tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37912645795878903332024-03-05T09:22:34.942-08:00They Are So Cute When They Are Sleeping...Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.comBlogger91125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-50059180242046851092011-05-05T07:08:00.000-07:002011-05-05T07:57:25.646-07:00Going Mainstream : Transitioning to Mainstream Classrooms From Special NeedsThe girls IEPs (Individual Educational Plans) for the next school year are tomorrow morning. My stomach is already in knots. IEP meetings can be an amazing time to hash out what works for your kid and how you can get them the help they need. Or they can be battleground with shouting and crying. <br /><br />For once, I am going into an IEP totally prepared and knowledgeable about what is going to happen. And (mostly) okay with it. But still the hollow feeling in my stomach is there. Too many IEPs and decisions weigh on my mind. And then there's my nervousness at taking this step.<br /><br />The plan is to transition both the of the girls to mainstream classrooms. Calamity Jane will take a community spot at one of the local college's preschools. She will go all day (from 8:30 to 3:30) which will be good for her and for our family dynamic. She needs somewhere to channel her energy and intensity and the regularity of the schedule should help regulate her moods. This has been the plan for a while and I feel very confident about it.<br /><br />But I am not so sure about Desmonda Drama. She's supposed to transition into Title 1 but we're not guaranteed a place in it. We do have a co-op spot for her three mornings a week but without that one on one attention every day I am worried she will sink instead of swim. I know she needs the social push but she also needs the therapy. <br /><br />At the heart of it is the fear of seeing my girls leave the protected nest of the special needs world. There they are superstars, social butterflies, and the successes of their teachers. I love that they have their moments in the spotlight, on the A list, of being large and in charge. <br /><br />My challenge for next year is how to preserve that feeling for them. How do I find the places that they can shine if it doesn't happen for them in the classroom?Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-30564172499948534412011-04-18T07:53:00.001-07:002011-04-18T08:16:05.434-07:00And Then I Cried<span style="font-style:italic;">This is why I kept this space. For a post like this.</span><br /><br />This morning I tweeted out "Do you think my girls took a class in driving me insane or it just comes naturally?" A fairly light hearted tweet that many a parent laughed at and agreed with. Then a tweet from someone who has followed/unfollowed me repeatedly tweeted "THIS is what drives me insane" <br /><br />I knew what she meant but I tried to play it off with a joke and got back an indictment about the way I talk about my kids. This shouldn't shock me, I've heard it before. And I expect it. After all even I joke about how I blog about how I hate my kids.<br /><br />But today, today I stepped away from the computer and sobbed. <br /><br />It's been a tough few weeks. Calamity Jane is regressing for some reason and her behavior has become incredibly amped up. AT the same time, her sister is finally acting out in response to the intensity of her sister and all the attention we give her because of it. The days are filled with constant fighting, tears, and lashing out. I struggle with how to handle it, what to do, and this time I can't find the answer. And my reaction is just that I want to run away.<br /><br />There have been so many recriminations of myself lately. In spite of the assurances of everyone who knows me and my kids that my feelings are natural, that they feel the same way and it's understandable. In spite of all of this, I hate myself. I hate myself for not being able to fix this. And I hate my kids for being like this. And I hate my husband for not knowing how to fix it. And I hate everyone (the schools, other parents, other kids) for only seeing the bad in them. And I hate myself for seeing it too. <br /><br />All the words in the world can't stack up again my self doubt. So I sit and listen to my girls work with their behavioral therapist in the other room. And I cry. I cry and hope that it will keep me from doing it in front of them.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-77916192011728314632011-02-21T14:45:00.000-08:002011-02-21T14:57:52.696-08:00Back Again!Well after month of pondering on what to do with this blog I have decided to keep it. I found myself struggling to post because sometimes I just wanted to write about whatever random stuff popped into my head and that didn't fit into the "theme" of this blog. I thought about doing some niche blogs as companions to this one but finally settled on starting a whole separate personal blog and keeping this focused on parenting, specifically on special needs parenting. <br /><br />As a reintroduction: I am Kate, mom to four year old fraternal twin girls Calamity Jane and Desmonda Drama. I spend most of my time catering to their fanatical demands but over the past year I have been spending more and more of my time dipping into a professional life as a writer and consultant. I have become very involved in the local social media scene and am really enjoying it. As the girls get older and spend more time in school I hope to do this more. <br /><br />I tend to swear, be sarcastic, and reference drinking so if that's not your bag, cool. No hard feelings. You can also find me on <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/guavalicious">Twitter</a> and my newly minted but pretty empty personal blog <a href="http://theguavaliciouslife.com/">The Guavalicious Life</a>.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-14864956394347289752010-09-18T14:26:00.000-07:002010-09-18T14:26:00.873-07:00Tag OutAs I sit at the table trying to get through my email and stay awake from the 5:30am wakeup call all I can think is "tag out, I need to tag out!"Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-58507209805565578612010-09-16T14:17:00.000-07:002010-09-16T14:30:26.917-07:00Why Kids RockLately things have been a little rough around here. The adjustment back to school has not gone as well as I had hoped. And well, it brought me pretty down. That's why I have played this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lK7IzfLmyco&feature=player_embedded">video</a> I saw on <a href="http://modernsupermomma.blogspot.com/">Modern Super Momma's blog</a> today about ten times. And then played it for the girls when they woke up.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lK7IzfLmyco&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lK7IzfLmyco&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />I just love the little girl's total abandonment dancing. And then the add in of all the dancers' doing her routine. Shouldn't we all dance a little more? And don't kids get it right? It's not about the arguments and not getting the snack you want, it's about the snuggling on the couch and car sing-a-longs. My kids have over the top crazy tantrums but once they are done, they're done. They don't stew and obsess over them (like I do.)<br /><br />So resolution, less stewing. More dancing.