Category Archives: Fun

Namer’s Block

Baby Name Book

The clock is ticking.  I’m 34 weeks pregnant, we’re having a boy and we have no idea what to name him.  With Addy and Zack it was so easy.  Their names just jumped off the pages of the baby name book.  Our choices were so meant-to-be that one of Max’s dearest friends, Rudy, actually guessed what we had chosen for both names on the first try.  This time around, we haven’t been so lucky. In fact, I’m pretty sure baby number three is doomed since this is the list of options for first names that we’ve come up with so far…

1.  Asdo

Asdo is the name our family has been calling the baby for the past five months.  When we told Addy and Zack that I was pregnant, we asked them what we should call the baby while it was in my belly.  Zack responded, “We should call him A-S-D-O.” While he was seemingly spewing a random mishmash of letters, the vowels and consonants lined up to create a pronounceable “word” that has since become the placeholder name for our little nugget.  The “name” caught on so well, everyone from our parents, to our friends, to Addy and Zack’s teachers to my OBGYN have referred to the baby as “Asdo.”  Clearly, as a loving mother, I will not allow this to become the baby’s actual first name.  I am, however, currently in the throes of an intense internal struggle over whether it is cute or cruel to make “Asdo” the baby’s middle name – a request that Max has been intensely lobbying for.

2.  Penelope, Evie, Violet, etc.

Why are girl names so much easier to like than boy names?  Why???  I could flip through a baby book and come up with a list of ten girl names I like in about five minutes.  I’ve had eight months to find a boy name that I like and I’m blank.   At this rate, I think I might just buy Asdo a baby wig and some dresses, name him Shirley and call it a day.

3.  Zack #2 

I liked it the first time so why not slap a number on the end like they do for movie sequels?  It worked for Teen Wolf 2, RoboCop 2 and Speed 2, right? Right?  Didn’t it?  Crap, you’re right.  Bad idea.

4.  President, Doctor or Justice 

What?  Isn’t this what all Jewish mothers are supposed to want to call their sons?

5.  Iloveyoubut 

Now that Addy and Zack are three and I’m done with all the little annoying things that come with caring for babies, I suspect I will need some help on the patience front when it comes to starting over.  Naming this baby Iloveyoubut should take care of any guilt I feel when I act like a whiny, complainy jerk.  “Iloveyoubut, please stop waking me up 15 times a night.”  “Iloveyoubut, I really don’t want to change another sh-tty diaper today so I assume you’ll be cool if I leave it for tomorrow, no?”  “Iloveyoubut, seriously, if you don’t stop crying, I’m going to suck my own eardrums out of my head with your Nosefrida.”

6.  Woofster

woofster1

For those of you without preschoolers who are obsessed with the show Super Why, Woofster is the dog that belongs to the main character, Wyatt.  Addy and Zack, also known as Princess Pea and Wyatt, have decided that when Asdo arrives, he will play the role of Woofster in their Super Why shows. Curtain goes up at 7:00 PM nightly with matinees on weekends if anyone wants to come see their performances.  Tickets are free, or depending on how desperate I am for some peace and quiet, I might consider paying you to come so I don’t have to play “the audience member” for the 5,627th time.

7.  Enos

As all desperate parents who can’t think of a good baby name do, I naturally turned to a number of baby name wizard type websites to help us decide.  My favorite was a website called nymbler.com where you can put in sibling names and other names you like and it will generate a list of suggestions that it thinks would work based on your inputs.  When I entered “Addy” and “Zack”, it gave me brilliant suggestions like Lon, Mose, Orie and Zeb.  But my favorite, by far, was Enos.  How in the world did they know that all I’ve ever wanted was to give my kid a name that could easily be mistaken for the grossest part of a tush?  I’m sold.  Enos it is.  Now we just have to decide whether the middle name is going to be Benis, Fagina or Crotom.

