I swear I’m  not the only one, right?

My kids are TV junkies. I wish they weren’t, but they are. But hey! At least they watch shows like Dora the Explorer and Wonder Pets and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

But I discovered something: I actually like these shows. And I find myself getting too invested in these storylines.

I’m 24 years old and I am not ashamed to admit Special Agent Oso is one of my favorite shows.

How can you not love that theme song? When we come downstairs at 7:32, I’m more upset than the kids that we missed Oso! They have to cheer me up. “It’s okay, Mom. Here, let’s go watch it on your computer.”

And Handy Manny. Don’t get me started with that show. Every episode I’m sitting there dissecting the storyline: “Why on earth does Manny have to go to Kelly’s Hardware Store for EVERYTHING? He doesn’t have nails? He’s got singing, dancing hammers but no nails? And why have I yet to see any money exchanged for goods or services? No invoices? No ledgers? Manny is getting ripped OFF! And is there no other handyman in Sheetrock Hills? They call him for everything no matter what Manny is planning to do or whether it’s his day off.”

Um, yeah. You can say I go deep with the cartoons. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see when Special Agent Oso comes on.

What’s your favorite kids show? It’s okay, you can tell me.

Because my first pregnancy was way out of left field, I decided I wanted to know the sex of the baby and no one was going to get in my way.

“Do you want to know the sex?” the ultrasound tech asked me.

I laid on the table, shirt hiked up. “I think it’s a girl,” I said confidently.

The tech paused for a moment and waved the wand over  my belly. “It’s a girl,” she said, surprised. “Looks like you know your baby girl already.”

I smiled. Of course I knew this baby – I was her mother. That mother-daughter bond? No one could ever break it. I had visions of a little Mini-Me twirling in my head, complete with matching outfits and mannerisms.

When she came out, she was her daddy’s twin in terms of looks, but she was my clone in every other respect. She was fussy and uptight, just like her mama and when she wasn’t happy, she let you know about it. Quickly.

I loved her so much I was a little (okay, very) upset when I found out I was pregnant with her younger sibling shortly after her first birthday. How is this going to change her life? She’s still a baby!

With our second baby I was hoping, hoping, praying for another little girl because I was used to having a little Mini-Me around and what could be better than one Mini-Me, but two?

As I lay there in the hospital and the doctor pulled the little one out, I hear him say over the baby’s cries, “It’s a boy!”

A boy? I thought to myself. There’s no way. I wanted two girls. What am I going to do with a boy? I know absolutely nothing about boys, other than they pee standing up.

As the weeks went on, I struggled to find that connection with my son. I was ashamed. I loved him more than I could express, but by the simple fact that he had a penis and I didn’t, it just made us seem so different. I had a hard time getting over that hump.

Now my baby boy is turning two and I’m loving every minute. He’s a boy. A real boy. A jump-on-the-couch-didn’t-I-ask-you-to-sit-down-aww-you’re-giving-me-more-kisses? little boy. He’s silly and he’s cute and he’s full of personality.

I recongize that I have a different relationship with my daughter than I do with my son. Even at this young age, my daughter wants to be me. She does the things I do, she wears my shoes, she treats her brother like he’s her son. My son just wants to be loved. He gives me kisses and hugs and squeezes my knees every time I come close.

It’s different, but I like it and I try my best to treat them equally. I feel lucky to have one of each, to get the best of both worlds, to experience life through my son’s eyes and empathize with my daughter’s female problems.

Do you have boys and girls? Do you find yourself gravitating toward one or the other? For the moms with only one gender, do you ever think of how life would be with the opposite gender?

I take my kids to preschool on Monday and we go into my daughter’s classroom to hang up her coat in her cubby.

