Small Miracles

Murphy’s Law of Parenthood states that when anything can go wrong, it will-- like when you run out of clean clothes and then go to open the dryer to find that your youngest thought this would be a fun place to store the wet play-doh. You will learn to appreciate the little miracles whenever and wherever they are presented to you by thanking God or the Tooth Fairy or whichever holy entity is responsible for nobody in my household contracting the stomach flu in over 6 months. Just in case your cup runneth over, and not in the good way, here is a list of small gifts you should remember to feel grateful for.

1). When you find shoes that all your kids can easily put on and take off themselves. Crocs are uglier than sin and look like two pieces of non-recycled plastic you know in your heart of hearts will one day be laid to rest in a landfill right next to your Keurig cups and organic pouches-- but they have given you back what will accumulate to years of your life.

2). When you get distracted in the grocery store and accidentally wander down the cookie aisle and somehow nobody notices and thus doesn’t start simultaneously tantruming while loading your cart full of junk food like an old episode of Super Market Sweep.

3). When both of your kids in the span of 3 days get stung by a bee and turns out nobody is allergic.

4). When you leave without a diaper bag or any of the $30,000 worth of crap it takes to simply exit your house while in the possession of your children and somehow nobody needs anything other than a song and a smile.

5). When you are out in a crowded space and your children instinctively reach out for each other.

Just the existence of grocery delivery services and free streaming episodes of Daniel Tiger are proof that small miracles are all around us. Sometimes you just have to wade through the boogers and laundry in order to spot them.

Don’t Pee in the Pool and Other Phrases we are Obligated to Say

As a penance for pop stars writing songs about the wonders of living in California, we must suffer the wrath of June, July and August. We hit 9 days in a row of over 100 degrees and you definitely heard about it because finally people were complaining about something other than our flailing democracy. Immediately upon entering the outdoors you are assaulted by what you’d imagine Trump’s skin would feel like-- some sort of crispy burnt orange wave of nausea. There is really only one thing to do at times like this and that’s find someone with a pool and show up with offerings like fresh baked goodies, a fist full of cash or your first-born child.

When that inevitably fails, you always have the community pool option. Now, I know what you are thinking— swimming in gallons of over chlorinated backwash that is probably 2/3 water and 1/3 toddler pee should really be a last resort. But again, my charming new town saves the day when less than a mile from my house our community pool boasts a splash pad and a wading area topped off with an admirable life guard to swimmer ratio.

To avoid getting scalded by the car seat buckles, I said a prayer and loaded the girls in the bike trailer fully suited, sunscreened and pre-secured in their flotation devices. It was crowded in the way you’d describe Nugget market at 5pm, but not Times Square on NYE. Since that first day we’ve been back at least 4 times a week and its done wonders for my kids sleeping, eating and my skin prematurely aging.

I finally get to add “Don’t pee in the pool” to my daily parenting phrasebook, which let's face it, it's like telling them to not eat candy off the ground-- we all know they are going to do it. I also get to constantly remind them there is “No running” which is the lifeguards favorite motto and now that I’ve spent over 30 plus hours there and watched 11 kids eat it on the pavement while running, my teenage self is no longer bitter that my lifeguard friends made $20 an hour. Tax payer money well spent I’d say.

Another bonus of pool life is fixing tan lines from my typical yoga attire while rocking the “Mom Bathing Suit”-- which is really just code for finding something that will potentially limit the flashing to only one boob instead of two when your toddler inevitably pulls it down on impact from their 14th cannonball in a row. We forfeited our right to modesty the moment we were asked to put our legs in the stirrups at our first prenatal appointment. Somehow being half Irish still allows for a bronzed glow and people comment daily asking if we vacationed recently some place tropical. I just smile and explain to them the wonders of the community pool and how that’s the closet my family will come to Hawaii this summer.

Oh Crap, the Dogs

For those of you that claim to love your pets as much as you did before you had kids, you don't have to lie anymore, they can't hear you. Call me an irresponsible pet owner if you must, but the order of operations at home goes first the tiny humans and then the irritating beasts. Our dogs were our babies before our babies arrived. We posed with them for 2 Christmas card photos before they got bumped to the stamp picture on the envelop-- as trying to make 4 humans and 2 dogs look presentable for a picture is the very definition of herding cats. I cannot tell you how many times we have come up with a plan of action simply to have it end with “oh crap, the dogs…” Your laundry list as a mom is already too long, I don't enjoy doing my dog's laundry too when they decide to eat my kid's crayons and then I have to scrub Mango Tango orange or Electric Lime green poop out of the rug.

Since having children, our beagle is inexcusably fat. She will tolerate any amount of eye gouging or tail pulling if it comes with a bowl of goldfish crackers. She somehow always finds a way to jump on the table after mealtime and yet getting up on the bed is simply too much of an effort and requires a grunt loud enough to wake the house. Last week my kids were finding yet another way to terrorize our pets by trapping them in the bathroom and some 5 hours later we only noticed we were one pet short because my 20 month old looked up from her book to ask, "Where did Lola go?"

The other day my sister in-law texted me that her 90 pound yellow lab got into the garbage again while tracking mud through the living room all while she was attempted to feed her two children under 2 and it read, "Today during nap time I wrote the re-homing Craigslist ad in my head". I responded with "I can send you the draft I already have saved and we could offer a 3 for 1 special."

Even as I'm typing this post, our Cocker Spaniel has been circling under the tunnel my legs are creating between our two couches. I couldn't figure out why and then I realized it's because it must feel like I'm "petting" her. Don't worry Madeleine attempted to ride her for 20 minutes earlier and so she got a lot of additional "pets" today. In between moments of my kids attempting to flop their ears the wrong direction and eat their dog food—having pets and young children is a lot an ice cream sundae with fudge brownies and caramel sauce-- there can be such thing as too much of a good thing.  

Before you send the SPCA over to our home you should know, we actually love our dogs and our girls really love our dogs and if we could figure out a way to safely use our dogs as babysitters like they do with "Nana" the dog in Peter Pan then they would truly be considered "man's best friend".