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The Top Five Things That Suck About Traveling Without Your Kids

Max and I just returned home from a 4-night babymoon in Turks & Caicos and it was a dream.  Perfect weather, amazing hotel, uninterrupted sleep, uninterrupted reading, uninterrupted meals, uninterrupted po—well, you get the drift.  Traveling without the kids is something every parent should be required by law to do at least once a year.  It, no doubt, does wonders for the mind, body and marriage.  But there were a few things that did kind of suck about our kids not being there with us…and here are the top five:

5. I didn’t have to pack kid snacks for the flight.  Usually I pack a box of Teddy Grahams in my carry on, give my kids five bears each and then eat the rest of the box myself.  Since packing snacks only crosses my mind when I’m with the kids, I realized, while sitting on the tarmac at JFK, that I needed to come up with an in-flight food option.  Fumunda cheese and cracker pack for $10??? I’ll take two.

4. Since the kids weren’t with us, we Face Timed with them every day.  It was so great to see their sweet faces on the screen each time we called.  Until they started whining and fighting over who was going to hold the phone.  And who was going to give us a tour of our apartment.  And who wasn’t sharing.  And who Mom and Dad love more.  Just kidding – they know which one of them we love more.  Our calls consisted of three seconds of quality talk time followed by 15 minutes of them flipping the screen back and forth between a view of our black kitchen floor and our white kitchen ceiling.  Or they would weave through the apartment, holding the phone as if they had slinkies for arms, to show us that, indeed, you can still see New Jersey from our living room window.  Between the blood curdling screams (“It’s myyyyyyyyyyyy turn!!”) piercing the microphone and the Blair Witch-style camera work, we had to take turns running out of the room to hurl into the tropical shrubbery every time we checked in with them.

3. I learned nothing on this trip.  I had no one to challenge me with hard-hitting questions like: Why does a plane turn into a car when it lands on the ground?  How does the plane go up in the sky? Why is Turks & Caicos called that?  Why is the ocean blue?  How do you make a person?  Why don’t boats sink down to the bottom of the water?  Where does sand come from? Why is that 20-year-old girl making out with that 65-year-old man by the pool?  Oops, that last one was the question I asked Max over and over, but I’m pretty sure if our kids were there they would have been equally confused.

2.  I was able to watch The Twilight Saga: New Moon for 20 minutes on the flight home.  If the kids were with me, they would have saved me from this horrible mistake because: a) they wouldn’t have given me a moment of peace to watch, and b) If I had turned it on, the vampires and wolves would have caused them to sh-t their pants and I would have been scraping poop off of their clothes in the bathroom rather than sitting in my seat staring at my TV.  But since they weren’t there, I was free to flush 20 minutes of my precious time, 10% of my brain cells and all of my dignity down the toilet (instead of their poop).  And so, I sat there and watched Kristen Stewart, what’s-his-name and their digital baby live with a bunch of weird-looking people and fight the whoever-they-are and convince a bunch of other weird-looking people that their digital baby’s tantrums won’t kill everyone around them.  If that synopsis wasn’t enough to convince you never to watch this movie, please seek help.

1.  Drumroll…and the number one thing that sucks about not traveling with your kids is:  As Max so eloquently put it while taking in this ridiculously beautiful view:

TurksandCaicos

“You know what sucks the most about traveling without kids?  There’s no one I can steal wet wipes from every day when I go to take a sh-t.”

Surprise! You’re Not Going to be Surprised.

Back in 2009, when I first got pregnant with Addy and Zack but before we knew they were twins, Max and I had a heated conversation about whether or not we would find out the sex.  He was adamant that we be surprised in the delivery room.  I was adamant that I know what color bumper to order (which, in retrospect, was a terrible argument since our bumper sat in the closet unused once I heard that they are death machines).  Lucky for me, a few days later we found out we were having two – a surprise which thankfully satiated Max’s desire to be surprised for the rest of that pregnancy.

Not surprisingly (Eh? Eh? You like that?), when we found out I was pregnant again this past fall and we knew for sure it was one, Max laid down the law.  No discussion, he said, this one is going to be The Surprise.  As counter as it is to my nature to be surprised (I am so horrible I sniffed out Max’s plan to propose to me), I decided to go with it.  He seemed so excited about the prospect of not knowing until the day the baby arrived and, um, sure, I thought it would be cool to find out while choking back puke with my guts splayed open on an operating table.