I look up  and notice the teacher has kites on the walls with each child’s name on it. Below the kites are ribbons with each achievement the child has learned. Under my daughter’s name is the following:

Can count to 20

Knows shapes

Knows colors

Can spell first and last name

Can spell classmates’ names

Knows letters A-Z

Knows days of the week and months of the year

Knows phone number

So I’m beaming, right? My baby is smart and I’m such a good mom and blah, blah, blah. I look at the other kids’ kites and I notice some only have a few ribbons or none at all (these are some of the newbies to the class).

“Sweetie,”  I ask my daughter, “since you know your colors and letters and shapes, are you helping your friends’ learn theirs?”

She looks up at the kites and then back at me. She smiles. “Nope.”

“Why not? If you already know how to count and know the days of the week, why wouldn’t you help your friends?”

“Because,” she says, “I’m helping ME. I don’t need to help my friends.”

Um, yeah. I’m SUCH a good mom.

Clarification: I do not think that my daughter necessarily needs to take on the teacher role, I just found it odd that she was so adamant against helping others. Crap, where’s that parenting instruction manual when you need it!

First, let me say that I am rooting for these girls to succeed. If they succeed, then their children can succeed and we all benefit.

Second, let me say that this show makes me uncomfortable. I start squirming whenever it’s on.

I usually can’t make it through an entire episode.

I’ll make two quick observations about the show, since folks have other stuff to do than to read a 2,000 word post on whether knocked up 16-year-olds make for great TV.

1. These girls (for the most part) don’t know how to have a healthy relationship. I know what these girls are feeling. I know what’s like to be overwhelmed in your new role and be enraged when you see your boyfriend slacking off in his. I know how easy it is to frown all day long, not because you are particularly sad, but because there’s nothing really to smile about. 

Babies bring joy, but they also bring stress and even the strongest relationships are tested when a new baby arrives. If you don’t have that foundation of honest, mature communication before the baby gets there, good luck making it work when the baby is a 24/7 reality. Check out this clip of Amber and Gary shopping for bargains after he spent money on a PlayStation. Three words: Ramen and celery. Boo.

2. Everything in your life changes once you have kids. For these girls, it is only more apparent when they are with friends that their lives are just not the same. Everything is different. Everything. It is not easy to just go to the mall whenever you want, eat dinner whenever you want, or go party whenever the mood strikes. You are working on someone else’s schedule now. I know I struggled with this at 20, so I can only imagine how I would have done at 16. These girls didn’t seem to grasp how much life would change, as evidenced in this entire episode. (Don’t feel like watching the whole thing? There are some gems at the 18:30 mark.)

Have you watched 16 & Pregnant? What do you think of it? Worth watching or “Turn the channel, please!”?

Forget the stereotypes. Forget what you may have heard.

Every young mom I know has amazing kids. Every.single.one. And by amazing, I don’t just mean, “Oh, little Brian is so cute and I love the way he makes the ‘choo-choo’ sound everytime he sees a train.”

I mean, really AMAZING. Smart, polite, adorable, quiet, good sleepers. The best kind of kids.

Take my friend Courtney for example. She’s a single mom, raising her son on her own in a new state. She doesn’t have much support nearby, but she’s making it. Not only is she making it, but her son is thriving. The boy is smart and he’s already showing signs of being the Next Great…I dunno, Scientist? Chemist? Engineer?

My point is, we are very capable of raising brilliant kids. Funny kids. Kind and caring kids. We rock.

Share your st0ry about your little one. Go ahead and gush – just how wonderful ARE they?

First, let me add this disclaimer: I love my kids. I really do. They are the reason I get out of bed every morning, they are the reason my heart beats, they are the reason I breathe.

Okay, got it? I love ‘em. Don’t question it.

That said, there are days when they are running around, screaming, pushing, making messes, that I go to my “happy place” and daydream about the glorious times ahead I’m going to have in 2026, when my youngest hits 18. I’ll be 40 and ready for the new phase in my life.

Yeah, I’ll miss the cuddles, the cute little outfits, the giggling for no reason, the wonder in their eyes when they learn something new, the ability to balance both of them on my hip. I’ll even miss the car seats and strollers and sippy cups, all the baby/kid crap I’ve shelled out thousands for over the past three years. (Although I will NOT miss the daycare bills – at all.)

