite this self-inflicted “career suicide”. I have well over thirty years to devote to my career at this point, so I really don’t have FOMO. Promise. I don’t waste time crying myself to sleep over the job I could have had, mainly because I have so many other productive things to do with my time right now. Oh! Which reminds me, you have been wondering what I do all day? Here’s your answer!

I do everything you pay your childcare to do. I do everything you pay your cleaning lady to do. I have never paid anybody to come into my house and do a single thing. I get it done myself, because it’s my job to get shit done. More important to me than all of that – I am the only one who raised my kids. Nobody else ever tagged in. It was all me. I kissed every single boo-boo. I wiped every single tear. I was the only one to hold them every time they were scared, hurt or sick. I read all the stories, did all the puzzles and built all the legos. I potty trained them myself. I sleep trained them myself. I taught them how to count, write and read. I know exactly what nutrition they took in, how much activity they do and how much screen time they get. I manage their schedule and know the exact amount of time they napped, and the exact time they went to bed. Me. I was in charge of it all. Nobody else. And I’m damn proud of every single part of it. Scoff at that if you want to, but it won’t change my mind. If you can be proud of a successful and productive few years at your job, then why can’t I?

Every minute of this eight total years home with my kids will be worth all the financial and career sacrifices. I feel like these years of my kids’ lives were not something I ever wanted to miss. They were only little once. I’ll never, ever look back on this time of my life and think, “Man! I wish I had put those kids in daycare and gone to work!” I couldn’t imagine trusting somebody else to do as good of a job as me. I wanted it done my way, so I did it myself.

Does all  of this mean I think working parents are wrong? Am I any better at being a mom than anybody else?

HELL NO! Each family has the freedom to choose what is best for them. They can manage their own finances, their own careers and their own children. They make choices that benefit themselves and their families in whatever ways they see fit. So let’s stop weighing in on each other’s lives, because in the end what really matters is that everybody is happy and taken care of. MY choice wasn’t YOUR choice, and that’s perfectly okay.

Feminism is about equality. Feminism is about people having freedom to choose their own life, rather than anyone else making those choices for them. I had the freedom to make my choice. I agree with that man from the dinner party – My husband is a pretty lucky guy! Cody often tells me he appreciates everything I do, even on the days (ahem…every day….) he gets home to find me with unwashed hair in a messy bun and my painting sweats on. If he wants a cold beer, he gets it for himself because he happens to be a grown-ass man who understands when his wife is busy. I wasn’t forced into this life by anyone. I consciously thought it through and decided to stay home with my kids while they are little. This doesn’t make me less of a woman than anybody else.

Now let’s all go #dowork, whatever that work may be!

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Happily Ever After

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ Leave a comment

I have two daughters to raise. May the good Lord help me through this.

Here is the thing that is currently bugging the heck out of me while raising these two girls:

They both can’t wait to be “The Bride” at their weddings. (BARF!)

Cody and Kaitlyn 018
Look at my flower girls! The cutest in the land!

I blame myself for this. I actually walked in front of them as “The Bride” last year to marry their dad. They re-enact my own wedding every time we visit the park where I myself was once a bride. They play dress up, and fight over the white dress because they both want to be “The Bride.” They love any story involving a girl marrying a prince. They look at our wedding pictures at least once a week and coo, “Oh Mommy! You were beautiful in your dress!” They play wedding with their Barbies. (Ken really makes out in this wedding business. He has married Barbie and all her friends at least three times each. What a creepy bastard.) The words, “There is the bride! Doesn’t she look so beautiful?” have come out of my own mouth at every wedding we have ever attended. I am the one who is allowing, perhaps even encouraging, their perceptions of womanhood become skewed.

I admit there is something alluring about being “The Bride” to these little princess minds. Your prince charming (Or the man you end up settling for, depending how you look at it.) gets down on one knee in the middle of a crowded room and presents you with a diamond ring. You say yes, and people you don’t even know cheer and congratulate your life-long future happiness. Friends and family toast you and the groom at every engagement party, bridal shower, bachelor party, bachelorette party and rehearsal dinner from proposal to wedding. The entire guest list has to hear (multiple times) your love story of “how we found each other online” or “how we met in a bar in college.” You get to wear a dreamy dress while everybody looks at you with tears in their eyes and says, “Doesn’t she look soooo beautiful?”

You get to be the center of attention for an entire day. People watch you talk, eat, dance and drink like you are a celebrity. Not to mention the paparazzi-like photographers you paid thousands of dollars to follow you around and make you look damn near flawless in every picture. Once these pictures are in your hands, you will flood social media with them. Because everybody who wasn’t invited still needs to see how good you looked and how “in love” you are. Relatives gather from across the country for this event in your life, and probably won’t gather like that again until your funeral. IT IS THE HAPPIEST DAMN DAY OF YOUR LIFE. Every person you encounter will repeat it to you so many times it practically becomes your mantra.

Why are weddings so celebrated? Aren’t there other things in a girl’s life that are SO MUCH MORE worthy of celebration? Why are we so focused on finding a man and marrying him? And God forbid it if we dare dream otherwise!

I don’t want to crush my daughters’ childhood dreams, so I let the wedding play happen while I cringe inside. I don’t want to screw up their innocent views on the world. Every fairy tale they have ever heard ends with “they lived happily ever after.” At the end of the story, all princesses marry their prince. Why would the ending be any different for them?