Despite the inner demons screaming at me to fold, I made it through genetic testing and multiple doctor appointments without secretly forcing anyone to tell me the sex.  I have, however, hung on to every opinion of any passerby who thought they held the key to predicting gender.  The saleswoman at Bloomingdale’s said it is a boy because I’m carrying front and center.  The lady at the nail salon said it’s a girl because I’m carrying front and center.  The saleswoman at the watch store said it’s a girl because when she asked to see my hands, I presented them palms down.  The Chinese Gender Predictor on babycenter.com told me it’s definitely a boy when I used the due date as an input…but then it told me it’s definitely a girl when I used the date of conception.  My lack of morning sickness screamed boy.  My pizza face assured me girl.  I’m pretty sure the consistency of my earwax meant it’s going to be a hermaphrodite.

Needless to say, all was going well with Max’s quest for ignorance until we had our anatomy scan last week.  (anatomy scan = mega-ultrasound where a technician takes about 100 photos and measures almost every inch of the baby to make sure everything is OK.) When our technician retrieved us from the waiting room, Max greeted her with a loud and clear announcement that we absolutely did not want to know the sex.  He didn’t quite convey his usual “Hi.  How are you today?  Can you believe this cold weather?” vibe as much as he conveyed a “We don’t want to find out, so don’t f-ck this up for me, understand?  I’ve been waiting my whole damned life to be surprised about the sex of my baby and this is my last chance.  If I so much as see one sliver of a penis or a vagina today, I will end you.” vibe.

So we all calmly and happily walked into the ultrasound room and the technician got to work.  Right away, she told us to close our eyes because she was about to get the necessary pictures of the genitals.  We sat with our eyes seared shut until she gave us the all clear and then settled in to enjoy the rest of the show…the rest of the peep show, that is.  No less than five minutes after she told us to open our eyes, she had a shot up on the screen that looked like this:

ultrasound 1

Our kid either had huge balls or was in the process of birthing it’s own baby in utero.   All was silent in the room and the technician held the view for a pretty long time, so despite my absolute certainty that we were looking at a boy, I wondered why no one else noticed.  For the next ten minutes, I laid quietly on the table, my heart in my stomach and racing at the thought that Max was going to be colossally disappointed that The Surprise was ruined.  And then, as the technician started measuring the baby’s legs, I saw this on the screen:

ultrasound 3

Again, she left the shot up for a good two minutes or so.  But now with double confirmation, I was sure of three things: 1. We were having a boy, 2. Our technician was a moron, and 3. Max had eyes and a pulse and therefore knew too.  Surprise!!  It’s a boy.

Neither of us said a word until we walked out in the hall.  I saw the massive disappointment in Max’s eyes.  Alas, he was not fated to be surprised. We spent the next few hours trying to sort out the disappointment of finding out in such an anti-climactic way from the excitement that we were having a boy.

In the biggest surprise yet, I was bummed that The Surprise was not to be.  As much as I like to know everything that is going to happen in my life before it happens, I had really started getting into the idea of being surprised for once.  The only way to get past the weird mix of emotions (besides slapping ourselves in the faces and screaming “Stop whining you jerks!  The important news of the day is that the baby looks good!”) was to call the doctor the next morning, confirm that we indeed saw twigs and berries on that screen, and start getting psyched envisioning our future family of one little girl and two little boys.

Did you read that Max?  One girl and two boys.  Not one girl, two boys and another baby three years from now who will surprise you with his or her gender in the delivery room.  No dice, I’m done.  Game over after this one. And if you keep telling me you’re going to convince me to have four, I’m going to sign you up for a surprise vasectomy.

