Netflix, I love you

The decision has been made. Between the cost of "services" going up at Time Warner and the simple fact we watch one channel in this house, cable will be cut from my list of bills.

We have something like 700 channels and we watch channel 58. All.Day.Long. Or we did until I got wise and moved the bigger TV and ROKU upstairs to the living room. Thank you, Netflix, for having things like BabyFirst and Veggie Tales at the ready. They're educational and captivating and when I need a break or don't have the patience to sit down and educate, you've been my rock. Netflix, you're like another member of the family. And since we pay so littler for you each month, I'm keeping you. You're special to me and are one of the bigger factors to the "cancel cable" decision.

But, for now, let's talk about children's television programming instead of how stoked I am to save money.

Unless it's rated TV-Y or on PBS, kid's TV makes me slightly angry.

OK, it doesn't make me angry. It gets me down right pissed off sometimes.

I'm not talking about Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and cute little shows with some educational value like Sofia the First or Little Einsteins or even Phineas and Ferb (I love those guys!). Hell, I can even handle Secret Agent Oso on repeat on Netflix. What I have a problem with are some of the shows played during the day that my kids have come to love but I am beginning to hate with passion.

A.N.T. Farm. Jessie. Dog With a Blog. Those are just a few.

20 minutes in a normal day

Parents everywhere understand that having two youngsters at home and trying to do anything productive really aren't conducive to one another. Either you're paying attention to your kids or you're paying attention to the thing that will make you feel productive. The kids are upstairs doing God knows what right now, so I wanted to share with you a snippet of a day in our house.

It's so Pintrest (un)worthy

Yesterday was the furthest thing from what our society deems "Pintrest Worthy," despite how awesome my ham broccoli braid looked before and after it was baked.

It's like the moment my feet hit the floor the Goob had it out for me. I went to shower and get ready to go to the gym (yeah, I shower prior to getting sweated up) only to come downstairs and smell ... something. Definitely a smell from my primary school years. So familiar I could almost taste it.

Rubber cement. Only not. Vinyl patch glue. More like it.

All over her hands. On the carpet. On the kitchen floor.

I was more mad than anything because I was afraid, at first glance - she had her hands in a prayer pose - that it was super glue and it flashed through my mind that 1) I have no idea the quickest way to the hospital from here and 2) there's no way I would have gotten her safely in the carseat if her hands were glued together.

You've never seen someone have a full on conniption fit until you've witnessed a raving 31-year-old mother dealing with a glue covered child who thinks she's just "washing" her hands with some stinky soap.

Difficult nights, fresh starts

"There are a lot of days I just want to crawl into bed and cry because nothing has gotten done, or I've gotten stressed too easily and scolded too many times, or the TV was a better parent than me ... but we'll only be given what we can handle, even if there are ups, downs and compromises along the way."

I hate when I say something and it comes back at me four-fold. I wrote the words above sometime last week in response to a conversation I was part of with other moms about having a third child and the fear of already being overwhelmed with two.

Last night I was short with the girls. Josie got a spanking. I was close to unplugging the TV and hauling it out to the side of the road. In truth, I wanted to pack a bag, get in the car and leave it all for my husband to deal with until morning. He frequently gets the easy part of parenting. I'm the enforcer, he's the playmate - that's usually how it goes, but more because I'm home with the kids and have to be the seat of discipline.

All I wanted to do last night was have a nice family evening together, make some popcorn and watch "The Little Mermaid" with the girls and I couldn't keep it together long enough to even give that to my kids.

In the moment ... but not really

I'm really bad about writing things in the moment. You know, something spectacular happens and then I don't write about it right away and two days later I try to ... and it all sounds like shit. This is because of my kids. I blame them. They're so needy and I, like, never get time to do things I want to do like pour out my soul in one shot.

So, jump into my time machine. I'm taking you back to Tuesday Nov. 12, 2013. Are you there? Good. Because this is going to be written like it all happened today.

*que funky time machine wavy mirage visual effects*

Strategic plans of attack

Things have been quiet around here.

Well, if you can call the ear piercing screaming that has replaced my 3-year-old's beautiful little voice "quiet" that would be a fairly accurate statement.

By "quiet" I'm hoping you've read between the lines. The kids haven't gone totally berzerk and started climbing the walls again like they did when my husband was out of town for the better part of two weeks at the beginning of October. Yeah, they're less crazy (ie: quiet) lately, which makes me wonder what they're secretly plotting.

Desperately seeking wine and a closet

What's the protocol for a kid who attempts to brush her teeth with Softsoap Lavender and Chamomile hand soap?

Please don't say call Poison Control. Please don't say call Poison Control.

Shit. I knew someone would suggest it. Oh well. She hasn't thrown up and she told me she didn't swallow any. Not to mention, I'm fairly certain Charlie learned a valuable lesson here: soap doesn't taste as good as it smells.

The preschool (non)dilemma

It's really taking its toll on me this morning. I just need to know. Am I a shitty mom for not sending Josie to preschool?

Please tell me, I'm not the only one with a 3-year-old who's just chilling out watching Dinosaur Train while she has her morning quota of milk and after-breakfast snacks. I'm only panicking over this because I feel like most of my social network feeds are filled with pictures of kids going off to first days of preschool - they're all dressed up cute and have little backpacks and fancy shoes.

And my kid is curled up in jammies still at 10 a.m. while Dr. Scott talks about the stegosaurus and the Pteranodon family goes on another adventure.

We have our reasons for not doing preschool this year, and possibly not doing it next year either when she'll be 4, and like us everyone chooses to send a child to preschool or not for their own reasons.

When the baby starts growing up

"I can do it myself!"

Well, OK then.

Toddler-in-training has got a mouth on her and an attitude to boot. She's also been working tirelessly on her sideways glare — you all know the one. The kid in question doesn't want to listen but can't help but look your way after being scolded, so without turning their head to give you the full-on stink eye they just turn their eyes like pissed off little cherubs. Yeah. She's getting really good at that.

Saturday morning was just icing on the "my baby is growing up" cupcakes for this Mommy. So much for my holding her hand to come down the stairs after she put me in my place; I couldn't even hold my hand out for her to grab in case she started to tumble because she pushed it away! I got the "myself" talk and then the glare and I decided I simply needed a caffeine IV to get through the day.