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-33455726359895716742010-09-15T18:17:00.000-07:002010-09-15T18:18:01.499-07:00Feeling LuckyThis afternoon I was struck by an incredible sense of how lucky I am. When your kids have differences it's easy to get caught up in what you're kids aren't not what they are. Hell, it is easy to do that in regular life. The husband and I have been hit by a lot of obstacles since our marriage. But it feels so much better to look at all we do have.<br /><br />Son in contrast to my post about <a href="http://theyaresocutewhentheyaresleeping.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-dont-feel-lucky.html">not feeling lucky</a>, today even with a killer headache, non napping children, and gloomy weather: I feel lucky. <br /><br />I feel lucky that I have two parents who love me. Who never physically abused me and have always tried, even if they went around it in the wrong way, to make me happy. I feel lucky to have a sister who I wish I was closer to but has always been there for me in the lowest moments. Who has sat on the phone with me while I laid on the kitchen floor and cried, not even into the phone. <br /><br />I feel lucky that my kids are with me and that for the most part they are physically healthy. That I don't have to sit by their beds and watch them slip away from me. <br /><br />I feel lucky that I had twins because even though it's about five times harder than one, heaven is watching them play together.<br /><br />I feel lucky to have a husband who loves me through thick and thin and has stuck by me in the hardest of times. Who I actually miss more than the girls when I am away. Who I share so many of the same tastes with.<br /><br />I feel lucky to have friends across the country who I can call up and talk to whenever I need them, even if we haven't spoken in months.<br /><br />I feel lucky that blogging and twittering were invented and I can connect to hundreds of amazing people everyday.<br /><br />Lucky.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-11889310960089557502010-09-15T11:33:00.000-07:002010-09-15T12:07:23.206-07:00SITS Back2Blogging Repost : Hi, You Don't Know Me but I Have Beer<span style="font-style:italic;">To get myself back on the blogging bandwagon I am participating in the <a href="http://www.thesitsgirls.com/2010/09/back-to-blogging-a-post-title-you-are-particularly-proud-of/">SITS Girls' Back 2 Blogging Challenge</a>. Today's prompt was to repost a post with a title you were especially proud of. I <a href="http://theyaresocutewhentheyaresleeping.blogspot.com/2009/08/hi-you-dont-know-me-but-i-have-beer.html">originally posted</a> this when I first started my blog over a year ago. I love the title even if I never ended up saying it to anyone.</span> <br /><br />Yesterday I did a crazy thing. I put the girls in the stroller and set out to meet some new friends. And by that I mean that whenever I saw a house that looked like it contained young children I went up to the door and knocked on it. Yes, to my husband's horror, I thought this would be a good way to meet my neighbors. Well maybe not a good way but that is what staying home all day does to me.<br /><br />It wasn't all that successful. I talked to one dad whose wife and three year old daughter were out, a young mom who had to unlatch her child to answer the door (i would hate me), and the most promising house had a no solicitors sign and they didn't answer my knock (hey I'm not selling anything except myself and I'm free, hardee har har). I was especially disappointed because they have a kickass backyard filled with toys. And they drive a Toyota Echo. Which to me translates to "not a queen bee mom who scrapbooks and makes judgments about the way your kids are dressed, after all I drive a gas efficient car and am obviously frugal and/or love the environment". Why yes I am speed dating moms based on their cars. I really am that pathetic. I left a note but the girls were screaming so it had a kind of serial killer shaky look to it. Awesome.<br /><br />The whole idea had started as a joke when IMing with my friend <a href="http://thechocolateandthecheese.blogspot.com/">MP</a>. A friend who I made in the most awesome moms group in the world. The group that I had to leave behind when we moved here. I did not realize until I met them how important having mom friends was. I laughed and cried (well not really but I am sure they wouldn't have minded if I did) and had something to do everyday and actually liked their children. Much better than mine own sometimes, why is it that other people's children are always so much cuter? And the girls, well they didn't seem to hate it, and honestly I wouldn't have noticed if they did, I was having too much fun.<br /><br />So knowing no one in a strange city is doubly hard these days. But we are not moving back so I will be trying my darndest to make new just as great friends here. And if that means knocking on random stranger's doors and enduring Kindermusik classes, then so be it. Eventually there will be that mom I click with it, the one who believes that parenting is not a competitive sport and that many playdates are improved by the addition of beer. <br /><br />As for that beer, MP joked that I should stick some in the stroller and offer it up, then I would really know if I made a friend. But beer is expensive here and I want it all for myself.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-20739679238572987022010-09-14T18:44:00.000-07:002010-09-14T18:57:07.937-07:00SITS Back2Blogging Repost : Sunshine, Cheaper Than Prozac<span style="font-style:italic;">This week I am participating in the SITS girls' <a href="http://www.thesitsgirls.com/sits-blog/">Back 2 Blogging challenge</a>. Today's prompt was to post a former blog post you wish more people had read. I've always loved this post because it captures the "I had to laugh or I will cry" attitude I try to cultivate. Forntuately life with the girls is a lot easier these days. But we will not be re-enrolling in Kindermusik anytime soon.<br /></span><br /><br />The Mom malaise has been plaguing me today. For those of you lucky enough not to suffer from it, the Mom malaise is an insidious disease that besets you and makes you wonder... What is the point? Why should I go on? I personally believe that Mom malaise is responsible for at least half the mindless TV watching by kids in this country and almost all the eating of bad snacks. Unfortunately the CDC is too busy with swine flu to have developed a vaccine and there is no known medicine though I often turn to the home remedy of wine.<br /><br />It infected me today in Kindermusik where Calamity Jane turned into a creature from the fifth dimension. First overcome by a shyness that knew no bounds, she clung to me like a monkey and I was forced to dance around the room with her clinging to my neck while I held the hand of Desmonda Drama (who in typical dramatic fashion had one arm shadowing her eye and face). We were a clumsy six legged beast. I do not think the Kindermusik moms were impressed. Little did they know that the worst was yet to come.