Monday, we meet again....

Is there someone I can contact about petitioning for a four day weekend? Isn't there somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody ;)

Ever have those nights where  you.just.cannot.sleep? Yeah, my Sunday went a little something like this: take a hot shower in hopes of sleeping like a dad (they sleep way more soundly than babies), put on pajamas that will make my grandmother proud, lay in bed and not sleep.

Today I made it through the day with the help of a little something called coffee and Samoas (the cookies). Zombie-like momma coming through, get out of my way. 

I did manage to make it through work, dinner, and bedtime without any major bumps (I may have started the dishwasher without putting in all the dishes, eh, what can ya do). 

Here is to a good night and a morning without my little alarm clock waking me up at 4:38 AM. Cheers to sleep, without a peep!

Peace out, ya'll.

xx

Ren

I let my child watch television; and I don't feel guilty about it.

Way before I had a kid (I like to call those days "Renata lives in fantasy land") I had a pretty good idea of the mother I wanted to be.  Actually, let me rephrase that, I knew the mother I would be (I knew nothing young grasshoppers).  I was absolutely determined to be the "perfect" mom (I told you, fantasy).  During a conversation with my mom I told her all of the things I wouldn't let my child do, including but not limited to the following:

1. Eat anything with added sugar before the age of two.  This includes:  chocolate, cupcakes, cake, cookies, muffins, candy, fruit snacks (and the list goes on)

2. Drink fruit juice

3. Play with my Iphone

4. Watch television before the age of two

5. Play with the Ipad 

6.  Consume products that are not organic

7. Sleep with a lovey

(And the list goes on and on and on)

She sat there staring at me, with a smirk on her face, and slowly nodded without saying a word.  Then, at the end of my monologue, okay, rant, she said, "Okay, we will see, we will see."  She has never once said, "I told you so."  I am quite sure she has thought it.  But, she loves me, and despite knowing that all those crazy things I was saying that day in my living room were just that, crazy, she has never once called me out on it.  Moms, you gotta love 'em.

You know where I am going with this, right?  So, sure, the recommendation says "no screen time before two".  Yet, what I've learned in this year-and-a-half of motherhood is that a recommendation, is just that, a recommendation.  It started out innocently enough, an episode of "The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" while I chugged my coffee on a Saturday morning.  Then when she made the full transition to the toddler class at daycare we needed a way to decompress before dinner.  May I present to you, the television. 

She needed a distraction void of human interaction after a full day of stimulation, and a 23 minute episode of the Bubble Guppies provided just that.  Judge me.  Those 23 minutes also gave me just the right amount of time I needed to start/finish dinner.  In my book I call that a win-win.  Otherwise, I'd have an overstimulated toddler clawing at my legs begging me to, "Up!, Up!"  And trust me, ain't nobody got time for that, especially when the rice is burning.

Once upon a time I would have felt guilty. I would have been embarrassed to admit that my kid knows to dance at the sound of the "Hot Dog Song."  These days, I live in the real world. And you know what? You gotta do, what ya gotta do.  A little screen time in exchange for a homemade meal? Sounds like a no brainer to me. 

Oh, and she's eaten a cookie; she even knows how to ask for one. Hold on to your britches, Perfect Pollyana, they are organic-carrot-zucchini cookies; I'm still a pain in the ass, slightly ;)

xx

Ren

Hello...are you there?

Good!  Let us get right to business.  These last few months have been slightly chaotic.  I'm not quite sure why, or how, or when, but I have not been able to find the time, nor the energy to clear my mind and write. I know, excuses, excuses.  

In my working mom defense, the days are long and the nights are short.  At the end of the day I am barely able to make a coherent sentence, let alone write anything worth sharing. Unless you want to know what I made for dinner? Yeah, didn't think so. 

So, since I clearly have time to take mirrored selfies on the daily (don't you worry, I'll save those for another time).  I figured I would dust off the cobwebs and give these rusty fingers some exercise.  And, boy does it feel good. I will surely pay for staying up way past my bed time (nothing six cups of coffee can't fix, no worries) but here goes nothing.

Have a toddler that suddenly doesn't want to eat dinner? SO DO I! I'm convinced she doesn't like my cooking.  Have a toddler that suddenly decided (out of nowhere I should add) that waking up at 4:30 in the morning to nurse is normal? SO DO I! 

