Road to an Imperfect Life: Week 10 - When the Line is Drawn Over a Mother Effing Lollipop #itsarevolutionbitches

What is the right response when your 2-year-old starts violently crying and screaming and writhing in anger... in public? When her mouth is open so wide you could see her little punching bag throat thingy?

When she loses her sh^t while you are out to dinner - albeit a casual dinner- with a big group of friends?

What is the right response when the anger convulsion is over a fucking lollipop?

There isn't much that could take out this daughter of mine. She's the kind of happy that is so certain it doesn't need to be shown through smiles and giggles all of the time. She's independent and super resilient. Sometimes I tell her she's un torro, a bull - strong and fierce. But put a lollipop in the ring with this bull?

...like Superman to Kryptonite.

The public scene of murderous rage the night before last could have been solved easily. Give the kid a lollipop. I'm not a parent who thinks lollipops are the spawn of the sugar devil. She's had lollipops before. It's not like she is deprived of lollipop luxuries but lollipops are just that - a child luxury - not a toddler right. The line had been drawn. The lollipop aggression would not stand.

As a teacher, I would watch other teachers read their classroom "expectations" with strict disciplined voices the first day of school only to have them wash their hands of those rules by day 12. "The kids don't follow the rules," they'd complain but I'd silently know that some teachers also never followed through. Kids are going to push the boundaries and they're going to wait for you to either draw the line in the sand or move the line back. Most of the teachers I knew then, always moved the line back.

Ricardo, one of my first-year students taught me one of the greatest lessons I'll ever learn as a teacher. I asked him to tuck in his shirt and properly wear his uniform since those were the school rules. He responded, "Why? In a few weeks you'll forget about it like all the other teachers do." Major aha moment! I realized this little f^cker would wait me out, wear me down until I was too tired to fight that fight any longer and gave in. He was trying to give me a Shoots and Ladders shortcut to the inevitable end. Poor Ricardo had no idea that what he actually gave me was resolve, the strength to stick to my standard no matter how exhausting the struggle. No shoot for me thankyouverymuch. I'll take the ladders. Builds character and ass muscles.

When I became a parent I set out to live the same principle. Don't just say yes (or no) because it's easier; push through the struggle to pass on to your kids what is important to you. But when I have a migraine and I use the iPad as the in-house, free babysitter, I know I am not pushing through the struggle, I am submitting to it. Most times I hold the line, but sometimes I don't. 

At dinner last night, I didn't want her to cry and scream and make a scene - both for her sake and mine - and I also selfishly wanted to stay out with our friends and enjoy a little more of our evening. That damn lollipop would fix all of that but it meant I'd be moving my line in the sand back and I wasn't moving that line back... not for an orange, sugary, balloon-shaped lollipop.

Right? 

It turns out that I don't have the answer to what the right response is, I just have the response right for me... in that moment. Sometimes I hold the line and sometimes the line will be moved - reviewed, molded, changed. Like the great Kenny Rogers once said, "You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em." My line position on another night might have been different but the night before last, with the mother effing balloon lollipop, I wasn't willing to fold.

So we went home. 

Which lines are you willing to hold and which are you willing to fold?

Photo Credits:

Rules - Erin Nekervis

Road to an Imperfect Life: Week 9 - That Week When Tons of Things Were Imperfect and I Survived Anyway #itsarevolutionbitches

The last few weeks have been fuller than a glass of wine on a Friday night and definitely not as relaxing. With the end of the year wrapping up I decided to proctor 15 AP exams, write for two blogs, plan and throw two huge parties: a Lip Sync Battle Party (hi Jimmy Fallon!) and the End of the Year party which includes the mothership of homemade videos that includes 9 different sections and a "film crew" (it runs about an hour long). Basically, I saw a big pile of crap and thought I'm going to step in this. I'm going to knowingly accept all of these responsibilities and jump on in to this high pile of stink crap mess. I do this to myself sometimes. Most women do, right? Bite off more than we could chew?