Evolution Begets Revolution

Growth Chart

Watching your kids grow older and wiser is one of the supreme joys of parenthood.  I myself have touted, on this very blog, the triumphs and freedoms that my kids’ evolution have brought to our family.  But I’ve recently realized that there are also negatives to growth, and I don’t mean the sappy, emotional oh-gee-where-did-the-time-go kind of negatives.  I mean the now-there-are-more-people-in-my-family-pointing-out-what-a-moron-I-am kind of negatives, like these:

1.  The separation anxiety is shifting off their shoulders and onto mine.  Gone are the days where they would cry hysterically as I walked out the front door.  Their shrieks stabbed me over and over in the heart as I waited for the elevator to rescue me from the torture.  I remember thinking, “C’mon guys!  Buck up and let me go to work just once without making me feel like I am leaving you with an axe murderer and/or inflicting lifelong emotional damage that will turn you into one.  Get it together!”  Now, I practically have to beg them to pause their lego-city-building marathons to say goodbye to me. Now they’re thinking “C’mon mom!  Buck up and get out of here so we can finish our legolopolis.  Seriously, can’t you go on a twenty-minute errand just once without acting like you’re not going to see us again for a year?  Get it together!”

2.  They can talk in full sentences.  Full sentences that include gems like: “I am NOT going to cooperate because you screamed at me and that is NOT nice!” or “I smell poop.  Mommy, did you just make a fart?” (uttered during pick-up at school) or “Mommy, why does your breath smell every morning?”

3.  They’ve already discovered that I am, at times, more gullible than they are.  Several nights ago, I was getting Zack ready for bed and he didn’t want to pee. I decided to show him who’s boss and insisted he get on the potty.  A few minutes later, he chimed, “All done mommy!” in his sweetest, sing-songiest voice.  Doubting his speedy toggle from uncooperative whiner to model citizen, I asked, “Really?  I didn’t hear any tinkles.”  To which he replied, “I did!  It smells like pee and the water is yellow.”  Impressed with his scientific list of evidence, I took him for his word, even though I didn’t smell pee and didn’t think the water looked that yellow.  But alas, Zack showed me who was boss when I was forced to clean his urine soaked pull up less than an hour later.

4.  And on the subject of being dumb, they point out the fact that I am just that by asking me more and more questions that I can’t answer.  The other day, Addy typed “34,760,058,382,847,574,033,854” on the ipad calculator and asked me, “Mommy, what number is that?”  Uh, I have no f-ing idea…which was also my response to these questions:

“Mommy, how did they build the George Washington Bridge?”
“Mommy, how does the remote control make the TV turn on?”
“Mommy, why can’t penguins fly?”
“Mommy, why can we see the moon during the day sometimes?”
“Mommy, what is Daddy doing in the bathroom for so long?”

5.  They commit punishable offenses, but are immune to punishment.  Addy was temper tantruming about somethingorother a while back, so I threatened to put one of her baby dolls in The Black Box (a shoebox we use as a toy prison) if she didn’t calm down.  A few minutes after things settled down, she matter-of-factly handed me her doll and said, “Mommy, you forgot to put the baby doll in the box.  Here.”  This, of course, was preschooler speak for, “Hey idiot, you forgot to enforce your lame-o punishment.  And by the way, I could care less if you take this doll.  You bought me seven of these, remember?”

So the moral of the story is: I better find a way to up my game before my kids evolve to the point of rendering me completely powerless.  At this rate, that’s on track to happen by the time they’re, oh…let’s see….probably four.

The Top Five Ways to Beat Cabin Fever

Cold

This week, living in New York City has been brutal.  We are in the middle of a five-day stretch of 20-degree weather and going outside is about as fun as punching yourself in the face.  As bad as the cold is, nothing is worse than the 45 minutes I spend getting myself and my kids ready to walk out the door.  This is how it typically plays out:

  • 8:00 – 8:01 – Put on my jacket, scarf and hat.
  • 8:01 – 8:09 – Chase the kids around the living room trying to put their jackets on.
  • 8:09 – 8:13 – Argue about whether or not they need to wear a hat: “But Daddy doesn’t make me wear a hat.  I don’t wannnnnna wear a hat!”
  • 8:13 – 8:23 – Remove their jackets and hats and take them to the bathroom to pee.  (Note, I am still in my jacket, hat and scarf)
  • 8:23 – 8:28 – Put their jackets and hats back on.
  • 8:28 – 8:38 – Try to line up their actual fingers with the fingers of their gloves.  This includes stopping to ponder how in the world they consistently get their pinky, middle and index fingers stuck together in the thumb of the glove…I just don’t know, must be magic.
  • 8:38 – 8:45 – Lift them like sacks of potatoes into the stroller and wrestle them into their cushy, cocoon bags (which pretty much negate the need for a jacket, hat and gloves and thus, the last 38 minutes of hell).