Sadly, I know plenty of beautiful, talented, accomplished women who are living their lives thinking less of themselves, just because they are approaching their thirties without a serious boyfriend. Why does so much of our self-worth end up being attached to finding a guy to marry? Why can’t we still live happily ever after, while filing single on our tax return?

I have girlfriends who have put themselves through law school, but receive constant pressure from people to, “Just go out and find a nice guy so you can settle down.” Does nobody realize the sacrifices and hard work that go in to graduating with a law degree?! Not to mention the ladders they now will have to climb to make a name for themselves in that crazy, competitive world of law careers?! Shouldn’t ALL THAT be celebrated so much more than snagging a guy off Tinder and getting him to propose?!

I have friends in happy, committed relationships who have chosen (for their own, personal reasons!) not to marry or have kids. Yet it never fails, people still can’t help but comment, “Someday she will decide to get serious.” Apparently, their relationship can’t be taken seriously until they get on board with traditional society. We can’t all just appreciate a healthy, supportive and loving relationship unless it comes with a marriage certificate and baby carriage.

I want to stop teaching my little girls to aspire to marriage. I want to encourage my girls to become their own person, make their own educated choices and live their life how they choose. I will not allow society’s rules to cloud their own vision of what their life should be. If they are confident enough in themselves to walk off the beaten path, then I have succeeded. I have helped them to grow into the brave individuals who went out into the world and achieved their own dreams outside of what other people thought would be best for them.

So here is a crazy idea: Let’s look at marriage as a choice, rather than a necessity. Women can live happily ever after, with or without marriage vows. They can hold down jobs, buy houses and cars, and even raise children with or without a partner by their side. And maybe…Just maybe…they can be just as celebrated in these successes.

Let’s make the happiest days of our daughters’ lives the days they graduate high school, college and graduate school. Let’s celebrate them as they dance and sing on Broadway, create thought-provoking art and sell their first painting. Let’s celebrate the days they win the state tournament, get offered a scholarship and earn a starting spot on their sport’s team. Let’s celebrate the days they land their dream job, receive an awesome promotion and turn the key in the door of their first house. Let’s celebrate the day they become a parent, regardless of how that child was brought into their lives. Let’s celebrate when they find a person to love and walk through life with. If they decide to get married to that person along the way, then of course, we can celebrate that too.

But I absolutely refuse to discredit the rest of their life achievements based on their relationship status.

If we do this for our daughters, maybe they can show us how to find the real happily ever after.

Cody and Kaitlyn 380
And we lived happily ever after….with a marriage certificate AND two lifetimes of personal achievements behind and still ahead of us!

Mommy-To-Be Knows Best

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ Leave a comment

I have reached a phase of life in which I currently know more pregnant women than non-pregnant women. I’m serious. Something is in the water, and EVERYONE is expecting.

pregnant meme

I was pregnant with my oldest daughter 6 years ago, so talking to most of my single, 24-year-old friends about pregnancy meant I might as well have been speaking French. I love those ladies, but telling them about childbirth was almost hilarious. They could not wrap their heads around everything my body did to bring my first-born into the world. These same women who avoided pregnant me like the plague a few years ago have gotten knocked up. Ironically, they have also become experts on all aspects of parenting over the course of their first trimester.

Listen up, mommies-to-be! Recently, a few in your ranks have felt the need to express their opinions on what they deemed right and wrong in regard to how some of us are currently parenting our living, breathing children. Let me just take a moment to say, in the kindest way possible, that you don’t know shit.

You can read all the books in the world during pregnancy, but absolutely NOTHING prepares you for what is to come. I am not trying to scare you, I am just trying to help you understand that you are wasting your time and energy focusing on everything that doesn’t matter. What matters is that everybody is healthy and happy. Sometimes making decisions based on what is perceived to be the best for mom and baby, before you even give birth, is setting yourself up for some cruel disappointment and misery. Not to mention, the way you pass judgement (Based on what exactly? An article somebody shared on Facebook?) may be offending or hurting some other moms.

Congratulations, mommies-to-be! You are embarking on a magical journey of self discovery and growing a teeny tiny human! Time to start glowing and embracing that bump! Now let’s prep you for cold, hard reality with a little pop quiz, covering some of the topics that are most frequently going to piss you off as you head into parenthood.

1. Are you married?

No: Suit up! Because the wrath of the Christians and Catholics will fall upon you, sinner. To hell with you and your demon seed! (Bonus point if you eventually get around to getting married so your parents and grandparents can sleep at night.)

Yes: You win this one, according to most of society. Plus you still have a shot at making it into Heaven after you croak, ya lucky duck! (Bonus point for being smart enough to look gorgeous in a wedding dress before pregnancy destroys you.)

2. Are you planning to have a natural childbirth?

No: You know your limits. Good for you!

Yes: Good luck. I also thought I wanted a natural childbirth, until I got a taste of active labor. I have two carefully chosen words for you: F**K THAT.

*Bonus point for realizing it doesn’t matter how you plan your delivery, because there is absolutely no way to predict how that train wreck is going to go down. Just try not to be terrified by your own body.

3. Are you going back to work after you have the baby?

No: Hope you have a skin thick enough to deflect all the demeaning comments about lazy stay-at-home moms, because we basically do nothing all day. The household pretty much runs itself, so we can pursue all kinds of leisurely hobbies. It doesn’t matter if you leave a career in neurosurgery behind you, everyone assumes you are a gold digger who popped out a kid so you don’t have to work. Now you can drink wine, do nothing and get your nails done like the rest of us stay-at-home mom slackers! Congrats on taking your life nowhere!

