Isn't it ironic? Welcome to parenthood.

Almost everything about being a parent is ironic.

You spend your formidable years trying to prove your parents were wrong about everything, only to learn once a parent yourself, that they were pretty much right about everything.

You become a parent of young children and suddenly switch from coffee mugs to drinking from a hot beverage to-go cup with a lid even though you're not going anywhere. Ever.

Everyone in your house is tired, yet no one sleeps. My least favorite irony.

You yearn for your child to say "mommy" or "daddy" only to later resent the sound of those two syllable words as the name is generally followed by the words "I need" or "come here" or "I want" or better yet.... shrieks.

You spend your teenage years and twenties (if not longer) learning self love and how to take care of yourself emotionally and mentally. Only to later give yourself entirely away to these little people and forsake your own sanity to raise them as best you can.

You wait for major milestone moments to happen, praying that you don't ever miss one. Then the moment comes and you're watching it through the lens of your iPhone, totally missing the chance to be "in" the moment.

You have an instinct to run to your child when he or she falls, but later learn not reacting or even laughing or clapping are more productive. They learn it's ok to fall and you learn it's ok for them to fall, too.

You think your child is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, yet society tells us not to tell our daughters how pretty we think they are.

You think your child is bright, but studies show reinforcing "smart" doesn't help your child gain confidence. So what are we left to tell them you often wonder?

You encourage them to be social and make friends, yet you wonder if those friends will be the very ones your own parents often referred to when they would say "We trust you. We just don't trust your friends."

You encourage independence, yet fear the moment you're not longer needed.

You want to be their friend, but know there's a difference between friend and parent. And parent is the job title.

At this early stage of parenting experience - only three years in - the greatest irony of all is that for as much as I "prepare" by reading and talking with friends and total strangers I meet in the park or play groups - I'm completely unprepared. I guess it really just comes down to doing the absolute best job you can, even though the child may not feel like we really tried at all. And this is when I will refer them to irony #1....about finally learning that our own parents were mostly right about everything.

Lost and Found

"Mommy! Where is my xx?"

The words are not spoken, but rather shrieked. Peppered with equal amounts of frustration, blame, anxiety and immediate need. It's not even so much a question as it is an accusation. As if you, the one who is responsible for finding said object is the very person who hid or lost said object. And only because of a child's ability to ask the same question incessantly, you immediately drop whatever you're doing to try and solve the caper of the missing whatever it is that's lost. 

For all the grating pleas. All the items presumed lost, but only intentionally hidden by my three foot tall perpetrator, whenever I am not looking for something and just uncover a child's treasure in a random place in the house, I can't help but smile. It's as if their treasures become as valuable to me as they are to them.

Today, in the quiet of the house as both kids were napping, I climbed into my bed to watch Bravo - naturally an episode of what I like to call The Not So Real Not Even Housewives of (insert any city for which there is a show). But as I went to sit down I noticed a lump under the duvet. It was Reece's stuffed bunny. I held it and smiled, thinking of how it got in my bed - during the ritual of cartoons in my bed when he wakes each morning. And then I reached for the remote and next to it was a matchbox car. Again, I smiled, thinking of how happy he will be when he sees it. A toy he didn't accuse me of losing today, but surely will be just as happy being reunited with it as if it had been long gone.

To me, this is all a metaphor for parenting. 

My parenting journey has so far been part hidden moments, part stolen moments and fear of moments lost.

For the aggravation associated with the dire pleas of "mommy! Where is my xx" there is also tremendous satisfaction in being able to answer that question most of the time. So for now I will just remind myself that this is my journey as a mom. Keeper of the lost and found.

Birthday Party Venues - DC/MD

This isn't a sexy post (are they ever?), nor is it an attempt at wry humor and witty sayings. This is just a post that I hope someone will find handy as they tackle the birthday party planning process in the DC area.

I would LOVE to be the creative, crafty, clever mother who can create a party with some fresh ideas, help from Pinterest and baking skills. But, I'm not. So, I'm forced to resort to either having a pizza party at my house for Reece's upcoming birthday, hiring entertainment for said pizza party or doing an "off site" party. 

So to hopefully save at least one person the trouble of trolling the Internet and that terrifying DC Urban Moms and Dads blog, I've put together some general information on party options in the DC/MD area.

Please add your experiences or favorites!

Hiring Entertainment:
Ah, how it would be so exciting and fresh if this actually referred to some good ole risque entertainment. And in fact the first two companies have names that made me giggle...but then I quickly recovered as I thought of my son and a dozen 3 year olds.

