Braving the School Field Trip

Ever since my oldest started school, I’ve always had the excuse of having a baby at home so I was never really able to volunteer much in my kids’ classrooms. Until this year. This is the first year that my youngest is in school long enough that I’m actually able to run more than one errand if so desired. So this year during the initial classroom information night I did the unthinkable – I put my name down as someone who was “willing” to help out at some point in the classroom. I don’t know if it was out of guilt, or curiosity, or simply out of pure insanity. Anyway, fast forward to a few weeks ago when I got the email – you know the one. The sweet request from the dear teacher asking if I would be interested in chaperoning a field trip. Well, F@*^, I thought. But of course I lied through my teeth like any respectable mother would do and responded that I’d be more than happy to help and to please keep me posted on details.

I told my daughter I was going to be going with her on her field trip, and she seemed at least semi excited. That sparked a little hope that we might not only get through it unscathed but maybe even have a little fun. So the morning of, I drove my kids to school and ended up waiting with a few other fellow moms who volunteered. One of them just happened to pull out this long, detailed instruction page of all the WORK we were expected to do. Say what?! I pretended not to panic and asked where they got it and if I could read it. Because of course my daughter hadn’t brought home anything for me to read. And if she did, it was still buried in her backpack stuffed with random JoJo bows, Sqeezamals and other very important stuff that every kid needs to attend first grade. But ok, I still thought, “I can do this. I’m 41. A mother of three. I even have a Masters degree in education. I. Got. This.”  So I simply smiled, made some stupid joke about having to work and pretended I hadn’t already sweated through my sweater.

The bell rang and we headed down to the classroom. We were handed clipboards with our responsibilities written down and an iPad. Great. I was responsible for kids AND school property. We were divided up into groups and then so began the excruciating ordeal of “last-minute bathroom trips” – which of course consisted of pretty much the entire damn class. Meanwhile in my group I had four girls, including my daughter who had barely acknowledged my presence, and one boy. After what seemed like an hour of bathroom trips, we herded our groups out to the bus.

Of course the girls were already being dramatic about who sat with who and my daughter wouldn’t sit with me because “her friends were there.” Fine. Whatever. Thankfully the boy in my group didn’t protest about sitting with the random old lady. Now I have not ridden in a bus in over two decades. You forget about all the noise, the completely upright seat backs – the SMELLS. I kept getting whiffs of vomit, and let me tell you it was touch and go for me more than once but I didn’t dare look around to see if I could find the source. Between that and the high-pitched screeches from all the girls, that 15-minute ride might as well have been five hours. But we made it.

Once inside the museum, I was handed yet another clipboard to carry (on top of my first clipboard, iPad and my purse) and we started making our way through the museum. My luck it was a history museum about one of the first farms in the area so of course I was enamored with all of the antiques and informational pieces…that I couldn’t even look at or read because of All. The. Jobs. I had to do with the kids. [But seriously this farm girl died a little inside when one of the first questions the kids were asked was, “What is this a picture of?” Um, it was a FARM. Is there even a remote possibility that any kid wouldn’t know what a farm looked like or was??]

Deep in discussion about Needs vs. Wants

Anyway we spent the next hour or so “exploring” the museum. I sweated quite a bit more trying to juggle all the things, remind each kid every five seconds or so that, “No, you cannot hold the iPad, sorry” and do my best to get the appropriate 10 plus pictures that were required. Meanwhile, the kids were constantly wanting to run in different directions, one of the girls got sick and the other three girls were having “issues” about who they were wanting to hold hands with. I felt like a damn Nazi constantly yelling, “Guys, wait. We need ONE more picture. Look at ME. Is that a NEED? Or a WANT? Just STAY TOGETHER.” But we survived. I survived. And most importantly no one was lost or injured…and only one got sick.

During the final wrap up with the museum instructor I stood in the back and simply observed the students. One was rocking back and forth with such intensity he seemed on the verge of flying away. One wanted to the play the harmonica so badly I thought he might explode in desperation. The poor sick girl in my group had tears in her eyes from her ear hurting so much. And the majority of the kids were sitting in ways that I can only dream of contorting my body. But all in all, bless these little energetic first graders who were doing their best to pay attention and stay focused.

The bus ride back was pretty much more of the same. My daughter refused to sit with me. I held my breath as much as possible to minimize the whiffs of vomit. And my back ached for even a three percent decline. When we got back to school I wistfully watched other moms get nice long, appreciative hugs from their child whereas mine bolted ahead with her friends with me desperately yelling, “Bye, enjoy the rest of your day.” But alas, with that, I too, bolted to my car and headed out for coffee.