Yes: You don’t win either. The good old “women stayed home to raise their families in my day” guilt trips are just the tip of the iceberg for you. People are going to weigh in on your childcare options – “Ugh. She sent her kids to daycare. THE HORROR.” – And no matter what you choose, someone won’t like it. If you are lucky enough to have a relative watching the kids for you, there is now an awkward household dynamic of “Grandma knows best” VS. “Mommy knows best”. So good luck sorting through all that while trying to break through the glass ceiling.

4. Are you planning to breastfeed?

No: Oh man. I wish you well, because people are going to hate you for this. You might hear the phrase “breast is best” more than you hear your own name. Avoid all mommy and me classes, because you and your formula fed monster are going to be shunned from them anyway. How dare you make the selfish choice to feed your baby that liquid poison?! No bonus points awarded for a valid medical excuse, because nobody wants to hear about that anyway. What matters to the world is that you aren’t feeding your baby the magic elixir known as breast milk, you sad excuse for a mother.

Yes: You win everything. You are going to have prettier, smarter, more athletic children. They are going to grow up to be world champions, and you can go ahead and pat yourself on the back someday, knowing it was your breast milk that got them there. They will have such a head start thanks to your maternal sacrifice. Until you actually have the baby and start breastfeeding. And find out it hurts – Hurts really bad. Then your nipples start to bleed, and the baby screams for hours on end because it takes 5 DAMN DAYS for your milk to actually come in. Your milk supply might increase, eventually. Your body will *probably* make enough milk. Breastfeed for life!

So did you pass the quiz with flying colors? Fail miserably? Who knows, right?

Because the truth is, you just don’t know until you actually give birth to that tiny human. You can read all the crap pregnancy and parenting books you want, and judge the way all of us moms are currently doing things. You can watch me discipline my 3-year-old and make a vow to never handle a situation with your own child in public like I did. You can watch me feed my kids a happy meal for dinner and secretly promise your unborn child that its sacred digestive system will never know the horrors of a chicken nugget. You can sneer at the thought of me throwing in the breastfeeding towel and switching to formula, while you pat your growing stomach and tell your baby that you would never give up like I gave up. That’s perfectly fine with me, because I know you are going to eat all those words someday.

I, like you, had a birth plan, breastfeeding plan and overall understanding that I was going to be the best parent ever. I already knew exactly what was going to happen because I researched everything. Funny thing about pregnancy, delivery and newborn babies: YOU MIGHT AS WELL TOSS ALL OF YOUR PERFECT PLANS RIGHT OUT THE WINDOW. That kid comes screeching into the world, and turns it upside down. You better just be ready to survive.

I hope you get everything you want out of your pregnancies, deliveries and newborn days. I hope all your well-laid plans unfold like you dream they will. I hope you really are the best mom ever, and I can someday learn from you. However, I need you all to know that if you abandon one of your strictly laid plans, I know it’s because you are surviving. If you aren’t always the best mom ever, I know it’s because you are human. If pregnancy and delivery wasn’t rainbows and roses, I know it’s because you were misled into thinking they would be. The reality of childbirth is unpredictable and messy, leaving you with a transitioning body and tiny newborn that are both even more unpredictable and messy. I’ll be the one to understand that and support you, because I lived through that. Twice.

So my lovely, glowing mommies-to-be, don’t judge us moms too harshly and be careful with your words. We are the ones who will be here to support you on the other side of this journey you’re on. Everybody wants the absolute best for their children, but it is impossible to know what is best until faced with reality. None of us truly know what the hell we are doing in this crazy world of parenting, but I bet all our kids (maybe even my formula fed ones) are going to turn out just fine.

emmybottlelove
My little Emmy enjoying her bottle.

If you liked this post, you will also love reading “The Perfect Mom Quest”.

Our Elf Has A Spot On Our Shelf

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ Leave a comment

Every holiday has its fluff. Easter has the eggs and bunny, Halloween has costumes and candy, and Fourth of July has barbecues and fireworks. Christmas has the most fluff of them all. So, naturally, people start drinking haterade and talking crazy about the newest evils contrived in the name of Santa and his minions. Like this article and this article that keep popping up in my social media.

Image from Amazon.com

There he is. The innocent Elf on the Shelf. He didn’t ask to be pulled into a political battle of Mom squads. It is just like our generation of parents to go to extremes on this simple crap. You must stand on one of two sides – Team Pinterest Elf or Team Burn the Elf. Your elf can bake Goddamn cakes out of his own candy cane poop at midnight, or you can take to social media and demand this poor elf burn in Hellfire. Clearly, we all have taken this a little too far and ruined what was a cute idea and fun activity for our kids by projecting our own crap onto it. Our generation of parents is literally the worst. Calm down, people!

The elf is called “The Elf on the SHELF“. All it needs to do is move around your house and sit somewhere. It provides an explanation to your 5-year-old on how Santa can keep an eye on every child in the world. The elf doesn’t need to take hostages. It doesn’t need to host parties with all its doll friends. It doesn’t need to go fishing for goldfish crackers. It certainly can if mom has a clever imagination and 10 extra minutes before bed, but – GOD ALMIGHTY – it does not have to!