<br /><br />About halfway through the class, Calamity Jane seemed to warm up to the idea that I was paying an outrageous sum for her to be amused. So I turned her around on my knee and we proceeded to sing, which song I can't remember. Which it was a pity because it is obviously the trigger for Jane's subconscious baby terrorist. I would really hate for her to start throwing knives, fashioned from board books of course, at me as we dutifully listen to the CD in the car. <br /><br />She didn't quite throw knives this morning but she did start screaming and hitting me, then kicked her sister in the head, then leaned over and bit me on the shoulder. I promptly picked them up like barrels (Desmonda was screaming indignantly; she does not like being kicked in the head) and set them outside the classroom. As the Kindermusik moms stared at me in horror, I retrieved my shoes and slinked out the door. They all kept singing throughout of course.<br /><br />Mom malaise was in overdrive. I questioned why I had signed up for the class since my children were obviously not fit for the public sphere. I despaired of their chances of ever getting invited to a birthday party by any of the Kindermusik kids, not to mention my own chance to discuss organic egg souffles (being earnestly and enthusiastically covered as I walked into class). It was obvious to me that Calamity Jane was going to grow up to be an outcast who would never be accepted into society and would, of course, blame me. As for Desmonda, she would probably never remove the hand from over her face and would remain a recluse, teased mercilessly from the moment she walked into kindergarten. Worst of all, after paying for Kindermusik I would never be able to afford their therapy. <br /><br />This was all sobbed on the phone to my sister. Which I am sure she appreciated since she is pregnant; wouldn't that make you look forward to motherhood? I managed to pull myself together to meet the husband for our Wednesday lunch, where I started crying again. He stitched me back together enough for me to get home and get the terror twins to bed for the blessed nap. But the malaise loves a quiet house and I couldn't stomach any of the usual cures: glass of wine (I do try to wait until four), phone call to a friend (I like to put on a brave front), or mindless TV (why oh why did I watch Rachel Zoe yesterday?!). <br /><br />So I fretted my way through the afternoon working myself into a frenzy until the girls woke up (for once I didn't mind a short nap). I half read books to them and fed them snacks and meandered around the house before coming up with the idea of heading outside. I spread a quilt out and covered it with books, including <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lonely-Werewolf-Girl-Martin-Millar/dp/0979663660/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1251940501&sr=1-1">a frothy novel</a> for me. And we sat out there for an hour reading and eating pretend food and rolling around on the ground. Mom malaise vanquished, at least for today. <br /><br />Sometimes it really is the simple things.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-78597525834290214262010-09-13T13:51:00.000-07:002010-09-13T14:00:08.256-07:00Back2Blogging Repost: A Bad Case of the Mondays<span style="font-style:italic;">To get myself back on the horse, I am participating in the <a href="http://www.thesitsgirls.com/2010/09/improve-your-html-blog/">Back2Blogging challenge</a> from the <a href="http://www.thesitsgirls.com/">SITS girls</a>. This is the first post I ever made on a blog. And wow, it still holds true. Calamity Jane even woke up super early this morning. The only change is now I also look forward to Mondays because the girls are back in school!</span><br /><br />"Looks like someone has got a bad case of the Mondays!" Oh how gag inducing is that saying? Can't you just see it on a poster with Garfield hanging in your guidance counselor's office? In spite of its cuteness, the disease seems to be sinister. Its progress is all over Facebook and Twitter. Yeah I get it, from you working drudges. I used to bemoan going back to work myself (though my schedule was so weird that I could come down with a case of the Mondays any day of the week, sometimes twice a week. Lucky me.) but I am always astonished when these updates are from other SAHM's. Am I really the only one who kind of looks forward to Mondays?<br /><br />Even on this Monday where i am dead tired (4:30 "I lost my pacifier" wake up followed by an especially early wakeup two hours later) I feel relieved when my husband walks out the door. Those hours between seven thirty and five are "my time". Everything is just a bit easier and there is no judgment. No one to make fun of my singing and Elaine dancing when "Last Night" by the Strokes comes on. No one to chide me when I let the girls watch a third YGG episode. No one to see that I let the girls have a bowl of cookies just so I could get five minutes to check my email. I can keep myself on schedule or spread the toys out everywhere and keep everyone in pajamas until four. No ones knows. At least until the girls start talking in English rather than twinspeak.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, my husband is great with the kids. In fact even using that phrase seems wrong, like he is so great with them in the hour I run to the store. He truly is, in every sense, a coparent. But there is a certain tolerance that comes from being around them 24/7 that can't be duplicated. The crying and whining doesn't affect me the way it does him. I know just from J's ruffled brow that while the orange shoes may have be the favorite yesterday today it would mean torture by screaming if you even attempt to put them near her feet. There are a million little nuances the primary parent picks up and my husband is missing out on all of them. I can't imagine how frustrating it is.<br /><br />So I put up with the spontaneous weekend car trips that extend just a bit too far into nap time, the occasional ignoring of the poopy diapers, and the "how long until bedtime" whines. As long as he puts up with my slovenly ways and that sometimes I walk into our room and shut the door the second he gets home. And as long as he leaves on time in the morning.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-26459281142238331252010-08-30T16:17:00.000-07:002010-08-30T16:49:05.926-07:00Buy It Now : Do Fun StuffAs the parent of special needs kids, the web has been a great resource for me. We're lucky enough that the girls' problems have been minor enough that we haven't had to track down specialists or medical advice (though we have gotten some amazing diet tips thanks to the blogsphere). But what has been super important to me is finding other parents who are open about their kids' special needs. Their advice and stories have been invaluable to me in accepting my own feelings about my kids' special traits. <br /><br />One of the bloggers who have helped me in this journey is <a href="http://pacingthepanicroom.blogspot.com/">Ryan Marshall</a>. Like a lot of others I found him through links to his beautiful <a href="http://pacingthepanicroom.blogspot.com/search/label/the%20belly%20pictures%20series">maternity pictures</a> of his wife Cole. And like so many others I was caught up in his story, in their family's story. When I first read about Little Buddy's <a href="http://www.prisms.org/WhatisSMS/characteristics.htm">disease</a>, my heart caught in my throat. Since then Little Buddy's parents and step parents have been a huge inspiration to me. <br /><br />So I am thrilled to be part of the blog movement for <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/do-fun-stuff-vol-1/id389206136">Do Fun Stuff</a>. Ryan was inspired to help raise money for <a href="http://www.prisms.org/WhatisSMS/characteristics.htm">Smith-Magenis</a> research. However unlike my own inspirations that peter out, Ryan shot for the moon and put together an awesome album full of kids music by rocking bands. And 100% of the proceeds go towards research. It's win-win, you and your kids get awesome music and a worthy cause gets much needed money. <br /><br /><iframe src="http://dofunstuff.net" width="480px" height="719px" border="0" align="middle"> <p>Sorry, your browser does not support iframes.