But this week that pile seemed to have swallowed me. Normally organized, my days and plans usually run pretty smoothly but this week imperfection stole my brain and used it for a science fair project. 

On Tuesday I was so busy I left my house at 7:00 am and didn't return until 2:00... a.m. I didn't see my kiddos at all that day. Insert sad face and turn up the volume on mommy guilt.

That same day I left the gate opener key for Husband who had the stroller and both children since I was attending a Mother's Day function. My intentions were good. I was being helpful so that he didn't have to fumble around with keys and kids and pushable objects. The clicker is easier, I thought. And it would have been had I not taken the house keys. He got into the gate just fine but I had locked him and both kids out of our home. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

My son is one of those kids that sticks his whole hand in his mouth. So far down, in fact, that occasionally he makes himself throw up. Last night, he was covered in chunky mango vomit. Perfect.

I started washing my hair last night and couldn't understand why there were no suds. Turns out I was washing my hair... with face wash.

A huge moth flew around on our porch fluttering as loud as a large bird on meth, landing on our awning, its great big eyes staring at me all threatening like. I ran into my hallway squealing like a chicken shit before telling Husband that I was going to stay in my room until the monster was gone. It was gigantic, yo. (I should note that my Monster moth was bigger than the one in the picture and that that is not - nor ever will - be my hand.)

Husband dropped a 10 peso coin last night and it began to roll towards me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something moving in my direction and thought it was an animal (aka insect) so I jumped in the scared surprised way that makes other people laugh but gives you a mini heart attack.

In the three years that I've been blogging I've tried not to compare myself with other bloggers - specifically in the numbers/followers/readers/comments game. I've discovered over the course of my blogging timeline that my readers follow my blog without being "official" followers. They keep up with my writing but may not leave comments, etc. Besides Husband. He's the best follower.

You know what I mean if you're a blogger - you want followers and comments naturally. I don't want to ask others for forced comments or follower status because it feels forced, but unfortunately, sometimes in the world of blogging, numbers matter. This week I needed help - which I hate asking for - in the way of shameless begging to Facebook friends to "join this site" and build up my follower numbers. Friends helped (and feel free to keep "helping" - aka "liking" on the right sidebar under CONTACT ME... while you're at it, feel free to SUBSCRIBE via email) and I'm grateful for the support. In a "perfect" world, I wouldn't ask for that help, I would have 634 followers and each post would boast 24 comments on a bad day but alas I'm not there yet. But maybe asking for that help from my community of readers isn't a bad thing but instead a good thing. Maybe being vulnerable and asking for help in this realm makes it easier to ask for help in others.

...continuing on the road to an imperfect life.

Photo Credits:
Gordon Creek Road (adapted by DTWB) - Luke Detwiler
Moth - Amy

Road to an Imperfect Life: Week 8 - That Kind of Mother's Day #itsarevolutionbitches

I slept in on Mama's Day - although sleeping in as a mom has a totally different meaning than it used to - but when I woke up, I woke up to an empty house. Husband was up to something.

When he got back he had flowers and breakfast. He bought me some plants that I mentioned wanting since I'm constantly trying to "home-ify" our house. In true DR style, we had to MacGuyver a way to fit the plants through the bars onto our sill so putting each plant in a bag and tying the bags to a rope, he threw the plants up and I heaved them up 3 floors. While heave hoing, I stopped to find out what the hellions were up to - they were to quiet - and yelled, "Get off that table!" Then I turned back to the plant I was heaving and give it another ho. A minute later I stopped again from the window - at which I was holding a plant on a rope - and yelled, "Don't smack your sister the face." Obviously the plant heave-ho took a lot more time than we expected due to the consistent disruptions.

Once the kids were in bed Husband humored me in helping to re-arrange our furniture because he knows I love re-arranging furniture. Lift table, move table. Life chairs, move chairs. Nope, let's try again. Repeat. In fact, it seems that the only "relaxing" thing we did to celebrate Mama's Day in the kind of way that I would have imagined myself celebrating it before I was an actual Mama was by ordering out - and even that was off since before I was a Mama I would have imagined myself being finely dined. So with a re-arranged living room pizza on the way we watched House of Cards - our new (beyond) guilty pleasure.