I’ve given it some thought and here are my 10 things I’m planning to do once I have an empty nest:

1. Get me a tiny car. One that holds like one and a half people. Like one of those Smart cars. Better yet, I’ll just ride my bike everywhere. Kids need me to help them move – I’ll just rent a van.

2. Make nothing but my favorite meals. My husband hates tomatoes. My daughter doesn’t really like meat. My son hates green beans and broccoli. Whenever I’m cooking – which happens to be one of my favorite things to do – I’m always making substitutions and trying to remember who eats what, who’s allergic to what, and how someone likes it prepared. When the kiddos move out, it’s all Tara, all the time. (Yes, my husband will still be there, but he’s pretty laidback as long as food is hot and on the table when he’s hungry.)

3. Take two annual week long vacations. Even if I gotta spend them at home. Without having to worry about babysitters, I figure this should be easier to do.

4. SLEEP!!! I plan on becoming a Master of sleep when my kids hit their teens, but when they move out? Oooh, wee, I’m gonna get my Ph.D in unconscious living!

5. Get some beautiful, non-kid-friendly furnishings. In my house now? Multicolored carpet, stain-resistant couches, several different tablecloths we have to rotate almost daily once they get stained, a broom in every corner, slipcovers on the major furniture. I want my house to look pretty and put together, not like the dwelling of a couple who is trying to ward off complete and utter destruction by two knee-highs.

6. Find me a baby to snuggle whenever I get that “Aww, I miss the baby stage!” feeling. Hopefully my sisters will have popped out a kid or two around this time, so I can get that feeling out my system and have my uterus all to myself at the end of the day. My reproductive system is on LOCKDOWN.

7. Re-rekindle my relationship with my husband. We already started having weekly date nights and our intimacy is on point right now. We’re working it out, even with two little ones clamouring for most of our time and attention during the week. But once the kids get older, I look forward to our relationship deepening and maturing even more. We’ll be at 20+ years of marriage and both will be in our early 40s. What does that mean? I don’t know but I’m excited to find out.

8. Admire our handiwork. With any luck, our kids will be intelligent, kind, self-sufficient people by the time they leave our house. That will come after years of in-your-face parenting, correcting little mistakes and pointing out the lessons in the big mistakes. I’d like to think my husband and I can give each other a big high five and say “Great job! We rock!”

9.Shh. You hear that? It’s called “quiet.” And I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.

10. Cry. Yup, I’ll probably be a wreck when they leave. It will take me a little bit of time to figure out how to adjust, but I’ll be real. I know I’m gonna miss my babies. Even if they’re not babies anymore.

I know you’ve thought about it – what are planning to do when your babies grow up and move out?

I almost don’t want to write anything, but just you watch this movie and come up with your own conclusions. I’ll set it up a little for you.

The following video was part of a teen pregnancy prevention campaign in Milwaukee. With teen pregnancy rates rising, the good folks at BabyCanWait.com took strides to combat it in their area. Early estimates say the movie (along with other tactics, including a scratch-and-sniff diaper billboard) helped reduce teen pregnancy rates by 10%. I call BS, but I’ll let you watch and judge for yourself:

“Get pregnant and the next 18 years will be the hardest of your life.” Yup, get pregnant as a teen and your life is over. The kid’s father will leave you, your family will be in shambles, your son will turn in to a bully, beating up other kids in an alley, before turning into a teen with a penchant for illegal activities. 

I understand the point they were trying to make – teen pregnancy isn’t glamorous. But it isn’t all handcuffs and crying on the couch with the lights cut off.

I personally think showcasing a day in the life of a “real mom” would have been more effective. Show a mom struggling to bring groceries in the house while carrying her baby in the car seat. Show a mom getting a paycheck and then immediately turning around to use half of it to pay for daycare. Show a mom doing all the little things that girls don’t think about when they think having a baby will be a good move.