</p> </iframe> <br /><br />If you would like to blog about this, and why wouldn't you, you can grab the widget <a href="http://www.dofunstuff.net/">here</a>.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-51849920752481308182010-08-22T06:46:00.000-07:002010-08-22T07:07:56.733-07:00I Don't Feel LuckyHere is one of those posts that I cry as I write because I really do feel like the worst mother in the world. I feel like I should bookend every line with "of course I love them immensely". But this blog is not about the reassurances, it's about being honest (to a fault sometimes).<br /><br />Here is the thing, when it comes to my kids having special needs: I don't feel lucky. I haven't had that great life lesson. I don't wish they were exactly the same. I accept them and love them the way they are. But oh how I wish I could take this burden from them. <br /><br />And yes, I realize it could be much worse. And that they have gotten much better. Those facts though are of little comfort when they are both screaming in the car for an hour straight; when they are throwing fits in public and everyone is staring; when my daughter struggles to play with toys.<br /><br />I've written before how we are just <a href="http://theyaresocutewhentheyaresleeping.blogspot.com/2009/10/just-outside-of-normal.html">outside of normal</a>. And I think that is what makes watching the girls grow up all the more bittersweet for me. I see how close they are to not having to struggle and see how close I am to not having had this stress of keeping all the balls in the air. Maybe it's a convenient excuse, but I can't help but wonder how different of a mom I would be if we didn't have these challenges. <br /><br />Our burden, compared to so many, is small. And I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of these things being gone from our lives. But still, I don't feel lucky. I don't feel lucky at all.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-62170228082983110672010-08-17T06:13:00.000-07:002010-08-17T07:35:53.805-07:00The Pitfalls of Magic SalivaWhen I was pregnant I assumed that in the delivery room a sense of motherliness would come over me. That as they pulled the girls out, a cloud of knowledge would descend and all of the sudden I would be able to open jar with a single twist and know what to tell my kids when they inevitably ask me if I have ever done drugs. <br /><br />Perhaps because I chickened out and had the girls via c-section (8 hours of pitocin, no dilation at 39 weeks), but that cloud never descended. But what I have found is that they do not know any better and I can <span style="font-style:italic;">make stuff up</span>! I haven't yet used this power for evil or fun like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Secondary_characters_in_Calvin_and_Hobbes">Calvin's dad</a> but I must admit that I pull it out to make the day run a little smoother.<br /><br />Enter the magic saliva. You know how it goes, a kid falls down and runs to her mom to kiss it and make it all better. What's not to love? And how can I not abuse it slightly? After all it's easier to quickly kiss a skinned knee than to stop and find a bandage. And they take my assurances that it doesn't hurt any more like gospel.<br /><br />The problem is that now they want kisses all the time: I bumped my elbow, kiss it! My head hurts, kiss it! Ow, my leg, kiss it! Like a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beatlemania">Beatle</a>, I fear being torn to bits by their need. And medicine, well unless it bubble gum flavored, they don't understand why they can't just have kisses.<br /><br />Now I know, this power to make shit up must be used judiciously. Like telling them that soda, like beer and wine, is for mommies and daddies only.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-48768137417276083672010-08-16T06:40:00.001-07:002010-08-16T07:28:06.172-07:00Dropping Out of the CompetitionLast night when I was at the World's Most Earnest Bookclub, another mom started telling me all about the different activities she does with her kids and how she is sorry to be going back to work because she loves staying home so much.<br /><br />I fixed her with my Larry David <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2SmoBvg-etU">staredown</a> and said "But do you really? I mean, honestly." And she told me that yes she did and it has been such a blessing. I must have had a skeptical look on my face because the activity ideas started coming. And I felt bad, but I had to cut her off with: <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"I am sure that they are easy. Honestly, I am just not that interested."</span><br /><br />And with that I dropped out of the best mom competition.<br /><br />The thing is, I thought I would be awesome at this. I totally believed I would be the type of mom to have a crafty activity each day and have my kids help with the cooking. But I am not. And I am okay with that.<br /><br />I'm happy with too much TV and random fort building and telling my kids that something fun is throwing rocks in the front yard. I am down with keeping expectations low so that cutting peanut butter toast into star shapes is met with looks of wonder akin to Christmas morning. I am a supporter of crackers for snacks and garage sale dress up clothes.<br /><br />I am the mediocre. <br />Hear me yawn and get another cup of coffee.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-44889768444289274442010-08-15T06:53:00.001-07:002010-08-15T07:37:09.228-07:00Plans, I Have ThemLately I have been suffering from writer's block. Perhaps it is the post BlogHer malaise I heard every one talk about. More likely it is the heat that has taken over Missouri like a fog. This is not what I was promised when I moved here last summer. <br /><br />Or it could be that Twitter sucks all my witticisms and bon mots that my brain has to offer.<br /><br />I have trouble making myself a priority in any meaningful way. I wish I could say this is because I am busy giving it all to my family but I don't call myself a lazy ass housewife for nothing. My house is usually in quite a state of disarray. Though it is often picked up, is rarely clean. I manage to cook three meals a day for the kiddos and my husband but that's the extent of my go getterness. <br /><br />So instead of being a household engineer, I am more of a household artist in residence. I laze about starting projects but rarely finishing them, going on book binges, and watching fluffy shows during the all so important naptime. When my husband complains I whine that I am "working", building my "social media empire" (tongue firmly in cheek.)