It wasn't the most glamorous Mama's Day. Heck, I didn't change out of my lounge around clothes which every mother knows are yoga pants and a t-shirt. I didn't wear make up or do my hair. Didn't even put a comb through it. Never even left the house unless you count moving furniture onto our porch in which case I left my house for 6.5 minutes. And that picture up there? From months ago. No pictures to show from Mama's Day on my camera, Blackberry, iPad, or iPod.

But I love my husband. I love my kids. And I love our nice new living room so life is good. All is right in the world. And I wish you that kind of Mama's Day.

The Prepared Mama for carrying bandaids and Neosporin and Benadryl wherever you go.

The MacGuyver Mama that makes cups out of paper plates or belts out or rope. You know that motherhood takes a lot of creativity.

The Stylish Mama who still manages to look goooood. How the fu...?! Go ahead with your bad mama self.

The Organized Mama who dates the calendar,  finds the correct bin for the right toy, folds clothes, prepares ready-to-go bags for quick and efficient exits and knows where everything is all of the time without having to look. Get it, mama!

The Stick to Your Guns Mama who knows it would be so much easier to "yes" at times but still says "no" and then deals with the ensuing whining that inevitably follows.

The Punching Bag Mama who is carrying their screaming child in one arm and grocery bags in another thus having no hands to deflect the oncoming smack that screaming child will land on her face all the while remaining calm.

The Dance Mama - no not the kind on that reality show about dance moms. Ewww. But the kind of mother that dances because your daughter told you to and when she says twirl, you mother effing twirl.

The Tired Mama who wakes up all night with your sick kid but does it willingly because can't no one else be with your kid when your kid is sick and you like it that way.

The Selflfess Mama who... oh wait, that's all you mamas out there. 

Holy Batman!

Today I'm writing for Expat Village at Wanderlust and Lipstick about being bold. For those of you who know me, it might be hard to believe that I had a difficult time writing about this topic. I thought about it for weeks - about what bold means and about how one shows boldness and Holy Batman! I think I've finally figured it out. Continue Reading HERE.

Road to an Imperfect Life: Week 7 - See You Pretty #itsarevolutionbitches

They’re called “selfies” and can sometimes be referred to as #selfies. I like to take these to remind myself that even I am not perfect. I know, I know. You’re probably saying to yourself But Jen you’re soooooo pretty. And I agree. I am pretty. Thank you. So are you. We all are. We just don’t always see it.

I could look at that picture and do what magazine editors do before printing a picture on their glossy covers. I could find faults everywhere. I could knit pick all the things that are wrong and magnify them with arrows and I could choose ugly words to define myself. 

And just like that I have made myself the ugliest, most gross thing on the planet. Well done. 

Or…

I could choose something else. I could choose better words. Pretty words. Words that don’t make me feel bad. I could choose to see the whole thing differently, to see me pretty.

And do you see what happened there? Do you see how when I saw myself pretty, so did you see me pretty?

We push a lot of blame on the media for their influence of what is pretty — blame well placed since the definitions they create make pretty a very singular thing. Pretty is long hair. Pretty is straight hair. Pretty is thin. But we too are to blame. Who gave media such control if not us? Pretty doesn’t come defined. It has nothing to do with our hair or our weight. Like the tree that falls in the woods, can someone tell us we’re ugly if we’re not listening.  

Being pretty is in the choices we make. Choose to use words that make you pretty. Choose to see your imperfections as perfections. Choose to not accept that being pretty has boundaries. Choose to not be confined or defined. Choose to see you pretty.

Are Traditions the Antithesis of Life Abroad?