Despite my daughter ignoring me. Despite me needing a second shower from all my nervous sweating. Despite barely surviving the bus ride from ALL the bus things. Despite it all, I enjoyed watching the kids. Seeing their genuine curiosities. Listening to their questions about the “old dead people.”  Experiencing their willingness to explore…even if that exploration was playing with a typewriter and a rotary phone, you know, all the primitive “antiques.” Despite it all, it was a memorable adventure for me. And it made me appreciate my children’s teachers even more.

So go ahead. Thank a teacher. Volunteer to chaperone. Earn a “Good Deed Mom Badge.” I dare you. Just don’t forget to bath in bleach afterwards and say a little prayer that you don’t catch the plague from the cesspool of germs you encountered. And hope that one day our kids will remember and appreciate all the things we did for our precious little darlings.


Mismatched is the New Black

Underpants sticking out. Leotard over her pants. Looks like a real-life disaster. BUT she’s happy as a clam and she got herself ready for gymnastics. Win-Win.

I have three kids. And with each kid their independence has been pushed earlier and earlier. Because let’s be honest, you just don’t have the time (well and mainly even just the patience) to help the third child the same way you did the first. My son let me pick out his clothes and dress him until (I think?) almost 5. Looking back at pictures I always think, “Oh, look how cute Jaycob looked in this matching outfit.” I miss that. Because then I look at my girls and think to myself, “Who dressed them in that?!” Oh that’s right, they dressed themselves. They both have been dressing themselves, including picking out their outfits, since about age 3. And I encouraged every ounce of that. Because anything they can do without my help is a win for me. And 99 percent of the time I’m so used to their “styling” that it doesn’t even phase me. But there’s always that one percent where it just digs at me.

A few weeks ago I was having the kids get outfits laid out to pack. I looked at the insanity that was spread before me and flipped. I explained to them it was a holiday and I wanted them to look nice in a cute matching outfit. I pleaded. I offered clothing suggestions but they weren’t having it. And then my middle child looked up at me and said, “But, Mom, this outfit looks nice to me. And it matches to me.” And just like that, I knew I was defeated. But not just defeated, I knew I was wrong. Because one of the biggest things I continually preach to my kids is to be your own person. Do what makes you happy. Wear what makes you happy. And certainly never compromise your own happiness simply because you’re worried about what someone else might say or think. (Because isn’t that the epitome of what the middle school years are about anyway. Ugh). So after my six year old schooled me in my own teachings, I zipped my lips and let them wear whatever mismatched outfit they wanted. Because really, does it even matter?!

Fast forward to a few weeks later when the same middle child let it be known that she no longer liked princesses and can’t wear anything princess-related because none of the girls in her class like them and she’ll get laughed at if she does. When I heard that I was deflated. Because that means it’s already starting. At age 6. And I know that sooner than later no matter how much I preach individuality, my kids will get sucked into that phase of life where their peers dictate what they like, what they wear and maybe even how they’ll act. And frankly, it’s going to suck. But I remember being a kid. I remember thinking that being like everyone else was, in essence, vital to my life existence. Christ, kids are idiots. I’m so glad I have an adult brain.

Anyway, what I learned from all this and need to keep reminding myself is that I should be damn proud not only that my kids have been dressing themselves at such a young age, but that they know exactly what they want. Right now they’re not focused on wanting to wear what others have or what’s “cool.” Right now they like what they like. And even if others (well okay and me too) think they look utterly ridiculous, it doesn’t matter. Because they’re happy. And they’re themselves. And that, my friends, is what is important. Besides, any time you see a child looking all cute and stylish, just know that kid was dressed by their mother. And who wants that extra job anyway?! So embrace the independence. Embrace the crazy. Embrace the individuality. Because like everything else, it won’t last forever.

Finding the Gold in the Dark

My family shows up. We are never alone.

It seems lately as we approach the holiday season and should be surrounding ourselves with all things “joyful” that instead, so many families I know, including my own, has been forced into one tragic event after another.