<br /><br />But now I have nothing to write on the blog, except this post about writer's block. <br />Oh ideas I have, and plans. And resolutions to not only buckle down on the blogging and put the thoughts in my head on to paper but to be serious about my writing and career direction. And to wear sunscreen, and exercise, and keep my house cleaner. To find some kind of balance between motherhood, wifehood, and me. <br /><br />For now though, I will eat cookies and salami for breakfast while the kids watch TV and the husband sleeps.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-35687416056180594232010-08-11T10:17:00.000-07:002010-08-12T08:55:52.645-07:00A BlogHer Recap Post of My Very OwnIf I had actually sat down and written a pre-BlogHer10 post like I planned this would be a nice bookend to it. But I didn't, so you will just have to take my word for it that BlogHer was pretty much what I expected it to be. <br /><br />My goal was just to have fun so I went into it with very little expectations. I planned to just go with the flow, have a good time, and not worry too much about what I was supposed to be doing. I told myself that I would go up to anyone and say hi and introduce myself. And I would ask to join a group if I felt alone. <br /><br />All of that I did, and it made my experience fabulous. <br /><br />There were disappointments of course. I missed almost all of the keynotes because of my need for massive amounts of alone time. I was chatted out and needed time to chill and wander by myself. I really wish I had seen Amy <a href="http://bitchinwivesclub.blogspot.com/">sing</a> and had heard the speeches from the <a href="http://www.blogher.com/official-blogher-10-liveblog-international-activist-blogger-scholarship-recipients">international activists</a>. <br /><br />I didn't walk across the <a href="http://www.outsidevoice.net/2010/06/life-list-56-walk-across-the-brooklyn-bridge/">Brooklyn Bridge</a> and my three hour plane delay made me have to cancel my afternoon at <a href="http://www.moma.org/">MoMA</a>. <br /><br />There were a few nasty people or just people I thought I would bond with but ended up not clicking with. <br /><br />But all of this was overshadowed by the random moments that made the trip wonderful...<br /><br />A <a href="http://www.promisespromisesbroadway.com/">play</a> I picked in spite of its bad review turned out to be awesome. And the <a href="http://www.taverndirect.com/">Tavern Direct</a> dinner that I RSVPd to randomly was delicious and meaningful. <br /><br />The completely chance way I met <a href="http://www.annsrants.com/">Ann</a> and <a href="http://bitchinwivesclub.blogspot.com/">Amy</a> (no, unfortunately Amy did not offer to make me <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMPxkKaiUsM&feature=player_embedded">popular</a>): two bloggers who I frequently read and just think are all around awesome.<br /><br />How I kept running into the same people over and over which led to me spending lots of time with <a href="http://www.pajamasandcoffee.com/">MaryMac</a> and <a href="http://www.missdisgrace.com/">MissGrace</a>. <br /><br />That so many of the people I tweet with were people I just adored in real life and want to be best friends forever with (there's way too many to name but <a href="http://mommyisrocknroll.com/">Lauren</a>, <a href="http://allthingsfadra.com/">Fadra</a>, <a href="http://twitter.com/MotherhoodnMe">Sue</a>, and <a href="http://www.meandmine.org/">Allison</a> all have photographic proof with me so they get special shoutouts).<br /><br />Having <a href="http://southcityconfidential.com/">Kelli</a>, who had met me once at the pre-BlogHer meetup in St. Louis, generously reach out to me time and time again during the conference and in addition give me an awesome hug every time I saw her. She wrote a great <a href="http://southcityconfidential.com/2010/08/10/my-requisite-sappy-post-blogher-post/">recap post</a> that really sums up the love I felt from new and old friends.<br /><br />Meeting <a href="http://pacingthepanicroom.blogspot.com/">Ryan</a> and telling him how much I love his writing and how it's made such a difference to me as the mom to special need kids. I only wish I had told <a href="http://www.princessjenn.com/">Jenn</a> the same thing when she was nice enough to have me up to her room at 12am. <br /><br />That I didn't get into a single argument with my <a href="http://www.kellyology.net/">roomie/sister in law</a>.<br /><br />Pretty much I went all out and was dorky, sarcastic, silly me the entire time for better or for worse. If you don't believe me, you can check out the Sparklecorn <a href="http://www.mamapop.com/2010/08/mamapop-sparklecorn-2010-directors-cut.html">video</a> which features me twice thanks to the <a href="http://www.babypop.com/shop/">Baby Pop Designs</a> mask I was wearing (thank you <a href="http://www.agirlmustshop.com/">A Girl Must Shop</a> swag bag!) <span style="font-style:italic;">(for friends that didn't go, I am at around 2:43 and 3:00 if you don't want to watch the whole thing. You should though, because it rocks)</span> <br /><br />I will probably write a bit more about BlogHer in the next few days, because hey free blog fodder, but I want to sum it up by saying: if you've wanted to go, go next year. It really is what you make of it. Just go and have a blast.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-16762607743703357702010-08-09T19:24:00.000-07:002010-08-09T19:24:00.438-07:00Break Their Hearts and I Will Kill You<span style="font-style:italic;">While at BlogHer, I am re-posting some of my favorite posts. This was originally posted on October 4th, 2009. I will be back with original content on August 10th.</span><br /><br />On the weekends I try to escape to the movie theater to get a little relief from the twinsanity. Occasionally the husband and I will tag team a movie. One person goes to see the first show then immediately comes home and tags in so the other one can catch the next show. Then we discuss it later. It is almost like a date and we don't have to pay a babysitter. <br /><br />Usually though I see mind candy movies, rom-coms or action flicks, that my husband will never want to Netflix. What can I say, I love movies and will see almost anything. This weekend I went to see <span style="font-style:italic;">Whip It</span>, Drew Barrymore's new movie about roller derby. And I really enjoyed it. Drew and I are around the same age and much of the music and fashions seemed to be taken straight from my own early twenties (also in spent in Austin). It was just a fun two hours, remembering my own misspent youth.<br /><br />One scene, though, struck an unexpected chord. Ellen Page's character Bliss drives to her childhood home after having her heart broken by a guy. As I am sure every other woman in the theater was doing, I immediately thought about my own first heartbreak. Looking back on it I am not even sure what it was about this guy that made me so in love with him. The sex was pedestrian and I never really felt like I could be myself with him (I was much quirkier than his friends) but dammit I was <span style="font-style:italic;">so</span> into him. <br /><br />And he was into me, at least for awhile. I truly thought that I had found the one, that my life was settling into place, that this was it for me. Did I mention I was nineteen? Ah young love. When we broke up I was so at loose ends that, like Bliss, I fled home in the middle of the night. <br /><br />The thing was though, as I watched Bliss sit on the floor and cry, my attention was more focused on her mother and the pain on <span style="font-style:italic;">her</span> face. And I thought, oh fuck, that's going to be me. Times two. I am going to have to live through heartbreak all over again. Only this time, it is going to be a million times worse.