Traditions seem like the antithesis of living abroad. How can you create customs that will become a part of your family's culture when you are never in one place for much time, when you move from place to place to new place every couple of years? How can you create rituals when nothing stays the same? It is these questions I try to answer today in Expat Village via Wanderlust and Lipstick. Come read about the bucket.

Road to an Imperfect Life: Week 6 - My Kids aren't Pinterest Hipsteratis #itsarevolutionbitches

I remember when I was a kid asking my dad if this yellow pair of jeans went with a coral-colored top (it was the 90's so color was certainly in). I really didn't know. I didn't understand how people could look at two colors and say Yeah. That matches. It wasn't until I was in high school, maybe college, ok when I joined Pinterest that I got a good idea of what matched and what I should definitely stop wearing.

I love clothes. I reaaaaaally do. But sometimes I wish I had a personal shopper person to buy my clothes and put me together because often I don't have the brainpower, time, or funds to put outfits together so instead I throw on a t-shirt and jeans, the go-to garb of people who don't know what to wear. At least that's what celebrities say.

In the style then of the "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" book, if you give a C+ stylish mom a child, she will dress that child at a C+ average.

Yes, I check out Pinteresty outfit ideas for both my daughter and son but who has the money to spend on clothes that my Amazonic children will outgrow in a week. Just this week, I noticed that Husband had still been sleeping Santiago in his 9-months pajamas. The kid's feet were being slowly crushed in his footies and if he stretched his leg, his PJs were going to rip Hulk style. Up until recently he was wearing onesies that could really go either way - boy or girl. I wish I could say the same for his bibs but most of them say Daddy's Princess or Cool Chick. Poor kid. Sorry in advance buddy. I'll get the tab on any therapist bills you need paid. Most of the time I have him in lounge pants - that I should add are 6 month old sized since he is skinny and tall like his dad but which means he has pants that perfectly fit his waist but are long shorts or short pants... or basically don't quite fit. And his hair? It doesn't really want to be told what to do yet.


I don't care what you say, boys are way harder to dress. Whether he looks like a surfing farmer or a gardening surfer, I just can't seem to get it together with that kid. I figure as long as his clothes are covering his privates, he's fine to go outside, right?

Rafaella has it a tad better because lucky for her girl clothes are made sweet and cutie patootie. With her it's all about dresses because, really, how can you f^ck up a dress? So since Mama (me) doesn't have to work too hard to dress her in what some designer already made cute-to-go, she usually looks pretty darling. Unless she doesn't and on those days I say the nanny dressed her.

Kickin' old school with a strawberry jumper and tilted baseball cap

I keep telling myself that one day, I'll do a better job. Whenever we go back to the states I walk into little kid stores and marvel at the adorable pieces my kids could be wearing and then remember that my daughter grows whole toddler sizes every week and spending money on that is as pointless as throwing the money in the garbage can and setting it on fire. So I get overwhelmed with it all that I leave the store and go shopping for myself.

So I'm not an A+ mom when it comes to my kids' style. I'm not a stylish mom like Mejorsie (that's bestie in spanish) which is why I made her Santiago's Godmother (at least I plan for their future which means I get an A+ in that field). I'm just average when it comes to having the Pinterest Hipsterati kids that dress like David Beckham or Audrey Hepburn. Most of the time they just look dressed and have there privates covered.

But sometimes, sometimes I get it right.

My New Bestie is an Amazing Lip Sync-er

I often times wish that celebrities were my besties but not in a "I want to be famous" way, more in a "they look like so much fun to hang out with" way.

Rachel McAdams, Rachel Bilson (hmm... both Rachels, interesting), Zoe Deschanel are a few that have found a spot on my Besties Wish List. Recently Jimmy Fallon has headed the list. And through my BF, James (my nickname for him), I have a new friend to add to the list: Emma Stone. 

Recently on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, Emma's lip sync battle was coined it, EPIC. I do believe this to be true.

Come over to Expat Village and check out MY BESTIE, EMMA on Jimmy Fallon

Photo Credit:
Heart (edited by DTWB) - epSos.de