I think it is funny when somebody tells me they don’t have time for the elf. I hate when people make excuses for their own laziness. It is not a time-consuming endeavor. I promise. How hard is it to move an elf from a shelf in the kitchen to a table top in the living room once the kids go to bed? I’ll tell you….

NOT HARD AT ALL. I even manage to do it in under 30 seconds on my way to the laundry room with a basket full of laundry. (Now is the moment where I will be accepting my mom of the year award. Seriously. I moved the elf ANNNDD did a load of laundry. I deserve an award.)

My girls (ages 3 and 5) are not afraid of the elf. In fact, they look forward to her arrival. They start asking about her after Thanksgiving, and on the day she arrives from the North Pole (December 1st) the excitement in our house is palpable. They jump out of bed every morning and run around the house looking for her new spot. When they find her, they squeal with delight and come tearing around the corner to tell me where she is. It is all fun and games over here. I don’t know where there are Nazi elves scaring the pants off children, but it isn’t in this house. My kids are not threatened with impending Christmas morning doom if the elf happens to witness a naughty moment, anymore than I was during my childhood Christmastime.

A version of the elf was around when we were growing up. You still had to “be good” for Santa. Remember when we were kids and sang “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” at every school Christmas show we ever starred in? I’ll refresh your memory. The lyrics say,

“He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when your awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake!”

OH! So you doooo remember! We were fed the same crap as children. Instead of having an elf visit our house, we were told an old man used Christmas magic to watch all the children in the world. So why weren’t our parents calling in outrage for the lyrics to be edited?! Why didn’t they come to the realization that Santa is probably a pedophile that needs to be stopped!? I mean, who watches kids in their sleep and makes them sing songs about it?! Our entire generation is screwed up now, and it is all because our parents didn’t care enough to take away the magic of Christmas. They let us believe Santa was watching us. And now here we all are. One big generation of the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse. <—–(See what I did there? I went Clark Giswold on you guys. You’re welcome!)

I don’t remember feeling violated by Santa or his elves as a child. I only remember that magical feeling of Christmas filling the house with every day we counted closer to Christmas eve. I remember fighting to stay awake to see Santa and staring out the window until my eyes watered, looking for the red dot that was Rudolph’s nose steering the sleigh towards my house. I remember waking up and trampling down the stairs with my brothers to see if Santa had come on Christmas morning. I also remember when I found out for certain that the actual man “Santa Claus” did not really exist. I knew I was too old to believe in him, but I was secretly mad at my mom after she confirmed what the kids said at school to be true. Santa wasn’t real. Going into that Christmas, I thought it was all over. Christmas was going to be just another day now. Nothing special or magical.

Turns out I was wrong. I watched my little brothers truly believing in the magic as they ripped into their gifts. I learned the rewarding feeling of giving through Santa Claus. Christmas magic and Santa still totally exist for me today. I love seeing my extended family, exchanging presents, making Christmas cookies, decorating the house and singing Christmas music. I love creating the magic for my own children. I put my heart and soul into it.  I make my holiday season all about my kids.

That might rub some people the wrong way, but too bad! I have about 5 more years (at least…hopefully!) that both of my kids can truly believe in something magical, and I am not about to waste it by making excuses and whining about the miseries of finding a new spot to plop our elf. I am going to milk these years for all that they are worth. If it means I stay up late a few nights, then fine! It’s worth it to me.

My kids have the rest of their lives to worry about the financial strain and mass commercialization of the holidays. I can definitely wait a few more years before introducing them to the grim details of the way our society works, and until then, I would like their childhood Christmases to be as spectacular as I can personally make them. They are imaginative, creative, mischievous, wonderful little girls who deserve it. They love that little elf,  so I am going to keep moving her to a new spot each night and continue to welcome her into our house each year. I know that one year, all too soon, December 1st is going to come around without the excitement and squeals that usually accompany our elf’s arrival. Then I’ll set her on a shelf to watch over us, and teach my girls the real, grown-up magic of Christmas.

Still hate Elf on a Shelf?

buddytheelfJust saying! 😉

Happy holidays, everybody!

Click to find out where you can have some Free Christmas Fun with your whole family!

Everything is Covered in Glitter

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 1 Comment

Everything I own is covered in glitter.

No matter how much I vacuum. No matter how much I dust, sweep and mop.

GLITTER. Freaking everywhere.

This might make you question where I live….Is it a night club? Some kind of Christmas twilight zone? A preschool classroom gone wrong? A land of never-ending fairy tales?

Yes. Yes. Yes. And YES. I live in some kind of curious amalgam of these places.

I live with two little girls. They are 5 and 3 years old. If you also live with little girls, please nod your head in understanding as you give me a pat on the back through your computer. I know you get it. For those of you that don’t have this particular honor, I will elaborate.

These little girls are constantly changing their outfits and playing dress up. Their dress up clothes are covered in glitter and rhinestones. The gaudier the better! They wear these princess outfits all over my house. They sit on the furniture to drink tea and hold court. They dance and twirl down the hallways. They whip through this place in a tornado of shimmering tutus, royal jewels and giggles. So my furniture is permanently covered in glitter. In fact, the glitter has worked its way into the fibers of all the upholstery. It doesn’t even vacuum up anymore. All I need to do is dim the lights and the couch looks like a booth in a low-class nightclub.