<br /><br />I felt sorry for my own mother, thinking back to when she came home from work that day and walked into the kitchen to find me. I immediately burst into tears when I saw her. She gathered me in her arms and said "my poor baby" just like I do with my girls when they fall. She watched me cry through dinner out at a restaurant, a movie, and ice cream. I think I may have still been crying when she put me on the plane back to Austin.<br /><br />That's when the phrase "I don't know how she does (did) it" comes to mind. How do you watch your kids be hurt and not be able to do anything about it? How do you not wrap them up in protective gear and fight their fights for them? So far I think I have been pretty good about letting the girls be independent and fight their own battles. But their battles are small. It is easy to stop myself from stepping in when someone steals their swing, but it is going to be a lot harder when it is someone stealing their heart.<br /><br />Maybe my girls will be the heartbreakers instead of the heartbroken. A mom can dream right? If not I will let them cry in my arms. I will try to empathize and let them know that I was there too and that it does get better. That someday they will have a hard time even recalling that guy's name (or girl's, I'm open). All I know is, that whoever it is, they better be happy I am a namby-pamby liberal who believes in gun control.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-29880890212068362902010-08-08T08:00:00.000-07:002010-08-08T08:00:00.849-07:00Hi, You Don't Know Me But I Have Beer<span style="font-style:italic;">While at BlogHer, I am re-posting some of my favorite posts. This one was originally posted on August 25th, 2009. I will be back with original content tomorrow.</span><br /><br />Yesterday I did a crazy thing. I put the girls in the stroller and set out to meet some new friends. And by that I mean that whenever I saw a house that looked like it contained young children I went up to the door and knocked on it. Yes, to my husband's horror, I thought this would be a good way to meet my neighbors. Well maybe not a good way but that is what staying home all day does to me.<br /><br />It wasn't all that successful. I talked to one dad whose wife and three year old daughter were out, a young mom who had to unlatch her child to answer the door (i would hate me), and the most promising house had a no solicitors sign and they didn't answer my knock (hey I'm not selling anything except myself and I'm free, hardee har har). I was especially disappointed because they have a kickass backyard filled with toys. And they drive a Toyota Echo. Which to me translates to "not a queen bee mom who scrapbooks and makes judgments about the way your kids are dressed, after all I drive a gas efficient car and am obviously frugal and/or love the environment". Why yes I am speed dating moms based on their cars. I really am that pathetic. I left a note but the girls were screaming so it had a kind of serial killer shaky look to it. Awesome.<br /><br />The whole idea had started as a joke when IMing with my friend <a href="http://thechocolateandthecheese.blogspot.com/">MP</a>. A friend who I made in the most awesome moms group in the world. The group that I had to leave behind when we moved here. I did not realize until I met them how important having mom friends was. I laughed and cried (well not really but I am sure they wouldn't have minded if I did) and had something to do everyday and actually liked their children. Much better than mine own sometimes, why is it that other people's children are always so much cuter? And the girls, well they didn't seem to hate it, and honestly I wouldn't have noticed if they did, I was having too much fun.<br /><br />So knowing no one in a strange city is doubly hard these days. But we are not moving back so I will be trying my darndest to make new just as great friends here. And if that means knocking on random stranger's doors and enduring Kindermusik classes, then so be it. Eventually there will be that mom I click with it, the one who believes that parenting is not a competitive sport and that many playdates are improved by the addition of beer. <br /><br />As for that beer, MP joked that I should stick some in the stroller and offer it up, then I would really know if I made a friend. But beer is expensive here and I want it all for myself.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-81471270740951346952010-08-07T08:00:00.000-07:002010-08-07T08:00:02.735-07:00Being Special<span style="font-style:italic;">While at BlogHer, I am re-posting some of my favorite old posts. This was originally posted on February 15th, 2010. I will be back with original content on August 10th.</span><br /><br />After a few weeks of cyclical sickness (two kids to pass between plus two parents mean flu and colds last forever) I am finally having a normal morning where I sit down and drink my tea while the girls watch their shows. So it is time to post.<br /> <br />There have been a lot of posts circulating in my head these past few weeks. A funny one about the Alpha Mom brigade, one admitting to my own Alpha Mom tendencies when it comes to birthday parties, Posts sparked by a great wine night out with a new friend where we talked about work and what we would do differently next time is there ever was a next time (we both fear having twins again).<br /><br />But I haven't been able to write those because there was this post waiting. It needed to be written but I could not bring myself to sit down, write it out, and hit submit. This is a blog about the dark side of parenting but I could not get honest and write about this. <br /><br />I am the mother of special needs kids. <br /><br />And I hate myself for even having trouble writing those words. I have referenced it before in this blog. Friends in "real life" know the girls have delays. But there is just something about writing the words down that make it seem very real. I am ashamed of myself for having to "come out" on this issue. I have always thought of myself as the open sort who doesn't care about differences. It turns out I just care when it is my own kids.<br /><br />The thing is I don't want people to think differently of or prejudge the girls. I want them to be seen the way I see them. Would I love it if they were both intelligible? Yes. Hell I would settle for one; then she could translate. But though their quirks make life harder but they also make them, them. The kids I love. <br /><br />The problem is my own. I can't let go of the image of what my children would be like, what motherhood would be like. I can't seem to accept that we are on a different path than the norm, even if that path is what leads us to "normal". All the research on preschool, all the activities, all the play dates seem worthless. All the worry over social groups and exposure to the arts and other modern parenting problems only kept me from what I should have been worrying about. <br /><br />Of course I blame myself. When you sit through five hours of listening to every single thing that is wrong with your children, it is hard not to feel like <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Worst Mother Ever</span>. But all I can do now is buck up and face the fact that motherhood is loving your kids; not living up to an image. Loving them is easy, letting go of the image is the hard part. Writing this is a first step.