15 Signs You Aren’t A Morning Person Mom

 

1.  If you’ve ever gotten up and turned on the t.v. so that it would be on when they woke up…  Surely if they see Doc McStuffins, they won’t come into your room for a good 30 minutes.

2.  If you have to be somewhere to be at 9 a.m. and while looking at the alarm rationalize  that you can get all three kids fed, dressed and out the door in under thirty minutes.  “Well, I’m convinced,” you say as you roll back over at 8:15.

3.  When it’s 8 in the morning and you are already planning for a nap.  Yours…not theirs.

4.  If you have ever let your kids go to bed in the clothes you plan on them wearing the next day.  Don’t judge me. The girl likes sleeping in dresses and dresses are clothes and you can wear clothes in public.  I win.

5.  If the first person up in your house gets death threats if they wake the others, you are not a morning person.

6.  You might not be a morning person mom if you call to make a last minute appointment at the doctor and they say, “We can see you at 8.” And you think, “Heck no, you can’t!”

7.  If the first word you say in the morning is crap when you hear a kid wake up.

8.  When you read someone’s Facebook status and see that they have “watched a show, made breakfast, and done laundry” all before 8 o’clock and instead of feeling impressed, you are really glad you aren’t them.

9.  When you know if you don’t get up, you won’t have enough time to eat breakfast but starving sounds more delicious.

10.  If you feel put out by having to put on sweatpants and consider that “having to get ready”, you might not be a morning person mom.

11.   If someone calls you from a doctor’s office, family member, or friend before 9 in the morning and your first thought is, “It’s early!  Why are they calling me?”  Oh…because most moms have been up for two hours by then.

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12.  When you spend the night at your in-laws and send your kids to their room in the morning, you might not be a morning person….or your in-laws favorite.  This is real life.  Except my in-laws love me anyways.  That’s good because I hadn’t planned on stopping the whole send my kids upstairs thing.

13.  Every morning you lay in bed and have a moment where you consider cancelling all appointments and educational experiences for your kids for the day.  Let’s just lay around and not have to be anywhere and give ourselves sweet time to wake up gently.  In all seriousness, I don’t have a kid in school yet but thought while doing my make-up yesterday that one day a year I think I will just keep them home for fun.  Don’t push me on this because I already went through all the imaginary conversations I’m going to have to have with staff for why they weren’t at school that day.  I’m ready.

14.  When you hear your first child wake up and pray with all seriousness that they will go back to sleep.  It’s a real prayer and you pray it daily and you have no shame to pray it over and over again.  “Dear God, I’m still serious today like yesterday at 7:30.  Please, if there is anyway they can go back to sleep….”

15.   If your face lights up when you find a morning show for them on On Demand that is a double or triple episode.  Oh, thank you sweet, sweet Disney for combining too many shows continuously.

 

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Jobs I Couldn’t Do

 

Body Diver

My dad has a friend or client or some person he talked to at some point in his life, who was a body diver in bodies of water for dead people.  Usually this is done in dark lake waters and you can’t see things until it’s right up on you.  If I saw a large fish unexpectedly in my face, I would be terrified.  That lets me know that I could not be a body diver.

911 Dispatcher

If someone called me and said, “AAAAHHHHHHH, my house is on fire!”  I would just say, “AHHHHHHHHHHH what are you going to do?!!!!  I’m so scared!”

Disqualified.

A Lawyer, Judge, or Officer

I choose jobs like bakers or candlestick makers where you don’t deal with ticking off criminals.  I feel like I would be like, “Hey, guys, he says he’s real sorry…” or after sentencing someone to life, “We’re still friends though, right?”

A Funeral Home Director

Although I’m really good at being compassionate,  I’m also really good at being moved and crying.  I would probably make the families feel uncomfortable with all of my sobbing.  Who knows, maybe they would be strong for me and it would help them pull through.

Construction Worker/Carpenter

“Rebecca, how long does this board need to be?”

“Uh, like three small slashes past the 4 on the tape measure.”

Animal Cop

I would do very good at the animal protection part minus the distraction of crying.  However, I would do a very bad job at the human protecting part due to the amount of times I would pull my gun on animal offenders.

“How dare you chain your  dog without water!! Bam!  Bam!”

