Lord knows I’m trying

momlife

What am I doing? Seriously….. what am I doing? It’s the question of the day, every.single.day. Why did I think, for even a second, that I could manage a full-time job, 1000 kids, keep my house Pintrest worthy, make friends, keep my old friends, not get fucking fat and be a totally unleaveable life partner ALL AT THE SAME TIME?…. and PLEASE tell me how the rest of you are doing it because clearly I missed the boat on this “#killinthisworkingmomzenlife” thing. I feel like keep so many roles and I’m basically failing at all of them.

When I was a kid, my mom worked. She still took us to the river every other day. She coached our soccer team. She helped raise our pigs for 4H. She played various creepy characters at our school Halloween carnivals. Our house was clean… not like CLEAN, clean, but we didn’t have rats. And she had her friends over ALMOST everyday for drinks or food or dancing. I’m not kidding, we had ACTUAL dance parties in my living room. I know women, with babies, who run their own businesses (employees and all)… and they still manage to leave town for “Girls Weekend”…. What’s a “Girls Weekend”? Are our kids allowed to come? Because I have a schedule to keep.

I have girlfriends who manage every single bit of the day-to-day operation of their home. Cleaning…done. Cooking?…done. Hot yoga?!..Namaste. And they still have hours to catch up on Pretty Little Liars or learn macramé.

Want a sneak peek into my life? Today I loaded the washing machine then realized we were out of detergent. So I put water in it to get just enough out to was my clothes. Then after the cycle was done, I notice the NEW detergent… sitting right next to the empty one. So I rewashed.  I don’t even know if I’m the one who bought the new detergent. Probably not. It was likely Rigo, because he is a saint. Maybe I would’ve notice the new detergent if I wasn’t also cooking egg whites (because I’m trying to lose weight. Don’t ask why, dude, I don’t know) and being screamed at by my son because the dog keeps running of with his train tracks that are scattered across my living room floor that he WILL NOT LET ME PICK UP. For real, they’ve been there 5 weeks now. So I had to chase her down to retrieve the precious track. Do you know how hard it is to catch a 1-year-old German Shepherd who knows she’s in trouble….? About as hard as it sounds. Oh and I burned the egg whites anyway.

Now, just put that scenario on repeat. For the rest of your life. If there was a hell it would just be me running back and forth from my kitchen to laundry room… burning eggs and ruining my delicates. (lol, jk I don’t have delicates)

I read last week that the key to success was to NOT multitask. To NOT multitask. I’m going to just assume that the person who wrote this is a man. Women are wired to multitask and for the most part, ya’ll are killing it. I see you ladies taking on new challenges, reinventing yourselves…. having babies without drugs. I saw a video of an old friend participating in a group dance… with her baby strapped to her chest. synchronized dancing and quality time with the baby? Mom win.

 I took a swig of an empty coffee mug, twice, in the last ten minutes.

I had one task to accomplish today (because I’m ignoring the dishes and the entire front half of my house). Go to the gym. I left after 15 minutes because the baby pooped INSIDE the playland in the daycare. When I come to change his diaper, the girl at the front desk handed me a bag  with my sons poo covered pants inside. I brought extra diapers and wipes because I thought I had my shit together. I didn’t bring extra clothes for the baby because I don’t ACTUALLY have my shit together. Apparently, NO PANTS=NO SERVICE at Mountainside Fitness.

So I put the shit bag in my #momlife bag and left, grabbed my daughter from school and headed home to put new clothes on Roman and head back to the gym. On the way, baby boy had another blowout, WITH NO PANTS BUFFER, in his carseat. Sigh* I’ll fast foward through that mess.

I repacked my #momlife bag, headed to the gym and restarted my workout. I kept getting wiffs of poo and just figured “Maybe I have some on my shirt? Who knows” Luckily, I don’t get close enough to people to smell me. It was until after I left, I realized, I left the bag with my son’s soiled pants IN the #momlife bag that I carried around THE WHOLE TIME.

So while you all are being lady bosses, making bread from scratch, dressing your kids better than I dress myself, building entertainment centers out of old water bottles or whatever…. I’ll just be over here… with my shit bag… washing the same load of laundry, until one of you comes over and shows me how to be a working/playing/crafting/dance party having-mom.

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Treva

If I were to guess, I’d say that if asked who their role model was…. 85% of my girlfriends would mention their grandma. I am no exception to that rule.

Today is my grandma Treva’s birthday. Honestly, I can’t remember how old she’d be. I can’t even remember how long she has been gone… I know it’s been more than 5 years, less than 10.treva

Treva told me when I was a kid that her name meant “little flower”. UH that’s a lie. It actually means “large village” (thanks google) which is way more fitting, anyway. Treva was a lot of things. She was a bartender, a cook, a waitress, a house cleaner, a house painter, a ditch digger and a single mom of four. She was married 4 times ( which normally I would think isn’t super bragable but I really love that she took shit from no man). She was the anchor in our family. She was a tough lady, a funny lady and a REALLY short lady…. But she was NEVER a little flower, not even once.