The Christmas decorations came out this weekend. I love Christmas, and I love that my girls love Christmas. The more Christmas stuff, the better! Except that I spent time working the decorations strategically into my home’s decor, and my daughters have zero regard for visual balance in a room. My careful consideration of where to place my Christmas things is fruitless. Every Christmas decoration looks like a toy to them. Their tiny fingers just can’t resist picking things up to look at them and move them around. Some of the Christmas things are sparkly. Some of the sparkles fall off because they are not meant to be played with by little hands. These sparkles and glitter sprinkle the floors, shelves and end tables that these items were placed on. Curious little girls have no concept of when their mom last dusted those exact surfaces. (AHEM….Yesterday.) So I basically am living in a never-ending sparkle dust nightmare, and it would take a Christmas miracle to wake me up.

I love crafts and art projects, and I love doing them with my kids. I actually talked Cody into converting a large closet into an art space for the kids. We do crafts and art projects daily. Clearly, art with these fairy princesses means:

“It’s not finished unless it sparkles.”

We have a plethora of gems, rhinestones, sparkle paint, sparkle glue, sparkle beads and – you guessed it – glitter. In every shade of the rainbow. No matter how much I supervise and try to control the art chaos, I end up sweeping up a glitter shitstorm every afternoon. What is it about glitter that just makes it migrate everywhere?! As I sweep the floors, my eyes catch tiny glints in the grooves of the wood. Just taunting me. Asking why I don’t care enough to get down on my hands and knees to obliterate every last flake of glitter from my floors once and for all? The answer is simple: Because it will be back tomorrow….And the next day…And the day after that. For every flake of glitter I clean up, two more will allude me until the sun reaches the right angle in the sky. Then I will see another glint….And another….And then even more glints come evening once the lights get turned on. Just thinking about it is enough to make me go bat-shit crazy! So I’ll just continue to sweep what I can, and pretend like I did a good job. For my sanity. Screw those out-of-reach flakes in the floor grooves! They add character to the house.

The imaginations of a preschooler and toddler know no bounds. I love that they play pretend. I love that they really believe pixie dust will make them fly. I even love the fact that glitter looks a lot like pixie dust. Our glitter stash from the aforementioned daily craft party is kept on the high shelf in their art space. Turns out, Avery can reach this shelf with the help of a chair to stand on. I know this for a fact. Because today I came around the corner and found the girls chanting,

“Faith, trust and PIXIE DUST!”

Avery began tossing handfuls of glitter on Emmy’s head. She then instructed her little sister,

“Keep your eyes closed and think your happy thoughts, Em! After you start to fly you have to give me some pixie dust so I can fly too, OK?”

Poor Emmy. She really thought she was going to fly. Her face was pinched up with the effort of thinking all those happy thoughts, and her chubby little 3-year-old arms were flapping like she was about to take off. Flecks of glitter were falling over her cheeks and working their way into her clothes. There was an actual PILE of glitter on the top of that kid’s head.

I immediately flared with pure, red anger. How dare those little stinkers drag a chair over to the high art shelf and take down some of its forbidden contents! What on earth went through their heads when they thought that tossing HANDFULS of glitter over the freshly vacuumed carpet would ever be acceptable? And more importantly…..WHO THE HELL DID THEY THINK WAS GOING TO CLEAN THIS MESS UP?!

Then the anger faded and I just smiled. Because I remember what it was like to be an imaginative little girl. I remember what it was like to get so wrapped up in your playtime fairy tale story, that you forget about the everyday rules. I remember trying to explain to adults that I didn’t mean to make a mess, it just happened. In Neverland pixie dust makes you fly, and definitely doesn’t need to be cleaned up. These two little girls were in Neverland, not my living room. They were sprinkling pixie dust, not glitter. And they were going to fly! How exciting is that?

In my moment of reflection, Avery looked up at me and said, “MOM! We found Tinkerbell’s pixie dust! We are going to figure out how to use it to fly! Do you want to fly with us?!”

I told her I couldn’t fly. Pixie dust is only for kids, so they can get to Neverland. Grown-ups are not allowed there, because it is the place where kids never grow up. Then I picked Emmy up and spun her around, because after all that hard work thinking happy thoughts, a little girl covered in pixie dust should definitely get to fly! We spent the afternoon playing “pixie dust”. The girls sprinkled each other with glitter and thought happy thoughts. I picked them up and flew them around. We ran out of glitter and our tummies hurt from giggling. Once we came back home from Neverland, the girls helped me sweep and vacuum what could be picked up. The rest of the glitter flecks worked their way into the carpet fibers and grooves of the wood floor, joining the ones that were already there. To taunt me until the end of time. Oh well.

So yes. Everything I own is covered in glitter. I just needed a little faith, trust and pixie dust to realize that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

If you liked reading about my silly kids in this post, you can read more about their antics here!

Found on Google Images
Found on Google Images

Get Your Kids to Sleep…So You Can Sleep!

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 2 Comments

Since starting this blog, I have been talking to other moms so much more. I find it interesting to hear how other women manage their households. It gives me insight and other perspectives. One huge thing that always comes up is how bedtime and sleep are managed. I started to become super curious after hearing so many different opinions! Every household has a different routine at bedtime and different sleep habits for their family. I guess I was under the assumption that night comes and people sleep. Seems like that would make sense, right?

Except for one shocking little detail….

So many families are getting no sleep at all.