By the time I am done, my inner layer of clothing is drenched in sweat and I start losing my peripheral vision.  On the verge of fainting, I sit down, in all my drenched padding, and drink a glass of water until my vision clears.  When we finally do get outside, we can’t actually go anywhere because the 20-degree temperature (and 5-degree wind chill) instantly crystallizes the sweat that is now streaming down my entire body from my upper lip to my ankles.  I am a frozen statue of a tortured mother.

OK, that last part doesn’t ever happen, but you get the picture: going outside right now sucks.

So we have been staying home as much as possible and to avoid the arctic concrete tundra that is NYC.  Unfortunately, staying inside for days on end generates a completely different type of torture than going outside in this freezing cold weather. It brings on The Sickness.  The Sickness that they call Cabin Fever.  But fear not, for I have a few suggestions on how to ward off the fever.  And they don’t include putting an onion in a bowl in every room of the house (did anyone else see that stupid Facebook post?) or drinking some disgusting herbal cocktail.    I give you: The Top Five Ways to Beat Cabin Fever – The Preschool Version.

  1. Make an indoor snowman:  When dad inevitably falls asleep on the couch, arm your preschoolers with cans of shaving cream and Sharpie markers and have at him.  If you’re really feeling mischievous, show your kids how dipping his fingertips in warm water will make him pee his pants.  You’ll all get a good laugh and your kids won’t feel so bad the next time they have a middle-of-the-night accident.
  2. Go ice skating:  Flood your kitchen floor with water and then open up all the doors and windows until it ices over.  Then strap on your blades and wow each other with double axels and triple salchows (I know, I thought it would’ve been spelled sow cow too).  This activity can stave off boredom for hours…or possibly even days if one of you falls and you all end up having to take a family trip to the hospital.  Hey, at least you’ll get a change of scenery and some free jello.
  3. Make a Movie: Video tape all of the boring things you and your kids do while stuck inside the house.  Record the family eating bowls of cereal, laying on the floor, watching TV, drawing with markers, throwing temper tantrums, reading books and whatever other uninteresting you all do.  Make sure you have enough memory to record a full 12 hours of footage.  Then, the next day sit your kids on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of Twizzlers and let them watch the movie.  If I know anything, I know kids love eating snacks and candy and I know kids love watching themselves on video.  They will not move an inch all day and you will be free to do whatever boring sh-t makes you happy.
  4. Have a Tea Party:  Partake in the age-old preschooler pastime and set up a cute, little tea party for the whole family.  Only instead of pretending to drink tea, actually drink tea.  But since little kids don’t like tea, drink apple juice.  And for extra flavor, spike your apple juice with some whiskey.  And then once that kicks in and your judgment gets fuzzy, spike the kids’ apple juice with some Benadryl.  And then before any of you realize what’s happening, the cold front will be over and none of you will have any idea that you were ever stuck at home and bored out of your mind with cabin fever. (Note: Please do not actually try this at home.)
  5. Grow a Pair: You could also just stop complaining about how damn cold it is and go outside.

What fun ideas do you have to avoid cabin fever?  Please share them in the comments section below.  Please…I beg you…share the ideas now before the fever fries my brain!

The Truth, The Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth…Please Help Me God

Back in November, Max’s grandmother passed away and I wasn’t quite sure what to tell Addy and Zack. A brief consultation with babycenter.com told me “Don’t dodge her [or his] questions,” “give brief, simple answers” and “avoid euphemisms.”  Still thinking that a succinct “she moved to California” could do the trick and save me some discomfort, I asked someone I know who is a child psychologist.  She also advised me to tell the truth. Making up stories to shield kids from things you think may be too scary or complex will only confuse them more later, she told me.  Telling them the simple truth and not framing it as something to be afraid of is the way to go.