Some options for those who have the space and desire to host a party at home, but would like some entertainment for the kiddos:

• Squeals on Wheels (Mobile Petting Zoo and Pony Rides for hire)
• Fun Bus (A school bus converted into a mobile gym for playtime right in your driveway)
• Capitol Fire Truck Rentals (Rent a firetruck to come to your home for activities lead by a real fireman) 
• Oh Susannah! (music, balloon animals, face painting)
• The Great Zucchini (magic show)
• Bounce House Rentals (rent bounce houses,slides, concession stands, face painting)
• Game Truck (mobile video game/theater)

Party Venues

When you don't have the space at home, or don't have the desire to turn your home into a zoo, here are a few places in the area that you can turn to for parties:

• Variety of Activites - Kidville (art,open gym, music)
• Tumbling - My Gym, Gymboree, Jonah's Treehouse
• Bouncing - Bounce U, Pump It Up
• Bowling - Lucky Strike, Bowlmor
• Art/Painting Pottery - Color Me Mine, All Fired Up
• Ice Skating 
• Indoor Trampoline Park 
• Cake/Cupcake Decorating Party
• Ballet/Musical Theater Parties

Museum Venues with activities

• The National Zoo 
• The National Building Museum 
• National Children's Museum

Playground Etiquette

While home on maternity leave, I have frequented two playgrounds on an almost daily basis and I have witnessed too many violations of playground etiquette to hold my tongue any longer. I've been left with no choice other than to pen this first draft of Playground Rules. I welcome you to add to this list.

Rule #1) PARENT!  Don't just "be" a parent at the playground. Actively parent. Keep an eye on your child.

Rule #2) Discipline your child if he or she misbehaves. This includes the following playground "crimes" -- shoving, biting, kicking, throwing sand on other kids, refusing to share a toy that's communal property, taking toys from other kids, cutting the line for the slide.

Rule #3) Don't change a diaper on a picnic table. Do it on the ground or on the bench. How would you like it if I put my kids dump on your table? Yeah, take that. It's just not good manners.

Rule #4) Do change a dirty diaper. No one wants to play with the "stinky ass" kid. And the poor kid can't do anything about it so it's your fault mom and dad.

Rule #5) Watching your child through the lens of your iPhone camera isn't as good as actually watching your child. You're not going to frame a photo of your kid doing anything at the playground, so just enjoy the time with them. 

Rule #6) I applaud the working parent who tries to also squeeze in playtime at the park, but please do not do a conference call on speaker phone. I really don't care about your job.

Rule #7) Don't let your kid pee at the playground. I realize that you might be potty training or your kid might be in desperate need to pee, but LEAVE the playground. The sandbox is not a bathroom.

Rule #8) Don't let your kids run up a slide when there are other kids trying to come down. This seems trivial, but is highly annoying.

Rule #9) A playground isn't the cure for the common cold. If your kid is sneezing, coughing, has a faucet of a runny nose or worse - pink eye - KEEP THE KID AT HOME!

Rule #10) Don't judge other parents. To the woman who told me I should have taken my daughter home because I didn't dress her properly....I hate you. To the woman who took a toy from my son because she thought he was too young to play with it....Don't ever come near my kid again. To the two moms with brand new BOBs who stared at me while I pushed my stroller..don't hate on my City Mini. To the women who clearly were horrified by my no make-up and sweats....see you again tomorrow!

Stars. They are just like Us.

If you read US Weekly, you have seen the "What's in her bag" 1-pager featuring various celebrities. It's the profile where the mag asks a celeb to empty the contents of her purse and give a little lowdown on the products. I find this piece both bizarre and fascinating.  I mean, really? We need to know what's in her purse? We already know who she dates, sleeps with, what she eats, where she shops, where she lives, where she vacations...and now we need to know what's in her bag? The answer to that is yes, apparently.

Well, I call bullshit on all the lip gloss, hair brushes, lotions and potions that celeb moms claim to keep in their bags. And let's be real. No mom of young children carries a purse. We all carry bags the equivalent in size to what we would have packed pre-baby for a long weekend away. Yes, mom = luggage size purse. And new moms, don't fall prey to the cool/hip looking diaper bag. It's too small. Trust me. If you want to actually be able to carry with you all the basics and troubleshooting tools on the market, you need more than a diaper bag. You need a weekend bag.

