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

Adult Birthdays

Last week, I had a birthday. My birthday has always been somewhat anticlimactic due to its proximity to Christmas. I’ve never minded this. Only in the last 3-4 years have I started to really NOT like my birthday. And I thought I was being a debbie downer, but I think I just got REALLY adult in those years. The most I hope out of a birthday is that my kids give me a hug and hubs lets me get a nap in. This. Is. Glorious. 

In my 20s, birthdays meant an “all you can drink wristband” special that started at a (now) obscene hour like 10pm and lasted until 2am. It included my all time faves, Bone Thugs, Eminem, and BSB. What. In. The. Actual. Heck.? It was always fun from what I recall, but good lord, what did I do for those 4 hours? (DON’T answer that) If I leave the house past 10pm now, wait… I don’t think I have left the house past 10pm in the last 5-7 years. Target closes at 10pm, and I turn into a pumpkin way before that, so holy heck, 10pm- to START!?! Not only that, I would go out to a 7:30pm dinner at some place that did not have some sort of hat or balloon collection at the front kiosk for kids. I doubt any of the city places I considered “birthday dinner” places even had high chairs. For reals. 

Once we left the city, we moved to the burbs and spent time and money doing adult things like yardwork, backsplashes, and regular laundry. Going out became a rarity. No one wants to go to the local Chili’s at 9pm to mingle. At least I don’t. Wait…. I do. But I’m just too damn tired.

A couple of years ago at my former job, my birthday happened to fall on an institute day/the first day back to school after break. Great. No one would be the wiser and I could for sure get through the day spot free. Well, a newer employee of mine decided it was her duty to announce it to the entire (200 person) staff at the assembly that it was my birthday at 7:30am. I still shake from this. I wanted to crawl in a corner. Although she likely meant well, I wanted to knock her upside the head and give her a piece of my mind. But I didn’t. I was pregnant and nutty to begin with so I just ate and drank my weight in diet coke, popcorn and cheez-its in my office alone. Visualize that. Thank the lord for my soul sister S, who has been my sounding board for WAY longer than she signed up for. #4yearslater

This past birthday was a wonderful day. Not because it was my birthday, but because it was a GOOD DAY. I got hugs from my kids, a nap, grocery shopped without S & B, and had dinner at a place where adults go to eat EVEN WITHOUT CHILDREN! Though, I did spend a few hours at a super dumpy car dealership where they blasted techno music the ENTIRE time, it was worth it in the end! (We were REALLY desperate for the minivan at this point!)

Do birthdays end after you give birth? Or after a certain age? Or am I crazy? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions, but I do know that good days are unicorns. When it comes down to it, we are far luckier to have GOOD days than BIRTHDAYS.