One of these awful tragedies was the death of one of my cousins a few weeks ago. The unexpected loss of this great young man leaves behind voids that I can only begin to imagine. I will say, however, that the intense grief, love, unwavering faith, and even some good ol’ fashioned laughter that I experienced during my brief visit with friends and family for the services left a remarkable impression on me. Seeing his teenage children weep for the loss of their father. Or the strength in his wife as she constantly kept watch over her two kids to make sure they were okay when the easier thing to have done was to simply not get out of bed. Hearing story after story of the lives my cousin touched and the hundreds of people he’s helped to better their lives. [That certainly made me realize how very little I actually do to make this world a better place. But that’s a different therapy session for a different day.] Seeing and being a part of such deep, emotional experiences left me spinning. Whether you’re 21, 41 or 91, these are pivotal moments in a person’s life. I do often wonder why it takes the death of someone to have some of these “Ah Ha” kind of realizations but I suppose no one ever said hind sight was anything less than a bitch.

But anyway after I got back home after the services, I spent the next week or so just asking myself “Why” over and over. And then later in the week, I came across a line in a book. It read:

“There is gold in every piece of your story.”

As simple as that line is, it stopped me in my tracks. Because my brain does not think that way. I focus only on the negative, and it ends up being a downward spiral of one bad thing after another until I’m only seeing bad things in every situation. And that’s not life. But seeing that line made me realize that I was asking myself the wrong question. Because at the end of the day, the “Why” will never be understood nor will it change the outcome. So instead, I started thinking about what I should be learning from this situation and what I would want my children to learn. I wanted – I needed – to see “the gold” in this part of my cousin’s story because from the outside all I saw was heartache. When I started thinking about the situation in a different light, I was amazed at all the “good” (and I use this word loosely in relation to anyone dying) things that I had seen and heard just in those two days.

While I could ramble on, for me I simply wanted to focus on what I believe to be THE most important message or the “gold” that I gained out of this situation. And that is simply: I AM [YOU ARE] NEVER ALONE. Life can be shitty. This year in particular seems to be exceptionally awful for so many. But damn, what I witnessed at this funeral, and even others this year, has just been phenomenal. Friends and family come out of the woodwork during these tragedies. And maybe you don’t see or even talk to them that often but just knowing that they are indeed there should provide some level of comfort. Because even when you think you’re at your lowest; when you think you’re all alone and no one can help you, all you have to do is look around because there will always be at least one, or 10 or even 100 people right there, wanting and waiting to help you.

For some reason I’ve always thought that it was best to deal with my problems by myself, inside my own head. (Brilliant, right?! Insert eye-rolling emoji.) But that simply isn’t how life should be. I suppose I can say I’ve always known that but I think this funeral actually helped me see that. Don’t stay inside your head. It can get dangerous there. Try to find the gold among even the darkest parts to our stories. Because it is there; it just isn’t always easy to see. God or Buddha or the Stars or Someone gave us each other for a reason. Remember that. And repeat after me: You Are Not Alone.

Be that Inspirational Friend

IMG_4313Throughout our lifespan people weave themselves in and out of our lives. As kids and teenagers I feel like we strive for quantity over quality because we place popularity on such a pedestal and are trained to think the more “friends” we have the better off or cool we are. Yet the older I get the more I’ve learned that, in fact, just the exact opposite is true. The quality of the friends and people in our daily lives exponentially outweighs the quantity. Sure I have plenty of acquaintances and people I’m friendly with, but the number of people that I can truly say are my good friends, or “ride or die bitches” as we like to call each other, has been happily narrowed down over the years to a few select groups of people. These are the people that I talk (well okay, text with) on the regular. But even if we miss some time here or there, that’s okay too. These are the ones that we actually go out of our way to make plans to hang out with each other. Because we all know that life happens, but we’re important enough to each other to make it a point to still see one another on at least a semi-regular basis. These are the ones who know each other’s secrets, we don’t judge (or if we do, we certainly judge openly… And that’s okay too). These are the ones that make each other laugh until we cry, that give the best hugs, and always have each other’s backs.

They say that everyone comes into your life for a reason. And that I do believe. Sometimes, however, we can’t be rid of the crazies quick enough, but still I believe we have something to learn from everyone. A few years ago I was introduced to someone who today I consider to be one of my most special friends. When we first met, you can believe I was full of all sorts of judgement as I checked her out with her beautiful hair, perfect body and infectious smile. Thankfully my ridiculous judging didn’t last long once we started talking, and I discovered that it was truly possible to be both beautiful and a genuinely kind human being. And though we’ve only known each other for a few years, she is one of those people that has taught me so much.