Sure, everybody goes through what I like to call “The Months of Newborn Hell”. It is a time of feeding, burping, spit up, changing and rocking to sleep. This process is repeated every 3 hours. Unless of course your baby decides it needs to cluster feed one day. Then you can go ahead and repeat all of that on the hour for 4 hours straight. Maybe you got lucky and popped out a kid with reflux or colic??? Your only hope for sleep anytime in the near future is prayer. Sorry. Truth hurts.

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If you can navigate your way out of the months of newborn hell, you are already halfway to success! A good night’s sleep is so close you can taste it! So why are so many parents playing a nightly game of musical beds with their 2-year-olds? Why do I have friends who cannot sleep in the same bed as their husband because their 4-year-old “won’t let them”? Why am I listening to someone complain that they are getting up to give their 18-month-old a bottle at 3:00 AM?

My mind is boggled.

My kids are currently 5 and 3 years old. Since they were about 6 months old, they both have slept through the night for at least 10 hours, in their own beds, in their own rooms and in the dark. Now the next part of this post is a bit touchy because I am going to tell you how I was able to achieve this. It involves sleep training. I know there are people out there who feel very strongly against it – for whatever their reasons. I can assure you my children are perfectly fine and not even close to emotionally damaged after going through a few nights of sleep training. If you want to stop reading now – please do! I promise I won’t lose any sleep over it! (<—See what I just did there? Hehe!)

If you want to hold your kids until they fall asleep every night – Go for it!

If you want to hang out for an hour in your toddler’s room while you wait for them to fall asleep – More power to you!

If you actually like sleeping next to your kids more than your husband – Keep on keepin’ on, girl!

Some moms genuinely love falling asleep under a loving pile of their own kids. I am not here to tell you what will work for your family. I could care less what goes on under your roof at midnight. Buuuut if you are someone like me…Someone who really wants to end their day unwinding with an hour or two of adult time plus a good night’s sleep, then you need to consider sleep training those rugrats!

This plan is pretty simple. Ready???

I am only half-joking. I really did use that book as my infant sleep bible. I figured I would share this post because so many parents have openly admitted that they do not know where they went wrong at bedtime. There is a way out, and I know this because I did it! My Auntie Christy gave me a copy of this book after a night of babysitting my super-fussy-at-bedtime baby. I read it immediately, and it turns out I had no clue what I was doing at bedtime. I put the recommended sleep plan into action and never EVER looked back.

Before you begin:

  • Read the book, or at least the parts that apply to you and your household.
  • Establish a comfort object early on. These are instrumental in helping kids self-soothe. My girls each have one of these “blankies” by Angel Dear.
  • Develop a schedule in your household that works best for everyone. Set mealtimes, playtime, nap time for babies and toddlers, quiet time for kids who no longer nap, bathtime and bedtime. Be prepared to strictly enforce the schedule for a few weeks until the routine is well-established.
  • Develop a bedtime routine that you can manage to maintain EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. The bedtime routine is important, because it is what relaxes your child and prepares them for sleep. It can be as easy as a quick bath and a 5 minute bedtime story, but it needs to stay the same every night in order to establish sleep. You will want to start the bedtime routine with enough time to complete it before your scheduled bedtime.
  •  If you want to know how it works in our house, I am happy to share our bedtime routine with you all. If you don’t care, then skip it. Our routine might not be what works for you!
    • Our Bedtime Routine:
      • Around 7:00 PM I give Emmy her bath. As soon as she is done, Avery gets in the shower.
      • The girls pick out their pajamas and get dressed. They brush their hair and teeth.
      • Usually it is around 7:30 now. They each are required to do a “potty check” right before climbing into bed. (I don’t like changing wet sheets in the middle of the night. Can you blame me?)
      • Avery heads into her room to pick out a book and waits for me while I put Emmy to bed.
      • In Emmy’s room I read her one book, tuck her in with a kiss, turn off her light, and close her door.
      • I head to Avery’s room where I read her one book, tuck her in with a kiss, turn on her nightlight, turn off her light, and close her door.  (A couple months ago Avery started to be afraid of the dark. This is normal at preschool age because their imaginations are very active. We allow her to have a nightlight now. Neither of our kids used nightlights up until that point because babies are not afraid of the dark.)
      • Bedtime is over and done with by 8:00, so I usually pour a glass of wine and rejoice in my hours of adult time!
    • Notes:
      •  Both girls bring their comfort objects to bed with them.
      • They are NEVER allowed out of bed after bedtime unless there is illness or a bathroom emergency.
      • I ABSOLUTELY NEVER allow them to sleep in my bed. If there is a problem in the night such as a bad dream or potty accident – I go to them, fix the problem and tuck them back into their own bed once they are comforted. Then I head back to my own spacious bed where I stretch out and enjoy some more quality sleep.

Sooooo, you have your schedule and bedtime routine down pat? Start teaching your children to self-soothe and fall asleep independently! Follow Dr. Weissbluth’s advice based on your household type. The book is very specific, and gives suggestions according to the needs of your own individual family. He covers children of various ages, co-sleeping, breastfeeding, bottle feeding, infant temperament, reflux, colic, and many other common topics that would have an effect on your entire family’s quality of sleep at night. I promise, no matter what your current sleep situation is, this book covers it.

 

Don’t trust my advice on all of this? I DON’T BLAME YOU!