What do you think? Is this PSA effective? Is it offensive?

Dear Ayanna,

In a little less than a month, you turn 3. So why am I writing you a birthday letter so early? Well, 1) because your mom is scatterbrained lately and wouldn’t remember her own name if she didn’t have to write it every time she wrote a check, 2) the house is quiet and I have a minute to write and 3) you do everything ahead of schedule so I figured I return the favor.

You just amaze me every day, little girl. Honestly, you do. Sometimes I catch myself talking to you like you’re a teenager, because the things that come out of your mouth have me reaching up into my brain, trying to remember was it honestly only 3 years ago that I was pregnant with you?  

For instance, let’s say I give you something for dinner you don’t like.

What do most little kids say when they don’t like something? “I don’t like this.” EXACTLY MY POINT.

What do you say? “Mom, this isn’t working for me.”

“Excuse me?”

You look up at me with those big brown eyes with an expression that clearly reads, “This woman’s a moron.” You push the food around on your plate. “This isn’t working for me. This food is….old.”

“It is not old; I just got it out of the fridge.”

“Um, yes, it is. I think it’s old.”

“Ayanna, eat your dinner. Eat the salad.”

You don’t like the salad dressing I’ve selected. “This salad dressing is not working for me.”

Dee-vuh!

But I say it with love. You are so much like me that it scares me. I don’t know what I’ll do when you get to be a little older and are really capable of the eye-rolling, deep breath taking, door slamming behavior that is oh-so-typical of teenagers. 

But for now you’re three and excited with the possibilities of everything. You like your preschool class and already you’re the smartest one there. Every day you come home and tell me something new. You know the months, colors, shapes, the days of the week, the alphabet, your numbers up to 20 (some days a little higher), how to spell your name AND all your classmates’ names, and unfortunately, a little ditty you like to call, “Shake your booty!” 

It scares me how fast you’re growing up. Honestly, it does. It scares me because honestly, I thought I’d be much better at this motherhood thing by now. I thought I would have more patience with the chaos, more understanding through the tantrums. 

I’m still a work in progress as a mom and you’re 3! But I want you to know that I am trying to be the best mom I can be. I want you to always be happy. Always, always, always. If you’re happy, then I’m over the moon. If you’re sad – well, let’s just say Mommy is even more sad.

I want you and your brother to always think of me as one person in this whole wide world who will always be there for you. I know that seems like a big promise – always – and it is. But I don’t make promises to you that I know I can’t keep so there you have it. I will always be there for you, no matter what it costs me. I love you so much there are no words.

So you enjoy being three and I’ll enjoy being your mom. Is that a deal?

Does that work for you? *smile*

Love, Mommy

Picture this scene: My daughter and I kneeling on the floor in front of her brother, whose dry facial skin has aggravated him to the point where he had rubbed his chin raw. After cleaning his chin, I ask my daughter to hand me the Vaseline that’s sitting next to her. Dialogue as follows:

Me: Sweetie, can you hand Mommy the Vaseline?

Daughter: No….

Me: What?

Daughter: Mom, it’s not Vaseline.

Me: Hand.me.the.Vaseline.

Daughter: It’s not Vaseline. It’s petroleum jelly. [Of course, from her 2.5 year old mouth it sounds like, "Pe-no-lum jelly"]

Me: Hand it to me.

Daughter: It’s petroleum jelly.

Me: Give me the Vaseline.

Daughter: But it’s…

Me: Okay, it’s petroleum jelly! Hand it to me, please.

Daughter, picks up the jar and hands it to me: You’re welcome!

Can you believe this little booger wouldn’t hand me the jar until I admitted my cheap ways and professed to her that Mommy didn’t feel like paying an extra 50 cents just so the word “Vaseline” could be stamped across the front?

Hmph. Someone’s not aware there’s a recession going on…

I guess I’ll never really know for sure what I’m doing with this whole motherhood thing. My latest conumdrum? Figuring out what the h&#! to feed these kids.