Looking for a no nonsense momma who isn't afraid of honesty? SO AM I! Actually, I am that momma; want to be friends? Of course you do ;)

If you like iced coffee and lattes, staying up way past eight. If you're not into folgers and you have mommy brain.  If you like eating food off the high chair, while your toddler thinks your insane; I'm the momma you're looking for, write to me, let's be friends. (Oh, now go back and sing that last paragraph to the tune of, "if you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain...)

Holla!!

xx

Ren

What Momma Really Wants for Christmas.

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My "I Want" Christmas list is probably a mile long.  It includes unnecessary things such as but not limited to: Christian Dior So Real Sunglasses, the Louis Vuitton Pallas bag, and Valentino pumps (Actually, I think I do really need these).  My "I need" list, well, pretty much goes something like this, new underwear (Yes, you've read that right).  Seriously, I haven't gone underwear shopping in what feels like years.  Momma needs some underpants, ya'll.  However, if Santa were to really grant my momma wishes this is what he'd place underneath the Christmas tree (well, not literally, if you know what I mean).

1.> A full-time house cleaner.  I may be wrong (which I rarely am) but this is probably every.single.mothers.dream.  Can you even imagine the wonderful life it would be?  Santa, can you read this?  Do you accept Christmas emails?

2.> A personal chef; specifically one that cooks breakfast, lunch, and dinner seven days a week.  Okay, okay six days a week.  The thought of this makes my heart go pitter-patter.  Home-made Belgian waffles on a Tuesday morning?  Coming right up!

3.> One year's worth of full-body massages.  Enough said.

4.> One year's worth of manicures and pedicures.  There is just something about a freshly made manicure and pedicure that does wonders to my psyche.  Having the perfect nails all year round, well, hot damn.

5.> A personal stylist, a personal hairstylist, and a personal make-up artist. On-call, twenty four hours a day.  Kidding, I sleep for at least seven of those hours.

6.> And last but certainly not least, a lifetime supply of wine.  Red, white, whatever.  Just wrap it and put a bow on it.

My favorite Christmas song as a child was "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"; If you see me Santa, you know what's up.

xx

I'll never be #instafamous.

Hand me a box of tissues!  Truth: I have spent the last .0893475 seconds enjoying a good cry.  Apparently, I have been misusing Instagram all this time.  ALL THOSE YEARS.  ALL THOSE PHOTOS.  ALL THAT INSTANT GOODNESS.  Ya'll if you didn't know, Instagram is NOT for snapshots.  Oh-no-it-is-not.  Apparently, Instagram is the place where you a.) Share super staged photos taken with your DSLR, b.) Share super staged photos taken by professional photographers, or c.) Share super staged photos under only the most perfect of natural light, duh.  Can't do any one of those?  Well, then you my friend, have zero chance of becoming #instafamous.  I KNOW, turn on the waterworks.

I can't speak for all instagram users of the world, however, I am almost certain that this popular social media outlet was created to be used with your phone.  Um, I don't know about you, but when I hear "instagram" the word instant comes to mind.  Taking your DSLR out, arranging people and things just right, well, that doesn't sound "instant" to me.  Does it to you?  Am I guilty of posting photos taken with my DSLR?  Yes, yes I am.  Do I do it on an everyday basis?  No, no I don't.  I'm probably just hating on the person that has the time, and the patience to do this.  Staging photographs with a little toddler that demands your attention, well, that shit just isn't going to happen.

Are you a professional photographer?  Do you have friend that is a professional photographer?  Are you financially capable of having a photographer take hundreds of photographs of you, your family, your house & all the knick-knacks you've got lying around?  If you answered yes to any of these questions, well, I don't like you and we can't be friends.  Just kidding.  However, you must be capable of answering yes to at least ONE of these questions if you want to be the bees knees of the instaworld.  Not kidding.  

Feeling bitter?  Don't ya worry, if you have the opportunity to spend the majority of the daylight hours in the comfort of your home, you still have a chance.  Seize the natural lighting!  Me?  Well, I can kiss that "#instalife goodbye.  I am a full-time working momma; and I am pretty certain that the head of my department would not approve of the whole, "bring your DSLR & Tripod" to work thing.  Unless fluorescent lighting is your jam, I ain't your #instamodel.  Yellow tinge is my name, crappy instafeed is my game. Holla!