I’m still waiting for them to ask where Grandma Ann went (she lives three hours away in Boston so it hasn’t come up yet), but I feel totally prepared to tackle that question when it comes.  What I wasn’t prepared for was the complete opposite question that came up a few weeks ago at breakfast.  I was sitting at the table at 7:30 in the morning, sleepily eating my granola when Zack decided to smack me awake with one of his tough questions.  No, he didn’t ask me why Santa doesn’t come to our house on Christmas. He didn’t ask why Bert and Ernie share a bedroom.  He didn’t even ask what actually happened in the series finale of Lost.  He ventured into the vortex of the birds and the bees and asked, “Mommy, how did you get us out of your belly when we were babies?”

Had I delivered vaginally, this would have been an awkward situation but not insurmountable.  Unfortunately, I had a c-section.  I sat there silently for a minute while my brain scanned its hard drive for a suitable response.  I surveyed all the PG exit points through which I could say they vacated.  Mouth?  No.  Ears?  No.  Nostrils?  No.  Belly button?  Everyone knows that’s a doorbell and not a hole.  I contemplated telling them that the pictures they had seen of me 34 weeks pregnant were really just the result of me swallowing a watermelon and that they actually arrived by Fedex.  Then, I remembered the sage advice I found on the internet, which was subsequently verified by the child psychologist.  Tell the truth.  Hey, if that advice applied to death, why wouldn’t it apply to birth?

230px-Cesarian_the_moment_of_birth_2

At the risk of giving them horrific nightmares about bodies being hacked open, I told Addy and Zack exactly how they came out of my belly.  I said, “Dr. Goldman delivered you at the hospital.  First he made a cut in my belly, then he pulled you guys out, then he sewed me back up.”  “How did he sew up your belly?” they asked in response.  “Just like I sew up hole in your shirt,” I told them.  I conducted this conversation very calmly and matter-of-factly and my kids closed it out with a simple “oh” and then moved on to discussing which character they each wanted to be from the TV show Super Why.  I escaped my first brush with awkward preschooler questioning unscathed, or so I thought.

Addy and Zack are in their first year of preschool and every day, their teachers email a one-page reflection highlighting something that the class did that morning.  One of their teachers is eight months pregnant so the class is currently learning about babies and pregnancy.  Last week, one of the daily reflections was a transcript of a conversation the class had about babies and bellies.  Here is an excerpt:

Teacher: How did you get into your mom’s belly?

Kid #1: If you’re a grownup then a baby comes into you.

Kid #2: When I was a baby, I was in my mom’s belly.

Kid #3: When I was a baby I was in my dad’s belly, but my sister was in my mom’s belly.

Such sweet responses, right?  Sweet it was, until my child decided to give the conversation a dose of Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Zack: Daddy put me in my Mommy’s belly.

Teacher: How?

Zack: Someone cut Mommy open so Daddy could put me in and then they sewed her back up.

When I read the quote, I thought, “Good Lord, what have I done?”  I immediately emailed the teacher to make sure she wasn’t angry with me for indirectly terrorizing the class.  I saw the other moms at drop off the next day and was relieved to find out that they were amused by the comment and weren’t passing around a petition to ban me from motherhood.  And while I know I will need to sit the kids down for a clarifying conversation, I’ve decided to take some time to think a little more about how to approach it.  After all, this one’s going to require an explanation for how they got into my belly as well as how they got out.  As much as I’d like to say osmosis, I’m going to have to tell the truth…but perhaps a little more delicately this time around.

Face Off

face-off-movie

The first four months after Addy and Zack turned three have been (yes, mostly adorable and amazing but) challenging. I, like many, believe that whoever coined the phrase “terrible twos” must have been referring to making the mistake of eating two back-to-back Reese’s Pieces sundaes at Friendly’s or having two chins. The real time to fear in the life of a child is the “throw-me-out-the-window-threes.”