Recently this sweet woman has been thrown a huge life curve ball. I feel deflated, heart broken and completely helpless. Yet while I have no control over the future of anyone’s life, what I can control are my words and my ability to share the important life lessons that this special woman has taught me. Because everyone deserves to have such a special and influential friend in their lives.

I think the most important thing I’ve learned from my friend is the importance of simply showing up. Despite all the grief I give her about her various luxuries in life, this woman works her ass off on the daily to provide for her family. To be there for them. And is constantly going out of her way to do special things for her girls to simply reinforce her love for them. But even after all that, out of our little local core group, it’s almost always her that is taking the time to plan outings for us or just simply dragging our exhausted mom asses out of our houses. She’s the one that’s sending out the group texts reminding us of the date for Wine Chat Wednesday, even though it’s supposed to be the same date every month. And even when it’s -50 degrees outside and all I want to do is lay on my couch in my fat pants, she has taught me that that simply isn’t good enough. Because friends show up for each other. Friends make it a point to hang out. And anything less simply isn’t an option.

Another huge lesson my friend has taught me is simply how to forgive. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s holding a grudge (just ask my husband!) My friend is so much smarter than me. She knows that harboring anger and ill thoughts does nobody any good. She’s been such a great role model to me in simply forgiving, letting go of any negativity and moving on. Because life is just too short not to. The world would be such a better place if we all followed her example.

Along the way there’s also been several other “smaller” life lessons, although in my opinion just as equally important.

  • Bless this woman’s heart her taste in music could use some improving. However, even when surrounded by horrible music, she’s proved to me that it truly is possible to have a good time.
  • Not only is it normal, but it’s absolutely crucial to slow down every once in awhile and simply remember how to feel. We often get so caught up in our chaotic daily lives that we don’t necessarily give ourselves the necessary and imperative time we, as humans, need to acknowledge our own feelings.
  • Believe it or not, body suits can actually look good…on the right person!
  • Everyone has their own insecurities and faults. But if we can’t own who we are, we need to reevaluate. We’re all human and none of us are perfect. But there comes a point in our adult lives that if we don’t feel confident in who we are, albeit good or bad, it’s our responsibility alone to change what we don’t like.

Life is confusing, at times difficult, and every once in awhile it simply knocks you on your ass. And in these moments may we all be blessed enough to have a friend as special and inspirational as this one is to me. And more importantly, may we all be that friend to someone else.

The Year of the Cup

IMG_9001As parents we experience hundreds, if not thousands of milestones. Our kids’ first food, first steps, first word, first sleepover and the list goes on and on. I think for the most part, we’re pretty familiar with the basics and what to expect. But there’s always those ones that end up sneaking up on you – the ones that you may or may not have even known about, making them that much more… well interesting, let’s just say.

This year my son tried out and made the “travel” baseball team. And when I say travel, it just means the next town or two over. Thank God, we’re not shelling out millions for long road trips and hotels…just yet. This kid absolutely loves baseball. When asked, his favorite things in life are “baseball and family.” Although I’ll have to admit I wonder if he realizes his sisters are part of that whole “family” thing. My husband has him pretty well trained, and he knows more facts and stats about the Cubs than probably most adult Cubs fans. He’s obsessed but it’s a good thing. Anyway, apparently for this travel team one of the rules is that the kids must wear a cup. Now as an adult and mother, I know what that is. I know its job. Basically I know the minimal basics that surround this contraption. Thankfully my husband handles 99 percent of all things related to baseball, which just so happens to include any necessary supply shopping. (PHEW!)

Now picture this if you will. I’m busy cooking dinner one evening and trying to get things ready. In walks my son and husband from somewhere. I tend not to ask too many questions when the husband takes any of the kids, because all I really need to know is I’m down one less kid to worry about. Hooray. Anyway, my son immediately heads to the bathroom and walks out a minute later. He walks right up to me and says, “Mom, hit me in the wiener.” I may or may not have gotten whip lash from turning my head so quickly to him as I was still trying to compute what was just said to me. I quickly put two and two together and figured out the surrounding story to his insane request and while secretly dying inside, calmly reminded him to please don’t ever ask ME (or anyone for that matter) to hit his privates.