Follow me @leaveittoren if you're in the mood for a B-List instafeed, where crappy lighting and bathroom selfies are always in style ;)

xo

Ren

Oh, wait...

Hello, October...

Oh, wait, it isn't October.  Basically this has been my life for the last three weeks.  Wait, what day is it?  Are you SURE it isn't October?  I've been living in a whirlwind of crazy being fueled by copious amounts of coffee, hashtag mommafuel.   Why I thought I would keep up with blogging while  moving/working/wifing/mothering/friending is beyond me (you knew it wasn't going to happen, didn't you?) .  I had so many things to ramble about.  However, every night when the day was over and the house was quiet I was passed out before the laptop even turned on.  True story.

There have been so many changes in the last three weeks.  Yet, we have been so busy that I haven't had a chance to sit and reflect (I fall asleep before my head even hits the pillow).  We moved, we celebrated my future sister-in-law's bridal shower, we had a first birthday party to attend, and we get to shower one of our favorite people and her future baby next Saturday.  We've dealt with melt-downs, tantrums, and teething (will the teething EVER end?).  I've cried, and laughed, and chopped off all my hair (I did!); and I stayed up till three in the morning this past Saturday (insert wide-eyed emoji here).  September, you have kept me on my toes, I have the dark circles to prove it.  Now, all I need is a day in pajamas; scratch that, a week in pajamas.

We are mostly settled in and normalcy is slowly creeping in (at a snail's pace).  And even though Fall is nonexistent in South Florida, I find myself giddy at the thought of temperatures below 100 degrees fahrenheit.

The kitchen is clean, the babe is in bed (she's been asleep since before eight), and it is only ten o'clock.  I've eaten about a dozen cookie butter cups and don't even feel bad about it.  It is officially the last day of summer and I can say without a doubt that this summer was one for the books.  Now let me get my tush in bed (I think I may get more than seven hours and I am ECSTATIC, #momlife).

peace out.

Ren

You Know You're a Momma When...

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You Know You're a Momma When...

Welcome to the second installment of "You Know You're a Momma When..."   Should you feel inclined, you may read the first installment here.  Think about a day where you were really exhausted, now multiply that by a bajillion and three, plus two.  That is motherhood.  

This mom thing, well, it ain't for the faint-of-heart.  But when I think about the days before jumping on the crazy train, I feel a massive void.  This little girl has filled my life with so much happiness, so much joy, so much love (and so much crazy) that I could not fathom life without her. It has also provided for quite the entertainment.  When I start to think that things cannot get any wonkier, they do.

Without further ado, you know you're a momma when...

(1)  You can carry on a serious conversation about poop, boogers, and vomit without batting an eye.  In the course of a year I have been exposed to more bodily fluids than my almost 30 years of life on Earth.  Pooped on?  Yes.  Peed on?  Yes.  Puked on?  Yes.  I've also picked my daughter's boogers while eating spaghetti (No shame).  Needless to say, n-o-t-h-i-n-g grosses you out.  

(2)  You have bruises up and down your legs from bumping into furniture in the middle of the night.  For some reason I think I can navigate in pitch-dark with my eyes closed.  For the record, I can't.  I've got the bruise(s) to prove it.  Still, I do this every morning around 5 AM when Liv wakes up to nurse.  I-just-don't-learn.

(3)  Your idea of a wild Friday night is pizza, wine, clean pajamas, and sleeping past midnight.  Actually, who the 'eff am I kidding I can't make it past ten.  And, honestly, I'm not complaining.  (I also wrote about this before, but #mombrain)

(4)  What you really want for your birthday is to sleep past 8 AM in a blacked out room, with the air conditioner set at 74 degrees fahrenheit, and someone to bring you waffles and coffee around the clock at the snap of your finger (or the ring of a bell, or a scream,whatever works).  

(5)  Your toddler looks like she could have jumped out of a Baby Gap catalog when you haven't brushed your hair in three days because #priorities. 

(6) You sit down and think, "Finally, relaxation!" only to remember that you haven't emptied out your daughter's lunchbox, and you've already turned on the dishwasher, and you're too tired to hand wash them.  Oh-em-gee.

You know you're a momma when you are a permanent passenger of the 'Hot Mess Express' and all you've got to say about it is, "Choo! Choo!"

Come back next week for the next installment of "You Know You're a Momma When..." and if you have your own crazy story, please share!

xx