Now what, you may ask, is in the average mom's bag? Well...as far as I can tell, here's "What's in her bag":

• Goldfish. Both in a small ziploc and also crushed into an orange powder lining the bottom on the bag. You can only remove the remnants by fully emptying your bag and shaking it out Something you will never do, so stop being bothered by it.
• Pacifiers. For a first child, stored in a sanitized pod. For a second child, it's just loosely tossed in the bag.
• Baby wipes for diaper changes and wiping off puke (both from you and whatever public surface you child boots on while you're running errands).
• Boogie Wipes for runny noses.
• Hand sanitizer for after your child jerks his/her head and you miss their boogies with the wipe and end up just using your hand.
• Excedrin because you need the boost of caffeine and to manage the dull headache that has lingered ever since leaving the hospital post-birth.
• Diapers. And if you ever run out of them while on the go, remember this. Moms and diapers are like smokers and cigarettes. Just as it's smokers etiquette to always give a stranger a smoke when they kindly ask for one, it's mom code to hand over a diaper to a mother in need.
• Sippy cup. A leaking sippy cup. They all leak. Don't be fooled..
• Gum. Like goldfish, the gum is all over the inside of your bag. It's fallen from the package and you just hope that it's not soggy from the leaking sippy cup.
• Wallet. Not a good, pretty wallet. But a beat up, receipts from doctor's appointments, no coins because your kids throw them in fountains, crumpled up bills because your kids make a game of emptying your wallet contents regularly, kind of wallet.
• Poop bags. Like dog owners, as parents you also need to carry these for polite disposal of dumps.
• Candy. Because the number one successful rule of parenting is BRIBERY.
• Phone. A must carry item, not in case of an emergency, but because you only catch up with friends on Facebook, you need to time breastfeeding sessions (yes, you read that correctly), and for an older child you need some mechanism for getting them to sit still after the sugar high of the candy bribe wears off.
• Change of clothes. You will - mark my words - one day pick up your smiley sweet baby from a car seat nap and find that even while seated, they managed to shoot poop straight up his/her back. It's really quite an achievement. Really. I mean, how do that do that?!
• Hooter hider. As you no longer go to the bathroom by yourself once you become a mom, this gives you at least a small amount of privacy. I know... I'm grasping at this one.
• Breast pads. Oh yeah. I saved the sexiest one for last. Nothing says "new mom" like a wet stain around your breast because you forgot the pad and leaked through your clothes. Yes. This is real. And it's happened to me. And I didn't know until I got home and realized I had sat through an entire group dinner with one wet boob. You're welcome.

I could actually add to this list, but now all I'm thinking about are the number of things I need to restock to get ready for tomorrow. Or...while the bag is only half full, I'm thinking about dumping out the goldfish.

Santa and Other Lies We Tell.

Spoiler Alert. Santa doesn't exist.

Or at least he doesn't exist in the form in which we lie - at length - to our children to make them believe. And the truth of the matter is that our parental punishment for the Santa lie is that we have to deliver on the gifts the kids want and create the "magic" of Christmas. Which, as we know, leaves us standing in a long line at the mall for the chance to talk to Santa and to get that ever coveted photo with the bearded stranger, stressed about purchasing the right gifts and  hiding them, only to then have to assemble them and lastly to pretend that we are equally surprised that the gifts magically arrived via our chimneys. Oh, and did I mention that Santa often forgets batteries. A-hole. And to top it off, while the children sing the praises of Santa, us parents don't get a 'thank you' for the torment we endured to perpetuate the myth of the jolly ole man. Yes, we are aptly punished for our lies.

With the magic of the holidays upon us, I can't help but to think about what it is that compels us to lie to our children. I'm not referring to the obvious daily lies we tell in order to get through the day - like the "i can send your toothbrush to be tested to find out if you brushed" -  but rather the epic lies. You know, the ones we make up and force our children to believe, only to later admit we were lying for years and years, as in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny.

The fat man in the suit. For starters.... Santa goes to all houses across the world in one night? It's ok that he comes in unannounced but I will grab you by the arm and scold you for opening the door to someone who politely knocks? He knows exactly what you want and nails it every year? He comes to malls of all places so you can talk to him, but you'll never hear him or see him when he actually shows up at your house? Oh, and he comes via flying reindeer. I don't know if we should be ashamed as parents for perpetuating the myth or pissed at our kids for being so gullible.

The tooth fairy. Yep, there's a fairy who collects dead teeth. How the fck did this one get started?! There's a fairy who will come into your room while you're asleep and take something from underneath your pillow, but trust me, there's no such thing as monsters. How in the world are kids not questioning this? Oh, that's right, the good ole punishment we get for perpetuating the lie....us parents PAY our children not the question it. Why would a child risk hearing the truth when it literally would cost them a pretty penny? No tooth fairy = no pay day.  And for the kids who are too young to know better, why don't we tell them, when they are afraid of monsters under their beds, that it's just the tooth fairy checking to see if any new teeth had fallen out? I mean.... I hate this one.

Hippity Hop. Here comes the Easter Bunny! Now, this one challenged me even as a child. Santa has his reindeer. The tooth fairy has wings. How the fck does the Bunny get into the house to leave a basket of candy? Do we leave a key outside? Do we say that the bunny picks the lock with it's teeth? And in the same breath,  like the "no monsters," we assure our kids that there's no way a burglar could break in. Nope. Only rabbits can get through the door. And does the tooth fairy love or hate the bunny since the bunny contributes to dental problems with it's jelly beans and Cadbury eggs and hollow chocolate rabbits?