Ironically, I would probably be a very good animal control dispatcher. Wait, make that animal body guard…a really underestimated and respectable profession.

Personal Trainer

“Hey, you did a good job today.  Let’s go get some ice cream.  Also, it will be too hot outside tomorrow so we will need to cancel.”

Tattoo Artist

I like a good craft or art project.  I can even hold my own with some art things, but I’m also very easily frustrated and a perfectionist.  I have a strong suspicion that I would get real mad and scribble over the tattoo with the ink and ask if we could start over.

Taxi Cab Driver

I’m pretty sure I would be too chicken to drive unknown humans around town all day long.

“Where do you want me to come?  That side of town?  Oh, sorry.  I only take people from the mall to Target.”

“You need me to pick you up right now?  When the sun is down?  Sorry.  I only transport puppies and kittens after 7 p.m.  They don’t kill people.”

Ultrasound Technician

There are few things that excite me more than finding out what sex of a baby someone is going to have.  I really have no self-control in this area.  If a couple came in and didn’t want to know what they were having, I would be like Kristen Wigg on SNL when she plays the character that can’t handle the suspense of a surprise.

“Heyyyy, don’t you think that color on the screen is looking really BLUE?  You don’t?  Oh….”

“Well, I have a new kitten that’s bottle fed and I think I’m going to WEINER soon.”  (big smile, dramatic pause)

The family gets mad and walks out.

I throw confetti on them.  I’m thrilled.

 

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Bedtime: A Drama In 48 Parts

 

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This just in: Bedtime is taking over my life.  Not my bedtime because that would actually be pleasureful.  My kid’s bed time is out to destroy my every nightly desire for peace.  You think the small acts of brushing teeth, giving a bedtime snack, and reading a book would take a mere 20 minutes.  Shut up, right now.  It takes the three longest hours of my life, every night.

It sounds so easy.  It does.  Really though, it’s like getting Vaseline covered water balloons into a tiny basketball goal in 90 mile an hour winds.

“Just put the water balloon in the basket!”, they yell.

“You forgot about the winds!” Arrogant fools.

Oh, and my 4 year old, 2 year old, and boobie monster 8 month old can add some “winds” to bed time. Mission complicate: complete.  Every night it’s like they take turns making requests on rotation for an hour.

“Mom, I need: water, to pee, my favorite princess, to change clothes, the hall light on, the hall light off, my foot itches, ponies can do whatever the want, Dad-Mom isn’t listening, Mom is being rude, can I watch a show, I’m hungry, I don’t like my pajamas, I want to look like royalty, sissy is being too loud, can I come in there and talk to you, can I stand in the hall and talk to you, can I just stand on the floor by my bed and talk to you from there, the cat is in my bed, I want the sun out-not the moon (I’ll be sure to get right on that), my bottom stinks, and angels are like flying people…Mom…Mom, did you hear me?  Angels are like flying people.”

Meanwhile, I’m slowing dying on the couch and if my husband and I have to pause Shark Tank one more time, I might need to bring in the police to arrest my kids for loitering.

You think you are always patient?  Try bedtime on for size.  It’s not a good week if my husband and I don’t go through the full gammot of human emotion throughout a couple of bedtimes. Hopeful, despairing, fits of anger, excited, loss of all joy, and so on. Sometimes, we laugh like hopeless lunatics. Pure delirium.  It’s so crazy that we have succumbed to it and surrender to the insanity.  We were at that point a few weeks ago and sure enough, right on cue, our 4 and 2 year old daughters came around the corner, butt naked, hand in hand, wearing pink cowboy hats singing some sort of grand entrance song.  It was seriously like they thought, “What? We thought you sent us to bed an hour ago to work on this number for you guys?'”  It was really confusing to them how we weren’t utterly delighted to see their naked butts in song.

Some nights, all I want is for my nocturnal children to get in bed, have no desire for anything but sleep, and me not to hear from them until the morning.  Can’t I watch 48 Hour Mystery in peace so that I can at least go to bed terrified? Inconsiderate…….

At our house, bedtime routine starts at 8 and ends never.  As I write this, it’s 9:18 p.m., so you know where I am….in the middle of eternity.

