#basicAF

I love target. And skinny vanilla lattes. Put them together and BAM! you have my heart and my bank account. I like coffee so much that I have learned how to drink it right before a workout and not barf all over the gym. I love leggings. I have categories of them: workout, teaching workout, casual, and fancy. I talk about leggings more often than I should. I love Athleta leggings and their reserve in store app. I just ordered Fabletics leggings because #basic, and will be reviewing my new stuff when it arrives!

If I can shop online for something, I will certainly do it. I dream of the amazon man bringing #allthethings that I ordered late night while up with one of the kids. I love a nice pair of (matching or mismatched) socks and boots that make me look like I’m dressed and not just in sneakers with my fancy leggings. Athleta has this concept that I would like to think was made with me in mind. It’s called CYA- Cover Your Assets. GENIUS! This is what makes my fancy leggings REAL PANTS! Its the peanut butter to my bottom half jelly. No pun intended. 

I take super (not) organized inventory of the household products we have and need. Currently, we are about 2 weeks away from TP and paper towels, negative 12 hours from needing milk, 4 days from needing toddler drink (thank you, milk allergy), and about 42 years away from needing any household cleaning products. Has anyone else ever tried Mrs. Myers? Because homegirl here buys in bulk. I NEED to make cleaning somewhat enjoyable in order to ever do it. That and I’m pretty sure Mrs. Meyers is laced with crack of some sort. They claim its essential oils, but I get some sort of high every time I do my dishes and spray my countertops. 

A couple of months ago, I went to Costco for dishwasher soap. After $223.72 of unnecessary crap such as gel pens, enough frozen green beans for all of 2018, 200 postage stamps (what in the actual heck was I thinking?) and a jumbo bottle of vodka (ok that IS necessary), I got home with my stash. Finally, we were able to clean the dishes without adding water to the bottom of the container to make ourselves feel like they were really clean. Fast forward 30 minutes. Bubbles. Everywhere. Crap. Check out the bottle. Label reads: Dish Soap (minus the washer part). This, my friends, may be the most basic thing I did in 2017. Also, if anyone wants dish soap, PM me. Princess clean here needs her Mrs. Meyers crack dish soap so the said Costco one is collecting dust next to the 6 bottles of half empty hand soap under my sink. 

I tell myself all the time that there was a point in my life that I wasn’t so basic. I used to love a glass of wine and ‘apps’ on the balcony in the city. Oh wait. That is totes basic but in a WAY different way. (Side-note: When hubs and I were first dating, I asked if he wanted to come over for wine and ‘apps’, and he thought he was coming over for some geeky phone thing #basicAF). I also used to love posting things like the following to Facebook: views from my condo building with clever quotes, stats after my run, and pretty dinners that I didn’t cook for myself which I took WAY for granted among other beautiful things. O.M.G. All of that is super basic. Thank you, time-hop, for reminding me how weird I was. 

‘My music has never been basic’ said no human who loved the music of the 80s and 90s. As I have previously mentioned, I love me some Good Bone thugs, BSB, and even a sprinkle of Weezer. Was that considered basic back then? or trendy? Now, I get all of that plus more on 104.3 until the holidays come, and then I am #basicAF and turn on 93.9 LITE FM for the whole month. Nothing makes a peppermint mocha taste better than some Mariah belting out what she wants for Christmas. Nothing. 

So, what is basic? Is it directly correlated with the life stage you are in at the moment? Because I for sure went from Basic YUPPY to a Basic mom in like 8 seconds. Will I be a basic grandma? I sure hope so, because basic is my jam. Until then, I will enjoy my skinny vanilla lattes while shopping at target with my kids in the giant cart (which by the way, is always sticky or has some sort of film on it but #dontcare). That, and trips to Costco to buy things in bulk because I am now an adult and that is what adults do. 

 

All. The. Cups.

Cups. All kids of cups. Sippy cups, coffee cups, water cups. Am I the only one who has 397,389 cups but can’t find a single. darn. cup. ever.?!? Mama, I need water! {no prob- let me just open this here “sippy cup cabinet” and get you a… dear lord. One freaking ‘take and toss’ bottom and a Contigo top. Crap.} 

I must disclose that there is a black hole that eats some of these cups. The car. I am trying my darndest to keep Bertha from this problem, but it will be inevitable. We were on our way to Northbrook Court last week and I gave in and both kids had sippys in the car. Four and a half minutes into the drive, I hear a thud. I look back (in my ever so fancy panoramic mirror… I know you are all jealous). S isn’t holding her cup and looks at me with her side eye and says “Done!”. Gee, Thanks. Glad we all slam out cups down like we are in a college keg beer chugging contest with red solo cups. I digress. 6 minutes later, B starts laughing and I see that not only is his sippy on the floor, but it was a crappy one with a dishwasher warped lid and is leaking. All over Bertha. Sorry, Girl. 

I can complain all I want about my kids and their sippys, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I certainly don’t lady chug my drinks and smash them on the floor like a viking with her mead cup, but there are currently 4 cups in my car. I cant carry those darn things in along with a 2 and 1 year old. You’ve lost your mind if you think I can carry all of those in plus a backpack, coat (the most pointless and frustrating part of a toddler) and a bag of toys that my pack-rat 2 year old brings with her. Once I bring the offspring in, its like I’ve unleashed feral kittens into a giant field. They both run off like zombies and I start sweating trying to transition us to the next thing. If I’m lucky, B will get into the high chair before he knows whats happening so that I can avoid the back arch and flip over move. S will drunken toddler around the kitchen and playroom until I strap her in her booster seat. Thank goodness for deli meat and cheese. It is the appetizer of toddlers. It buys me 3 minutes so I can slap some PB and J onto bread and call it a lunch. So the cups stay in the car. And thus, Bertha is a black hole. 

For Christmas, Santa brought brand new Contigo cups for S and B. Certainly, we will ONLY put water in these and we wont lose them, right? Wrong. 22 minutes after the stockings were empty, the cups with fresh water in them were gone. Did they slide up the chimney, scared of the two terror feral cat like children who had started chewing on them already? No. They were (as we figured out a day later) stuffed into a giant glass vase on the floor (Why do I have a glass vase out with a 1 and 2 year old? Because I’m nuts. And I need a darn glass vase to feel adult. And I’m nuts. I know.) and left there to die a slow moldy death. 

On any one given day, I would imagine that we have at least 16 dirty cups laying around the house. Do my kids need this much liquid? Heck no. But if I am going to be considered a “bad mom” it certainly WILL NOT be because of dehydration. 

So when it comes down to it, I will never win my battle with cups. At least not until S and B reach an age where they can wash and reach their own cups. Or at minium when they can drink out of a cup without looking like they are on a late night party episode of Jersey Shore. Do I care? Yes. Sometimes. Does hubs care? For sure. I’m certain that 1/3 of his balding comes from the dishes/cup sitch that has plagued us for the past couple of years. Will we live? Certainly- until the next phase, keep on chugging, throwing cups, and drinking enough coffee to power a rocket. #themotherhoodisreal