I don't want my kid to be a pussaye.

I am trying not to raise a puss of a son. So when I don't immediately run to him and coddle him when he trips over a piece of dust and either says "WHOA!" or starts to whine-ish/cry a little, please don't look at me like I am the poster mother of child abuse and neglect. How's THAT for a run-on sentence?

Toddlers fall. I think that's kind of where the whole "toddle" part of toddler comes from. But I'm not latin. Or an English major, so I'm not positive. Mason falls A LOT. He is my child, I am clumsy. Yeah, a clumsy former-ballerina. Since he falls at least 12 times a day, I try not to exert too much effort to run to him as soon as I hear a thud. I mean, that would constitute me putting down my Bonbons, pausing Oprah and lifting my fat ass up off of the couch, which is tiring and way too much work.

I can tell if a fall is bad. If it is, I will go to him, scoop him up, kiss his booboo and tell him it's okay. I haven't encountered bloody stumps, stitches, or gaping wounds yet (I am sure that is coming...minus the stump part?). I am not completely heartless. He usually only cries for a minute or two, then continues on his quest to end world hunger with a bruise. News flash people: bruises are okay, and if this child is anything like me (YES) he will bruise easily. Again, not abusing him. Don't look at me like that.

Back to my point: I don't want my son to be a pussaye. I don't want him to cry at every little trip. I know this is working because half the time he yells "WHOA!" when he falls, gets up and keeps going. There are those couple times where he may be tired, hungry or just in a bad mood and completely loses it at that tiniest fall. I casually tell him to shake it off and he usually does. This is when the judging begins. Judgy-judgers always give me "those looks" like I am ruining my child. Trust me, he is just fine. I won't let him flip out forever. Usually all it takes is me saying "You're okay!" and then he is. We all are. We are all fine.

27 can blow me.

I went to Boston for my 27th birthday, like I mentioned in my last post, decades ago. Not before what was supposed to be a family birthday dinner turned into a party for my sister only. I'll bill my therapist for that one.Whatever, I guess FORTY is a big deal that should totally be told to THE WHOLE INTERNETand perhaps shouted from rooftops and plastered on billboards? No? Oops. Boston was fun and all and I love the city but I am still debating on whether 27 is awesome or not. For example, my last day in Boston I got a phone call that I had a gyno appointment the next day. Well HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO ME YEEEEHAWWWWW!

If that wasn't bad enough, I came home to a penis laceration, diaper rash, 103 degree fever and the saddest (and most cuddly) little boy ever. So not only did I have to visit my lady-business doctor, but we decided to make a day of it and wander on over to Mason's pediatrician as well.

Turns out the laceration was from a number of things including (but not limited to) improper cleaning, and a juice overload (which just sat on his poor wang and BURNED). He cried, I cried. It was bad news. Luckily, the fever seemed to be a complete ca-winkydink and was most likely caused by a virus (still, boo) and was not linked to any sort of infection of the junk. I know this because I had to sit in the doctors office while Mason laid on me with a pee-catching bag on him WAITING for 3-ish hours for pee. None? And you're closing? Sweet, we will meander on home now where you will leave this medical procedure to me. I will conquer. Friday was AWESOME.

We watched UP, which was sad. Almost as sad as my little boy, who usually is running around breaking everything in sight. Instead, on this night, he just layed on me and watched to the movie.

Saturday was better. Sunday was way better. Today is just fine. All parts are still attached and have returned to their normal color. 27 better get it's ass in gear because I am still looking for a cave to hibernate in.

Oh and just because I am not already having the BEST year ever I have decided to do this to myself. Enjoy.

Hold on to that Feeling.

I know I haven't been around for hmmm a while. I promise I am going to make a good effort to update this little blog more often now that things have quieted down. I guess this might be a stupid statement since the holidays are coming up, but oh well.

I recently got back from a girls trip to Las Vegas. I would tell you more, but you know, there's that whole "what happens in Vegas" thing. I will say that it was legendary. I had so much fun and if anything, it made me realize I am so lucky to have what I have. It also made me realize that I am lucky to not be some geriatric corral member that goes by the name "Uncle Johnny" and is forced to shell out hundreds - if not thousands of dollars to get girls to hang out with him in the club.

I am a strong believer of staying true to who you are. Yes, I have a son now, but that does not mean that I should deprive myself of good times with best friends. I am still Tiff. I still like to dance, sing and have a drink or twelve. I think that it is very pathetic when people, especially mothers and fathers, lose themselves and become a slave to their husbands/wives and children. I am a great mom and the fact that I still live a smidge of my former life makes me a better mom. I missed Mason and Paul greatly and honestly could not wait to get back home to them. I can say that I have never been at the grocery store by myself after a year of the same routine and thought "Damn, self. I can't wait to see them when I get home."

Sometimes it takes a trip, no matter the length, to make you realize how lucky and how great a mom you are for taking this time for yourself. It will not make you a bad mom. It will make you a better mom. You will hang on to who you are inside. You will be rewarded. Yes, becoming a mother changes you - I cannot argue with that. BUT it does not COMPLETELY change you. If it does, I recommend you seek help. With that said, I am not going to let people who try to make me feel guilty bother me. Doneskis.

VIVA LAS VEGAS!

Stay tuned for my first ever giveaway featuring Monkey Butt Bows!

Halloween came early.

No, I did not force my child to put on a chicken costume again.

WhenI went outside to water what is left of my flowers, I realized that HEY! someone decorated my house for Halloween! Especially our deck. They put lots of fun, life-like cobwebs EVERYWHERE! And SPIDERS! THAT MOVE! So cool!

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What is with all of the spiders this year? And I am not talking little, harmless jumping spiders (those are freaky too though), I am talking GIGANTIC yellow and black spiders with pinchers and fur and FANGS! (okay, not entirely true). The yards in my neighborhood are covered with webs, as is my deck. Intricate, HUGE, sprawling, thick webs of destruction. So what did I do about it? I armed myself with some Raid, gloves, and a broom.

I know, I know. "But Tiff!" you say, "Spiders are good, they kill insects! Leave them alone!".
Hell.to.the.no. They are on my turf. I don't care when they frolic in my yard, and in dark corners where I can't see them. My house and deck are off limits. Those are places I actually go. I don't want to see them or their messy ass webs thankyouverymuch.

Don't worry. I think the bees were actually mad at me when I was on my spider hunt today as well. They swarmed my head and sent me screaming and flailing about. I did manage to kill three of them today (spiders, that is). So let's see how the webs are in a couple days. Yuck.