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-42383733184755864212010-08-06T08:00:00.001-07:002010-08-06T08:00:00.174-07:00If Only I Could Read Minds<span style="font-style:italic;">While I am BlogHer, I am re-posting some old favorites. This was originally posted on October 12th, 2009. I will be back on August 10th with new content.</span><br /><br />Yesterday I finished up my weekend read <span style="font-weight:bold;">Petite Anglaise</span> by the writer of the blog <a href="http://www.petiteanglaise.com/">Petit Anglaise</a> (which I was kind of glad I had not read, I might have not been as enthralled by the book). A lot of what she wrote about touched a nerve in me about my own identity crises and relationships worries post kids. But it is the recollections of her daughter that stick with me.<br /><br />It really touched a chord with me, the frequent references to conversations with her daughter, who in the book is the same age of the girls. The recordings of the utterances that, literally, could only come from the mouth of a child. The funny little back and forth exchanges they had. I envy that so much.<br /><br />As I look up from writing, I watch my daughter lay out napkins (old cloth wipes that the girls now use for pretend) out in a pattern on the floor, I wish I could see into her head. For me, it is the hardest part of their delays... the loss of their voices.<br /><br />With Desmonda it is as if I am listening to a language I am only starting to master. Her muttered sentences are full of words that I can't quite understand. Often I get the gist of what she is saying but sometimes one indistinguishable word is enough for me to not be able to translate. I hate telling her hopeful, expectant face "Sorry, honey, I don't know what you want". Communication is so close with her but feels so far away.<br /><br />With Calamity Jane, I am left to just wonder. Her few words are utilized for only her most basic needs and often only understandable to us. The words all are shouted at us in the same insistent, angry tone. I cried the first time she called out Mommy to me in excitement when I walked in the door. Here was proof I could hold onto that she could communicate, that she wanted to. All along her babbles have been full of expression and variation, rising and falling as she talks in her Janespeak. There is always so much going on in her head but we are not privy to any of it. <br /><br />Often when I observe their play, I imagine their thoughts for them. Sometimes I unconsciously speak them out loud. Occasionally they will riff on what I am saying, allowing me into their world, but often they just look at me, befuddled. They have no idea what I am talking about. And I have no idea what is going with them.<br /><br />It feels wrong that I am missing out on their thoughts. This is a unique time when they are completely unselfconscious. Their thoughts are unfettered by the limits of reality and the judgments of others. It is radical honestly in its most pure form. <br /><br />When they do start communicating it will be precious to me whether it is next week or next year. The words will be no less sweeter and I know I will treasure each one. Until they drive me crazy with too much talking. But I think a small part of me will always mourn all that I have missed.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-10052462857320729252010-08-05T08:00:00.000-07:002010-08-05T08:00:05.435-07:00The FD Phrase<span style="font-style:italic;">While I am at BlogHer I am reposting some of my favorite posts. I will be back with new content August 10th.</span><br /><br />What? You don't think fucking dammit is the most appropriate phrase for a mommy blog post? You don't think it is going to get me invited to any private BlogHer parties? It isn't going to win me any nominations for <a href="http://projectmommyhood.blogspot.com/2010/05/meet-mommy-blogger-of-year-finalists.html">Mommy Blogger of the Year</a>?<br /><br />But it must be kid appropriate because that is what my kid is saying lately. And how I wish I was kidding. <br /><br />At least I can comfort myself that Calamity Jane is only pulling the FD phrase, as my husband and I have taken to calling it, at appropriate moments. She is no casual swearer like her parents. She waits until she is really really mad, you know fucking mad. Then she lets it rip. I admit that I am kind of waiting for her to add "Goddammit" as an emphases.<br /><br />I knew the day was coming; I am only surprised that it took this long. My husband and I are prolific swearers. We can't even blame each other since her phrase is a blending of each of our favorite swears. I do admit that the worst sounding one, fucking, is mine.<br /><br />While we have tried to tone it down since we had kids, toning it down still leads to a lot of swearing. And having kids is fucking stressful and science just proved that it<a href="http://www.healthnews.com/family-health/mental-health/scientific-proof-that-swearing-makes-you-feel-better-3452.html"> makes you feel better</a>. But while science is on my side I don't think my mother-in-law is going to buy into that when Calamity Jane lets fucking dammit rip the next time she can't get the puzzle piece to fit. <br /><br />So where do we go from here? Luckily due to her speech delay only my husband and I seems to really understand it. At least that's what I am telling myself. I didn't notice any stares of death while we were at my town's scenic memorial day parade today. It seems we have a little time to solve the problem.<br /><br />Right now I am going with ignoring. And shooting stares of death at anyone who laughs like my <a href="http://www.kellyology.net/">sister-in-law</a> who said: "Come on, it's pretty funny". Even if yes, it kind of is.<br /><br />Because she will grow out of this at some point right? Otherwise, I'm fucking screwed.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-89241856352159007532010-08-04T08:00:00.000-07:002010-08-04T08:00:02.530-07:00If You Want To Be My Friend<span style="font-style:italic;">While I am at BlogHer I am posting some of my favorite previous posts. I will be back with new content August 10th. </span><br /><br />So the blog has been pretty depressing and sad (in the words of my husband) as of late so I thought I would bring a little levity to it. Since I have picked up some new readers and I am living in a new town actively seeking a new clique (that one was for you A), I thought I would publish a list of friend requirements.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Being Guavalicious's Friend 101</span><br /><br />~<span style="font-style:italic;">Don't be a one upper</span>. Yeah I think it's awesome that your kid is reading already and showing an aptitude for ballet and loves every kind of vegetable. Just don't brag about it to me or I will be forced to mention how my kids sleep from seven until seven and take two to three hours naps. <br /><br />~Along the same lines, <span style="font-style:italic;">don't show me tons of pictures of your kid</span>. If I want to see them I will ask. And to be honest, pictures of my own kids kind of bore me unless they are doing something especially darling or embarrassing so pictures of your kid probably aren't going to thrill me.