My daughter, who’s two, has survived this past year on basically four foods: bananas, yogurt, Cheerios and oranges. And orange juice. Lots and lots of orange juice. It used to drive me mad.

The backstory: I breastfed her for six months, then when I went to work, the breast pump I used wasn’t doing the job and I began to exclusively feed with formula and baby food. I mixed all types of baby food and rice cereal, making sure to give her different tastes every day and occasionally she’d get a taste or two of table food.

As time went on, she became more and more picky, refusing to even touch her spoon or plate. Nowadays, if I can get her to eat more than a tablespoon of food, I consider it a good day.

With my son, who is almost nine months, it looks like it might be a different story. He’s a big boy for his age, almost the same size as his sister. He’s got a hearty appetite and will shovel food in his mouth so quick it’s like he inhales the food. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the boy actually chew.

But I don’t know how much longer I can wait. I used to stress and demand that she eat her food, but she would refuse and the food would go to waste. I tell myself that the food she does eat – at least it’s healthy.

So any advice? How do you get your kids to eat dinner? Please tell me something I haven’t already tried!

Whenever I’m at a store without the kids, and I hear a child having a meltdown two aisles over, I can only think one thing:

“Thank God that isn’t my kid!”

Tell me I’m not the only one.

To me, there is NOTHING worst than a meltdown in the middle of a public place. There’s no corner to go to, there’s no room to lock them in, there’s a million people around and is it just me or does the temp suddenly go up about 20 degrees once your kids starts throwing a fit?

Worst tantrum my daughter ever had was at church. At the altar. While her brother was getting baptized. With all of our family at the altar with us. When the church was full. AWK-ward.

But perhaps it’s something deeper than being embarassing. I feel flustered. It makes me feel like I might not be the mom I thought I was. Like I don’t have control over my kids like I thought I did. My cheeks get hot and sweat starts forming on my forehead. “Please give me strength,” I usually mutter to myself.

Why is mothering in public so difficult? Is it just me? What about you? How do you handle those meltdowns in public? Especially with the stares from the other moms – who theoretically should be more understanding?

My daughter (a.k.a. The Star Of This Blog) asked me for some grapes. I quickly obliged, since for the past day and a half all she wanted to eat were jalapeno tortilla chips.

As she sits on the couch next to me watching the True Hollywood Story of LL Cool J (I’m a bad mom, what can I say?) I reach over and take a grape and eat it. She looks at me while I do this and even though I can tell she doesn’t mind, she’s giving me a look like don’t do it again.

But that grape was delicious so of course I get one more. And another. She’s looking quite peeved, but miraculously, she doesn’t say anything. I take another grape and apparently I’ve reached my limit.

She gets up and stands in front of me. She plucks one out of the bowl and hands it to me. “Here, mommy,” she says. “This is it! This is your last one! No more for you!”

Um, who’s the mother? Me? Really…?

My daughter is terrified of Koosh balls. Like she has this irrational fear that it will grow legs and a face and swallow her whole.

We have one that we bring out occasionally to show her that there’s nothing to be scared of. “See, sweetie?” we say as we toss it back and forth. “It won’t hurt you.”

The other day, we handed the ball to her little brother. He’s chewing on it, giggling at her.

My husband asks her to hand him the ball. “Go get it from your brother and bring it to me, please.”

She walks toward him but stops two feet away. “Thomas!” she says, clapping her hands to get his attention. “Gimme the ball!”

“Just take it, sweetie,” I say.

She looks at me, looks at her darling baby brother about to get eaten by the Koosh ball. “Thoooooooomas,” she says. “Give it here.”

When he doesn’t respond, she folds her arms and taps her foot. “Gimme the ball…..I’m counting!….1…..2….3….” Like she’s the mama or something.

When he keeps ignoring her, she turns to me. “I tried. Mommy, get the ball from Thomas and give it to Daddy.”

Hey, she tried, right? At least the Koosh ball didn’t eat her.