To say this kid was excited about his new piece of equipment would be a complete understatement. I guess maybe I kinda sorta understand if you can equate it to getting one’s first training bra? I don’t know but regardless it resulted in a lengthy show and tell to his sisters. Explaining what it was for. Inviting them to inspect it (not on, of course!) It was all pretty comical. But I think the icing on the cake, however, was when he asked me if he could SLEEP WITH IT AND/OR WEAR IT TO BED. Yes, you read that right. My kid wanted to sleep with his cup – like it was his beloved stuffed animal or pet dog. Certainly not a request I ever imagined I’d hear. Alas my husband just reminded him it’s simply part of our uniform and we don’t wear our uniform to bed.

Children certainly are odd creatures, but it’s these kind of moments that I revel in as a parent. The nutty. The unexpected. The hilarious, yet innocent, requests. These are the things that are meant to be remembered (well for me that means written down because I can’t remember what happened five seconds ago) and used as possible blackmail when your children are older. Because every kid learns to walk and talk. But not every parent gets to experience the hilarity of being asked if their kid can sleep with their cup. This milestone is undoubtedly one for the books.

Is There an App for That?

My toddler on her phone

As a parent in the thick of things with three young kids, I often find myself complaining about their irrational, naughty and even just plain dumb behavior…because well they’re young kids with undeveloped brains and that’s just what happens. And trust me when I say I fully believe in the theory of little kids = little problems vs. big kids = big problems.

However I also think it’s safe to say that the equation has been altered even from when I was a kid. Nowadays I think it’s more like big kids + social media = HUGE problems. And damn does that scare me. Because I remember being a big kid. (Hell, I still think I am one half of the time at age 41.) And yes, while we had the capability of making decisions – good and bad – that could potentially alter the course of our future, for the most part our parents’ main competitors for influencing us were our core group of friends. And in my opinion that alone was some fierce competition. Unfortunately, parents these days have to fight against not just their kids’ friends, but friends of friends. And acquaintances. And in essence, every single other person out there thanks to sites like Facebook and Instagram, Snapchat and all those others I haven’t even heard of because I’m older than 10.

Privacy no longer exists. Bringing a few cases of beer to the middle of a cornfield for an impromptu secret party can’t happen because someone chose to broadcast it to the universe one hour ago when that person then sent a Snapchat invite to their friend who then took a screen shot of it and posted it to their Facebook account, and so on and so on. As adults we get and understand the potential plethora of horrific consequences that can essentially ruin a person’s life simply because they made one wrong decision and then someone documented it and shared it with the world. The possibilities are endless. But kids are wired to only think in the right now. And on top of that, they also think they’re invincible. We’ve all been there. We’ve all thought that.

I recently read an article explaining the reasoning why social media is indeed so bad for middle schoolers (and really all young kids in my opinion). And when reading it, of course everything makes perfect sense. But what makes sense and what works in reality don’t always jive. I sent the article to a close friend who herself has middle schoolers. To summarize her response: it [the article] is absolutely true. And if a parent can hold out against giving their kids that smartphone or access to various social media accounts, good for them. But she’s witnessed numerous occasions where her kids are now being left out of activities and ultimately even friendships simply because she doesn’t have access to Snapchat. How can we be good parents and do – or not do – something we feel strongly about when we’re fighting against the world? How can we hold steady against giving in to social media when our kids are coming home after school every day crying because they’re being made fun of for “not being cool enough” or not getting invited to something when everyone else was. I have no problem being the mean parent. But I do have a problem when my kid is getting hurt. So how does one parent this generation? I suppose that’s the million dollar question.

Looking back, my dad always used to tell me that it was easy for him to catch me doing something stupid because he’d done everything before. He knew what to look for and he knew how kids thought. Unfortunately, my generation cannot say that. We don’t have the first-hand experience with social media or even just the technology alone. I have teacher friends who have shared stories with me on the technological ways in which kids cheat these days. Another friend shared with me the app that she found simply in order to decipher all the various codes kids have come up with to keep things from their parents. Yup, when they say “there’s an app for that” they weren’t kidding. I suppose my next question would be is there an app to teach me how to use and/or find all these other methods that kids use to communicate with each other?! Because who knew that face-to-face communication would become so obsolete.

Parenting is nothing more than trial and error. But for my generation, the stakes have been upped exponentially. And for now I may be coasting along in the little kid tantrum years, but eventually my time will come. My husband and I will have difficult decisions to make regarding the use of social media and the appropriate age for smartphones. And I can only hope that when it’s our turn, we make whatever decision is best for our kids and our family. And if nothing else, maybe by then there will be an app for that, one that simply tells us how to properly parent our children. Because why not, there’s an app for everything else.