Bedtime:  where you kids have the time that dreams are made of and you live your sleepless nightmare of whispering naked princess girls plotting against you like little nighttime assassins.  On repeat.  And sometimes, if you’re lucky, they come in and throw panties on your head…like just now.

Literally.

Panties on my head.

Go to sleep.

 

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Boobie Prison

 

Breastfeeding is unrelenting.  I am thankful to the tune of over 800 dollars in formula savings and thankful after two non-nursed babies that I have had the experience.  Other than that:  Boobie Prison.  I am in a prison of boobs.  I am bound by those guys in every since of the word:  bound literally to a human and schedule bound by my diary farm.

My newly turned 8 month old has decided to make me her full-service Kroger vying only for breast milk and rejecting most foods as gag worthy garbage cans. It’s all me, all the time.  I feel like I am just two jars of baby food or one mushed potato away from a little freedom.  Something…anything…just not my boobs.  Whole aisle of baby foods, 15,000 food items in a grocery store and all she wants is me (sobbing audibly).

I want some bond paid on these guys so I can get a little escape like a date night without a pint-sized person in tow or an outing alone where I’m not worried about being home by the magical three hour mark where she turns into a pumpkin if the clock chimes boobie time.

And I know what you are thinking, just pump and give her a bottle.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha (crazy person laughing continues) Hahahahahahahaha.

There is nothing a person who feels like she is in boob prison likes more than pumping, never mind you have to have something to pump.  I don’t want to shatter any storage records, but I have 8 ounces frozen in my freezer.  That’s not for a date night.  That is more for like, “Hey, I’m throwing up with a stomach virus.  Use the emergency dispensary.”  Furthermore, she has to take the bottle.  She has and I think she would again, but I make no promises nor bets on the poor babysitter who would have to venture the validity of that statement.

So, until then, I nurse in public.  I nurse in cars.  I nurse on couches.  I nurse on beds.  I nurse while standing.  I nurse while nodding off.  I nurse in boxes.  I sometimes nurse with foxes and because of that, I know what the fox says.  He says, “Hey, this is weird you are nursing here.  You must be in boobie prison.”  I breakdown and say that I am and we embrace.  He told me his wife has 8 nipples so I felt a little better.  People underestimate the compassion of foxes.

When I walk around the house and she hears my voice or makes eye contact, she will give me that little toothless grin.  I love it.  If she starts to sort of whimper, oh no.  It’s coming. Smiling over…feast a’comin.  Still I’ll admit, it can be really sweet and I’m sure I will be a little sad when it’s over (although right now I  would bet my left leg I’ll do a cheer).  I feel like I can’t remember what life was like before the take over.  It’s definitely been an experience for me.  Difficult in the beginning, draining (Is that a pun?  I’ll never tell.), and all consuming.  Hallelujah it worked out for me this time because I really wanted to nurse but, help me mammories!  Have mercy! I’m drowning in baby and she’s zippidy- do-dah happily drowning in me.

I think she may be stalking me.  I really don’t like to talk about it.  But if I ever turn up dead and they do a 48 hour special on me, alls I’m sayin’ is…make sure they use only my Facebook cover photos for the episode.  THEN look into the baby as a suspect.  Her DNA will be every where, but it will be a confusing scene. It’s her. Dehydration.  Death by dehydration while being forced against her will.  Write that down.

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The Seriousness of T-Shirts: A Girl’s Best Friend

 

Before going out I have to think fast, “What pair of scummy clothes do I want to wear?”  This usually means I need to switch out the blue pants I’m wearing for a more attractive black or gray pair.  Furthermore, I need to trade one t-shirt for another. I can’t wear my shirt with the food pyramid on it to Walmart, are you crazy?  I need a vacation bible shirt for that.

The other day we were getting ready to go who knows where and I told Lance to toss me a t-shirt.  He threw me a church league softball shirt and without thinking I said, “No, this is my going out shirt.” I immediately laughed, but not because I was joking, but that I’m lame enough for that to be true. I’m not sure at what rock bottom point you have to get to in order to say something like that but ladies, I have arrived.