I'm all for the magic of believing, but there's something to be said for just how far we take these lies.  With a 2 1/2 year old who just this year understands the concept of Santa, I'm left pondering just how far I take it.  When my son sat on Santa's lap (aka a total stranger danger) he said he only wants a garbage truck for Christmas. And what did dear old Santa say? "Reece, what about a puppy?" F-ck you old man. Really? You needed to spike me by introducing the idea of a dog to my 2 1/2 year old?

For this year, the puppy situation is why I want my son to believe in Santa. I can blame the bearded man for forgetting the puppy. As for next year, well, I guess I will just have to see what Reece asks for and if I can pull it off or if I need a Santa scapegoat.

The Pregnancy Joke.

You will glow. You will feel powerful. You will feel beautiful. You will experience the greatest joy. You will experience love you can't imagine.

Your life will change. Forever.

These are all truths and all part of the big fat joke about having a baby.

I have two children who I absolutely worship and I've definitely guzzled the mommy Kool-Aid of how I can't imagine my life any other way, blah, blah, blah. But even so, when I look back on how I got here - to the place of being a mother - I can't help but feel like throwing my hands in the air and just saying "you got me!" as if I've been victim of one of life's greatest pranks.

You decide you're "ready" to get pregnant. Or at least as ready as a person can be for their life to irrevocably change in ways that can't truly be understood or planned for. For finances to double and vacations to just be fond memories of days gone. So now that you're "ready," WTF?! Why can't you get pregnant?! I personally spent many, many years trying to NOT get pregnant with my husband. Only to later find out that it was impossible for me to get pregnant without modern medicine. I consider this prank #1.

Prank #2 is having spent a lifetime believing pregnancy is nine months, only to learn it's actually 10. Yes, 40 weeks of gestating a human in your body. Weird.

Prank #3 is when you learn the hard way that morning sickness is not an accurate name for what you feel. It's like calling a hangover a morning hangover. You don't just feel awful when you wake after a night of excessive drinking. You feel that way all day. Now, imagine if you had a hangover that lasted for months. Yeah. Awesome.

You glow. No, you actually don't. This is prank #4. Glow is a "safe word." That's it. It's the only thing people can say to you that has nothing to do with your body and that sounds like a compliment.

Prank #5 is being told that you only need to consume an additional 300 calories a day while pregnant. SHUT THE F UP! I mean seriously?! Seriously?! I'm supposed to handle the emotional, physical, psychological challenges and changes of carrying a human around for 40 weeks and you want me to satiate my insatiable hunger with what equates to a banana and some peanut butter? Furthermore, I've been forced to give up caffeine and alcohol and all I get is a banana and some PB? Um, no.

Boobs. I can't possibly skip this gem. Maybe I was not informed, but I did not expect that my boobs would get even bigger after I gave birth. I watched them grow two sizes during my pregnancy and then another two sizes post-delivery.  I'm feeding a baby, not a calf. Prank #6

Similarly to how morning sickness is not accurately named, maternity clothes should be maternity and post-maternity clothes because you're stuck wearing them for way longer than you hoped or planned, making this prank #7. And then with the new big boobs, you have the joy of the maternity pants being too big, but regular pants not being big enough. Shirts that fit, even with a big belly, don't fit with your enormous boobs. #postbabyFAIL.

"It's ok to have sex six weeks after having the baby." BAH HA HA HA HA HA! Approaching a woman for sex six weeks after delivery is like daring a person to try to pet the lion at the zoo. You will be eaten alive. Killed on the spot. In other words, don't do it. But that fact that this is even the time frame considered reasonable is prank #8.

You thought your mom was just being neurotic when she would always ask you to go to the bathroom before getting in the car. It wasn't that she was neurotic. It's that she was scarred from your childhood. Kids always shit their diapers before leaving the house or as soon as they are strapped into a car seat. Making attempts at going anywhere and the impossibility of being on time prank #9.

Now for prank #10. This is my least favorite one of them all. Who knew that becoming a mother meant I would become afraid of the dark? Yes, afraid. When darkness falls...it's scary to be a parent. You try all day to tee-up the perfect night. Fed at that appropriate times and tummy full at bedtime? Check. Hydrated but not so much that they will wet the bed? Check. Solid nap at the right nap time? Check. And yet you still say "sleep tight" and close the door and an indescribable fear comes over you, not knowing if you will make it to morning without seeing the little person you tucked in. Or if that "terrorist" you just put to bed is about to give you the big ole middle finger during the night in the form of "mommy!" and "daddy!" and "WAH WAH WAH." Forget "sleeping like a baby" and welcome to "nightmare on your street."