Mistakes Aren’t Just for Idiots

My pride. My joy. The reasons I stress.

Although the weather certainly hasn’t been given the memo, based on the calendar, warmer temperatures are certainly upon us sometime in the (hopefully) near future. And with the warmer weather comes a plethora of fun-filled outdoor activities and fun in the sun. BUT…how come there always seems to be a caveat associated with good things?

Warmer temperatures mean WAY warmer cars. We’ve all seen the horror stories in the news. We know about the accidents. We know what can and has happened. And we all think no way in hell could I ever be that irresponsible. And for the most part I think none of us really are. However I wanted to share my experience from the weekend which hopefully just gives everyone the gentle reminder – okay, I’m actually not going for gentle here; I’m going for IN YOUR FACE PSA – that shit happens, and as parents it’s simply imperative to always be on our A game.

So the hubs was away this weekend, and since we finally had some nice weather, I used the opportunity to get some yard work done. Meanwhile, of course, I had the kids play outside. But before all this, for some strange reason I made a horrible judgement call and took my herd to Costco. (PSA #2: Never, ever take your kids to Costco by yourself on a weekend! You’re just asking to end up needing a stiff drink before noon.) Anyway we were in and out as quick as can be… and by quick I mean barely less than two hours. Insert through-the-roof stress levels here. We got home and I had all the kids help load in the 100 pounds of Goldfish we bought along with a few other things. Once we got everything put away, we went outside. Now normally I always park in our garage but since I knew the kids would be carrying stuff inside I parked outside thinking it would be easier for them. I checked to make sure the kids closed the hatch and the car was locked – which they both were.

Now growing up in small town I don’t think I ever locked a car – like truly not ever. My dad didn’t even think he owned a key to the house. So even in the burbs I don’t necessarily worry about theft at my house, but my husband did make a point last summer to stress the importance of locking the car, if for no other reason than so the kids couldn’t get in. Like on a hot summer day. And be trapped. And while I typically forget 99.9% of the things my husband says to me, I actually did remember that one. Hence me remembering to check to see if the car was locked.

But moving on with my story. Now my son had gone over to the neighbor’s house to play baseball, and I had seen the girls follow him. As I was moving around in the yard I noticed that my littlest wasn’t with the others, and of course no one seemed to know where she went. Frustrated – but not worried – I began looking for her. I didn’t see her anywhere in the yard, or the neighbor’s and she wasn’t responding to me when I called for her in the house. At this point I was starting to get on edge just a little. Mind you it had only been maybe five minutes since I’d last seen her. But after a few more laps both in and out of the house, my mind started racing and I began to think of ALL the nightmares that could potentially be waiting for me. Now after probably another two minutes, my middle daughter found her – IN THE CAR. Somehow the car, that I had even checked to make sure was locked, had the driver’s side door open even though all other doors were locked. I have no idea how that happened. But it doesn’t matter HOW it happened, it only matters that it DID happen.

Of course I pulled her out immediately, and she was happy as a clam rubbing chapstick all over her face. BUT she was soaked in sweat. She was in there less than 10 minutes and it was barely 70 degrees outside. Now granted she got in through the driver’s side door, which does not have the child safety lock on it so technically she wasn’t trapped. But she’s three and had crawled in to the backseat. The odds of her being able to figure out to climb back to the front and open the door are slim.

After quite a bit of swearing and yelling and crying – followed by drinking a giant beer – I did a whole lot of thanking my lucky stars yesterday. Because while I may be an idiot when it comes to a lot of things in life, the safety of my kids is certainly not one of them. HOWEVER…I also know how I get. I get focused. I lose track of time. I get on a role in getting things done. I ASSUME my kids are playing together, because the majority of the time they are. And while I do make a point to check on them fairly often, sometimes there may be like 20-minute gaps in between me actually seeing what they’re doing. It’s been proven kids need approximately 0.02 seconds to get into trouble. Or maybe that’s just a proven fact for my kids?!

Now for my own mental well being I refuse to dive into the what ifs. And by dive into I mean write the words here. Because don’t think I haven’t thought about them for two days straight. Instead, I’m using this as a teaching moment for myself and all of you, my loyal five followers. (Insert smiley face.) This is real life. I’m a real person. I’m not an idiot, but I’m human. We don’t always get second chances, so we must always use our first ones wisely.

(PSA #3: Don’t count on your five year old to monitor the three year old. It doesn’t always work out like you think it should.)