……(I feel a rant coming on)…..

I shouldn’t have to remind you that this is a blog. Anybody can start a blog, and anybody can publish whatever crap information they would like on that blog! I absolutely refuse to follow the advice of someone who cannot support their parenting decisions with research from accredited sources. (I’m looking at you, natural mommy blogs. Cite something. For the love of God, just prove to me ANYTHING your wrote about is true! And speaking of God…No, the Bible is not a valid source of SCIENTIFIC INFORMATION. I am so glad you love Jesus, but he doesn’t know how your infant’s brain waves look during a REM sleep cycle. A pediatric sleep expert does. Amen.)

I will always do my best to provide you links to the research I did while making the parenting decisions I discuss on this blog. I will never cite another blog as a source – BECAUSE THAT IS NOT AN ACCREDITED, VALID PLACE TO OBTAIN ACCURATE INFORMATION. Unless the author of that blog can share where they obtained the information, and unless that information came from a university study, a medical journal, a book or paper published by a recognized expert in their field, or another ACCREDITED SOURCE – Do you see where I am going with this yet?! – I can only assume they made all that stuff up.

(End Rant.)

OK. I feel better now. Here’s some information:

The information I used to establish my family’s sleep habits came from Northwestern Children’s Practice and Children’s Hospital Colorado, as well as Dr. Weissbluth’s “Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child” book.

Who is Dr. Marc Weissbluth?

“Dr. Weissbluth graduated from Stanford University and Washington University Medical School. He completed his pediatric training at St. Louis Children’s Hospital and is a Professor of Clinical Pediatrics at Northwestern University School of Medicine. His interests include infant and child development, colic / crying, and childhood sleep problems. He is also the author of numerous publications, including books for parents such as Crybabies, Sweet Baby: How to Soothe Your Newborn, Your Fussy Baby, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, and Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Twins. “

Here is a link to some great info about night feeding by Barton D. Schmitte, M.D., pediatrician at Children’s Hospital Colorado.

Still struggling with your child’s sleep? You can find infant sleep consultants at Northwestern Children’s Practice, right here in the good old Windy City. Here is their link to some handy handouts about infant sleep.

Did you enjoy this post? You might also like this one!

What Happened to My Twenties?

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ Leave a comment

I recently celebrated my thirtieth birthday.

WHAT?! THIRTY?!!?

I know. Try not to be shocked by my age. We can all agree that I barely look a day over twenty-three. I am as confused as you about what happened to my twenties. I feel like just yesterday I was dancing the night away with all the other single, childless, hot-bodied people of the world….Then….BAM! I had a baby at twenty-five. Talk about a total life change!

Just when I was recovering from the shock of raising an infant and patting myself on the back for managing to keep her alive past her first birthday….BAM! I had another baby. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Consequently, the last half of my twenties seemed to just disappear.

Twenty-six? Was I ever twenty-six? I have no recollection of ever being twenty-six.

Twenty-seven! I think it was such a horrific period of sleep deprivation, weight gain and maternity clothes that I am trying to black out that whole year too.

See ya never, twenty-eight! I remember turning twenty-eight and feeling like there was still time….

Oh, twenty-nine. You left me too soon. Whhhhyyyy???!

POOF! GONE!

Here we are today. I’m suddenly thirty damn years old, and just like that I had to start shopping at Ann Taylor. Why is it required that thirty-something moms wear Ann Taylor? It is one of the many mysteries of the universe! God only knows where I’ll end up shopping at forty. At least I have ten more years to figure that out.

So now I am wearing a sensible jumper from Loft, and I have managed to lose the second half of my precious twenties to butt and nose wiping.

 

But did I really lose my twenties???

NO WAY!!!

I just spent them in a much different way than most people do. Instead of climbing corporate ladders and going out until 1:00 AM every night, I was changing diapers and waking up for 1:00 AM feedings. Instead of posting bikini selfies from my latest Vegas trip, I was a pregnant whale keeping my fingers crossed that I could someday just look acceptable in my pre-pregnancy clothing. I was in the mommy zone. My world revolved around my babies. I remember every single first of theirs – so who cares if I I don’t remember my twenty-seventh birthday?!  It wasn’t always glamorous, but it was so worth it!

My twenties really were gone in a flash, but they were the best years of my life. I watched my tiny babies turn into little people people right before my eyes. I would wipe those little booger noses for the next 20 years if I could. I remember saying to myself out of frustration one morning, “I can’t wait until they are old enough to dress themselves!” Now one of them is old enough to dress herself, and it’s a little sad. I offer my help, and she rips her socks away defiantly, “Mom! Let me do it myself!” The next five years are going to go just as fast as the past five. My babies are going to keep growing up and I don’t want to miss one minute of it.

I am lucky to be a young, healthy mom. I can run, jump and climb right alongside my kids at the playground. I can play tag and hide-and-seek. I can teach my kids how to do cartwheels. I can bounce with them in the bouncy house. I can keep up with every activity they do, and I LOVE IT! I would gladly give up some more of my twenties to be active with my kids. I was able to pick up my work outs where I left off. I am (thankfully) looking acceptable in my pre-pregnancy clothes again, and have even upgraded my wardrobe a bit.

Which brings me to my last point….indexI have to admit, this age-appropriate jumper is super comfy while looking more polished than the destroyed denim I rocked a few years ago. It even accentuates the skinniest part of my waist, while hiding the fact that I am slightly bloated from straight chugging a venti latte an hour ago. Maybe it is time my wardrobe matured past strategically-placed rips in jeans after all.