There are 3 tiers of stuff you wear around the house:

1-  The Indecents

These are things that are really comfortable and though their flowing comfortable nature abounds, there are rips or faded patches that reveal areas of disgrace.  If these outfits are bad enough, they may require running quickly by a visible window at the front of the house.  I am about to purchase new blinds for this very reason.  A good pair of ragged trash pile t-shirts or pants can’t be replaced.  I will replace my windows before I replace my indecents.

2.  That’ll Dos

This is for when you are having people over and a hole in the butt of your pants is too much, but a nice Fruit of the Loom plaid will do.  Sometimes you learn that your “that’ll do” clothes are actually “indecents”  when someone tells you, “Hey, I can see straight through those pants.”  It will probably be a friend or sister or both.  I don’t know.  I’ve never been in that situation.

3. Going Outs

When your “indecents” and “that’ll dos” won’t suffice and you need to go somewhere like Target or to the grocery, you reach for a shirt that says, “I may have worked out or I may have not.”  Either way, this shirt will give the appearance of someone who might possibly exercise.  Outfits in this category include wearing yoga pants instead of your husband’s pants or a size small t-shirt over a triple x.  There are many ways to say “I cared a little bit more than a garbage man today.”

4.  Waffle Pants

There is really nothing called waffle pants, but I thought if I’ve kept a reader this far, then I might as well maximize on the element of surprise.

I can’t stress to you the endless benefits of dressing in pajama like clothes several times everyday.  If you want people to think you’re super hot, dress like this on the daily because then when you upgrade to say an Old Navy fitted tee, you will blow people out of the water with a tailored look.  If you dress nicely every day, you have so far to fall.  However, if you dress in the three tiers of clothes, it’s only up.  Basically, people become easily impressed by you which is a win-win for the breathablility of your pants and on lookers.

Wisdom is pouring out of me like an open fountain from Fantastic Falls.  Is there really a place called Fantastic Falls? Lets just say you better wear your waffle pants there.

 

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How To Talk In Church

 

As a pastor’s wife, I have a front row seat to a crazy phenomenon.  I sit in our pews in awe like some sort of religious natural geographic behaviorist, charting the habits of Christians at the microphone.  You know what I’m talking about. Everybody is from the year 2015 until they get up to pray and then BOOM, bible character. Timmy Toppins’ speech turns from a Kentuckian to a Corinthian. “I trust the Lord has kept His countenance upon us since we last gathered…” Tommy is going crazy.  Tommy doesn’t know what countenance means.  I start checking my feet for ancient leather sandals and looking over my back for a burning bush because something special is going on here.

I start clapping my hands in front of my face to make sure I’m awake and that this is real life. Is that Tommy Toppins up there?  The same guy that just ten seconds before he went up to pray fluffed his hair, made a Beyonce joke and said, ” I woke up like dis’.” Is this the future? Wait…I mean the past? Every Sunday it’s like my own personal journey through the holy lands during olden times.  At least throw an “um” or hipster word in there so I don’t become completely disoriented.

Yep, everyone LOVES talking like bible characters. This has even permeated getting a letter to support someone’s mission trip that begins, “Greetings in the Lord Jesus Christ.” What happened to “hello”?  What in the Thessalonian church is going on here? I can give you fifty dollars towards your trip, bro.   I don’t have to believe Paul himself wrote me that letter to give a donation.  You’re still going to Puerto Rico. (points like Oprah) You’re going! You’re going!  The whole youth group goes to Puerto Ricooooooo!!!!!!

From the pulpit, to letters, to just the other day my husband text me and said, “Can I go out to eat with some brothers one night this week?”

I replied, “Friends, Barnabas of Galilee, friends.”

See Barnabas didn’t even live in Galilee, but when you are trying to wake someone up out of talking like bible characters, you have to say something not biblically sound to really snap them out it. Jesus fed the five thousand crabs and cheese…anything.

This is serious, y’all.  Contagious even.  If you are asked to pray for your small group and find yourself busting out material from every John Piper sermon you have ever heard, it’s just the beginning. You are on your way to being a part-time bible character.   If this post made no sense to you and didn’t make you laugh, oh brother.  If you thought that “brother” just meant like Christian brother, then you are experiencing the epidemic firsthand.  Let me tell it to you in a way you will understand, “Doth not looketh good for you, Christopher of Bethlehem.”  Go rest ye merry gentlemen and take a load off until next Sunday. Please no one ask Christopher to publicly pray for at least 2 weeks.  Doctor’s orders.  There’s still time.