<br /><br />~When I say <span style="font-style:italic;">HSAHD alert (Hot Stay at Home Dad Alert) check the guy out</span> instead of giving me a sideways look. Get it straight, I love my husband. the guy has stuck by me through thick and thin, watches SYTYCD with me, and wants to have sex with me even after I have given a soliloquy about my muffin top. But I am married not dead. Not appreciating a HSAHD is just wrong. <br /><br />~On that note, <span style="font-style:italic;">feel free to brag about your husband</span>. I like hearing the stories and cooing. Plus it gives me something to tell my husband about. Just don't be surprised if he gives you the stink eye the next time we all hang out.<br /><br />~<span style="font-style:italic;">Yell at my kid</span>. Well not really, but feel free to discipline them. And don't freak out when I do the same with yours. It takes a village, cheesy but true.<br /><br />~<span style="font-style:italic;">Feel free to drop by anytime</span>. Just don't expect my kids to be dressed or my house to be clean.<br /><br />~<span style="font-style:italic;">Go out with me, at night, without the kids and/or partner</span>. Remember who you were before the partner and kids entered the picture? That chick rocks and I love hanging out with her. Everyone will be fine without you, I promise. <br /><br />~<span style="font-style:italic;">Love me for who I am</span>. I will say it loud and proud: I am an atheist, drinking, cloth diapering, swearing, former breastfeeding mama who loves a good pedicure and dropping money on sushi and shopping. You, total opposite? That's cool. I don't judge, so don't judge me. Hanging out with people exactly like you is boring.<br /><br />~<span style="font-style:italic;">You don't have to be a mom to be my friend</span>. Really. I promise I don't talk about my kids all the time and I won't make you look at pictures of them.<br /><br />If you read all that, you must be my friend already or someone who I want to befriend. So call me up. I will buy the first round.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-38196390769683467442010-07-31T13:53:00.001-07:002010-07-31T13:53:27.260-07:00Someday This Will Be YouIt's easy to feel old in a college town. Every place is packed with hipsters and cooing couples and smartly dressed collegiates reading the paper and sorority girls who can still wear short shorts. It's not the best place to be out with your kids. Especially if your kids are not the adorable kind who happily drink their organic juice and color quietly while occasionally dancing adorably to the latest hip music playing.<br /><br />Unfortunately my kids are more the screaming, running type. And they insist on wearing the souvenir t-shirts my parents buy them. I am not convinced those t-shirts aren't a cruel joke my mom plays on me, revenge for all those times I insisted on wearing thrift store clothes instead of the Gap outfits she bought me.<br /><br />It was against my better judgment that we went out to eat with the girls in downtown today. We started off badly by getting ice cream before the meal. I implored my husband to get food to go but he was lulled into a false sense of security by the girls' sugar comas. About ten minutes after we had ordered but five minutes before the food arrived, all hell broke loose. Soon we were holding onto them for dear life while anxiously looking for someone to put our food in to go boxes.<br /><br />As we left some of the hipsters smoking out front gave us what I would have loved to be resentful glances but were really more of pitying "I will never be you sad rejects from American Beauty". Oh what I longed to do was turn to them and say <span style="font-style:italic;">"Someday This Will Be You!!!"</span> like an evil fortunate teller from an avant garde Disney film.<br /><br />But it is true hipsters, someday this may very well be you. How do I know you might ask? Well I was once you. I dated experimental musicians and quirky artists. I worked at an independent bookstore. I lived in a San Francisco loft. And a real loft not just one gussied up with stainless steel and exposed ductwork. I stayed out late and went to shows and bars that close at 5am and wore tight clothes and drove a Vespa.<br /><br />Yep that was me and now I am a stay at home mom in the Midwest. Oh how the mighty have fallen. So yes hipster kids, this may very well be your life someday. Perhaps in the greatest irony you and we will both stay here and someday my girls will be the ones standing outside the restaurant giving you pitying looks as you drag your screaming children by.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-76370036552820907922010-07-28T12:37:00.000-07:002010-07-28T14:07:26.092-07:00And I'm back...As you may have noticed, I took a little break from this blog. I was devoting a lot of time and energy to getting my local blog <a href="http://www.capturingcomo.com">Capturing Como</a> going. Plus the combination of potty training and summer vacation was killing me. I hadn't spent a lot of one on one time with the girls this past Spring and being faced with their delays was <a href="http://theyaresocutewhentheyaresleeping.blogspot.com/2010/06/when-to-push.html">pretty hard</a>. <br /><br />But the biggest reason I took a break was some negative feedback I was getting. It wasn't really anything nasty or particularly pointed. But in my <a href="http://theyaresocutewhentheyaresleeping.blogspot.com/2010/06/going-down-rabbit-hole.html">low state</a>, it was crushing. Was I a bad mom for writing all this out? Were my kids really that bad? Was parenting really that hard?<br /><br />The answer to the first question may still be up in the air but as for the next two, the answer is most definitely "HELL YES!" My kids are a handful and parenting is really hard. I will say it. I will admit it. And I will blog about it. <br /><br />Hope you will still keeping reading it.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-37718454436226625392010-07-13T20:30:00.001-07:002010-07-13T20:30:58.254-07:00Oh hello there!Just checking to make sure I still had this blog.<br />More to come. Soon.Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3791264579587890333.post-78701621575513414212010-06-18T07:29:00.000-07:002010-06-18T07:35:40.127-07:00Alternate Job Titles for the Stay At Home MomLife as a stay at home mom can get pretty boring. I mean there are only so many facts you can learn from Sid the Science Kid. So to amuse myself I like to come up with crazy titles when I fill out forms. I mean why be a "Homemaker" when you can be a "Unicorn Seeker" (we just can't keep track of that darn thing)? I am sure the data entry people just love me. <br /><br />These are some of the titles I have used on forms:<br /><br />"Wardrobe Mistress to the Stars"<br />"Royal Food Taster"<br />"Bonbon Eater"<br />"Midday Drinker"<br />"Personal Chef"<br />"Child Psychologist"<br />"Cruise Director"<br />"Destroyer of Dreams" <br /><br />What would your title be?Kate, aka Guavalicioushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03262691817279213060noreply@blogger.com11