She never spoke about anyone she didn’t like, not in front of me anyway.. and it’s not like she held her Ps and Qs. One time she called an ex of mine a pussy because he wouldn’t take a shot of tequila with her… so I know Treva had some trash talking in her. Literally no one was safe. She just didn’t spend her time on things that didn’t matter I guess. Who knows though, maybe she had a gossip bone in her I don’t know about… but this is MY blog so I’ll write what I remember.

She demanded that I stick up for my friend Richard, who happened to by my grandma’s neighbor, because he was bullied when we were kids. When I became a bully, much later, she told me to get my head out of my ass. She made it very clear to me that I wasn’t any better than anyone else. She introduced me “Tales from the Crypt” and dared my to stay up all night when I slept over. She walked me home when I was homesick… and then back to her house when I promised I wouldn’t get homesick again…and then back home when I DID get homesick again. She got me through my first heartbreak. I was 6. She listened to every cry….. that Ren Alsup doesn’t know what he’s missin’ now! She remembered everyone’s birthday and if I forgot, she had a drawer of birthday cards to use. Every once in a while, I would get a card that was CLEARLY for someone else. She just crossed out their name and wrote mine in. She taught me how to ride a 3 wheeler, or at least how to hold on tight while she hauled me around on one. She snuck wine coolers into my dad’s house and hid them in my shower for me and my friend to drink while we were supposed to be chaperoning my little sister’s birthday party. She came over once a week to watch “South Park”.

She wasn’t a crafter or a scrap booker or a knitter. She made a fudge that most people liked but I thought was GOD AWFUL. She drank Pepsi everyday and always smelled like a fryer and pink Extra gum. She always tickled my back when I asked even though I know she hated it. The “DING” noise old pickups make when the key is in the ignition reminds me of her, so does any crude joke. I miss that lady.

Anyway, I was asked why we take a shot on her birthday to remember her. A tequila shot. A Jose Cuervo shot, to be exact. Well, Treva didn’t drink much… not as a nana anyway. But when she did, it was Cuervo, and Cuervo only. I’ve heard stories of her drinking men under the table (she never proved that claim to me, but whatevs). And when she wasn’t drinking it… she was PRETENDING to drink it. When she had enough, she would cheers her shot buyer, and simply toss the booze behind her shoulder and carry on like she was hammered. The woman was genius.

So cheers to you, Grandma. Tonight and every Jan 31st for the rest of my life. Unless I  decide I don’t want to anymore….or forget. I love you.

Oh! And I found out that at her funeral that she was married 5 times… not 4. Because she is a LIAR!

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Mom sick…. it’s like regular sick but nobody cares.

I told myself I would write today because it’s been over a month and I figured you guys MUST miss me. Mykah got sick yesterday, so I cancelled all my appointments at the salon and thought about what which subject to write about. I landed on being “Being friends with your ex”. But when I woke up this morning, I discovered something terrible had happened. Continue reading

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Rigo cheated on me.

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I woke up this morning  PISSED OFF! Like, even before my eyes were open. As soon as my alarm sounded, I could feel the rage brewing. Why? Because I had a dream that Rigo cheated on me…..

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Acceptance

 

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If you are considering having a second child….

Since the birth of my second babylove, I’ve been bombarded with all sorts of motherhood questions. Continue reading

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Be anything you want to be.. but don’t be a liar.

Something is happening. My once sweet, SWEET baby is turning on me. The sass that is erupting from the top of her head is insane. I’m pretty sure she has been body snatched, but instead of leaving her some emotionless shell, I’ve been dealt a completely unstable, chronically hungry, paranoid 7year old who has mastered eye-rolling and deep sighing. She hasn’t yet mastered removing her stinky-ass socks from my guest bathroom even though I remind her every.single.day….but she has eye rolling down.13876125_1665329813788517_8390590982557311993_n

Don’t let this adorable mugshot fool you. Mykah is no angel… not anymore! Continue reading

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Today’s word is “INTOLERANCE”

Intolerance:

Unwillingness to accept view, beliefs or behavior that differ from one’s own….

I used think myself a very tolerant person. Live and let live, ya know? Turns out, I am NOT! I don’t know if it’s something that has been brewing in me all my life… or if the realization that I am in charge of molding my babies into well adjusted human beings has thrown me into a state of absolute intolerance. If you are a participant of any of the following behavior you might consider keeping your distance from me unless you want a spot in my voodoo doll collection. (It doesn’t exist yet, but it will…. oh it will!) Continue reading

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You will have fun whether you like it or not.


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The.Holidays.Are.HEEEEEERRRRREEEE. It’s still one thousand degrees outside in the afternoon but the mornings and evening are cool and I’m starting to see my neighbors outside and smell ALL the pumpkin spice; I am excited! What’s more exciting, though, is that this is the very first year of family traditions in the Aguayo/Quinn house. Continue reading

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You’re not allowed to date just because I died.

During a recent get together, I overheard a friend (a husband and father of three) say, “Yeah, I think if (Blank) ever died, I would want to find someone who also has kids. They know the struggle of being a single parent and we could have a blended family and blah blah, blah….” Continue reading

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