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Photo Credit:  Joel Ham Photography

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The Snoring Husband

 

Snoring is auditory waterboarding.  One rhythmic snort and breath at time makes you close to doing something that would appear on an episode of 48-Hour Mystery.  Take a sharp object and poke them in the leg?  My leg?  How do I make this misery end?

That is too violent, though.  You should do different things like squeeze their nose, smack their forehead, kick them in the leg, yell commands at them to roll over, and other verbal assaults.  I do these on a nightly basis.  It only works temporarily but it gives the same effect as punching a pillow when you are mad. (Except it’s on your husband’s snoring comatose body.)

This post is really starting to sound crazy…   Who wrote this?  I’m leaving.

At night I lie awake and listen to my husband snore and talk like I have every night for a solid decade now.

Every night.

For ten years.

He tells me I’m overacting reacting and I remind him:

every night…

for ten years.

I should be rocking back and forth in the corner and saying, “I’ll be a good girl.  No snoring.  I’ll be a real good girl.”

It makes me looney tooney bo booney.  When I’m nursing next to his out of control nose in the middle of the night, I stare at him with a blank face and dream of watching an invention on shark tank that could save both of our lives:  my life because I could sleep again and his life because he gets assaulted in the first degree nightly while sleeping snoring.

A few nights ago, I was so annoyed and bored that I formulated snore categories in my head.  It goes as follows:

 

The Drowning Gasper

This snore involves heavy breathes that are fighting to get out from behind his tongue and tonsils.  This alternates with nostril sounds as well. It’s sexy and I totally love it.  Where can I get more of this?

Rhythm Nation

There is no variety in the ole’ rhythm nation number.  Nope, just the same predictable sound in perfect timing like he’s nose clapping on beat to his favorite freakin’ song.

Surprise Attack

This is when he snores a single gallant extremely loud sound that wakes him up.  I’m okay with that because he deserves it.

Hickory Dickory You Stupid Dock

This is a special sort of snore that results in soft mouse squeaking sounds.  It is so subtle yet still apparent that I am hearing something.  However, it has the effect of sounding like a soft cry from a different room so I think one of my kids has woken up.  I lay there and think, “Oh crap.  I hope they go back to sleep.”  I lay there holding my breath and then I realize it’s Lance softly snoring.  Instead of relief, I’m so mad that he had me prayin’ on my knees in bed that my kids would “fall back asleep” that I resent his snoring even more.  I smack him in the forehead.  Don’t worry.  He doesn’t even wake up.  That makes me even more angry.

The “Oh No I Didn’t”

The “Oh No I Didn’t” is what happens when arousal from an intense snore session occurs.  You punch the snorer somehow, somewhere and they awake from their lonely slumber only to be aggravated and say, “I wasn’t snoring!”  I need to take a timeout before I respond to that comment.  I don’t mean to throw you off guard, but I don’t.

“Yes, you were snoring.  Do you know how I know?  Because I have been laying awake while you snore all night long.”

He responses with, “You are waking me up.  Don’t touch me again!”

This is the part in a dialogue in a t.v. show where you would cut to commercial because you can’t believe what a character just said and you can’t WAIT to get back to see what happens next.  Well, let me just tell you.  The waiting is over.

I say, “I’m waking you up?!? So, you want me to lay awake so that you can snore comfortably?  You want me to not be able to sleep so that you can make sound effects all night???!!!  I’m so sorry that your nasal jamboree was disturbed.”

Once this conversation happens, it’s very dangerous for him to follow with a Hickory Dickory You Stupid Dock, Rhythm Nation, Surprise Attack, or a Drowning Gasper.  They say the most dangerous time for a snorer is the first attempt at snoring after a “Oh No You Didn’t”.  Statistically, the violence perpetrated on them after returning to snore increases 30%.

In other news, I may need anger management classes at 1, 3, 4, and 6 a.m.

 

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Some Of My Favorite Relatable Mom E-Cards, Amen?

 

And all God’s mothers said, “Amen!”

 

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