I’ve been struggling to find ways to tame my two little beasts cuties and understand better how to head off tantrums before they begin. Part of this discovery process involves a post mortem analysis after each of our two to ten daily mini-Hiroshimas. In thinking about each situation and trying to pinpoint what went wrong, I’ve realized something earth shattering to me, but probably evident to my family and friends since my birth: I can be really f-ing annoying. All this time, I’ve been thinking there is nothing more irksome than a screeching, whiney, fist-pounding, frothing little kid but I have come to accept that I am a formidable competitor in the arena of irritation. Thus, I present to you a face off. Me vs. a three-year-old: who is more annoying?

1. Each morning, after breakfast, I brush Addy and Zack’s teeth. Getting them into the bathroom and up the stepstool to the sink is torture. What’s more annoying?

A. Having to yell “time to brush your teeth!” fifteen times before I get any response, followed by Zack whining, “Addy goes first!” Then Addy whining, “No, Zack goes first!” Then, “Addy goes first!” Then, “Zack goes first!” Then, “Addy goes first!” Then, “Zack goes first!” Then, “Addy goes first!” Then, “Zack goes first!” Then I lie and say “Whoever goes first gets a prize.” Which is followed by Zack screaming “I want to go first!” Then Addy crying “No, I want to go first!” Then, “I want to go first!” Then, “I want to go first!”, etc. etc. And then I tune it all out and fantasize about blowing my brains out.

or

B. Having a mom who wakes up late and rushes you through breakfast, but insists that you eat sufficient portions of your fruit, whole grain and dairy food groups while she eats a bowl of sugar cereal and no fruit. Then having her force you onto the toilet and bark, “focus on your poop!” when you are clearly busy pretending the roll of toilet paper is a tropical waterfall pouring beautiful white frothy water all over the floor. And finally, after dressing you in embarrassing t-shirts that say cheesy sh-t like “Rock Star” or “Captain Adorable”, she lies to you and says she’ll give you a prize if you brush your teeth nicely.

2. The most frequently uttered word in our house isn’t “love”, it’s not “cookies” and it’s not “microdermabrasion” (although it should be because I have some serious zitssues). It’s “no.” What’s more annoying?

A. Being a mom and repeating these conversations every single day: “Ok, kiddos, time to get dressed for school.” “Nooooooooo, I don’t wanna get dressed!” “Dinner time! I made you your favorite barbecue chicken with pasta and corn-on-the-cob.” “Noooooooooo, I want hot dogs for dinner, I don’t waaaaaant chicken!” “It’s a beautiful day, let’s go ride our scooters to the playground!” “Nooooooooo! I don’t wannnnna go outside. I wannnna watch TV!”

or

B. Being a three-year-old and repeating these conversations every single day: “Mommy, can I have a cookie?” “No, you didn’t eat your blah blah blah blah.” “Mommy, can I wear these shorts and this t-shirt to school today?” “No, it’s 35 degrees out, blah blah blah blah blah.” “Mommy, can I watch one more episode of Dora?” “No, you’ve already watched blah blah blah blah blah.”

3. OCD runs in our family. What’s more annoying?

A. After you slave away “cooking” a healthy, delicious, organic dinner for your family, having your kid wail for an hour, as if you just stabbed them in the eye, when one piece of your perfectly microwaved Amy’s mac and cheese touches their expertly toasted Applegate Farms frozen chicken nugget.

or

B. Having a mom who makes you wash your hands no less than ten times a day – after you go to the bathroom, after school, after you go to the playground, after you come home from a playdate, after you do arts and crafts, after you touch your feet, after you scratch your itchy tushy, after you fish your Barbie doll shoe out of the toilet, after you ride a carousel and after you washed your hands but didn’t suds up the soap for the full length of time it takes to sing Happy Birthday three times.

So the next time I am feeling exasperated by the trials and tribulations of tres, I will try to remember to back off, and see if maybe there indeed is a little “maniac mom” to blame for the “throw-me-out-the-window threes.” Clear your conscience and share some of your annoying face offs in the comments section below!