Besides, no matter what thirty-something outfit I am rocking on the outside, I still feel like I’m twenty-three on the inside! Just a much more mature, wise, Ann Taylor-wearing version of twenty-three. 😉

 

A Cheerleader’s Soapbox

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 1 Comment

“Ugh! I will never allow my daughter to be a cheerleader!”

Those words were said directly to my face, during a normal, innocent conversation with a fellow mom friend. We had somehow started talking about our past high school activities, and it just so happened that I was a cheerleader in high school. Never mind that I graduated with honors and also did time on the track team, madrigals, choir, and school musicals – It was the cheerleader in me that she was determined to be pissed about. She spat out that sentence, with her eyes narrowed in disgust, and then immediately followed it up with a half-assed apology:

“I mean, no offense. But you can’t tell me that you would want one of your daughters to be a cheerleader!? Over my dead body will my daughter be a cheerleader.”

cheer
Some good old high school cheer days! #sorrynotsorry #2003wasnotmyyear

Well then. Offense taken, lady. I wouldn’t mind if one of my daughters was a cheerleader. In fact, I also wouldn’t mind if she was in theater, football, band, science club, tennis, student council, softball, chess club, soccer, mathletes or any one of the hundreds of clubs and athletic programs offered by their school. Extracurricular activities are a huge part of the whole “growing up” experience. Each extracurricular activity I participated in helped prepare me in a different way for the big, bad world – including my participation on the dreaded cheerleading squad. I actually learned some really great life lessons there!

We all wonder where on Earth kids learn how to be so mean to each other, and the answer is:

THE GROWN-UPS!

It breaks my heart to hear parents talk about children, and their participation in activities, in such a negative way. Examples of REAL QUOTES that have come out of the mouths of people I know:

“Ugh. Their poor kid. (eyeroll) They signed him up for band!”

“They keep letting her try out for the traveling team, but she never makes the cut. Why would they encourage her to keep getting let down every year?”

“Over my dead body will my daughter be a cheerleader.”

 

Do you know who overhears this nonsense?

Our children. And frankly, this makes me mad.

We need to encourage them to participate and excel at the things THEY love, not the things we love. If one of my daughters shows interest in music, then of course I will sign her up for band and choir. Why wouldn’t I want to foster a genuine interest and talent in my child? Why would I hold her back from the possibility of something great because of some old-school, played-out social hierarchy that says participation in music isn’t “cool”? The choir and band could be life-changing for her. She would be surrounded by people with a shared interest in music. She would learn life lessons, responsibility and teamwork, all in addition to nurturing her talent.

It is our job to encourage our children to participate, even if that means they might fail. They might not be good enough, and that’s just fine. If one of my daughters loves to play soccer, but isn’t the best one on the team, you better believe I will be cheering for her just as much as her talented teammates. If she wants to try out for the traveling team, then HELL YES she will try out with my support. It doesn’t matter if she makes it or not, because she went out there, did her best and TRIED. She might not make it. I might have to wipe her tears off her cheeks. But that’s life. She can’t win everything. She won’t learn how to be successful in life without taking risks, believing in herself and putting in hard work. Watching her try will make me nothing but proud, and she damn well WILL have the support of her Mom through it all – no matter what!

Saying your children will be allowed to participate in a chosen activity “over your dead body” might seem innocent enough now, but do you even know what you are doing? You are imposing your own negative opinions on your child. You are saying that their interest in said activity is not up to your standards. You are hindering them by not even giving them the chance to try something new. Just because you had a bad experience growing up doesn’t mean your child will have a bad experience. The last thing I want to do is let my own negativity and preconceived notions rub off on my kids. So far, they don’t have a clue about the stereotypes that go along with participating in certain activities, and I am praying it will remain that way for a long time. I sincerely hope they have the chance to experience as many sports and extracurricular activities as they want to – and consequently form their own opinions of what they think is fun. I want my girls to participate because their heart is in it, not because somebody else’s heart is.

So now that those words are said, I will get down off my soapbox and leave you with some life lessons I learned on that terrible, unthinkable cheerleading squad:

  1. Respect
  2. Time management
  3. Multitasking skills
  4. Personal responsibility
  5. Leadership
  6. How to preform under pressure
  7. How to be a member of a team
  8. How to work with small groups
  9. That it only takes one person’s mistake to lower an entire team’s score
  10. That no matter how bad that person’s mistake hurt our score, I still needed to support them because they were my teammate
  11. That you can’t please everybody
  12. How to work well with people I love, as well as people I don’t love
  13. That practice makes perfect, even if practice is early Saturday morning
  14. That if one person didn’t hold their own weight, the entire stunt came down
  15. How to feign enthusiasm
  16. How to be eternally optimistic

That’s right. I left high school cheerleading and entered college with all of that knowledge.

Being a cheerleader sounds like a horrible life experience, doesn’t it?

That's me, just showing my kids how to straddle jump on a jumpy pillow. You can take the girl out of cheerleading, but you can't take the cheerleader out of the girl! #stillgotit #kinda #ish
That’s me, showing my kids how to straddle jump. You can take the girl out of cheerleading, but you can’t take the cheerleader out of the girl! #stillgotit #kinda #almostthirtysocutmesomeslack